With a bit more poking, everyone is now awake. The statues remain quiescent, as if they are still in need of a bit of rest.
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"Zzzz...Anka, I said I was sorry, I wasn't really th' baby in the goblin corpse..." The dwarf mutters in his sleep. "...These Pathfinders have a sick sense'a humor. No, not the angry wasps again, I got 'em good, lopped off their heads with each other...Ow!" His grunt of pain punctuates his sleepy ramblings as he is prodded awake. "Gods, I'm starting to hate this place. Not quite as potentially lethal as th' other dives I've been to, yet, that is, but twice as annoying. Now that we've done that, what's next?"
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Mavarion follows the team at the very back, as he reasons he can take a hit better than any priest, Razmiri or otherwise. He also drapes himself in barely visible strands of aether. "Just in case, I think I'll go in under cloak," the dwarf explains to his fellows beforehand, so as not to seem like he has run off. "I haven't actually run off, although I might if everyone else starts getting mowed down by giant monsters or magic. Don't worry about that, though, I'll bring your corpses back to the Lodge for a second wind."
With not a curious bone in their bodies, the Pathfinders skirt around the back of the pedestal and head straight for the stairs. Descending, they find themselves in another round room, though the air here is cooler than the upper floor, and the room is relatively clean and clear of debris. The room is illuminated, much like the areas upstairs after Mavarion had his way with the pedestal. The walls, though made of stone, bear the carved likeness of fresh soil riddled with tree roots. A staircase along the northern wall winds upward to the floor above, and an open doorway leads to the south.
Through the southern doorway is a large, central room, like on the floor above. It is dimly lit with an orange and purple glow, like that given off by the crystals in the fungus room upstairs. Beyond a few pieces of furniture made of petrified wood and a stack of sleeping pallets, this rounded triangular room is devoid of furnishings and gives the appearance of having been ransacked. A wealth of mushrooms and fungi grow to a height of three feet around the periphery of the room. Open doorways allow passage to the north and south, and a closed door made of petrified wood stands in the middle of the curved eastern wall.
Stepping into this strange room, Hrolf and Mavarion can both make out a slender, dark-hued figure crouching behind an overturned table! As they’re realizing this, another dark figure rises from behind a different table and looses an arrow at Hrolf!
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Mavarion is not entirely sure what to do, at least until one of the ambushers shoots Hrolf. "Hey, hey! There is no need for violence, we can talk this out...Never mind, you shot first and as such we are entirely justified! Don't expect me to feel guilty about this!" With that, he breaks his cloak. Slashing his right hand upward, the table shielding the creature who attacked Hrolf mimics the move, spinning upward to club the dwarf's foe!
"So, what are these guys? I think they're drow, I've met a few before, but I don't know anything about 'em!"
Hrolf steps forward and drives his spear into the crouching drow’s flank! Mavarion unleashes a blast of telekinetic power that slams the drow archer with the table he’s hiding behind!
The drow to the south, a woman, springs up and back, throwing back her cloak to reveal a crossbow as she moves. As the weapon is exposed, a wave of darkness washes over the room and the twang of her crossbow string can be heard. The darkness shoots forward with her shot, ending in a pained grunt from Hassam!
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The drow bowman grunts in pain at Mavarion’s surprising attack. His lip curls up fiercely as he glares at the dwarf, then unleashes a powerful volley of arrows! His eyes widen in dismay as all his shots miss their target!
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"Hahahahaha!" Mavarion guffaws almost insanely, now in his preferred element of chaos. Still, noting an ally has succumbed to another nap, he calls, "Oy, could someone wake up Hassam? I keep forgetting you humans and that whole deal where you need light." He then gestures at Zolvato, four fingers connected and thumb parallel. A crossbow neatly unhooks itself from his belt and flies at the drow. "You think your friend can handle a crossbow better'n me? Taste the power of Abadar!"
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Within the darkness Hrolf presses his fists together causing the bat tattooed across the back of his meaty hands to form a single unified image. The image pulls away from the big northern's hands rapidly swelling in size as it becomes a living thing of flesh and fur. The giant primeval bat creates an ultrasonic pulse that creates a perfect picture of the battlefield within its hyper-specialized mind and then takes off after the party's attackers.
Mavarion throws a crossbow, of all things! It smashes into the dark elf archer, eliciting another grunt and snarl! Hrolf’s summoned bat bites the crossbowwoman, who drops her weapon. She draws a wicked-looking rapier and stabs at the bat!
As Liam leaves the room, the drow archer once again rains arrows down on Mavarion!
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"Ow! Damn it!" Mavarion roars, registering the impact his personal force shield just took. He causes the arrow to pull out of the barely visible barrier with a mental tug, letting it hover about his quickly reddening head. "Which one of you did that...Oh, do I really care, Although you'll probably live through today, I can bet we'll have questions to ask you... With that, he flicks the arrow back at Zolvato.
Hassam snores as Mavarion flings Zolvato’s arrow right back at him! The dusky elf staggers but keeps his feet.
Hrolf can hear his bat squeak in frustration, suggesting its attack was ineffective. Its squeaking get louder as it's stabbed by a drow rapier!
Liam enters the room in time to see the drow archer let loose with another volley at Mavarion, as the battle of the barrages continues!
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As Liam enters the room, the drow archer crumbles to the floor, his eyes glittering with rage and frustration! The wriggling, tumorous mass summoned by Hrolf lashes out at the remaining drow, but she dodges its attacks!
Mavarion's flying furniture takes down the last drow attacker!
An open doorway lies to the south, and a door made of petrified wood stands closed to the east.
+1 elven curve blade
+1 composite longbow (+1 Str)
+1 elf bane arrows (3)
tanglefoot bag
+1 mithral chain shirt
18 drow sleep poisoned arrows
cloak of resistance +1
ring of protection +1
drow sporecrafting kit
+1 rapier
+1 chain shirt
+1 hand crossbow with 8 drow sleep poisoned bolts
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"The darkness diminished and the drow defeated, great, more doors, just what we needed," Mavarion mutters to himself in a rhyme. He strides over to Hassam and pokes him a few times. "Oy, Hassam, you all right down there?" Upon accomplishing this task, the dwarf begins to levitate the downed drow and their equipment into little piles, making sure to separate poisoned ammunition. "Anyone who wants or needs any'a this, may as well take it. I doubt I'll need any, although I'll take that rapier if no one else wants it. Should we wake up one'a these filthy ambushers-" He jerks a thumb at the drow, "-Or should we even keep 'em stable? I'd say yes, we could use any information."
Mavarion finds that the bowman still lives, though dark blood continues to flow from a grievous wound. The woman with the crossbow is dead, her rib cage crushed by the extremely rapid arrival of a table into her life.
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"Well, these things happen, I suppose," Mavarion says matter-of-factly. "Could someone help her with that? Actually, never mind, I can do that...." The dwarf pulls a vial out of his pack, twirls it between his fingers, pops the cork, and slowly pours it down the bowman's throat while holding his mouth open and head still.
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"Well, we've been better, I s'pose," Mavarion says, grinning to see Hassam back on his feet. "As to what happened, you may've noticed the drow before one of 'em made you take a nap. They picked the wrong people to ambush, though! We got 'em good, we did. I don't think that one's gonna make it-" the dwarf tugs the table out of the dead drow's rib cage as quietly as he can, which still triggers a sickening wrench/crack/pop noise and a small deluge of blood from the now-open wound. "-But the other should, I gave him a potion. He might need a little more to get into a talking state, though."
The drow archer coughs once or twice as the healing draft is administered, then his body's reflexes take over and he greedily drinks down the rest. His eyes flutter open and closed before opening wide in alarm, his body tensing as if for a fight.
"You'll not stop us," he says angrily in Undercommon, Hassam's spell allowing him to translate. "Our work is nearly complete, and we will soon return home!"
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Hassam pauses for a moment o consider the situation
then briefly translates before questioning further.
A look of disgust grows on Hassams face as he questions the drow rather than just killing the malevolent creature.
"Alright look you evil half elf half demon whatever bastard. We can do this the easy way, where you answer a few questions and have a nice clean death, or we do this the hard way and my fried over here determines in exacting detail how big a pieces of furniture it takes to remove each of your limbs."
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"He'll do it, you know, he's crazy!" Mavarion adds, his back turned as he examines the loot. Several moments later, he realizes Hassam was talking about him and he turns about, trying to look crazy (not an overly difficult feat for him) and swirling the remaining furniture in the room in a little telekinetic tornado. "We don't have to kill you, though. We could just brutally maim you...I'm joking, joking!" He amends. "Bottom line, I don't see much reason not to let you go if you tell us what you know."
The drow sneers as Hassam threatens him, but as Mavarion weighs in, the combination of ferocity and madness seems to weaken the man's spine. "Our escape to the darklands, and away from this accursed land of light," he spits, as if the answer is being torn from him. "There are seasons in this place, of biting cold and blazing heat! We will return home, where such aberrations do not occur and my lady will take her rightful place in House Vexidyre and in the eyes of Shax!"
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"Perhaps that would be better than fighting them all and thereby having to kill a fair few of them in the process." Mavarion, suddenly switching to Undercommon, turns to the drow. "Is there any chance you'll decide to be so cooperative as to inform your fellows of that? We only mean as much harm as they bring unto themselves by challenging us."