We have walked the streets of a city long dead. This was a great capital once; the streets above the surface broader and with grander statues than any built within the past hundred years. These are merely the skin of the fruit, beautiful and enticing, yet thin and insubstantial compared to the flesh beneath. By all appearances, that sweetness has been sealed for good; an earthquake shook this place long ago. The heart of the capital would have been devastated.
We are not the only ones in this land; a bandit company down from the Chaos kingdom lurks here. This is likely their main camp, where they return from outposts closer to richer targets. There is also a mysterious company of dwarves or something like them in these canyons. There was a dancing automaton at court, a gift from a dwarven king in ages past, that danced as beautifully as the day it arrived, or so the legend went. Perhaps these are its kin.
I think we are alone, or at least more alone, here before the cavernous dark of the Earth temple. We stand under the eyes of the angel of Earth, a blaze of gems set into an impossible height on the wall. Before us? Who knows. The legends say demons, devils, vengeful spirits – what I know is that here I stand on the threshold of salvation or death.