Pomona walked down the old road, dust getting on her pale feet. She had heard that other adventurers were gathering nearby to delve into a nearby dungeon.

There was a crossroads ahead, one road a old worn flagstone intersecting the dusty road of travelers. A marker sat at the intersection, time having long ago worn away the writing upon it. But as she came upon the old stone marker something else became apparent. Stones, stacked in front of it. Eight stones, roughly the same size, stacked one of top of the other in a small tower. There were more as well, eight stacks in all around the crossroads in equal distance from one another, all roughly the same height, each one containing eight stones. Then, breaking through the quiet loneliness of the road, there came a whistling. At present, the source of the merry little tune came into sight over the crest of a yonder hill off the the right of the road. He was an gangling looking young man, with ashy skin and deep sunken eyes, his hair where it hadn't prematurely balded an oily tangled black mess. He had a long black robe, the hem and sleeves stained, tattered, and dirty, and a strange metal belt that seemed to be made of belt clasps. Despite his sickly appearance though there was an undoubtable bounce in his step that caused his strange belt to jingle as he walked, especially as he got closer. Over his shoulder he carried a meticulously polished shovel and under his arm looked like a collection of stick dolls, eight in all. He walks right up to the crossroads in some sort of bubbly trance, his focus on the crossroads so intense that he doesn't even notice Pomona until he stepped onto the road, whereupon the latest whistle dies in his throat and he stops short. He just stares at her like a deer in the headlights for a few moment, then glances down at his dolls. This close, they look to have been tied together with his own hair. He looks back up her, then back down at them, then from side to side before again back at her. He clears his throat a few times. "Good afternoon." He says.

Pomona turned to find a man standing at the crossroads. "Oh, hello! Are you also interested in the ruins as well? My name is Pomona" She extended her clawed hand to him, offering a handshake. Privately, she found him somewhat strange, with his ashen skin and frayed robe. Then again, she found the presence of hair on one's head to be an oddity, and she never understood footwear. Of course, she dressed in very little, with only a loincloth, a top, and a belt with a pouch and two scabbards for her daggers. Otherwise, her soft, pink and white skin was totally uncovered. At least she believed in some decency, as she would not let anyone see her in anything less, at least in public.

"Ruins?" He asks, confused, before his eyes flicked to the daggers on her belt. "No, yes, ruins, of course. I am very interested in ruins." He looks at her extended hand, then looks back down at the dolls. He weights his option, and then elects to let his shovel clatter to the ground in lieu of releasing his iron grip on the eight of them. He takes her hand in a vigorous shake. "Yes, My name is Bishop. Bishop Bishop. _Bishop_ Bishop Bishop, at your service. You could say I have a great interest places of antiquity."

Pomona thought him even stranger than before, but remained polite. "Pleased to meet you, Bishop. I've heard this dungeon has many undead, so a bishop or other cleric would be useful for turning them. Or dispelling them. Whatever. I mostly just stab things with my daggers" she drew the right dagger and tossed it a bit in the air, catching it by its handle and putting it back in its sheath. "I'm not exactly built for heavy combat, though."

He leans back quickly as the dagger comes out and puts his free hand on his chin to consider. He looks around at the little piles of stones around the crossroads. It had taken him literally hours to find stones within the right size and shape to suit his purposes, and even longer to march off to the woods to get sticks for making the victim proxies, and his window for the ritual was rapidly closing and the stars wouldn't be in the proper alignment for another sixteen years. On the other hand there was an adventurer here and she'd probably do something to stop Yubar the Eightfold Terror from taking his place as sovereign ruler of the eight corners of existence. He had personally seen what happened to the people that screw up performing this ritual even slightly. Well, the aftermath. He'd been in the bathroom. There was really no point in taking chances, was there? Besides which, something might happen to this person if they trumped off all alone into an undead filled ruin all alone and that would just eat at his Conscience. "Yeah, no, undead, I could probably do something about those." He said, walking over to one of the stone piles and kicking it over. There was a feeling like space being snapped liked an elastic waistband as magic was released from the circle, every rock tower spilling over along with it. He picked back up his shovel, spun it once, a laid it on his shoulder. The end of the world could wait for sixteen years, right now it was time for high adventure. It wasn't every day, after all, that someone wanted to include him in anything. "So, meeting up with anyone before heading dungeon delving?" He asked.

"I guess that'd be me, boy" said a heavily accented, raspy voice. Dain, who'd walked up to the two tall ones all quiet-like, had came up beside the man called Bishop Bishop and greeted the two travellers with a common dwarven gesture. "Even though scales here mightn't be expecting it." He wasn't half their physical size, but made up for it with a certain air of presence. His entire existence breathed experience, as well as wear and tear. There wasn't an inch of him that wasn't covered in a wrinkle, scar, dent or dirt. He put his thumbs in his belt and leaned backwards, stretching his back while eying the two of them, measuring them. "Name's Dain" he said, "Of the Muspel Mines. No need to introduce yourselves, I overheard you just now. Fancy you need another arm or leg to stay alive 'round here, so count me in on any exploring you've planned." He snorted audibly, blew a big glob of spit into his palm and held it out to the both of them. "As a sign of good faith" he said, offering a smile that was all teeth but no joy.

Bishop takes the hand as eagerly as he took Pomona's, shaking it with joy. "Pleased to make your acquaintance Dain. Pleasure, pleasure, pleasure." He had never met a dwarf he didn't like. Dawrfs were rocks in any situation. He'd never never seen a dwarf lose his head, even if that dwarf was about to lose his head. They made a good foundation for dealing with the esoteric and unknown. Kept everyone else grounded with their demeanor, and this guy had demeanor in spades. "The Muspel Mines, you say? That's a good distance away, isn't it?" He asked.

"Aye" said Dain, pressing the hand of the bishop, "'tis." Letting go of the hand, he gave the landscape arond them a questioning glance and cocked one eyebrow. "This place is quite the mood-killer, isn't it? You'll find more cheer in a graveyard." He chuckled suddenly, as if someone had told a joke, and added "Although I suppose you could say we're in one, eh?"

"I don't know, seems pretty all right to me." Bishop said as his voice was carried off into the distance and brutally devoured by the isolation. "Quiet. If you could solve the undead problem it'd be quite a nice place to relax, meditate, ponder the secrets of the universe and such."

"Pleased to meet you, Dain. I guess the three of us can handle ourselves. They say every adventuring party needs people who can do four things: a front-line fighter, an offensive mage, a healer, and someone who can handle locks and traps. I got that last one covered, and Bishop can heal and turn the undead. I guess you can fight well, Dain?" Pomona didn't want to stereotype dwarves, but they had a reputation for being good fighters.

"I never said I could heal things." Bishop states. "I'm a Bishop in the fact that I've been a high ranking member of several religious organizations before, well, tragedy struck. I'm actually between gods at the moment, what you caught me at here was an attempt to gain the notice of one I've read about that, uh, uh, failed. Completely and utterly, I'm afraid. I can take care of undead, I have things that can do that like I told you, but I'm really not the person you'd come to for, say, a broken arm or profuse bleeding."

The dwarf chuckled and gave a small nod. "Meditate, eh?" he said, smiling, "I suppose. Although, I've never been one for spiritual things myself. Me," he added, pointing at himself, "I'm here for the booty." He turned to Pomona at the mention of his fighting abilities. True enough, he had been through quite a few scrapes in his time. His dented shield and nicked blade could tell you as much in a single glance. "Aye, I can fight. But if you expect me to stand in front of you when the dead come calling, you'd better also expect me to take the bigger share. Greater risk equals greater reward, no?" If you're good at something, a wise man once told him, never do it for free.

(Sorry! I had the flu) "Well, you two can take a larger share of the reward. Even a small cut of the spoils should be enough to satisfy almost anyone" Pomona pointed out.

"Oh, that's quite all right. I've have no great desire for earthly things. I would be content with enough money to get by and any interesting artifacts or books."

Dain couldn't help raising his eyebrows. That went well. Perhaps too well. "Glad you see it my way!" he said, "Then I guess there's no use in standing about here any longer. Let's get to it!" The dungeon he'd heard about wasn't far off from the road, so the dwarf set off towards it while humming tunelessly to himself.

"Lets." Bishop said cheerily, placing the shovel back on his shoulder and redoubling his deathgrip on the dolls. He gave one final look around at the ritual site, committing it to memory in case he ever wanted to come back, and followed after the dwarf. " I think this is going to be a lovely diversion."

"I don't know about that, but it should be lucrative, that's for sure. Now, shall we go down the path to the entrance? I know the way" Pomona told them, pointing in the direction of the dungeon.