I. Dao Clawmind sensed the coming of the messengers long before he heard their footfalls or saw the nervousness upon their faces. And he knew their purpose before the words left their mouths or the missive their leader's hand. The Crypt of Caracalla had opened once more. And his tribe had to make good on a promise made long before any of their grandfathers' births. The messengers looked about them with wild eyes, expecting to feel the touch of tooth and claw for the demands they had conveyed. But Dao merely smiled, bowed his head, and told them that it would be so.
II. In the days when he hadn't yet turned to the shaman's path, Dao had been an adventurer. Now he donned his old panoply once more, took up his sword and shield, and set out. For his tribe always kept their word. They would not make dissemblers of their ancestors. A foolhardy band of felpuur had promised an artifact to their employer, but perished within the depths of the crypt. And so the burden of their oath fell upon their kin -- though it had mattered little in the days when the crypt was hidden from mortal eye and tread. But fate or incomprehensible machinations had yanked its maw open once more, and it seemed that the noble families of humankind had long memories
III. It had taken many years for the human messengers to locate Dao's nomadic tribe, to follow rumor and hearsay until they found themselves deep in the jungles of East Kruna. So the shaman wasted no time in setting sail for the west. For he knew that the crypt would not remain open forever. In time it would seal itself once more, and disappear into the sands of history until the churning centuries again saw fit to unveil it. But he need not have feared. He soon found himself before the open mouth of stone, standing on the threshold of destiny.
IV. Dao had set but one foot in the crypt when another arrived behind him. An elf woman... No... Though she wore the ornate robes of a grandmistress of magic, and a mask concealed her face, the shaman could sense that she was but a girl -- cautious and unsure, fearful to find an armed and armored warrior in her path. He sensed power in her, but knew at the same time that she would never survive the crypt's trials on her own. So he urged her to accept his company, declaring that together the two of them were far more likely to endure the perils which surely lay before them.
V. The elf mage and felpuur shaman trod the ancient stone of the corridors for but a few minutes before they came upon those who had last followed that path. Corpses no more than a day old lay in their blood, men and women well equipped -- with the look of veteran adventurers about them. Of what had slain them there was no sign. So the strange pair ventured onwards with caution, casting wary glances into the shadows on either side.
VI. It was no blade which first tried to take their lives, no murderous foe or savage violence. Instead it was the cold, unthinking malevolence of a trap. Darts flew from the wall, launched from the unseeing eyes of sculpted spiders. Only Dao's shield saved Ariala, the elf girl, from meeting her death. After that the suspicion she had harbored fell from her, and she was glad to put her faith in the felpuur.
VII. Ariala was not long in repaying the shaman's aid. For when a torrent of arcane energy rushed upon them, unleashed from some inner recess of a stone wall like a captive tidal wave set free to rage once more, it was her barrier that shielded them within its pulsing cocoon. And Dao knew that his kindness would prove to be no selfless act of charity, but might instead allow him to both fulfill his oath and escape with his life.
VIII. A dozen traps sought to claim them. Blades were thrust from walls, blocks of stone fell from above. Mysterious flagstones glowed with the promise of death if they were trodden upon in the wrong sequence. Riddler gargoyles taunted them with seemingly insoluble conundrums, their eyes glowing with mischievous glee. But Ariala's mind was sharp and cunning. Her spells were ever ready to spring into existence and defend or destroy. Dao was wise and thoughtful. His bulwark was always braced to defend both him and the elf as though their lives were one, and his sword prepared to smite the crypt's foul denizens.
IX. At last the two came to the chamber at the heart of the sinister labyrinth, the great room in which the wealth of Caracalla had lain undisturbed while nations rose and fell. Ariala's eyes glistened as she gazed upon such wealth and power, the items her mother had yearned for -- had given her life in a vain attempt to obtain. Her fingers twitched with the urge to grab and take. Only indecision, the simultaneous allure of so many treasures, held them back. Yet Dao took nothing but the pendant his tribe had promised to recover. He sought no riches for himself. The elf thought of her mother's harsh, greedy eyes. Then she turned and departed alongside the felpuur, leaving the treasures where they lay.