North Sea Dungeon

It was only Kipquinn's first foray into a real dungeon; his eldest brother had been sending him letters telling him about what dungeons were like for what felt like years before he'd finally managed to strike it out on his own, but actually being in one was a very different beast than he'd imagined it would be.

For one, finding a party that would take him seriously had been something of a nightmare. With all the fresh-faced adventurers on the island looking to make a name for themselves, Kipquinn was easily overlooked for any number of reasons, not least of all his small stature. Even among other half-foots, it was difficult to establish himself as a capable adult, rarely getting past the first impression his size gave. Eventually, though, he'd found a group willing to take him on--he was determined to prove his worth.

How, precisely, it had all gone wrong… well, he couldn't quite tell you.

Kipquinn knew what to look out for, of course. Though he lacked practical experience, he was no amateur when it came to the theory behind trap detecting. What he hadn't anticipated was discovering that pressure plates didn't even partially give way under his feet. There'd been no advance warning whatsoever before the hall behind him had erupted into a fiery explosion, kicking debris every which way.

Finding himself suddenly quite alone, Kipquinn wandered over to the scorched ruins of the hall his party had been traversing and took a seat against the wall, elbows resting against his knees. He was lucky he'd been far enough ahead of the rest of them not to get caught up in the trap's explosion, but it was something of a hollow consolation, all things considered. Somewhat shaken up from the whole occurrence, he put his head in his hands. "They're going to be so mad," he murmured dismally, trying to take some solace in the fact that they could be brought back to be mad at him in the first place.

This was, by far, not the first dungeon Caen had been to. Reasonably speaking, there were only so many he could have been to, but after all this time, the memories blended together into a confusing amalgam of corridors and monsters. So this wasn't the first, but what number it actually was didn't easily come to mind. He wasn't sure how long he intended to stay this time. It was novel, and nostalgic, and slowly mapping out the first floor at least kept his anxieties at bay for a little while. That had been true of all of them, but at least this one was new.

Adventuring solo was extremely ill-advised. Caen knew that; all the magical prowess in the world couldn't make it a better idea. Staying on the topmost floors had generally kept him alive, though, across the various dungeons he'd visited. It also gave him the space to completely avoid other people.

That was what he meant to do today, too, but the sudden burst of flames not too far from where he was beckoned him. Surely just one of the dungeon's traps; Caen generally avoided places they might be and used detection spells otherwise, always cautious, knowing he couldn't personally disarm them. If one had been tripped, there was a decent chance another party was present, which would be good to be aware of.

What he saw as he approached made his heart seize uncomfortably in his chest. It was easy, perhaps, to assume child, but Caen knew when it came to being inside dungeons, people that small were almost always half-foots (and usually adults, at that). The small body curled against the wall was the only living one in the corridor. Caen hesitated, gripping his staff a little tighter. If he knew himself at all—and he liked to think he was quite familiar by now—this was a bad idea. He had a policy of avoiding half-foots specifically.

Yet the stranger seemed so hopeless, and there were no other mages present who were in any position to handle this.

"Ah, what a mess," he said softly as he approached, stepping past the half-foot to one of the charred corpses. "How many do we have here? Four?" He scanned the various bodies, then glanced back at the survivor. "This will take a moment. Did any of your provisions survive? They're going to be hungry." Without waiting for a response, he crouched down, positioning the crystal of his staff over the face of the corpse, resting his other hand alight their chest as he started to chant.

If he just interacted with the half-foot as little as possible, he'd be fine.

Kipquinn looked up to watch the stranger revive the members of his party with barely-disguised awe, having never actually seen such a thing in practice before. That being said, he knew that his party's provisions (or lack thereof; he hadn't been the one carrying them) would be the least of his problems when they awoke and realized what had happened.

The party leader was the last to be revived, a dwarf with something of a temper; Kipquinn had caught his ire once already, before they'd even entered the dungeon, when it came to what provisions he could carry, being so much smaller than the rest of them. Useless, he'd said.

The moment it became apparent what had happened, the party leader erupted in Kipquinn's direction. "USELESS!" he shouted, marching over to where Kipquinn was and shoving him when he tried to stand. "We hired you to do one job! One!"

"But--" Kipquinn tried to interject, quickly overpowered by a booming voice, "Worthless rat! I wouldn't pay you for a job like that if we conquered the dungeon and found a treasure trove worth more than the island itself!"