Adventure of Oceghiaccio 1

You return to the cave as five hunters push beyond the outer chamber. Bows, spears, and bundled ropes knock softly against their leather-wrapped gear, disturbing the damp silence.

They have not seen you. One hunter, a broad-shouldered adult man with a weathered face, ash-brown hair, and a green cloak, with a crescent scar through one eyebrow, crouches beside fresh tracks leading deeper inside.

The other hunters close around him, their spearheads angled inward while ropes sway from their belts. Their eyes remain fixed on the trail, not the shadows where you stand.

The words settle heavily beneath the stone ceiling. Beyond the hunters, the passage narrows toward the deeper chambers, placing their quarry and your guarded home on the same path.

They begin advancing again, slow and careful, carrying their hunt farther into the cave.

Your growl rolls through the narrow passage, deep enough to tremble the ropes and stir dust from the ceiling. The hunters freeze mid-step.

Five spearheads swing toward your hiding place. The hunters bunch together, boots scraping stone, while their confidence fractures beneath the echo of your warning.

The broad-shouldered hunter raises his ashwood bow, but his scarred brow glistens with sudden sweat. Behind him, two hunters glance toward the entrance.

No one advances. The ropes sag at their belts as the hunters retreat several careful steps, keeping their weapons aimed into the darkness while your growl hangs over them.

You snap your head forward and spit a hard stream of seawater through the darkness. It splashes across the hunters’ raised spears and leather gear, scattering droplets like cold rain.

The sudden thrust tears your claws across the stone. Pain flashes through one forefoot, and your footing slips sideways before you catch yourself against the cave wall.

The five hunters stumble over one another, shields and spearshafts tangling as they retreat. Water streams from their faces and darkens their cloaks.

A hunter wipes seawater from his scarred brow, but his bow hand trembles. The others keep their points toward you while giving ground toward the outer chamber.

You drag one claw across the damp stone, carving a deep warning where torchlight can reach it: LEAVE OR MEET YOUR END BY DROWNING. Pale dust gathers beneath each deliberate stroke.

The hunters see the message as they retreat. Their formation breaks again, and the warning hangs behind you like a second, colder threat.

A hunter lowers his ashwood bow without lowering his stare. Water drips from his green cloak while his scarred brow tightens with suspicion.

He signals the others toward the entrance. The five hunters withdraw with weapons ready, carrying fear, distrust, and a sharper tale of the dragon within.