"This all went quite well," Raevanis concurs as he joins the others. "I have to admit, I am pleasantly surprised." There is a soft chuckle coming from the pale elf before giving its place to a brief bout of coughing. "Even so, Affyria is right. When these murders are discovered, there will most certainly be an attempt to spread the word so to speak. Notify others, especially clerics of their order."
"We should deal with the birds and the magister tonight."
"Indeed. We don't need to kill Barhold for this operation to be successful, but if reinforcements are able to arrive, well, we may see poor results." Ordywyt says.
"Very well then," Daidalos says, "To the rookery we go. And.... this way," he says, putting the map away
Once a few minutes have passed, he (still disguised as Father Donnigan) leads the group out past the guards back to the armory and up the stairs towards the Rookery.
Following Timo out of the room once all seems to have returned to normal, Morthos listens in and finds himself in agreement with the others. "To the rookery it is then. But whatever we do, let us make sure it does not cause a stir. A multitude of screeching birds could draw unwanted attention."
"Solid thinking. It makes me think of an old military theorist whose works the church deemed .. impure. Isolate. Corner. Envelop. Destroy. Indeed, good sir, indeed." Asturu then rolls his shoulders and sighs, hoping to vent some of the stress after that rather - admittedly - close call.
You head back towards the armory and ascend the stairs to the next level in the main tower. On the second level, you enter a circular chamber draped in flags, banners and other honors earned by the watchtower's garrison. Two guards stand watch here and as a half dozen of their colleagues come into the hall (that's you), their curiosity is piqued. The one with the ginger-colored hair says, "Evenin', lads. What's the fuss?"
"Nothing to worry about, friends. Just paying a visit to the rookery. Captain has a message to send off. I don't know why he wanted all of us to go, but what am I supposed to say? He's the commander."
"I think he's just being paranoid, afraid we'll all start killing each other, like Eddarly and Mott," Affyria quips.
At Guard-Affyria's quip, the black-haired guard chortles slightly while the ginger gets a sour look on his face, not seeing any humor in the observation. He casts a disapproving glance at his colleague, but then nods. "Yes, well... Commander's orders then. Good luck with Mad Martin. Crazy coot is probably fast asleep."
Daidalos shrugs, "Ah, what can you do?" he gives them a nod as they head on, "Have fun on another *thrilling* night of guard duty."
He continues up the stairs, looking around for any other obstructions, defensible fortifications, and the like, until they get to the top of the stairs, where he tries the door to the rookery.
Uneasily, Asturu stands behind Daidalos and listens to the exchange between the guard and his devil-tongued companion. How easy it would be to point at something behind the guard and, when the man turns around, step up and snap his neck. Woe me for these wicked thoughts I'm having.
And then he smirked, seemingly for no reason whatsoever.
You ascend to the third level of the tower (#38) and find this room to be much more utilitarian in function. This is an archer's strongpoint. Arrow slits addorn its entire outer wall and wooden racks contain the watchtower's store of arrows. You see dozens upon dozens of quivers, each holding twenty arrows. The room is unguarded and lit by a pair of torches.
Affyria hands off the books to Asturu and pockets the keys. She tosses his holy symbol on Donnagin's corpse and sneers, "Where's your god now, priest?"
At the archery point, she'll comment, "This would be a good place to set ablaze before Sakkarot's army arrives. A few well-trained archers could do some serious damage here elsewise."
"Well, let's not burn it down now. No sense in giving a beacon that something is going on."
Grabbing one of the quivers, Ordywyt pulls out a handful of the arrows. Breaking them over his knee, he puts them back in carefully to avoid splinters. "There's likely too many to do them like this, but hopefully they won't notice the sabotage until the battle starts."
"I think it would be best to not tarry too long here and deal with the rookery as soon as possible," Raevanis offers. "As you have said, there are too many quivers here. And our current luck is bound to give at some point. Best to take advantage of it as much as we can and be done with this Mad Martin and his birds."
"Besides," he adds looking at Affyria with a thin crooked smile, "we can always start that fire when we are ready to tip our hand. Or even on our way down if we think we can get away with it."
The elf's smile dims as he briefly considers his words. Words -and thoughts for that matter- that he would not have made years ago. Or perhaps even months ago, at least not so easily. He shakes his head to clear his mind; this is his lot now, so he may as well adapt.
Affyria nods. "Agreed. We would probably need a flew flasks of oil to burn all of this anyway, but it's something to keep in mind, at least." She glances further up at the stairs.
"Let's deal with the rookery for now, and, if we can do so without alarming the entire keep, perhaps seek out their magister afterwards."
"Seconded. First, we take out the rookery. We can burn the arrows on our way down or once we're done with subterfuge. For now, we focus on our targets one at a time." Daidalos says, "That said, if anyone needs arrows, grab them."
From the archer's strongpoint, you ascend another flight of stairs (#42). This small and cramped room has a closed iron door leading into the center of the tower. There are no guards.
Affyria tries to unlock the door first with the keys obtained from the priest.
The key from Father Donnigan does not fit.
Morthos grabs a couple of quivers as they continue on.
Noticing the keys they've acquired do not work, Morthos raises an eyebrow. Looking to the others, "I do not suppose any of you have the capability of opening this door by different means?"
Gently, Asturu pushes himself to the front and kneels at the iron door. A leather folio is retrieved from his pack. He rolls it out on the floor, revealing the many tools tucked inside this not quite-legal accessory pack of his. "Ah, let's see... "
Timo watches as Asturu works at the lock. "If he fails to open it, I may have the key right here" Timo says as he lays his hand on his hilt.
Asturu works at the lock for a few seconds and feels the tumblers start to fall into place when... nothing. He's quite certain he nearly had it.
"Let me give it one more go. Ah ... so close ..."
The man sighs and is obviously growing ever more frustrated as the tumblers keep dancing around his desires, refusing to fall into place.
Asturu purses his lips and swallows down some expletives when the door resists yet another attempt at being opened. He then rolls his eyes at Timo. "I think I could crack this one if only I got a minute or two to properly fiddle with the lock's innards. Do you think you could grant me that time, Timo?"
Timo nods at Asturu, "You shall have all the time that you require" He then turns to face the stairwell they came up, keeping an eye and ear out for anyone who may be coming up the stairs.
Eventually, Asturu is able to et the tumblers to properly align and apply just the right amount of pressure to disengage the lock.
"I apologize for the inconvenience, but ... it should be open now. With such a reinforced door, you'd think there's more than just birds here."
Affyria winks at the others and whispers, "Get ready to pounce on him as soon as he shows himself."
She then pushes open the door and strides into the rookery with confidence and authority. "Martin! Get your ass over here, we've got an urgent message from the commander that your birds have to send out immediately. Martin?!"
The door opens into a foul smelling, dark chamber littered with bird droppings. The rookery is home to hundreds of ravens, none of which are caged. In the corner is a filthy bedroll with an equally filthy old man. He stirs at the barked orders of Affyria-Guard and jumps up in an agitated state. "Who!? What? Are we under attack!?" As their master becomes riled, the ravens too seem to stir at the commotion, cawing and flapping their wings.
The codger stands up, grabs a hefty stick he uses as a cane, and walks over to Affyria-Guard. "Alright, alright. Where's the message and where is it going?"
"The kingdom shall be His, and with it, all the chaos and lies of this world will end," Affyria says, and she hefts her mace to cave in the old man's skull.
Timo, figuring the rest can take care of a feeble old man, maintains his watch of the stairwell just in case someone worthy of a fight comes to investigate the noise.
Seeing Affyria make an attack, Ordywyt sees fit to follow up with another mace.
"How... dramatic a statement, Lady," the elf remarks somewhat drily as he lends his own sword arm to the others' in order to complete the foul deed sooner rather than later.
Affyria and the others quickly dispatch the mad old codger but, mercifully, his end is quick. His ravens, however, are enraged by the murder of their caretaker and leap from their roosts and begin to swarm.
Many of the ravens coalesce into two swarms and begin to claw and peck at Affyria, Raven and Ordywrt.
-------------------
Ordywyt shrugs off the blows of the ravens, swinging in a wide arc to try to catch as many of the birds as he can with his mace.
Daidalos finds himself at something of a loss for words, being caught up in a thought train as soon as the door is opened. As the only Sentient in the room had already died, he shrugged and sent an orb of acid at the closer swarm of ravens.