Gil puts a finger to his lips and listens intently. He points at the open doorway to the east and whispers, "A voice!"
"Can you tell how many?" the elf asks plainly. "And what they're saying? They must've heard the sounds of our combat."
Looking around and taking stock of the party and their collective injuries, he nods affirmatively.
"Perhaps Janosz and I should take a look ahead?" Runzyl looks to the Shadow Marcher with an expectant glance.
Listening intently, Gil finally shrugs and shakes his head, "I only hear one. Too far away to make out the words, but I don't sense any kind of alarm - perhaps the skeletons fighting with visitors like us isn't all that uncommon."
"Heal first, then fight," Gelb addresses the elf.
"Yeah. A few bandages wouldn't go amiss."
Healing Janosz first. Wand of clw.
More for Janosz, then Starting on Gelb.
Gelb
More for Gelb
Gelb's down 1.
Janosz is at max.
healing runzy
healing runzy more
The Valenar raises an eyebrow at Rodergo's dogged efforts to heal everyone.
"I appreciate the concern, cleric, but you need not invoke the Silver Flame every time I break a nail or stub my toe," he smirks, nodding again in appreciation nonetheless.
"That little hangnail might be the difference between all of our survival friend...."
"A thorn in the paw makes for a mean lion."
"Well,....do you want me to hit him with my Morningstar then?"
How much is Nev down?
for Ez
Yeah.
Ready to continue.
"Gelb. Runzyl. Let's go find the speaker. Quietly."
"The rest of you, wait here. Come running once the screaming starts." Janosz quietly pushes the eastern door open and pads down the corridor, bow at the ready.
The scouts set off.
The corridor ahead is lined with shelves. On these sit specimen jars in which things float in dark fluid, obscure shapes in the dim light. Doors lead off either side. Peering in, desks sit in rows facing blackboards on which crabbed writing crawls, and books lie abandoned. Everything is covered with dust and looks neglected, although a few tracks from recent intruders seem to traipse through the main corridor.
The voice continues to drone on ahead in a drab monotone. The words are hard to make out due to the acoustics. But nearer to had, from one of the side rooms up ahead, can be heard the scraping on quill on parchment.
As the scouts head off, Gil changes shape to that of a short, heavyset human, pale skin and scars visible in the cowl of the floor-length black robe that his magical attire changes to. With a noticeable limp but oddly quiet, he slowly follows the scouts, working to remain about halfway between the groups.
"Who made you my boss," Gelb mutters before following the scouts.
"Someone's gotta take charge. As the best looking one, it might as well be me."
"What's the talking? Chanting - or dictation, maybe?"
While the others scout ahead Ezreal (having taken a copy of both religious texts) thumbs through a copy of The Seven Stations looking for a section on Inevitability for anything that might prove useful as they forge ahead.
Ezreal quickly skims the section in The Seven Stations on inevitability. The main philosophical theme is the folly of struggle against ultimate extinction.
Gelb motions at the door where the scratching pen sounds emanate.
The Valenar nods at Gelb and moves up to the door on the side opposite the hinges. He tightens his grip on Falla Caesenri, its wan light faintly illuminating the group.
Raising an eyebrow, he lifts up his foot, points to it, then points to the door with a questioning shrug at the others.
Gelb shakes his head at the elf's suggestion. He moves to one of the shelves and points at one of the specimen jars. He silently reveals his intention to tip one of the jars to fall and shatter on the floor.