The dive through ashes and shadows (Fantasy black archeologist's miniquest)

You open your eyes, letting your gaze slink into the stars-filled dark abyss. Baudur and Sophrona - the eternally bound in celestial waltz moons - are not within your sight, entirely ceding the scene to the rich scattering of stars with their mysterious doings and the nocturnal aethers. The view is mesmerizing, and you catch yourself on the thought that it had been so long since the last time you had the time and opportunity to marvel at a night sky that it almost felt new. The lukewarm springtime air and a total absence of clouds only enhance the experience, making you wish to lift off the ground and wrap yourself into the comfy shroud of darkness, far away from earthly troubles.

But alas, an experience like this can only take place in dreams; meanwhile, the notions of escapism consequentially cast your internal limelight at the set of circumstances that made you dream of an unlikely release in the first place. First one, there is a disease raging across the planes that transfigure animals and drives them berserk, making the outdoors dangerous and hunting often fruitless. Secondly, anomalous areas began to pop up in the realm, driving insane, turning outside-out, or plainly vanishing those who enter them. Thirdly, a specific vibe that precedes wars is in the air, causing people from tribes and settlements to either flee or prepare for the upcoming chaos. And finally, there's you:

[] The eldest daughter of an ancient alvizian house stuck in even more ancient ruins in the middle of a land filled with all kinds of louts and savages.

You shift your gaze down from the skies to your servant golem, who is busy unearthing the entrance to what is presumably the precursors' vault, which you tried to locate for years. Here's hope, in this gods-forsaken hole, you will find the tool for restituting your bloodline's name and fortune, taking back what is yours by the birthright from the royal court's vultures and rivaling dynasties. And if that wasn't enough of a motivation, no longer having to eat the local muck-of-a-food would do the trick indeed.

[] One of the last surviving dragmeres from a ravaged nest.

The queen of the nest - and your brood mother - has fallen to injuries sustained from fending off her perch and eggs from plagued behemoths. The majority of your kindred were also slaughtered during the attack. Yet, not all is lost: the last egg - the one with an heir of your perished queen inside - was preserved by you and a handful of surviving kindred. You may be just a mere dragmere - an expendable worker specimen of a ruined dragon colony, but you have a purpose: to preserve your mother's dynasty and see her most precious child to this world whatever the cost may be.

[] A huntress and a daughter of a Westlander settler and a Turanian maiden.

You sit on your bed, watching with the bated breath through a window gap of a remote lodge where you were born and grew up, which was now besieged by a plagued chimera. Your mother died six cycles ago from a fever, and at the end of the previous year, you had to bury your father. Ever since then, life hadn't been the same, regardless of how desperate you were trying to cling to memories of the happier days. The supplies are running out, and with the rabies plague raging along with lack of contact with the nearest village's denizens, you fear that your home might soon become your coffin. Having to abandon everything you knew and held dear shakes you to the very core, but it is exactly what your father demanded of you on his last breath: to live. At least your falcon is still with you...

[] A hunter from the oceanside village on the western edge of Blugd-Tur.

One day, after the shaman and herbalist of your tribe fell victim to an unknown disease, the village's elder dispatched you and other younglings to seek and hunt down a thunder hind - an obscure mythical beast of the Blugd-Tur plains, the horn powder of which is believed to be able to save your tribe. You traveled far away from home, seeking for this beast, but instead of finding any hints, you ended up where you are now: beaten, malnourished, and tied like a goat on a slavers' boat. Some pitiful hunter you are, eh? You hear the oars working against the tide of Tzuh-Aran river, you hear the footsteps of a watcher, you feel the pain in the chest from previous beatdowns, and you almost slink your palms out of the bindings...

You shift your gaze down from the skies to your servant golem, who is busy unearthing the entrance to what is presumably the precursors' vault, which you tried to locate for years. Here's hope, in this gods-forsaken hole, you will find the tool for restituting your bloodline's name and fortune, taking back what is yours by the birthright from the royal court's vultures and rivaling dynasties. And if that wasn't enough of a motivation, no longer having to eat the local muck-of-a-food would do the trick indeed.

But alas, the speed at which your steel servant bulldozes through the millennia-old debris blocking the vault's entrance does not inspire the confidence of the swiftest return to the comfort and civilization of Soltsveig islands. Damn, you almost feel like killing for a neat fruit tart with creme like they cook in Lorendale. As you think of it, the gastronomical recollection only makes matters worse, bringing in the memories of gentle springtime rains, neat gardens, and idyllic fields of your island homeland. While starting into the night that shrouded this savage land, you feel homesick, tired, and even a tad bit afraid.

And there indeed were a lot of reasons to be worried about: even though, after spending about the worth of a tidy little seashore hut somewhere in the Southern Soltsveig archipelago on this expedition, you located what was supposed to be the atheneum vault of Almafey, there were zero guarantees that you'd get to its sanctum in a week, less so a couple of days you hoped for. If there was anything you've learned from exploring the Ars oceanside ruins of Almafey it is that, aside from expecting nigh-guaranteed debris blockages, sporadic flood zones, and pest infestations, almost anything can end up being bottled behind the heavy obsidian walls. Anything from smugglers' hideouts to goblinoids' ritual sites dedicated to their fertility deities and filled with primitive thematic "art" can lie and wait for you in these ruins.

At this thought, you cringe. "Get a hold of yourself, Katherine," you mentally issue a command to yourself, thinking it would allay the feeling of uncertainty before what might be lying below you. And, at least this time, it works, diverting your mental spotlight from the fear of the unknown to the sacrifices and efforts you've made to get this far.

[] After all the years and fortunes spent on trinkets studying, artifacts reassembly, and dabbling into theoretical and practical engineering, including magitech, should you not find the fabled anamnestic miner here, you would strip this place clean of all the Almafey contraptions and assemble one yourself! At this thought, you straighten up under the weight of your handmade bolt repeater hanging on your back. The grenade shells on your belt clack merrily against each other as you do so.

(From the early youth, you practiced artifice and craftsmanship, eventually dabbling into the theoretical and precursors' tech. If not for the dubious reputation of your lineage, you might have been one of the most trendy mechanists of the Rosanrica kingdom. Your skillset is represented via crafting, lore, and self-defense skill groups in the fading order of prominence.)

[] Being an offspring of a pariah house is a harsh fate, so when your own society closes the doors before you for what they see as the sins of your forebearers, the workaround venues of getting the objects of your desires become all too evident. Some shady deals and services for the ever-rivaling nobility, a neat spy network, active participation in the unauthorized artifacts trade, and here you are: about to expand the "black archeology" segment of your portfolio in a chase for the artifact that could override the centuries of your family's infamy.

(Being one of the old but maligned bloodline, you had to refer to more clandestine methods and contacts to get what the Rosanrican nobility obstructed from you. You are no stranger to espionage and infiltrations, know how to pick the suitable bargains or cause advantageous situations, and are not a total slouch at self-defense either.)

[] Countless hours spent in the academy's library studying dusty history tomes to the point some students began to think of you as a ghost haunting the premises. The struggle and humiliation of seeking out archivists willing to overlook your pedigree and oblige your inquiries. Through all these hardships, you still haven't found the answer to why your ancestors acted against the crown during the latter's darkest days. But it didn't stop you: to get the answer you wanted, you delved even further into the past, seeking the clues and keys to unlocking the memories concealed within the humble piece of memorabilia that connects you to the turning point of your bloodline. Unbeknownst, you grew into one of the continent's leading historians, ready to plunge into a whole sanctuary of ancient knowledge.

(It took generations for your dynasty to rehabilitate itself to the point the Rosanrican royal academia deemed it unnecessary to bar your kind from the kingdom's knowledge anymore. If what they say about knowledge being power is true, then one mighty alvizian you are, boasting with high expertise in crafts lore, history, languages, and geography. Your social side is not much weaker either: obtaining access to all this knowledge took a lot of bartering and sweet-talking. Alas, these are opposite to your combative capabilities.)

[] They say that in order to understand the true worth of status and fortune, one must lose it. This was your house's fate, and something you sought to overcome with your own efforts and wits. Generations after the demotion of the Yorvic's house, it was you who led it to attain the status comparable to lesser nobles, with an estate at the capital, a well-managed enterprise trading in exotic contraptions & antiquities, and a vast network of suppliers and contractors. And who knows: maybe, after gathering lore and clues for years on end, you would finally be able to procure the evidence weighty enough to force the great houses to cede what rightfully belongs to your family.

(Your skills at fending for your own might be limited to lobbing shoes at the snouts of scoundrels, but you have others to fill in this gap in your skillset for you. And as for your strengths, scalpel-sharp wits, good education, unparallel scrutinizing ability, and the experience of avoiding harm's ways is what you have in plenty.)

As you mull through your thoughts and look back at the long trail that led you to these savage lands, the sound of a heavy thump ruptures the stillness of the night: Davon has finally unblocked the entrance. Rallied by it, you lose not a moment and fix the bag with travel supplies on your back and the long boots on your feet. Given that the hulking derelict isn't that far off from Tzuh-Aran, it's feasible that some sections of the underground passageways would be flooded. But this is something you'd have to worry about later: it took you almost a week to locate this place, and you only did so by the evening. You are well aware of the Freelanders' proneness to rob or enslave lonely wanderers. Hence, you decide it would be safer to secure a forward base within the ruins than to spend another night at the surface, tempting the beasts and the thugs with what they might consider easy prey.

Not without a vibe of anticipation in your gait, you approach Davon - your golem companion and the heirloom of your dynasty. He is not just a primitive puppet with the absent or rudimentary will but a legitimate soul-propelled platform from the good old times of the Soltsveig's golden age.

"Not a moment too soon," you comment on the golem's efforts, "We should now descent and seek the secure pocket within the ruins to set up a camp. Though it's doubtful the indigenous scoundrels would work up the courage to follow us down there, it would be prudent to set up traps. That would also do well to deter the local fauna from seeing the site for free real estate while not cutting off our escape route in the case of bollocks."

[] As you issue the command, the levitating set of armor with the bright-cyan light emanating from its shell's gaps twirls its steel spear in a "ready" gesture. (Floating armor chassis features decent integrity, unparalleled mobility, adequate power, easy maintenance, and the utilities of flight and illumination)

[] Hearing your instruction, the tremendous mass of plates turns towards you and nods with its helmet before retracting its steel punchers into the stand-by position (Walker chassis features good integrity, standard mobility, high power, moderate maintenance complexity, and the capacities of a heavy infantry unit)

[] A couple of moments after you stop speaking, the hulking carapace with siege-weapon-like arms and city-gates-thick armor bends its tremendous mechanical legs and opens up its saddling box to you. Thoughtful as ever. (Chariot-type chassis features topline integrity, lower mobility, overwhelming power, expensive maintenance, and a whole slew of peculiarities such as the autonomous and piloted modes, limited passage due to sheer sizes, and enormous carrying capacity)

Witnessing your metallic companion's readiness, you glance at the dark, gaping maw of the ruin. You smell the stench emanating from its newly-opened depths. Perhaps, it is due to the work of your imagination that painted the site as a gargantuan dead beast rotting away in the middle of the great grassland and into which you'd have to crawl now.

" 'ere's one for the family," you mutter quietly while suppressing disgust and starting your way into the ancient depths.