To the Clay Wastes

The Clay Wastes, an expanse of almost entirely dead terrain. Clay Point was named for it, and it's the site of the lucrative brick mines that Clay Point is famous for. It's also riddled with caves that twist for miles, hard clay flats that will fry you in a heartbeat, and soft clay quicksand pits. Malc's journey took him mercifully clear of most of the hazards of the Wastes, but his target was reported to be within one of the caves.

He took a swig of water from his canteen as he descended into the target cave, an unassuming entrance only set apart by the spear lodged into the clay wall at the entrance; it was a landmark of sorts, and had been there longer than the island had been civilized. Wisely, he left a series of glowing markers on the right-hand side of the cave, to both see better and mark his way out. He felt as though he were wandering for hours before he settled in a small chamber. He sat on the hard clay floor and opened his canteen to take another drink, but was interrupted by a cracking sound. Too late, he realized he was probably standing on the roof of another chamber just beneath. He tried to jump up to run, but it was too late; the floor beneath him gave way. He fell several feet, landing squarely on his back, knocking the wind out of him.

He laid there for several moments, breathing slowly, trying to regain his wind.

"Hey!" a voice shouted, hauntingly beautiful despite sounding shocked and angered. Malc propped himself up quickly, his arm aching, and he saw two very important things. One, the room he fell into was well-lit, and even had a few crude pieces of furniture.

And two, a woman with reddish skin, clad in a tight black robe, with glowing yellow eyes and two small horns on her forehead, was glaring at him, angry. He groped around for his staff or sword, but both had been thrown from his person in the fall.