>>5432541Your wings prove useful as you progress, for the tight tunnels open up periodically into wider space, whereby you and the clumsily-sailing Junior Novice can glide or fly across to avoid an arduous climb down and then back up. Frequently, you see signs of the ghouls’ passage or prolonged presence here: gnawed bones, strung-up strands of hair dangling collections of shells and cave-rat bones, filthy and matted ‘nests’ of tattered cloth and soiled fur. Stolen grave-goods are present, too, appealing briefly to your greed… But no, your hoard is already too great to trouble yourself with trifles.
(Maybe on the way back?)
You eventually find your missing scout, and almost kick yourself—or the Junior Novice or, most deservingly, Hamaraska. The androgynous elven lancer is unharmed, still armed, and yet has not returned!
“Where were you?!” you demand, as you approach, only for the dark-eyed elf to hush you with a finger to their full lips. The indignity! The… The SASS!
“I don’t speak Drow sign-language,” you huff, when the elf begins to explain by that peculiar method.
They sigh, and settle for whispering: “They have taken Honemdyn.”
“Honem-who?” you ask, confused.
Wait…
“The centipede?” you ask.
The Drow nods, and gestures down, over the up of the tunnel through which you both squirm, just like bugs, just like Honemdyn.
The Junior Novice chokes a wailing whine before it begins, smart enough to realize this is not the time and place to make much noise. You can feel the tingle of the chimeric creature’s emotions—draconic will to destroy and dominate battling a natural ‘dogbold’ cowardice.
Or… A ghouls’ cowardice?
