Family Bonding Dungeon Crawl

A great pit like a salt mine waited. Seeing it now, Skott understood why this expedition would have to be attempted at low tide; the excavation site was separated from the vast inland sea only by a sheer white cliff outcropping. The pit was well below sea level. When the tides turned, water would come seeping up out of hidden fissures.

The carriage waited at a tiny ‘base camp’ looking over a mostly-excavated ancient city. It was not unlike what a human would encounter at Pompeii. Ancient ruins looked the same everywhere.

“Hmmm. Yes. This site used to be well above sea level,” Grog explained, wielding a mage-college book on local geography. “Obviously, that is not the case today. Some question whether the inland sea even existed in these ancient days. Others suspect the coastal region has sunken significantly due to…”

Grognak continued to rattle off various theories regarding how an ancient city wound up deep beneath the Aerunian topsoil.

“What’s important is that it’s under the ground and we’re on the clock,” Sethset said.

“Is it even safe to bring Mother down there?” Skottson asked. “Speaking of, where is she?”

“Oh, mother is back in the carriage,” Lucy said. “Part of the deal for letting her borrow my suitcase was to haul everything down to camp.”

“Is Skott with them?” Sethset asked.

“Father? Oh, he’s helping,” Lucy hummed.

A hefty bag full of swords was promptly thrown out of the open carriage door.

“Here we go,” Skott said. “You kids pack for a campaign trail. Next time, consider packing half what you think you need, and twice as much money. Just a useful rule.”

Lamora emerged first, holding Grog and Lucy’s remaining bags. She stepped aside while Skott walked down with his arms to capacity.

“I can get ‘em in one!” Skott assured them.

With two suitcases in his left hand and three in his right, Skott stumbled down the stairs. Over-encumbrance won out, and his sneaker missed a step. Bags went flying every which way. Skott turned around and promptly fell backwards. He felt a rough impact with the ground coming and braced… only to be scooped up by a certain statuesque she-orc.

Skott wound up with his knees up near his chest, but unharmed.

“Oh, wow,” he managed, looking up at Lamora.

“Are you okay, Skott?” the she-orc asked.

“Yeah. Whew. You saved me like that back in the day, too,” Skott said, short of breath.

“Do not sell yourself short, Skott of Omaha. You saved me a great deal then, as well.”

The pair continued to stare into each other’s eyes.

“Get a carriage, you two,” Sethset said.

Lamora put Skott down with a fluid, almost embarrassed, motion.

“Ahem.” Skott coughed. “Where were we?”

A series of ladders and stairwells descended into the dig site. Skott would have to serve as a porter for a while longer, still.

“Ay. Let’s get this over with,” he said, gathering the family’s bags.

+++

“Low tide should have struck exactly two hours ago,” Grog explained. “High tide will come slow enough. We should be out of here by the time it arrives.”

Their objectives here were…

1) To discover a vein of blood-obsidian, essential to repairing Lucy’s portal-ring.

2) Grog needed to continue the Mage College’s studies into these ruins.

The last stretch leading down to a ‘base camp’

“Look.” Grog pointed to some thick but squat stumps on the far side of the pit.

“Elvan tree houses?” Skott guessed.

They were smaller and squatter than one would expect based on the grand towers of Elvwood.

“Indeed. These are among the earliest elvan dwellings on the continent,” Grog said. “A sort of prototypical version of the tree-manses. Further excavation above that basest of levels was forbidden up until about a decade ago.”

Skott guessed why this was the case easily, but he let Grog explain it himself.

“Elvan lobby kept the site entirely forbidden. It was only after the time of the coalition that any digging could begin. Even then, it took a few years to sort everything out legally.”

The far wall of the excavation appeared like a honeycomb. Layers of various dwellings far below the tree houses. Many were hewn out of the very rock. Others were clearly bricks.

The path came to an end at a wide outcropping, maybe three-fourths of the way down the pit. If the sinkhole looked ridiculously wide and impossibly deep from the outside, it appeared even more gargantuan once they were inside the pit’s gaping maw.

A group of tents, a magical-based seismic sensor, and a pre-stocked tent full of unappetizing but functional rations were already waiting.

“They set all this up in a flood zone?” Skott asked.

“Oh, we’ll be high and dry here.” Grog pointed at a column further down in the pit. It was dark right up until maybe two feet below the edge of this ‘base camp.’

“Ah. So, the tide only goes that far up, huh?” Skott scratched at his chin. “Well, good to know.”

The family-party stashed their effects in the existing camp.

“What was this place called again?” Skott asked.

“Ah, ‘Gobhollow,” Grog said again. “Elvan sent a ten-thousand strong petition saying that the actual historical name was ‘Elvhollow’ though. Said calling it anything else was insulting to traditional elvan culture and values.”

The great white cliffs loomed to the east, and the group’s left. They’d be safe here at the base camp, sure. If those cliffs ever collapsed, tide waters would be the least of their worries.

“Hmm, yes, the moment my predecessors in the Aeirunian History department were allowed to actually dig here, they discovered evidence of dwarven and human settlements as well.”

“I received the diplomatic complaint about that finding,” Lamora added. “I believe there was pressure to declare those were officially servants’ quarters for the manses above.”

Skott looked through the layers of excavation on the far wall. The carved stone structures were transparently of a different era.

“How long until the tides turn?” he asked.

Grog consulted a chart. “Thirty… three hours?”

Should be plenty of time.

Grognar wrote his name and the rest of the siblings, his mother, and Skott of course into a Mage’s College-brand visitors log. There were only about a dozen visits listed over a course of a decade, Skott noticed, and all three of the most recent ones were spearheaded by Grognar.

“Y’know, I went to one of the fanciest colleges in my world,” Skott said. “Harvard. It’s, well, probably should’ve gone to M.I.T. to be honest. But I tried to find theoretical physics degrees, things that would allow me to come back here.”

It made sense that there’d be no way to find a way back to Aeirun through Earth-science. Certainly, there was no major research into trans-dimensional travel to be found at Harvard. On that wing of the tech tree, Earth was in its infancy.

Skott thought again to how Aeirun considered math ‘number magic.’ He wondered how Grog’s coursework compared to his own. One thing was certain: Skott experienced something approaching pride, knowing one of his kids was a bit of a big shot around campus.

“What blood-magic rituals do they have on Earth?” Lucy asked obligingly.

“Oh, Skott,” Lamora began. “I knew you tried to find a way back.”

“It, ah, didn’t work.” Skott rubbed the back of his neck with a hand, grinning sheepishly.

Lamora gently grabbed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s the thought that counts, Skott of Omaha.”

Skott felt his cheeks turn rosy. Lamora gave his hand one last squeeze before heading to her tent to arrange her personal effects.

“Heh.” Lucy smiled. “Having second thoughts about returning to your Earth paramour?”

“What? You.” Skott’s cheeks felt even warmer now. “What are you talking about? I’m… I’m going to have a conversation with Nessa, if you must know.”

“Aha. My plan continues apace,” Lucy said with a smile. Then, the young adventurer rushed off down the next flight of stairs.

Well, all the kids seem to have come into their own, Skott decided. Lucy’s a little spacey but her heart appears to be in the right place. Grog’s dedicated to his studies, always a good thing.

“Sir, we’re heading down to the lower levels,” Sethset said. Skottson stood beside him, in formation.

And the two ‘middle’ brothers—to the extent that applied, they were all from the same orc-litter, of course—had a soldier’s discipline. Skott nodded and agreed to head down with them, silently wondering what his final daughter, Sara, was like.