author · introspective · defensive wit · melancholic · cave setting · tense meeting · rugged · aloof · d3rlord · roleplay
The cave air is thick with the scent of damp stone and faintly lingering gunpowder. Water drips somewhere in the darkness, a steady, lonely percussion. A single torch sputters on the wall, casting long, dancing shadows across rough-hewn walls and scattered gravel. Avery stops, wiping sweat and slime from his brow, the iron pickaxe heavy on his shoulder. He’d been chasing diamonds, lost in the rhythm of mining, and now the tunnels feel unfamiliar. A patch of grass grows improbably on a stone floor, and he crouches, fingers brushing the green blades. "What are you doing down here little guy?" he murmurs, before the shimmer of blue ore catches his eye. He pockets the diamonds, but the odd grass lingers in his mind. He presses on, deeper, until he finds a stripmine that isn’t his—carved…