Below the uppermost level of the dungeon are cavernous tunnels leading in all directions, full of bioluminescent fungi and other fauna ripe for harvesting, but to those carelessly wandering it would be easy to miss the silvery outline of webbing near one of the tunnels leading down a level that of the webs made by Scri'erk as she lay in wait for her next meal. It seemed lately her meals were mostly the blood of dark elves, not that it wasn't a bad thing of course as at the moment the arachnid was well-fed.

Wandering amongst the fungi was the catlike demon Dylirius, picking a choice mushroom cap here and there unbeknownst to the presence of another, the Spore that Speaks silently tended to the patches of glowing fungus sprouting from the decaying remains of an elf likely another dark elf but it didn't concern it at the very least.

Heavy footsteps shook the caves as a lumbering construct stomped down one of the tunnels, and unfortunately right through a web completely ruining the strands of webbing and sending vibrations to the spider that weaved it. Patrolling the area far more carefully than her brethern had Yvaine the dark elf navigated the winding network of passages with ease before coming upon the remains of a recent camp, unmistakably that of her kind.

She was sure her people were up to something, but what?

Zarroy was unsure of how long he has been traveling down the tunnels. Sometimes he could walk with great posture other times he had to crawl and pull himself through the openings. He had been given a task by one of the older and wiser denizens to go look for more survivors in a section of Everdark that was further back into the cave network. Zarroy was holding a young goblin that fit fairly well into the palm of his hand. The goblins childish face peeked out into the darkness.

"Are you sure this is the right way?"

Zarroy was silent for a moment as the single flaming orb in his eye moved from darkness to more darkness, before he started to continue forward. The goblin glanced up at the golem who merely nodded his head. Zarroy knew these tunnels well. After a few more minutes of walking in silence the goblin made a pssssssh noise and flailed its arms about wildly.

"I wish you wouldn't do that."

The goblin groaned at Zarroy as it was in the process of trying to remove the overly sticky webbing from its face and hair once again. This was only like the seventh web Zarroy had casually waltzed through. The golem chuckled slightly creating a grating noise, as its eye glanced down at his companion. If the goblin had been by himself, he would have had to go the long way around multiple times as he wasn't strong enough to get through the webbings. Soon the duo reached there goal. A small ruined gathering of buildings. Most of the communities in Everdark were unnamed or were only referred to by the most popular building amongst them. This little spot was referred to as Slumbering Lantern as the main buildings light sources seemed to invoke drossiness. The buildings were all ruined and for the most part demolished save for its namesake.

Zarroy grabbed one of the fallen walls of a smaller building with three of his four arms and pulled the wall back sending it crashing down with a loud noise and the two waited for the dust to settle as they looked into the remains of the house. Zarroy gently set the goblin down as he moved into the house and kneeled down in front of a body. It looked like a empty medieval suit of armor, except it was crushed inward in parts and the helmet was completely caved in. Zarroy scooped the body up into two of his arms as his eye inspected one of his old friends. The golem had heard about death many times and while he didn't fully comprend it, he knew it was an eternal sleep. The little goblin scurried off deeper into the house to see if there was any survivors as Zarroy was processing his emotions.

Thin, spindly pedipalps scrapped again the ground around Scri'erk inquisitively probing the areas where her poor vision failed to fill the gaps. Her low hunkered body easily fit into a large gash in the wall where an earth tremor long ago likely split the walls. It hardly mattered to the large bug hiding in her newest trap. A large web she held with her front claws concealed her body and allowed her to use her longer appendages to check her various webs to see if a meal had been caught. She had gone nearly two days now since her last catch. Perhaps she needed to innovate once more.

Her train of thought was cut off as around her the earth shook again and again, getting increasingly more intense. Her pedipalps curled in to join the rest of her in fear, she had this happen every couple of weeks or so. All the webs she sprawled out would be ravaged, all because of a foolish denizen of the Everdark. As the tremors reached their crescendo, Scri'erks eyes struggled to watch the bane of her existence bumble on by. As the golem walked by her, Scri'erk scurried after it, eager to give the major pain in her Thorax a piece of her mind. Unfortunately, her low-crawling steps were nothing to the long legs of her adversary and she was struggling to keep up. Only when they stopped in an abandoned house did she reach them.

"Broke webs! Traps gone!" Scri'erk rasped. Mimicking language was not something she was great at, but over time she had learned to speak the common tongue of the underdark. Plenty of practice with those stuck in her webs gave her the skill, but it made her throat hoarse to do.
"Webs mine! Don't broke!"

Zarroy's rough hand rubbed against the caved in helmet. He really did not understand why the adventurers had to come and make his friends disappear. This suit of armor was a living being that had been a force for justice around Everdark, a friend and stalwart champion to all. His name was Bartholomew and Zarroy could never call him by it often getting lost half way through his name. It made for a funny interaction between the two, but it was one Zarroy would have to place within a memory because it would happen no more.

"Broke webs! Traps gone!" Scri'erk rasped.

As Zarroy heard a familiar voice in it's familiar tone, he slightly turned his head as his sole fiery eye focused on the large spider. If the onyx golem could smile it would. He stood up and turned to face his friend.

"Webs mine! Don't broke!"

"Friend Sci.....Srii...Scii....SPIDER!!"

Zarroy's voice echoed outward from his face despite the lack of a mouth. He lumbered quickly towards Scri'erk stopping in front of the spider and bending down to be closer to it and tilted his head much like a puppy would and reached his hand out in an effort to pet the spider.

"Have you been well?"

Far removed from the patchwork of tunnels below, Everdark stood silent it's halls littered with the remains of the fallen all in various stages of decay. No noise permeated the dark corridors until a slight clickety-clack broke the silence as a lone skeleton wandered the lonely expanse of a narrow passageway intersecting in a forked path leading towards the crypts and the old goblin territory, a faint mournful cry drifted from one of the barren crypts that of a womans voice.

Deep in the long abandoned goblin territory stalked a handsome looking man with pale skin yet his fair looks were marred by the red hungry looking eyes he had darting around the dirty room once occupied by goblinoids, his keen vision spotting a rodent scurrying across the floor.

Hecate floated gently through the crypts. The decaying bodies of her friends filled her with sorrow and she let out another cry. She sighed and moved on, right through a wall. As she emerged on the other side, she saw a man she wanted to avoid at all costs. She had seen him performing rituals before, and magic terrified her. She turned around and went the opposite way, hoping that she wasn't spotted. Before long, she ran into a skeleton rattling through the halls.

"Oh. Hello there." Her voice was quiet and soft, almost difficult to hear. She ascended a little to be out of reach of any attacks, she had been attacked a few times by strangers, though it wasn't too often. A wraith could never be too careful. "I'm not sure we've ever met. My name is Hecate." Her soft voice trailed through the near silent halls.

Vinashy drops down from a ledge, holding out a hand. His finger crooks, a large rat forcibly yanked over into his awaiting claw like hand. He sinks his fangs into the treat, draining it dry. Then, dropping the limp corpse, he casually seems to glide over the ground towards the wall where he saw that wraith dart over to. His voice is soothing, enticing. "I saw you girl. Come on out. I just want to talk." He licks his lips, feeling his endless thirst for living blood sated for the moment from the most recent wave of 'heroes' to come though the dark tunnels. He holds out one hand, and a glowing symbol forms above his palm, twisting the light to a bright crimson. He smiles, fangs flashing in the ruby glow of his magic.

Yvain felt her heart sink as the the flame of her torch illuminated the face of another dark elf tangled up in the webbing. She sighed, pulling out a small lost and rubbing out the name Vinten with her thumb.. He had been a funny one, useless and foppish but seemingly happy to be away from the vipers nest of the capital. He had been some minor nobility like her, some fifth son of a third aunt, and would entertain the others at mealtime by playing a flute he had carved from a broken piece of bedframe. She sighed. "How many of you lot ran this way?" She asked nobody.

The vast majority of the names on her list were now little more than blackened blobs and she could probably mark her passage through the corridors with thumbprints. Many of them had been the names of men, and not for the first time she insisted to herself that those barely even counted as people. Like all the times before the truism didn't bring her any comfort. She hadn't exactly been close with any of them (that was hard to achieve when you seemed to strike terror into their hearts if you stood up too quickly) but she had consistently found them to be better company than any of her sisters. The silence in the barracks now was deafening enough to send her out into the dungeon itself, a faint hope burning in her breast that some intrepid coward among them had found a hideaway within the twisting corridors of the Everdark.

Her list of names attested to the futility of her search. At this point she was convinced that the few still listed were only so because they had been totally devoured by some other denizen of the dungeon. Even now she could hear the voices of likely culprits echoing through the caverns as she marched on. She didn't stop to take Vinten, didn't dare disturb the web. It was as honorable a resting place as any down here. You live by the spider, you die by the spider.

As she continued, however, she was startled to find the faces of Delvs she didn't recognize. She followed the trail of bodies to a crude campsite that had clearly been set by her own people. "No way." She said aloud, just to hear a voice, as she started picking through the remnants of the camp. "You actually sent somebody?" She had been sending messages by carrier bat every time she had managed to catch one of the little buggers fluttering back to the shattered remains of a barracks bat coop. She had gotten one reply so far, a vague and rather dismissive message promising to reinforce her position, but if this was her reinforcements than it looked like she was out of luck unless she found some evidence of Delvs that hadn't wound up on the bottom of the dungeons food chain already.

Interacting with: @RogueFox@Shadow Dragon

It had been nearly three hours since he'd returned to the realm of the unliving and wandering the halls of the dungeon he called home. Not once did he find any of his neighbors and acquaintances alive. He'd nearly given up hope. Ready to storm out of the Everdark and hunt down those heartless adventurers that caused this calamity. Had he a face it would have bore a look of shock as he heard a faint mournful cry. A survivor perhaps?

The clickity-clackity of his boney feet hitting the cold stonework of the dungeon echoed through the uncomfortably quiet halls of the Everdark and, lo and behold, a survivor of the massacre! If the gods didn't hate his metaphorical guts for existing, he'd thank them. "N-no. I don't think we have." He answered back. His voice purposefully smooth and gentle to avoid scaring off the first living monster he'd encountered. "My name is Mortimer Costello. I would have liked our initial interaction be under better circumstances but I'm just glad to see another of us still alive." Just as he was about to suggest that they keep looking for more survivors, a vampire made himself known and summons forth a ball of light that illuminates his form and casts a dim light upon himself and the female spirit. "More survivors! Maybe this dungeon isn't done for." Mort said while clapping his hands together making an audible clack. "Greetings of peace, master vampire. My name is Mortimer and this is my new friend Hecate. We are currently the only surviving monsters of this dungeon...well as far as I know at least. Would you like to accompany us? Safety in numbers and whatnot." The infested skeleton punctuated by extending his hand forward in a friendly and non-combative manner.

In one of the larger caverns deep in the dungeon, a small ray of sunlight shone through the cracks. The beam hitting the wounded chest of an unmoving body. The room was bloody and littered with corpses of both dungeon dwellers and the invaders alike. The latter starting the conflict without care for those who roamed this place while the former fought to protect their homes.

Shuffle, shuffle. Tap. Shuffle, shuffle. Tap.

Like a beat, the sound rhythmically echoed throughout the chamber. Out of the gloom, a hunched creature slowly made its way forward. Its tiny dot like eyes, darted around taking in the scene before it. Despite the obvious lack of expression, it was quite happy. There were so many bodies all in one area. A perfect place to spread its spores. It stopped just before the ray of sunlight in the center of the room. It was ready.

The Spore that Speaks shook its large carp releasing a multitude of fine dust that were in many different shades of colour. The dust spread throughout the room and when it landed on organic matter, different types of fungi sprouted. Big, small, long, short, angular, round, they all grew from the many bodies in the room aiding in the decomposition process. The center was it was the most crowded. The ray of sunlight providing that extra bit of sustenance which caused a bouquet of mushrooms to sprout from the body’s chest.

The cavern which was once covered in blood and corpses was now teeming with life. It had turned into a forest of reds and greens and purples and many more. The Spore that Speaks let go of its stick and brought its two hands together and slowly clapped as it look at its own handiwork.

Interacting with: @Searat @Shadow Dragon

Hecate managed a small smile, even then her expression seemed miserable. She was happy to see another survivor other than the magician. "I am glad to meet you Mortimer." Her voice wisped through the silence lightly. She heard the voice of another and spun in place to see the man she had seen earlier, the one who played with magic. She cowered behind Mortimer. "L-leave me alone!" She seemed to be unreasonably afraid of him despite him never directly causing her any harm. She had a deep-seated fear of magic, and the fact that he was currently generating a crimson light wasn't helping.

"Does... he have to come Mortimer, sir?" She still hid behind the man made of bones, staring fearfully at the light of the magic. "M-maybe we could find other survivors." Though she said that, she knew it wasn't likely. She'd been floating around for a while after the attack, hoping to find anyone to no avail til now. She felt relieved to have found Mortimer, and maybe... just maybe, the vampire wasn't as bad as she assumed.

Interacting with:@Searat@RogueFox
"Interesting. This sounds like the start of a bad joke. 'A wraith, a skeleton and a vampire walk into a cave'. Still, I'm surprised that there are others still around down here. I would say we survived, but all three of us are already dead." He shakes the skeletons hand. "As for being a master vampire, you'd have to go to another land to find one of those old bloodsuckers. They have power like you've never seen. In terms of age, I'm fairly young for a nosferatu. Only a bloodmage I'm afraid." He looks at the wraith. "Why so scared? My magics can't effect a ghost."

Interacting with: @Moon Man

The gentle pitter-patter of Dylirius’ footsteps echoed across this spacious tunnel. Not sounding too unusual for those in earshot, used to hearing his energetic pace. Yet the urgency in his dilated pupils would tell a very different tale⁠. As his two lengthy tails kept sweeping away the trail of paw prints that were left behind in the dirty stone. Being delicate enough in his actions, not to disturb the giant spider's webbing, or trigger any of the Everdark’s numerous traps. But still unable to outrun an intense growling noise that followed him through the darkness and into the light ahead. With but a single persistent thought in his anxious mind.



With the bright amber glow of his irises adjusting to all the blues, purples, and greens that illuminated the entire space. From floor, to walls, to the plantlife hanging from the cavern’s ceiling. It was a sight that brought an immediate smile to the lesser demon’s face. Quick to leap forward through the air like a cat, over a field of glowing flora, and plant his hind paws onto the vibrant red caps of one of the many ‘mushroom trees’. Using their unique springy texture to nimbly bounce from fungus to fungus, several times more, until he was mere feet away from The Spore that Speaks.

“Impressive as always, Dylirius.” He congratulated himself in a confident whisper, upon his feet silently gracing the ground. Casually brushing off his robe’s oversized sleeves and leaf-like hat, to keep his forest-colors dust free. “You made it here, and without a single witness.” Dylirius asserted in hushed volume, with his back facing the myconid. Slowly inhaling the distinguished nutty odors through his twitching nose, focused on all these little spotted fungi, that were bunched up just beneath his stance. Both paws attempting to quell the hellish rumblings erupting from the pit of his stomach.

“Patience please.” Dylirius urged, before reaching back to take the satchel off his backside. “Even when ravished with insatiable hunger—one must remain vigilant to every little detail.” He noted, while setting the satchel down in front of him, and opening the magically-sealed latch.

How else could one keep his treasures secured from the humans and other thievish folk, which had no bounds for personal property?

“Ah, here it is.” Dylirius declared preemptively, before pulling out the thick hardcover book, and opening it to reveal the exact page that he needed. Covered in crimson-inked text so minuscule, that it seemed impossible to read. Yet his single claw proceeded to tap against the written description that he began to read aloud. “Bouquet Black Earth Tongue. Undoubtedly named for its obsidian color and growth patterns resembling a bouquet. Its delicious buttery texture will melt on your tongue. So long as it has at least four white spots on the cap. But it’s safer not to actually swallow its stems...” He said, wasting no more time to put his book away and close the satchel.

Before Dylirius reached below and plucked one straight from the ground. Able to see its five spots on top, as he effortlessly inserted a single claw into the tender mushroom. Soon popping the cap into his slightly-ajar maw, and sucking on its unique savory flavor. As he continued to pick more and more delicacies to enjoy—the blissful demon had soon stuffed his maw full of mushrooms. With their stalks sticking out, and a river of drool dribbling down from the side of his chin. While failing to be concerned, or acknowledge however The Spore that Speaks was reacting to this. It was likely difficult to tell how much of this was a playful act. Sure. The minor swelling of the tongue, and excess production of saliva is another side effect of tasting it. But oh it's so worth it. Dylirius thought, with his tails gently swaying back and forth. And these will also be quite useful in my serum for suppressing someone else’s ravenous appetite. He concluded.

Not taking long to spit out the undissolved mushroom stalks and then bury them underneath a pawful of soil. As Dylirius nonchalantly looked over his shoulder and smiled at The Spore that Speaks. “Good evening, Spore. I must commend your excellent gardening skills, once again.” Dylirius praised, speaking in a fond tone. “And I mean it—a precious few can tend to such a delicate and deadly garden in the Everdark.” He appealed, while picking up his satchel and turning himself around. Trying to ‘butter up’ his acquaintance, since it was only natural for an alchemist to frequently meet the supplier of his ingredients…

As she finished surveying the camp Yvaine's pointy ears heard the faint sound of clanging blades, the sound of combat deeper down a nearby tunnel. Could someone else have killed the other dark elves? A lost adventurer or someone else entirely?

Deep in the tunnels below two figures had their blades crossed, in the darkness only the dim light of a lantern on the cave floor illuminated the shadows of their faces both grimacing as they tried to overpower one or the other.

"Stop this madness Gwain, haven't you spilt enough blood." said the one pressed with his back to the wall, in a thick elven accent, to which his aggressor Gwain responded with an unhinged laugh.

"I haven't even begun yet Vrel, my family will be avenged!" with a sudden push the maddened man threw the others blade clattering to the side then swung his blade disemboweling the other, blood spattering Gwain's face bearing a disturbing grin.

"I'll leave you Vrel, although I would have loved to watch you die." as he left the maddened dark elves laughter echoed behind him leaving the other on the ground raggedly breathing desperately trying to keep his insides from spilling out.

Even though it would just make sense to accept it he wouldn't go without a fight because young Vrel was stubborn to the last. Breathing a gurgling sigh the young dark elves eyes drifted to his fallen weapon "I hope your next wielder-" he coughed hard into his arm, the spot of red growing on his tunic "Isn't as shitty a swordsman as I." Vrel chuckled only to wince in pain.

And he laid upon the cold wet cave floor awaiting death, with his sword not far from him.

Interacting with: @RogueFox@Shadow Dragon

"I understand your concern with others..." It was a known fact that not all the denizens of the Everdark were amicable to one another. Some even were outright hostile. "but isn't it a good sign that he hasn't attacked us or even threatened us on sight?" It was around this point that he 'felt' the vampire take his hand and gives it a polite shake and explain to the duo that his magic will only affect those with blood. "No doubt about that sir vampire, but I'm sure you are powerful in your own way." Rather than turn his body away from the hemomancer vampire, the skeleton simply opts to turn his head 180° with his free hand to face the worrywart wraith. Attempting reassure her that the vampire was more of a potential friend than a potential foe. "See, Hecate? He seems a decent enough individual. Give the guy a chance."

Twisting his head back to face the vampire, one could observe that the blue motes of flame inside his eye sockets shape themselves into downward crescents. As if to notify the vampire that the bug-infested skeleton was rather happy. "I take it that this means that we would be travelling together for the foreseeable future?" And maybe even beyond that; as he'd be sure that the vampire also had a vendetta to be settled against those adventurers.

Interacting with: @Shadow Dragon @Searat

Hecate, upon seeing the vampire's interaction with Mortimer, and hearing that his magic can't effect her, she visibly loosened up. She floated out from behind Mortimer. "I... I will give him a chance." She looked between the two, and though they weren't the company she used to keep, she felt comfort in no longer being alone. "Yes, we will, I suppose... but to what end? I was hoping to find survivors and rebuild the Everdark.... I have had no luck in finding anyone... She let out another mournful sob as ethereal tears fell from her eyes and dissipated before making it halfway to the ground. "Are your plans similar, sirs?"

Hecate attempted to stiffen her upper lip, but sorrow remained evident on her face as she reminisced of the goblins and other monsters she had seen as family. Some Lamias, cave trolls, and even more were among her now deceased friends. She used to cook meals for them from the meats they harvested from rats, small fish, and the rare adventurer who had journeyed too far alone. She cried yet again, realizing that even now she won't be able to cook for her new companions.

What was that?

Yvain poked her head out of the barren tent. Sound carried far in the Evardark, and the echo she caught bouncing out of one of the nearby tunnels was as fain as it was unmistakable. The chaotic clangs of blade on blade combat. Between who was the question. She darted forward, scooping her torch out of the spent campfire and sprinted down the tunnel towards the source.

Who? Who? She had to keep herself from calling out. The fact that both were humanoid narrowed down the list of who it could be, but those possibilities were still enough to scare her into silence. It could be a survivor from her unit, of course, but it could also be one of the adventurers. One that was still hanging around, or had gotten lost, or had just had so much fun then were still looking for a challenge. The image of the giant, musclebound beast of a half-orc that had brought the pommel of his great sword down directly on her helmet and ruined it came to mind.

Finding one of the full orc mercenaries the dungeons boss had hired on might be even worse. At least she could be sure that the the adventurers probably wouldn't eat her after she was done. It could be a mad skeleton who was off its magic chain and angry at the living. It could be a animated armor stuck in battle mode. It could be two goblin fighting over a patch of mushroom. The number of thing it could be besides a survivor was astoundingly large and almost everything else would probably want her dead.

It turned out to be more other dark elves. The sounds of battle stopped as she approached, replaced with voices. She slowed down, creeping forward so as not to let them know she was approaching. They were speaking her language but she didn't recognize either of the voices. There was a heart shaking sound of cutting, followed by something splattering to the floor. The winner had the voice and the laugh of a madman, enough so to freeze Yvain in place. She drew her sword, slowly, quietly, waiting for the sound of his footsteps to come her way. Instead they pattered away in the opposite direction, down one of the many tunnels, and Yvain let out the breath she had been holding in.

The cavern she stepped into was illuminated only by the light of a single lantern, but even still she could make out a form slumped against the far wall. He was breathing raggedly, using his final breaths to speak kindly to weapon discarded on the floor. Breathing. Breathing! Still alive!

She rushed across the room, kneeling next to the fallen man. She felt something soaking into her knees. A lot of something. Enough something to know that first aide wasn't an option for anything short of magic, and unfortunately enough their resident Cleric had been the first one to go when the adventurers swept through. She didn't panic. Death by other Dark Elf was unfortunately a common occurrence where she was from. "I'm sorry." She whispered. "Yvain, Cry Wolves. You guys were probably here because of me. What happened?"

@Dark Light

Interacting with:@Searat and @RogueFox

"Indeed. Those 'heros'-" He spits the word out like a curse, "-burchered helpless residents of this cave network. I want them to suffer, to writhe in agony the way they made your friends. They deserve it for all they've done to you. Make them weap, fill them with the sorrow you yourself feel this very moment." He raises his arms in the air, beckoning them to him. "Join me in a quest of vengeance. They wish to kill for sport? Let's show them how it feels to be hunted."

@Gentlemanvaultboy
”Oh” The sword thought in a contemplative silence as the large eye in its hilt split open and rolled to gaze upon its dying wielder. It could hear his words but could not reply since they were no longer in contact. What would it say anyway. The fragile creature was expiring. As they often did.
”Perhaps I should have done something?” It mused, trying to understand why it hadn’t felt like doing more. Meanwhile it just watched as the dying drow’s life essence steadily escape him, a pool of blood growing larger around him ever slowly creeping closer and closer to the weapon.

Then a new figure emerged. The weapon had already been aware of her presence but could now physically see her form as she knelt over the dying dark elf. Curious. He found her actions to be of interest and continued to watch on intently. His wide yellow eye very occasionally blinking.

@Tally Dor
Spider. That's what it came up with, what a disgustingly uncouth thing to mistake her for. As the golem reached down to pet her, Scri'erk instinctively caught the hand with her vicious claws, trying in vain to snip away at the stone. A series of slanderous hisses and grunts in her native tongue erupted from the spider before she managed to speak a more intelligible speech.

"Not well! Broke web! Not well!"