The four companions plus droogami and the Pathfinder elf walk deeper into the mine. They enter a large chamber. Like the first chamber they entered, much of it has at sometime been carved by hand and the tunnels are supported by old wooden posts. A search of this room reveals no monsters. The pathfinder hopes her equipment is here but its not. I also ask the oracle if there is any treasure and get yes, but...
🪵 The Chamber (room 13)— Quiet, but Not Empty
The six of you step into the chamber, torchlight flickering across rough‑hewn walls and old timber supports. Dust hangs in the air. Droogami’s whiskers twitch, but he doesn’t growl — no enemies here.
The Pathfinder elf scans the room with hopeful eyes, but her shoulders sag when she sees no sign of her gear.
“Damn. They must have moved it.”
Branwen checks the corners.
Renka tests the floor with her boot.
Lini peers behind a stack of old crates.
Nyra lets her starknife drift in a slow, watchful orbit.
Nothing dangerous.
Nothing alive.
Branwen’s torchlight swept across the chamber, catching on something half‑buried behind a leaning support beam. Renka crouched, brushing away clay dust to reveal a small wooden box, its lid bound with crude twine. “There’s something here,” she murmured.
The Pathfinder elf leaned closer. “Is that… mine?”
Renka shook her head. “No. Kobold‑made. And recently.”
Lini tapped the support beam with a knuckle. “Careful. This post is doing more work than it looks.”
Nyra’s eyes narrowed. “Treasure, perhaps. But not freely given.”
Droogami sniffed the air, tail flicking. Whatever lay ahead in the mine, this was only the beginning.
Renka checks the box for traps before she opens it. I play it like this. First Renka makes a perception check to see if she would notice a trap. If she passes her perception check then she would, fail the check she wouldn't. Then I ask the oracle if there actually is a trap.
So it plays out like this - I set the DC at 15, Renka has a Perception of +8, she rolls 18, giving her 26, a great success. I ask the oracle if the little casket is trapped and get Yes. With a great success, Renka not only notices the trap but easily disarms it allowing her to open the led and see whats inside.
Renka paused, the twine between her fingers. Something about the knot… the weight of the lid… the way the box sat slightly crooked on the stone…
Her ears twitched.
“Hmm,” she murmured, lowering it and narrowing her eyes. “Let’s take a closer look.”
She ran her fingertips along the edge, feeling for seams, wires, or pressure points. The others watched her in the flickering torchlight, the chamber silent except for Droogami’s slow, steady breathing.
Whatever the kobolds had done here, it wasn’t as simple as it looked.
Renka froze, ears twitching, eyes narrowing at the crude twine. “Ah. Clever little pests,” she murmured.
She turned the box slightly, revealing a thin sliver of metal tucked beneath the lid — a spring‑loaded shard of sharpened bone, rigged to snap upward the moment the twine was pulled.
“See this?” she said softly, tapping the mechanism with a clawed fingertip. “If I’d tugged the knot, this would’ve gone straight into my thumb.”
Lini winced. “Ouch.”
Renka smiled faintly. “Not today.”
With a practiced flick, she pressed the catch, released the tension, and let the bone shard snap harmlessly into her palm. Then she unwound the twine and lifted the lid with a flourish.
Droogami huffed approvingly.
Branwen raised an eyebrow.
Nyra gave a small, impressed nod.
The Pathfinder elf leaned in, hopeful.
The box was safe.
The trap was gone.
And whatever lay inside was finally theirs to see.
Renka lifted the lid, expecting something dramatic after the trap she’d just disarmed. Instead, the interior held a small pouch of coins — silver glinting dully in the torchlight, with a few gold pieces nestled among them.
“Well,” she said, “not bad. 3 gold, 14 silver”
Branwen nodded. “Kobolds don’t waste coin. They must’ve taken this off miners or travellers.”
The Pathfinder elf sighed. “Not my gear, but… it’s something.”
Nyra closed the box gently. “We’ll find the rest.”
Droogami flicked his tail, unimpressed by the lack of meat or danger, and padded toward the next tunnel.
The mine stretched ahead, quiet and waiting.
but that support beam, lets ask the oracle if it gives way? Yes and... That's not good.
A “Yes, and…” means:
- Yes, the beam collapses
- And something else happens that complicates the situation
But it shouldn’t be catastrophic — just enough to raise tension and shift the environment.
As Renka pockets the coins and steps back, the old wooden support gives a long, low groan — the kind that makes everyone freeze.
Then it snaps.
Clay and dust cascade down the wall. The beam splinters, falls sideways, and slams into the ground with a heavy thud. The chamber shakes, but not enough to collapse the whole room.
Yes, the beam gives way.
And… the collapse reveals...
When the dust settles, the companions see that the fallen beam has knocked loose a section of the clay wall behind it. A narrow gap now yawns open — a rough, dark tunnel the kobolds had concealed or abandoned.
It wasn’t on the Pathfinder elf’s map.
It wasn’t part of the original mine layout.
And it smells… wrong.
A faint draft of cold, stale air drifts out.
Droogami’s fur bristles.
Nyra’s eyes narrow.
Branwen lifts her torch, the flame guttering in the new airflow.
The Pathfinder elf whispers, “That wasn’t here before.
When the air cleared, the companions saw the damage — and the unexpected opening behind it.
A narrow, jagged tunnel stretched into darkness, its walls untouched by tools. Natural. Ancient. Wrong.
Renka tilted her head. “Well. That’s new.”
Lini swallowed. “I don’t like that smell.”
Branwen raised her torch, the flame flickering as the cold draft washed over them. “Whatever’s down there… the kobolds didn’t dig it.”
Nyra rested a hand on her starknife. “Then we should tread carefully.”
The mine had just become something deeper — and stranger.
As I am trying to play this using the Deck of Many Things lets try this.
Is there a monster down their? Yes. Card drawn Balance, so a fiend.
Is it trapped? Yes. Card drawn Campfire, so a trap with an ongoing effect.
Is there Treasure? Yes, but... Card drawn Mage, a magical item, a staff or wand.
I read all that as there is a Quasit at the end of the mine shaft, it is bound by ring of ever burning runes. Inside the runes along with the Quasit is a staff of fire.
The dust finally settled, drifting down in soft grey sheets. Where the support beam had snapped, the wall behind it had crumbled just enough to reveal a narrow, slanting passage — a dark wound in the stone, breathing out a faint draft of warm air.
Branwen lifted her torch, the flame guttering as the heat brushed past. “That wasn’t here before.”
Renka stepped closer, ears twitching, eyes narrowing at the darkness. “Only one way to find out what’s down there.”
Nyra’s starknife hovered at her side, spinning in a slow, watchful circle. “The kobolds didn’t dig this. The stone’s too clean.”
Lini swallowed, clutching her staff. “Do we… go in?”
The Pathfinder elf looked from the broken beam to the new passage, then nodded. “If my gear isn’t in the storeroom, it must be deeper. And this is the only way we haven’t checked.”
Droogami padded forward, sniffing the air, fur bristling. Whatever lay ahead, he didn’t like it.
Branwen exhaled, steadying herself. “All right. Stay close. Watch your footing. And if anything moves, shout.”
One by one, the companions stepped into the newly opened shaft, the torchlight stretching long shadows across the rough stone. The air grew warmer. The walls narrowed. And somewhere ahead, faint and flickering, a reddish glow pulsed like the heartbeat of the earth.
The chamber at the end of the shaft glowed with a dull, ember‑red light. A ring of runes burned steadily on the stone floor, their heat washing over the companions like the breath of a furnace.
Inside the circle, a tiny fiend crouched and hissed, its wings curled tight against its back. The flames kept it penned in, snapping at its claws whenever it tried to cross.
Beside the creature lay a staff of dark wood, its tip glowing like a coal in the dark.
Renka whispered, “That’s… valuable.”
Nyra murmured, “And very much trapped.”
The Pathfinder elf swallowed. “If we break the circle, the fiend goes free.”
Branwen tightened her grip on her torch. “Then we don’t break it.”
Droogami growled low, fur bristling.
The staff gleamed in the firelight.
The Quasit hissed.
And the runes burned on, eternal and unbroken.
For a long moment, no one moved.
The heat from the runes shimmered in the air, warping the edges of the chamber. The Quasit crouched low, its eyes like burning coals, watching every twitch of the companions’ hands. The staff beside it pulsed faintly, as if responding to the magic that held the fiend in place.
Renka exhaled slowly. “We’re not leaving that behind.”
Nyra nodded. “But we’re not stepping into that circle either.”
Branwen glanced at the tools they carried, then at the staff lying just out of reach. “We don’t have to.”
Lini blinked. “What do you mean?”
Branwen tapped the haft of Nyra’s staff with her knuckles. “We make our own reach.”
Renka’s ears perked. “A hook.”
Nyra lifted her staff. Lini raised her scythe. Renka was already uncoiling a length of rope from her pack.
Within moments, the three of them were crouched together, hands moving with quiet purpose. The scythe’s curved blade was lashed to the end of Nyra’s staff, the rope pulled tight and knotted with Renka’s quick, deft fingers. It looked crude — but sturdy.
Droogami watched with narrowed eyes, tail flicking. The Quasit hissed, sensing the shift in intent.
Branwen stepped forward, torch held high. “Careful. The runes flare when you get too close.”
Renka took the improvised hook, testing its weight. “I only need to get it around the staff.”
Nyra steadied her. “Slow and steady.”
The heat intensified as Renka extended the pole toward the circle. The runes brightened, their ember‑red glow pulsing in warning. The Quasit scuttled backward, claws scraping the stone, its gaze fixed on the approaching hook.
Renka’s breath caught as the scythe blade slid past the edge of the runes. Just a little further. Just enough.
The curved blade caught the staff’s haft.
“Got it,” she whispered.
She pulled.
The staff scraped across the stone, inch by inch, the runes flaring brighter with every movement. The Quasit shrieked, lunging toward it — only to be snapped back by the burning ward.
Renka gritted her teeth, pulling harder.
The rope creaked.
The runes flared.
The Quasit screamed.
And then — with a final tug — the staff slid free of the circle.
Renka stumbled back, clutching the prize. The runes dimmed slightly, settling into their steady ember‑glow once more.
Nyra let out a breath she’d been holding. “Well done.”
Lini sagged with relief. “And the fiend stays put.”
The Quasit pressed itself against the inside of the circle, eyes burning with hatred — but it could do nothing.
Branwen nodded toward the tunnel. “Let’s get out of here before it finds a way to change that.”
Droogami growled in agreement.
Staff in hand, the companions turned back toward the mine, the glow of the runes fading behind them as they stepped once more into the dark.
Renka staggered back with the staff in her hands, the improvised hook clattering to the stone floor. The runes dimmed to their steady ember‑glow once more, and the chamber fell into a tense, wavering silence.
Inside the circle, the Quasit shrieked.
It hurled itself at the boundary, claws scraping against invisible force. The runes flared, snapping at its limbs like fiery jaws. The fiend recoiled with a hiss, wings twitching, eyes burning with hatred.
“You… thieves…” it rasped. “Give it back…”
Nyra stepped forward, placing herself between Renka and the circle. “Not a chance.”
Branwen lowered her torch, watching the creature carefully. “It’s trapped. It can’t reach us.”
“That doesn’t make it happy,” Lini murmured.
Renka turned the staff over in her hands. The dark wood was warm — almost hot — and faint lines of dwarven script ran along its length, glowing softly like veins of molten metal.
“This is… something,” she said quietly.
Nyra folded her arms. “Something dangerous.”
Branwen nodded. “Something useful.”
The Pathfinder elf cleared her throat. “Something we should decide on before we leave this room.”
Droogami huffed, unimpressed by magical politics.
Renka held the staff a little tighter. “So… who gets it?”
The Quasit screamed again, a thin, furious sound swallowed by the burning runes.
The companions exchanged looks.
And the argument began.
Renka handed the staff to the others as they stepped back into the cooler air of the mine shaft. The glow at its tip dimmed to a steady ember‑light, warm against the stone.
Nyra and Lini stood shoulder to shoulder, both staring at it.
Lini tilted her head. “Well… it’s definitely magical. And sturdy. I could use it as a walking stick. Or a poking stick. Or—”
Nyra cleared her throat. “It’s a Staff of Fire.”
Everyone turned.
The Suli cleric held the staff with a reverence that surprised even her. She traced the faint dwarven script with a fingertip, her eyes narrowing in concentration.
“These runes,” she murmured, “they’re not decorative. They’re channels. Fire magic, bound and shaped. This isn’t just a staff — it’s a conduit.”
Lini blinked. “Are you sure? It just looks… warm.”
Nyra smiled, a little smugly. “I’m sure.”
Renka folded her arms, amused. “Well, someone’s been paying attention in temple.”
Branwen nodded. “If she recognises it, she should wield it.”
Lini puffed out her cheeks, clearly torn between pride and disappointment. “I mean… I could use it. But if it’s really a fire staff, then… well… Nyra probably won’t set herself on fire by accident.”
Nyra lifted the staff, holding it upright. The ember‑glow brightened, as if responding to her touch.
“Watch,” she said.
She whispered a word in a language older than the mine itself. The runes along the staff flared, and a small, controlled blossom of flame burst from the tip — bright, hot, and perfectly shaped.
Droogami yelped and jumped back.
Renka laughed.
Branwen raised an impressed eyebrow.
The Pathfinder scout nodded approvingly.
Lini sighed, shoulders slumping. “Fine. You win.”
Nyra lowered the staff, the flame vanishing in an instant. She looked almost embarrassed by the attention — but proud, too.
“I’ll use it well,” she said quietly.
The Quasit’s distant shriek echoed faintly from the sealed chamber behind them, furious and impotent.
And with the staff now claimed, the companions turned back toward the deeper tunnels of the mine, the ember‑light of their new prize flickering softly in the dark
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