"Can anyone help me with the nasty cut I got? I fear it might even be infected.
And we should be on the look-out. No more suprises like the ghoul please."
"Sorry, I am not a healer." Targ responds, being unable to be of any assitance. Instead of bashing the door in, he tries, if it can be opened normally.
"I'm sorry Latharel, I didn't realise you had been wounded so badly. Unfortunately, I haven't been granted the grace or skill to heal. I'm sorry." Kernsten bows his head slightly, knowing he doesn't have the powers of many with his talents. Instead he readies himself for any more aggressive spirits that might lurk.
"Wow - who would have known that it is still fully charged. I feared it might have suffered by being handled by the ghoul. Let's move on carefully as I want to get my health checked by someone with the right skills. Don't want to end up becoming a ghoul myself."
Kernsten pushes but to no avail. As Targ leans closer to inspect it, he realises that the locking mechanism is completely eroded and that the door will have to be shoved open.
With a creaking groan, the door snaps open and Latharel almost stumbles back off of the rubbish heap but manages to catch himself.
Just taking that as a successful attempt to move things along.
Beyond the now open portal is a bas relief of a giant face. It is one of a Qadiran man with a billowing beard. His eyes are closed, and his lips are parted, as if he were blowing out a flame. His lips frame a deep hole in the wall. The paint once adorning the relief is chipped and faded, but traces of its brilliant blues and pristine whites are still visible here and there. On the man's forehead is a single Kelish word, carved in a flowing script.
"Hmm," Lillia muses, taking a closer look at the relief and the deep hole that forms the man's mouth, "maybe it's a representation of this Qadiran prince; he would hardly be the first vain warlord... it might also be a part of the original defences of the siege-tower, perhaps with a link to the element of Air given the expression."
Leaning closer, the scarred witch looks for any signs of anything being inserted into the mouth, or being projected out of it, and also glances at the single word carved into the forehead.
Was just checking the rules - does the CLW potion stop Latherel from taking any more damage from the ghoul's disease? If not, will examine him next round.
"Well," Lillia says with a wry smile to Lathariel, "that was another subtle clue, along with the expression, which led to my comment about the possibility of an elemental connection... it's a Kelish word meaning 'air'."
"I don't see any signs of a trap, though. If it ever was dangerous, it doesn't seem to be a threat now."
As the darkness closes in on the hearty human, Kernsten slows, the only light flickering from his torch. Hearing only his heart and his own breath, he looks at the two doors. Turning back he seems to falter a bit, "Can anyone else see more clearly than me? Then maybe they would choose the safest door. Otherwise let's just carry straight on." He waits for one of the other intrepid pathfinders to inspect the doors.
Crar follows behind, as the group passes into the darkness. "I can conjure more light to guard our rear. " He grasps one of his talismans and mutters an oath to the guardian spirits. The shaft of his spear begins to glow softly.
As you open the door, there is an almighty crack and it falls off of its hinges. It appears that the time spent in this damp environment has taken a great toll on it.
The room beyond is dank, and a strange draft flows through it carrying a foul odor. Rubble is strewn here and there. A strange, slimy slick glistens down the western wall. Near the slick is a wooden door. The only sound in this room is a faint drip echoing from deeper in the dungeon.
Exits: door on the south-west wall, and an opening in the north-west corner, which isn't really visible on the map.
Kersten looks down at the door that fell in, "Let's get this over and done with, this place is ... well horrible. I thought the life of a Pathfinder was exciting, oh well, best get on with it. Crar, do you see anything, or shall we continue on?" he says, his nose twitching in the damp air.
"Hmmm...hold on, something's odd about this stuff on the wall." He steps forward with his glowing shortspear; turning it around, he scrapes the tip of the haft in the slime.
Seeing the slimy goo beginning to eat the end of his spear, Crar drops it and takes a step back from the wall. A spell comes to mind, but he's not really wanting to destroy his weapon - what is this stuff? "Does anyone have an idea how I can get this stuff off my spear? I'm glad now I didn't put my hand in it."
Kernsten, holds his shield in front of him and retreats with the torch held high, allowing light to be shed on the glistening substance. "Here let this light shine on that glistening corrosive wet patch, so we can see what we need to do against it." He looks around for somewhere to hold the torch, so that he can have his arms free to fight or do something against this thing.
"Aaaah!" Crar cries out as he tries to pull his feet out of the slimy ooze. "It's melting my feet!" The lanky half-elf tries to get his feet out, but the ooze keeps sucking at his legs.
