"Action may not always bring happiness; but there is no happiness without action." -- Benjamin Disraeli

  A hulking figure, draped in a dark, all-concealing robe, moved with unexpected grace from the depths of the gray, stone chapel – the low light shading all features of her face, aside from some bright yellow eyes, glowing on their own from within the hood. The acolytes, faces exposed, and showing a range of races – primarily from the surrounding underdepths of the cavernous Third Dungeon, ranging from dark elves and arachne to deep dwarves and even a rare sapient slime – backed up before their priestess.

  Throg, a nearly 3-meter, green-skinned trollwife, swept back her hood revealing a friendly smile filled with impressively carnivorous teeth. “Our Lord has given us a mission to a new dungeon, -- one that wasn’t created by Them.” This was a rare event, and there was a collective intake of breath from her subordinates; new dungeons were hardly rare, and a dozen or more appeared and disappeared globally each year, maintaining generally stable numbers. However, dungeons not directly affiliated with The God of All Dungeons were quite rare, and decades often went by without a change in their numbers. They were, inevitably, affiliated with some other divinity and were often sapient. Sapient or not, it was the responsibility of Their priesthood to contact any unaffiliated dungeon to offer support and assistance with their setup and operations. Their Divine missions varied, and, generally speaking, were not of particular interest to The God of All Dungeons; the outsider dungeons themselves, though, that was a different matter.

  The whispering began directly, only to be cut off by an amused snort from the priestess. “We’re obviously going to be discussing it, so you might as well join me in the conference room before you start generating rumors! Honestly, I’ve given you no real information to speculate on yet, so don’t waste your time!”

  Trollish stereotypes notwithstanding, Throg was a quite gracious, well-spoken, and well-regarded cleric who ran her church with a light hand and good humor, and her acolytes flushed at the mild rebuke, and dutifully trailed the massive priestess into the large, comfortably appointed side room. Throg gently lowered herself into a sturdy seat carved from a large block of granite and waited until her staff had settled in their own seats before rapping on the large oaken table and calling them to order.

  “Now, I don’t have a tremendous amount of information beyond what I’ve already shared. The quest I was given does provide a few clues, though. I have been tasked with leading the mission myself, which suggests it’s either inordinately dangerous or They want us to make a positive impression by sending senior personnel. I lean towards the latter interpretation, as the quest indicates our target is, as you would expect, a sapient dungeon with an unstated divine mission and having recently attained a second level despite less than two months since its founding.”

  There was another quick intake of breath from her subordinates, and Throg paused to allow them a moment to process – while not unprecedented, that speed of growth was unusual, even for a sapient dungeon.

  “Perhaps the most startling part of the whole quest is the location. The new dungeon is located on the Tel Dorinth Sky Island – which is reputedly home to the dragon, Mayphesselth. I wouldn’t expect her to object to us making contact with the dungeon, as she has allowed it to persist, but it does call for a rather diplomatic approach. I don’t believe I know of any other dungeons located on a sky island currently, making this one rather unique.”

  Throg’s chief archivist, Granthor, a male arachne, let out a somewhat undignified squeak under her questioning glance and nodded. “I think you’re correct. Obviously, it’s not my area of expertise, but I believe it’s one of the arguments that have been put forward for the sky islands being artificial constructs. Not sure what it means for that to have changed – the sky islands have been around for tens of thousands of years, according to what little I can recall. I’m afraid I don’t know anything about the Tel Dorinth Sky Island, specifically, though from the name I’d assume it was occupied by the Aubesan Empire a thousand or so years ago. The Dragon’s name is a bit more familiar – you won’t find many historians who don’t keep tabs on recently active dragons – but I’d need to do some research. I don’t recall anything particularly unusual about her – touchy and territorial, but that’s pretty standard.”

  Throg nodded in acknowledgement and continued, "Obviously, that’s going to present some logistical problems. We’ll need to borrow or rent a skyship, and that will limit how many people I can bring; it’s likely I’ll only be able to bring two or three people along, so I intend to consult with Indraheera about who they should be.”

  She nodded towards the dark elven seeress, who bowed her hooded head in acknowledgement. “As you will it, of course, priestess. Do you know which deity is acting as patron to the new dungeon? That may affect the success of my divinatory rituals.”

  Throg smiled grimly, to a startling effect. “I’m afraid not, Indra. Our lord informs me that the dungeon formed around an unusual, extraplanar soul, and goes by the name of Vay, but that the dungeon itself remains unaware of the nature of its patron and divine mission. That’s one of several things I am hoping we can assist with. Start setting up your ritual arrays as soon as you can. We’ll need to leave within the week.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

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  The battle had been raging for hours, and it wasn’t going well. *At this rate, it’ll be a matter of weeks, if not days before they secure the main Aerie and the tribe is destroyed or subjugated*

  Lukosh loosed another sling bullet, taking another ice mephit out of combat with a direct hit to the bridge of its flattened, bat-like nose. Dead or only stunned, it fell rapidly out of sight, crashing into the rocky slope of the mountainside. Lukosh flared his long, rufous crest briefly, creating sharp contrast with the nearly black feathers framing his bright yellow, sharply hooked beak and matching golden eyes. The crest collapsed again quickly though in rising exhaustion, as he selected another target from among the dozens of remaining imp-like creatures swarming towards the remaining Talon of his nestmates. As a slowing action, this battle had been an effective distraction, enabling the bulk of the tribe to break contact with the invaders and fall back to their hidden redoubt. As a broader defense, it seemed likely to be a costly battle; roughly ten mephits fell for every member of the Redcrest tribe, but they could afford the exchange, while the tribe could not. Only two dozen or so blooded warriors remained in the fight, after all.

  The battle had, by careful design, led the mephits deliberately in the wrong direction – pulling them north along the dramatically-named and quite rugged Dragonspine mountains and away from their roost in the southern reaches. That would only work for so long, though, and they were limited to staying in their original home range; Lukosh would leave the mountains to serve as a mercenary scout before he’d lead mephits to the range of the neighboring Graycrest tribe.

  *Some things simply can’t be forgiven, after all*

  He took a brief moment to survey the situation. The mephits had collapsed back into a swirling ball formation, making a targeted strike difficult, while they gathered for another push; that did, however, open them up to other attacks, and their lone mage took advantage. The fireball burned hot enough to be nearly transparent against the clear, blue sky and the mephits didn’t react in time. The explosion was substantial, and destroyed the vast majority of this scouting force, but not without cost. Janosh, their mage, crumpled as his overdrawn mana pool took a savage toll on his health; there would be no more spells from him for at least a week, if the damage wasn’t more severe.

  The remaining avian tribesfolk quickly polished off the remaining mephits, with the exception of a single, crippled individual they carefully failed to notice before retreating to the north with their wounded in carry nets.

  *We can’t keep doing this*, his warchief sighed, speaking plainly to the survivors of the warband. They’d broken contact successfully enough, but not a single warrior was completely uninjured, and their lone healer had used up his magic to preserve the lives of the most severely wounded. The group was tightly clustered around a small, glowing crystal, hidden away in an ice cave near the summit of a mountain less than a day’s flight from the Graycrest range. The clear, white light and warmth shed by the stone could make the small space temporarily habitable, but only for a night and would take days of exposure to the sun before it would be usable again.

  Lukosh could see it on his normally stoic face when the decision was made. His warchief’s eyes fixed on Lukosh, glinting with regret and determination.

  *You’re our best scout who retains some range, Lukosh, so it falls on you. I need you to find us a new Aerie and quickly. The rest of us will lead the mephits around the edge of our range, but we’ll need to fall back to the nesthome in under two weeks. We’ll be foraging by then, and with all the hunters away, our families will be forced to break cover around then to forage themselves.*

  Lukosh stared at his warchief, beak gaping in disbelief. *Find a new Aerie, in less than two weeks? You know there’s no unclaimed range suitable for us within a month’s travel! Or we’d have gone there already!*

  The older warrior winced in acknowledgement. *When the storm winds blow, all we can do is ride them as best as we can. We’ll have to make a desperation move, my son, and I’m relying on you to find the most feasible way to make it work.* He turned away, facing the entrance to the cave and staring up and into the distance – farsight working overtime.

  Lukosh followed his father’s line of sight, and his crest fell – pinned flat against his skull as he hunched low. *The sky island?! You want to move into a dragon’s territory? The situation is that bad?*

  His father winced, as the others reacted to Lukosh’s exclamation. *The brood mothers and I ran through our options – and they’re not great. Any tribe that we could realistically go to would absorb our tribe in its entirety – and there’s no assurance the mephits won’t move on the other tribes when they’re done with us. And the lowlanders would be worse, likely, even if they meant well – they'd use our warriors as scouts and mercenaries and the next generation would be raised as messengers and domestic servants. The dragon might destroy us, but if it doesn’t object immediately, and we can keep a low profile for a few years and avoid upsetting it, we should be able to regroup and find a new home. Or perhaps, we can come to an arrangement that will enable us to stay – a return to an ancestral home, after all.*

  *I will do as I must, but is this really the best option? The elders and the shaman agreed?* Lukosh inquired, dubiously.

  *They did. Not happily, and there are no firm assurances – dragons tend to warp all divinatory magic, after all. The only prophetic insight offered by the spirits of our ancestors suggests that the sky island might offer hope – and I quote “To dwell in peace, seek the paradoxes of the skies. Cliffs in the clouds, Charity from a dragon, and a Dungeon with a thirst for knowledge”. His father shook his head wryly.

  Lukosh simply stared, unblinking. *That’s ... oddly not obscure. I mean, with some context, at least. Is there a dungeon on the sky island? I’ve never heard of one.*

  His father, the warchief Kragosh, simply sighed. *No, nor have I. We’ll have to take it on faith and hope for the best. There’s only one sky island close enough to work on our timeframe, and you’ll need to leave first thing in the morning. May the skyfather carry you on his wings.*