Gobhollow Plaza

Gleaming jewels sat inlaid deep in a dusty, ancient mural. The heavy doors remained open but could be closed again by rewinding the six hefty counterweights.

“Hmmm.” Lucy scratched her chin. “Yes, exactly as I planned all along.”

“Good going, kid,” Skott said.

While Skott wasn’t sure if Lucy had actually planned it all out, but it certainly got results. Might as well let her brag.

Sealed-tight, this mural was perfectly sheltered from the centuries of exposure to the elements. A stale layer of air wafted out from the sealed-off vault.

“Can’t see through the dust,” Grog said. “Let’s see… can someone climb up there and dust it off?”

Seth helped Lucy climb along the sides and wiped off a thin layer of grime. Elaborate paint had faded over the years, with chips littering the floor of the vault. What was left of the mural was bare stone, but it told a story well enough.

Humans and elvan and orcs all stood together in a circle. The mural displayed them in side-profile; Skott felt they appeared like Egyptian hieroglyphic murals. Elvan and orcs were easily identifiable by pointy ears and fangs, respectively. A coterie of dwarves emerged from the bottom of the mural as if they were climbing right out of the ground. Moreover, they were meeting at this place. The layout of the ‘plaza’ they were standing in was a dead-ringer for the square the mural looked out over.

Moreover, every figure was smiling and offering a hand or a toast to friendship.

“Ah. Like neutral ground,” Grog said. “Of course. Hmmm. Yes, yes, the paleoanthropology department will want to examine this. Definitely adds more weight to the ‘meeting place’ theory.”

“Still no goblins in Gobhollow,” Skott muttered to himself. He glanced about this family-party. He had a theory about that but was going to put a pin in it for later.

Most figures on the mural had reddish eyes that reflected the dim lighting of the cavernous chamber. Grognar stepped right up to run his finger along the eye socket of one of the dwarven carvings, relatively low to the floor.

“Not technically best practices,” Grog said. “But these emeralds are, in fact, blood-obsidian. Saves us from having to bust out my pickaxe. Still, might want to find an example of one that’s already fallen out of the façade…”

Lucy helped scan the floor for any gems that may have fallen out. Skott pulled out a flashlight from his trusty pack full of Earth-curios. He shone the industrial-strength flashlight along the mural and pointed out where some gems were missing. The two kids then scoured the floor.

“Any gems down here are going to be covered in dust,” Lucy said with a frown.

“Opening the vault was the easy part,” Grog agreed.

Lamora looked about the uncovered square.

“This town… used to be a meeting place for all species?” Lamora said.

“Eh, that’s what it looks like.” Skott motioned at the mural with a shrug. “Consider the fact that it’s set up here in a central location. That implies it was of great importance to the settlement. Doesn’t take an anthropology degree to make that hunch.”

Lamora gazed up at the top of the mural, where the two groups of orcs and elvan stood side by side.

“So everyone…got along?” Lamora’s fangs retracted, a neutral and contemplative gesture.

Skott shrugged again. “Once, one assumes.”

Deep in the excavation, the settlements were ‘mixed’ with various species all living together. Then at the top, all that gave way to the earliest elvan treehouses lording over the countryside. How exactly this happened was a question to be puzzled out by Grog’s contemporaries in the history and anthropology departments. But the story of early Gobhollow appeared self-evident amidst the sediment.

“The elvan complaint regarding this excavation specifically said it was a place where elvan masters uplifted their ‘lesser’ humanoid cousins.” Lamora let out an annoyed clicking sound when she said lesser. “The Elvan Historical Heritage Society’s official stance was that the other species then agreed to indenture themselves to elvan tree manses as a way to say thank you for their civilizing influence.”

“Well, then, sounds like this mural provides ample evidence against that theory.” Skott cracked a smile at Lamora.

Lamora smiled back. The pair had discussed the potential origin of the tree-manses long ago during their rebellion. They’d had no proof regarding any alternatives.

“Why, this settlement was not unlike New Omaha,” Lamora continued.

“Mmm.” Skott nodded. “Getting ideas? Uh, don’t go renaming this digsite ‘Old Omaha’ or anything—that’s already taken. Plus, the real Omaha is thoroughly landlocked. This ones by the coast. It wouldn’t make sense.”

“Good fortune seems to follow you, Scott,” Lamora said, shuffling her feet in a coquettish manner. “Why, we struggled for ages before you arrived in this world, after which everything came to a head within a year. You return, and now we’ve uncovered the true history of Aeirun.”

“Ah, well, maybe I’m your lucky charm.” Skott held his arm up behind his head and returned a goofy grin.

“… now that we know what to look for, we can search for similar murals or evidence at other sites!” Grog said, somewhat ruining the mood.

“Found one!” Lucy rose to her feet with a gleaming red-hued jewel in hand.

“And I, another.” Grog brought a second gem up for examination by torchlight.

Two jewels about the size of a cat’s eye awaited. The same kind that sat in the eyes of the chiseled figures of the friendship mural. Blood-obsidian—a rare-Aeirun mineral used in portal magic.

“Borrowing these shouldn’t dampen the composition of the mural,” Grog declared. “And we can restore father’s lifeline back home. Earth, was it? I’d certainly be curious to make a quick stop in this other world.”

“Good job, kids!” Skott said, duly aware that he was now accustomed to referring to the half-orc brood in a familial context.

“Really, mining fresh blood-obsidian would risk further damage to the site. Even a collapse.” Grog pocketed both motes of blood-obsidian. “Now, we only need to snoop around a bit…”

Grog stopped on a dime. Lucy’s ears twitched and her head shot up. Skottson and Sethset, standing sentry, let out a rough tsk-sound through fang-bared grimaces. Lamora, too, looked up to the low ceiling, concerned.

“What is it?” Skott asked.

The orc family’s ears, hearing, and general sensitivity to movement were a bit more attuned than Skott’s mere Earth-human senses. Several moments passed before he heard the low rumble of water rushing through a fissure in heavy stone.

“Oh, come on,” Skott said through gritted teeth.