>>6302051


Your forbidden studies taught you that this apocalypse is not the first. Ages before yours were broken, yet some civilizations clawed their way back by preparing mechanisms to rekindle mana. Those legacies endure, hidden in ruin and myth. To restore magic, you must seize one of these paths.

Each is perilous. Each exacts a price. But without one, the world will remain a barren husk.

The first path is the Red Hand Time Portal. This was a creation of your own order: an immense archway of blood-forged stone, crafted to pierce the veil of ages. Through it, one might siphon the raw magic of distant centuries, bleeding the past to feed the present. It demands human sacrifice on a vast scale—souls offered to rip open the currents of time. If restored, it could quickstart sorcery overnight, but only by drowning the world in blood.

Another path lies within the Crystal Vaults. Beneath the mountains are tombs of obsidian, within which slumber hearts of crystallized starlight. Forged by an elder race, these vaults were meant to capture the brilliance of fallen stars. With them, entire ley-lines could be rewoven, restoring magic through alien purity. But their seals remain unbroken, guarded by watchers who were never meant to sleep.

A third path winds down to the World-Tree Roots. Before men, before demons, the World-Tree bound heaven, earth, and underworld. Though its trunk has long since rotted, its roots writhe deep beneath the crust, pulsing with primal life. To reach them requires delving into black caverns where light never lived, braving beasts born of hunger and madness. If tapped, these roots could flood the surface with untamed vitality, birthing a new age—whether or not it bends to your will.

The last path leads to the Demon’s Shed Skin. Your master is not dead. He has merely moved on, abandoning this world like a husk once it was consumed. When he outgrew his form, preparing to cross dimensions and devour another realm, he sloughed off his immense skin, leaving it stretched across a continent. That skin is not inert; it still hums with residual infernal energy, a grotesque echo of his presence. Harvesting this power could awaken sorcery in a single violent surge, but the price is corruption: anyone who channels it risks becoming a vessel for what he left behind. His shadow may be gone, but his skin still whispers.

>>6302052


What Path Do You Choose?

> The Red Hand Time Portal
Location: The ruins of the Red Hand Citadel, where your order once carved its mark into stone and blood.
Purpose: Rebuild the shattered portal and restore its engines of sacrifice.
Requirement: Gather victims to bleed the past into the present.
Risk: Survivors and rival cults know the citadel well—they may contest your claim.

> The Crystal Vaults
Location: The Blackspire Mountains, their hollow peaks hiding obsidian tombs that shelter crystalline hearts of starlight.
Purpose: Breach the vaults, awaken their cold brilliance, and reshape the ley-lines.
Requirement: Unlock the seals of the precursors, whose guardians still linger.
Risk: Alien purity may refuse mortal hands.

> The World-Tree Roots
Location: The Chasmgate, a colossal rent in the earth said to descend into the World-Tree’s buried veins.
Purpose: Tap into the primal lifeblood still writhing beneath the crust.
Requirement: Survive the depths, where beasts of hunger and madness thrive.
Risk: The roots may flood the land with wild, untamed life beyond your control.

> The Demon’s Shed Skin
Location: The Scablands, where your master’s cast-off husk sprawls across a continent like a mountain range of flesh.
Purpose: Harvest the lingering infernal power woven into the shed skin.
Requirement: Devise rituals strong enough to harness corruption without succumbing to it.
Risk: The skin whispers—those who linger too long may not remain themselves.

>>6302053

Choose your starting resources. You may pick up to three.

> Fanatical Cultists – Three survivors of the Red Hand who still cling to your shadow. They are malnourished, half-mad, and poorly armed, but utterly devoted. They can guard you, fetch supplies, and serve as your first sacrifices if needed.

> Cache of Food – A stockpile of dried meat, black bread, and foul-tasting water, scavenged from old Red Hand stores. Enough to sustain ten people for a month. In a world where famine rules, food is as good as gold.

> Cache of Weapons – Rusted blades, battered spears, and a few serviceable bows left over from the Demon War. They are not elegant, but they are sharp enough to kill. Armed followers are far more dangerous than starving ones.

> Captured Prisoners – Five frightened villagers from a nearby ruin, bound and gagged. They may be sacrificed immediately to fuel your rites, or—if treated carefully—broken and remade as cultists. Their hatred of you burns bright.

> Hidden Library Fragments – A bundle of charred parchment and cracked tablets salvaged from your old sanctum. Deciphering them may reveal rituals long thought lost, granting you faster access to the deeper secrets of restoration.

> Portable Shrine – A small altar of black stone, light enough to move with effort. Consecrated with the blood of your order, it allows you to perform true rituals anywhere, even without a permanent fortress or temple.

> Beast of Burden – A hulking, six-legged pack animal, mutated but docile. Its hide is tough, its jaws strong, and it can carry several times its weight. It may also attract predators or raiders who covet it.

> Safehouse – A hidden refuge in the ruins of the old citadel. Concealed by collapsed walls and wards that still work somehow, it offers safety for rest, storage, and planning. If discovered, however, you risk losing everything inside.

> Ritual Components – Rare herbs, bone dust, obsidian knives, and silver blood-bowls: the tools of sorcery. Enough to complete one powerful working, if the knowledge to attempt it can be found. Once spent, they are gone.

> Local Map – A tattered parchment marked with old Red Hand notes. It shows nearby villages, demon-haunted ruins, and the faint outline of mountain passes. Not all of it may still be accurate—but in a world of ash, even flawed guidance is precious.

>>6302054
>> The World-Tree Roots... at least for now.

We clearly regret what we did at least a LITTLE bit, even if only in the "Ah, shit, everything's fucked now. Bastard was lying!" sense and not the "OH GOD, WHAT HAVE I DONE??!?!" sense. We don't want the aliens screwing with reality now that it's laid bare, and now we recognize the folly of trucking with demons (or, for that matter our old cult's grand plans; we just saw how well the LAST time that happened went). I could be tempted to go for the crystal vaults if we find something that makes opening it up later easier.

Question, what kind of rituals will the portable shrine allow? Is it all blood magic or nah? If it's not ALL blood magic;

> Portable Shrine – A small altar of black stone, light enough to move with effort. Consecrated with the blood of your order, it allows you to perform true rituals anywhere, even without a permanent fortress or temple.
> Beast of Burden – A hulking, six-legged pack animal, mutated but docile. Its hide is tough, its jaws strong, and it can carry several times its weight. It may also attract predators or raiders who covet it.
> Hidden Library Fragments – A bundle of charred parchment and cracked tablets salvaged from your old sanctum. Deciphering them may reveal rituals long thought lost, granting you faster access to the deeper secrets of restoration.

We're immortal, so we can tank for our pack animal. Any raiders who come can either be part of our new order or sacrificial fodder to strengthen us on our journey. Or beast feed, as the need may be.

>>6302063
>Question, what kind of rituals will the portable shrine allow? Is it all blood magic or nah? If it's not ALL blood magic;


The magic leylines have been compromised, the demon lord drank all the magic from the planet like one would drink a milkshake with a straw, then moved on. To fuel your magic, you need to find something that still has some magic in it and sacrifice it.

The easiest thing to sacrifice are living people, thus blood magic still works. But you could sacrifice some magical trinket that you find, or a bunch of rare components to make a ritual, it doesn't necessarily need to be blood magic.

>>6302063
+1

>>6302053
> The World-Tree Roots
>>6302054
> Fanatical Cultists
> Captured Prisoners
> Beast of Burden

>>6302081
Do animals work? I imagine that if so, it's at a reduced rate compared to people.

>>6302054
> The Crystal Vaults
> Fanatical Cultists – Three survivors of the Red Hand who still cling to your shadow. They are malnourished, half-mad, and poorly armed, but utterly devoted. They can guard you, fetch supplies, and serve as your first sacrifices if needed.

> Cache of Food – A stockpile of dried meat, black bread, and foul-tasting water, scavenged from old Red Hand stores. Enough to sustain ten people for a month. In a world where famine rules, food is as good as gold.

> Cache of Weapons – Rusted blades, battered spears, and a few serviceable bows left over from the Demon War. They are not elegant, but they are sharp enough to kill. Armed followers are far more dangerous than starving ones.

The wind howled through the Chasmgate depression, carrying with it the dry, metallic scent of exposed stone and distant carrion. You tethered Grusk, your six-legged pack beast, to a gnarled, dead tree at the cliff’s edge. He nuzzled at a patch of brittle grass, gnawing on it with the precision of a creature accustomed to harsh terrain, the occasional clink of gear on his thick hide echoing in the wind.

You climbed the tree for a better vantage, the brittle branches groaning beneath your weight, and there they were—the three paths descending into the chasm, each whispering danger in its own way.

To the left, the Stone Slide plunged sharply in loose gray scree, dotted with jagged boulders that had clearly tumbled from the heights above. A few half-buried stones bore scratches in curious spirals; the marks were crude, almost intentional—perhaps the remnants of recent elf runes, warning or claiming this part of the chasm. Grusk sniffed nervously, ears twitching, sensing the faint, lingering scent of something humanoid—Chasm Elves, perhaps, or trespassing scavengers.

Directly ahead, the Fallen Timber Path twisted between the cliffs, a tangle of charred logs bridging shallow ravines. You could see where the wood had cracked under weight, sharp splinters catching the light. Amid the blackened branches, delicate patches of moss clung stubbornly, glowing faintly in the dim sunlight—Grusk pawed at the largest patch, evidently interested in its aroma, while you noticed faint scratch marks on some of the logs, elf-made sigils almost erased by wind and rain.

To the right, the Narrow Ravine sloped into darkness, the walls steep and shadowed. Streaks of mineral dust caught the light, forming pale lines that reminded you of veins, almost as if the earth itself was bleeding. A gust of wind carried a whisper of movement from deep inside—a flutter of wings or perhaps a tail flick—and you thought you glimpsed tiny figures, Chasm Elves or their scouts, darting between rocks.

>>6302278


From this height, the paths seemed like veins leading into the heart of a living, breathing wound in the world. Loose stones tumbled silently, and the faint hum of latent magic, long dead, teased your memory. You could almost feel the pulse of the chasm, like the echo of some ancient ritual, waiting for hands daring—or desperate—enough to reach its depths.

Grusk shifted, low growl rumbling in his chest as he stared down the ravine. You untied his reins, letting him nibble at the rough grass while you considered your next move. Somewhere in the shadows, the elves watched. Somewhere below, treasures and dangers waited, buried beneath dust, stone, and decay.

> Stone Slide – A sharp scree of loose gray rock tumbles down the cliffside. Jagged boulders litter the slope, and faint spirals scratched into stone hint at recent elf runes. The descent promises hazards, scavengers, and perhaps hidden scraps of treasure.
> Fallen Timber Path – Charred logs form a precarious bridge across shallow ravines. Moss clings stubbornly to the wood, faintly glowing, while scratch marks and sigils suggest Chasm Elf scouts have passed this way. Balance and caution are required, but the path may conceal minor magical finds.
> Narrow Ravine – Shadowed walls drop steeply into a twisting corridor of rock and dust. Streaks of pale mineral dust catch the light like veins, and movement in the shadows hints at elusive Chasm Elf patrols. The route is tight, dark, and full of potential surprises.

>>6302089
>Do animals work? I imagine that if so, it's at a reduced rate compared to people.

Yes, but you'd need an impractically large amount of animals.

>>6302280
>Fallen Timber Path – Charred logs form a precarious bridge across shallow ravines. Moss clings stubbornly to the wood, faintly glowing, while scratch marks and sigils suggest Chasm Elf scouts have passed this way. Balance and caution are required, but the path may conceal minor magical finds.

>>6302280
> Fallen Timber Path – Charred logs form a precarious bridge across shallow ravines. Moss clings stubbornly to the wood, faintly glowing, while scratch marks and sigils suggest Chasm Elf scouts have passed this way. Balance and caution are required, but the path may conceal minor magical finds.

>>6302323
>>6302329


You run your hand over Grusk’s thick hide, the beast chewing lazily at the glowing moss sprouting from the cliff’s edge. His six legs shift restlessly, claws grinding stone, as though he too can sense the precariousness of the Fallen Timber Path ahead. The logs jut over the ravine like bones, blackened and splintered by fire long past, creaking faintly in the wind.

The aether here stirs faintly—whispers of something bound within wood and ash. You feel it tug at the fragments of your hidden library, urging you onward. Magic lingers down this path, however faint. But your companion looms large, his massive weight enough to splinter the bridges with a single misstep.

Grusk gazes at you with dull, patient eyes, chewing his last mouthful of moss, as though awaiting your judgment. To leave him tied here risks losing him to raiders or prowlers. To bring him may mean he plunges with the path itself.

The chasm is silent, waiting for your decision.

> Bring Grusk – Trust your companion’s strength and careful footing. He will carry supplies and the shrine, though every step across the timbers risks collapse.
> Leave Grusk – Tie him securely to the dead tree above and descend alone, carrying only what you can bear. He will be safer here, though vulnerable if Chasm Elves or scavengers discover him.
> Write in

>>6302462

[MECHANICS: If you bring Grusk, he has 5% chance of slipping and plunging down into the chasm with every post]

I feel like running a session this weekend, so I'll be around all day today and tomorrow running this, if someone wants to come along for the ride.

>>6302462
> Bring Grusk – Trust your companion’s strength and careful footing. He will carry supplies and the shrine, though every step across the timbers risks collapse.

>>6302531


You step onto the first charred log, testing its weight with a cautious toe. Grusk follows, careful but heavy; the bridge groans beneath him, black splinters cracking and falling into the depths. Your shrine sways in your pack, and the wind carries the faint scent of moss and ash.

Halfway across, the path narrows sharply. Below, the ravine yawns, its shadows deep and impenetrable. Then, a low clicking sound halts you mid-step. Ahead, a giant beetle, its carapace glinting like dull obsidian, struts across the timber like it owns the place. Its mandibles click, dripping sap-like fluid onto the logs. Clearly territorial, it doesn’t seem inclined to move.

Grusk stiffens, hackles raised, growling low. The air hums with tension, the fallen timber vibrating under the combined weight of beast and rider. You have a decision to make.

> Have Grusk attack the beetle – Let your six-legged companion strike, hoping his strength and size can force it off the path. Risk of being wounded.
> Try to coax the beetle aside – Use gestures and loud noises to scare it off without combat. Risk of being attacked.
> Leap past the beetle yourself – Attempt to vault or balance past while Grusk waits behind. Risky but avoids direct combat.
> Retreat and find another path – Backtrack and choose a different path
> Attempt to crush the beetle with a log – Try to knock the beetle aside with logs from the bridge. Risk of tipping the bridge.
> Ignore it and slowly inch forward – Hope it stays put or moves on its own, proceeding with extreme caution. Risk of being attacked.
> Write in

Rolled 15 (1d100)

Rolling chance of Grusk falling. On 1-5 he falls.

Rolled 49 (1d100)

Rolling for Chasm Elves.

On 1-10 they show up.

>>6302543
> Try to coax the beetle aside – Use gestures and loud noises to scare it off without combat. Risk of being attacked.

Rolled 25, 30, 7 = 62 (3d100)

>>6302597


Rolling 3d100 DC 50, you need 2 successes to pass unscathed, with 1 success you sustain a minor scratch, zero successes and you're severely wounded.

In the fuure I will tell you the DC with each action, I just forgot this time around.

>>6302597
>>6302661


You flail your arms and scream, hoping to scare the giant beetle off the Fallen Timber Path. For a heartbeat, it seems as if your loud protests might work—but then it attacks. Its massive mandibles snap shut around your right arm, and pain lances through your muscle and bone. You cry out, twisting yourself free just in time to avoid being knocked off the logs.

Grusk, startled by the commotion, leaps back and scrambles down the slope. The bridge shudders under your weight, groaning with each careful step. Logs splinter and fall into the dark ravine below, the sound echoing like distant thunder. You press forward, adrenaline pushing you past fear, past the beetle, until the crumbling bridge gives way behind you and you find solid ground once more.

The slope beneath is steep and littered with debris: charred wood, stones, and loose earth. Rodents scatter at your approach, tiny eyes glinting in the gloom. Grusk pads silently beside you, still tense, ears twitching at every sound. You pick a careful path downward and soon discover a crevice large enough to shelter both of you. It’s narrow but deep enough to block the wind. Grusk collapses with a low rumble, curling into the corner and soon drifting to sleep.

You take stock of yourself. Your right arm throbs painfully from the beetle’s pinch. Blood stains your sleeve, and the wound looks nasty. Without medicine, infection is a serious risk, but you have nothing—no herbs, no bandages, nothing beyond what the chasm itself might provide.

As you inspect the crevice, your eyes catch a patch of mushrooms growing in the cracks of the rock. They look edible, at least by the standards of desperate survival. Around the crevice, the scuttling of rodents suggests another potential source of food—but catching them will be difficult.

The night stretches ahead, cold and dark, and your next actions could mean life or death.

> Harvest mushrooms – Forage the crevice for the fungi; may provide minimal sustenance and keep you alive.
> Hunt rodents – Attempt to catch or trap the scurrying rodents for protein; risky and time-consuming.
> Scavenge for medicine – Search the slope and crevice for moss, herbs, or other natural remedies to treat your wound.
> Rest and tend wound minimally – Conserve energy, bandage crudely with scraps, but risk infection worsening overnight.
> Explore further for supplies – Make a cautious excursion down the slope in search of other edible or useful items nearby.
> Use Grusk to help forage – Let your companion sniff out mushrooms or small prey while keeping yourself safer.
> Write in

>>6302664
> Harvest mushrooms – Forage the crevice for the fungi; may provide minimal sustenance and keep you alive.

>>6302689


You kneel among the mushrooms, plucking the largest caps, when the soil beneath them crumbles slightly under your fingers. The mushrooms are festering over the remains of a corpse, long decayed, its bones now brittle fragments scattered among the rocks. A metallic glint catches your eye.

Beneath the rot lies a small Obsidian figurine. You pick it up carefully. It pulses faintly with magic, though the energy leaks away almost visibly, a thin sliver of air around it glowing red in the right light. The figurine is warm to the touch, like it retains some stubborn heartbeat of life.

Magic drains from it at an abnormal rate, the lifeforce of the world no longer sustaining it. You calculate that within a few months, it will be completely spent. Statues like these were often placed in shrines to gather energy from worshippers, bestowing minor blessings in return. Its power is fleeting, but potent—if used wisely, it could aid you in ways you need most.

Your arm aches, the beetle’s wound throbbing, and the chill of the crevice presses against your spine. The figurine could be of use immediately… or preserved for later.

> Break the figurine and use its magic to heal yourself – Sacrifice the relic’s remaining power for immediate restoration.
> Keep the figurine intact for later use – Carry it with you, using it sparingly for a more critical moment in the future.
> Attempt to infuse the shrine with the figurine’s remaining magic – Channel its power into your portable altar for future rituals
> Write in

>>6302701
> Keep the figurine intact for later use – Carry it with you, using it sparingly for a more critical moment in the future.

>>6302701
>> Keep the figurine intact for later use – Carry it with you, using it sparingly for a more critical moment in the future.

>>6302701
>Break the figurine and use its magic to heal yourself – Sacrifice the relic’s remaining power for immediate restoration.

Rolled 30 (1d100)

>>6302763
>>6302853
>>6302880


Alright, you keep the figurine. Rolling for infection, on a 1-50 your wound gets infected.

>>6302763
>>6302853
>>6302880
>>6303022


The night was restless. Grusk slept curled near the mouth of the crevice, his sides rising and falling with steady, thunderous breaths, while you kept watch with the obsidian figurine in your lap. Its warmth bled into your palm, the faint red aura shifting in the darkness whenever your fevered eyes caught it from the right angle. For a time, you allowed yourself to believe it was keeping the sickness at bay.

But when dawn came—pale and gray, seeping through the dust of Chasmgate—you knew the truth.

Your arm is swollen, the skin taut and angry where the beetle’s mandibles pierced it. Thin streaks, livid red, crawl upward toward your shoulder, each pulse of blood like fire in your veins. The fever grips you harder now, soaking your clothes in sweat and leaving your vision swimming. The infection is spreading fast. Without medicine—or some desperate gamble—you may not last long.

The crevice feels less like a shelter now and more like a tomb. You step into the chill air of the slope, Grusk lumbering behind you, his heavy head tilting as if he senses your weakness. Below, the endless depression of the Chasm yawns wider. The paths are there—dark, broken, each one promising danger. But perhaps also salvation.

Three lie before you, etched into the jagged terrain. Yet you are not blind to your state. Pushing forward with fever coursing through your body could be suicide. Perhaps there is another way.


> Collapsed Ledge – The broken shelf of a rockslide, descending in a mess of loose stones and shattered boulders. The footing will be treacherous, but the slope itself seems to funnel deeper, hinting at a way forward.
> Overhang Pass – A narrow path pressed against the chasm wall, where the cliff’s face curves outward to form a precarious ledge. The wind whips and howls there, strong enough to tug a man into the abyss, but it might grant you progress without losing altitude.
> Jagged Outcrop – A crag of serrated stone jutting far into the hollow below, like a crooked bridge or a splintered spine. Its angles are harsh and strange, and while it could offer a shortcut—or something unexpected—it might lead anywhere at all.
> Scavenge for supplies – Search the surrounding slope for traces of travelers, lost camps, or remnants of fallen climbers. Rusted tools, scraps of cloth, old fire pits—anything might still linger, abandoned and forgotten.
> Forage for herbs – Kneel among the cracks and shadows, searching for mosses, lichens, or roots that might serve as crude medicine. You know the risk: some are poisonous, some inert. But perhaps one could be made into a bitter poultice strong enough to slow the rot in your veins.
> Write in

>>6303024
>Forage for herbs – Kneel among the cracks and shadows, searching for mosses, lichens, or roots that might serve as crude medicine. You know the risk: some are poisonous, some inert. But perhaps one could be made into a bitter poultice strong enough to slow the rot in your veins.

>>6303033


Alright, we need some dice:

Chance of Grusk falling: 5%

Chance of Chasm Elves finding you: 10%

Chance of finding herbs: 30%

Chance of infection worsening: 50% (25% if you find herbs)

Chance of infection healing by itself: 10% (30% if you find herbs)

So roll me 5d100.

You may also choose to improve the odds of one task by 10% if you worsen the odds of all the other tasks by 5%.

Rolled 9, 65, 11, 67, 90 = 242 (5d100)

>>6303037

Rolled 20, 62, 27, 83, 14 = 206 (5d100)

>>6303037
Is this BO3?

>>6303085
>>6303467


You decide against braving the ledges or outcrops in your condition. Instead, you lean against Grusk for balance and lower yourself carefully along the slope, eyes sweeping the cracks and shadows for the pale flecks of growth that might yet thrive in this broken land.

The wind whistles across the hollow, carrying dust and the faint chittering of rodents. You half-expect to stumble into an elf patrol—or to hear the whistle of an arrow in the gloom—but the shadows remain still.

Hours pass. You scrape at the walls, overturn stones, and finally spot what you seek: a clutch of bitter-stem moss clinging to the underside of a half-buried boulder. Its acrid smell burns your nose, and the taste on your tongue makes your stomach turn, but you crush it into a paste and smear it over your wound, binding it in place with a strip of cloth torn from your sleeve.

The pain is sharp at first, almost unbearable—but slowly, the fire in your veins dims. By dusk, the swelling in your arm has eased, and when you check the wound again, the angry streaks have retreated. The fever breaks in a sweat that leaves you weak but clear-headed. You have staved off the infection.

Grusk watches you with unblinking eyes, chewing idly on the remains of a dried branch he found along the slope. For the first time since entering Chasmgate, you allow yourself to breathe.

The night settles, colder than before, but you are alive, and the path forward still waits.

The bitterness of the moss still lingers on your tongue, but the worst of the fever has broken. You flex your arm, testing the wound, and though tender, it no longer burns with every heartbeat. Relief washes over you, though you know the danger is far from gone.

Grusk shifts his bulk, snorting as if eager to move again. The chasm stretches ahead, paths cut into its depths, each whispering of hardship and possible reward. Yet part of you wonders if this place—where the herbs grew and the stone hid its secrets—might conceal more than you first thought.

> Collapsed Ledge – Descend the unstable rockslide, risking loose stones and treacherous footing to push deeper into the chasm.
> Overhang Pass – Creep along the cliffside ledge beneath the stone overhang, the wind clawing at you with every step.
> Jagged Outcrop – Venture onto the serrated spine of stone jutting into the abyss, a path unpredictable and wild.
> Scavenge for supplies – Search once more for remnants of travelers or lost camps, hoping for tools, cloth, or anything of worth.
> Search further for anything else useful – Examine the area more carefully, following cracks, crevices, or faint trails to uncover resources or secrets you may have overlooked.
> Write in

>>6303641
> Search further for anything else useful – Examine the area more carefully, following cracks, crevices, or faint trails to uncover resources or secrets you may have overlooked.

>>6303641
>Search further for anything else useful – Examine the area more carefully, following cracks, crevices, or faint trails to uncover resources or secrets you may have overlooked.

>>6303641

> Overhang Pass – Creep along the cliffside ledge beneath the stone overhang, the wind clawing at you with every step.

>>6303668
>>6303888
>>6303898

5% chance Grusk falls

10% chance of Chasm Elves

20% chance of finding something useful.

You can increase find chance by 10% by increasing chasm elf encounter chance by 10%, if you want.

Roll me 3d100

Rolled 24, 25, 23 = 72 (3d100)

>>6304023

Rolled 47, 16, 86 = 149 (3d100)

>>6304023

>>6304062
>>6304072


You spend the next few days carefully combing the slope and crevices around your crevice shelter. Every crack is inspected, every shadow checked, every hollow stone overturned. You hope to find remnants of old travelers, scraps of lost equipment, or perhaps a clue to the deeper paths of Chasmgate—but each day ends the same: nothing of use. The chasm gives up no secrets.

Still, the land is not entirely barren. Mushrooms sprout abundantly in hidden nooks and along damp ledges. They are strange, dull-colored, and bitter on the tongue, but nourishing enough to sustain you. You gather them meticulously, filling your travel rations pack with a bounty sufficient for weeks. Grusk munches lazily on the odd mushroom that falls near him, apparently unimpressed by their taste but grateful for the morsel.

The monotony of the days, the chill, and the constant vigilance against hidden predators weigh on you, yet there is a small sense of accomplishment. You now have food, a safe shelter, and your companion at your side. For the first time in days, you feel a fraction of security.

The chasm still waits below, paths twisting into shadows. Soon, you will have to choose your next step, but for now, you have sustenance and strength to prepare.

After several days among the mushrooms and the quiet of the crevice, your arm has healed nicely. The wound is fully closed, the fever gone, and your strength has returned. Grusk stretches and snorts, ready to move at a moment’s notice. The slope of Chasmgate looms before you, each path downward still promising danger and opportunity.

You gather your belongings, tighten your pack, and consider the routes ahead:

> Traverse the broken ledge – Step carefully across the unstable shelf of fallen rocks, moving deeper into the chasm despite the loose stones and precarious footing.
> Navigate the cliffside overhang – Hug the narrow ledge pressed against the chasm wall, keeping a wary eye on the wind and the drop below.
> Venture onto the jagged outcrop – Take the wild, craggy spine jutting into the abyss, unpredictable and sharp, but potentially a shortcut or hidden route.
> Search for abandoned gear – Examine the slope for lost equipment, remnants of other travelers, or useful items that may have been left behind.
> Explore the surrounding area thoroughly – Investigate cracks, crevices, and hidden pockets of the slope, looking for resources, edible growths, or minor magical finds.
> Write in

>>6304106
> Search for abandoned gear – Examine the slope for lost equipment, remnants of other travelers, or useful items that may have been left behind.

>>6304174


5% chance Grusk falls

20% chance of Chasm Elves

30% chance of finding something useful.

20% chance of random encounter

You can increase find chance by 10% by increasing chasm elf and random encounter chance by 10%, if you want.

Roll me 4d100

Rolled 96, 69, 20, 86 = 271 (4d100)

>>6304225

Rolled 93, 92, 26, 28 = 239 (4d100)

>>6304225

>>6304233


After days of painstaking searching, your eyes catch a faint glint in the dirt. Kneeling down, you scrape away the layers of soil and debris, revealing a skeleton half-buried in the slope. Its threadbare clothes crumble at your touch, offering little comfort or protection.

At first, it seems as though your search has yielded nothing useful. But then, buried among the bones, you find a rusty iron mattock. You lift it carefully, feeling its heft. It is crude, heavy, and awkward—but you can feel the difference immediately. In your hands, it is more than a tool; it is a weapon. Slightly more dangerous, slightly more capable of defending yourself against the hazards of Chasmgate.

The mushrooms you gathered weeks ago are mostly gone—Grusk helped himself during the night, and now the pack is lighter but emptier. Hunger is a dull ache in the back of your mind, but you have supplies enough to push on.

As you glance around the slope, something catches your eye: a fresh trail in the dirt, disturbed recently, as though some traveler—or perhaps something larger—has passed through here not long ago. Your heart skips a beat. In all the desolation of Chasmgate, a trail this fresh is unexpected. It hints at life, movement, perhaps even danger—or opportunity. You crouch and study it, trying to discern which direction it leads.

Ahead, the chasm stretches and splits, the paths waiting once more. Your mind turns to the next step.

> Step carefully across the broken ledge – Traverse the fractured rock shelf, testing every stone and loose boulder to avoid falling into the abyss.
> Creep along the cliffside overhang – Hug the stone wall along the narrow ledge, the wind and height threatening to unbalance you at any moment.
> Climb the jagged outcrop – Ascend the sharp, uneven spine of stone jutting into the hollow, unpredictable and dangerous, but perhaps a shortcut.
> Rummage for abandoned tools or remnants – Inspect the slope and crevices for anything travelers or previous explorers might have left behind.
> Explore the surrounding area thoroughly – Examine every crack and shadow for food, herbs, or hidden objects of use.
> Follow the fresh trail – Trace the narrow path of disturbed dirt and crushed vegetation leading north along the chasm slope, wondering who—or what—might have passed through recently.
> Write in

>>6304243
> Follow the fresh trail – Trace the narrow path of disturbed dirt and crushed vegetation leading north along the chasm slope, wondering who—or what—might have passed through recently.

>>6304243
>Follow the fresh trail – Trace the narrow path of disturbed dirt and crushed vegetation leading north along the chasm slope, wondering who—or what—might have passed through recently.

>>6304314
>>6304321


You press on, following the fresh track with care. Grusk plods along behind you, his heavy breath steaming in the cool air of the chasm. The path twists between jagged rocks and patches of fungal growth until you see her—standing alone where the trail dips, a lone survivor.

She is human, but gaunt and weary, her steps uneven as though every pace costs her. Half of her face is a mask of old burn scars, the flesh melted into ridges that drag down her expression into something grim and severe. The other half is pale and lined with exhaustion, her eyes sharp despite the deep shadows beneath them. She wears a ragged cloak of indeterminate color, frayed at the edges, and in her hand she clutches a narrow, curved elvish blade. Its edge is clean and well-kept despite the rest of her state—clearly her most prized possession.

A sidepack hangs from her shoulder, but it looks light, almost empty. There is no bulging of food, no clinking of supplies. She has been walking lean, perhaps for days without a proper rest. Her stance is wary, knees bent ever so slightly, ready to fight or flee at the slightest provocation. Her gaze darts from you to Grusk and back again, weighing the danger.

The silence stretches long, broken only by the distant chittering of rodents in the rocks and Grusk’s shifting bulk. She looks ready to collapse at any moment, but her blade does not waver.

You must decide how to approach her.

> Attack her and steal her blade – Strike first, using her weakness against her. If you succeed, you gain her elvish weapon, but you risk injury, and you will make an enemy of whatever trust could have been gained.
> Offer her some of your fungus rations – Show an act of goodwill. She may lower her guard, and in her condition, food might bind her to you—if only out of gratitude.
> Demand that she tells you where she’s headed – Press her for answers. Force her to reveal her purpose here, though doing so might harden her mistrust.
> Invite her to join you into the depths – Risk bringing her close. An extra blade could mean survival—but can someone so scarred and desperate be trusted at your side?
> Write in

>>6304359
> Offer her some of your fungus rations – Show an act of goodwill. She may lower her guard, and in her condition, food might bind her to you—if only out of gratitude.

>>6304359
>Offer her some of your fungus rations – Show an act of goodwill. She may lower her guard, and in her condition, food might bind her to you—if only out of gratitude.

>>6304456
>>6304761


You break the silence with a gift of food. At first, the scarred woman watches you as though expecting a trick, but when you set down a piece of your gathered fungus, she snatches it up and eats without a word. Her hands tremble slightly, not from fear, but from hunger. You give her more, and she devours it in silence. You don’t speak—there’s no need. When you turn back and start walking, she follows, light-footed, careful not to draw attention.

Back at your familiar shelter in the crevice, you settle in. Grusk rests heavily nearby, his low breathing steady in the dark. She lingers on the edges of the camp, never stepping too close, but never leaving entirely. By morning she’s gone. Out on your daily searches, though, you find her trails: scuffed footprints, bent mushrooms, the faint imprint of her cloak brushing past stone. She is always near.

This dance continues for three nights. She eats what you give, disappears at dawn, then circles back unseen. Finally, on the fourth night, she speaks.

“My name is Anya,” she says, her voice low but steady. In the glow of your small fire, her scarred face seems harsher, but her eyes—those are sharp, alive. “I escaped a slaver caravan. A few weeks ago. Been running since then. Just trying to keep ahead of them. I don’t have anywhere to go.”

You shift, unused to words. Your voice comes out hoarse, rougher than you remember it being. “I was a mage… once.” You pause, staring out at the dark walls of the chasm. “I’m trying to fix this whole thing. I think the answer is in the depths of this place.”

She tilts her head, studying you. “You mean… the cataclysm?” There’s disbelief in her tone, but also a spark of something more—hope, maybe, though buried deep. “You think there’s a way to fix this?”

You nod once. “Yeah.”

The silence stretches again. She looks down at the elvish blade she carries, running her thumb along the hilt. When she meets your gaze again, her decision has already been made.

“Then I’ll go with you.”

> Edge across the shattered ledge – Pick your way over broken stone, testing every foothold, mindful of the abyss yawning below.
> Hug the cliffside overhang – Press close to the wall as you inch along a narrow ledge, where wind and height conspire to throw you off balance.
> Scale the jagged outcrop – Climb the uneven spine of rock jutting outward, a risky ascent that could grant quicker passage.
> Scour for lost tools or remnants – Search the cracks and debris for anything left behind by those who passed here before.
> Comb the area in detail – Probe every shadowed crevice for food, herbs, or other scraps of use hidden in the stone.
> Write in

>>6305355
> Edge across the shattered ledge – Pick your way over broken stone, testing every foothold, mindful of the abyss yawning below.

>>6305355
>Edge across the shattered ledge – Pick your way over broken stone, testing every foothold, mindful of the abyss yawning below.

>>6305355
>> Edge across the shattered ledge – Pick your way over broken stone, testing every foothold, mindful of the abyss yawning below.

>>6305441
>>6305574
>>6305589


5% chance Grusk falls

25% chance falling debris hit your group

10% chance Chasm Elves

5% chance random treasure

5% chance random encounter

Your options (you don't have to choose one of them but you can if you want)

> Move carefully (reduce debris chance to 10%, increase elves by 10%)
> Search the area as you go through (increase debris, elves and random encounter/treasure by 10%)
> Move as fast as you can (reduce everything by 5%, except Grusk fall, that increases by 5%)
Roll 5d100 to traverse the ledge safely.

Rolled 69, 71, 35, 2, 78 = 255 (5d100)

>>6305688
> Search the area as you go through

We gamble in this household

Side Things: In the intro it said we were immortal, what type of immortality is it? Is it the inability to die, but with risk of being trapped in our corpse? Or just immune to aging

Rolled 79, 92, 95, 89, 1 = 356 (5d100)

>>6305688
>Search the area as you go through (increase debris, elves and random encounter/treasure by 10%)

>>6305797
Damn.

Rolled 77, 98, 49, 74, 15 = 313 (5d100)

>>6305688
> Search the area as you go through (increase debris, elves and random encounter/treasure by 10%)

So the fourth roll would need a 95 or higher to find a random treasure?

>>6305915
Going by Rolls so Far, I think we'd need to roll 5 or below to proc treasure. And assuming that >>6305699 is the selected roll then we've procced treasure.

>>6305699
>>6305797
>>6305910
>>6305915
>>6306027


You inch across the shattered ledge, each step deliberate, the abyss yawning hungrily below. Loose stones grind beneath your boots, but you manage to keep your balance. Then your hand brushes something unusual—runes carved into the rock wall, their shapes unmistakable.

Dwarvish script. Protective wards, often found guarding the entrances to temples or hidden vaults. The sight stirs memories of your studies: runes like these could be tied to treasure hoards, sanctums, or even sleeping weapons of war. Whatever lies behind, the dwarves thought it worth shielding.

But when you touch the grooves, nothing stirs. The magic is long dead. Only the faint scars remain, inert. Behind these stones, there could be vast chambers—or nothing. Yet dwarves rarely warded emptiness. The danger is clear too: such defenses were often woven with destruction, ready to collapse or blast apart intruders who dared to dig their way through.

You pause, weighing your options. Then your thoughts turn to the obsidian figurine you found in the mushroom crevice. Its pulse of power is dwindling fast, but here… here, it might serve as a key.

Carefully, you wrap the figurine in cloth and crush it, feeling the hot fragments crumble into a fine powder. You smear the black dust into the runes, retracing their lines, and rub the excess across the stone. Slowly, like coals flaring to life, the runes spark red and thrum with power. The wards are alive again. But they demand more—an answer.

A riddle stirs into being in your mind, half-whispered through the stone itself: “When up is down, who should you crown?”

You mutter possibilities, turning the words over, speaking ancient names and symbols of inversion. Nothing works. The magic flickers, threatening to collapse.

That’s when Anya speaks. She’s been standing back, watching. “What are you doing?” she asks, her voice wary but curious. You explain, outlining the puzzle. She frowns, thinking, then says, “I’ve heard of something like this. A dwarvish saying. When everything’s upside down, they say: ‘Crown the bearded elvish princess.’ It’s a joke, but… dwarves love their jokes hidden in stone.”

You look at her, uncertain—but then you whisper the phrase aloud. The runes glow, brighter now, and the wall shudders. With a groan like mountains waking, the stone splits apart, revealing a dark opening beyond.

A dwarven chamber, hidden for ages, waits before you.

>>6306732
The stone splits and crumbles outward with a thunderous crack, dust spilling into the chasm air. You shield your face as fragments rain down, then lower your arm to behold what lies beyond.

A vast dwarven chamber, hollowed out from the rock itself, stretches before you. The ceiling rises higher than you expected, its vault supported by thick stone pillars carved in the likeness of grim-faced warriors. Their features have weathered, but their stares remain sharp, as if still judging any who dare intrude.

The chamber is not empty.

Across the flagstone floor lies a wealth of forgotten treasure—scattered as though left in haste, yet still gleaming under the faint glow of the runes:

Chests of silver coins, many tarnished but unmistakably dwarvish mint, their square edges catching the light.

Gem-studded goblets and plates, piled carelessly, their artistry undeniable even under dust.

A heap of weapons—axes, hammers, and spears, most dulled by time, but still sturdy enough to outlast the years.

On a dais at the far end rests a blackened steel coffer, its hinges reinforced, its lock still intact. A faint shimmer clings to it—a trace of enchantment, impossibly faint, but there.

Near the coffer, a suit of dwarven mail, heavier than human craft, but gleaming with a bronze sheen that has resisted rust.

The air itself smells of age and iron. For a moment, you can almost imagine the dwarves still here, working their forges, drinking their ale, never dreaming their world would collapse into ruin.

Anya steps past you, eyes wide. “Gods…” she whispers. “I thought treasure like this only existed in stories.”

But her awe doesn’t blind you. You know enough of dwarves to realize that where there is treasure, there may also be traps—wards of stone and steel to guard against thieves. And worse, it’s possible someone—or something—else has found this place before you.

Your pulse quickens. Riches beyond anything you’ve touched since the cataclysm lie within arm’s reach. But so does risk.

> Rush the hoard – Step straight into the chamber and start grabbing gold and weapons, ignoring all caution.
> Inspect the carvings first – Study the chamber walls for hidden traps, dwarvish inscriptions, or protective runes that might guard the treasure.
> Test with a small object – Toss a loose rock or coin onto the treasure pile to see if it triggers any mechanisms.
> Let Anya go forward – Not as a sacrifice, but because she carries an elvish blade that might be seen as a “key” or token of respect.
> Search for the source of air – If the chamber has been sealed for ages, yet you feel a faint breeze, there may be secret passages or ventilation shafts worth checking before disturbing anything.
> Examine the treasure piece by piece – Instead of rushing, carefully check each chest, blade, or idol for magical aura, false bottoms, or curses.
> Write in

>>6306734
>Examine the treasure piece by piece – Instead of rushing, carefully check each chest, blade, or idol for magical aura, false bottoms, or curses.

>>6306734
> Inspect the carvings first – Study the chamber walls for hidden traps, dwarvish inscriptions, or protective runes that might guard the treasure.

>>6306734
Changing my vote >>6306753 to
> Inspect the carvings first – Study the chamber walls for hidden traps, dwarvish inscriptions, or protective runes that might guard the treasure. to break the tie

>>6306753
>>6306821
>>6307776

20% chance of finding traps

50% chance of triggering traps (5% if you find them)

20% chance of magical inscriptions being active

20% chance of it having useful information about the chasm

20% chance of a crazy graffiti

30% chance of monsters (60% if there is a crazy graffiti)

Roll me 6d100

>>6308149

Also you can swap two rolls if you want after you roll the dice, but can't be the lowest roll.

Rolled 25, 2, 90, 71, 89, 35 = 312 (6d100)

>>6308149

Rolled 88, 29, 72, 75, 11, 97 = 372 (6d100)

>>6308149

You pause before touching the treasure, letting your eyes wander across the walls. The engravings there speak of what happened in this place. You follow the story with your fingers: dwarves raiding the chasm elves, dragging riches down into the depths, stacking their vaults higher and higher with gold and relics. But the tale takes a turn — the dwarves began to dwindle. The figures on the wall grow fewer, thinner, as if something unseen was wearing them away. Then the carving ends abruptly, half-finished. Whoever was chiseling the last lines never had the chance to finish.

You feel the shift under your boots too late. With a sudden screech of stone, iron spikes shoot up from the ground. One slams through your foot and out the other side of your boot. The pain is blinding, a white-hot lance that tears your balance away. You fall hard, your blood soaking into the cracks between the stones. The spikes retract with a hiss, as if nothing had ever moved.

Flat on your side, you notice something else: a smear of dark writing, hidden near the base of the wall. Not carved, but painted. Not paint, but blood — long dried, now flaking away. The script writhes in your mind the moment you look at it. Demon tongue.

The message is brief, but it steals the air from your lungs:

“Cursed hoard.”

The treasure glitters just beyond, piles of it gleaming in the torchlight. But now every coin feels like bait, every jewel a snare. Anya stares between your wound and the writing, her face pale, lips pressed thin.

> Let Anya bind your foot — stopping the bleeding might matter more than the hoard.
> Crawl closer to the bloody script — see if there’s more hidden in the demon runes than the first words suggest.
> Test the treasure without touching it — throw a shard of stone or rusted tool into the pile and watch.
> Back out of the chamber — survival first, treasure later.
> Stagger forward anyway — ignore the warning, reach for the nearest chest, and claim what’s inside.
> Write in

>>6308586
>Let Anya bind your foot — stopping the bleeding might matter more than the hoard.

>>6308586
> Let Anya bind your foot — stopping the bleeding might matter more than the hoard.

>>6308601
>>6308726

Anya tightens the makeshift bandage around your foot. The bleeding slows, though every throb sends pain up your leg. As you steady yourself against the wall, you tell her about the writing you just saw, the message daubed in dried blood.
“Cursed hoard,” you mutter.

Her brow furrows.
“I don’t buy it. Demons don’t leave warnings — they sow fear, confusion. Anyone could’ve scrawled that to scare off grave-robbers. Words on a wall aren’t going to make me turn back.”

Before you can answer, a harsh growl echoes from outside the chamber. Grusk. His roar is guttural, urgent — not a warning you can ignore.

You limp to the mouth of the cavern with Anya at your side. The slope beyond is bathed in dim chasm-light, and you spot them instantly: two chasm elves, lean and sinewy, crouched low in the rocks. They clutch long spears, the points aimed toward Grusk as they try to box him in. Their pale eyes glint as they size up the beast — and then you.

Grusk snarls, claws digging into the gravel, ready to spring. The elves don’t flinch. They’re waiting, testing whether you’ll make the first mistake.

The silence stretches, taut as a bowstring.

> Urge Grusk to attack — strike before the elves can pin him with their spears.
> Raise your voice — call out to the elves, try to parley before violence begins.
> Brandish your rusty mattock — stand firm, make it clear you won’t back down.
> Whisper for Anya to slip into the shadows — let her flank them while you hold their attention.
> Act wounded and stumble away — lure them closer by appearing weak and vulnerable.
> Write in

>>6309136
> Raise your voice — call out to the elves, try to parley before violence begins.

>>6309136
>Raise your voice — call out to the elves, try to parley before violence begins.

>>6309316
>>6309393


You take a deep breath and force your voice over the slope, calling out in the ancient elvish you once studied.

“Halt! We mean no harm!”

The two chasm elves freeze, heads tilting, pale eyes narrowing. One of them curls a hand over the shaft of their spear. There’s a moment of tense silence, broken only by the hiss of gravel under Grusk’s claws.

Then, slowly, they respond — their elvish warped, accented, guttural in a way that twists the familiar words. It’s difficult to parse at first, but you catch enough to understand:

“You… trespass… law… death…”

Their intent is clear. In their eyes, in their words, there is no negotiation: the law of their people requires that you be killed for entering their domain.

Anya grips your shoulder lightly. Her eyes flick between the elves and your battered foot. Grusk growls low, muscles coiled.

The choice is yours.

> Attempt to reason with them further — explain your purpose, your quest, and the apocalypse, hoping they might show mercy.
> Step forward boldly — show that you won’t run, daring them to act first.
> Retreat slowly — back toward the chamber and traps, hoping to lure them into a more advantageous position.
> Signal Grusk — let the beast act as your first line while you gauge their reaction.
> Have Anya sneak around the slope — try to flank or distract them while you hold the main approach.
> Pretend submission — kneel or bow, hoping to buy time or delay their strike.
> Write in

>>6311311
>Have Anya sneak around the slope — try to flank or distract them while you hold the main approach.

>>6311311
>> Retreat slowly — back toward the chamber and traps, hoping to lure them into a more advantageous position.

>>6311311
> Attempt to reason with them further — explain your purpose, your quest, and the apocalypse, hoping they might show mercy.

Rolled 2 (1d3)

>>6311389 1
>>6314317 2
>>6315327 3

>>6315799

The elves' spears are steady, their eyes cold with intent. Reason is a fool's hope here. You take a slow, deliberate step back, your injured foot screaming in protest. You raise your hands, a gesture of non-aggression, but your retreat is a clear signal.

"Back to the chamber," you hiss to Anya.

She understands immediately, melting into the shadows of the doorway as you and Grusk shuffle backward. The two elves advance with the predatory grace of wolves, their focus locked on you. They see the limp, the blood-soaked bandage—they think they have wounded prey cornered.

They follow you right through the shattered doorway.

For a moment, they are silhouetted against the glittering hoard, their forms stark against the wealth of a dead kingdom. Then, the one on the right takes another step forward, his spear held high.

There is a sound like a mountain clearing its throat—a deep, grinding thunk of stone on stone.

From the floor, a single, rusted iron spike shoots upward with blinding speed. It punches through the elf's leather boot, through his foot, and out the top with a sickening crunch of bone and a spray of dark blood. His shriek is not one of pain, but of pure, undiluted terror. It echoes through the chamber, a sound that seems to suck the warmth from the air.

The wounded elf collapses, writhing, but his companion doesn't move to help him. Instead, the second elf stares, not at his comrade, but at the bloody demonic script on the wall near your feet. His pale face goes ashen. He looks from the writing, to the treasure, to his screaming friend, and then his eyes find yours. In them, you see not anger, but a profound, superstitious horror.

>>6315801
He abandons his spear. He abandons his kin.

Without a word, he turns and flees, not back up the slope, but deeper into the chasm, scrambling down a narrow, almost invisible path that leads into the abyssal darkness below. His form is swallowed by the shadows in seconds.

The chamber falls silent, save for the ragged, wet gasps of the impaled elf. The trap has been sprung, and the "curse" has claimed its first victim in your presence. The treasure glitters, untouchable for now, but the fleeing elf has revealed a new path—one that filled him with such fear he chose it over certain death at your hands.

> Follow the Fleeing Elf – His terror was a map in itself. He knew something about this place, this "curse." Where was he fleeing to? His path leads deeper into the Chasmgate, perhaps toward the World-Tree Roots themselves.
> Secure the Treasure Vault – The trap is spent. Loot the chamber quickly. Take the coins, the weapons, the enchanted coffer. The risk is still there—who knows what "cursed" truly means—but the immediate mechanical danger is gone.
> Interrogate the Wounded Elf – He's still alive, trapped and in agony. He has information. He can tell you about the chasm, the elves, the nature of the curse. It will be messy, and his screams may attract more attention, but knowledge is power.
> Tend to Your Wound and Regroup – Your foot is a liability. Use the relative safety of the chamber's entrance to properly treat it with supplies from the hoard (cloth, perhaps alcohol from a flask). Let Anya stand guard while you recover enough to move without leaving a trail of blood.
> Leave This Place Entirely – The cursed hoard and the elf's terror are ill omens. Retreat back up the slope and choose one of the other paths—the Overhang Pass or the Jagged Outcrop—to continue your descent. Cut your losses.
> Write in

>>6315802
>Tend to Your Wound and Regroup – Your foot is a liability. Use the relative safety of the chamber's entrance to properly treat it with supplies from the hoard (cloth, perhaps alcohol from a flask). Let Anya stand guard while you recover enough to move without leaving a trail of blood.

>>6315802
> Interrogate the Wounded Elf – He's still alive, trapped and in agony. He has information. He can tell you about the chasm, the elves, the nature of the curse. It will be messy, and his screams may attract more attention, but knowledge is power.