The morning sun cast pale golden light across the winding pathways of the Holyfield mines, though you would hardly know it from the atmosphere.
In the distance, the familiar thunder of explosions rumbled like a constant heartbeat—spells detonating against monster hide, the crash of steel meeting claw, the occasional roar of an ogre who had just felled something particularly troublesome.
The chaos was ever-present, something the residents had long since learned to treat as background noise.
Cassius walked near the front of the group, surrounded by soldiers who were laughing at something he'd just said.
"—and that's when I realized the 'ancient artifact' I'd been hired to retrieve was actually just a very old chamber pot."
Cassius finished, spreading his hands.
"The noble who commissioned me was furious. Tried to have me arrested. But the merchant's guild ruled in my favor—apparently, 'antiquity' is a subjective term, and a three-hundred-year-old piss pot technically qualifies."
