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Dripcave Deputy Familiar While the Gaoler clans of the Southern Icefield are formidable wardens in their own right, they also enlist the help of lesser creatures to maintain order in their subterranean stockades. 0

Born in the clan Apr 15 2017 2/6 spiral, 2/6 guardian, 1/6 wildclaw, 1/6 imperial, hybrid guardian/spiral Guardian of the clan's belongings, charge: the hoard

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It seems like eons before the lift gets to the bottom. A heavy *thud* echoes into the dark tunnel before you. You slowly put one foot onto the ground outside of the lift, then the others. You stand there for a moment, listening for the slightest noise. You begin to walk down the tunnel, into the inky blackness. You turn on your head lamp when it gets too dark to see, and a small cone of light pierces the dark, illuminating only a tiny circle in front of you.

The Hoard is silent.

You gaze at the smooth, fleshy walls, shuddering when you spot desperate claw marks faintly visible alongside deeper scars in the castle's skin, seemingly caused by some massive blade.
Reaching the end of the tunnel, you find yourself in a cavern so vast that your lamp's light does not reach the ceiling. It does, however, illuminate towering shelves that have no discernible system for the organization of their contents.

The Hoard seems endless.

No time is wasted in entering the labyrinth of shelves. You search every visible spot, glancing from food reserves to minuscule dried flowers, searching for something of value. dust spirals around you as you push untouched objects aside, hoping to find anything worth taking. Getting desperate and more unsettled the longer you spend searching, you start putting anything that seems remotely valuable into your bag. Suddenly, at the intersection of several shelves, you spot it.
Sitting on a pedestal and illuminated by an orb of light magic stands an intricate, delicate sculpture of the Plaguebringer herself. The wooden pedestal seems to be growing out of the ground, a living altar that blooms with beautiful red flowers. Lush moss covers the ground around the pedestal. The sculpture itself is carved from a mixture of immaculate bone and rich red wood, inlaid with gold.
You hit the jackpot. This sculpture would sell for as much treasure and as many gems as you could ever need. You quickly and silently tiptoed up to the altar. You reached out to grab the carving and-
*SNAP*
A branch on the pedestal was crushed beneath your feet. You freeze as additional noises begin to echo around you. The sound of shifting metal and the scratch of claws. You can almost feel the lair begin to pulse beneath you, it's heart beat growing faster. Panicking, you grab the sculpture with both claws and pull it from the altar.

The Hoard has been DEFILED.

You run, making a mad dash back through the monolithic shelves towards the lift. The sound of heavy footfalls thunder behind you, growing faster and louder, striking fear into your heart and making it race. Before the lift is even in sight, a heavy claw strikes your back and knocks you to the ground, pushing the breath from your lungs.
Your headlamp breaks at the impact, flickering out and leaving you in darkness. Looking behind you, all that is visible are two red orbs shining menacingly in the dark. Violet runes began to glow, and the stench of decay hangs heavy in the air.

"The Hoard does not have thieves."
A deep, grim voice bellows in the dark.

Those words and the sound of a blade moving through the air were the last things you heard.
the Guardian's work was done.

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Front page Feb. 2, 2019 and Jan 5 2021!
Critic, the only child I was hoping for, was born under the blessing of Chad.