The adventurers leave the teeming mass of rot grubs behind, moving along the corridor. They haven't gone very far when they hear it - female voices singing with unearthly beauty and ineffable sadness.
The adventurers leave the teeming mass of rot grubs behind, moving along the corridor. They haven't moved very far when they hear it - female voices singing with unearthly beauty and ineffable sadness.
"Ezreal - what aspect of the Keeper would such singing correspond to?"
The voices are clearly making Janosz very nervous. "It is the choir of the damned. They will try to draw us to them and make us join them in their unending song. Though their voices are beautiful, they are just as dangerous as those foul maggots. Touch nothing, and stay alert."
"Might as well get this over with. Don't believe the ghosts' lies." Janosz swallows deeply and slowly moves forwards.
The corridor opens out into another large chamber. This appears like a traditional temple. Rows of pews - empty - sit on either side of a central nave. Beyond those are choir stalls and, at the far end, an altar. The walls are covered with swirling patterns in grey and blood-red which are picked up and continued by the mosaic floor. A large cloth or tapestry hangs behind the altar bearing the motif of a large, jagged dagger.
Two figures stand by the altar. One is a tall, slender elf, dressed in a black robe. The other appears to be human female, but it is hard to tell as it is swathed head-to-toe in hooded vestments that cover face and hands. A third figure, a dwarf, lies supine on the altar.
The singing echoes weirdly in the hall, but right now it appears to have no source.
Whispering, "Do you suppose that's another of the dwarf's companions? Does he appear to still be alive?"
"Perhaps we should have stopped up our ears," Gelb whispers as he looks at his surroundings.
More to himself than anything Ezreal mutters, "More cultists or undead? Or both?"
Anyone looking at Kazadar would see the recognition on his face, followed by anger as he grits his teeth and grips his weapon.
Ezreal glides into the room eyes narrowed and calls out, "You do not appear to be dead and I highly doubt you have delved so deep to join Gath's choir. Explain yourselves before I melt the flesh from your bones."
The elf smirks but it is the heavily-swaddled woman who answers. "You are in the holy fane of the Keeper. It is you who should explain yourselves and prepare for judgement."
The elf calls out, "Kazadar - you have been freed from the Trap Maker's fond embrace! It is always nice to have a reunion!"
"Istrinis... I knew you were a rotten c&!~ when I met you, but mine was not to judge. Now you'll meet my hammer." Kazadar says, stepping forward into a charge.
"Cultists. As I suspected." Ezreal begins casting, though Kazadar's interjection gives him pause to wonder if some sort of charm is at play.
long story short, the answer is technically no, I am not charging until initiative breaks out. I just wanted to make it clear that he was poised to attack and would do so unless something changed the scene.
and actually he would probably think it wisest to buff before charging.
"The wizard, what can he do?", Janosz mutters to the dwarf while he scans the room.
"Necromancy, general wizardry." Kazadar whispers back to Janosz.
Gil maneuvers around so the elf cannot see her without turning his head, 'innocently' circling the tableau.
Janosz' eyes rove around the chamber looking for the singers. Finding nothing, his attention settles on the heavily swaddled woman. "Is that you, Meeralk? I should have known you'd eventually end up in a place like this?"
"Meeralk? I do not know such a person. I care only for the Lord of Death." The woman's voice is wheezy and she coughs wetly.
"The lord of death makes a lot of sense for you, I guess. That cough sounds pretty bad. Lemme guess, you're a leper, aren't you? That would explain the ol' mummy getup. You didn't let her touch you, didya, elf-boy?" Janosz keeps his tone conversational as he wanders into the grand temple, but his face is positively radiant with malicious glee. "You'll regret that when your block and tackle starts to rot and fall off. Was it really dark and you couldn't see what you were doing? Or was she all like, 'oh, don't worry, I'm a healer'? It ain't too late, though - we have access to real healers."
The elf looks at Janosz with mild disapproval. "If we are going to bandy low-brow insults, perhaps we should move this along." He begins casting a spell.
"At least I have brows, weirdo."