As Doderic moves past the weapons, he paused momentarily as if to take one. However, after looking over the rune decided against it. Something felt off about them and as he was moving away it comes to him what it might mean.
The weapons here seemed to be forged with but one intent. Spilling blood in the name of retribution...
With that, Doderic moves down the path, stopping to dismantle any trap he finds.
Cereidh hangs at the back of the group. "Surely our petty dwarf hasn't wandered off to do some forging now?" she asks in a carrying whisper. "There's - there's probably more than one."
Mara nods in agreement with Doderic. "Yup, that's the way I read it too, although it's not teh language I was brought up spleaking so it's hard to be sure." She grabs her mattock. "One or many, it doesn't matter. Let's catch up with them. Time for some bloodshed in the name of retribution."
She moves forward into the tunnel, relying on her eyesight and the light being brouthg up behind hier to keep an eye out.
Doderic quickly disables the wire trap in front of the door. His services are quickly called upon again as he and Mara take the lead down the low tunnel. After about fifty paces down the tunnel, the construction goes from being a simple excavation to having worked stone walls. In addition, the height of the passage jumps up another foot as if it were a place built by or for Men.
It is at this intersection that Mara waves a warning hand and points out a thin wire stretched across the passage. At first it looks like nothing more than a simple, in fact a rather crude, dart trap. But as she gives the area a closer look she discovers something more. She runs her hands along the wall both in front of, and behind, the wire. Occasionally she taps the wall softly with her mattock, ear pressed close. Taking her knife she digs it into a spot that looked like solid stone but is revealed to be just a soft mud plaster. A few inches down the narrow tube drilled into the stone is a heavy spear tip coated in a black waxy substance.
Having confirmed that the odd smooth patches in the stone spotted by her keen eyes are not natural she waves Doderic up to look for a another trigger. The hobbit although not an expert at such things, does discover the mechanism. When the dart trap is armed, it also arms the spear trap which runs along both sides of the wall for several feet both before and after the trip wire. It the wire is triggered it also trips the spears. If the wire is cut or the tension removed in any way, the spear trap is triggered. Working together, hobbit and dwarf manage to properly disarm both and the passage is safe.
A dozen paces beyond the trap there is another opening that looks into a small room. An ancient stone sarcophagus with no cover takes up the bulk of the room. The cover and what look to be the remains of the previous occupant are lying against the far wall. More herbs and roots dangle from wires strung across the old tomb. The sarcophagus itself is fill with a murky liquid that gives off a sweet smell as the occasional bubble blurps to the surface.
All the time the hammering continues. You proceed down the tunnel. The air grows warmer as you creep ahead another hundred feet to a T intersection. From the north, the sound of hammering and the soft red glow of fire and heat. To the south, nothing but more darkness.
Cereidh looks between her companions and nods towards the illuminated tunnel in question. Bregghar and an arrow held tautly in one hand.
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Thorgrim grits his teeth and his skin crawls as the trap before Doderic and Mara grows in complexity. Then it grows more and more and yet more until his mind boggles at the cunning and sheer malice that goes into creating such a thing for the doom of another.
"This must have taken days to construct," he says, all but itching with the effort of will to -not- go rushing through the cavern with STEEL in hand, shouting a warcry and caring not for what traps may come.
At the room with the sarcophagus, he frowns, again in consternation and confusion. "Any of you know naught of this? Why would one toss away remains simply to bubble an odd stew? Surely this must be another concoction of poison some somewhat."
At the intersection, he's rubbed his hands white in choking down red raw fury. "Confound, surely our foe must lay to the North! Canst we not turn our steps that way? Aye, 'tis what they expect us to do, but what is to be gained traipsing down a darkened hall?"
Ingold tries to understand what is going on with the roots, the corpse, and the sarcopha-cauldron.
Mara shakes her head in disgust as she looks at the scene. "Do not try to understand the madness of these fallen dwarves. You'll just go crazy yourself. Let's keep going."
At the passageway, she peers into the darkness to try and see if she can spot anything by the light of their torches. "I'd hate for something to creep up behind us wihile we were looking at the obvious trouble."
Backing up quickly, Ingold says, "If we want to cleanse this place with fire on the way out, spilling out this liquid and lighting it might just work. Until then, don't get too close to it."
He then follows the others down the hallway, keeping a keen eye out for threats in this foul place.
Doderic will glance around for any sign of recent passing either way.
If you want, I could scout the southern tunnel. I pride myself on being able to move silently and unobserved when I wish it.
Mara nods. "I can see what looks like two more rooms down there, like this one. Be carefule, Fuzzfoot. If you get into trouble, shout and I'll be there." She claps the hobbit on the shouldter.
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Doderic gives a quick stare to Mara before responding.
Thats fuzzfeet, actually.
Doderic examines the corridor carefully. There are tracks going in all directions with the majority leading to the north and the noise of the forge. But the hobbit is pretty certain the most recent tracks turned south.
I think our friend turned south... and it may be that they wish us to follow the sound. Leading us away from them.
Cereidh nods in agreement. Not that she'll be in the vanguard!
Doderic proceeds warily down the darker tunnel. As he comes up to the shadowy openings of the two doors he recognizes them as two more ancient tombs. One is filled with a variety of pottery and items made from copper, iron, tin, and a few more precious metals or materials. It is an amazing range of...stuff. Spoons, tarnished copper lockets, tin buckets, iron horseshoes, a silver urn, a half dozen ivory combs with several teeth missing, a decorative but dull and useless copper knife, more clay urns.
The room across on the other side of the hall is stacked floor to ceiling with sacks of flour, grains, and even a few bags of rice. A set of shelves on one wall hold several dozen jars of what look to be pickled eggs. More jars hold something that has the look and consistency of apple sauce, but is a bit darker in color.
After examining the rooms, the hall proceeds south for another twenty feet before bending west.
Doderic moves as quiet and swift as shadows to the edge of the bend, listening for any sound before making the turn and continuing down it the hall.
Staying quiet and following while shedding light with his torch towards the back of the group, Ingold looked curiously in the rooms as they passed, seeing if any of the clues jogged his memory. Were the Petty Dwarves known for industry, or is it possible a true dwarf was a prisoner at the forge, forced to do their bidding?
Passive Perception 17 for the rooms and keeping lookout for anyone trying to sneak up on their six.
Doderic proceeds around the bend. The tunnel travels another thirty paces and then encounters a four way intersection. Tunnels branch in three other directions and back the way recently explored. Again it is to the north where a bit of fiery light, heat, and pounding all come from. The other passages are all dark.
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"This room is the oddest of all," Thorgrim muses inspecting all the stuff. "A treasure hoard and various worked goods? Yes, fine, all well and good. This far from civilization any item of worked metal could be a sane trade good. And that they have a forge speaks to them perhaps needing stock to melt down for their own purpose.
But these sacks of foodstuffs? Enough to withstand a respectable siege? To what purpose is all this? We've seen naught but one crazy dwarf, and it would take an entire village to go through this before it even goes bad.
Indeed, so disturbed am I that I do not even council stopping to secure this area or riches. We can see to the policing of the goods once we've seen an end to the mystery that only unfolds more before us.
Are we to the north now?"
Being not one of elder heritage or cunning in trapcraft, Thorgrim is fine to tromp along, holding to the expertise of the treasure hunter to see them through.
Cereidh follows Thorgrim's lead in following others' lead.
Mara nods in agreement with Thororgrim. "Yes, we need to stay focusesd." She keeps moving with the others, keeping an eye out for more trouble.
Doderic creeps down the tunnel and around the corner, followed closely by the others. Another series of darkened doorways mark the left hand side of another fifty or so foot stretch of tunnel. Ancient frescoes line the right side of the passage. Most of the images have worn away or been ruined by the tomb's more recent inhabitants. Still enough can be garnered that this particular complex was the last resting place of some kind of military regiment.
Not as interested in the ancient pictures of Menfolk, Mara keeps her eyes peeled ahead and looking for any signs of more traps. It is fortunate that she does, for her keen dwarven eyes spot the subtle and expertly hidden plate just before Doderic reaches it. Her burly arm stretches out and yanks the hobbit back just in time. A short finger pointing out the plate and the other two just beyond.
Whispering as they move ahead, Ingold murmurs, "This was a tomb for the honored dead of the Maithoth, The Gold Helms of Cardolan, fallen these many years ago to the forces of Witch King."
Cereidh's face slackens in impressed surprise for a moment, before her eyebrows snap together and her face becomes mask-lack and, yes, fey in her anger. "Dishonored by these petty two-legged worms, now. Age and memory is such a hard thing for the mortal races to keep hold of ... We must route them from this tomb, see some measure of that honor restored."
Impressed by Cereidh's passion but cautious in continuing a conversation while stalking an enemy, Ingold merely says, "Agreed."
Doderic gives a nod to Mara
Thanks for that. Doderic sees if he can disable the trap.
Doderic begins working on the set of plates spotted by Mara. This time the basic structure of the mechanism isn't quite as clear to the hobbit as he probes the various springs and wires associated with the disguised floor stones. He snips a wire. This is immediately followed by an audible *click*...*clickclickclickclick*...*plonk* *plonk* *plonk* *plonk*
Sweat breaks out across the hobbit's forehead as the sounds heard are, even to those completely unfamiliar to tomb delving, clearly not the sounds of something being successfully disarmed. Knowing there are mere seconds to spare, Doderic's syes flick back and forth across the remaining springs and trigger wires as the hobbit tries to solve the entangled puzzle. With the sand in his internal hourglass running out he finally makes a choice and snips again.
Silence ensues until the a large set of jingling bells ring a warning or signal loud enough to be heard up and down the connecting tunnels. At the same time several glass balls drop from hidden compartments in the ceiling to smash against the hard stone floor. The corridor is immediately filled with a toxic gas that with every breath causes limbs to stiffen and go rigid.
Cereidh almost - almost - manages to clamber away with her natural grace, or to keep her limbs supple - surely it would be insult to injury to be snared by any of these petty dwarves? Unfortunately, they and their concoctions are clever in their own way, and she jerks and spasms as she freezes in place, overcome by the toxin.
Holding her breath and with the aid of the cloth, Cereidh is able to shake off the worst of the toxin gas. She quickly makes eye contact with her compatriots to silently ask if she should flee forward or back.
Doderic grins a little sheepishly as he rubs the back of his head.
Heh... sorry about that. These are... rather complex.
Ingold's makeshift masks save the day once again as both Cereidh and Doderic manage to get the treated cloth back over their faces before the poisonous gas can truly enter and debilitate their systems. Although they both spend several seconds coughing and working a sudden stiffness out of their limbs, neither suffers the most horrible effects of the toxin.
"Heeheheheheehee..." That same gnarled voice echoes from somewhere further up the tunnel while the pounding of hammer on steel can still be heard from the other direction. "Nilmholm filled with delightful gloom, will sweep your souls to eternal doom. Hehehheehee." The petty dwarfs words grate on your ears and are followed by the sound of boots on stone. "Catch me if you can oh warriors of Light. But be careful or you will disturb the Golden Knight."
"I don't need to catch you," Cereidh hisses in anger. "All I need is for my arrow to catch you."
Mara is grateful for her dwarvish strenght to resist the poison. She moves fowrad, in search of their opponent. It does at least look like they went the right way.
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As the glass spheres fall down Thorgrim involuntarily breathes in. He can't help it. Every time he's called upon his body to devote its maximum effort he knows he'll need to breath. So it's not even a question when his lungs fill with the putrid air.
The odd thing is, he knows what this is. He knows -exactly- what this is.
Every morning before he threw his lunchbag over his shoulder his mother would scold him and call him to her. He was eager to get going, to run along with the other chums, such as would be had that day of who was not ill and who did not have a large cut on their leg from standing too close to their father while he cut willow boards for a shield with a wolf holding three roses in its mouth. And she would call for him to hold his nose and drink to his health. And he'd protest that he was late to be by the side of Gurleen Leigh the Ghostwalker to hear his stories of the time when he singlehandedly stalked a trio of orcs or at least three creatures with hoof prints that had gotten into old Anees Ratliff's corn again and caused Vivek Romero to drive his wagon into town for more seed grain for fear of starving to death over the winter only to find that he could not kill the three animals for they all loved each other in a more perfect union than would be known by any man alive and so he left them go knowing that in their memory he would be immortal.
But to no avail, he stood and he gulped and every day he would grow and she would increase the dosage and he felt funny but only for a short time and she said how this would make him big and strong and as he got bigger and stronger he could no longer argue with her and when she passed he only then realized he had never asked her what was in those daily potions.
At last he had his answer. Or some answer. For this brought to mind a thousand memories of standing at the hearth as a small boy ready to take on the day but first he must stand a moment and allow the temporary fluttering tummy to pass and he thinks of home and he is happy.
"What is next? My mother's swamp eel pie?" he calls out to the taunting voice, apropos of nothing.
Thorgrim's words echo through the darkened tunnels as you all move away from the cloud of gas. You continue to delve a bit deeper passing more long forgotten tombs, many still containing the desiccated remains of the fallen but with none of the usual trinkets, gifts, arms, armor, or other usual items than accompany the dead. After a bit further, it becomes obvious that the tunnels loop and circle back upon themselves until finally all remaining passages point toward the red glow where the sound of hammer still continues. The constant banging and tapping uniterrupted despite the noise caused by your efforts to track down the slippery Nilm.
With little else to do except venture toward the forge, Doderic is the first to slip down the hall and peek into the hot, steamy chamber.
The dwarves are not the twisted, corrupt frame of Nilm or his kind, but actual dwarves. Intent as they are upon their work, they do not notice you at all. It is only as you observe them for a few more moments that you realize they are nearly blind and almost certainly quite deaf. Their scraggly beards are snow white and uneven, most likely from having caught fire at various points in time. Their arms are strong, but shoulders are stooped and faces devoid of hope of happiness. Each seems to have a specific task. One drops metals into the smelter and replenishes the furnace fuel or quenching waters. The second works the bellows and helps pour the melted metal into molds. The third works the forge crafting the repurposed metals into swords, axes, arrowheads, spear points and knives. A dozen such creations lay on a table on the far side of the room from where you watch.
Doderic's eyebrows furrow at the scene. Three times he goes to walk to the dwarves, and three times he stops himself to crouch back down. He scans the room once more, he turns to wave the others forward before stepping out into the room.
Ah.. um excuse me. He gestures with one hand to garner their attention while continuously scanning the room.
Are... are you three alright? ah, no I mean.. are you. Well... hmmm. As he notices they clearly can't hear him, and if he gets their attention, he tries to greet them in a proper dwarven manner, as best he can remember.
Afterwards, his nose gives a twitch before he looks around for something, anything he could write on.
Cereidh twitches in subdued alarm as Doderic begins speaking.
Ingold waits for their scout to return, but instead and surprisingly, hears him start talking instead. Not wanting to give them away, but curious, he moves forward a bit in an attempt to see to whom Doderic is speaking.