Twenty Seven days ago, 65 leagues to the southwest of what will be the entrance to James’s Dungeon.

I turned my head and commented to Dimitri as we made camp, “Twenty leagues in three days, we seem to be making good time so far, but the terrain gets rougher up ahead.” Dimitri, grunted in agreement, he seemed to do a fair bit of that, grunting responses to questions and statements, however, it was good to have him along, he had detected, and then directed us around a dire-boar and her litter just yesterday. I hoped that we wouldn’t have to encounter too many more of those, not that they aren’t good eating, it just takes good spears that we don’t have and also shouldn’t take the time to make. Instead we would have to make do with the hare that fell to my bow a couple of candle-marks back. I certainly wasn’t the best of cooks, the limited selection of herbs in my pack not withstanding, the grunt of agreement from Dimitri surprised me into realizing I had mumbled my thoughts aloud, I turned to him, and apologized for inadvertently speaking my thoughts, and for the uninspiring supper. He waved his fur covered hand in my general direction, and replied in a somewhat thick accent, “Mine’s, worse.” It had been some time since I journeyed with others, my normal hunting trips around Soria, were only 10 to 15 leagues at most from town, depending on whether I was hunting for food or for furs, mink was fairly plentiful, and made some fine coats, properly treated, it had been almost a decade since I had been as far as the overlook where I had taken Ramirez’s readings.

Dimitri and I split the night watches as we would do until we returned to town, tonight was my night to go first. We banked the fire, so as to both preserve our night vision, and our fuel. Dimitri, was laying on his back in his bedroll, with one arm covering his eyes, the other with the haft of his one handed war-axe clasped in his hand. Given what little I knew about the events that drove him and what remained of his family to Soria last winter, I would not begrudge a little healthy paranoia, besides, it isn’t like I didn’t keep the handle of my dirk in my own hand when I slept away from home. As I kept watch, listening to the slight rustle of the pines in the wind, I reminisced, thinking back to the first and last time I had entered a dungeon about 35 years ago. I was barely out of my second century, old enough to not be wet behind the ears any more, and still convinced of my invincibility, that trip to the field dungeon cured me of my youthful delusions, it may have only been 35 years ago, but I felt more than a hundred and fifty years older for it. My father, who had heard my plans the night before I set out from home with my group of nine other friends, had put his arm around me and said whilst sighing, “I won’t try and convince you and your friends not to go and try the dungeon of the Jungle Botanist, but mark my words Timoteo, you will be changed by the experience, one way or the other. Your mother and I have taught you as much as we can, do the best you can to come back alive, we have no desire to outlive our only offspring.” I was fortunate, most of my friends weren’t. Ten of us went in, three of us came out, I the only one of us not needing a healer to regenerate a limb, not to say I was uninjured, just that I had managed to not have an arm ripped off, one of the others had a leg ripped off, he didn’t make it out.

It was at the town of Tudela where I and my two friends had found healing. I had sent a letter to my parents, and also to the parents of my fallen friends. I had told my father he was right, I told my mother, I was hale and whole. I told the parents of my friends how they had passed, I also sent along the few items we had managed to salvage from their bodies as we escaped, and a portion of the funds we had gained, from the unique plants and animals we had harvested. It took almost five years for the nightmares to fade, the dungeon of the Jungle Botanist was a fairly short 215 leagues to the south-west of Soria, it had been around for just over 2500 years at this point, it seemed quite likely that the dungeon’s fairy was having difficulty maintaining the core’s sanity, which was unfortunate as most wizards, druids, and sorcerers who chose to become dungeons could maintain their sanity for at least four to five thousand years, generally speaking. When I was growing up, I had heard of an ancient Sylph Druid dungeon on the continent of Tien Xia, that was still around after almost 25 thousand years. No one these days knew how it still managed to be sane after all this time, however, it was likely to remain a fixture in our history for at least a few thousand more years.

Dimitri and his family had to flee the overflow of what had been a mostly forgotten subterranean shaman’s dungeon, it had emerged around the same time as the dungeon of the Jungle Botanist, however, far fewer people noticed it, the signs that had been put up announcing it’s location had faded and withered away, and as such it also faded from memory. Leading to the tragedy that was the overflow that occurred last summer at the town of Troinetsk, on the short of the great inland sea. It is about time for Dimitri’s watch, I am going to need my sleep, the plan is to get to edge of the tree line, and skirt the forests edge so as to make better time towards La Cima del Mundo. I really hope this annoying dungeon that Ramirez thinks is up here didn’t decide to open up near the summit, that would be less than ideal.

Twenty five days ago at the site of the failed summoning ritual 150 leagues to the north-east of what will be the entrance to James’s Dungeon.

I had come in search of our village shaman Abiditan, he had informed my father Atab, the elder of the small, although proud orcish village of Iltasadum, that he was coming out to this particular ritual site some 43 leagues of forested tundra from Iltasadum as he was planning on consulting an impling regarding a possible campaign for next year. I had always thought that consultations of such abyssal abominations demeaning of our heritage, regardless of the success of past consultations. I came up to the clearing on the hilltop where the standing stones were, and saw what I presumed were the remains of Abiditan, strewn across the clearing, the standing stones, and even the trees, I saw the remains of his jaw hanging from a branch, almost three spans from the ground. “Obviously Abiditan screwed up somehow”, I muttered. I gasped as an abyssal hand grasped my shoulder, my skin burning as though cooking oil had spilled on it. My head turned slightly, freezing as another hand gripped my skull, the voice of an imp, guttural, and barely intelligible said, “Indeed he did, young Ninazu, so did you, you came alone.” I felt a sharp pain in the back of my skull as something profoundly wrong filled my very being with pain and terror, and I knew no more.

The eyes of the orc Ninazu, turned solid consuming black, and dark shadows evaporated from his skin, before returning to their normal colors. The imp, looking out through the eyes of Ninazu’s body at his new hands, chuckled and said to himself in a much clearer voice, “This will do nicely.”

Shortly after consuming the essence, and the corpse of his disciple, at the entrance of the Abyssal Dungeon of the once human Warlock Thestor, about 1450 leagues to the Southeast of what will be James’ s Dungeon on a desolate island in the midst of the Eternal Ocean.

Thestor’s Dungeon summon’s, no mere fairy or imp, but a full blown Dread Knight, faded into view, chortled and congratulated Thestor, in Abyssal, his very words causing distortions in the air, on consuming his first sentient soul, and his first step on the road to true power. Thestor, quickly claimed the remaining space within the wards his disciple and he had set fifty years prior, and turned to his summon, and replied also in Abyssal, having become fluent over the last few decades, “We have much to do, first to expand the ward, then to claim the rest of this island.” His summons responded, “indeed we do.” His glowing eyes fading slightly behind his helmet, as he did.

Nineteen days ago, 39 leagues to the southwest of what will be the entrance to James’s Dungeon.

Timoteo’s and my pace had slowed due to the terrain, and one unfortunate encounter with an ogre. The ogre had been resting around the edge of a hillock from us, until Timoteo annoyed it by killing a sheep upslope of the thing, and of course the damn sheep promptly fell on it and woke it up. He had been about to go get the sheep when we heard the roar, took a quick glance at each other and we then ran like there wasn’t going to be a morrow. It took us almost two days of running and hiding in the forest, we had literally just left, to lose the thing. Frankly we were lucky it had been alone, and out of roar range from any others.

Besides that encounter, we had been making decent time for the terrain. I was just glad Timoteo was cooking instead of me, my wife Yaryna, always gave me grief when I cooked, in general it was edible, but I had on occasion managed to give myself food poisoning, considering my races general hardiness, and resistance to poison, that is saying something. I was hoping this dungeon, if dungeon it indeed was, was from either the Sylphs or any of the other civilized races except the Orcs. Damn orc shaman blood dungeon had cost me my nephew’s family and my youngest son, not to mention our home in Troinetsk. One of my family friends kids had re-discovered that dungeon, and due to his presence triggered the dungeon to overflow. My nephew’s family lived near the town walls, they didn’t last long as the berserk dungeon creatures smashed through the wall within minutes of coming out of the concealment of the tall grass, I barely had time to grab my family, my youngest, Petr, had been sick, and tripped as we had run from our home, a giant centipede got him before I could turn back and grab him. If it is an Abyssal or Blood dungeon, I am going to do my darnedest to send that core straight to Hades, even if our mission is simply to locate the thing, assuming Ramirez is right.

Once the dust settled, my family, as it was the last that was still alive of the ones that had been friends with the one that had triggered the onslaught, was blamed simply by association, as such we left and thanks to Alfonso, found asylum in Soria, despite the lack of too many other beastkin, they welcomed us, it was going to take my family quite some time to truly be comfortable, but it was better than having to deal with the idiocy going on back in Troinetsk.

The lack of significant ground cover above the tree-line, made the nights a bit chillier than we had experienced back in the forest, looking to our north east, La Cima del Mundo, was an awe inspiring sight. I did agree with Timoteo, I definitely didn’t want to have to climb anywhere near the summit, we had climbing gear for the both of us, cleats, pitons, and a few hundred yards of rope, but it would still be a grueling climb. I had first watch tonight, thus far, it had been uneventful, but it was near the end of my turn, and I would soon be waking up Timoteo, so I could rest. My right ear involuntarily twitched as I heard a stone fall, and light chittering, I raised my axe, and yelled at Timoteo, “Kobolds !” I threw a handful of magnesium powder that we kept for such situations, as I ran towards the annoying little lizard people, the fire flaring to an amazing brightness. It blinded the kobolds, and half blinded myself and Timoteo, fortunately he was quick to wake and take up his bow, I swung my axe with fervor towards one of the kobolds who wielded a spear and shield, it’s pal suddenly sprouted an arrow in the eye. I dodged the spear thrust, and beheaded my smaller foe, blood spraying me as I ran past the body, going towards one of the five remaining kobolds. Make that four remaining, Timoteo is good with that bow.

The rest of the fight was equally short and bloody, I didn’t get away unscathed, although the jabs were nothing serious as my leather jerkin absorbed most of the damage. We were fairly lucky in that none of the ones that attacked us got away, generally kobolds favor traps and sneak attacks, but won’t say no to attacking a pair of travelers like us with superior numbers. Timoteo added more fuel to the fire so we could see as we bandaged ourselves up, he had gotten a scratch on one of his arms from one that had gotten too close before he stabbed it in the throat. We would most certainly not get any more sleep tonight, as we both kept watch for more of those sneaky bastards.

We packed up and left our camp site about an hour before dawn, as we wanted to get past the territory of the kobold tribe that attacked us. Hopefully we would manage to get past them today, not getting any sleep as we searched for a dungeon, that would potentially try to kill us on sight, would just not be a good day in my opinion. We still had about forty leagues to travel, according to Ramirez’s calculations and the abbreviated copies of his map that he gave to both of us.

One day ago, a league to the southwest of what will be the entrance to James’s Dungeon.

Dimitri, and I had finally made it to the general vicinity of where the dungeon should be, according to Ramirez’s calculations, after much toil, and dodging of ogres and kobolds. We set up camp just above the tree-line in a relatively level clearing for once. Tonight was squirrel stew, unfortunately, I couldn’t find anything more appetizing during the day. We would start our search for the dungeon tomorrow. Hopefully it isn’t playing hard to get.