Mines were curious things to Kowler, silly though that was. Wrought of stone and the sweat of laborers, their express purpose was to keep going deeper, crushing through holes and caves of mineral deposits in the removal of even more stone. It was a labor that could be seen as cyclical. More often than not these stones mines meant to remove were of the more desirable variety, precious gems and veins of metal and the occasional magical reagent, but when looked at through a certain type of lens it could be said that mines were somewhat ridiculous. To fight fire with fire. Or, more accurate in this case, to take fire with fire.

Of course, Kowler was only thinking such a thing after spending the better part of an entire day scuttling through the seemingly never-ending tunnels of this dimly lit mine in an awkward silence filled only by...-

"One thousand seven hundred and six bottles o' beer on the wall," Daenys sang, skipping through the claustrophobic space as if she were a young girl, her bear companion trotting along with her, whining out a similar tune. "One thousand seven hundred and six~. Ye take 'em down, ye pass 'em around, one thousand-"

"Can you please stop?!" Marick shouted, twisting a hateful look her way. His voice echoed through the cavern, doubling then tripling then quadrupling with progressively lower levels of volume. But then Daenys' voice had been echoing for the better part of what Kowler would presume to be five hours, so he could not offer much complaint.

Daenys jutted her chin towards him. "Ye jus' don' know good music."

"I will speak for all of us when I say that that is not the problem." Naydra Reedwrought, the druid and primary healer of the party, stated drolly. She shot Marick a relieved look, one he shared with her.

"Well it ain't like anythin's happenin'." Daenys pouted, crossing her arms. "A' mean, really. You lot won't talk 'bout nothin'!"

She was not wholly wrong. It seemed that the whole of this party were comprised of those that preferred not to initiate conversation without any point to it. Quiet, composed, professional. Those were words that would describe most of this party.

Daenys, as Kowler had discovered, was the outlier in this case.

The Stoutskin triplets had been keeping her tendencies towards the annoying at bay for what little time they'd remained with the group. Their duties, assigned by the gnome Jeril, were to scout through the mines created by the Dark Irons and, if available, kill or capture what stragglers there were. The brothers knew the mines well, knew what the Explorer's League had made and what they hadn't, and had quickly gone off on their own, leaving the remainder in the dust. Apparently the Dark Iron's that had taken over had already dug out new paths from the mines that the League had made.

And without those three man-children to keep her occupied, Daenys's boredom had been inflicted onto those that remained.

"We're here to do a job, Daenys." Culver groaned quietly, ever cautious of his surroundings. Absentmindedly, he adjusted his towering shield strapped over his forearm. "That's all."

"Aye, an' I ain't complainin' about getting' paid or havin' work. Bu' a' can't handle the quiet. Ye know that! An' if you lot won't talk, then… One thousand seven-MM?!" She began to sing, only to cut off.

Curious, Kowler finally deigned look her way. Stevron, their ever-useful client, had clapped a gloved hand over her mouth. "What would you like to know then?" He asked, in an almost begging tone of voice.

He removed his hand from her mouth and she spat onto the ground. "Euch! Wash yer gloves." She scowled, scraping her tongue. Swallowing loudly, she faced him fully, purplish eyes bright with success, like she'd been hoping somebody would do that. "Well, I've been wonderin'. Ebontide only got off the ground last month. Culver knew me from the war an' invited me to join. But Mary and Neydra? Don't know how you two joined up."

Annora snorted from the back of the group. "You're a member. Wouldn't you know it?"

"Ye'd think!" Daenys harrumphed. "But noooo, nobody wants tae share their stories! Well, I wanna know!"

Neydra spoke, her words halting and accented but awkward most of all. "I… did not know this mattered so much to you. Very well, it is nothing I hold shame or concern over. I was among the relief of Kal'dorei sent to Stormwind upon my people's joining of the Alliance. I was one of the druids that rejuvenated the waters of the Park. And Marick-"

"Was overly curious." He boasted, smiling wryly. "It's not every day a race of ancient, powerful peoples of which only whispers of madmen and legends of old told tale of take over a significant portion of your city. Information was my trade, is my trade. It pays well and I live to know things. So, I made to know the Night Elves, and Neydra here was the first I came across. Naturally, I took to her."

The Night Elf in question shook her head in both fondness and shuddering annoyance. "Stalked is a better word, I believe."

"Whatever works, darling." Marick purred.

Neydra's face contorted with a shimmer of mist, silver eyes shifting to yellow and slit, her mouth and nose turning feral for but a moment. "Purr at me again and I'll show you how a real cat acts."

Marick, wisely, stopped purring. He did begin to pout, however.

"Marick came to know me and we became acquaintances. He assisted me with learning Common and I told him stories, both of my own experiences growing up and what I knew of my people's history. Before I knew it, three years had passed. Three years may not seem especially long to my people, long-lived as we are, but time passes at the same pace for us as it does with humans. Our acquaintanceship had become a friendship of sturdy make."

"Then the Stockades nonsense happened." Culver said from the front, as if to end the conversation.

"Eh. Fair enough." Daenys nodded, seemingly satisfied.

Kowler was not. "What happened with the Stockades?" Having been one of the prisoners that caused the flood in the first place, he wanted to know whatever they could tell.

"The Stormwind Guards scrambled. Most were separated for the celebrations of Hallow's End to keep track of the event-goers and were prepared for espionage from the Horde, not breakouts from their supposedly high security prison. By the time they knew what was going on, a riot of ridiculous proportions had broken out, I think the numbers totaled over three hundred, and the prison was essentially made derelict in the span of a few hours." Marick explained. "They did not want to worry the civilians, tried to keep it quiet, and so couldn't afford to have too many of their numbers focused on the prison. Stupid, I know. But that's nobility for you."

"Oh, but be careful now!" Daenys said in a sing-song voice. "That man's a noble now too!"

"He stormed a fortress filled to the brim with soldiers and battled a powerful fire elemental and then decided it would be a grand old time exploring a high-ranking excavation without knowing how much would be paid." Annora drawled. "Stupid does not seem to be the right word, but it's not far off."

Kowler would have spoken his defense, would have said something to counter that… had he the ability. Or the vocabulary.

But by the word-choice Annora had used, there was no arguing on her point.

Kowler was, indeed, stupid.

Strangely, he didn't mind it one bit.

"Anyway, the guard captain sent out for mercenaries and we four answered the first call." Marick continued. "By luck or fate, though I'm banking on luck myself, that first wave was all that was needed. We were well coordinated, well settled, and we were able to complete our task without any major issue. Most of the prisoners didn't know magic and were pushing over one another to get out without a care for who they stepped over. I'm guessing they trampled a third of their own dead and injured the other third. It wasn't easy to quell them, but it wasn't hard either. Culver offered me and Neydra a place in his guild immediately after and we figured it wouldn't be bad. And thus, here we are."

Kowler hummed his understanding, nodding their way. He knew very little on the subjects of guilds, presuming them only to have been a service provided in the game to make connections easier. That there were true guilds should not have surprised him. And here was proof of that.

He was content to silently ponder that.

"Are you done with your questions then?" Culver asked.

"Nay, got s'more!" Daenys denied cheerfully. She rounded on Stevron. "Why's yer job so important that we gotta guard yer arse?"

"Because it shouldn't need to be spoken." Stevron said, shifting his weight. His back-strapped greatsword shuffled with the movement. "I'm your client. Your job is to guard me."

"But why?" Daenys whined.

The paladin sighed, adjusting his glove. "I was hired to be a scribe for Fulmer, the original foreman of the Uldaman dig sight. Fulmer was known for being brilliant with his work, rumor had it he could sniff out digs like a pup did meat, but he had his weaknesses; literacy, for example. Fulmer could barely read and write and it showed. I was to create daily entries showing our progress on his behalf that would be flown by Talontail, our gryphon, to the offices of Ironforge once every month, deviating only in emergency."

"Which is not easily done with a dead foreman and gryphon." Kowler added.

Stevron nodded forlornly. "Right. So, my job became basically useless after the Shadowforge dwarves came and Emilia took over. But I continued to write down a daily entry, the men we'd lost and the provisions we were going through and the land we were losing. It helped me keep focused on myself."

"Did you write anything down about your… interactions, with Emilia?" Kowler asked, smirking.

"Oooohh," Daenys sounded, a giddy look on her face. "You shacked it with the dig boss?"

Stevron did not answer, merely adjusted the collar of his platemail and continued his story. "After Richard here saved us, when Jeril arrived, I gave him that book and he decided my words were good enough to be used in here. When we arrive in Uldaman proper, I am to begin writing everything I see, everything we as a party do, and whatever I can to help craft a clear picture. I will also be making a map."

"Wait," Marick said, halting. "We aren't in Uldaman?"

"No, we aren't." Stevron shrugged off the glare of the rogue. "Uldaman is a subterranean facility some eight miles below ground level. We only realized there was something here when we uncovered a still functioning automaton in the upper quarry. We explored a little bit of the main hall, but by this point it can be said that it's an entirely new operation."

"How close are we then?"

"Oh… About a second away."

As if to compound that statement, Culver stopped moving and held his fist up, signaling the rest of the party to halt. He grabbed the double-sided axe strapped to his side and muttered a prayer, a halo of dim light suffusing over his head momentarily before dissipating. Everybody else too prepared themselves accordingly; Naydra grabbed her mace and summoned forth a silver light in her other hand, Marick unsheathed his knives, Daenys cocked her gun and pestered her bear into readiness, Stevron leveled his greatsword from his back, and Kowler palmed his staff, small driblets of water circling his body.

On Culver's signal, they descended into an open cavern roped over with wooden stakes. Forgotten campfires lay all around, bed rolls and ratty tents and various tools littering the area. And, most important of all, was the singular piece that stood the testament of time.

Before them was a monolithic and genuinely awe-inspiring thing to see. White quartz wrought, thousands of years old though still looking freshly lain, dominated the environment past the makeshift camp. A great gate of some hundred feet in height was what they saw, cool air that felt as if to not come from the outside billowed out from within. Two great sentinel statues of stone, elaborately carved into the shape of titanic beings of unknown background, lifted the gate without straining, and Kowler felt, if for not the first time then certainly the most powerfully, that this was beyond him.

This was discovery.

"Welcome," Stevron breathed. "To Uldaman."

\ v /

/ ^ \

"HOLD THE LINE!" Culver shouted, beating another trogg back, ugly misshapen creatures looking to be a mix of a monkey and a dwarf. Massive jaws twice the size of their craniums filled with mangled though deadly teeth and clawed fingers poised for the kill, they were dangerous foes all on their own.

That there was a swarm of them made it all the worse.

Having been trekking through the passages leading to Uldaman for nearly a full day in dimly lit circumstances, and with uncertainty as to what they were to face in mind, it was unanimously decided that it made sense to camp where the Shadowforge dwarves took shelter before the gates of the titan facility. Delving into the unknown when tired suited nobody. Daenys had put her skills as a hunter to quick work, finding a pair of giant cave bats to feast upon quick enough. The meat was tough and gamy, but was also filling and sleep inducing, and after all had had their fill a sleeping rotation was established.

Kowler was the first to take watch, followed by Culver, then Stevron, then Annora, then Marick, then Daenys. Each took two-hour shifts, allowing for a total of twelve hours of rest. None had even thought to have Neydra take a watch; wanting their primary healer to be as rested as could possibly be allowed.

By luck of the draw or by design of the already established camp, nothing had harassed them during their rest. By the time they had awoken, gathered their belongings and entered Uldaman proper, passing through those great gates of polished quartz flanked by those immaculate carved sentinels, there was a tentative hopefulness riddled about that there wouldn't be anything to worry for.

That proved to be horribly naïve within the span of only a few minutes.

The troggs that had swarmed them came from even further into the earth. Poorly shaped holes littered the grand tiled floors of the entrance hall, and though they were slow to react to intrusion, they were not slow to attack. There was no real strategy, no real plan. They just all flooded at the explorer's party, intent on killing them, perhaps with a meal in mind.

Kowler had never seen Ebontide fight. He understood that they were impressive; that their skills were noted and recommended by the Stormwind Guard had to count for something. But seeing was believing, and he quickly understood their capabilities.

Marick was but a shadow, graceful and deadly, his form barely visible save for the shower of blood his blades left. There was magic in his movements, magic that Kowler struggled to comprehend, as if the human flitted between different realities, though that could not be the case. Marick was a true rogue. Daenys too was impressive, though of a different category; her bullets never missed their marks and her bear was strong and fierce, helping Culver hold the line. Culver himself was an undisputed master of efficiency, his shield bashing only when needed and his axe cutting at all other times. He was a paladin, just as Stevron was, only where Stevron brought hammers of light down to accompany the sweeps of his sword, Culver consecrated the ground in holy energies, burning through the soles and skin of the troggs, the damage he brought them replenished his own stamina.

Neydra however was perhaps the most impressive. She spoke little of herself, her age and background still a mystery, but her magic was something to behold. Considering Kowler had yet to actually see any druidism before, he knew to pay attention regardless.

The Badlands was not always bad land. Once, hundreds of years ago, well before his time, it was a grassy lowland in which trees and animals dominating the vicinity; a fertile farming ground under the jurisdiction of the Anvilmar kings of Ironforge. When the Dark Iron clan summoned Ragnaros, scorching the lands surrounding Blackrock Mountain into the Burning Steppes and the Searing Gorge, the Badlands, while not directly damaged, was still hit hard. That area relied on a river spring sourced from Blackrock, and with it dried out, so too did the Badlands form.

But the roots of what once were remained, strong and sturdy if unable to flourish.

Neydra made them prosper.

Roots whipped around the whole of the area from the walls and ceilings, choking and holding the troggs back by the will of their mistress, forcing them face-first into those cracks of holy magic that Culver had formed. Culver, under the right conditions, could hold back some six troggs at once – certainly a commendable fete. With Neydra's magic on hand, the whole of this invasion was combatable. Slowly, surely, they would fall.

The four of them worked together fantastically, as if each action brought about the sound of a concert; perfectly played and fantastically pitched. Their guild was well named; Ebontide. The black wave that could not be stopped, a euphemism for an inescapable ripple of death.

Kowler elected to have that occur even faster.

Just as he did weeks ago, he summoned Astreamor's water forth and shaped it into spikes of ice. With a mental command, these spikes speared through the skulls of the various downed troggs around, blood spewing from ruined forms all around. Combined with Marick and Daenys, what should have taken hours to handle was settled in a matter of minutes.

It was done. They had won.

Culver, tired and sweaty, flopped onto his ass and then promptly fell down onto his back, belting out an adrenaline-fueled bout of laughter. Daenys joined him without any heed of mind, landing her small body onto his prominent gut, earning an oof from the human beneath her, the pair of them laughing all the while. They were off in their own little world.

Neydra spoke quiet tones to the roots in her native language of Darnassian, a sad smile on her face. The roots nodded at her lowly, as if children taking words from their mother, and slithered back from whence they came.

…Marick was looting the bodies.

Kowler approached the rogue, curious despite himself. He'd long lost revulsion towards such actions, committing mass-murder could do that to the soul, but he was confused regardless. "What do you think those troggs would even have?"

"I've got a friend, back in Ironforge." He said. "Her names Murina Fizzlesprock. A gnome engineer. She once told me that when Gnomeregan was lost a band of troggs came in after the leper gnomes took over, stealing technology and whatever they could, learning whatever they were able make out."

Kowler worried his lip at that thought. Troggs were not particularly strong on their own, but they had numbers on their side, and if intelligence was added to the mix, they might be more dangerous than he'd initially thought possible. "Did they succeed?"

Marick snorted out an actual laugh. "No! Heh, that's a funny one. Troggs are dumb as dirt, Richy. They aren't smart enough to figure out gnomish engineering. Then again, most folk aren't. But Murina told me that they have a scavengers mentality, that they'll pick up anything that's interesting, and if there's one way to describe the bits and bobs of Gnomeregan, it's interesting."

As if to emphasize such a statement, he dug his hand into the pile of bodies, uncaring for the gore getting onto his leathers, and pulled out a particularly large body when compared to the other troggs. This one was almost twice as large as the others, pale-blue skin and white furred all over, its nakedness designating it as a female. And surrounding female, strapped to every bit and bob of her body, were a variety of items.

"I didn't believe Murina, not really. I tend to not believe in things that I haven't seen myself." Marick admitted, pulling a variety of things off of the corpse. "Plus, troggs are a more recent threat to the Eastern Kingdoms. They only really started to appear in the last century; rumor has it that they were hibernating deep in the land and some diggers woke some up who then woke the rest up. I figured Murina was just guessing. But I remembered her words when we accepted this job and figured it couldn't hurt to keep my eyes out. And then I saw this beauty…"

"I don't know if beauty is the word I'd use." Kowler chortled, kneeling next to the man. He too began to dig his hands around the pile of bodies, looking around for what could be construed as interesting.

"Oh, we're in the same boat there." Marick said, shuddering theatrically. It got a chuckle from Kowler. "No, but she was the most impressive trogg in that group, it could even talk! A bit. Kept repeating the same word over and over again; Revelosh. I think that was her name and I think she was the leader. The others just swarmed us, and she joined in, true, but unlike the others she was using magic."

Kowler blinked, befuddled. "Really?"

It wasn't that magic was impossible. This was a titan facility, a place of mystery and wonder. It's denizens, trogg or not, might be able to learn magic. But unlike other races of Azeroth, such as Murlocs, it was believed that troggs didn't actually have a language; they just copied what they saw and followed the strong.

Few could claim to expect them to be able to use any magic at all.

And. Wait. Wasn't Revelosh the name of the first boss in Uldaman? They'd already cleared the first boss?

For some reason, Kowler felt as if he'd been jipped.

Marick nodded, similarly confused. "I know what I saw. Her hands were coated in electricity and she was zapping her own while trying to get to us. Daenys downed her with a quick bullet through the skull… oh, I was wrong."

"Daenys didn't kill her?"

"No, she wasn't using magic. Not really." He lifted her hands, closed around bronze baubles, and pointed towards a pair of fingerless gloves sparking with magic. "It's enchanted. I don't recognize what sort of enchantment it is, though…"

"But I do." Annora said from behind them, causing Kowler to startle in surprise. Marick merely hummed and bade her to speak with his shoulder. "It's a common enchantment found in titan facilities. When metal touches the source, that metal is conducted with high levels of electricity. Often it was used to continuously power the automatons and premises of these facilities, but it appears this gnoll stumbled upon the way to weaponize it."

"And now I have too." Marick said in delight. He snatched the baubles from the corpse and placed them over his gloves. Experimentally, he withdrew his daggers, and crowed as the venom-coated blades lit with arcs of magic.

Looting rules followed swiftly. And among the Ebontide, their rules were simple; first come, first served. Daenys snagged a pair of bronze-tinted armguards for herself, Neydra found some gloves, Culver snagged a pair of shields that he equipped as shoulderguards and Stevron found a pair of boots that fit him surprisingly well.

Annora took no true loot. Instead, she began to carve her way through the corpses, taking organs and samples of all sorts for her alchemical experiments.

Kowler however felt he had found the best item. Whilst his party strove through the pile of bodies for their just rewards, he had taken an item strapped to the back of Revelosh. Something that did not hold any enchantment, something that held no particularly overt value.

A simple stick, a shaft, if you will. Made of white wood and dirty with grime, its only real point of interest was the empty gemstone slot at its end. It appeared to be a walking cane picked up without an afterthought.

But with the knowledge that this was Revelosh, so too did he know what this was. The Shaft of Tsol.

One half of the ingredients to summon Ironaya, lieutenant of Archaedes.

Who, Kowler quickly decided, strapping the shaft to his back, would continue to never see the outside of her self-made prison.

\ v /

/ ^ \

Competency breeds control, and control breeds continuity. In this respect, with the competency of Ebontide, Kowler was able to far more easily control the outcomes of their journey, continuously and consistently at that.

Uldaman was not nearly as dangerous as he'd thought it would be. The titan facility was home to a plethora of troggs and bats and scorpids, but little else could be seen, and with the position of roots and the powers at be, the party was able to make their way through without any genuine issue.

There were a few hiccups, true. Culver had taken a wicked blow to the back of the head that left him concussed and weak and a handful of troggs had begun to fling fireballs after a certain point, but Neydra and Kowler took care of Culver's injury quickly and readily and Marick and Daenys were able to kill those troggs before they could do much to hamper their descent; Daenys with her gun and Marick with his newly electrified blades. Truly, the man did love his find.

So too was the hiccup of curiosity. The party had passed through the entrance halls and come across the grand cave in which a diorama of some form was forged into the floor. It depicted a massive, sprawling city, lines of metal running through an empty pedestal in the middle. And in front of it all stood a great door, near as big as the entrance to Uldaman itself was.

Daenys and Stevron wanted to stay. Daenys, because it was interesting. Stevron, because it was his job. Kowler wanted nothing to do with this space, knowing full well that Ironaya lay on the other side of that door, but not knowing if she could escape of her own volition.

Luckily, Culver proved to hold the coolest head, ignoring the pun of his surname. He convinced the pair to continue forward, citing that they could always return to this location. Stevron insisted on a break, however, in order to both write down what they had seen thus far, as well as creating a drawing of both the gate before them and the diorama they were stood upon. This, by way of their jobs, could not be refuted.

Kowler learned more of Stevron's work during that break, finally understanding its relevance. Not only was his writing of high quality, beyond easy to read and grammatically on point; he was also quite the artist. The book he wrote in had a sister in Ironforge, magicked to have any words he'd written copied down perfectly. That sister copy could not do the same, however, meaning that Stevron would not be able to communicate. Kowler had questioned him as to why the dig had such difficulties in the first place if they had such an item. Stevron responded that they hadn't. This was Jeril's personal property, offered only the other day. Had Stevron had that book from the beginning, Kowler would not have been needed in the first place.

Morbidly, Kowler was thankful then that Stevron did not have it.

The reason they were tasked to return the book to Jeril should Stevron die was because such books were beyond expensive, and though lives could not be quantified, money was money and the Explorer's League needed everything they could get.

It was a sad thing to think on, but sadness was unavoidable in any and all lives.

Break over, they continued onward. Kowler wracked his brain heavily but could not remember the route of Uldaman, remembering only getting lost in the caves as a player once upon a time. So, trusting his party to be able to take care of themselves they, upon reaching a fork in the cave, took a right.

Which brought them into another hall of stark white quartz and face-to-face with a trio of stone dwarves, ancient in appearance and wielding their weight as if it were a magic all their own.

Kowler learned from fighting them that his most recent discovery with frost magic was quite useless against them. His ice spikes would simply shatter against the skin, not even impeding them. This, as expected, had Kowler distraught. He had spent good gold and long hours to utilize this magic, and for the first time since its inception it was deemed useless.

He liked it little.

In fact, few were able to make dents against those stone dwarves. Culver's consecration of holiness did not disturb them, nor did Marick's electrified daggers really, save for the occasional scratch. Daenys and Stevron were not even fighting against the earthen, too contrite or awe-touched to do so, leaving the killing blows to Neydra and Kowler.

Just because his ice did not work did not mean his water was weak. Kowler's ability to control water was still remarkably high among magic practitioners, and it showed. He arced a blade of liquid at the earthen and found he could cut them should his magic be made to vibrate fast enough. With Neydra holding them back using her roots, he was able to cull them, though those three earthen took twice as long to kill as that initial swarm of troggs.

Culver was panting when he turned to Daenys. "Why did you not fight? We were dying."

She was quiet for a moment. Shaken, lost. Then, with but a whisper, said. "D'ye really not know?"

"Of course I don't!" Culver thundered, braying mad. "All I know is that we're a guild, we help one another! What were you doing?!"

"It's dwarven law!" She shouted back. "Do not kill earthen. Written by Magni Bronzebeard hisself!"

"Why in the ever-living fuck would that be the case?" Marick asked, balking.

"Because the earthen are the key." Stevron answered, morosely holding a hand over the broken body of an earthen soldier. Annora was right by his side, though she was more fascinated than anything. "For years, longer than they can even remember, before they had a written language, the dwarven clans have wondered where they came from. Did they just sprout as they were or was there an origin to their nature? The gnomes do not care about their origins in the slightest and humans are believed to originate from Northrend. Elves were once trolls, if you can believe that! But dwarves? Nobody knows. Their ancient legends speak of armies of stone and metal sentries shaped like they were, but there was no proof. Not until recently.

"Earthen are what they are called. The living stones in the shape of dwarves. A group of miners came across one twenty-seven years ago, searching for new veins of ore for the Alliance during the Second War, far and away in the cliffs of Dun Morogh, and that single discovery begot what the focus of the dwarves has become."

"Their focus?" Neydra queried, her brow furrowed.

Stevron nodded sharply. "The dwarven clans are famous for being miners and crafters of all things metal. Most outsiders believe they have sussed out all the secrets of the forge. Even among the dwarves themselves there are those that follow that belief. It's a listless experience, to not have anything to do of note anymore, begetting conflict among peers and little compromise. Some scholars believe that that was one of the reasons for the civil war between the clans. But then the earthen were found and-"

"And we had purpose." Daenys said hotly, her arms folded tight. "We had it. King Magni made the order. Find what we can and learn what there is tae learn hidden in the deep. We might finally be able ta know who the Makers were through them. I- I can't kill earthen, Culver. It ain't right."

"And as Bran Bronzebeard is the head of the Explorer's League, Annora and I are similarly unable to fight." Stevron said.

Annora scoffed. "Speak for yourself. I follow that as a guideline, not a rule. Had those earthen been a true threat, had they broken through, I would have fought. My magic might be a poor opponent for them, but it's better to try than to die doing nothing."

Culver sighed, rubbing a cloth over his sweaty brow. "Regardless, this is a problem. Does anybody have any thoughts on what we should do?"

"Turn around." Stevron blurted out. "We've done fantastically well so far and have just now discovered that there are earthen here. That is a find worth its weight in gold. Nobody would decry us for abandoning our position this far in."

"I would." Kowler scowled. "Our mission is simple: scour the whole of Uldaman. This is not the whole of Uldaman. We have more to see, more to do, so we should keep going to see and do more."

"But there is no more to do!" Stevron rejected. "The way is blocked, and the law is clear. We cannot fight the earthen."

"Then we'll go the other way." Kowler said, speaking slowly. "There was a fork. We went right. We'll turn around and go left this time. But we do not quit."

The entire reason for his joining the Explorer's League and routing out the Badlands was to enter Uldaman. Should they head out, citing earthen packs and whatever other details to the found, there was no telling what he would be permitted to do. Would the league continue to allow him inside the dig? Would he be ejected from the premise?

He did not want to risk it, not when he was already here.

"Well, we'll do this the right way." Culver grunted, heaving himself back up. "A vote. There are seven of us here. Aye's stay, nay's go. Whichever side gets four wins it. Marick?"

"Aye," said the rogue without any flair. "Richard's right. There's more to do."

"Neydra?"

"Aye. Where Marick goes, I go."

"Daenys?"

The dwarf shook her head. "Nay. I jus' can't."

"Annora?"

"Nay. Much as I want to continue, and much as I don't care about the rules regarding the earthen, I already have gathered too many ingredients. I need to return to the surface anyway to drop them off if I'm to be of further use."

"Fair." Culver said, nodding briskly. "Stevron?"

"Nay." He said and said nothing else. His opinion had already been made clear enough.

"Richard?"

"Aye." Kowler said, staring Stevron down. To his credit, the paladin returned that stare evenly.

Culver sighed. "Three to three. I'm to break the tie then. Damn, I hoped not to need to… I trust you all, I do. Should we continue forward, I know we would be fine. And should we stop, I would have no issue. But at the end of the day, I must do what is best for my guild. Even one differing opinion can make the difference. And so, to you all, I say nay."

And that was it, it was decided. They would return to the surface.

Kowler's face was thunderous, as was Marick's. The rogue had initially been interested only in the gold the league would provide for a job well done, but the enticement of Uldaman had struck him well with his newest enchantment and he wanted to continue forward to reap whatever other benefits he might come across.

But unlike Marick, Kowler was not a member of the Ebontide.

"Then go," spat the shaman, glaring them down. His animalistic eyes made that a particularly disturbing sight to behold. "Do as you will. I am staying."

"You would court death." Neydra warned. "A brutal one at that. Are you certain?"

Resolute in his words, Kowler crossed his arms. "I am."

"And the league?" Annora asked. "You would risk your position. This is insubordination, Richard. Even if you live, you'll be wanted. You were just elevated to a thane and landowner; do you want to lose it just as quickly as you gained it?"

"I didn't come here for land or titles; those mean little to me. I came here for this. For Uldaman. I don't know if I'll ever be allowed back in, not now that the league knows there are earthen inside. It's a risk I won't take."

"Why are ye so stubborn about this?" Daenys asked, honestly annoyed.

Kowler growled at her. To answer that question would require more explanation than he was willing to give. He'd learned his lesson with Eastwatch, he could not trust his plans to strangers. Kind and capable though these people were, they were still strangers to him in the end, and he refused to offer answer.

His silence must have been speaking a different language, for Annora just sighed and dug through her satchel filled with trogg remains. After a moments pause, she withdrew with a bloody hand a flask and a wand and tossed them both his way. They fell to the ground just in front of his feet.

"If you're going to do this, then you'll need those." Annora said. "The flask is like your own, enchanted to hold plenty of water. It's not full, but it'll still be useful with your magic. The wand flings fire. If you mix enough fire with enough ice on stone, it'll turn brittle. Maybe that'll make the difference in life or death for you."

Slowly, Kowler picked the items up. Experimentally, he twitched the wand against a wall and marveled at the ball of fire that shot out, scorching the quartz with soot.

"This is a kingly gift." Kowler said.

Annora shook her head. "It's really not. Those flasks aren't particularly rare, and the wand only took a day to make. By the time I come back down here, I'll be using a better one."

"Still…"

"Tell you what." Annora said. "It's not a gift. It's a loan. So, I'd better see you bring it back."

Smiling beside himself, Kowler assented to her demand. She hugged him shortly and then backed away for the others to make their own farewells.

Culver clapped Kowler on the shoulder, wishing him luck. Though no incantations were spoken, Kowler felt magic seep into his body with that shoulder clap, magic that he could only presume to be holy, and no longer felt as tired as he once did. Daenys offered her apologies and Kowler waved them off. He understood her position, at the very least. Marick seemed dejected that they were to separate, and Kowler egged him on further by mentioning all the loot that he would take. The rogue almost wept at that. Neydra offered him some encouragement and claimed she would tell tales of his bravery. Awkwardly, Kowler thanked her for that.

Stevron was last. The note taker was still sour, as was Kowler, but they were separating and it was highly likely they would never see one another again. To leave in such a way brought about a bad taste in the mouth.

Knowing this, Kowler begrudgingly put his discrepancies aside and offered his hand. Stevron, undergoing a similar internal dispute, shook it shortly.

The party of now-six left then, leaving Kowler alone with only his thoughts. He spent his time as wisely as he could for the moment, attuning Astreamor's essence over the flask of water Annora had gifted him.

Once that was settled, he trekked back to the caved fork once again, and turned to the left.

Things are going a little slow for me in the real world, thus this chapter also came out a little slow. I settled myself down with a shitty part time job and have decided what degree I'm going to focus on when I return to school in the Spring. So, while I struggle my way into looking for a better job, I'll be slow. But I'm always slow, so that's okay.

Not a ton happened for Kowler this time around. This chapter was less oriented towards boosting him, and more the building of exposition for the Ebontide guild. This isn't the last we've seen of them, folks. They'll be back. Maybe sooner than expected! (That's not a spoiler, I haven't planned any interaction with them out just yet. I only know they aren't done)

Next chapter will bring us further into Uldaman, and Kowler will be able to cut loose in a manner which he hasn't been able to do in a while. It'll be a fun thing to write, especially since I'm going to be playing with some new ideas for allies for Kowler. We'll see how it goes.

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