Stormhoof strode down the stone steps, leading his crew deeper under the temple. He knew a valuable gem had been hidden somewhere in the chambers below the long-forgotten temple of some ancient sea god. The massive minotaur didn’t care who the shrine was dedicated to, he was after the prize rumored to be hidden deep within.

“Hurry up, Isaar,” growled Stormhoof.

“Yes, Captain,” said the orc, his pig-like eyes trying to identify landmarks to find his way back to the surface. Unlike his captain, Isaar could easily get lost in all the twists and turns. Behind the orc were three other orc pirates, and a dark-haired half-elf wearing mystic robes. An orb of light floated above the half-elf, providing light for the raiding party. Stormhoof pulled out a map he had captured from a merchantman his pirates had plundered and scuttled a week earlier.

“Battelle, get up here with that light,” barked Stormhoof.

“Coming, Lord,” answered Battelle, moving past Isaar and the other orcs while being careful not to let his robes make contact with the sailors’ filthy clothes.

“I’m not a Lord yet. You’re here to help me find the means,” snarled the minotaur. He held the map up for the half-elf. “Which way?”

The wizard squinted, trying to determine if a line was where the ink had flaked away or if it was a natural discoloration of the material. After a moment, he looked up and pointed.

“To the left. That should lead us to the tomb. If the gem is anywhere, it will be in there,” Battelle advised.

“It had better be,” growled Stormhoof.

The captain of the merchantman had tried to hide the map under his laundry when his ship had been captured by Stormhoof’s pirate crew. One of the orc pirates had discovered it when he had been searching for any valuables hidden away, and had decided that the merchant captain’s silk shirt would make a fine gift for a wench. A few strokes of the lash had convinced the fat merchant to give up the tale of a gem of great power.

The parchment the map had been drawn on, had been scraped and reused. The current depiction was that of a chart, showing the location of an unknown island. The half-elf’s sharp eyes had noted where another drawing had been previously made, then removed. It was the map of the catacombs under the temple. Once Stormhoof had found both the island and the temple, the map proved to be a guide through the darkness under the ruined buildings. This was fortunate, as there were traps aplenty to kill or maim the unwary.

“Wait. Pit ahead,” said Battelle. Stormhoof tapped the floor with his iron shoe and watched as the floor flipped over. He caught the trapdoor as it swung around and held it in a muscular hand. Below, a human skeleton in armor lay impaled on spikes.

“Amateur,” snorted Stormhoof. The minotaur lowered the trap's cover and waved Isaar up.

“Spike the trap, and let’s get moving once it’s secure.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied the orc. Isaar dropped his pack and fished out a hammer and four spikes. Two spikes on either side locked the cover firmly enough in place to allow the heavy minotaur and orcs to cross safely. Battelle tested the cover with his foot, then stepped aside and gestured.

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“After you,” said Battelle with a smirk. Isaar scowled and strode out onto his handiwork. The trapdoor held as the orc crossed. He grinned a toothy challenge at the half-elf.

“It’s safe enough. Move it, long ears,” said the orc. Stormhoof crossed the pit first, followed by Battelle and the remaining orc crewmen.

The orcs spread out behind Stormhoof and Battelle and gaped. The passage opened to a natural cave. In the center was a huge boulder, at least fifteen feet in diameter, carved to look like a horned, grinning human skull. The jaw hung open, revealing a passage and a short series of steps leading up.

“It has horns,” mused Battelle, rubbing his chin. “Humans don’t normally have horns.”

“Because they are fools,” snarled Stormhoof. “Horns rip flesh, break bones. A weapon you can never drop.”

Battelle shrugged. He wasn’t going to argue the relative aspects of horns versus steel or magic as a weapon with the short-tempered pirate captain.

Stormhoof held his lantern before him, illuminating the mouth of the skull. “Looks like a room behind the eyes. Probably where the gem is. Let’s go.”

Without waiting, Stormhoof ducked and entered. The short steps led to another room, this one with two large round holes and one small and triangular. The eyes and nose. The minotaur moved into the center, wide nostrils drawing in any scents over his nose ring. There was something amiss.

“Well, Captain?” asked Battelle as the half-elf moved into the room behind his captain. He looked around, noting the eye and nose holes, and a small altar set between the eyes and under the nose. There was a small depression in the center.

“Nothing’s here. No gold, no gem, no… Wait a moment.”

The minotaur knelt and lifted a crude wooden staff from behind the altar. It was about three feet long, adorned with two ragged feathers and a small leather bag tied to the top. He sniffed the bag, then pulled back.

“What is this? What does it mean?” he asked as he handed the item to the half-elf. By this time, Isaar had entered the room.

The half-elf took the staff and looked it over carefully. Magic symbols, crudely carved, covered the surface. He ran the palm of his hand over them, sensing their magic. He opened the leather bag, then closed it quickly. A smell like rotten eggs wafted out.

“I’m not sure, Captain. It’s a wizard’s staff, but the magic is primitive. Some of these symbols are arcane, the others? I don’t know.”

“Shaman. Probably goblin from the size,” said Isaar. The orc had come around in the cramped space to look at what Stormhoof and Battelle had found. “Goblins have some magic to them, nothing like the elves or human wizards, but some.”

Stormhoof scowled at the staff in the half-elf’s hands.

“Looks like someone got here before us. Do you have any way of finding the original owner? I would like to have words with them,” said the minotaur in a deep, low voice. Battelle knew the pirate wasn’t likely to politely ask for the now missing gem. He wouldn’t want to be the goblin who stood between the powerful minotaur and his goal.

“Perhaps, Captain. I know a spell or two that should put us in the right area to start looking at least.”

“Then let’s go.”

The half-elf removed a roll of coarse cloth from his bag and rolled up the shaman’s staff to keep any traces of the owner from being lost. Soon, he could cast spells that would lead his Captain to the gem, and the power the minotaur sought. Battelle didn’t want the gem himself. He wanted to be the power behind the throne. Elves and half-elves lived a long time, and he could afford to wait for the best opportunities to seize true power.