The sweltering heat clung about Alan, stifling breath and movement alike. The lighting could be better, sunlight filtered in through gaps in the natural stone cave he was crouched in, stained a glorious mix of green and gold by the foliage it passed through. The walls of the cave had been worn smooth over the passing eons, and further smoothed and polished by whoever built the shrine before him.
It was an ancient thing, with a vile, demonic statue looming overhead, carved from the very stone and polished by the care of centuries of shrine keepers. The figure squatted over a stone tablet, with glyphs that he couldn't understand. At its base was a stone box, built into the shrine but with a hinged lid that locked as surely as any mechanism could. It was this very lock that Alan's dextrous hands worked upon.
"Damn it Alan! Hurry it up in there!" Vick's voice boomed from outside of the cave. His words rose even over the distant thunder of rapids in the gorge below, and there was an after echo as his call resounded back along the length of that stone gorge and back into the cave.
"Working on it!" He called back over his shoulder, then turned his attention back to the box. Finally, with a sharp click, the box opened to reveal the object of their quest.
There it lay, placed upon soft cushions within the box, a silver handle, shaped like a wrapped, clawed talon, gripping a polished sphere of obsidian about the size of a man's fist. The orb was unnatural, how that black glass could have been so perfectly shaped was beyond him. Even as he stared into its glistening surface, it seemed to draw his attention inward.
"Alan!" Vick's voice bellowed again, and this time was followed by the telltale clang of steel on steel.
Quickly, the thief snatched up the orb and stuffed the item handle first into his doublet. As he rose, he snatched up the short bow he had set aside, and raced for the cave's entrance. The sound of battle intensified.
Outside, the light was near blinding for a moment, but when his vision adjusted, it was clear how bad their situation had turned. The cave opened onto a narrow ledge, and a rickety rope suspension bridge of indeterminate age spanned a broad, steep gorge. The jungle closed in on either side of the gorge, above the cave and on the opposite side. Far below, a raging river crashed over jagged rocks.
There, upon that bridge, Vick and Garthur stood close together on the precarious bridge, holding back a crush of crudely armed and armored cultist. Vick's helm had been lost earlier, allowing his long locks to blow freely in the wind, while Garthur augmented the powerfully built warrior with his divine prayers. Alan could hardly believe the bridge supported their weight at all.
Closer, Windhawk stood, an arrow notched in her own long bow. The elven woman braced herself delicately on the swaying bridge, her own long blonde hair tied back severely with a leather thong. Her own forest green leathers conformed to every curve of her body. Carefully she aimed, then loosed her arrow into the horde of cultists that made their way down that bridge toward them. One screamed as the arrow planted into his chest, then tumbled over.
Last was Miena, her robes blown against her own lean frame, her hair a brilliant red shock that caught the wind, and blew about without a care. She raised a wand in one hand, and chanted arcane words that the breeze snatched away as surely as they left her lips.
One of the brutish savages on the opposing cliff took aim at Miena, and Alan cursed. He rushed forth toward the young wizard, and tackled her down. A spear sailed over his own back as the two crashed onto the wooden slats of the bridge, and severed one of the support ropes cleanly. The entire bridge began to twist, and the two began to slide off one edge.
Desperately, Alan grabbed onto Miena, and hooked his own legs in the ropes of the side still supported by that ancient rope. Miena's spell, ruined, soared away in a dazzling sparkle of color. The wizard girl's own legs dangled over that chasm, while she clung to Alan's arm. Her terrified blue eyes stared up at him from her freckled features.
"Please don't drop me, Alan," She seemed on the verge of tears.
"I won't, Miena. I promise." He reassured her, but when he turned his gaze back up along the bridge, and at first all he could see was twisting rope and wood. Then, he followed a loose bit of rope downward with his gaze.
Vick dangled from one of the ropes, clutching it in one hand, while his sword hung uselessly from the other. Below him, the mail clad dwarven priest gripped Vick's ankles, and cursed loudly. There was no sign of the bulk of the cultists who had come out onto the bridge, only several stood staring at the edge of the cliff above. Nor was there any sign of Windhawk.
Miena's squeal brought Alan's attention snapping back to her, only to catch a glint of black and silver. The orb was tumbling, having slid out from where he'd tucked it into his leathers. With both his arms straining to keep Miena from tumbling into the deeps, there was little he could do but watch. But then, the young wizard woman kicked her feet and swung wildly from where she hung, catching the item between her soft boots.
"Vick! Alan!" An impossibility rose up from the crashing waters below. Windhawk's voice rang true over the waters, "Down here!"
Alan's attentions were momentarily seized by the swish of a spear missing him by scant inches. He swung his head up toward the cultists gathered at the edge of the cliff above, then back down past Miena. The redhead was working one hand down to grasp at that orb, apparently trusting Alan to keep her up. There, far below, standing on the back of a huge, green turtle, Windhawk's blonde hair and forest green garb was unmistakeable.
"Come on down! The water's fine!" The elven woman called up with a grin, though she hardly looked like she'd seen a drop of it herself. The turtle she perched upon barely kept up with the current, its massive limbs sweeping through the rushing white water crash.
"Are you crazy?!" Vick called back down, though his words were punctuated by a clang. One of the spears from above glanced off of his armor.
"You blasted elf!" Garthur called down, before wincing as the spear nearly tumbled into him. He closed his eyes and murmured, "Gonna regret this, aren't I?" Taking a deep, heaving breath, the dwarf let himself drop.