Classic Fantasy The Pit
My name is Uldir, not that anyone uses it. I am a Duergar, or dark dwarf as most top-siders call me, and I am blind. Most of my ancestors were slain a century ago in a Drow invasion. The few Duergar that escaped fled their cities and mines in the uderdark and tried to make a living among the humans, but my kind has never been more than barely tolerated.

I was born without site and most consider that a limitation, but eyes are easily fooled. I have always been keenly aware of my surroundings by using the more important senses. I have even been able to scrape by, earning modest coin as a...
...craftsman, making crossbows and bolts for hunters and mercenaries. I've also earned the ironic reputation as a seer by some of the locals. I do occasionally have visions, but most of my predictions come from my keen senses of hearing, touch, and smell, as well as intuition and a little showmanship.

I get by, but just barely. And I've grown sick of the sneers and pity and distrust that most of these sun-lovers have from the moment they see me. It's time for me to move on, to do something more than just exist, to hone my talents and make my fortune, and I know just the place to do it...

The Pit

The Pit is an ancient abandoned mine shaft in the foothills of the Graywall Mountains. Many say its haunted. Many say its cursed. Some say that its deepest depths lead to the demon infested planes of the Abyss. Only the bravest, greediest, and foolhardiest adventures dare to enter it, for legends and rumors of those who have returned are scarce. I don’t know which category I fall into, only that I believe I have a better chance to survive and profit from its secrets than most, so in I will go.

I’m wearing a well-worn suit of leather armor and I'm taking my best crossbow, 30 bolts, backpack, wineskin, 50 ft. of hemp rope, and grappling hook.

On the way to the Graywall Mountains...
Cruel desperate citizen
Fantastic mill
Serious royal advisor
I managed to save a royal adviser from a would-be mugger. In return, the adviser treated me to a night in a warm inn, a mug of ale, a hearty meal, and a week's worth of preserved rations.

When I finally reach the rubble-strewn cleaning with the fifty-foot-wide hole in the ground at its center, I notice that the air is heavy, still, and silent.  It’s as if even the insects and the wind avoid this cursed place.  Undaunted, I approach and circle the edge of the hole, occasionally kicking small rocks over the edge, listening for a surface that sounds shallow and stable enough to reach with my rope.  Finally, I hear what sounds like a ledge, about...
29 = 29[d100]
Thirty feet below. I secure my grappling hook and climb down the rope...

Forum Jump:

Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)