The rains swept the protruding delta with increased strength, feeding off the moisture of the surrounding swamps and rivers. Islands to the south watched in casual interest, lost for decades to the Prytanian continent. Once an empire and now a collection of violent and unsteady city-states and baronies ruled by either the force of a sword arm or the wealth of a chosen oligarchy. Flooding moved into the area, ignoring the city upon the snaked river only because of centuries of levee forming. Behind the grassy walls, Rivermoon stood, its street sweating the sweet water of the rains.

Yet the storms only hastened the residents' need for pleasure. Placing their swords in their scabbards, their books into their pouches and heading into the taverns and pubs. Others, more refined and closely connected to the barony, escaped with goblets and crystal bottles into their lounges and rooms surrounding completely unnecessary fireplaces. Yet a cold spell took care of that, allowing them to feel the coziness of a strong fire with a potent swill of Kelarian brandy. For the delta knew nothing of cold, reaching out like a hand of dirt and mud into the tropical ocean spanning the equator of the planet, it only harbored disease and heat that threatened its population. If not for the geography, the way most rivers of Prytania flowed south through the delta, creating vast mercantile opportunities that could not be denied. In fact, money and power allowed Rivermoon to survive the fall of the N'tar empire and become a power broker in the area.

Accents abound through the streets and the languages flowed with the wine and ale. Spirits moved about plazas, wrapped in the cast iron balconies guarded by the winged gargoyles. Visitors looked up to behold extravagant architecture, spared the long decline of empire. Tiles and stucco, long thin windows to keep the heat at bay, along with long deep porches and narrow streets to maximize shade. The condemned few swept the streets, at times sneaking in an illegal telekinesis enchantment, which animated the tired brooms to do their best.

Essential to the escape of the heat, plazas formed a secret culture. There in privacy the residents of Rivermoon practiced the lost arts of arcana, musing about how majique cold be brought back without the permission (or knowledge) of the Notars. In the heat they sipped their strong drinks, overlooking manuals and spellbooks now outlawed by that sect. The laughter floated about them, as a random creature appeared summoned by the force of will and the assistance of said tomes. Roaring into the night's darkness, it always disappeared before any harm could be done.

Nestled in their preferred pub, the Milkmoon Tavern, descendants of the founders of Rivermoon, the Crimson Brotherhood, now no longer needed by an empire that no longer exists; cheered to formal glories. Spattering patrons that could not possibly complain or fight back, they continued their tales of how their forefathers once founded the city under a crescent moon, in a section of a crescent river. Hoisting their spades into the air and pronouncing the city Rivermoon, it became furthermore the cornerstone for the Notars, the empire's secretive brotherhood of power.

The rains continued throughout that night, washing away the stories and doubts that the heat had brought. Another crescent moon struck the sky, beaming forth. An aid to the treasure ships coming north tho the barony under moon.

From the memoirs of Orleon Templeton, rumored Purveyor of Rare and Potent Arcanum based in the Barony of Rivermoon

The Dungeoneer, never a more challenging and lucrative position. Here on the Prytanian continent thousands of abandoned temples and keeps, some reaching the size of a metropolis dot the landscape. Those who professionally employ themselves (in a mercenary capacity of course, without said warriors connected to their employer) in the extraction of precious objects and items can find for themselves a large fortune. The promise of never having to lift another sword or staff again is very alluring, yet opens a chasm to possible doom.

The preparation of the descent (for the most profitable sites appear to always be at least five levels down) is perhaps the most daunting task. No professional extractor can enter into a cold crypt or underground maze without the most important weapon, information. The essence of escaping death is knowing where death lies beforehand. The interviewing of residents from the surrounding countryside can illuminate much during extraction. In hearing tall tales of what awaits the adventurer beyond, one must remember to prepare for the worst. If the locals tells one that 50' drops exist, even though that might be hyperbole, bring 60' of rope. Information on the creatures which infest the extraction point, is particularly vital. Then the adventurer must find weaknesses in said class. For example, clerical paraphernalia is essential when faced with an undead populace. Weapons and potions of an arcana nature always serves well when invading a bandits lair (somehow thieves and rogues prefer their skills to magical means- a constant source of exploitation).

Once in the extraction point, I believe that stealth and awareness, coupled with a strong endurance or constitution works out for the best. The warlord who enters a lair with chants and dares to the awaiting horde, will not be alive to include himself in the prevailing lore. The Stealthy healer, knowledgeable of his surroundings, and able to detect any changes in environment (no matter how small or insignificant) will be reporting back to his employer. If one runs the risk of actually entering in party formation, the significance of a healer is paramount. Great strides can also be made with the products or presence of an alchemist (all author's biases aside). Many encounters could be circumvented if not defeated, with the throw of a well chosen vial- even if the result is but cosmetic.

However, once cannot stress how important separation is from the threat. Therefore perhaps the best dungeoneer is the one that does not crawl at all; the client. The occasional mastermind or power-broker who hires a band of warriors to extract a certain device or item, never runs the risk of angering any gods or beasts that might be guarding. While separated from the action may hinder profit, hirelings places a violent death into an economic viable loss; which the individual can overcome.

Then again, who can predict what the dice will hold.