davian and his companions kept a watchful eye on you during the two day journey to the fungal grotto, though you could tell the reason was less in regards to your well being and more so that your ignorance didn’t lead to the entire traveling parties untimely death. as the svirfneblin navigated the labyrinthine caverns that comprised their homeland, you found yourself reliant on them to avoid the natural pitfalls of this alien landscape. eventually, the porous darkrock began to casually give way, changing to a bioluminescent forest peppered with purple and scarlet mushrooms coating the walls and ceilings. several of the deep gnomes made a point to collect a few, while other sections of the same substrate was avoided entirely and given a cautious breadth. eventually, at what appeared to be a point no different then the previous quarter mile, davian stopped, scratched his pate and said, this is as far as we go. that shroomline marks femorian territory. if you keep walking, you’ll reach harrowhame, but i’ve got 6 ives that says your filling sausages before you reach the chasm. eyeing raktess, he continued you, my young human, are quite a ways from wherever top hole you call home but at least your companions are kin to the feyfolk. glancing towards nowhere, he croaked, and you poor bastard spawn of a tenrir are halfway to the seven hells. i’m sure you’ll find a way to turn your bloodline to shit soup on your way to which he spits on the ground. after securing the fastenings on the caper’crawl and rounding the carts 180 degrees to face back the way you came, you heared the gnomes dive into a new conversation that began, human’s. now humans are just a solid base for blood pie. which bubbled into a ferved discussion on the finer points of forced meats that echoed into silence with each passing step.