The Over-Under Mira sighed as she slathered on the last of the warding gel. The opening looked quite dusty, and the gel was certain to pick it up as she squeezed through. Getting her clothes clean afterward would prove a bother…Â No lock or handle graces the iron door slightly too small for the frame. […]
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The Woodpile Reaching out to grab the handle of the axe, Mira sighed and thought to herself, “This is why I left the farm. I never did much enjoy morning chores…” A 35-ft.-long tree trunk rests on the ground in the middle of a 15-ft.-by-55-ft. chamber, a whirring saw-blade spinning four feet above the felled
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The Hands of Time Mira cursed as a gobbet of molten iron landed on her shoulder. A partner would have made the riddle of the clock easy to bypass. As it was, her only course had been to spike the pendulum. She thought the sweat on her brow beaded from concentration as she picked the
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Spike-Eating Pit Trap Brushing the flakes of rust from her hands, Mira reached into her pouch and withdrew a wooden spike. Glad now that she had paid the druids of the grove to enchant it, the young rogue carefully tapped it into the seam of the pit trap ahead, ignoring the statues of horrific creatures
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Mira smiled fondly at the inscription inscribed onto the leather flap on her tool pouch as she returned the magnifying glass: Grand-daughter, may these tools grant you the blessings they once brought me, though the paths you seek to walk are dark and fraught with ancient perils. The traps you encounter will most definitely be
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