"Archaeology, I found, comprehended all manner of excitement and achievement. Adventure is coupled with bookish toil. Romantic excursions go hand in hand with scholarly self-discipline and moderation. Explorations among the ruins of the remote past have carried curious men all over the face of the earth… Yet in truth, no science is more adventurous than archaeology, if adventure is thought of as a mixture of spirit and deed." ~ C. W. Ceram

Sir Milback Fremmoor wasn't as confident as he'd seemed as he strolled coolly down the dark, perfectly straight tunnel. He'd put up a good front for his fellow paladin, and the assurances his god had passed along at the outset remained true. His faith in his patron deity was, in fact, unshakable after better than three centuries in his service, but he'd been at this long enough to know that if there hadn't been a strong possibility of things going wrong, a paladin wouldn't be needed in the first place.

He paused for just a few moments to cast a simple light spell, opting not to take the dungeon's lighting for granted. It wasn't simply light, though, and the cold, pale ball hovering a meter or so ahead and a few cm above the tunnel floor also shed an aura of divinity.

"No offense, dungeon, but I learned long ago that it was best to provide my own light source in spaces like this – not just to make sure it doesn't get shut off, but to enable me to control its positioning. You mean well, I 'm sure, but in an emergency, there'd be no time to coordinate."

I wasn't sure how much I believed that was his reasoning, but I also took no offense in the desire to control one's own environment as much as possible. I simply flashed him a green light and brightened the lights at the first descent.

The elderly gnome sighed as he stared down the narrow shaft, eyeing the deadfall above it suspiciously before conceding the necessity of trusting me.

"Ah, trust comes hard to an old man like myself, dungeon. I'll put my faith in my Lord, and share that out to you. As the good book says, 'There is no fault in caution, but in the end, it comes down to faith."

I was a bit curious which "good book" he was referencing, but I assumed it was scripture of his own god. If I was lucky, I'd get hold of a copy at some point – comparative religion wasn't really my thing, but it was apparently going to be relevant.

On that note, I took a moment to send the spectral librarian after my institutional reader. It was safe enough where it was, of course, but I was eager to get it in place. I reminded myself that I likely wasn't going to get to read until after the inspection – unless I made time in the middle of the night.

With the ability to pass through otherwise solid walls and stone, it took the librarian almost no time at all to reach the reader. Getting back to the library/core room unobserved took substantially longer, as the reader itself could not be rendered intangible – forcing the librarian to take the long way around. Still, it could avoid the adventurers, and it was still less than twenty minutes from start to finish for it to be passed through the secret door and set up in my core room.

In the meantime, Sir Milback had proceeded down the ladder I'd carved into the side of the shaft, moving rather cautiously, as one would expect for an older, if still spry, individual in full plate armor. He had stashed his gauntlets and helmet in some sort of spatial artifact, but had made no further concessions; I was coming rapidly to the conclusion that his gear had some sort of mobility enchantment on it, as he moved much more fluidly than I would otherwise have expected. Still, a 15-meter descent was a significant one, and he moved with practiced caution. At only about 30 cm in height, I wasn't sure where he fell in the range for gnomes – shorter than I remembered from most RPGs, but taller than the 15 cm reported in the classic 1977 book by Wil Huygen I'd loved as a child. A climb 50 times his own height took him most of that 20 minutes, and he paused at the bottom to shake out and flex his cramping hands. He was in good shape for a being of his age, but the climb hadn't exactly used the same muscles required in combat.

He was muttering under his breath, and I could tell he wasn't exactly looking forward to the return voyage. That muttering became active cursing when he pulled up at the second downstep, and gazed around with unfocused annoyance.

"Are there more of these miserable shafts ahead, my dungeon friend?"

I'd had to blink my acknowledgement in the form of a green light to the punctuation of his oddly deep-voiced profanities. I assumed that Zymther was not a god easily offended by profanity. As Lord of Order, perhaps he appreciated the systematic construction of practiced swearing, or perhaps, as seemed more likely, he simply had bigger issues concerning him.

The quadruple blink of the green light had set him off, but he quickly reined it in, sending a sharp look towards the mana lights. "Is that four shafts total? Or four shafts beyond this one?"

I'd blinked the green light again, leaving him cursing his own imprecision.

"Ach. Let me try again. Are there four in total?"

**GREEN**

"All the same height, more or less?"

**GREEN**

"And mostly evenly spaced?"

**GREEN**

"But then I'm where I need to be to secure the artifact?"

**RED**

More swearing ensued, and I'd come to realize just how much the tired old paladin had restrained himself around the younger cohort of adventurers. I wasn't sure if that was to preserve his image as a holy warrior, or just because they hadn't encountered any major obstacles in his company. Either way, I was unsure as to why, since certainly the orcs hadn't shown any particular tendency to avoid swearing.

"Will the path at least get easier to traverse?"

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**GREEN**

He muttered some minor imprecations into his impressively white and fluffy beard, but seemed at least a bit mollified as he slowly began the second descent. Apparently, all the while regretting not having secured a potion of spider climb from the adventurers before setting off.

It took nearly an hour and a half, all told, from when he'd separated from the orcs to traverse the four shafts and locate the tunnel leading to the gnomish city. He eyed it, cautiously, looking up the smaller, tubular tunnel that I'd lit with a mana light to indicate the correct direction. It struck me that I'd still not gone searching in the other direction; I'd have to add that to the list of chores that needed doing at some point.

"This leads to the gnomish settlement I was informed of?"

**GREEN**

"Hmm. On the small side for a main thoroughfare. I'm guessing they didn't ever head this way in large numbers, this bore would work for a residential area, I guess. Not carved, and it doesn't look shaped by magic either. Some kind of trained rock-eating worm? Not worth worrying about, I suppose."

I hadn't really considered that option, though I supposed I should have. Tunneling through solid rock wasn't really an evolutionarily efficient strategy in my old world, but magic likely changed the math on that one.

He pressed on, trudging a bit slowly at this stage, until he encountered the first of the cross passages and paused to look both ways. I shone a mana light further up the main passage, in case he was unclear which way to go. It became clear that he was simply curious, apparently wanting to explore, which I could certainly understand. It's not every day that one steps into a largely preserved city built and abandoned by one's people fifty millennia ago.

I gave him a moment, knowing that the more interesting and impressive part of the city was ahead and not to the side. I suspect he'd largely recognized that himself, as with a sigh and a shrug, he turned back towards the main path and continued on, muttering under his breath "Let's get business taken care of first, Milback, THEN we'll see if there's time to explore..."

It wasn't, in fact, much longer before he was striding into the central plaza, raising his light to hover above the central statue, while I brought up some mana lights that I'd restored to a variety of public fixtures surrounding the square.

He stopped at that, craning his neck to take in the city center. For a long moment, he said nothing, simply taking in the sight as a dramatic moment - one of those we recognize as a lasting memory in the making. The play of magical lights across the remains of a civilization long departed – the central silvery light from his spell pushing against the weaker, yet warmer, sunlight-mimicking mana lights I was systematically restoring gave an interesting effect. "Now that's a sight worth the trouble to visit. Some days this job is a right treat. Thank you for this blessing, Zymther."

He spoke in the direction of the nearest mana light in a hushed, nearly reverential tone. "Dungeon, I am told you were a scholar before you became what you are now. If it's not too out of the way, could you show me any evidence you have of what this city was called and when it was abandoned? It looks almost like they just left, but that can't be true. I think there are only two or three gnome cities this scale on the entire continent currently, and I've never heard of one abandoned on a sky island."

I had no problem with a guided tour. I'd felt that awe in my bones myself in my early days, and it was part of what led me to archaeology in the first place. I turned on a green light above the main entrance to the administrative building, figuring I could bring him past the main office and into the museum. If nothing else, it seemed like a good idea to have him examine the hammer, too. It didn't have nearly the same problematic aura of the book he was here for, but I had the sense it was also a powerful artifact. And for that matter, while HE was on a somewhat tight schedule, I was not.

Having apparently abandoned his concerns with my trustworthiness, he moved towards the entrance, following the green light without even a sidelong glance. I led him steadily down the length of the administrative building to the section devoted to their small, historical museum, pausing only to allow him a scan of the map of the city in the main office area. He'd eyed the extent of the city with a shake of his head. "Must have been tens of thousands of gnomes here at its height. That's a lot, given how slowly we grow to maturity."

He passed into the remains of the museum, noting with a sigh the evidence of long-removed displays, but focusing happily on the maps of varying kinds, but apparently recognizing only the ones depicting the sky island and the continent of Itand. The language wasn't, apparently, close enough to his own gnomish or the current version of what I was calling Common to read, but the characters were close enough to allow him to sound out the names of Relkhold and its parent polity, Gearringgate. Sadly, neither name meant anything to him. As for dating the settlement, nothing here was going to do it for him on its own. The best I could do was to lead him to a timeline of the settlement and then slowly move a manalight along it to where the present day would be, according to my radiocarbon dating skill.

"So, the city grew and endured for about 4,000 years, but if I'm following your little light show correctly, it was abandoned about 12 times as long ago as it was occupied? So, 50,000 years, give or take? That can't be right, can it?"

I flashed him a green light, and while he seemed dubious, the sudden weight of all those years seemed to crush in on him as his shoulders slumped. "So long ago... No one even remembers they existed. Four thousand years of history, traders plying the skies, and all that remains is this shell of a city... and an artifact so powerful that 50 millennia later it's still a hazard. Tell me dungeon... Do you know what happened to them?"

**RED** I didn't. I knew that they'd left on their own accord, but more or less en masse; there was no evidence of haste in their abandonment, and no evidence of either a slow decline or a sudden catastrophe. They'd left, more or less at once and in an orderly fashion, but as to why? Well, I could only guess, and I had no evidence to point one way or another, at least as yet.

He visibly shook off the weight of the history here; no easy feat given the somewhat funereal aura common to every abandoned city I'd ever seen. "Perhaps we should return to the quest? Can you lead me there now?"

**RED** **GREEN**

"No and Yes? I know you can lead me there; is there something else you wanted me to see here first?"

**GREEN**

He had apparently not yet noticed the small gallery containing the hammer, so I flashed a light for him in that direction, leading him directly to the dimly pulsing, glowing artifact.

"Ah, well now! I see you found more than the dire artifact I've been sent to deal with. I take it you wanted me to see this? Too big for me to use, or any gnome. Looks of dwarven make, but I don't recognize any of those runes. The golden glow speaks of an affinity to light, and at a guess I'd assume it's the divinely blessed weapon of some ancient paladin of a god of light, but I couldn't tell you which one."

He reached out one gauntleted hand and placed it cautiously on the haft of the ornately inscribed hammer, but made no attempt to lift it, merely closing his eyes and apparently seeking communion with his god, or perhaps the god of the long-departed paladin.

He'd apparently received a response from someone fairly directly, removing his hand with a respectful nod of his bared head. "I'm to tell you that, first, this is no hazard, and may in fact, be a blessing to you. It's a relic of the original occupants of the island and, for now, you'll want to just leave it be. It belongs to the pantheon of your patron, but not her directly; it may yet have a role to play, and I'm told you'll know when it's needed."

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