The four characters make it to the mine, its dusk as they arrive. I ask my oracle if they encounter anything as the descend into the mouth of the mine. I get No, But…
Drawing a card from the deck of many things I get Moon. Reading the card reference guide I think there is a ‘place concealed by terrain’. The companions will know this, but I think they would look over the entrance. A perception check may work here?
I set a DC of 20. Lini makes the first perception check, she has Perception +11 and rolls 19for a total of 30, a critical success. Perfect — with a 30, Lini doesn’t just spot the hidden place… she sees it with absolute clarity, as if the land itself is whispering the truth to her.
The mine entrance loomed before them, a dark wound in the ravine wall, half‑collapsed and rimed with frost. Snow drifted steadily from the darkening sky, softening the world into shades of blue and grey. The companions stood at the threshold, listening to the hush that had settled over the woods.
Branwen frowned. “Something’s off.”
Lini stepped forward, narrowing her eyes. The rising moon cast a pale glow across the ravine, its light catching on the snow in strange, shifting patterns. She let her senses settle — the cold air, the quiet earth, the faint pulse of magic still clinging to the book in Branwen’s pack.
Her gaze drifted along the rock face.
At first, she saw nothing.
Just stone. Snow. Shadow.
Then the moonlight shifted.
A line appeared — faint, curved, almost swallowed by the terrain.
A shape half‑buried beneath snow.
Not natural.
Not accidental.
Lini’s breath caught. “There,” she whispered. “Look.”
Branwen followed her gaze, eyes widening as the hidden archway revealed itself. A second entrance, concealed by time and winter, its outline visible only under the moon’s pale glow.
“The mine isn’t what it seems,” Lini said softly. “There’s something else here. Something the land didn’t want us to miss.”
The companions stood in silence, the hidden doorway watching them like a secret finally ready to be found.
I want to find out if the key fits the lock in the door so I ask my oracle. Yes, but…
The key fits but there is a complication.
The hidden archway revealed itself only under the moon’s pale glow, its outline carved into the ravine wall like a memory half‑buried beneath snow. The companions approached cautiously, brushing frost from the stone. Up close, the doorway felt older than the mine beside it — older than the timbers, older than the collapse, older even than the settlement that once worked these tunnels.
Branwen drew the key from her pack.
Cold.
Heavy.
Waiting.
She held it up to the faintly visible lock — a narrow, ancient keyhole almost swallowed by time. The metal of the key seemed to resonate, a faint hum she felt more than heard.
“It fits,” Branwen murmured.
She slid the key into the lock.
It turned.
But not smoothly.
The mechanism resisted, grinding like stone on stone, as though the door had not been opened in centuries. Frost cracked along the archway. Snow shifted underfoot. A low vibration ran through the rock, subtle but unmistakable.
“Yes,” Lini whispered, watching the stone tremble. “But something doesn’t want to let go.”
The lock clicked — a deep, echoing sound that rolled through the ravine like distant thunder.
The doorway did not open.
Instead, a thin line of pale blue light traced the arch, flickering like moonlight on water. The stone shivered, then stilled, as if waiting for something more.
Nyra stepped back, gripping her holy symbol. “This isn’t just a door. It’s a seal.”
Renka swallowed, the shamisen on her back humming faintly in response. “A seal on what?”
Branwen withdrew the key slowly. Frost clung to the metal, and the air around the doorway felt colder than the winter night.
“The key fits,” she said quietly. “But it’s not enough on its own.”
The companions stood before the sealed entrance, the moonlight catching on the faint blue glow. The mine beside them yawned dark and open — but the hidden doorway waited, locked behind more than just metal and stone.
Something else was required.
Something the key alone could not provide.
And the book, silent in Branwen’s pack, seemed to pulse with quiet anticipation.
I decide the best thing for them to do now is rest for the night. They can take shifts to keep watch for the night, in the morning they can head into the main part of the mine and see if they can find whatever they need to open that locked door.
With the moon rising over the ravine and the hidden doorway still sealed behind its faint blue glow, the companions made the only sensible choice left to them: survive the night.
The cold deepened quickly. Snow drifted in slow, heavy flakes, muffling the world into a hush that felt almost sacred. Branwen and Lini moved first, slipping into the treeline to gather what dry wood they could find beneath the shelter of old pines. Most branches were brittle with frost, but here and there they found enough to build a small, cautious fire.
Nyra cleared a space near the rock wall, brushing aside snow until bare earth showed through. Renka unpacked their rations, her breath misting in the air as she arranged what little warmth the food could offer. The shamisen on her back hummed faintly, as if reacting to the cold or the wolves she sensed somewhere beyond the dark.
When the fire finally caught, it was a small, tight flame — just enough to keep the worst of the cold at bay, but not enough to draw unwanted attention. Smoke curled upward in thin, reluctant threads, quickly swallowed by the night.
They ate quietly.
The mine entrance yawned beside them, a black mouth in the earth.
The hidden doorway glimmered faintly under the moon, its seal unbroken.
The book in Branwen’s pack felt warm against her side, as though aware of the night’s stillness.
Branwen took first watch. She stood at the edge of the firelight, bow in hand, eyes scanning the treeline. The wolves did not show themselves, but she felt them — a presence, a pressure, a watching.
Lini took second watch with her Snow Leopard companion Droogami. She listened to the land breathe, to the shifting snow, to the faint pulse of magic beneath the earth. The hidden doorway seemed to glow brighter under her gaze, as if recognising her earlier insight.
Nyra took third. She prayed softly, her breath forming small clouds that drifted upward like offerings. The mine felt old, older than any mortal craft, and she sensed something beneath it — not evil, but waiting.
Renka took the last watch before dawn. The shamisen vibrated gently against her back, a soft, resonant note she felt more than heard. She looked toward the ridge and thought she saw movement — a silhouette, a shape, a wolf perhaps — but when she blinked, it was gone.
By the time the first pale light of morning touched the ravine, the fire had burned down to embers. The companions rose stiff and cold, but alive, their breath steaming in the dawn air.
The mine waited.
The sealed doorway waited.
And somewhere beneath the earth, whatever the key needed — whatever the book wanted them to find — waited as well.
❄️ Dawn at the Mine’s Threshold
Before they walk deeper into the mine, Line and Nyra prepare their spells for the day, Renka checks over her Shamisen, Branwen eats and Droogami paces restlessly.
The night passed slowly.
The fire had burned down to a bed of faintly glowing embers, their warmth barely holding back the cold that seeped from the stone walls of the ravine. Snow had fallen steadily through the dark hours, softening the world into a muted hush. When dawn finally came, it arrived pale and thin, a grey light that crept over the ridge like a hesitant promise.
Branwen was already awake. She stood at the edge of the camp, bow in hand, watching the treeline for any sign of movement. The wolves had not shown themselves again, but she felt their presence lingering in the cold air — a watchfulness that had not faded with the night.
Lini stirred next, brushing frost from her cloak as she rose. Droogami lifted his head from where he’d been curled beside her, his breath forming small clouds in the morning chill. The snow leopard stretched, muscles rippling beneath his pale coat, then padded silently toward the mine entrance, sniffing the air with slow, deliberate care.
Nyri knelt near the embers, her hands cupped around her holy symbol. She whispered her morning prayers into the cold, her breath drifting upward like thin ribbons of smoke. The words were soft, steady, grounding — a quiet anchor against the uncertainty of the day ahead.
Renka sat cross‑legged beside her pack, tuning her shamisen with careful, practiced motions. Each plucked note rang clear in the still air, the sound echoing faintly off the ravine walls. The instrument hummed with a subtle resonance, as if recognising the presence of old magic beneath the earth. Renka paused, listening, then nodded to herself. Her spells were ready — not memorised, but felt, like melodies waiting to be played.
Lini knelt in the snow, drawing small sigils in the frost with her fingertip. The symbols shimmered briefly before fading, absorbed into the cold ground. She murmured to the land, to the stone, to the unseen currents beneath the mine. Droogami returned to her side, brushing against her shoulder as if lending his strength.
Branwen finally stepped back into the circle of companions.
“Tracks are fresh,” she said quietly. “Wolves passed through sometime before dawn. They didn’t come close.”
Renka tightened her cloak. “They’re still watching.”
“Maybe,” Branwen replied. “Or maybe they’re waiting.”
The book in Branwen’s pack felt warm against her side, as though aware of the morning’s preparations. The key, cold and heavy, lay tucked safely away. And the hidden doorway — faintly outlined beneath a dusting of new snow — seemed to pulse with a quiet, patient energy.
Nyri rose, brushing frost from her knees. “We’re ready.”
Lini nodded. “The land is listening.”
Renka slung her shamisen across her back. “And so am I.”
Droogami padded ahead, silent as falling snow, his tail flicking once as he approached the mine’s dark mouth.
Branwen took a steadying breath.
“Right,” she said softly. “Let’s go find what’s buried.”
And as the first true light of morning touched the ravine, the four companions — and the snow leopard who walked with them — stepped into the mine.
They have spent the night in the cave entrance, which is heavy with vegetation, snow has drifted in but the night passed quietly. Nyra the suli cleric and Lini the gnome druid have prepared their spells, Renka has tune her shemisan, Branwen does whatever a Ranger does and Droogami, kept vigil at the mines entrance.
Now they continue into the mine, as they do so it becomes darker. Branwen and Lini lead the way with Renka and Nyra behind them, Droogami chooses to follow behind them, though Lini would rather her snow leopard companion was beside her. After 60′ the mine narrows to a 10′ wide entrance. Branwen goes through first, a burning torch in one hand, shortsword in the other, Lini calls Droogami to her, and follows Branwen, sickle in one hand, ready with a druid spell if need be. Nyra next, her starknife at the ready, Renka last, she holds her simple dagger in one hand, a torch in the other.
Room 2. Storage area. Part of this area has been carved out by hand. There are storage boxes and crates here. The area opens out and, along with the tunnel as far as the eye can see, is supported by wooden posts. There is a strong smell of wine. Are there any monsters in this area? Yes but… Are there any Traps in this area? No. Is there any treasure in this area? Yes, and…
I decide the monsters are kobolds, they have taken over the old mine. This room is their storage area, and there are (1d6+1= 3) three Kobold guards but they are drunk on wine. Are they sleeping? Yes, but… I read that as they are drunk and asleep but have not yet reached the point of passing out. The companions make stealth checks to see if they sneak past. Lets set the bar low, say DC 15. Baranwen has +8 Stealth, she roll 8 = 16, she tiptoes past, makes some slight noise but not enough to wake them. Lini has +7 stealth, she rolls 14 = 21, she passes them buy in silence. Droogami the Snow Leopard has stealth +8, he rolls 3, oops.
Nyra, stelth + 8 rolls 9=17, Renka stealth +6, rolls 9 = 15, just makes it. Kitsune have a reputation as tricksters, perhaps she cannot help herself but play a trick on the drunk kobolds which almost disturbs them but she gets away with it.
🍷 The Wine‑Scented Chamber
The chamber opened before them, carved by hand and reinforced with old timber beams. Branwen’s torchlight swept across crates stacked haphazardly, barrels split open, and a collapsed handcart half‑buried in debris. The smell of wine hung thick in the air — rich, sharp, and strangely out of place in the cold mine.
Droogami padded forward, nose low, tail flicking. He growled softly, not in warning but in curiosity.
“Something’s been here,” Lini murmured.
Branwen nodded. “Recently.”
Nyra stepped toward a shattered barrel, dipping her fingers into the dark stain on the stone. “Wine. A lot of it.”
Renka wrinkled her nose. “Why store wine in a mine?”
Then Branwen holds up her hand, signalling silence. Three kobolds lay sprawled among the crates and broken barrels, snoring softly, their scaly chests rising and falling in uneven rhythm. The wine smell was overpowering now — sharp, sweet, and unmistakably spilled. One kobold still clutched a half‑empty bottle, its clawed fingers twitching occasionally as if dreaming of another drink.
They were asleep…
but not deeply.
The kind of drunken half‑sleep where a loud noise might snap them awake.
Branwen — Stealth 16 (Success)
She moved first, torch held high, sword low. Her boots made the faintest crunch on the stone floor, and one kobold shifted, snorting in its sleep. Branwen froze, breath held, until the creature rolled over and resumed snoring.
She slipped past the crates, disappearing into the shadows beyond.
Lini — Stealth 21 (Success)
Lini followed, Droogami at her heel for the moment. She stepped lightly, her gnomish frame barely disturbing the dust. Even the air seemed to hush around her. She passed within arm’s reach of a kobold whose snout twitched at the scent of her cloak — but it didn’t wake.
She reached Branwen’s side without a sound.
Droogami — Stealth 11 (Failure)
And then came Droogami.
The snow leopard moved with natural grace…
…but the floor was slick with spilled wine.
His paw slipped — just slightly — and his claws clicked against the stone.
A sharp sound in the quiet.
One kobold stirred.
Another snorted.
The third shifted upright for a moment, blinking blearily.
Droogami froze, muscles taut, tail low.
The kobold blinked again…
sniffed the air…
mumbled something in Draconic that sounded like “more wine…”
and flopped back down, snoring louder than before.
They weren’t fully asleep — but they weren’t waking either.
Droogami slunk forward, chastened but unharmed, and joined Lini.
The kobolds snored in uneven, wine‑soaked rhythms, sprawled across crates and broken barrels like discarded puppets. The companions had already slipped past one by one — Branwen steady, Lini silent as frost, Droogami dangerously close to waking them, but ultimately forgiven by luck and drunkenness.
Now only Nyra and Renka remained.
Nyra — Stealth 17 (Success)
Nyra moved with surprising grace for someone in armour. She kept her starknife close to her chest, her steps measured and deliberate. A loose stone shifted under her boot, but she caught herself before it scraped.
One kobold snorted, rolled over, and muttered something about “more wine…”
Nyra froze.
Waited.
Breathed.
The kobold settled.
She slipped past and joined the others in the shadows beyond the crates.
Renka — Stealth 15 (Barely a Success)
Renka exhaled slowly, adjusting her grip on her torch. Kitsune were known for many things — charm, wit, mischief — but not always restraint. And as she passed the nearest kobold, sprawled on its back with its tongue lolling out, she felt a familiar itch.
A trick.
Just a small one.
Nothing harmful.
She crouched, flicked her fingers, and whispered a tiny cantrip — a harmless illusion of a floating wine bottle drifting just above the kobold’s head.
The kobold’s eyes cracked open.
Renka’s heart stopped.
The kobold blinked blearily at the floating bottle…
reached up to grab it…
missed…
and flopped back down with a satisfied grunt.
The illusion winked out.
Renka tiptoed the rest of the way, cheeks flushed, tail twitching with suppressed laughter.
Branwen gave her a look — half exasperation, half admiration.
“You couldn’t help yourself, could you?”
Renka grinned. “They were right there. It would’ve been rude not to.”
🌑 Into the Dark
With all four companions — and one snow leopard — safely past the drunken kobolds, the tunnel ahead beckoned. The air grew colder, the darkness thicker, and the faint smell of wine faded behind them.
Whatever lay deeper in the mine was awake.
And it wasn’t drunk.
As they move quietly and quickly past the dozing kobolds, they have options, go straight ahead (to room 3) or follow a passage to the right. They will follow the passage to the right, this leads them to a new chamber.
Room 4. A pit. In the centre of this cave is a 5′ high clay structure, representing a 15′ wide volcano, it has an opening which is dark, and faint muffled shouts and curses can be heard from within. It doesn’t take a druid to realise that this was built and not a naturally forming structure and someone is trapped within. Monsters in the room? Yes. Kobolds 2d6 = 7
🔥 Room 4 — The Clay Volcano Pit
The passage to the right narrowed, then widened again into a strange, echoing chamber. Branwen raised her torch, and the light revealed something that made everyone pause.
A clay structure, five feet high and roughly circular, dominated the centre of the cave. It looked like a crude model of a volcano — wide base, sloping sides, and a dark opening at the top large enough for a person to crawl into.
The smell of damp clay and stale air hung thick in the room.
And from inside the structure came:
Muffled shouts.
A curse.
A thump.
Someone was trapped inside.
Lini whispered, “This isn’t natural. Kobolds built this.”
Droogami’s ears flattened. He growled low, staring at the clay volcano with hackles raised.
Nyra tightened her grip on her starknife. “Whoever’s in there is alive. For now.”
Renka swallowed. “And whoever put them in there… might still be here.”
Branwen didn’t need to answer. Her torchlight swept across the chamber — and that’s when she saw them.
🐉 Seven Kobolds — “Yes, there are monsters.”
Branwen can see four Kobolds, three standing near the clay volcano, one at the dark entrance of the volcano, its head part way inside, shouting insults. The other three are out of Branwens sight, on the far side of the volcano
Kobolds!
They weren’t drunk like the guards.
They weren’t asleep.
They were alert, armed, and waiting.
But…
They hadn’t noticed the party yet.
One kobold jabbed a stick into the volcano’s opening and shouted something in Draconic — a taunt, a threat, or maybe just cruel amusement.
A muffled voice inside the clay structure shouted back, furious and hoarse.
Branwen’s eyes narrowed. “Someone’s in there. And those kobolds are guarding them.”
Lini whispered, “Or tormenting them.”
Droogami’s tail lashed once, silent but deadly.
Renka’s fingers brushed the strings of her shamisen. “We can’t leave them.”
Nyra nodded. “We won’t.”
The kobolds still hadn’t turned around.
The companions had the advantage — for now.
Droogami can move 35′ and has low light vision.He finds himself 30feet from the nearest kobold, and he can act a bit impulsively, so I think he uses one action to bound to wards the Kobold. Melee he claws +8, (agile, finesse) 1d4+2 slashing. Jaws +8, (finesse) 1d6+2 piercing. He deals 1d4 extra precision damage against off guard targets. Droogami goes in with his claws +8 and rolls 18 = 26. The Kobold AC is 16. So that’s a critical hit. He does 10 damage, the kobold has 7hp, Droogami finishes him off in one pounce.
Droogami hit the kobold like a streak of pale lightning.
One moment the little reptile was jabbing a stick into the clay volcano and muttering drunken insults; the next, a snow‑white blur slammed into it with claws flashing. The kobold didn’t even have time to scream. Droogami’s claws tore through leather and scale, and the creature collapsed in a heap, wine‑soaked breath rattling once before going still.
The other kobolds froze.
For a heartbeat, the chamber was silent except for the muffled shouting from inside the clay volcano.
Droogami stood over the fallen kobold, shoulders low, tail lashing, a deep rumbling growl vibrating through his chest. His blue eyes locked onto the next nearest target — a kobold perched on a crate, mouth hanging open in shock.
Branwen whispered, “Good boy…”
Lini felt the surge of instinct through their bond — the thrill of the hunt, the certainty of the kill, the readiness to strike again.
Nyra tightened her grip on her starknife.
Renka’s ears flattened, her tail flicking with adrenaline.
The kobolds were still off‑guard.
The companions still had the advantage.
And Droogami was already choosing his next victim.
Renka has the second level occult spell invisibility as a speciality. She casts it on herself, then that takes two actions, she can move 25 feet towards the volcano as a third action. That would put her 10 feet from the volcano, and 20 feet from the dark opening in it.
Renka whispered a soft phrase under her breath, fingers brushing the strings of her shamisen. The air shimmered around her, bending light like ripples on water — and then she was gone.
Invisible.
She moved quickly but silently, slipping between two kobolds who were still staring in shock at Droogami’s sudden kill. None of them noticed the faint crunch of her boots on the stone floor.
She reached the edge of the clay volcano, breath steady, heart racing. From inside, the muffled voice shouted again — hoarse, angry, and very much alive.
Renka crouched low, unseen, only ten feet from the structure.
The kobolds had no idea she was there.
Branwen is 40 feet from a Kobold. She already has her shortsword in her hand, she is on the Kobold in two actions. Her third action is to strike with her shortsword +5, (no penalty?). She rolls 11, making 16 same as the kobolds armour, so a hit for 1d6 damage, she rolls 2. The Kobold is down to 5 hp.
Branwen sprinted across the chamber, boots pounding softly on the stone floor. The kobold barely had time to turn before she was on it, torchlight flashing across her blade. She drove her shortsword forward in a clean, practiced thrust.
The kobold shrieked as the blade cut across its ribs, staggering back with a hiss, clutching the wound. It wasn’t down — not yet — but it was hurt, and very suddenly aware that the shadows now held enemies.
Nyra has Spiritual Armament spell, range 120 feet, target 1 creature, damage 2d8. She creates a magical echo of her starknife. She can just see the kobold standing at the entrance of the clay volcano, taunting whatever is down there. It takes her two actions to cast the spell, she makes a spell attack +8 against the AC of the of the kobold 16. She rolls 18 making 26 a critical hit, double damage so 4d8 = 19, the kobold only has 7hp, that’s cut the creature to ribbons, but opens the way for Renka to enter the clay volcano next round. 5 kobolds left.
Nyra lifted her holy symbol, the cold air shimmering around her hand. A ghostly echo of her starknife formed beside her — translucent, razor‑sharp, and humming with divine force. With a whispered invocation, she sent it streaking across the chamber like a bolt of moonlight.
The kobold at the volcano’s mouth turned just in time to see the blade descend.
It never had a chance.
The spiritual starknife sliced cleanly through scale and leather, the impact sending the kobold tumbling backward into the clay mound with a wet, final thud. The creature slid down the side of the volcano, leaving a dark smear in its wake.
Lini has acid grip spell, range 120 feet, targets I creature. Defence reflex. A taloned hand grips the target burning it with magic acid causing 2d8 damage (that’s brutal!) plus 1d6 persistent damage depending on its reflex save. So Lini targets a kobold some 50 feet away, the only one she can clearly see. I don’t know hat a kobold warriors reflex save would be, just found it +7. Linis spell DC is 19, so I am guessing the kobold rolls d20 and gets a 9 +7 = 16, below linis DC of 19, so takes 2d8 + 1d6 persistent damage, 9 +1 = 10, with only 7hp another kobold is downed.
Lini raised her hand, fingers curling like talons as she whispered the druidic syllables. The air shimmered, then condensed into a spectral claw made of swirling green acid. It shot across the chamber with a hiss, gripping the kobold squarely around the chest.
The creature shrieked — a high, panicked sound — as the acid burned through its leather jerkin and scales. It staggered backward, clawing at the dissolving imprint of the spectral hand.
Then it collapsed, smoke rising from the sizzling wound.
A final drop of acid fell from the invisible claw’s fading outline, landing on the kobold’s chest with a soft hiss.
Round 2 of Combat.
🦊 Renka’s Whisper
Renka is still invisible, still silent, and still untouched by the chaos erupting around her.
She steps lightly over the freshly‑slain kobold at the volcano’s mouth — its body still warm, Nyra’s spiritual starknife having carved it open like parchment. The clay mound looms above her, crude and uneven, its opening wide enough for a person to crawl through.
Inside, the air is warmer, close, and smells of damp clay and kobold musk.
Renka peers down.
Renka crouched at the lip of the clay shaft, the muffled sounds of battle echoing behind her. A half‑elf woman below glared upward, chest heaving, ready to spit another curse at whatever kobold she thought was looming over her.
Renka leaned in, still invisible, still silent as moonlight.
And whispered.
“Keep still. We’re here to help.”
The woman froze.Her eyes widened, scanning the darkness above her.
“…Who’s there?” she hissed, voice low now, the anger replaced by sharp, trained caution.
“A friend,” Renka murmured. “Your captors are… being dealt with.”
A beat of silence.
Then the faintest exhale — relief, disbelief, and exhaustion all tangled together.
“I can’t climb,” the woman whispered back. “Hands are tied. Leg’s not great either.”
“I know,” Renka said softly. “Stay quiet. Help is coming.”
Below, the Pathfinder agent shifted her weight, pressing herself against the clay wall to stay out of sight should any kobold peer down again. She didn’t shout. She didn’t panic. She simply waited — trusting the unseen voice.
Renka remained at the rim of the pit, invisible and watchful, ready to guide the others the moment they reached her.
Lini sprinted across the chamber, boots skidding slightly on loose gravel as she rounded the massive clay volcano. The sounds of battle echoed behind her — Droogami’s growl, Branwen’s blade striking scale, Nyra’s spiritual weapon humming through the air — but she trusted them. They could handle the kobolds.
Renka, though… Renka was invisible and alone inside the volcano. And someone down there needed help.
Lini reached the entrance, stepping over the still‑smouldering kobold Nyra had cut down. The clay tunnel sloped inward, warm and close, and she ducked inside.
“Renka?” she whispered.
No answer — but she knew the kitsune was here somewhere.
She crept to the edge of the shaft and peered down.
A deep pit.
A bound Pathfinder agent at the bottom.
Bruised, angry, alive.
And utterly unable to climb.
Lini blinked
“Oh! Hello.”
The agent blinked back, utterly wrong‑footed.
“…Hello?” she whispered, as if unsure whether she was hallucinating a friendly gnome.
Behind Lini, the muffled sounds of battle continued — Droogami snarling, Branwen’s blade ringing against scale, Nyra’s spiritual weapon humming through the air. But inside the volcano, the moment was strangely calm.
Renka, still invisible, stifled a laugh.
The agent let out a shaky breath. “Are… are you with the others?”
Lini nodded brightly. “Yes! We’re rescuing you.”
The agent sagged with relief, the tension in her shoulders finally loosening.
Outside the clay volcano the battle continued.
A kobold darted out from behind the clay volcano, eyes wide, spear trembling in its hands. It took one look at Droogami — still crouched over a corpse, growling — and made a very quick decision.
It sprinted toward Branwen instead.
“Hey!” Branwen snapped as the creature lunged at her side. The spear scraped across her armour, biting into her ribs just enough to sting. She gritted her teeth, shifting her stance as the kobold hissed triumphantly.
Now she had two kobolds in her face.
Droogami snarled, ready to pounce again.
Nyra’s spiritual weapon hovered, waiting for her next command.
Inside the volcano, Lini and Renka were preparing the rescue.
Four kobolds remained — but the battle was far from over.
Droogami padded forward with the lazy confidence of a predator who already knew how this would end. He gave a long, theatrical yawn — jaws wide, fangs gleaming — as if bored by the kobolds’ frantic squeaking.
Then he moved.
A blur of white fur and muscle slammed into the kobold flanking Branwen. The creature barely had time to turn before Droogami’s claws raked across its chest in a perfect, brutal arc. The kobold crumpled instantly, collapsing at Branwen’s feet in a spray of dust and loose scales.
Branwen didn’t even flinch. “Thanks,” she muttered, shifting her stance to face the next threat.
Droogami flicked his tail, eyes already searching for his next victim.
The battle was over, the three remaining kobold’s, seeing their comrades cut to ribbons, ran for their lives, and help.
With rope and the help of Branwen, Renka and Lini pull the elven pathfinder from the pit.
to be continued
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