"Come along, then," the kobold snaps to the others. "Get the move on."
Jametor smirks and asks Ash for a tap of the wand, then follows the kobold
After healing Jametor, Asht'el follows the ornery kobold, wondering if there is any other kind.
As the non-Randalls approach the tower, they too notice the signs of a battle having taken place here long ago. Skulls and other bones stick up out of the ground here and there like grisly party decorations that were never cleared away.
Inside the tower, the scene is much the same, but without the elements to wash away the stains and wear away the bones. A dozen or more skeletons lie where they fell, weapons clutched in their bony hands, some wearing armor while others are bare. The flesh is gone, rotted and eaten over the years, but the stuffy stench of death hovers still.
Whispers to Firiel as he points at the skeletons, "OK. Are they really dead, or are they going to jump up? How can you tell before they jump up, really?"
Fíriel eyes the skeletons and shrugs deeply in response to Randall's question. "I'm not sure!" she whispers back.
Njord wrinkles his nose at the foul smells but bravely presses on with his friends.
Xiddik stays close behind, her tail flicking nervously.
Jametor follows in his normal back of the line spot, still able to see over the short--er races.
Continuing deeper into the tower, the group comes across one body that seems different from the others. It's propped up against a wall in heavy (and very fancy) armor. The armor is essentially undamaged, but there appears to be something non-skeletal beneath it... and indeed, when lifted up to investigate, it reveals a broadsword impaled upward through the body.
Xiddik kneels and grasps one of the ribcage's bones, seeming to weigh it slightly. "Aye, elf." She drops the body back down and turns her back on it to face the others. "She took her own life, I say. Out of shame, or perhaps out of cowardice toward some more...great...bad. Is not a good place for us, this."
Asht'el watches Xiddik as the kobold studies the long-dead elf, then asks with a puzzled expression, "Who kills herself by shoving a broadsword through her body from below." Loooking questioningly at Xiddik, he continues, "You know more about this stuff than me, but why do you think she killed herself?"
Randall shrugs at the ifrit's question - not his area, really - and casts a critical eye on the armor. "Does this fancier armor mean anything in an elven army? Higher rank, perhaps? Is it enchanted?"
The armor does seem to indicate a rank of some kind... as Randall cleans it off, he finds a few insignia inscribed carefully on the armor's shoulder pieces as well as the front.
Randall points out the insignia, "Does anyone know what this symbol means?"
”I’m thinkin’ we shouldn’t go messin’ with the stuff in here until we find out what belongs to the angry spirit that attacked us”, Njord explains. ”Maybe if we bury ‘em outside we can put ‘em to rest.”
Asht'el tips his head to one side and makes a few motions with his hands, as if acting out the sword penetrating the body. He grimaces and says, "Oh, now I see what you mean, Xiddik. Wonder why she did that?"
Randall starts to argue, but realizes the big man has a point. "OK, but this is some really expensive stuff. Just in case you were interested."
Looking around, he wonders aloud, "How long do you think it's been since they all died?"
Jametor casts Detect Magic and concentrates on the armor.
Xiddik provides a steady stream of advice to whoever makes the effort, though much of it seems closer to inspiring rhetoric than actually useful tips.
Lacking any other options, Njord growls. "Let's get her outside and lay her in the earht. Maybe that'll put whatever unhappy spirits are hauntin' this place to rest."
The big man looks around anxiously and then carefully picks up the skeletal remains.
"Why would that work?" Xiddik asks, frowning.
"I don't know", Njord explains while struggling with the awkward weight. "That's how it always works in the stories. Kobolds don't have ghost stories?"
Xiddik steps forward, helping with the load. "Ghost stories? Well, more with ghouls and ghasts, but sometimes. But burying them doesn't help. They go through walls, why does putting them under some loose rocks stop them?"
"It's not the rocks, it's the ceremony of putting them to rest. I'm no cleric, though - I don't know what to say or how to say it."
Jametor thinks for a few moments.
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Jametor believes that an elf who commits suicide should be buried in the first light of dawn with armor, weapons, and other accoutrements removed. An elf should sing the age-old Elven resting song, and worthy warriors should vow to carry the dead's equipment to an honorable end.
In this way, it may be possible for such a spirit to be appeased.
"We ate our dead," Xiddik says helpfully. She then pauses, frowning. "No...no, wait. That was the svirfneblins. No, the Bonescales..." She adjusts her artificial horns. "...we wore their bones. Yes, that's right. That was how we honored dead."
Her expression drops into vagueness. "Been a while."
"You've got the idea, except we don't have horns."
Hearing Jametor's explanation, Njord nods.
"I'll help with the singin' if you can teach us the words! Sam says I've got a 'lovely voice'", the big man adds proudly.
Finding an appropriately sized chunk of debris, Njord starts poking at the earth. "How many hours do we have before it's dawn? I'll get started on the grave while you tell us all 'bout that elven song."
"Wait, an elf has to sing it?" Xiddik looks up, affronted. "Er, none offense, Jamdor—Jametor, I mean—but you are not...surely the traditions on who sings it can't be as strict. Obviously I should be the one to sing it. I mean, I don't care, it's something I take with great reluctancy, but seems only proper, yes? I mean, we wouldn't want to insult the departed with a subpar performance, logically speaking. Only logically. Logically, people."
Xiddik, greatest performer of the Darklands, singing backup to a squeaky elf? Surely the gods ain't so cold-hearted. I aught to be the bloody star! Not that I care about that sort of thing. Like, it's not an ego thing, it's just the proper choice. I'm really just looking out for us here. Really, now.
"Well, whether an elf sings or not, it can only help the performance if you are able to accompany with your... what is that instrument, again?"
Looking at the dead elf's gear, he wonders aloud, "What honorable warrior will carry her equipment? Do you think there is family we could return it to?"
Looking over at the demoness, Randall asks, "Milady, have you used the gate before? How long has it been since you were successful with it? I am wondering when it stopped working and you are the only one that might know."
Jametor appears flustered and his words come out a notch or two whinier than normal. "Well I suppose we could have the kobold sing...hells I might be remembering incorrectly, It's not like we've had much of a break lately and you know how I get when I can't read and study and ...." Jametor's words trail off into a sigh.
After a moment he shrugs and stands taller. "Well I can't wear the armor and I have a weapon, so perhaps it could be..made to fit someone smaller? My guess is Njord would just rip it to pieces when he..changes. As to the song, I am sure the kobold will do more justice to it than me and to be honest, I suspect we killed...err something the ghost already. But it makes sense to try to do something to get the darklands stench off of us."
He glances at Xiddik, "No offense, Xiddik. I meant the other Darklands..."
Xiddik looks mollified for a moment, but the expression quickly dissolves into one of sheepishness. Her tail stretches around her neck, like a gentleman adjusting his cravat. "Eeeh...no...no, suppose an elf should do it. Elves stick for tradition. 'The kobold' might be more insult than anything. I...don't like singing, anyhow."
"Well, whether an elf sings or not, it can only help the performance if you are able to accompany with your... what is that instrument, again?"
"Is an...a flute thing," Xiddik says, holding it up. "Don't remember the Taldane."
"Do you think there is family we could return it to?"
"Huh. Reckon her family lies here. If not, far beyond—too far to help us here."
As the group is preparing to move the body outside, Randall's sharp eyes notice a ring and a pendant on it, both of exquisite workmanship. He also spots a few other bits of equipment left on other corpses in the area. Quilindra shrugs lightly in response to the halfling's question. "No, I've not used it before," she replies, "but I believe it was working a few hundred years ago."