Ser Armithia relays his knowledge.
Quietly, Kardas talked to his companions, hoping the ghostly figure couldn't hear him. It having no physical ears, could it really? "The man's conviction in protecting Phlan must have been strong, for his spirit resonates his sense of duty even in death. Perhaps he is tied to the enchantment lingering over this place? Must we give him that word,Lux, to ensure we do not get swarmed by even more skeletal defenders?"
Kardas felt safe with Zane and Ishta being around. Surely the priest and the sagely arcanatrix knew what to do. In a sense, Kardas knew what to do and so he did. "Good sir," he addressed the spectral remnant of the once mortal man, "we are here to protect Phlan and you must hear me speak the following word: Lux. Let us pass!"
Zane eyes the spectral guardian with a mixture of pity and loathing. As a follower of the Morninglord, he was a staunch enemy of all undead, but he understood that most of the abominations weren't in that state by choice. He admired the guardian's commitment to protecting this place, even as he prepared for the possibility of having to destroy it.
Nodding in agreement as Azarra and Kardas each try their version of attempting to appease the guardian, the priest takes a look around the area in an attempt to see what else might be lurking.
Stoic, or dour depending on how you view him, Mal says nothing. This is not what he knows best but the elf knows enough not speak out of turn when he knows he does not know. He trusts in his companions to talk or fight as is necessary and he shall follow their lead.
Just as stoically as Malstei, the spirit stands there it's weapon leveled in challenge, ignoring everything. Everything that is until the word Lux is spoken. It then lowers it's weapon and bows, beckoning you in.
Despite it being a warm day outside, the temperature plummets within the keep and your breath starts to smoke. Strange spectral candles appear in sconces on the walls and it's as if the whole building is remembering it's past, for overlaid over the destruction you see a spectral vision of how things must have been all those years ago. Rich wall drapings flutter to some unseen breeze, and a platoon of spectral warriors march past ignoring you. You see an arming table floating transparently to your right, arrayed upon which is a large selection of weaponry. Next to is a weapons rack superimposed over it's splintered and burnt remains.
Skeletal warriors in spectral plate stand guard at each of the doors. Malstei feels the chill radiating from the one in front of him, yet the undead warrior ignores him despite being close enough to touch!
OK what now?
Zane walks behind Ser Armithia into the Keep, glad for Kardas' presence of mind to utter the pass code 'Lux' to the undead guardian. Seeing his breath turn to vapor as the temperature dropped, the cleric was very glad for the padded armor underneath the breastplate he wore.
His vivid green eyes swept over the current state of disrepair and the vision of prior years superimposed upon the place. It was strange, seeing how things could look so different and yet so similar. Here there was a weapons rack knocked over, a leg broken. There, it was fully formed, holding a selection of polearms for the Keep's defenders.
The priest eyes the spectral guardians warily, holy symbol cold in his hand. Zane thinks of trying another of the passcodes, but instead readies himself to call upon his deity, leaving the task to another. He wondered where this horn might be located...logic would assume it would be heavily guarded near the top of a tower, but that wouldn't necessarily be the case. They would have to be vigilant.
Azarra sees something in the pile of rotten wood and taps Zane on the shoulder. Um, do you see something there? I think it's a pommel. Can you help me get it out?
After having it pointed out to him, Zane does indeed see the pommel in the rubble. He really needed to get his head out of the clouds. He grins at the half-elf, nodding. "Sure thing." He had heard legends of great men who had pulled swords from various items. Pulling a sword out of a rubbish pile on a deserted island probably didn't fall in that category, but beggars couldn't be choosers.
The priest walks the short distance to the discarded weapon (or piece of it, at any rate) with the woman, digging some of the rotten wood from around it so that she may pull the weapon out. It seemed fair to Zane, since she had had the presence of mind to see it.
Azarra, with help from Zane, clears the area around the pommel, and she reaches down to pull it out.
"Uh, did you hear that? Seems like someone else's coming to the isle..."
Ishta tries to discern if the thing Azarra and Zane found is magic, casting again her useful spell.
Ser Armithia nods to Kardas.
The elf then moves forward, still concentrating on his detect evil.
Unaware of all the things he ought to see and hear, Kardas instead relies on the information given to him by Azarra and Ishta. Seeing both Azarra and Zane make for an apparent treasure, he sticks to Ishta's side knowing that she'd need the protection if they were to be suddenly beset by the living dead.
"What do you mean, like by boat?" the man asked, feeling how an undesired nervousity was starting to creep up on him. Something wasn't right. Something wasn't right at all. Leather groaned as he tightened his grip on his warhammer, arcane sparks flying off his fingertips as he opened up his mind to channel forth his magical abilities.
As the spirit does not attack, Mal begins to expand his awareness as he does in the forest. Calming his heart to expand his awareness with all senses.
As Azarra and Zane handle the shine, Mal heads to an available space to look out the window at who may have come after them.
A silent alarm seems to go off, and the specters suddenly rush to what must have been battle stations.
The Raumviran's eyes grow large as his ears register terrible news. "Undead coming from the north, to arms!"
The cleric's green eyes shift to Kardas, nodding his confirmation that he heard the Ramethi man's words before he redoubles his efforts to pull the weapon from the pile with Azarra. This was turning into a nice cluster, it seemed. Seeing the elf peer out the window, Zane hoped the concerned look on the dour man's face wasn't indicative of more trouble.
After helping the half-elven woman retrieve the sword (or giving up if it seems like it would take much longer), Zane accompanies her back to their companions, knowing it was likely best to stick together in this den of the undead. The priest gripped his holy symbol tightly, looking to Kardas. "Stay or retreat, friend? How many did you hear?"
Before you have time to react a platoon of skeletal warriors march into the keep from the north! You tense for battle but to your surprise they ignore you and file through the middle doorway to the west!
Mal turns back to his allies, "We've got the living to worry about now. Hobgoblins and Orcs coming in from the west. Too many for us to stand our ground and fight against. Let's hope the dead that have not attacked us fight them".
Mal raises his bow and fires at one of the Orcs, the leader then rushes into the Keep, "Come, let us head in deeper and strike these new foes whence the combat the dead... but not North".
Perception
Ishta is alarmed by Mal¡s words. "An assault? Oh, Good Heavens..."
She quickly takes a position from where she can be defended by her companions, and while doing that she realises. "Wait... the orcs are also intruders. Actually, they are the intruders, since they don't know the passwords. The skeletons must be preparing to battle them, and we could lend a hand... don't you think?"
She pauses for a second before adding "We should learn what are the other passwords for..."
The sword turns out to be a gleaming great sword that somehow has survived decades of exposure to the elements. It's still sharp but is surprisingly light.
Ishta was right. How could he have been so foolish? Was he craving battle so that it blinded his ability to think and reason? "I think you are right, Ishta. Either we rush for the horn or aid the living dead in pushing the back the green menace. We must decide quick. I say we go deeper into the keep as we still got one intact password. Sadly, the third one isn't, but either the orcs are so weakened by then that we can take them on or we can overcome the challenge and claim the horn as our prize."
<--earlier DC 14 Perception check
<--current DC 15 Perception check
Whoa, this greatsword is made of mithril! Azarra says, right before she sees the Orcs (which she hadn't been aware of earlier because she was too focused on the sword.
One of the Orc groups is circling around. I think we should attack before we get surrounded.
She then starts singing to inspire everyone again.
Ser Armithia points forward.
Our mission is the horn and cleansing the evil of this keep. We should allow the orcs to be distracted by its natural defenses while we search.
Ishta seems a bit undecided when she speaks, as if thinking aloud to try to put her ideas in order.
"Well... wse could try to rush for the horn or whatever we find here... What if the orcs come prepared to face the undead? Maybe it's a good idea to present a unified front. Maybe they don't expect us? Yes, I think it's better to fight them back now and have our way clear later. Sometimes a straight line is not the fastest way to a goal."
Malstei shrugs, "Natural or unnatural Ser Armithia? Regardless I agree, we should acquire the horn now and defeat these invaders once the dead have culled their numbers. They outnumber us, badly, at the moment".
The priest's eyes bulge as the value of such a find as a sword made of mithril became apparent. It could do much good to aid in the rebirth of Phlan. He grins excitedly at Azarra before he sees her expression fall flat, turning to see the small horde of orcs.
Zane thinks about the situation for several ticks of the clock, wondering what the orcs could be playing at. Letting the undead and monsters destroy each other sounded like a good plan, but there was more to it than that.
"They're a distraction to allow the other group to obtain the horn whilst the undead guardians are occupied, I think. Much as I would like to help the undead press these invaders, I believe we should head the other group off." The young priest found it hard to voice his agreement with the plan, but he believes it to be the right one. Uncomfortably he noticed that it had been a male/female split vote, and resolves to set that right should another instance arise.
Azarra abruptly stops singing. She wraps the sword and ties it to her pack, and follows the group to continue exploring inside the keep, with whatever time they would be allowed.
"Mmmhhh..." Ishta considers the possibilities but, after all, she can't force anyone to do what they don't believe in. "Alright, then, let's go for it as you all say."
When adressing the matter of where to go, Ishta gives her opinion.
"Well, if we're actually rushing, I'd say let's go for the place furthest from the entrance. That would make the most sense to me."
Thinking they were on a time table at this point, and with no clear indication of where to go, Zane shrugs as Ishta makes her suggestion. "As good a route as any, I suppose. Let us be off!"
The Cleric keeps a wary eye out for both the undead and the monstrous visitors now, blood racing as conflict seemed imminent. In the back of his mind, the Dawnbringer wondered whether it was coincidence that brought the creatures to this place at exactly this time. Perhaps they could capture one of the beasts and ask.
Azarra says a quick and silent prayer to Lliira to guide their path, since guessing wrong with enemies on their way could be deadly. She trusts that things will work out at they should.
Ser Armithia nods in agreement to Ishta.
"Alright, let's do this. Armithia and Zane, would you lead the way?"
You pass several spectral guards who pay you no heed, although curiously you notice they move if you get really close. Its as if the warmth of life is now inimical to them, the powerful waves of cold coming off them are equally unpleasant to you. The floor starts to fill with a low mist, adding a particularly spooky quality to everything.
You try the north eastern door, it's unlocked and mostly intact. It leads to what must have originally been a dormitory or barracks. The room is chocked with bitter smelling and tasting dust and filled filled with broken and splintered wood, the remains of the bunks and chests of the original defenders. It seems that everything has been pretty well looted already. The only other interesting feature of the room is a great arrow slit, which gives a commanding view of the river towards Phlan.
Mal hears the Orcs but as he does not know their language he pays it no mind. His keen elven eyes though do detect a secret door!
"Here, this is the way we should go. This place has been thoroughly looted perhaps the secret passage has not. Can anyone check to make sure we walk into no traps?"
"It seems the skeletons have passed through here..."
When hearing about the secret door, Ishta's exitement shows clear to everyone. "A secret door! Wow! Let me just check..."
A careful inspection by magelight reveals a pattern of cunningly wrought holes within the door, each of which has a stone lid. Gingerly you manage to left one up using some tweezers to reveal an incredibly sharp spike.
Azarra hugs the wall, hoping that no one sets off the trap.
Ser Armithia scans the secret door while still concentrating on his detect evil.
Battle seems to have been joined. I suggest we not tarry.
The knight prepares to enter the secret door...
And no sooner had Ser Armithia spoke, when a great ululating cry goes up from somewhere outside. You hear a bestial roar from dozens of vices followed by the pounding of feet and then scant heartbeats later, terrible screams.
Looking around at his companions and noting the crestfallen look on their faces, the priest realizes that no one seems to be skilled enough to disable the wicked-looking trap. Sighing, the cleric waves everyone away from the secret portal, picks up a sizable rock or stone, (does not stand directly in front of the door), then throws the object hard at the door.
If that doesn't work, the priest looks at the others before sighing again and says, "I suppose I can open it...maybe the mechanism has rusted shut?" Zane doesn't appear hopeful, but time was of the essence. He wasn't a follower of Ilmater, but being a clergymen meant a certain bit of sacrifice.
The cleric winks at Azarra, then starts to search for the mechanism with which to open the door, wincing in anticipation of the impact to come...
Azarra is worried for Zane, and doesn't want him to get skewered, but after he winks at her, she figures he ... probably... knows what he is doing, and watches to see what happens.
"Would you please invoke the favor of your God before doing this, Zane?" says Kardas with obvious worry in his voice.
As he searched for the opening mechanism, Zane had a horrible feeling this was going to hurt. SNICK THUNK! Suddenly he felt as if he'd been punched and then the pain, bright like the sun hit him! He staggered back, thick arterial blood pouring out of three ragged puncture wounds. The pain was appalling and a moan escaped unbidden from his lips.
<--- HIT
<--- MISS
<--- HIT
<--- HIT
The trap however was sprung, and it was a simple matter to pry the door open to reveal a chamber time forgot... This musty room, choked with dust and cobwebs was once the main armory of the keep. Now little remains beyond the empty wooden racks. Discolored patches mark where shields once hung and a few broken weapon shafts litter the floor. A cursory search reveals few old arrowheads rusted and pitted by time.
Of course you have no time for a proper investigation for the armory appears to be haunted! The already cold temperature suddenly drops to below freezing, and you notice ice forming on a puddle in the corner. A ghostly apparition appears and moans, "Iiiiiii Huuuunnger!"
Zane recoiled from the spikes as the pain drove his body's flight reflex, yelling in initial shock then moaning from the pain. In the list of the priest's bright ideas, this one definitely didn't shine, but at least the trap was sprung. As Ser Armithia and the others pulled the door open, the cleric called upon Lathander to heal his wounds. It seemed the Morninglord decided that Zane should have a reminder to think through things more thoroughly the next time, as the healing energy felt sluggish as it flowed through him.
The young man grinned at his companions even as he winced in pain, a blush of all things crossing his features as he realized how silly he must seem at the moment. His grin faded as the spectre arose in the revealed room, it's preferred appetite not hard for the cleric to guess. He grasped his holy symbol, but waited for Kardas or one of the others to try another of the pass codes.