The wind howls through the abandoned mine.

Three figures lie in the centre of a small room, on a makeshift lift made of wood with the thick rope attached. The walls composed of stone and wooden vertical beams.
Above the three figures is a dark upwards shaft, from which they must have come on the lift.

In the room, two exits: one to the left and one to the right. Through the left doorway can be seen a fancy carpet on the floor, thanks to a torch on the wall in that room, and nothing can be distinguished through the right side.

Lit torches line the walls of the main room, four in total.

The wind continues to howl in a draught through the mine, chilling to the bone, and bringing the smell of the torches' burning fat to the noses of the waking figures.

Muhammad wakes up to the smell of bacon cooking.

At least he hopes it is bacon. He hopes he is in a quality inn, lying in a soft bed. He wouldn't be able to stand being trapped in some abandoned mine, having to find his way out of it, with only limited supplies to use.

Opening his good eye and looking down, he realizes he’s got clothes on. “Great start, Muhammad,” he lisps/mumbles to himself. Regardless, Muhammad is still cold in his thin, brown desert robes. Standing up slowly, he also notices that he’s got two companions, who are sound asleep. They’ve got clothes on too, warmer clothes, by the looks of it. This is his lucky day! One can never have too many clothes.

Suddenly, Muhammad’s common sense kicks in, and he realizes that he is in a dungeon, and these must be adventurers like himself, and the only logical course of action was to team up with these strangers. Not take their clothes and run off by himself.

Examining his companions closer in hopes of finding the bacon he smelled, Muhammad discovers that one smells like a dusty scholar, and the other smells like the scholar's excrement.

Standing up, Muhammad follows the smell of bacon to one of the torches. He realizes it’s only the burning fat that he smelled, and curses quietly. He takes the torch off the wall and tries to warm himself with it, while also trying not to burn himself. Muhammad turns around and stands guard over his newfound companions, ready to dutifully smash the head in of any monsters trying to disturb their slumber.

On the floor before the two figures, and the one now awake, lay a shortsword and a small note.
The note, written in coal large enough to read at distance, read:

Find the Orb of Cleft, yo

PS: Have fun,

~K

Muhammad sees the shortsword and quickly grabs it. In his mind, he is now the one holding the power. These puny magic users are no match for anything in the dungeon, and it is up to him to protect them with his sword.

It's also up to him to receive extra shares of the treasure. He is protecting the other two. Frankly, he can just kill them in their sleep and receive all of the shares. But he's not a murderer.

When reaching over for the shortsword, Muhammad also notices the note. "The Orb of Cleft?" he wonders. "Yo?" He does not understand this ancient language. Perhaps one of the others can decode it.

Muhammad puts the torch back onto the wall, sits below it, puts the shortsword beside him and proceeds to stare blankly at the note. He waits for the others to wake up.

"OH, my head! What I do last night? Hey who say YOU get sword? I wake up with swollen head and smellin' funny stuff, that you no get blame on me dis time, and you get sword? Bah! You no respect your elder!"

Yuphart'd grabs a torch off the wall and begins to read the note and no sooner does he finish it, he accidentally sets fire to it by holding the torch too close to the paper.

"Don't worry 'bout paper, brawny-man. We Mages know how read. WE use our brain. It say we need find Orb of Cleff yo.
Time to give late riser, rude awakening!", Yuphart'd said as he walks over chuckling and begins slapping the sleepy head just hard enough on the cheek to sting.

"Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!"

Snapped from his half-sleep by the sound of sharp complaints, Muhammad opens his good eye to observe the elder mage.

Thankful that at least one of his companions isn't a vegetable, Muhammad stands and moves to stand farther away from the funky one.

"It say we need find Orb of Cleff yo." the mage says as he accidentally burns the note with a torch and moves over to slap slumbering one on the face.

"Repugnant, AND clumsy" Muhammad mumbles. "They call me Muhammed" he says in a stronger voice, that leaves his lips with a silly lisp. "What do they call you?"

"Yuphart'd Ismeltit" he answered.

"We need bucket of water. Can't seem to wake dis one!"

"I completely agree," Muhammad says "but I don't think we'll be finding a bucket of water any time soon." The mage has a point, but there isn't a bucket, or any water, in sight.

After consideration Muhammad lisps "I propose that we look for a bucket of water, but we also take the sleeping one with us. I will carry him on our search."

Muhammad grimaces. "I wish the lazy bastard will wake up already though..."

"If he no wake up soon, we use him for Dungeon Nasty Bait!" he says as he punctuates the last three words from his bony finger into the unconscious person's side.

As if on cue, a loud roar echoed down the corridors, with that characteristic muffledness that roars from deep, deep down underground seem to have, seemingly coming from the right-hand doorway.

Following it, many seconds after, came a gust of wind that chilled them to the bone, coming from the right doorway.

Moments later, a barely audible scream came from the same direction. Unmistakeably a scream. Too quiet to be discerned as being male or female, but definately human.

As the two men looked on, the sleeping figure suddenly disappeared.

A calm, female voice sang out, in perfectly clear and smooth tongue, "alvin has been sucked into the void. Challenges are scaled accordingly."

The draught continued, and even seemed to blow harder, now.

"So much for monster bait, but thats load off you shoulder."

Yuphart'd readies torch like a flaming club a proceeds to investigate the origin of the disturbances.

"Indeed," Muhammad agrees "and where shall we proceed next?"

Muhammed takes his shortsword and readies it for battle, holding it in his right hand. Finally, he thinks. Finally he gets to kill something!

"uhm, maybe go where sound come from, you think? Scream sounded girly, You kill monster, I get the girl" as the dirty old man rubs hands in anticipation and a big goofy toothy grin on his face, like a dog drooling for a treat.

The two men enter a rectangular room at one end, the door outwards in the far left hand corner.

A small hole, similar shape to that of an arrow slit, is set into the wall before them, and a fresh - days old - male corpse lies before them, clothed, with a crossbow bolt in its head.