Haftor knows of no particular significance to the color of the candles.
Haftor seems pensive for a moment, then comments, "If we seek gear to fight the giants, then we should take everything of value, right? I already wear armor more suitable than this, though, and so I lay no claim to it. I hesitate to strip this hero of his armor to sell it for coin, so I propose: If no one wishes to claim it for their own use, we reseal the lid and allow Steelhand to return to his rest."
Haftor finds no other entrances.
Haftor seems pensive for a moment, then comments, "If we seek gear to fight the giants, then we should take everything of value, right? I already wear armor more suitable than this, though, and so I lay no claim to it. I hesitate to strip this hero of his armor to sell it for coin, so I propose: If no one wishes to claim it for their own use, we reseal the lid and allow Steelhand to return to his rest."
"I agree. To use the weapons of Steelhand to fight the giants is acceptable to me; to loot and sell them to collectors is not."
Jarrek nods in agreement but also at Haftor's carpet. "It looks like there's stuff in your carpet, too, Haftor. Want to take a look?"
Haftor unrolls the thing and takes a look.
Haftor approaches the rolled-up carpet, which has (based on the amount of mildew on the exterior) clearly been exposed to water at some point.
To Roshelle, the dwarf, laying in the sarcophagus looks peaceful and at rest. Yet she knows that in his living days he was likely a vibrant and fierce warrior. She imagines him stalking across a battlefield, sweat soaked hair and beard glistening in the sunlight. The blood smears on his armor testifying to the terrible violence he'd been participating in. And yet, his visage full of righteousness. A true hero defending the weak and pushing back evil.
She turns her focus back to the entombed dwarf and his armor. It's strange and she's note sure she's seen something like that before. What material was it made of. She starts to reach her hand out to touch it but at the last moment she realizes what it is. She pales and yanks her hand back.
"Oh. That's... well, kind of gross."
Maybe tough guys, like all the dwarves around here were, would just chuckle at her squeamishness but she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to don armor like that without her stomach turning.
Jarrek grimaces. "That's disgusting. Those scales are hill giants' fingernails. Respect for killing that many of those things but still."
Roshelle looks at him and nods. She mouths "I know! Right?"
She steps away from the sarcophagus. The others suggest not using the armor and she couldn't agree more. Maybe for different reasons.
Haftor unrolls something that was wrapped in the rug they found and Roshelle walks over to him.
"What is it?"
When you examine the body, it's immediately apparent that the metal hand that was the source of one of his names is missing...his right arm ends at the wrist. As noted above, his skull is shattered.
Haftor notes that Steelhand's steel hand is missing, and he adds it to the list of offenses perpetrated by the undead monstrosity that he intends to destroy.
Jarrek looks over as they unroll the carpet, not seeing anything dangerous.
Roshelle watches them unroll the carpet half expecting something to be wrapped up in it. But there's nothing. She shrugs at Haftor then moves back to the sarcophagus.
"Do you think all those bite marks on the bones are a wild animal? And who cut his beard so badly. That's not a normal part of the Dwarven burial ritual, is it?"
She doesn't ask anyone in particular but she expects that Haftor would know.
Haftor unrolls the carpet to reveal a few items, but his attention is immediately drawn by the patch of yellow mold that spews a cloud of spores into the air!
A musty, dusty, yellow cloud of spores puffs out of the ancient carpet as Haftor unrolls it. The powdery cloud tickles Roshelle's nose and she sneezes violently a couple times.
"Oh! That smells awful." She waves her hand in front of her face and squints her eyes.
Rolled up in the rug is a bronze abacus with hematite beads, a large drinking horn engraved with entwining oak leaves and silver inlays, an ivory measuring rod with carved Dwarven numbers, an obsidian statuette of a female fire giant, a wooden box containing a set of eight bronze measuring weights (from 1/4 ounce up to 5 ounces) carved to resemble squatting goblins, and a sack holding 400 cp.
Jarrek grimaces as the mold spores explode into the air. "Ugh, are you two alright?" The big man goes over to help, or at least gather up the items that had been rolled into the rug.
Blinking her eyes rapidly and blinking, Roshelle responds to Jarrek.
"Yep, I'm fine. I don't know about Haftor though." She tilts her head to the side and peers at the dwarf trying to figure out if he's going to have a reaction to the mold spores.
"But look at all this stuff. A bit of a haul, right? I wonder if any of it is magical."
She waves her hand in over the items to detect magic on them.
None of the items that were rolled up in the carpet are magical.
The carpet has no significant value; it had probably been up in the prayer room to ease the knees of any non-dwarves who came to the tomb.
Haftor clears his throat a few times, seeming to have avoided any ill effects from the mold.
Jarrek nods at Roshelle. "Let's load it all up and we can sell it later. Glad you're both alright," he says to the pair who had been hit by the mold.
"So, it seems we've found what there is to find, and the only way out looks to be the way we came in. Are we breaking the door down then? If Jarrek's crowbar doesn't work, I can try my Crafter's Wrath."
"As I said before - to use the weapons of Steelhand to fight the giants is acceptable to me; to loot and sell them to collectors is not. We are not grave robbers.
As to the other grave goods, I see no reason to take them, and no right of claim. They were interred with Steelhand as a sign of respect."
Jarrek nods at Haftor. "Let's get that door opened and take care of that guy, then." He starts back toward the stairs.
"what say you, Haftor? Does Torag approve of taking and selling all of the grave goods that were interred with this Dwarven hero?
I accept the necessity of us personally using his weapons against giants. I would hope that Steelhand would recognize the honor in that.
But stealing everything else to peddle? As if we are scavengers picking over the scraps of his life?
If he were merely a banker or merchant I would not care at all and I would say take what you like. But he was a great warrior and that makes it different to me. To use his weapons and gear may be honorable for the right cause; to peddle it is not. Because as long as his belongings are in our care, we can be certain they are put to honorable use and we can plan to return them after this war. Once they leave our hands, we have no such assurances.
Let us figure out what the value of these goods might be. I will personally pay you out of my future shares from legitimate spoils of war. Otherwise, I should feel compelled to buy these goods back once you sell them, then make a trip here to return them to their resting place. That would be unnecessarily burdensome. Your wealth is no different if I compensate you."
Kronug will try to help Jarrek.
He can't get good leverage on the crowbar in the cramped conditions.
Rochelle is looking over the artifacts that they found wrapped up in the carpet when she hears Kronug's voice rising. He seems worked up about something.
She puts the ancient equipment down and steps over to him. She places her hand on his forearm as he's speaking.
"... use his weapons and gear may be honorable for the right cause; to peddle it is not. Because as long as his belongings are in our care, we can be certain they are put to honorable use and we can plan to return them after this war. Once they leave our hands, we have no such assurances.
Let us figure out what the value of these goods might be. I will personally pay you out of my future shares from legitimate spoils of war. Otherwise, I should feel compelled to buy these goods back once you sell them, then make a trip here to return them to their resting place. That would be unnecessarily burdensome. Your wealth is no different if I compensate you."
When he finishes, she pats his arm.
"You are right, Kronug. Arbitrarily taking things, especially from a hero's tomb, are the actions of rogues and renegades. We are above that sort of behavior."
"But one thing that's curious to me is the question of where these came from. They don't seem to be as fancy as the other stuff interred with Steelhand. Maybe these other items were brought here later by other visitors to the tomb. Or maybe they were intended to be here with that villian they put in here."
She's not sure that she's getting through to the stalwart fighter. Letting go of his arm, she walks over to the door.
"There will be time to debate these things after we get the door open. Is there anything I can do to help?"
It appears to Roshelle that the task is going to require brute strength and strength is not her strong point but she's willing to lend a hand if needed.
"My suspicion, Roshelle, is that these objects were interred for sentimental value.
Who would have collected 400 copper coins in a sack to bury alongside far more valuable goods such as magical armor? Maybe a collection taken up by the children of a village that he saved.
I offer to compensate any who support taking and selling the grave goods with what would have been their share of the proceeds. Probably I'll owe Jarrek a hundred gold or so. Fine by me."
"As to this door, I think we need Haftor to call upon the blessings of Torag."
Haftor grunts, "Well, let's be about it then." He then attempts to smash the door to bits.
We were given permission by his descendants to use his possessions.
HereI have no problem with taking anything we wish to use.
I would not interpret that as permission to sell whatever we cannot use, and I never thought that to be our plan, but if you want to go back and clarify with his descendants I guess you could ask.
None of you can get a good purchase on the door with the crowbar, so instead Haftor calls on Torag's aid and, after six or seven hits, smashes the door apart.
Haftor batters down the door, revealing that Lokmorr heard the noise and was waiting for the party. He's holding a viciously barbed spear and practically panting in anticipation. Horrible scars cover his arms and what you can see of his legs.
Round 1:
Initiative order
Roshelle
Seamus
Lokmorr
Kronug
Haftor
Jarrek
The gnome gulps down an alchemical elixir and disappears from sight.