"Hold up, Logue." In their years of acquaintance, Logue had proven time and again to be a bit of a dallier. Most often it was Fulke who set the pace, dragging Logue down corridors while the older Courser spent all his air on folksy ramblings. He wasn't chewing any fat today, though. To Fulke, he seemed in a downright hurry. Fulke could understand why. The Moor was an eerie expanse, so cavernous that one might mistake its distant stone ceiling for a stormy sky. Your eyes got tricked int...

"Now I'm not arguing that the guild should throw out the ranking system entirely," Logue was on about this again. Picking his way carefully down the rocky path ahead of the mercenary, Fulke had no choice but to let the tirade roll off his back. "I'm just saying I think the levels are worth re-evaluating, and every time I suggest it, they come at me like I'm trying to burn down their mansions." "I know it," Fulke obliged him, unsure if Logue even heard his voice over the roar of geysers...

The palomino wandered the halls, the echoes of his feet muted by the moss and mushrooms that littered the floor, the walls, what passed for sky this deep under the ground. He'd long given up believing that he'd seen everything, but was somewhat surprised to see a sunset puck, with their bag and gear positively covered in cheap plastic gems. How they had found plastic in a time when the process of making such was possiby not yet invented was odd, but the dungeons were a fantastically questiona...