The fight did not end; it merely festered. The cacophony of rock-like troll flesh meeting steel echoed off the walls of the cavern turning every grunt and scream into a roar.
The press of bodies was frantic and desperate. Grimnir, his mind a storm of anxieties, found the chaos too much. The dwarven instinct to hold the line warred with a primal need to escape the crushing weight of it all. He shuffled back, his daggers a flimsy ward against not just the trolls but his own fraying nerves.
Then, a hulking brute broke through the adventurer’s faltering formation, its club arcing down like a falling stone. Torben met the blow not with his shield, but with his skull. The sound was a sickening crunch, his eyes losing focus. The world swam in a haze of red.
From the back line, Lucia worked, a beacon of calm in the maelstrom. She had already tended to the mysterious Wolfkin, Zarah, whose eye was a ruin of blood and mangled flesh. Lucia’s hands had glowed, knitting tissue and staunching the bleeding in a way that defied simple medicine.
Now, seeing Grimnir’s panic, she turned her attention inward, whispering a prayer that was also a spell — a transference of will. She called upon the Cleanse Spirit spell, and a wave of calm washed over the dwarf, settling the tempest in his soul. The fear did not vanish, but it became manageable, a tool rather than a tyrant.
The battle raged on for what seemed like hours before Sturmberg and Torben were able to bring one of the trolls to its knees. From the other side of the cavern, Zarah shot a deft into into the monster’s skull, putting it down for good.
The troll – a hulking mass of muscle and malice – lay twitching before finally falling still. Its surviving kin, broken and demoralized, scrambled back into the echoing darkness from which they had come, leaving the party to assess the cost of their hard-won victory.
Grimnir leaned heavily against a craggy wall, his usually unyielding demeanor softened by the tremors of a raw anxiety that threatened to consume him. Battle, even a victorious one, always left him shaken. Nearby, Zarah clutched her face, a deep, ugly gouge still marring one eye, blood welling slowly between her fingers.
Once Torben was somewhat stable, propped against a rock, a tense silence descended. Zarah, her eye mostly mended, offered a curt thanks to the group, but her identity remained a tightly guarded secret.
It was Sturmberg, ever the pragmatist, who broke the quiet. “I know I’ve been away from the city,” he rumbled, his gaze sharp, “but even dwarves who know Stonegarden well don’t stumble in here, let alone a wolfkin.”
Zarah’s story was simple, almost too simple. She claimed she’d been exploring a cave, found a secret passage, and now didn’t even know where she was.
“You don’t know what city, or literally you don’t even know where on a map you are?” Sturmberg pressed, his voice laced with suspicion. “I don’t know where I am,” Zarah insisted.
“Sounds legit…,” Lucia muttered, her sarcasm barely veiled. Grimnir, despite his inherent open-mindedness to outsiders, couldn’t recall any rumors of such secret passages. “I almost wouldn’t believe you if I didn’t see it myself,” he admitted, studying the wolfkin.
“It didn’t seem that hard… what are you all doing down here?” Zarah asked, turning the tables. Sturmberg, with a weary sigh, quickly summarized their perilous quest into the depths. “Are you the monster?” he finished, his voice a low challenge.
“I came in here and was ambushed by the trolls. Are they the monsters?” Zarah retorted, her hackles rising. “You probably just looked like an easy meal,” Sturmberg grunted, unconvinced.
Meanwhile, Lucia focused her formidable healing arts on Torben, pushing her knowledge to its limits. The strain of mending such grievous wounds was visible on her face, but she persevered. Torben, slowly coming back to himself, watched her with dawning recognition. “I saw you healing earlier,” he said, his voice raspy. “Do you use magic to do so?” Lucia, ever cautious, replied, “I just have my ways.”
“I have met other healers,” Torben mused, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “You remind me of them. They are not popular to some, but they are good people.”
“Maybe we have the same traditions,” Lucia offered, a rare note of optimism in her voice. Torben simply nodded, a silent bond forming between them. “Thank you for your healing. I think I’ll be able to carry on now,” he said, trying to push himself up. “Somedays I’m not much of a fighter, it seems.”
“Somedays I don’t feel like much a healer myself,” Lucia admitted, casting a sidelong glance at Zarah. “I healed that wolfkin earlier, but that might not have been a good idea.”
Her gaze hardened as she turned back to Zarah, drilling her about her presence in these forbidden depths. The wolfkin, bristling, defended her story of being ambushed and chastised Lucia for her rudeness.
“I can show you the cave if you really want to see it,” she offered, a touch of defiance in her tone. “There was an interesting scent, so I thought I’d explore a bit.”
Lucia looked exasperatedly toward the dwarves. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned she just waltzed in here?”
Sturmberg merely grunted before relaying a forgotten legend: rumors of secret passages, long lost, within all dwarven keeps. He couldn’t vouch for their truth, but the tale offered a sliver of explanation.
Even without sunlight, the party could feel the weight of the day giving way to a cautious evening. Lucia and Torben found a defensible position, and the weary party made camp. Zarah, despite her injuries, attempted to hunt, but the oppressive stillness of the tunnels offered no quarry.
Sturmberg, ever keen to improve, sought out Princess Arvia. At first, the young princess was reluctant to engage, but Sturmberg’s impressive display against the trolls had clearly won her respect. He wanted to understand how she had given into her rage, yet remained focused, a paradox he sought to master.
Grimnir, reflecting on his own struggles during the battle, began to work on his footwork. He used the rough, uneven terrain to practice tumbling and improve his speed, his movements fluid and precise. He didn’t mind the others watching, his focus entirely inward.
The next day, a thick, unending fog had settled over the tunnels, adding another layer of oppressive claustrophobia. Lucia, attempting to lead the party forward, found herself increasingly lost, her frustration mounting with every wrong turn. Zarah vigilantly tried to keep watch, but the impenetrable mist and the enclosed space clawed at her, igniting a gnawing anxiety.
After what felt like an eternity of stumbling and backtracking, they reached their destination: a passage to the cavern lake. The air grew damp and cool, the faint scent of musty water filling their nostrils. With a collective effort, Lucia and Kristov managed to coax their stubborn donkey onto a makeshift raft they found at a rundown set of docks.
One by one, the party boarded the rafts, a silent understanding passing between them. Instead of utilizing the rings set into the cavern wall for guidance, they decided to use oars, a choice that seemed quicker, more efficient.
It was a decision that would haunt them, for as the first ripples spread across the inky blackness of the underground lake, a colossal tentacle erupted from the depths, seizing a raft in its terrifying grasp. A giant squid had found them, its powerful tentacles burst from the water attempting to capture them…
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