With half of the party down the well in pursuit of... something, Marcusic falls into a nervous patrol that visits each of the garden's all-too-numerous entry points, his eyes and ears straining for that first, precious bit of advance notice that danger approaches. He peridocially checks in at the mouth of well in addition, peering down into its depths for a moment before resuming his circuit. "I do hope that whatever they're doing is done with quickly," the soldier mutters as his route brings him within earshot of Maddok. "This place is too open, too exposed for our scant numbers. And I'm not getting myself into whatever snake hole those two slithered into," he finishes with a pointed look at his bulky armor.
The tightening of his grip on his cudgel betrays the guard's outward calm. "It's ripe for an ambush but there's nothing we can do except try to be ready for it. I worked with a trapper once that could bring a troop of soldiers to their knees with a good choke-point and half a day."
The soldier can't help but snort dryly as he considers this advice, which is sound enough were it not for their particular circumstances. "Bet that trapper didn't have to try that against risen dead who'll keep coming no matter the damage done or the losses they take. That puts a right damned nasty wrinkle in holding a chokepoint."
The farmer continued to crawl through the dirt. Now I know what it's like to be a mole.
"Stay with me, Thomas. We'll need some light to spot anything."
Denenor heads down the tunnel to the next turn. Ahead of him, he sees the tunnel end in a small, recessed basin. It occurs to him, that he and Thomas are crawling down an aquifer that at one time may have fed water to this basin.
"Those 'tears' weren't fond of water, were they? If so, we're in luck; it seems this was a vein for fluid not so long ago."
But we're looking for a needle in a haystack right now. I hope he knows it when he sees it.
Denenor crept to the slightly more spacious basin and turns to see how his companion was doing.
"Could be worse; this could be muddy or filled with spiders, right?"
Thomas grunts softly. "Both mud and animals are of the Mother. I just hopes this leads us to the secret shrine."
Denenor and Thomas creep forward through the muck and find themselves in a small workshop that appears to once have been used by a blacksmith. A small, aged furnace sits in one corner of the room. A large crack in the side suggests why it was left here. A smattering of hooks and nails are set about in all of rotting, wooden walls. Many of the old planks that made up the walls of the workshop show signs of fire damage and have broken or fallen away. In two, opposite corners the damage is so severe that the walls have given way, and dirt and rock have caved-in the room. A broken door lies against the far wall next to an opening that leads outside.
Looking closer, the dirt floor in the workshop gives way to a roughly cobbled stone street outside. Close to the edge of his darkvisin, Denenor can make out a set of double doors about 20' feet beyond the exit from the workshop.
Disappointing though it was for the absence of the tears, the clandestine passageway had piqued Denenor's curiosity. "An odd connection this was. Let's see if we can walk back from the path there? If we take too long, they might worry about us and come looking."
Nothing of value or significance is found in the small workshop. Several small bits of charred metal and the remnants of burnt and broken furniture and tools are found. Denenor also notes that the ceiling is severely burnt and looks to be weakening under the stress of the earth above. While the roof isn't about to cave-in, it is only a matter of time before the remaining timbers further decay and give way.
The incanter poked his head around the shop before opening the door cautiously. "There's nothing but destruction here. Surely there was some part of the world untouched by this catastrophe?" He glanced out the door as if expecting to see a remedy around the corner yet knew the view would yield only disappointment.
I can hope anyway. We must have hope.
For the lesser in faith of the two, Denenor's curiosity provided a resolve all its own. I must find a solution to this problem. The suffering these people must have endured...
Thomas will try the double doors. "It may be all the world has changed, that just means we must set things aright. There is nothing so broken that it cannot be fixed."
Below ground, Denenor and Thomas exit the small workshop and head down the passageway. Underfoot, the moss covered cobbled stone pathway is obviously hand laid pavers. The walls and ceiling are a mixture of dirt, stone and rotting timbers, several of which are bracing the ceiling from collapse. This area was excavated some time in the past. On the far side, a wall of rough hewn stonework is breached by a pair of old wooden doors. Two iron handles are made part of an adornment that resembles a fruit tree that splits between the doors. The rusted metalwork of the tree is tinged an orangey-red. ... a symbol of the Sacred Mother's church from the first mortals... crosses the young cleric's mind. He touches the doors and the ashes of the burnt oak doors stain his hands.
As Thomas admires the intricately hand carved doors and the metallic symbol upon them, Denenor notes that the stone wall disappears behind the crumbling, earthen walls of the tunnel. It is as if the earth had risen up and consumed the city, only to be excavated later.
With a gentle push, the doors swing inward with a loud, echoing groan.
Upon the surface, Maddok and Marcusic nervously keep a vigilant watch on the various alleyways that lead to this remote garden. The air is still and nothing moves in their sight.
Denenor exhaled at the work that went into this architecture. "What a blessing to be in a place that had such care placed with it. Lesser buildings would have crumbled."
As he looked around at the moss reclaiming territory, he wondered what sort of hovels people would be living in. Building is tough enough as it is. Without light, it's tents - perhaps huts for the wealthy. Stable shelter would be at a premium.
Maddok silently stands vigil.
Hearing the splash, Marcusic draws Maddok's attention to it before cautiously investigating the noise. "I'm not seeing either of the other two," he remarks after a long look down the stone work to the etxtent that he can see. "But random sounds don't just happen either. Could be they loosenend a bit of the masonry during their passage, and it just now gave way."
He shoots a dry look at the bodyguard that quite plainly expresses his absolute lack of confidence in this possibility as he continues speaking. "However, I don't think we'd necessarily be fools to assume a potential foe may have made that splash. I can see someone trying to hide down there in desperation, dying down there, and maybe now stirring on account of the activity going on above it."
Denenor pushes upon the doors, and with a loud moan, they open. Peering in through the door way, the young cleric and elf see the decaying implements of an ancient infirmary. Small basins sit at the foot of each rotting bed. Burnt linens line the walls and partition the beds from each other. A small door on the far wall hangs on one hinge. A large archway leads to another chamber to the left. Lightly glowing stones illuminate this room, allowing everyone to see the colorful palate of molds and mushrooms that have taken over the space.
Up on the surface an strange silence has taken over the night. Maddok and Marcusic stand near the well, keeping a vigilant eye about the small park. The huddled figures of Haessen and the ever-changing Gunther can be seen taking cover near a stone bench amongst several bushes.
His visage glowing with the reflected light of the Sacred Mother, Thomas steps into the room.
"Haste is the enemy of prudence, but still I must make haste. Guide us now, I beg, Mother-of-us-all."
Thomas does not step heedlessly, but neither is he overly cautious as he makes his way towards the large door to the north.
Eyes straining to peer into the well's darkness for the slightest evidence of movement from something other than their absent allies, the soldier eventually gives up the task with a disgusted grunt before moving back a short distance. "I can make out nothing down there," he admits with a grimace "But that means little enough beyond my eyes being unsuited to this damned endless dark."
Maddok retrieves two lengths of timber wrapped in oilcloth and offers one to Marcusic. "It's just an ordinary torch but if there is something out there, better we can see it clearly."
Thomas turns and peers into the Sanctum of Sacred Mother, one of the oldest shrines to Teysura. The entire room covered in red, slimy mold. Inside the Sanctum is a small, round dais upon which sits a small, stone altar. A cherry tree is engraved upon the top of the altar. Even in the depths of the ruins beneath Oldtown, the life giving light of the Sanctum illuminates the room.
Stepping up to the doorway, Thomas can see that the entire altar and sanctum are also covered in mineral crystals from slimy water that has leaked into the room. The young cleric recounts the myths of the old sanctum which suggest that a prayer to Teysura can be heard by the goddess from the pious, and if the Sacred Mother wills it, a single blossom will appear upon the tree carved into the altar.
Thomas removes his sandals and enters the room barefoot in awe and humility. Approaching the altar, he kneels and begins to weep softly.
"Mother, the world has grown dark. Your children cry out in pain and fear. Much that once was is now lost. Mother, I beg that you give your children succor."
He places a hand on the altar to steady himself as he is wracked by heaving sobs. The liturgical forms fall away. The priest is also a son and a lover, lost and afraid. He speaks rapidly:
"Gunther has been . . . hurt . . . by the servants of the Harbinger of Death. The corruption curdles within him. Only you can heal him. I love him. I love him. I love him. Please, Mother. Please . . ."
All the fear, all the pain, that Gunther has carried since the world darkened and he found the man he loves chained to a wall, slowly becoming a ghoul, he lays before the goddess. He shows her his wounded heart.
Some prayers cannot be spoken, but can only be heard in the inchoate cries of the spirit.
Thomas recalls the words of the epic poem, Teysura’s Lament.
…And on Her first altar, lay your soul bare,
She will take your hand, ever soft and fair.
Cast aside doubts that Death has the final word.
When the Mother cries tears of blood, your prayers will be heard…
The words slowly sink into the priest's heart as he is overtaken with loss and grief. He listens intently to the sounds of the sanctum, praying for his lament to be answered. Yet, he only hears the shuffling of the elf's feet behind him. He slowly opens his eyes. Running his hands over the black marble slab that makes the top of the alter, Thomas comes to his feet. He gazes upon the altar and sees the fabled basin of Teysura. The red markings that streak through the blood granite are unmistakeable. The same stone has been used throughout the Vale and most prominently in Oldtown. Only the black marble of the altar breaks the stone pattern.
Even in the depths of the ruins beneath Oldtown, the life giving light of the Sanctum illuminates the area. Looking about, Thomas sees that the entire altar and sanctum are covered in mineral crystals of various hues. The myths he had heard of the old sanctum, suggest that a prayer from the pious to Teysura can be heard by the goddess... and if the Sacred Mother wills it, a single blossom will appear upon the tree. Thomas leans forward and looks into the basin. The worn sigil of Teysura, a cherry tree, can still be seen carved into the stone, however, the basin has cracked in several places. No wonder... it is dry, he sighs as he sees that the tree bears no fruit nor blossom.
In the silence, Denenor hears the sound of a drop of water. Looking up at the ceiling of the dome of the sanctum, the elf see the relief of the image of the sacred mother. Moisture from the dank underbelly of the city has collected upon the ceiling and now drips from the eyes of the goddess. The red liquid drips into the basin and echoes through out the sanctum.
Thomas, upon hearing the drip, watches as the red liquid runs along a crack of the basin and down to the underside of the altar. Another drip echoes. And another. Thomas looks to his bare feet, but the steps upon which he had knelt are dry and dusty.
Thomas will collect some of the red liquid and apply it to the roots of the tree. Hope sparking in his heart.
The young priest of Teysura tears a piece cloth from his robe, attempting to soak up the red liquid in the basin, but little more than moisture can be gathered. Dropping back to his knees, Thomas reaches underneath the altar looking for more of the fluid. A sharp point pricks his palm and he retracts his hand. Bending lower, he peers underneath the altar to see a brilliant, red crystalline structure made of the dried and hardened fluid.
Beautiful spines split from the thick, central shaft creating a tangle of limbs. Much like the branches of a... Thomas halts his wandering thoughts and furrows his brow. Cocking his head to look upside-down at the crystal formation, he sees that it remarkable resembles a cherry tree dangling from the underside of the altar.
Does he see the tree in its entirety? Is there a blossom on this crystalline tree?
The tiny, crystalline tree is about a foot in length, although the first five inches of the trunk is smooth and lacks any branches. Thomas does not see any blooms on the side of the tree facing him. The tree is made entirely of small crystals and mineral deposits left from the dried liquid that drips from the relief of Teysura upon the ceiling above the altar.
Thomas, already kneeling, falls prostrate and crawls beneath the altar.
Crawling under the altar, Thomas studies the small tree intently but cannot make out any blossoms as the low light in the room is casting dark shadows under the altar. Taking his holy symbol of Teysura, the priest causes it to begin to glow brilliantly. As the light strikes the crystalline cherry tree, the tips of each branch twinkle and reflect the light back at Thomas. It appears as it is filled with a thousand blossoms.
For the first time in several days, a large, familiar grin lightens up his face as he takes in the spectacle. Reaching up, he places his hand upon the trunk of the tree to brace it while he removes a blossom. But as he grips it, the tiny tree pulses with energy and detaches from the altar.
Thomas scrambles to his feet as the room is illuminated with light of Teysura emanating from the Crystalline Cherry Tree of Teysura.
"Thank you, Mother. Thank you!! Please, guide me in how Gunther can be saved."
Thomas once again genuflects at the altar, clutching the crystalline tree to his chest. He stays there in silent prayer for many long moment in case the goddess sees fit to bless him with further illumination.
After an appropriate amount of time, he shuffles back to his sandals and goes to investigate the other door. He cannot bear to leave without exhausting all possible avenues for Gunther's salvation.
He holds the ruby tree before him to guide his way.
Gripping the miniature tree, Thomas can innately feeling the healing properties of Teysura's influence. Perhaps a burst of energy from this curio would destroy the growing ghoul inside Gunther while healing the mortal man.
Opening the backdoor, Thomas finds a short hallway that leads to five small bedrooms. These chambers were once the private rooms for the priestess of Teysura that tended to the sick and dying in the Sanctum. Long since abandoned, the rooms are bare save for a dust and broken bits of furniture. In the final bedroom, the northwest wall has partially collapsed.
As Thomas turns to leave, a gleaming reflection of metal comes from within the collapsed wall. Crawling over the loose stones, the young priest and Denenor discover a false wall had covered a hidden compartment. Resting in the rubble is a small bronze coffer. The lid is secured, yet no key hole is visible.
Thomas scoops up the coffer. Sacred Mother, once the sun is restored and the dead laid to rest. I will return and restore this holy place. Thank you for your many blessings.
Now that his goddess' blessing has been given, Thomas is eager to return to Gunther and heal him. The young noble and the elven rain-caller retrace their steps through the ruined forge and up out of the well.
Back at the surface he shows their goddess' gifts to his superior and fellow priest, Haessen Sigocurt.
". . . the drops must have formed it over many thousands of years. But, it cannot be simply a natural occurrence. You can see the structure of the crystal reveals the blossoms within! Should I call upon its light now, so that the goddess can purge the taint from Gunther?"
The coffer is set on the ground. Anyone can attempt to open it.
Initiative
Thomas and Denenor race back towards the well. As they come into the room at the exit to the well tunnel, they see a familiar dwarf with a scowl upon his face.
"Well... thank you... but I think I'll be taking that little tree now!"
The dwarf rushes forward and bites Thomas on his right leg.
Thomas shouts up the well to alert his protector. In a more reasonable tone of voice, "By the grace of the Mother, you will not. Turn from this path before you are lost; there is no gain in evil when the world is ending."
The bite closes and as the light of Teysura springs from the ground like a tree.
Though he marveled at the workings of the shrine which they'd stumbled upon, Denenor kept a respectful distance from instruction to Thomas. He must know that tree is not a true plant ... though fungal spores and the like may adorn it. Still, if the work of the divines was at play here, that energy could supersede any mundane threat. Yet would it abate a supernatural curse? They would soon see...
However, soon would need to be delayed as they were held back by a stout rake. How would he know about the tree?
"Save your words and go!" The farmer's hand touched Thomas's shoulder, propelling him forward in the plane. He can and probably will flee. This rabid dog needs to sleep while we look for a cure. I'll have to outpace him.
"What would you want with some trinket, thief? Food or drink hold more value these days!"
The dwarf growls back at Thomas as he spits a chunk of the half-elf flesh upon the ground. "Enough! I don't want to kill ya... and you don't want to die. You've shown us the way to the altar and I might let you go, but you're not leaving with sump'tin from it!" When Denenor's magic transports Thomas forward, his brow furrows and he gets red in the face. "Wrong choice!"
** spoiler omitted **
Maddok in his bear form pins the gnoll and strikes him viciously. Not to be outdone, the gnoll wrestles free from Maddok and takes a step backwards. Then slamming his battleaxe against the ground he bellows in the gnollish language.
** spoiler omitted **
The gnolls wounds begin to close.
It takes Marcusic some moments to make sense of what he's hearing--the distortion made the walls of the well don't help any--but he eventually makes out Maddok's name, and shortly thereafter who's calling it with some urgency. Cursing, he turns to his fellow guard and jerks his head in the direction of the poorly-lit opening. "I think something's happening down there. I'm not able to get down there in this armor, so it's up to you." Shooting a quick, worried look around the area, he continues. "I'll hold up here and hope it doesn't turn into more trouble while you're down there."
Maddok doesn't hear the cry for help but Marcusic's warning is enough for the guard. He quickly hurries down the temple's entryway. "Catch up when you can!"
The dwarf bellows as Thomas gets beyond him with Denenor's help. He turns and charges the cleric, biting him. Denenor hears footsteps behind him, but before he can turn an arrow whizzes past his head narrowly missing him.
Maddok scrambles over the retaining wall of the well and begins to climb down. The rock walls are rough and have several protruding pieces making the climb easier than expected, although he nearly lost his balance on more than one occasion. Reaching the bottom, he sees a dark tunnel filled with water to his knees. He can hear shouting and the familiar voice of Thomas.
Uncaring of being bitten again, Thomas flees from the vile dwarf.
Making haste after Thomas, the elf shunts himself through reality past the assailant, making use of his feet to get around the corner.
Finmoc takes another bite out of Thomas as he retreats , but the cleric calls upon his beloved Teysura for healing.
"Dam'it! Vivaldo!" the dwarf shouts.