I write you today not from a hotel room, or the study like before. But in from the entrance to the Cloven Citadel. And I dare not wait until our departure nor our success. We’ve discovered the remnants of previous explorers in these ruins. They carry some mighty equipment that outclass our level of expertise by quite a bit. And this being only the first room. I worry that their expiration occurred not by the long-ago myth that surrounds the origin of this place, but from currently existing hazards of this place. The others seem unconcerned, but that I have not brought up this theory to them yet. Their morale is high after a recent defeat from simply a few enlarged vermin. If I’m unable to send this letter, I’ve placed the important information at the top should someone else discover it.
After the contents of the previous letter we arrived in town to return the kobold’s loot. The first stop was to a totem crafter that the engineer had befriended during the festival. Appreciative, she settled our tab at Mateo’s for that night. We left the rest with the local guard where we were credited with a claim ticket while valuables are returned to their rightful owners. Along with an explanation on the process. Since the day had waned faster than expected we rested for the night where the merchant (now admitted street-urchin) won an axe throwing competition for a highly valuable 5y stone. Of course now its apparent that every single one of these people are fucking lowborn orphans. Respect where its due of course, but none of them know anything about proper etiquette. The outset looks very dim.
The next morning we inquired about a bag of holding at the totem shop where the engineer produced a 10y stone. After some trading, we obtained the bag and powered it for a year with the 5y stone earned from the night before. Then it took almost two days to reach the Ashen Plain. We landed at the edge to the crevass in the center where we saw some lizardfolk run away from as a suspected egress. The hollow inside had a staircase leading down over a hundred feet before meeting the bottom. Past that lies a courtyard that is so deranged from neglect and hazardous rocks that it was its own danger in crossing. This is when the vermin attacked. Myself and the shirn across the courtyard with the engineer, faux-caster, and merchant still at the base of the stairs’ landing. Though it was barely a danger. A single fire bolt was able to melt, fat and all, a rat.