“All dwarfs are by nature dutiful, serious, literate, obedient and thoughtful people whose only minor failing is a tendency, after one drink, to rush at enemies screaming "Arrrrrrgh!" and axing their legs off at the knee.” ― Terry Pratchett,

  The flashing light generated by the ornate water clock being ignored for some few minutes, it was joined by the sound of small hammers, slowly increasing in volume. The sturdy boot flying across the room being thwarted by the heavy iron protective cage, the alarms’ target finally sat up with a muttered growl.

  “Love my parents, but gods damn it, that’s the most annoying gift I’ve ever gotten...”

  Stumbling out of bed and squinting into the strobing light, Hakdrilda Stormbrew pushed the long black hair out of her eyes and gestured deftly in the direction of the offending clock. The finely manipulated air currents swirled in a rush around the device, pulling levers, twisting gears, and, eventually, silencing the hammers and cutting off the lights.

  “Now why in the name of the Blessed Forgemistress is the damned thing going off at...” and she leaned in to peer more closely at the main clock face “5:18 in the morning? I damned well didn’t set a third-level wakeup call.”

  She wracked her normally quite excellent brain for a moment, trying to remember what specific events she had determined would trigger such a thing. Level 4 alerts were for true disasters and deaths in the immediate family. Level 3 - those were mostly for more positive things needing a quick response. Casting her somewhat bleary blue eyes across the display lights, she found the one indicating the reason for her inadequate sleep – 3D. Straining her memory, she could feel that knowledge evading her; sighing, she tapped the mana light, generating a dim but still painful light and reached for the nearby manual.

  Muttering to herself, she flipped through the pages.

  “User-determined alarms, tier 3. Page 47. Let’s see. Iron lottery prize, no. Mage academy staff opening, no. Ah, here it is... New air-affinity dungeon opening within 1000 km! Ha, excellent! I’ve been waiting for that for nearly a decade! Could be the break I need to jumpstart my research!

  I’ll have to swing by the adventurers’ guild when it opens to get more details; then, I need to put in for some time off from the prep school. I guess I can check over my go-bag until the transports start moving at 7. First things first, though. Best I get a hot shower and some breakfast, since it’s likely to be a while before I’m back in civilization. That’s the odds-on bet, anyways; damn rare for dungeons to crop in convenient places and even less so for air-mana dungeons. Probably on a mountain peak, if I’m lucky. Be a damn shame if it turns out to be at the top of a giant tree in the Elflands.”

  She didn’t so much spring into action as rumble inexorably into motion – a slow motion landslide, if you will, projecting an air of inevitability as her efficient movements contained a determined energy.

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  One shower and a hearty breakfast of bread and cheese with mushrooms later, she was prepared to depart. Smoothing down her neatly braided hair and casually donning the traditionally awkward flat dwarven mage’s cap in the light blue indicating an elemental affinity for air, she headed towards the door to her small set of rooms. Patting her pockets to make sure she had her keys, travel pass, and some spare change, she eyed her travel pack but left it for the moment.

  Flashing her pass at the driver, she swung aboard the gently swaying platform atop the low-slung giant centipede as it scuttled along the uneven express tunnel driven towards the central districts of Daekar, capital of the kingdom of the same name. Hakdrilda closed her eyes, not so much meditating as simply feeling the currents of mana in the air, moving through the tunnel, bringing the breath of life to the deeply buried civilization.

  I’m always surprised how few people, even my family’s neighbors, realize how critical airmages are to a subterranean city. Stonemages get all the credit for making life possible in the depths, but trying to keep airflow moving, especially in the deeps, would be a nearly impossible engineering task on a purely mechanical level and susceptible to so many potentially fatal mechanical failures. I know I wouldn’t want to live in a city that didn’t have redundant systems for managing those concerns; I bet the watermages feel the same way about flooding and drainage! And topsiders wonder why dwarves tend to value overengineering any critical systems! Anybody who’s seen the records covering those failures knows why fraud in construction or inspections is punishable by death and the exile of clansiblings.

  Thirty minutes later, the driver announced their arrival at her stop - “Last stop –Grand Central Station – mid-depths administrative district."

  Reopening her eyes, feeling a bit more rested, Hakdrilda dismounted the platform, landing on the cavern floor with a solid impact. She paused a moment, admiring the panoramic view of the district spread out along the floor, walls, and ceiling of the massive cavern. Constructions were secured to the substrate with shaped stone or, in many cases, simply excavated into the substrate itself. While outside visitors to dwarven cities tended to be rare, partly by design and partly by policy, those who did make it to established cities like this one were often surprised by the spacious, three-dimensionality of most dwarven settlements. The entry levels were typically meandering and claustrophobic as a traditional defensive measure, but the residential areas were an opportunity to show off the skills of the residents, as well as their affluence. Individual clan compounds tended to reflect the clan’s traditional focus, and one could often guess the specialty of a clan from their design choices. Hakdrilda’s own clan, the Stormbrew clan, leaned towards taller, slender structures dotted with elements that captured and manipulated the airflows – using them to power small devices, create interesting sonic effects, and simply generate a tapestry of winds, made visible by patterns of lightweight colored swirling elements for those unable to visualize the airflows directly.

  With a small smile gracing her lips and a twinkle in her eyes, Hakdrilda shook off her musings, and set her feet on the smoothly paved path towards the adventurer’s guild headquarters.

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  The guild structure showed an aesthetic all its own. Clearly projecting an aura of offensive and defensive power, it resembled nothing so much as an army fort – if army forts bristled with loud, rowdy adventurers with no shared uniform beyond proudly displayed badges and had walls decorated with the skulls, hides, tusks, claws, carapaces etc. of monstrous beasts. It was a rather garish display, really, but an effective advertisement for the business conducted within. There weren’t many creatures left to hunt in the wilder spaces around the city anymore, so most adventurers in Draekar City either completed simpler tasks around town (at lower levels), served as guards for merchant caravans (at mid-levels), or delved the three dungeons within easy reach of the city (at any level, depending on how deep they went).

  Hakdrilda drew out her own black iron tag and headed in, taking a direct path towards the information desk, ignoring the crowds around the quest postings and the dedicated desks governing their acceptance and completion. Most adult dwarves were registered with the guild in their youth, though few of them adopted it as a full-time career, and Hakdrilda was no exception. In her early fifties, and good for several more centuries unless meeting with unfortunate circumstances, Hakdrilda wasn’t really a youth anymore, but it hadn’t been that long since she was, and she had a lot of memories of this building, both fond and not so fond.

  Approaching the desk, Hakdrilda gave a quick smile – recognizing an acquaintance from her own adventuring days. “Hardath! Working this side of the desk these days?”

  “Hakdrilda! What’s it been – six years?” Stroking his long, salt-and-pepper beard, the former shield-bearer cracked a smile. “What brings you back to the guild? Someone put in a request for an airmage that pays enough to lure you out from behind your books?”

  “Ha! No, I’m pretty sure you’d know if that happened! No, I’m looking for information on a new dungeon – got an alert last night and all I know is that it’s got an air-mana focus and isn’t too far away (as these things go, at least).”

  “Oh, right. I remember you saying you had some secret plan to jumpstart your career. Didn’t realize you were still waiting on the right dungeon.”

  “Been nearly ten years since the last decent candidate. Tell me you’ve got good news for me!”

  “’Fraid that’s not my department. Let me walk you back to talk to Norfoth – he's our senior research associate these days”. Hardath rose, and with a noticeable limp, gestured for her to follow deeper into the well-lit halls of the guild.

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  It wasn’t all that far a walk, as these things go, but in keeping with general Dwarven practices of the higher ranks residing in the deepest parts of the city and the individual buildings, they did pass up nearly 20 offices for less senior administrative staff before stopping in front of a finely shaped stone door that appeared likely to withstand anything short of a battering ram. It did have a small cutout window with clear panes of glass seated in a wood frame in the organic, elven style. Less senior staff had no windows, more senior ones had even more elaborate doors, reflecting their individual tastes. With promotions coming rarely in organizations staffed by such long-lived individuals, Hakdrilda wondered whether the doors moved with the individual or were remade periodically. Norfoth, apparently, was a dwarf with rather restrained tastes, given the ornate displays of some of the other doors.

  Hardath gave the simple wrought iron doorknocker a bump and watched through the window for the signal to enter. Presumably there was some basic magic at play, or else Norfoth had extremely well-developed hearing, Hakdrilda thought to herself, because there was no other way that noise was transmitted through nearly 20 cm of fine-grained granite.

  As Hardath swung the door open, Hakdrilda took in the discreetly furnished workspace of the older dwarf researcher briefly as they approached. The solid, marble-topped desk was polished and tidy, but showed evidence of decades of use. Sturdy squared granite legs supported the work surface, which, on closer inspection, had a narrow band of inlaid polished wood decoration around the three outer edges. Deeply inset, built-in shelves held the evidence of his job, with books, scrolls, and occasional artifacts under study filling the walls of the modestly sized office.

  Hardath made the introductions. “Norfoth Flintriver, may I present an old acquaintance of mine, Hakdrilda Stormbrew. She comes to us today seeking information on a newly emerging air-mana dungeon. I believe she’d like to make an expedition to seek it out and, quite reasonably, would like as much useful data as she can secure before doing so.”

  Hakdrilda braced herself for the response. Independent excursions to new dungeons were generally expected to wait upon formal assessments by the guild, and as a mid-ranked and no longer active adventurer, she could see her request for information getting a variety of responses, not all positive. She trusted Hardath not to take her to someone unreasonably conservative, but there were questions she didn’t really want to have to answer.

  Norfoth, on his part, merely looked up at her curiously, assessing her likely skills and interests in a heartbeat, and gave her a wry smile. “I was just wondering what to do about that particular dungeon. It may be more of a logistical challenge than you were hoping for. Fortunately, it’ll be the elves’ problem first. Pull up a seat and I’ll tell you what little I know. Hardath, you can stay if you’d like, but if you have work that needs doing, you’re free to get back to it.”

  As Hardath was tasked with manning the information desk, he made his excuses and left, patting Hakdrilda’s shoulder on the way out. She collected a sturdy wrought iron chair and drew up a seat. She judged the seat to be a deliberate choice on his part – not actively uncomfortable but not intended to encourage long conversations either.

  “I appreciate you taking the time to help me out. I’ve been hoping to study a newly emerging air-mana dungeon for nearly a decade now, as I have some theories on how dungeons obtain and display an air affinity in their early stages.”

  Norfoth had the sense that she wasn’t telling him everything, but that was fairly standard for the scholarly community, as nobody wanted other people to preempt their research. The balding stonemage ran a scarred hand through his white hair and then tugged gently at his long, forked beard. “Of course, of course. Answering these kinds of questions is a basic part of the job, even if it’s more usually questions about the local dungeons. Well, good news and bad news for you. Which do you want first?”

  With a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, Hakdrilda spoke. “Give me the bad news, if you will. I need to know I’m not wasting my time, if I can help it. And what do you mean it’s the elves’ problem first? I assume that means the dungeon is in Zaipruniel, but the ‘first’ is throwing me.”

  Norfoth cocked a bushy eyebrow in a practiced, sardonic way. “Ah, well, that’s the bad news, or at least part of it. Your new dungeon appears to be on the sky island, which is currently approaching Zaipruniel, but will be crossing above us in about two months. They will presumably send out a senior dungeon inspector, but the rest of the bad news is that the sky island is reportedly occupied by a dragon.

  On the upside, that does mean that you likely won’t have much competition to explore the dungeon outside of official inspectors. Assuming you are willing to wait for the sky island to enter our area of authority, you might be able to talk our designated inspector into letting you tag along.”

  Hakdrilda released her bated breath in one long exhale, visibly pondering her options. “That would likely be my best option, wouldn’t it? Which rigidly upright bar of iron do I need to convince to let me accompany him?”

  Norfoth chuckled at the description with a decidedly wicked twinkle in his nearly black eyes.

  “Why, that would be me, lass, that would be me.”