"Let me know if he feels any effects of poison and I can help," Sparks says to the two tending to Umros as she moves towards Langblade.
"Are you badly hurt? I can help patch that wound, if you would allow me." she offers.
The expansive cavern seems to eat up noise now that the fighting has ceased. The movements and dialog of the group barely seeming to cut the silence of so ancient a place. From the flickering of the torchlight you can see the gnome where he lies on the floor.
His eyes rolled back into his head the wanderer of Desna looks to be lifeless, but through the ministrations of Cath and Tainesh the bleeding at least stops. It is uncertain though if he's fully out of danger yet.
Langblade raises her head from where it hangs between her knees. Sitting on the floor she regards Sparks with momentary confusion, then dawning realization. "Nah, I'll be alright. I've had worse. I'm just tired." The fighter looks it too, now that the adrenaline of combat has worn off the raven haired warrior looks haggard and worn. Her armor, though bloodied from the fight, alleviated most of the damage from the blow. It seems true that she will indeed be all right.
”Sparks, can you help him?” Cath asks, indicating Umros. Maybe a task will take her mind off of the pain…
"Ok..." Sparks says. She hesitates a moment, her relationship with the warrior having not been the smoothest, but then says, "That was a spectacular kill, by the way. Something out of a fantasy book, for sure..."
"Coming," she answers Cath, her tentative compliment having been made. Sparks arrives by the gnome's side and investigates his situation for herself.
Suddenly, the little feet of the wanderer twitch. Umros takes in a deeper breath, and his eyes open a sliver. His sight is blurry but he can discern long white hair around a young face, not far from his own. “Eolande… my flower…” His eyes suddenly bulge when a weak fit of coughs take him, and piercing, silvery pupils focus in on Sparks, his overlong eyebrows expressing confusion, then disappointment. “Oh.” He blinks, and appears to regain his bearings.
The gnome rolls his head to look up at Tainesh. “Here’s your warning…” Umros holds aloft the wooden charm bracelet, and thousands of tiny points of silver light flicker from somewhere overhead, drifting down amongst his companions. Resembling faraway stars, they slowly fall like snow, seeming to vanish into the stone ground. The flecks of pure light that fall on wounds begin to knit them, and soothe the pain.
A sheen of perspiration glistens on his forehead as Umros shudders and winces. Fumbling a hand into a backpack pocket, he pulls out a small glass vial. His teeth remove the cork and he hurriedly tips his head back and gulps down the bitter herbal concoction.
Even though she is sure the falling stars are a result of Umros' actions, Sparks cannot help but tense up at the strange sight... at least until the motes of light begin to land on her still aching shoulder. Within moments the pain and stiffness begin to fade, and the ranger is sure they will be gone altogether just as soon as her body fully grasps that it is no longer injured in the slightest.
"Not Eolande, it is Sparks...Remember?" the maiden replies with gentle concern.
Umros recognizes Sparks for who she is, not Eolande.
Umros raises a teasing smile to the elf. “I’m not that old, am I?”
The terrible wounds in his chest are not nearly as bad as moments ago, so the wanderer priest pushes himself to his feet. He scans the area of the cavern lit by the torch, humming softly to himself. After a dissatisfied grunt, he snaps his fingers. Four little spheres of yellow light wink into being and orbit around him, and Umros grins at the illumination. A wave of his tiny hand sends them flying, one chasing after another in a bumbling string. The four glowing orbs circle around the edge of the cavern, over the floor, then trace up the walls and float against the ceiling, switching directions at the whim of the Whippoorwill. Zig-zaggy paths and loopty-loops cast light on anything the gnome finds interesting, which is pretty much anything that is not bare stone.
After inspecting the half-elves and humans for any obvious remaining injury, and finding none, he mutters a prayer to Lady Luck. A silver light spreads from his hand and pours over the partially healed wounds he sustained from the Golgoroth. He still does not feel quite right, nor does he look it. The little gnome still seems rather pale and sickly. In time... he hopes with a sigh. And lots of sleep...
But it is not long before Umros’ silver eyes notice the patches and strands of webbing around the cavern, and his idea from earlier sets a fire under his tinkering mind. He moves about, using his little dagger to scrape the webbing into a wad, and tries to find something in the cave (or in the dead spiders!) that would serve as a sac that could unfold or burst with thrown against something, while still keeping the webbing inside pliable and sticky.
"Older than any gnome I have known," Sparks replies smartly, relieved that the cleric seems not too worse off for his near death experience.
She steps back to give the old bard room to stand then starts slightly at his snap. The orbs of light, however, do not faze her in the least. In fact they bring a small smile to her face.
"Goleuadau dawnsio?" she asks tentatively as she tracks the glowing lights across the room and over her... her bow!
Sparks rushes over to her prized weapon and picks it quickly up off the stone floor. She examines it from top to middle to... "Cachu!" she whispers as she reaches the bottom curve and the sizable nick that now mars her pristine bow.
She grimaces and winces and for a moment considers throwing herself back against the wall to spend an hour whittling away the damage, but then she casts a self conscious look at the others in the room. She'd already run from the fight, or at least tried to, and cried in front of everyone present...
Ultimately, she snaps her knife into her hand, crudely cuts out the damaged, splintered edge with two angry, forceful cuts, returns her knife to her side, then slings her bow back across her back all without comment.
Cath steps back at first when the lights wink into being, but once he realizes what it is, he finds the magic trick to be amusing. He follows the lights and helps Umros survey the room.
"Also." Umros starts, pausing in his gathering of supplies. "Thank you for acting quickly, a minute ago, to keep me among the living." He tries to meet the eyes of everyone in the cavern when he offers his thanks. "I won't forget it."
His eyes stray to the empty potion container near where he had fallen. The alchemist takes it up and sniffs.
Unlooping a belt pouch, he produces another flask with a similarly-colored fluid inside. "Now who used their magic potion on me? Fair is fair."
"I could not tell you as I was... preoccupied with tending to my own injury to do much else," Sparks says. "I am glad we are all alright, though."
It's been a long time since that fateful meeting in the tavern, and the last few minutes alone have left Tainesh with a lot of emotional disorder. She had all but forgotten her request to Umros. At the sight of his holy symbol, she snaps her head up and mutters a hurried incantation.
Every spell has a shape, a way that the notes and the vocables worked together to form a greater whole. Each mote of positive energy that Umros channeled was a full-fledged spell that looked like a large, luminous snowflake. They twirled and folded and moved like... well, like creeping spiders, yes, but also like fluttering birds and galloping horses and undulating jellyfish. Like living things.
And as they fell into open wounds or bruises, they knitted together to restore living matter. Arcane magic would bind wounds shut and reshape flesh into an approximation of an unmarked body. But Divine magic worked with the body's natural capacity to heal. It was miraculous.
Tainesh thought back to what her mentor once said. Arcane magic is like a complete set of carpentry tools, with which a skilled mage could build anything. Divine magic is a well-tuned pocketwatch.
Her attention was captured by the four dancing balls of magic that Umros summoned. It takes her longer than it should to identify the spell as Dancing Lights, and longer still to realize that Umros is searching the cavern. Perhaps she should join in?
"While we're looking, has anyone seen my empty potion bottle? I think I set it down somewhere..."
"Thank you." The sickly gnome lifts up the empty little bottle to Tainesh's hand. It is followed by a full potion from his possessions. "Take this one, as a replacement. I didn't brew it myself but it should heal like your potion healed me."
There is little and less around the majority of the room, and the idea that there isn't anything real to find in this dark corner of the world occurs to her. But that's when she notices where the others are uncovering the remains of those seemingly long dead. Most of the bodies are inert, with whatever aura they may have exhibited in life, long since fled. But the last one, the one wearing armor, that one is positively dripping in auras. Though none of them suggest life, they all are distinct and sharply emanate from the items they are bound to.
The remaining webs slowly burn away as the embers from the wizard's spell work their way through the dry remnants of the den. With the light from Umros, and Langblades torch now retrieved by the warrior, you see that there is little of obvious threat left in the large underground hall. It’s obvious when you look around that this chamber, unlike the pillared one from before, has not seen intelligent life in quite some time. There likely were murals and carvings here, but everything lies broken under a thick layer of detritus and arachnid waste. So to do the apparent exits seem to be either destroyed or caved in.
Rotted and shattered crates and boxes litter the chamber, full of filth that once were surely goods of some sort. The walls of stone you can see are covered in dirt and other unidentifiable stains. A couple things stand out and catch the eyes of the searchers though, two things specifically.
Firstly behind a stack of boxes is a wrought iron gate set into the stone wall. It is locked, but you can see through the bars that someone had set up what looks to be a one-person camp in the small antechamber. The old long dead ashes of a fire lie next to a dusty but undisturbed outline of a bedroll. There are a few other odds and ends in the little room, but the only thing of note is a worn leather notebook resting next to a half-melted candle on a small box.
Second the battle-worn spelunkers discover a small mound buried under layer after layer of webbing not yet burned by the slow progression of fiery energy. A little digging reveals that the mound is comprised entirely of the grisly remains of creatures, many of which are humanoid...
After some effort you discover that the majority of bodies seem to be simple villagers as they wear the old, even ancient garb of farmers, shepherds, and wood cutters. The gear that lay neglected across the floor seems to confirm this as you find several simple axes a few rakes and plowshares, though oddly it seems most of these implements were at one point sharpened beyond what is needed for their respective mundane uses. Just as you're about to cease your investigation, you discover another body, this one much better equipped for the environment you find yourselves in.
The creature wears a simple travelers outfit, though girded over it's chest is a suit of sturdy leather armor. A quiver of rotted arrows lies strapped across it's back next to a bow no longer sporting a string. Gripped in it's hand is a shortsword glimmering where it catches the light, a literal death grip holds it in place even after all these apparent years. Slung from the deceased's side, next to an empty scabbard and sheathed dagger, is an unadorned canvas sack.
Upturning the sack causes it's contents to spill out onto the floor. Far more items than you would think could be contained in such a small space. A pot, pan, and wine flask fall to the ground along with other minor cooking implements. A fine quill and ink bottle accompany several sheets of loose vellum as well as a handful of scrolled documents. A small purse jingling with loose coin lands next to several clear flasks full of liquids of various hues and opacity. Several torches, including one that had seen some use, lie bundled with three other small sticks. Lastly with a quiet metallic thud a heavy iron key comes to rest amidst the small pile of equipment and with that the bag finally seems to be emptied.
"I think I may be sick..." Sparks says as the group uncovers body after body. She covers her mouth and turns away for a long moment but then turns back. "It's like the mural, isn't it? The people rising up against.... what? The shinning lady?"
Already upset at the pile of bodies, the elf gasps yet again as they find the armor clad individual. "An adventurer... Like us... Some of us, anyway..." Sparks whispers quietly, once again on the verge of tears. It is only when one of the others begins emptying the oddly full bag that Sparks wipes her nearly overflowed tear ducts and begins helping identify the items before her.
Satisfied with his improvisations, the crafty gnome stores the two web-filled chitin sticks onto his pack.
Umros’ big silvery eyes get bigger with curiosity over the many skeletons. This was not the first time he disturbed long-dead bones, and probably not the last. He did not think these folk died how they wanted to die, though in truth there was no telling.
Still staring at the sharpened farming implements, a smirk twitches his big white moustache. “Sparks, what’s an ‘adventurer’?”
Umros probably knows the meaning of the word, but he’s curious how Sparks will answer.
When the contents of the sack spill over the cave floor, the wanderer-priest raises an eyebrow and intones a prayer to illuminate any magical auras among the items. The alchemist first turns his attentions to the several clear flasks.
A long-gone mentor of his kept a habit of inscribing magic onto parchment. Umros wonders if the same was done to the scrolled documents that litter the floor.
With his head spinning with knowledge (or lack thereof), the old gnome reaches for the wine bottle, hoping against hope the ages have not spoiled any ambrosia within. He uncorks it and takes a huge whiff.
"An adventurer is one who... goes out... who helps others. For glory or profit or for the cause of Goodness. Or at least is one who tries too..." Sparks answers, trailing off as she looks at the corpses once more. "You know more about it than I, though... don't you?" she asks with a tinge of annoyance in her voice as she shift her gaze to the old gnome.
Though she kinda feels like Umros half tricked her into answering, Sparks' question is genuine. She is looking for reassurance.
The old gnome is unsure what to make of Sparks' annoyance, so he shrugs half-heartedly to convey that he means no offense. His feet, usually so eager to wander, are heavy, and his insides still ache from the venom of the Golgoroth. A defiant glint catches his eyes when he glances at the mountainous, spidery carcass. I'm still alive...
After a long thoughtful pause he answers the elf. "Glory, treasure, conviction, curiosity," he begins with a tired tone, "Those seem like worthy reasons to me. Though I believe the 'adventuring' quality comes from within," a finger taps his heart. "These woodsmen, farmers, and shepherds may have been poorly armed, compared to this other one. But something drew -or drove- them from their homes and livelihoods, to come down here to do battle. It might be they had neighbors, friends, and loved ones, that did not march down here with them." The old gnome sighs, and then offers a bright smile somewhat off-set by his sickly color. "All I mean is, I think every one died an adventurer, regardless of their fighting kit."
"It is not one's gear that makes one an adventurer," Sparks tentatively agrees. "Being an adventurer is... a choice one makes. A free choice of the type I do not imagine these people were given. I think these people were more likely on a mission of anger or revenge or desperation. Perhaps I am just naive, but I do not think one can truly be an adventurer unless what he or she chooses to do has at least some root in happiness..." she concludes.
Ultimately, are Sparks' motives for being on this adventure rooted in happiness? (Hint: No, they are not.)
"Thanks..." Tainesh says absentmindedly as she looks over the Golgoroth.
Not one spell could have made it, and not one single spell could have kept it... she can't call it 'living', but the creature had certainly moved like a living thing and bled like a living thing. Mages liked to use the word "animated" for these situations, and so the Golgoroth had been animated by a tangle of spells. Evocation and enchantment spells meshed with conjuration and abjuration, and the whole thing was run through with necromancy.
Now that the physical container for the spells had been irreparably damaged, the spells themselves were breaking apart and dissolving as the magic that powered them bled away. With luck, the magical framework would fade away within days. Otherwise, something would persist and linger, and nothing good came of lingering necromancy.
Shivering slightly, Tainesh joins the others in their search of the cavern. The bodies confuse her... but she can't put her finger on what troubles her. It's not the plowshares hammered into plowshares as sharp as swords, because that's just the sensible thing to take with you when investigating a cave full of spiders. And there are perfectly reasonable explanations for why woodcutters and farmers would be down here. Perhaps they, too, came in search of young children taken by the Shining Lady.
"Happiness?" Tainesh asks as she pokes at the locked gate. "I think happiness is something adventurers find, but they always look for something else. Duty, or a new home, or avenging a father's death-"
She turns around when she hears stuff spilling from the sack in Umros's hand, and gasps when she sees the auras pooled at his feet.
"Is that- did all that pour out of the bag?!"
'A father's death?' Sparks echoes as she turns to the aspiring wizard.
"Tainesh... is your father..?" she ask, hazarding a guess.
"What about him?"
Sparks suddenly finds one of the small bottles interesting, even as she asks in a subdued voice, "He's not... You are not avenging his death, are you?"
"No, he's perfectly fine. I had lunch with him last week," Tainesh says.
Thinking back to what she said before, Tainesh continues. "I'm not driven by some grand quest. I'm just a journeyman wizard and I want to grow my knowledge. I want to know everything, and I answered a vaguely-worded job ad posted by a widow who lost her only son. Now I'm standing in a long-forgotten cavern knee-deep in spiderwebs and corpses with four heavily-armed strangers at my side."
"I guess that makes me an adventurer."
"Good... The way you stopped after mentioning a dead father... I was worried," Sparks says relieved. She listens to Tainesh's reasoning before saying, "...I suppose..." with slightly strained politeness.
Cath raises an eyebrow at the sound of the jingling coins, but it's not until the potions clatter on the ground that a small smile cracks the fighter's face. Potions are worth more than their weight in gold...
He picks up the key to inspect it before the girls start gabbing. While they talk, he idly kicks some rocks.
"Ah-hem," he clears his throat. "Who wants to see if this key fits the gate over there?"
Tainesh catches something off about the way Cath is acting. Something about fathers? And why is Sparks so depressed about the definition of an adventurer?
She doesn't know anything about these people.
"For the record, I'm not exactly looking for a new home either. And the only duty I feel is to find out what happened to the poor child."
"If you insist we open the gate, I think you should be the one to do it..."Sparks says to Cath.
"I'm not saying we do it now," Cath says with an air of defensiveness. "Let's get everything sorted and then we can move on."
Cath helps identify the combat gear and lets the others sift through the magical items. He hefts the shortsword and tests its weight and build. "This is a very nice blade. Not much use for it myself, but one of you might want it if things get close and personal." When Tainesh describes the fireball spell, though, his eyes open wide and he sets down the shortsword before standing up. "Ever had that stuff thrown at you?" he asks her with surprising intensity, pointing at the scroll clutched in the girl's hand. "Bad news," he offers rather unhelpfully, followed by a half-muttered, "Had to get a new shield after that..."
The fighter picks up three of the potions and tosses one of the Cure Moderate Wounds to Umros. "You, uh, might need that," he jokes, trying to make light of the gnome's very serious situation only a few minutes prior. He holds the vial of Sanctuary and the remaining Cure Moderate Wounds up to the light, inspecting the torchlight refracting through the colored liquid and glass. "You know, I try not to think about whatever's in these things. Kinda freaks me out, but they work like a charm."
The talking in the room dies down as each of the... adventurers... begin examining the items they they are most familiar with. Spark, naturally, gravitates to the old bow. It has clearly seen better days, but perhaps not the end of them... It's string has long since decayed away, but the wood is not in terrible shape. Running her fingers over it in the dim light, she determines that in all likelihood it would be useable as-is, once restrung at least. With some minor work, a good sanding, and a fresh coat of paint, it might even be sellable.
Furthermore, Sparks realizes, the shape of the limbs and the distance between them implies that the bow is quite powerful and might have a very high draw weight indeed. Intrigued, she retreats a short way from the rest of so that she has room to work and sits so she can begin the process of tying and anchoring one of the backup bow strings she brought with her.
The familiar task helps Sparks clear her mind somewhat, and within a few minutes work she is able to bring the old bow back to readiness. What's more, upon notching one of her arrows, Sparks finds that force required to fully draw back is a good bit too much, even for her well toned arms!
"This is a good bow," She reports to the group as she lays the now complete weapon back in line with the other items of interest. "Though it is still in need of some repair and finishing, it is serviceable and can deliver an arrow to a target with a good deal more force than even my own. So much so, that to make full use of it would require more strength than I possess, unfortunately. I've only seen a couple of bows this powerful in all my life," the huntress all but marvels.
With her report given, Sparks turns back to the deceased farmers and adventurer and gives them and their remaining belongings another look with a less troubled mind in the hopes of determining anything she can.
She also takes a closer look at the well-outfitted corpse's odd pots and pans, intrigued by their unfamiliar shape.
Once the others are ready, Sparks joins in and helps examine the map.
**********
Sparks too takes a few practice swings with the sword upon hearing Cath's recommendation. Her movements are a little clumsy, like she is trying somewhat to chop at a tree, but show that she is not completely incompetent with a bladed weapon.
"Love, for the healing spells at least. Or, that is how it always felt to me when I made use of one," Sparks replies with a faint contented smile before cringing at the thought of being hit by a hot, burning, magical ball of heat and flame...
Umros sets the wine bottle down and listens to his traveling companions talk. His overlong eyebrows raise at Cath’s hint of an experience with a fireball. “Now that sounds like a story!” The storyteller pauses in his inspections, hoping to hear the tale.
The smiling old gnome catches the potion and tosses it immediately back to Cath. “Actually, it would be better if someone else hung onto that. We both know that fights never go as planned, if we’re fool enough to plan one at all! Someone else should take the healing potions in case I am unable to help them. ‘Keep your eggs in many baskets,’ as they say...” His eyes flit to the spot where he fell to grievous wounds, and tugs one end of his big white moustache in thought. Umros then stoops and picks up the magical healing wand. “But this, this I could put to good use!”
He angles his head with curiosity over the enchanted bag. The wanderer is keenly aware of the weight digging into his shoulders from his own pack. Surely, he could move quicker if he lightened his load, but where would he store all his belongings? The old gnome had learned the hard way to always keep his possessions within arm’s reach, and that was a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget. Umros uses the wand to prod the now-empty sack on the floor. “This bag might help take some of the ache out of my knees…”
Moving slowly and listening for any objections, the worshipper of Desna unshoulders his overstuffed backpack and kneels the ground, placing his things inside the other bag. The magic woven into the canvas makes the inside cool to the touch, and much more spacious than it would seem.
Finished repacking into the new bag, Umros slings the strap over a shoulder. Much better! Doing a little happy dance, his travel-worn boots accidentally kick a small metal item that skids over the stone. He bends down and picks up the heavy key. He did not like it. Some keys felt wonderful to hold, eager to unlock, unchain, set things free. But this one, the weight of it, told the wanderer that it enjoyed locking things up. Caging things… His silvery eyes make a wisened squint as he turns it over a few inches from his face, inspecting the teeth distrustfully.
He makes his way over to the iron gate and looks to find any kind of keyhole or locking mechanism.
However, the well equipped body seems even older. It wouldn't be ridiculous to think that it had been there for well over 200 years, despite the relatively good condition of the gear left behind.
As for cause of death, it is far too late to speak with any certainty on the deceased. But you do notice scratches along many of the bones. Maybe from teeth? Or mandibles?
You recognize a sprig of heather, but the small cream colored globules elude you. Should you take a sip, you'd realize that its congealed candle-wax.
"I'll hold onto one," Sparks says as she picks up the other healing potion. "I was never able to make a healing potion on my own, but I have had need to administer them to others every now and again," she says, reassuringly. "...and the sword as well. I trust my ax, but it is not a combat tool."
Sparks continues to study the scene for several minutes. Something about it trouble her. The positioning of the dead, the strange shape of the cookware which she packs away, the apparent difference in age of the well armed individual vs those who carried implements more like farmers or towns people...
"I think perhaps I was wrong. As near as I can tell, we are looking at two incidents here. I believe this adventurer explored a portion of the ruins first and fell to the spiders and then some time later these towns people came, perhaps seeking a stolen child, and happened to... fall... in the same place." she says, outlining her new sense of what happened.
"I wonder though... If they did not find the key to the gate and we did... Did the adventurer come in one way and the rest of us another?"
"Oh..." Umros pulls the bottle from his lips in mild surprise. The taste makes him grimace. "Such a shame..."
The wanderer gives a quiet sideways look to the corpse that carried the bottle, as he recorks it and drops it into the bag. Curious and curiouser...
From the grate, Umros nods at elf's notion of the dead. "I noticed the same. I'm no archaeologist or historian, but I would estimate that fellow," he uses the key to point at the well-provisioned body, "came here one hundred years before those fellows..." the key sweeps over where the other bones sprawl.
"Might be!" he answers Sparks' wonderings. He inserts the iron key into the lock and gives it a turn. Afterwards, his little hand grips the iron and tugs.
Tainesh sets the quill and inkpot aside (Could be useful!) with the sheets of vellum. She examines the scrolls one by one, savoring the act of discovery.
"This one is a spell of Break," she said as she placed it in her scroll box. It could be useful, but thus far they hadn't fought anyone with weapons or armor that could be sundered. The Dwarf had come close, but that had been resolved peacefully by removing Sparks from a metaphorical box of dry tinder. Perhaps it could be used to break open doors or other obstacles? The spell couldn't focus if the object was too large, and a set of armor was about the maximum size. Pity.
"And this one is... a scroll of Erase. It, uh, erases writing." That was definitely the flowery script of a transmutation spell condensed and pinned into writing, like a butterfly in a collection. The opening was almost identical to that of the Comprehend Languages spell, which was odd because the two were from completely different schools of magic. But this spell would recognize any written text, any sort of script that bore meaning, and remove all trace of its existence.
That was almost blasphemous. Scribes went to a lot of trouble to copy one single page of text, and this spell would-
Tainesh glanced at the quill and inkpot she'd claimed. Well, perhaps writing was easier than scribes of all sorts let on, but forever erasing the knowledge that text preserved was dangerous. She'd be careful to use this spell responsibly, if ever.
And the last spell was... a fire spell, judging from the illustrations on the margins. Sparks wouldn't like that. Strange, though. One didn't usually go to the trouble of illuminating a magical scroll.
It was an evocation spell. Obviously. Images of fire aside, the spell had the deceptively simple structure characteristic of evocation spells. It was a mechanism for transforming thaumaturgical energy into other forms of energy. Fire, in this case. A lot of it.
Her own Burning Hands spell couldn't come near this scroll in potency.
Tainesh gingerly spread the scroll on the ground, the better to study its contents. It didn't just create fire. It created a short-lived magical construct, into which thaumaturgical energy was stored. More energy was contained in this 'bead' than her Burning Hands spell could ever hope to contain, and it could be thrown hundreds of feet away.
"It's a Fireball spell," Tainesh says through dry lips.
There were accelerandos throughout the text, little loops of magic that would amplify and then concentrate and then amplify the magical potency beyond what the baseline spell was capable of. The fireball would burn at a temperature that made lead and bronze and tin run like water. Gold and copper would melt, steel would become as pliable as clay, and flesh would... it wouldn't kill people. They would simply cease to be biology, and become physics instead.
In fact, Tainesh could feel the heat radiating off the scroll, but that could be her imagination.
And at the end of the spell was Ulam's Encore. A fireball was a dangerous spell in close quarters. A spell, on paper, might produce a fireball with a diameter of forty feet. But the close confines of a house or a castle would concentrate the blast wave, and so a fireball would travel a long way down a corridor. But the sage Ulam designed a neat bit of divinition that would scan a bead's impact point, and adjust the yield to compensate for barriers. A fireball with a stated safe distance of twenty feet therefore always had a safe distance of twenty feet. It was predictable and safe. Safe to the caster, at least.
But in an open area like this cavern...
"I could burn the whole cave down with this spell," Tainesh breathes, heart hammering away in her throat and visions of magical fire dancing in her eyes. Then she realizes that everyone is staring at her.
"But that would be wrong. There's, uh, no reason to cast it in here anymore."
She rolls the scroll up and slides it into her scroll box, and her estimation of Cath goes up greatly. He was hit by a spell designed to knock down castle gates, and he only had to replace a shield? He must be tough as leather even under all that armor.
"Healing spells don't usually work like a charm. Not unless they've got a painkilling aspect to them, but I don't think that's very common." There was, after all, little call for a healing spell to affect the mind as well. Perhaps Cath was talking about a spell designed by a healer to supplement her own horrible bedside manner?
"I shall take the other," Tainesh says as they divvy up the potions. But if they were going for redundancy, perhaps it should go to Cath? "Unless Cath wants it?"
"Might be? Must be!" she says after Umros comments on the map. "Remember the alternate passages that we walked past? One of them must lead down here. Look, he has the room with the puzzle pillars marked, but no path down to this other room here, where we are!"
"I could burn the whole cave down with this spell"
"Please do not..." Sparks murmurs at Tainesh's enthusiasm.
"As near as I can tell, our journey is over. I would guess that this Adventurer mapped an alternate path that has since collapsed. Even if it had not, it seems that the tunnel beyond this gate simply loops back to the room with the mural." Sparks comments after taking another glance at the Adventurer's map. "Perhaps we could auction off the location of these ruins to some interested party back in town?" she asks, floating the idea to the others in the impromptu group.
Seeing Umros' struggle, Sparks moves to stand beside him and attempts to assist...
...but her efforts prove to be of little help.
"Cath, would you mind lending us some assistance?" she asks.
"I would like to know what is in that journal over there as well," Spark whispers to Umros, flashing him a small, mischievous smile that would seem to indicate that her sense of adventure was not completely driven off by the day's trying events.
”Oh, I doubt this is the end of it. There’s somthing we’re missing,” Cath says in response to Sparks’s declaration.
Cath had pocketed the Sanctuary potion and was about to do the same with the healing one when Tainesh mentions her interest in it. Walking over to the young wizard, he looks intently at her, taking in her full height, then moves his gaze to the potion in his hand, considering options. Live to fight another day, indeed.
”Tell me, wizard girl; If things go badly, can you heal me? I may be too busy to make use of this when its most needed anyway.” He holds out the potion, offering it to Tainesh.
Afterward, he crosses the space to where Sparks and Umros are tugging on the metal gate and grips the bars, giving them a solid yank.
"I'm sure she is a good choice for the potion," Sparks tells Cath. "She kept her cool and helped Umros and myself when we were both gravely injured."
With a little working Umros is able to turn the key in the lock, however when he goes to open it, the door appears to be welded shut! Sparks lends her aid and is able to shake the grating somewhat, but no real progress is made. However when Cath grabs hold of the ancient iron bars he easily pops the door open with a quiet "pang" oxidized iron rust falls to the floor from where it had accumulated around the hinges and contact points. The door, once broken loose, opens easily enough and the three are able to explore the small antechamber beyond.
The room isn't large, especially after the massive round cavern it's connected to, but it is a sight cleaner than the refuse ridden spider nest. There is of course the small bedroll and crate with candle and leather bound book that you saw from the other side of the grating, but there is one detail that wasn't seen from the other side. To the left of the room there is what appears to be a passage way, or at least what's left of one. It is apparent that the rubble and debris that fills the hall has been there for quite some time, closing off the little chamber from whatever lies beyond.
The only item of real interest in the room is the little journal, sitting on the crate near the candle...
We've done it! Sonnet and I have made the move to Sharlstown! We've got a nice little cottage near the Northern end of town, the front is our shop, almost overflowing with all our tanning supplies and wares! We are so excited to open in a few days! It seems that finally our dreams are coming true, we've got our own place, our own business, and the baby is almost here. I've never been so happy, Sonnet has never been so happy. They said I was wasting my life moving to this tiny little hamlet, but this is what we wanted. A quiet corner of the world to call our own, to raise our child (maybe children!) in peace. The future looks bright and shinning and I can't wait to see what lies in store!
She's gone. The light of my life, my sun and stars, Sonnet is gone. I still can't believe it, this past month has been hard on both of us... With Leena's disappearance, no, with her abduction we have both been through seven hells but still. I never expected this. Sonnet had been mad with grief, I know, but she wasn't the type to take her own life. I found her in our bed, no note, just her lifeless body, red lines of hate gouged down her arms and that cursed dagger with it's fancy inlays of lines and lines and lines. I've always hated that thing, ever since the Mayor gave it to us as a housewarming gift it has creeped me out with it's patterns of strange symbols and the etching of some unknown sea-creature, damned blade. And now, with it gripped in her lily-white hand as her life drained out onto the wooden planks below. I'll never be able to erase that image from my mind. It's all their fault all these damned people in this damned town! They wouldn't even look for her! Leena. Our love, our only child. Gone without a trace and the guard, the Mayor, NO ONE! No one would help us search, even admit that something was wrong! Only the children would talk of our little Leena, only the children with their words and games, their cries of the Bright Lady! The Shining Woman! Don't let her find you! Hide hide hide!
Still, the children are the only lead I have left. I will find this Bright Woman, and I will take back what was stolen from me!
I've already sold everything. I couldn't spend another moment in that house. I'm on the road to Dutos, I plan to buy the best gear, the best weapons I can. Then I will find Her, and I will kill Her.
What is this place? What have I found? I've been down here for what feels like weeks, months, years? NO! No, it's only been days. Only days... I can't focus any more, not since I found them. Whatever they are. I wasn't ready, I don't think I'd ever be ready. Gods, I'm a TANNER, just a lost, broken Tanner, with nothing left but this sword, this bow, this hate that has fueled me for so long. I can't remember the last time I saw the sun. I've marked my progress as best I could, ran out of paper for the tunnel that led to them. Maybe it's for the best. Leena, leena, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, baby. I've failed you, I, I can't find you. I can't face them. I can't face Her...
Here there is a break in the page, and the writing starts to become more familiar, much more similar to the penmanship of the earlier entries:
I will write this last in my own hand. If you should find this journal, know that I am a coward, and I fled from the horror that I am convinced stole my child. The darkness that fills the tunnels beyond, the tunnels that I collapsed behind me, is beyond anything I knew existed. The people, the Woman, they are not people, She is not a Woman. I don't know why they took Leena from me and I fear I never will know. The mammoth chamber before me is filled with webs, I think I've heard things, monsters lurking in the darkness. I am scared, but anything is better than retracing my steps. As I write this, I am steeling myself against the path that lies before me, I hope I make it out, make it to warn others of the horror that steals children. But if I don't, I leave this last will and testament to whoever finds it. Take this, take my words and flee. Do not search further for that which hides down here in the untold dark. Get out while you can, and pass my warning to the world. A warning of the horror that is the Shining Lady.
-Ether Gales
Here the writing stops for the last time. The rest of the pages beyond this one are blank.
The old gnome gingerly reaches for the journal, careful not to damage it, and opens to the first page and begins to read aloud in the Common tongue. “‘We've done it! Sonnet,’ -I like that name- ‘and I have made the move to Sharlstown! We've got a nice little cottage near the Northern end of town, the front is our shop, almost overflowing with all our tanning supplies and wares! We are so excited to open in a few days! It seems that finally our dreams are coming true, we've got our own place, our own business, and the baby is almost here. I've never been so happy, Sonnet has never been so happy. They said I was wasting my life moving to this tiny little hamlet, but this is what we wanted. A quiet corner of the world to call our own, to raise our child (maybe children!) in peace. The future looks bright and shining and I can't wait to see what lies in store!’ Wow, he certainly must be young! I love his optimism. I’ve never tried the tanner’s trade, but they keep the tanning shacks away from the centers of cities for a reason...” He crinkles his nose and waves a hand in front of it to indicate a foul odor. The movement causes him to lose his place in the journal. He notices the interested, patient glances to the written account and smiles, continuing to translate whichever page is currently open.
“‘She's gone. The light of my life, my sun and stars, Sonnet is gone. I still can't believe it, this past month has been hard on both of us... With Leena's disappearance, no, with her abduction we have both been through seven hells but still. I never expected this. Sonnet had been mad with grief, I know, but she wasn't the type to take…’” Umros pauses. For one so cheerful most of the time, the old gnome’s face profoundly transforms into utmost sadness. The wrinkles in his features deepen, the dwindling smile hardens to a straight line, and even his overlong eyebrows and moustache ends seem to droop a little. He clear his throat gently and begins again. “‘...she wasn’t the type to take her own life. I found her in our bed, no note, just her lifeless body, red lines of hate gouged down her arms and that cursed dagger with it's fancy inlays of lines and lines and lines. I've always hated that thing, ever since the Mayor gave it to us as a housewarming gift it has creeped me out with it's patterns of strange symbols and the etching of some unknown sea-creature, damned blade. And now, with it gripped in her lily-white hand as her life drained out onto the wooden planks below. I'll never be able to erase that image from my mind. It's all their fault all these damned people in this damned town! They wouldn't even look for her! Leena. Our love, our only child. Gone without a trace and the guard, the Mayor, NO ONE! No one would help us search, even admit that something was wrong! Only the children would talk of our little Leena, only the children with their words and games, their cries of the Bright Lady! The Shining Woman! Don't let her find you! Hide hide hide!
‘Still, the children are the only lead I have left. I will find this Bright Woman, and I will take back what was stolen from me!’” The little reader cringes, but continues:
“‘I've already sold everything. I couldn't spend another moment in that house. I'm on the road to Dutos, I plan to buy the best gear, the best weapons I can. Then I will find Her, and I will kill Her…’ Hmm… much of this sounds familiar, no?” Umros asks, not really listening for an answer as he leafs to the last entry. He frowns and flips a few pages back, and then returns to the last written page.
“ ‘What is this place? What have I found? I've been down here for what feels like weeks, months, years? NO! No, it's only been days. Only days... I can't focus any more, not since I found them. Whatever they are. I wasn't ready, I don't think I'd ever be ready. Gods, I'm a TANNER, just a lost, broken Tanner, with nothing left but this sword, this bow, this hate that has fueled me for so long. I can't remember the last time I saw the sun. I've marked my progress as best I could, ran out of paper for the tunnel that led to them. Maybe it's for the best. Leena, Leena, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, baby. I've failed you, I, I can't find you. I can't face them. I can't face Her…’
“‘I will write this last in my own hand. If you should find this journal, know that I am a coward, and I fled from the horror that I am convinced stole my child. The darkness that fills the tunnels beyond, the tunnels that I collapsed behind me…’” The traveler’s eyes take a moment to look over the cave-in before continuing.
“‘...The tunnels that I collapsed behind me is beyond anything I knew existed. The people, the Woman, they are not people, She is not a Woman. I don't know why they took Leena from me and I fear I never will know. The mammoth chamber before me is filled with webs, I think I've heard things, monsters lurking in the darkness. I am scared, but anything is better than retracing my steps. As I write this, I am steeling myself against the path that lies before me, I hope I make it out, make it to warn others of the horror that steals children. But if I don't, I leave this last will and testament to whoever finds it. Take this, take my words and flee. Do not search further for that which hides down here in the untold dark. Get out while you can, and pass my warning to the world. A warning of the horror that is the Shining Lady…’”
Umros is silent for a moment, the echoes of his tenor voice still ringing into the large cavern, the Shining Lady… He flips idly through the empty pages afterward. Hundreds of years later, still causing agony and fear. This will not do. It will not do at all… His gaze wanders to the bones beyond the grate, and then to the stub of a candle left beside the bedroll. Little gnomish fingers wrap around and pocket the wax while he wears an absent-minded look.
At length, the journal-reader speaks, distracted by his own thoughts. “A grave warning. Each of you may do what you will, but I intend to see this through. Find the boy James. Seek out and understand this Shining Lady, and stop her, if I can.” A wave of exhaustion washes over the Desnan worshipper. The fatal fangs of the Golgoroth may have taken the color from Umros’ cheeks, but the sad tale robs him of his vigor. “I am so very tired. I need to rest.”
Sitting down onto the bedroll, the Whippoorwill feels for a flat surface on the ground to write against. When he finds it, the gnome digs into the magical canvas to produce his own ink, quill, and parchment. As he sharpens the feather tip with his dagger, the storyteller mulls over where to start.
Cath quietly listens to Umros’s reading, a frown slowly growing on the figher’s face as the story continues down its dark and familiar path. At the end, he takes a deep breath and makes a quick inspection of the cave-in. ”This rock can be moved, I think. Just gotta shift some of this over there and build up a support." Cath doesn't directly respond to Umros’s question about continuing the quest, but the implication is that the fighter is also seeing this through to the end.
The soft sound of steel against leather cuts through the room as the Gnome finishes his tale. From where she stood at the door way, Langblade slides her sword into its scabbard, freshly honed and oiled. A deep breath that she didn't know she'd been holding escapes in a quiet show of discomfort.
Without saying anything she walks over to the bedroll and sits down next to Umros. She lifts an armored arm and, though seemingly hesitates, gently lowers it over the Whippoorwills small frame in an attempt at comfort.
Sparks stays silent as Umros reads, though part way through, one of her hands finds its way to the old Gnome's shoulder in a gesture of solidarity. Her eyes flick to the collapsed tunnel when the writer mentions it...
...but her search is halfhearted at best.
Stepping stiffly back, the elf wraps her arms worriedly around herself as she weighs Umros' words against her own situation. Finally she closes her eyes tight and let's out a quiet sigh before speaking up.
"My mother is gravely injured and bedridden. My sister is hobbled and a shadow of herself. They are why I am here. But, though miserable, they are also safe," Sparks explains. "The people of Sharlstown, some of whom I have watched grow from children to adults, are not. And seem to have not been since well before I was born."
Pausing briefly once more, Sparks seems to make a decision and with a shaky voice says, "I... I will help end this if we agree to do it together."
…the etching of some unknown sea-creature…
Something spins at the back of Cath’s mind while Umros is reading, but it isn’t until after that the thought clicks into place. ”Wait… that thing about the knife having a sea creature engraved on it? Wasn’t there an octopus statue on the Leah's mantle?”
”And yeah, I’m in. Whatever’s going on with these kids is wrong.”