The battle is over. The screams, the light, the fire, all of it is gone. Only silence remains now. Your boots crunch over the shattered tiles of the ruined elvish sanctum, deep beneath the earth where the final clash with the Demon Lord took place. Your clothes are torn, your lute is cracked, and your hands tremble not from exhaustion but from the sheer emptiness that follows. They’re all dead. The paladin who shone like the sun, the rogue who danced between shadows, the knight with the dragonbone spear, the priestess who sang louder than you ever could, and the mage. Gods, the mage. He held on to the very end, standing in the burning crater as the Demon Lord’s screams melted stone and sky. He spoke a word no one knew and the world went white. You woke up alone. Alive. But not for long.

A cold wind stirs and a flicker of violet light gathers beside you, coalescing into the shimmering ghost of the mage. His face is tired, his voice calm and final. “I bound him for a thousand years. The world will breathe again. But this won’t last. Someone else will have to seal him when he rises. That task is yours now, bard.” You stare at him, throat dry and heart pounding. “Me? I just sang the songs.” He nods. “And now you must write one. In my tower, far to the north, there are tomes, relics, and gold. Use them. Start churches, secret orders, traditions, myths. Whatever it takes to prepare them. But first...” He turns his face upward toward the broken vault above. “Survive. This is Kal Morith. The pets of the old lords still prowl here. And they are hungry.”

The ghost fades, leaving you in the dark. The ruined city breathes around you, whispering in broken elvish. The air stinks of wet stone, decay, and something deeper. Far above lies the surface and a road to the tower, but first you have to climb out of the grave.

>>6264196 (OP)


Your name is Selena Windvale, a bard of half-elven blood and noble bearing, once famous in courtly circles for your honeyed voice and scandalous lyrics. You were never meant to be a hero—just the one who sang their praises. But here you are, draped in the tattered finery of a legend's afterglow.

Your long black hair is tangled from ash and sweat, its curls once carefully styled now falling in disarray over your shoulders. Your skin is fair but smudged with grime and dried blood, your lips still touched with the remnants of crimson paint, smeared but defiant. A faint cut crosses your cheek where debris from the final blast struck you.

You wear a short, ruffled skirt of midnight blue velvet, now torn at the hem and flecked with cinders. Your corset is leather, tight and reinforced but designed more for show than for battle, with delicate golden trim and high laced sides that now gape slightly from the strain of movement. A half-cloak hangs from one shoulder, clasped with a broken sapphire brooch. Your long boots rise nearly to your thighs, once polished, now scuffed and damp from the mossy stone floors. Fingerless gloves cling to your arms, stained and fraying, but you keep them on—somehow they make you feel more composed.

At your hip is a jeweled dagger, more ceremonial than lethal. Your cracked lute is strapped to your back, its once-bright wood dulled by soot. Around your neck is a thin silver chain holding a single earring you never got around to putting on—your brother’s, taken when you left home.

You don’t look like a warrior. You look like a lost performer from a ruined masquerade. But under the dirt, the silk, and the lace, you are the last witness to the fall of the greatest heroes of the age.

And whether the world believes it or not, you are the only one left to save it.

>>6264198

You take a moment to steady your breath, the coppery taste of fear still clinging to the back of your tongue. You're in the last chamber of the dungeon, the deepest point of Kal Morith, the ruined elvish city now little more than a tomb. The walls here were once beautiful, etched with vines and stars and flowing runes, but they are cracked now, scorched and blackened from the battle's fury. Ash clings to everything. The air is stale, thick with the scent of ozone and ancient dust. You are alone.

The bodies of your fallen companions—your friends, your legends—are gone. The wizard's final spell must have incinerated them, or taken them with him when he sealed the Demon Lord. Only you remain. You, and the silence.

At your feet lie piles of gold, rubies like drops of blood, rings tangled in broken chainmail, scattered crowns, and dented goblets shaped like leaves. A fortune fit to buy a kingdom, if you could carry it. But you have no sack, no pack, nothing but your torn garments and a dagger meant for parlor shows. The gold would slow you down. Worse, it would clang and shine in the dark. It would get you killed.

You scan the dark passage behind you, trying to recall the path that brought you here. The broken spiral stairs. The shattered bridges over bottomless chasms. The temple turned hunting ground. On the long road to this final chamber, you encountered horrors that haunt your memory even now:

Carrion Hounds, their stomachs bloated with rot, dragging themselves after the scent of the dying
Whisper Banshees, whose voices mimic the voices of loved ones to lure you into their grasp
Marrow Stalkers, eyeless creatures that hung from ceilings and dropped in silence
Soul Leeches, silver worm-things that burrowed into flesh and whispered dreams while feeding
Chained Ogres, bound in rusted armor, their minds broken by ancient magic
Fleshgorgers, beasts made of too many mouths and the bones of the things they had eaten
Mirror Fiends, who showed you visions of yourself failing, again and again, and fed on despair
Rotvine Shamblers, plant-corpses that sprouted in the corpses of elves and moved with silent hate
Ghoul Priests, still wearing the robes of their order, chanting dead prayers as they swung rusted censers
And the Hollow Knight, the fallen hero-turned-wraith who almost ended you with a sword once blessed

Each of them was passed, outwitted, or fought—though not always by you. Your companions cleared the way, bled for it, died for it. Now you're alone, and the way back might not be clear anymore. Monsters wander. Lairs shift. Nothing down here stays still for long.

What do you do?

> search the chamber for anything useful—spell scrolls, enchanted gear, hidden exits
> attempt to pry open a jeweled coffer in case something small and magical is inside
> approach the tunnel you came from and quietly begin retracing your steps
> wait and rest, try to regain some strength before moving
> sing softly to see what answers from the dark

>>6264199
>attempt to pry open a jeweled coffer in case something small and magical is inside

>>6264199
>> attempt to pry open a jeweled coffer in case something small and magical is inside

This is a fantastic scenario to use as a setting, great stuff so far.

>Search the Chamber...
>Attempt to Pry...
>Wait & Rest...

>>6264202
>>6264210
>>6264265


You kneel beside the shattered altar where the jeweled coffer rests, half-buried beneath a cascade of scorched tapestries and broken elven relics. The box is small—perhaps the size of a bread loaf—but ornate beyond reason. Its hinges are gilded with dragonbone filigree, its lock shaped like a blooming iris, and sapphire inlays catch what little light there is, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.

You wedge the tip of your ceremonial dagger into the seam and twist. The coffer resists, groaning like a creature roused from sleep, but eventually gives. Inside, velvet lining cradles a single item: a delicate silver ring set with a gem that shifts colors like oil on water. Even before you touch it, you can feel the magic pulsing within it—something ancient and immense.

You pick it up.

The air thickens. A sighing sound echoes through the chamber as violet smoke coils out of the ring and begins to swirl in the air before you. It forms into a shape—a lean, long-limbed figure with golden eyes, draped in robes of starlight. A genie.

He regards you with the weariness of a being too old to care about appearances anymore. His voice is dry and smooth, like wind through a tomb.

“Ah. A bard. Charming. You’re a little late, I’m afraid.”

Your eyes widen. "Is this… is this a ring of wishes?"

He gives you a crooked, lazy bow.

“Correct. A powerful artifact. A relic of gods and fools. Alas...” — he lifts his hand, showing you three small cracks running along the gem’s surface —
“...it has already been used. Three wishes. Gone. Spent by the last owner, whom I believe was devoured by a Fleshgorger shortly afterward.”

You stare, stunned. “So it’s… worthless?”

The genie tilts his head.

“Not quite. I may be bound no longer, but the ring still holds a trace of presence. I can offer you… information. A secret, perhaps. One last echo. But no more miracles.”

The gem flickers weakly.

“Ask one question, Selena Windvale. Make it count.”

> “What is the safest way out of Kal Morith?”
> “How can I prepare the world for the Demon Lord’s return?”
> “What did the last three wishes do?”
> Write in

>>6264297

> “What is the safest way out of Kal Morith?”

>>6264297
>“What is the safest way out of Kal Morith?”

>>6264417
>>6264522


You stare at the genie, the swirling light of his form reflected dimly in your wide, grime-smudged eyes.

“What is the safest way out of Kal Morith?”

The genie exhales through a smile that doesn’t reach his golden eyes.

“Ah. Safest,” he says with the dry amusement of something that remembers the invention of spears. “Relatively speaking, of course.”

He floats upward slightly, gesturing with fingers that leave trails of starlight in the air.

“The safest way out would be the teleportation circle network. If you take the secret passage behind the altar, you’ll find the first one. It’s still active. It’ll take you to another hidden chamber in the Old Barracks.

“From there, a tunnel leads directly to the surface. But—” he raises a knowing brow, “—there are far too many monsters nesting in the Old Barracks. Vile things, territorial and alert. If you go that way, you’d need some way to pass unnoticed. Illusions, shadows, divine luck, whatever scraps of cleverness you still have.”

He folds his arms behind his back and continues.

“Alternatively, you could take the Spiral Staircases. Those are also hidden behind secret doors. Conveniently, one is right here—behind you. It’ll take you all the way up to the third level. That level doesn’t connect directly to the surface, but the monsters there are weaker. Nuisances. You might even survive being spotted. From there, it’s just a matter of climbing to level two, then level one, then finally escaping through the broken city gates. If you’re quick, you might even outrun them—their traps are still being rebuilt.”

The genie leans closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“And then… there’s a third path. The Kraken Pool. The kraken is dead—slain centuries ago—so the tunnel is open. If you can swim, you can simply float up through the drowned halls and emerge in the Lake of Shattered Reflections, right on the first level.

“However… you’d need to hold your breath for at least twenty-five minutes. There are a few air pockets on the way, but lingering in them is dangerous—things nest there. You’d need a way to breathe. There’s a Ring of Breath Holding in the Chained Ogre’s Room, three chambers from here. It has two charges left. Each gives you ten minutes underwater. So… close.”

He gives you a last, languid smile, and bows.

“Good luck, bard. Write a good song about it.”

With that, the genie vanishes in a ripple of violet light. The ring in your hand cracks down the middle and falls still—its power spent forever.


What will you do?

> Search for the Ring of Breath Holding and attempt the Kraken Pool escape
> Step behind the altar and enter the Teleportation Circle network
> Use the hidden passage behind you and climb the Spiral Staircases
> Sit and think longer, there might be other secrets here worth uncovering first
> Write in

>>6264591
> Sit and think longer, there might be other secrets here worth uncovering first
> Use the hidden passage behind you and climb the Spiral Staircases

>>6264591
>Search for the Ring of Breath Holding and attempt the Kraken Pool escape

>>6264591
>> Step behind the altar and enter the Teleportation Circle network

>>6264591
>Sit and think longer, there might be other secrets here worth uncovering first

>>6264609
>>6264623
>>6264632
>>6264677


You sit atop a heavy, rune-carved chest, the cold metal biting through the torn velvet of your skirt. The ring lies cracked in your palm. Three paths, each one brimming with death. You close your eyes, trying to breathe through the weight of it all—when you hear it.

Soft footsteps.

Your heart lurches. You slip off the chest and quietly lift its lid, crawling inside just as the footsteps reach the chamber’s threshold. Through a thin crack between the hinges, you watch.

A man in a dark robe—hood low, face obscured—enters the chamber. Not a monster. A cultist, maybe, or a scavenger who made it deeper than he should have. He doesn’t see you. He’s too busy laughing to himself and shoving rubies, rings, and golden brooches into a large, patched sack. The noise of plunder echoes with cruel clarity in the ruined chamber.

Then he leaves. Coins clink, metal clatters. You hear him for a few steps more—

—and then a sound that cuts through your marrow.

A wet, brutal tearing. A scream garbled by blood. The crash of treasure hitting stone.

Then, snuffling. Slurping. Bones breaking.

Something is feeding.

You are still inside the chest. What do you do?
> Rush past the creatures while they’re distracted with the cultist’s corpse. It’s a gamble, but they’re feeding, and might not notice you until it's too late.
> Stay hidden in the chest and wait. Maybe the creatures will leave when they’ve finished feeding. Maybe.
> Write in

>>6264708
> Stay hidden in the chest and wait. Maybe the creatures will leave when they’ve finished feeding. Maybe.

>>6264715


You hold your breath, pressing your body flat against the cold interior of the chest. The lid creaks as it is pushed open just a crack, enough for the dull light to spill inside. Two rough voices chatter nearby.

“Wasn’t this the room where they were gonna summon Bossman?” one grumbles.

“Guess they failed,” the other replies, kicking at a pile of broken goblets. “Well, let’s move all this crap somewhere.”

They start filling the chest with gold, shoveling coins and jewels in until you are buried under a heavy, glittering heap. The weight presses down, but you stay perfectly still—the goblins are too careless to notice you.

Suddenly, the chest is shoved and rocked as they lift it.

A deep, guttural voice booms from the entrance:

“What you maggots doing with my treasure?”

The goblins freeze, uneasy.

“We gotta take this treasure somewhere else,” one explains nervously. “This room is empty. Someone could steal it.”

The ogre grunts and nods.

“Fine. I’ll take it to the Fleshgorgers’ pit.”

The chest is pushed forward, rolling slowly through the chamber.

What do you do?
> Try to quietly slip out from under the treasure as the chest is moved, and hide nearby.
> Brace yourself and let them carry you along, planning to escape once they reach the Fleshgorgers’ pit.
> Wait for an opportunity to topple the chest and cause a distraction, then flee.
> Write in

>>6264735
> Try to quietly slip out from under the treasure as the chest is moved, and hide nearby.

>>6264738


As the ogre grumbles and grabs the handles of the heavy chest, you feel the moment—a brief tilt, a shift in the weight, a breath of space in the glittering pile pinning you down. Your bard's instincts—honed on backstage sneak-outs and moonlit balcony escapes—kick in like a forgotten muscle.

You hold your breath, twist your hips, and slip through the gold like a shadow in silk. A single ruby tumbles after you, but no one notices.

The goblins are arguing about who has to clean the blood from the hallway. The ogre is muttering to himself, too focused on the dragging weight to care.

You land silently on the floor behind the chest and roll into the deep shadows between two cracked pillars. Your boots barely scuff the stone.

The ogre hauls the chest forward with a wet grunt. The treasure-laden box scrapes against the floor, coins shifting inside—along with the space you so recently occupied.

They don’t see you.

They don't even know you're gone.

As the chest disappears down a sloping tunnel, the sounds of the ogre’s labor echo into the distance, followed by the distant growl of something large and hungry from deeper below.

You are alone again—but free.

You are in the ruined treasure chamber. What now?
> Sneak into the passage behind the altar to try the teleportation circle
> Head toward the Spiral Staircase behind the tapestry to begin the long climb
> Make your way to the Chained Ogre’s room to retrieve the Ring of Breath Holding
> Search the chamber again, now that you’re alone, for magic, weapons, or a disguise
> Follow the ogre and the chest, maybe the Fleshgorgers’ pit has another exit... or allies
> Write in

>>6264768
> Search the chamber again, now that you’re alone, for magic, weapons, or a disguise

Rolled 3 (1d3)

>>6264782

sure

1 - monster
2 - treasure
3 - fukken nothing

>>6264864


You step carefully over scattered coins and broken goblets, eyes sharp despite the lingering dust and shadows. Every nook and cranny of the chamber is picked apart with desperate hope—hollowed statues, collapsed pedestals, shattered urns—but the only treasures waiting for you are piles of glittering, useless gold and gems.

No enchanted weapons, no hidden cloaks, no spell scrolls tucked beneath the rubble. Just cold, silent riches that weigh heavy in your hands but offer no aid to your escape.

Your breath catches, the silence settling around you once more. The world outside this chamber is no kinder, but you must choose your next step carefully.

What do you do now?
> Sneak into the passage behind the altar to try the teleportation circle
> Head toward the Spiral Staircase hidden behind the tapestry to begin the climb
> Make your way to the Chained Ogre’s room to try and find the Ring of Breath Holding
> Write in

>>6264868
>Head toward the Spiral Staircase hidden behind the tapestry to begin the climb
Interesting quest. Hope you plan to stick around, QM.

>>6264868
> Make your way to the Chained Ogre’s room to try and find the Ring of Breath Holding

>>6264868
> Head toward the Spiral Staircase hidden behind the tapestry to begin the climb

>>6264967
>>6264969
>>6265010


You haul yourself up the last worn stone steps, each one biting into your aching legs, until finally the spiral staircase spits you out onto the quiet third level. For the first time since your descent into Kal Morith’s depths, you find a moment of peace. No snarling beasts, no flickering shadows stalking just beyond your sight—only the faint echo of dripping water and the cold stone walls closing around you.

Your chest heaves, sweat trickling down your brow, soaking the ruffled velvet of your skirt. The climb has left you utterly exhausted. You sink down against the wall, grateful for the chance to catch your breath, your trembling fingers wiping the sweat from your burning face.

As you sit, your eyes wander to the cracked stone beside you, where tiny, irregular holes perforate the surface. Curiosity stirs, mingled with a cautious dread. You edge closer and peer through one of the openings.

Beyond the wall, flickering torchlight reveals a chaotic scene—a tribe of goblins bustling through their daily business. Their mottled green skin and ragged clothes shimmer in the flicker, their voices a mixture of harsh whispers and sharp laughter. Crude weapons glint as they sharpen blades, while others haul supplies across the floor.

Suddenly, one of them pauses, sniffing the air with a sour scowl. “Smells like human…” he mutters loudly enough for others to hear.

Heads turn sharply, and several goblins raise their noses, sniffing. “Here! Over there!” another shouts, pointing toward the wall.

Your heart stammers in your chest. They’re onto you—or at least, suspicious.

You freeze, breath caught in your throat.

You scan the small chamber and realize you have three possible escape routes from the secret passage you’re in:

A sturdy lever mounted near the wall. Pulling it will activate a rotating stone wall, which could block the goblins’ path—but might also trap you elsewhere inside the labyrinth.

A narrow slide, a chute carved into the stone, leading down sharply to the fourth level below. It’s fast, but you don’t know what dangers lurk below.

A tight, barely visible maintenance tunnel, scarcely wider than a goblin’s body. It offers a slow, cramped passage that might allow you to slip away quietly—if you can fit.

What do you do?
> Pull the lever and risk activating the rotating wall, potentially blocking the goblins but trapping yourself somewhere unknown
> Take the slide down to level four, escaping quickly but plunging into uncharted and possibly dangerous territory
> Attempt to squeeze through the narrow maintenance tunnel, risking getting stuck but hoping to evade detection silently
> Try to distract the goblins by throwing a small stone far away to divert their attention
> Hold your breath and wait silently, praying the goblins lose your scent and move on without discovering you
> Write in

>>6265028
>Try to distract the goblins by throwing a small stone far away to divert their attention

>>6265031


You reach into the rubble beside you and close your fingers around a small, smooth stone. With your breath held and your heart pounding in your ears, you lean close to one of the holes, calculate the arc, and toss the rock with all the silent precision you can muster.

It sails through the air—then clatters loudly against a broken statue far down the opposite hallway beyond the secret passage.

Immediately, one of the goblins jerks upright.

“Did you hear that?”

Another, eyes wide and eager, snarls,

“Must be the human! Come on, let’s gut ‘em!”

Without hesitation, a mob of goblins shrieks and charges off in the direction of the sound, weapons in hand, feet pounding against stone as they disappear into the distance, leaving behind a cloud of dust and scattered curses.

You exhale slowly. It worked.

Only a few goblins remain behind—too absorbed in their tool-making to care. One sits carving bone into hooks, another sharpens scrap metal into jagged knives. A third squats near a fire, humming to himself and stirring something that smells suspiciously like glue.

And at the far end, seated on a throne made of bones, moss, and stolen pillows, the goblin shaman remains. His eyes are half-lidded, his hands busy drawing symbols into the dirt. He hasn’t moved.

The way ahead may never be this open again.

> Run in the opposite direction of the goblins, taking advantage of the opened space to flee deeper into the ruins—or possibly toward an unexplored path.
> Murder the shaman with your dagger, striking swiftly and silently to eliminate the magical threat before he can react or raise an alarm.
> Sneak past the remaining goblins, staying low and using the columns and shadows for cover to slip through unseen.
> Go after the goblins, shadowing them at a distance—if they’re hunting something, maybe they’ll reveal another exit or a forgotten route.
> Write in

>>6265033
> Murder the shaman with your dagger, striking swiftly and silently to eliminate the magical threat before he can react or raise an alarm.

>>6265033
>Murder the shaman with your dagger, striking swiftly and silently to eliminate the magical threat before he can react or raise an alarm.

>>6265069
>>6265113


You move like a whisper through the crumbling stone, dagger drawn, breath held tight in your chest. The shaman sits hunched over his strange scrawlings, lost in trance or thought—he never hears you coming.

You leap from the shadows, your blade flashing in the dim light. It sinks deep into the side of his neck, severing flesh and spell alike. His eyes go wide, then glassy, as he collapses soundlessly onto his throne of bones and pillows.

For one stunned heartbeat, the chamber is silent.

Then:

“THEY KILLED GRUBMOTHER!”
Two of the goblins look up in disbelief. Their shock turns to fury as they hurl the crude spears they were sharpening in your direction.

You twist and spin, evading both projectiles—one clatters off a pillar, the other sticks uselessly into the shaman's now-vacant throne.

You don’t stop to gloat.

You run.


Where do you flee?

> Follow the path the goblin mob took, hoping their chaos will mask your movement—and maybe they’re headed somewhere important.
> Sprint in the opposite direction, deeper into unknown territory where the goblins aren’t. It might lead to freedom—or worse.
> Duck into a secret passage you just noticed behind the shaman’s throne—a crack in the wall marked with faded runes and moss.
> Dive into the goblin backrooms, a tangle of supply alcoves, sleeping mats, and refuse piles. Risky, but it may hold disguises, food, or stolen gear.
> Write in

>>6265380
>Duck into a secret passage you just noticed behind the shaman’s throne—a crack in the wall marked with faded runes and moss.

>>6265380
> Dive into the goblin backrooms, a tangle of supply alcoves, sleeping mats, and refuse piles. Risky, but it may hold disguises, food, or stolen gear.