Miners from the foothill tunnels have started vanishing mid-shift—one moment their lanterns bob along the ridge path, the next there’s only silence, scattered picks, and wheelbarrows left where they shouldn’t be. The few who did stumble back did so empty-eyed and shaking, babbling about needle-thin screams that cut through the rock like a drill and shadows that moved where no torchlight could reach. Now the village’s lifeline is choking: ore shipments have stopped, the smithy is running cold, and every night the wind off the mountains carries those same high, glassy cries—closer than they should be. With fear rising and no militia willing to step into the tunnels, the villagers scrape together coin, favors, and heirloom trinkets to hire adventurers reckless—or bold—enough to go down after the missing. The abandoned mine is no simple hole in the ground—it’s a rigged, murderous maze claimed by a kobold clan calling themselves the Shattered Fang, who treat every corridor like a battlefield and every step like a mistake waiting to happen. Tripwires snap, false floors drop, murder-holes spit darts, and chokepoints turn into kill zones the moment steel rings. Deeper in, crude shrines of broken teeth and splintered bone mark their territory, and the air grows tight with smoke, sweat, and something sharp…