Progress through the dark tunnels of Pinroot was slower after their break, largely because of an increased danger. More than once, Garthur called a halt to progress, only to send Alan forth to evaluate the corridor before them. In this section, far from any of the known exits to the surface, danger was a constant companion. There was no completely safe route through these dark halls.
The walls themselves hardly looked different, save that where masonry was missing, there was now just packed clay or raw hewn stone. No longer did blackened roots descend like tendrils of shadow from above, they were deeper than any tree in the overhead forests would reach.
While the earlier tunnels and chambers had been constructed for storage during the keep's heyday, these deeper passages were constructed during its decline, as the need to house local populations away from the ravages of marauding bands had grown. Once, this had been almost a small city under the ground, built along the old escape tunnel that lead past the bounds of Pinwood and to the grassy plains beyond. That tunnel still existed, and was what they were aiming for.
Amidst those ancient halls was also the dark influence of the Lost Queen, the demon spawn who had been bricked away alive. In their youth, the original Reavers had stumbled upon old murals along some of the corridors which depicted the tale, as well as statuary and symbols that betrayed the presence of a subterranean church that was no longer accessible. Only an archway remained, long covered over by sturdy masonry, denying any attempt to break into the sealed chambers beyond.
That very corridor was where they were headed, however, for one of the most valuable caches they had ever hidden in their explorations was placed there in decades past. It had been after a particularly brutal battle, at least by their skill at that time, and although Vick and the others had emerged victorious, their wounds were many, and they had to leave behind much of the heaviest loot. This included an enchanted set of plate armor. Although useful for little more than quick cash at the time, it would be invaluable for an unarmored Vick.
A few times, as Alan checked those crumbling stone corridors, he uncovered deadly traps. Pit traps were amongst the easiest to bypass, as they usually had a narrow ledge around either side to scoot over. A dead fall they came across required some debris wedged into the gaps of the stone block above. A crude spring loaded spike trap some long ago inhabitant had erected behind an arch passage was simply triggered by a thrown rock from afar. It was all very routine for Alan, who had been working around such things for most of his life.
They weren't alone in those tunnels either. That much became clear after around an hour more of progress. Footsteps echoed over the cold stone walls, always behind them but never in sight. Windhawk opted not to track down whatever it was that was shadowing them, if only for time concerns. Getting bogged down in an unnecessary fight was something which none of them wanted.
Daphne stayed by Alan's side, and when he did glance across to the elven vampire, her feral features were softened with concern. When he perked a brow in askance, she just leaned in against his side, and whispered to him.
"I was hoping you'd get more rest than you did. You looked like you'd seen a ghost when you woke up, and it hasn't improved much since."
Alan sighed, "I'm fine, I just had a nightmare." Although, recalling his dreams, he wasn't so sure anymore. The idea that Miena, who had been with them all through those youthful escapades, might still be alive was shocking to say the least. The fact it looked increasingly likely she was behind all of this was terrifying. He didn't want to believe it.
As focused as Alan was on his own thoughts, he didn't notice Daphne leaning in, until her cool, soft lips grazed his temple. He blinked in surprise, then turned to regard the elven woman, hesitating in his tracks. A gentle smile met his eyes.
"I worry about you, Alan Tinsley. With Elizabeth gone you've turned from that confident, dashing rogue we all love to an uncertain, hesitant wreck. As much as I wish you'd think of me like you think of her, seeing you like this is... distressing."
Alan frowned at her words, "I'm not that bad, am I?" His mind cast back over the events of the past few days. He knew he was off his game, certainly, but had it really been that noticeable?
"Almost as bad as Vick, and gods know we don't need two of him," Although her words were serious, a teasing smirk tugged at her lips.
Garthur had taken the lead, and glanced back over his shoulder to where Alan and Daphne spoke in those hushed tones. His bearded lips parted, the dwarf was clearly about to comment, when a figure swept out from around the corner not a pace before him.
"Garthur!" Windhawk's cry alerted them all, just in time for the stout cleric to duck without turning to see what was swinging at him.
It was fortuitous, for the mass of a spiked morning star whistled through the space Garthur's head had occupied mere moments before. It struck sparks as the sharp steel spikes impacted the wall. More dark furred creatures skidded into place behind the first.
Five of the brutes stood in staggered ranks, blocking the group's progress, while three more slipped out from a side tunnel thirty feet to their rear, amidst the furthest edge of their torchlight. Big creatures, they stood fully seven feet even with their stooped posture, with long, loping arms and a muscular build. Low brows and jagged, toothy maws gave them a primitive look, while tapered and pointed ears, large and light sensitive eyes, and the whole cast of their features were reminiscent of goblins.
Their skin ranged from a deep yellow to a yellow brown, and a light coating of dark brown hair ran along their scalps and backs, down their arms and along their legs. They wore mismatched sets of leather, riddled with metal studs, and carried a motley collection of crude weaponry. Blades that looked more like large cleavers than swords, rough wooden clubs with spikes hammered through to make crude morning stars, long spears topped with serrated metal heads, and jagged axes.
As dangerous as they looked, and as many of them as there were, the creatures were nothing strange to anyone in the group. Bugbears had been a scourge on the land for generations. They worked with smaller goblin tribes, with bandits, with less scrupulous mercenary bands, generally anyone who could promise them coin or booty. Opportunists, they were common no matter where one turned.
With no more hesitation, the savage brutes rushed upon the group. The ones before them broke upon Garthur as an ocean wave smashing into unyielding rock. Sparks flew as sword blades glanced off of his mail, and the dwarf braced one foot behind himself to prevent them from pushing him backward. Beside Garthur, Windhawk deftly dodged a spear thrust toward her midsection.
The three that had come in behind the group dashed forward, with axes and swords raised. Alan cursed and focused upon the two who rushed him. His own blade was swept out of its scabbard and upward, deflecting one of the swords, while he neatly sidestepped an axe's descent. Up close, the things smelled vaguely of wet, filthy dogs.
