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You suddenly wake to a distant rhythmic banging, the sound of metal on metal. Each hammer’s blow is like a battering ram to your brain, as last night’s Lyverian wine wreaks havoc on your waking skull. Bang. Bang.
Where the hell am I?
You are no stranger to Lyverian benders. In fact some of the stories you could tell would get the listener drunk just from hearing. But something was different about last night.
Why is it so hard to move?
Your blurred vision finds some focus as you begin to take in your surroundings. Stone floor. Cold. Torches are hanging on the walls. Bang. Bang. You’re in a cave.
I’m in a cave.
But there are no caves anywhere near the tavern from last night. It had been a bizarre night. Details come slowly creeping back to you. A trio of Minotaurs had come into the bar. Minotaurs, who could almost never be found in any Human or goblin establishment. Bang. Bang.There had been challenges and games. There had been fights, but no broken bones. And there had been drinking. You even met a girl.
Why can’t I remember her name?
She was a strikingly beautiful redhead, a ranch hand from the Frioll Shire. You struggle to remember anything more. Painful tingles are invading your fingertips and toes as your muscles come back to life. You must have been out for longer than a night, and the pain in your head is not a hangover from Lyverian wine, but from the drugs with which you were dosed.
Bang. Bang. You do your best to shake the induced grogginess because something is not right. Nothing is right about this. Your vision is no longer blurred, and it seems that your limbs can all move freely.
They took my sword. Damn.
Someone has taken you as a prisoner. They have taken not only your sword and armor, but your clothes as well, replacing them with several oversized woolen cloaks. Bang. Bang. You are not shackled or tied, a fact which brings you both relief and dread. For one, it gives you a fighting chance, but it also means that your captor is a fearsome enough beast to not require chains. You wonder about the red-headed beauty you met last night. Is she alright?
Just then you notice something soft in your left hand. A bitter chill goes through you as you realize it is a rather large lock of red hair. A small part of the hair is matted with some dried substance. Is it blood? Your senses heighten as you remember your crisis training. This is what your teachers called a “crucible moment,” and you must not squander it. Bang. Bang.
The cavern is large, but not large enough for a Dragon. There is a single dark tunnel leading out of the chamber, from whence the banging is coming. The room is lit by several torches that hang on the walls. In one corner, there is a pile of scrap metal. No complete weapons are visible, but with digging, you may be able to uncover a partial blade of some sort. Bang. Bang.
In another corner of the chamber there is a large pile of wool blankets and rags, next to a metal bucket filled with a black liquid. Oil perhaps? You cannot be certain. Additionally, there are several stalagmites protruding from the cave floor, each with points sharp enough to separate a man from his internal organs should he take a wrong step.
You wonder what fateful events could have transpired last night to land you in this situation. You hope with desperation that the lovely red-headed ranch hand is off somewhere happily tending chickens, but you fear that the truth is far more grave. Suddenly the banging stops, and before you have time to think, you hear it.