Miriel stood in the center of the camp, taking it all in. The sense of abandonment, the lingering scent of violence, the unnatural emptiness. Her gaze drifted to a broken wooden bowl near the smoldering firepit, a few dried beans still clinging to the bottom. A leather shoe lay trampled in the mud. A crude carving of a boar tusk stood half-finished on a chopping block.
"A life is a life," she murmured, kneeling down near a particularly dark bloodstain, hand hovered above it, the golden crosses in her eyes glowing softly as she offered a brief, silent prayer.
"Even a bandit's. May Caelus have mercy on their souls… wherever they may have been taken."
She closed her eyes, a small frown creasing her brow. She felt the residual vibration again, stronger here, the chaotic energy from earlier, but tinged with something darker, more aggressive. It matched Nekari's assessment.
She opened her eyes, meeting the cat girl's solemn amber gaze. "The honey coated boar. This… clearing. Something is happening in these jungles, something that moves like the wind and leaves death in its wake."
She stood up, her voice steady despite her unease. "But it is beyond our immediate goal. The bandits are gone. Their threat to the village for now, is ended. We must remember why we came this way."
"The Nazas Dungeon," Rolfe rumbled, adjusting his grip on his axe. "Still stands. Still holds our answers."
Emerick kicked moodily at a pile of discarded rags. "Yeah, the dungeon. Full of traps, monsters, and gods know what else. Just what this team needed: an extra helping of creepy mystery on top of the murderous slime and the vanishing bandits."
"Toward our destination," Miriel agreed, her voice firm before looking around the empty, bloodstained camp one last time, a shadow of concern passing over her face. "Then that is the path we must follow."
Without further ado, the party regrouped, the oppressive silence of the ravine seeming to press down on them. They climbed out of the ravine on the southern side and plunged deeper into the Withering Jungle, following the faint signs of passage left by whatever had emerged from the jungle's depths.
It was near dusk of the following day when Hanry stopped, raising a hand. The others halted behind him, weapons at the ready. He gestured ahead through a particularly dense thicket of vines and twisted roots.
"We've arrived."
Peering past him, they saw it: the dungeon entrance. It was nestled against a steep hillside, choked by decades of creeping greenery. A huge block of stone, intricately carved with eroded symbols and figures – monstrous shapes, entangled serpents, eyes watching formed the lintel. Below it yawned the doorway proper, a gaping black rectangle.
"Doesn't look very welcoming like i remember in the past," Emerick muttered, testing the string of his bow. "In fact, it looks like the entrance to every childhood nightmare I ever had. Right down to the moss."
Nekari ignored him, her eyes scanning the ground before the entrance and the surrounding foliage. She darted forward silently, her body a low blur.
"Wait!" she hissed after a moment, one hand raised in warning. Her nose mere inches from the packed earth and stone steps.
"Footsteps," she declared, her voice tense. "Many and recent." She pointed with a clawed finger, tracing invisible paths.
"Humanoids, mostly. Heavy boots... at least a few dozen." Her head tilted. "But also… something else. Large. Deep impressions, clawed." A shudder rippled through her fur. "Like… monsters, a lot of them. This is a newbie dungeon, it shouldn't have this high number of monsters inside"
Rolfe grunted, hefting his axe. "Doesn't matter. Dungeon. Evil inside." He sounded almost satisfied. "We find answers. And the missing pieces."
Hanry unsheathed his sword, the clean sound of metal ringing clear in the jungle air. He checked his armor buckles, tightened the straps of his scabbard.
"Ready yourselves," he commanded, his voice steady and authoritative. "Gather what water and rations you can carry. Check weapons and armor. Emerick, fresh arrows. Nekari, weapons ready. Rolfe… you know what to do." He patted the large man on the shoulder. "We go in prepared."
They approached the yawning blackness of the doorway. Above, the carved eyes on the lintel seemed to watch them, ancient and implacable. The stone steps were slick with moss and dampness as they descended into the oppressive gloom of the dungeon entrance.
Nekari darted ahead, melting into the inky darkness before Hanry lit a torch. The weak flame pushed back the shadows, revealing damp, uneven stone walls lined with glistening fungus.
"Gods, it's worse than I imagined," Emerick grumbled. "Smells like something died. Last week. And then the week before that." He pinched his nose. "I take back everything I said about fresh air. I'd rather have forest rot."
Nekari's voice drifted back to them, hushed and amused. "At least here, the rot doesn't try to eat you. Usually." A faint scrabbling noise echoed ahead, making her pause. "Ssh!"
Hanry held the torch higher, scanning the corridor. It stretched on, featureless and foreboding. "Stay alert."
Emerick sidled up to Miriel as they walked. "Tell me, Saintess, do the chronicles say anything about the wealth amassed by notorious bandit gangs? Particularly wealth they might stash in forgotten subterranean horrors?"
Miriel shot him an exasperated look, but her mouth quirked upward slightly. "The chronicles speak of the folly of greed and the dangers of ill-gotten gains, Emerick. Not inventory lists. But given the efficiency of the… cleanup at the bandit camp… I find it highly unlikely their treasury ended up here."
"Cleaners, yeah," Nekari hissed, reappearing soundlessly beside them. She pointed a claw towards the floor.
A faint, viscous trail shimmered in the torch's light, vanishing deeper into the tunnel. "Look. Slime. This is new and fresh."
"So," Emerick sighed dramatically, "No treasure chests full of gold coins marked 'Stolen Property of the Red Deaths', then? Just… slime? That hardly seems like a fair reward for braving the jungle and a bunch of missing bandits."
As he spoke, a soft squish emanated from the darkness ahead. Then, emerging into the weak pool of light, came a large, amorphous blob. It was roughly the size of a cart wheel and a pale, unhealthy green color. Tiny flecks of mica glittered within its semi-transparent surface.
A basic dungeon slime, one of the most common, and least threatening, denizens of such places.
Hanry let out a grunt and stepped forward, his sword at the ready. "Watch out!"
Before the others could react, he had already closed the distance. In one smooth, efficient motion, he brought his torch close to the creature, eliciting a panicked bubbling sound.
It recoiled from the heat and light created a space for Hanry to plunge his blade into the core. A thick, gelatinous gurgle filled the corridor and the slime deflated like a punctured wineskin. Its form collapsed inward, leaving nothing but a glistening puddle of slime residue on the stone.
Hanry flicked the foul-smelling ichor from his blade, sheathed it smoothly, and continued forward without a word, torch held high once more. They moved cautiously down the corridor, boots scraping on rough stone, torches was their only light.
Eventually, they reached a T-junction. Two identical stone passageways branched off into deeper darkness. Nekari crouched, sniffing the air at the left branch, her whiskers twitching.
Miriel closed her eyes briefly, her lips moving silently in prayer. She whispered, "Rightward, I sense a stirring in the shadows."
Hanry nodded grimly. "Right it is, then. Stay vigilant."
They headed down the right passage. Emerick lingered at the junction, his gaze roaming through the flickering torchlight. "Right, right, right," he muttered absently.
Something caught his attention, a faint glimmer deep down the left corridor. He hesitated only a moment before detaching silently from the group and slipping back to investigate.
"Just… having a quick look-see," he murmured to himself. "Can't hurt."
He crept forward, bow slung across his back, eyes fixed on the source of the glow. Rounding a gentle bend and he spotted it: a plain, solid wooden chest sitting alone in an alcove. Its lid was slightly ajar, the polished wood reflecting the faintest hint of… gold?
"My lucky day!" Emerick breathed, a greedy smile spreading across his face. He dismissed any flicker of unease, it was just a chest, after all!