Chapter Two: Into the Mud Cairn

  “Bad ideas are like children—always popping up when you least expect them, making a mess, and somehow leaving you to clean up.” – Grusk’s mother

  “Hanging around Steban is a bad idea.” – Also Grusk’s mother

  The group, now including Torrek—gathered at the mouth of a collapsed shaft beneath the Mud Cairn. Heavy stones and rubble blocked their original exit, forcing them to tunnel and dig through the fresh cave-in.

  Torrek, hammer in hand, led the effort. His swings rang against the rock as he chiseled away the most obstinate fragments. Grusk and Jerrix braced their shoulders against larger boulders, levering them aside with raw strength and careful coordination. Samuel, despite his wounded leg, swung a makeshift pick into the toughest face of the collapse—each strike echoing in the stillness.

  Steban hovered near the edge, hands tucked into his belt. Grusk paused, wiping sweat from his brow, and glared at the rogue.

  "A little help," Grusk muttered, hefting a boulder.

  Steban gave a polite nod. "Aye, I’m keeping watch. Can't have you five getting jumped by more... whatever’s down here."

  Grusk shook his head. "Watch, eh? You always seem to avoid the heavy lifting, Steban. Maybe keep watch with a shovel instead."

  Steban shrugged. "Someone’s got to make sure the ceiling holds."

  Robin called back, voice patient. "Focus, both of you. Debris here is unstable. One wrong move and we’re back at square one."

  Reluctantly, Steban grabbed a loose rock and moved it aside. Grusk nodded and returned to prying a stubborn slab loose. Sweat and dust coated their brows.

  After what felt like hours, a final crash resounded as they dislodged the last barrier. Light filtered through a narrow passage, revealing a smooth-walled cavern carved by ancient quarrying.

  The first passages they explored were eerily silent, their high ceilings and worn surfaces more reminiscent of deliberate workmanship than a humble burial site. Jerrix ran his fingers along a series of striated walls that looked as if chisels and hammers had shaped them.

  Steban muttered as he passed, “I never knew the Mud Cairn went down this far. Everyone in Fethrin said it was just a pauper’s mound—simple graves, nothing more.”

  Samuel frowned, stabbing at a patch of soft stone. “A pauper’s grave doesn’t have corridors like this—or ceilings two stories high.”

  Grusk paused beneath a vaulted arch. “Built well, too. Look at these joints. No mortar, just stone fitting.” He knocked sharply on the wall; the hollow echo resonated. “Quality craftsmanship.”

  Robin’s eyes gleamed. “Someone invested real effort in this. Not the work of wandering spades.”

  Torrek nodded gravely. “This was once more than a graveyard. Maybe a quarry or an ancient ceremonial hall—then refitted for the Cairn.”

  Jerrix glanced around. “All those stories were wrong. This isn’t just a hunk of dirt and bone.”

  Steban shrugged. “Guess no one bothered to dig deep—or they didn’t want to.”

  Their voices faded beneath the pressing quiet as they moved on, torches raised. They passed through a pair of empty chambers—small rooms carved with care, now long abandoned. Dust coated the floor in thick blankets, and the silence pressed on their ears like a weight. One room still held the remnants of a broken wooden bench and scattered tools, while the other had a collapsed shelf of urns shattered long ago. Steban stopped and looked disgusted as nothing remained inside other than dust.

  Then Torrek paused at a narrow fissure in the stone, its edges just wide enough for his stout frame.

  “Let me through,” he urged, voice echoing in the gloom. Carefully moving between the others, Torrek pressed his shoulders against the sharp stone edges and wriggled into the narrow crack. His armour scraped the walls as he twisted, each grunt echoing around him until he slipped through into a cramped alcove.

  He rested among the bleached skeletons of earlier explorers—bones stacked like silent guardians. Scattered at their feet lay a few rusted coins, a bent dagger half-buried beneath dust, and a frayed length of rope coiled around a broken belt buckle.

  Torrek raised his torch higher and peered down a sloping tunnel that continued away from him and the small alcove. Thick webs draped the passage—each strand heavier than the last, spun like a guard to keep intruders at bay.

  With a soft exhale, he wriggled back through the crack, wiping sticky silk from his beard. “This once led out,” he reported, “but beyond that alcove that I found, the corridor is choked with spider silk, and not something I really want to be crawling through.”

  Robin and Steban lingered at the edge of the narrow crack and strained to see the webbed passage. Steban glanced at the others, then back at the thick silk barring their path.

  "We just need to keep going," Robin said quietly, his voice calm but insistent.

  Steban gave a half-smile. "Before something worse than spiders finds us."

  The winding paths twisted back on themselves, narrow as knife-scars and lined with damp stone. Each step the group took felt like a gamble—some corridors ended abruptly in collapsed stone, others looped back to where they'd just been. The air was growing cooler, but thinner too, and the faint scent of damp earth was gradually replacing the stink of decay they’d grown used to.

  After nearly thirty minutes of cautious movement, they rounded a bend and came upon a small alcove carved out beside a fork in the path. The ground was blackened in places from a long-dead campfire. A broken clay flask, a rusted lantern, and a crumbling backpack lay scattered.

  At the edge of the camp, curled beneath a half-rotted blanket, was a small skeleton—its skull not yet fully fused. A thin satchel lay beside it, open, revealing the stub of a graphite pencil and the shattered remains of a wooden toy knight.

  Robin inhaled slowly and knelt down, brushing dirt gently from the bones. “Shield protect us,” he murmured. “This was a child.”

  Torrek took a knee beside him and bowed his head. “May the Earth Father cradle them in his stone halls.”

  Steban lingered at the edge of the campsite, his eyes fixed on the tiny skeleton curled underneath the blanket. He didn’t speak at first, just bent to pick up the toy.

  “I’ve seen this before,” he said quietly. “Back in Fethrin, it was a dare. Kids would sneak into the cairns to prove they were brave. Just far enough to say they’d done it. Then they’d run back out, laughing like fools.”

  Grusk’s expression hardened as he scanned the tunnel behind them. “And if they didn’t come back?”

  Steban nodded, eyes still on the toy. “That was the risk. We all knew the stories — some kid who never returned. That’s what made it feel dangerous, exciting. You’d laugh about it, but deep down, none of us thought it could actually happen.”

  He set the toy gently down beside the bones. “Hells, I dared a boy to do it once. He made it out. This one… didn’t.”

  A heavy silence settled over the group. Robin knelt beside the child’s skeleton, murmuring a soft incantation. He placed a small, smooth stone near the bones, and a gentle glow radiated briefly from his hand before fading into the dim light.

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  Torrek watched him quietly for a moment. “What was that?” he asked.

  Robin looked up, his voice gentle. “A simple warding spell — an engraving, really. I inscribed ‘Rest in peace, child. You have been found.’ Just a small kindness for a lost soul.”

  Grusk shook his head. “Damn fool thing to die for.”

  “No,” Steban said. “Just a kid thing. That’s worse.”

  Samuel said nothing, for once. He simply looked at the skeleton, face grim beneath the flickering torchlight.

  Jerrix finally broke the silence. “They made it farther than most would dare,” he said. “Maybe they were trying to find something. Maybe they got lost. Either way, they died alone.”

  “Let’s move on,” he said, rising. “Quietly.”

  Torrek lingered a moment, then stood and followed. The tunnels seemed darker now, the silence deeper.

  And behind them, the little camp remained—empty, but no longer unnoticed.

  The group continued onwards slowly and carefully making their way through winding passages, but the feeling of slowly moving upward towards the surface was undeniable. They were still underground, but the walls seemed to grow rougher and less shaped, and small roots began to peek through cracks in the stone.

  As they pressed forward, they noticed strands of web descending from the ceiling. The natural cavern ceiling revealed roots, rocks, and occasional moss — a stark contrast to the quarried halls earlier.

  Stepping cautiously into what at first seemed a natural chamber, the group was suddenly besieged as thick, sinewy strands of webbing dropped from the ceiling like sinister curtains. The air grew thick with the faint, unsettling rustle of countless legs. Then, with a sudden, horrifying rush, spiders of all sizes—some no larger than a fist, others looming as large as dogs—plunged down upon them, their fangs gleaming iridescent in the flickering torchlight, ready to strike with venomous intent.

  The first spider lunged from the ceiling with terrifying speed—its legs splayed wide, fangs gleaming. Grusk didn’t flinch.

  With a thunderous roar, he surged forward, seizing a thick curtain of webbing in both hands. Muscles bulged as he ripped it down with sheer force, clearing a swath through the sticky mess. Spiders skittered toward him, fangs bared and limbs chittering, but Grusk met them like a collapsing avalanche. “Die”

  His axe came down in sweeping arcs, each blow backed by the full weight of his massive frame. One spider leapt—Grusk pivoted and caught it mid-air, his axe cleaving it in half with a wet crunch. Carapace shattered. Ichor sprayed. “DIE”

  Another darted in low—he kicked it with bone-snapping force, sending the creature skidding into a jagged wall where it twitched once, then stilled.

  “DIE!”

  From the side, two more advanced—fast, agile, swarming. Grusk didn’t retreat. With a snarl, he slammed the haft of his axe into one, pinning it to the stone. As it writhed, he brought the blade down with a roar, severing its legs in a single strike before spinning to meet the next.

  His movements were furious but precise, fueled by rage honed into skill. Every motion was a brutal dance of destruction—his axe never still, his feet sure despite the uneven ground.

  Steban, ever cautious, melted into the shadows behind a jagged rock formation, his movements silent and deliberate. His eyes watched the largest spider—a monstrous beast with a green mottled body and iridescent markings glinting ominously on its venomous fangs—as it lunged toward the group with terrifying speed. Timing his strike, Steban slipped from his hiding spot like a shadow unleashed, his dagger flashing as it plunged deep into one of the spider’s vulnerable eye stalks. The creature shrieked, momentarily blinded and writhing in pain, giving the party reprieve in the chaotic battle unfolding around them."

  Samuel and Robin fought back to back, Samuel’s shield raised to block snapping jaws and swiping legs while his sword flashed in swift, practiced arcs. Robin wove intricate gestures, chanting under his breath as bursts of arcane energy crackled from his fingertips, lashing out at the swarming spiders with deadly precision. Together they moved as one — Samuel holding the line, a steadfast wall of defense, while Robin’s magic danced around him, striking down spiders before they could close in. Sparks flew as steel met chitin, and the air filled with the sharp tang of magic and the guttural growls of battle.

  Jerrix cast a spell that narrowly missed Samuel as it streaked toward a spider. Samuel swore loudly, “By the Shield, Jerrix! That was way too close!” He raised his sword just in time to deflect a swipe from a nearby spider’s claw.

  Jerrix grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, I'm a little preoccupied at the moment!”

  Jerrix murmured a quick incantation, weaving ancient words of power, and his sword began to glow with an ethereal blue light. The blade shimmered as magical energy coursed along its edge, illuminating the dark cavern with a cold, eerie glow. With a fierce cry, he swung the enchanted sword in wide, sweeping arcs that cleaved through the air — each strike sending shards of spider carapace flying. The spell-imbued blade seared through the thick chitin of the arachnids, leaving glowing scorch marks as it cut. Spiders that tried to close in on him found themselves sliced cleanly in two or hurled back by the force of his mighty swings. Jerrix moved with a dancer’s grace, his magic and skill combining to turn the tide of battle, his sword a brilliant streak of light in the gloom.

  Grusk charged the massive spider, engaging it in brutal close combat as its venomous fangs flickered dangerously near Samuel and Robin. The creature’s green mottled carapace gleamed faintly in the torchlight, the iridescent markings along its fangs hinting at a potent magical venom. It lunged with ferocious speed, attempting to tear into the two defenders apart who were busy parrying and striking amidst the chaos of smaller spiders swarming around them. Just as the spider’s fangs snapped mere inches from Samuel’s shield, Grusk bellowed again and drove his axe deep into its spindly legs, staggering the beast. With a guttural roar, he brought his full strength down on its swollen abdomen, then spun on his heel, leveraging his momentum to shatter one of its legs. The spider collapsed in a heap of twitching legs and shattered carapace. Silence returned in slow waves, broken only by the party’s laboured breathing and the occasional crackle of torchlight against the web-choked walls.

  Torrek knelt, fingers glowing faintly as he traced healing magic across a gash on Samuel’s arm. “Hold still. This won’t take long.”

  Samuel gritted his teeth. “Could’ve been worse.”

  “It almost was,” Torrek muttered, surveying the battered group. “That venom would’ve dropped you if it weren’t for the shield.”

  Grusk wiped ichor from his axe with a piece of torn cloth. After calming down and catching his breath, his response was short “Too many legs. Not enough meat.”

  Steban emerged from behind a boulder, brushing web strands from his cloak and looking for a dagger that he had thrown. “Remind me again why we keep following tunnels with warning signs like giant spider webs?”

  “Because backtracking means crawling through everything again,” Robin said dryly.

  For a time, they stood in silence, catching their breath. The smell of crushed arachnids clung to the air. Roots hung thick above them, the ceiling cracked and fractured by time and soil pressure—signs they were rising, closer to the surface.

  Torrek pointed ahead. “Tunnel narrows again. But I’d wager there are still tombs buried up here—older, less disturbed.”

  “Great,” Steban muttered. “We’re still crawling through graves.”

  They pressed forward, torches held high. As the stone grew rougher and the marks of civilization gave way to raw earth and rock, the remains of old tombs began to reappear—weathered, crumbling, and mostly forgotten.

  The group continued their slow and cautious journey deeper into the cairn, noting how the architecture gradually gave way to a more natural, unworked environment. The smooth, carefully hewn stone walls began to roughen, fracturing into jagged surfaces, roots weaving their way through cracks overhead. Here and there, small tombs appeared, worn by time and neglect. Steban deftly retrieved his lock picks, slipping one of the tombs open with quiet precision, scavenging what little valuables remained inside. Meanwhile, Grusk grew impatient and used the full weight of his boot to smash open another tomb, sending a cloud of dust and debris into the stale air as he searched for anything of worth

  Steban grinned wryly. “Sometimes being subtle is better—draw less attention.”

  Grusk snorted. “Sometimes the most direct path is the best. No need to waste time hiding when you can just smash through.”

  Their banter was interrupted by the sight of a crypt sealed with dormant magic, clearly warding off grave robbers. Steban knelt down and carefully examined the faint shimmer around the stonework. "This magic’s meant to keep out unwanted visitors," he muttered. "Typical warding spells for graves, designed to deter those who would disturb the dead." Robin leaned in, studying the glowing runes, then nodded thoughtfully. "He’s right. It’s old protective magic — probably set long ago to stop grave robbers from ransacking this place." Grusk raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "How do you know so much about magic around graves, Steban?" he asked, curious.

  Robin chuckled, stepping between them. “We’re explorers, not graverobbers, remember?”

  Steban rolled his eyes, smirking. "We should just leave this one alone," he said. "There’s already been enough near-death experiences for one day. No need to press our luck any further."

  The group pressed forward, the promise of daylight spurring them onward toward the open air. After another hour of trudging through the winding, damp tunnels of the Mud Cairn, the first warm summer breeze brushing their faces felt like a gift—a vivid reminder of life, not death. Robin took a deep breath, savoring the fresh air. "Never thought I'd appreciate sunlight this much," he said with a tired smile.

  Samuel nodded, flexing his injured leg. "Makes all the crawling through spider webs and dust worth it."

  “No, Samuel, it doesn’t,” Steban said sharply, frustration clear in his voice. “This was your idea to begin with. We were meant to be avoiding death by dodging enlistment—not stumbling through forgotten tombs underground, battling whatever nightmares lurked down there.”

  Grusk grunted in agreement, wiping grime from his face. "Almost lost you back there, Samuel."

  Robin smirked, elbowing Samuel. "Maybe next time, don’t rush in headfirst."

  The dwarf Torrek stepped forward, his hammer still slung across his back. "I’ll come with you back to Fethrin," he said firmly. "There are stories to tell, and this place—" he gestured behind them at the dark tunnels, his thoughts lingering on a small skeleton—"shouldn’t be forgotten."

  Robin clapped Torrek on the shoulder. "Glad to have you with us. We could use more intelligent friends."

  “Yeah, Samuel, how many wounds are you nursing right now? If it weren’t for our cleric friend here, you’d probably be bleeding out somewhere in that crypt,” Steban said pointedly, eyes narrowing.

  "Hey, no one's dead," Samuel said quietly.

  Torrek smiled, a rare warmth in his eyes. "Let's go find an ale, then."