Maurie nods. "That is fine for now, but I will want to come back later. If this wasn't such fine quality rope I would almost suggest pretying it so that we wouldn't have to come up here again, but I would not want to waste Grok's possessions so." Maurie hands the end back to Grok. "Besides, we might need it."
Cromwin pokes around the statue, checking the entire loft for any secret compartments or hidden lairs of verminous creatures.
After his search he straightens back out, looking intently at the statue in the dim light of Zove's lantern. "I would be willing to help move it to the front, when it is light and we don't have more pressing matters to see to. The plague was long enough ago that most here don't remember losing anyone to it, but I think it would make a fitting memorial for anyone who does. Come on, I saw something that might be a compartment on the way up here. Zove, can you bring the lantern over here? I lost my torch in the fight."
"C.W.?" Cromwin raises an eyebrow at Zove, and points out the hinged wall section he saw before. "I think this was it..." Cromwin inspects it more closely.
Hmmm... Grok grumbles and moves away, putting the rope back in his pack. Money would let us wear better armor and use better weapons, make us deadlier and better at keeping the living safe. No reason to put a memorial here, either, so close to a place that's so dangerous. Grok bites his lip and tries to crack his knuckles again, but they make no sound. He shakes his head slightly, best to go on first, come back here later.
Well, when we get done searching this out, we can try the basement again. Rain will have eroded any tracks, but I think we'll have no difficulty figuring out if there was a horde of half orcs in here earlier. Grok stands by Naurgost, who shivers slightly, clearly made for warmer climates. In Grok's pack is a wool blanket, and he wraps the wolf in it gently, making certain it stays loose and does not constrain the dog too much. He sits in front of it and makes strange noises at it, waiting for the others to be ready to descend.
Disappointingly the compartment proves to lead to a small space under the other staircase, and is filled with nothing but thick cobwebs and a few dried rodent husks. A web veiled hole near the ceiling indicates this might have been the home of the great spider you met on your first visit.
Once everyone is ready to descend the group head down the narrow stairs, which are a virtual waterfall at this point. Taking care the group descends into a stark subterranean chamber. Doorways to the north west and south west offer egress from the room. Around the corner to the south, a lone statue has been relegated to a dusty corner behind the stairs. The statue depicts Iomedae in a pose of peace, with both her hands wrapped loosely around the hilt of her sheathed sword, which looks oddly askew.
Grok walks up to the statue and, surveying the room once more, grabs the sword she's holding. He pushes, then pulls, then twists at it, trying to get it to look right again.
The sword comes away easily in Grok's hands, and it is plain that this is a real blade, withdrawing the blade from the sheath reveals it to be of fine quality; And despite the cobwebs and grime upon the hilt and sheath the steel glistens with a heavy sheen of oil, that must have protected it from the years of damp and neglect.
Cromwin tells Anvil to stay and lights another torch out of his saddlebags before heading down the stairs with the group. Please be ok, Anvil. For that matter, please be ok ME.
Cromwin peers around in the dark, then begins to carefully inspect his surroundings as Grok pulls out the sword. "Whoa, Grok, that is a fine blade! Is there anything else around the statue?"
"Wow Grok, look at the quality of that blade! The spirits in this Plaguehouse sure have kept a lot of secrets in here safe!“
Bruns seems to have a twinkle in his eye.
I'm sure there's more treasure in here and the tunnel below. The church's old crusader cache?
Grok holds the edge near his face, inspecting it, then draws his finger along the length, drawing blood almost instantly. Indeed, still quite sharp. A bit small for my taste, but looks about the same as yours. Grok holds the blade hilt first out to Brin.
Finding nothing with a cursory inspection of the area, Cromwin moves into the intersection and carefully examines the door, the portcullis, and the walls and floor around him for traps, hidden compartments, or holes creatures might jump out of.
It looks like there is a lever on the other side of the portcullis which presumably operates it. The iron door does not appear to have any kind of lock.
"The portcullis looks like its operated from the far side. We're going to probably want to get into that room through the trap door up above, but first lets see what lies through this other door. The ghost might be lurking in here...stay sharp everyone."
Cromwin will listen at the door, then open it if he doesn't hear anything suspicious.
Brin looks at Grok with astonishment.
"You want me to have it?"
He carefully takes the blade from Grok, checking its weight as he moves it free of his hands and then inspects it closer.
"You honor me my friend."
Hearing nothing Cromwin opens the door. The walls of this chamber are pocked with skull-sized cubbyholes, each containing a single brass or clay urn—some long since shattered or dented, others still intact. A lightly colored stone statue depicting a burning chariot wheel occupies the northwest corner of the room. Two iron doors on the eastern wall allow egress from the room, one of which you entered through.
Of more note is the massive cube of green tinged trembling gelatinous material filled with miscellaneous items floating within. Somehow the cube's reflexes prove quicker than the parties and it gloops slowly forward attempting to engulf Cromwin!
"AHH! What IS THAT!" Cromwin dives past the cube as it oozes through the door, throwing himself into the room just before the ooze smooshes through the space he was in. Cromwin's torch clatters to the floor as he pulls out his hammer. "Stay away from my friends!" Cromwin smashes the cube as hard as he can.
Zove does not recognize the bizarre creature.
I don't care what that halfling says! I'm burning this place down. Twice!
Maurie pulls her rope dart off of her waist and begins to spin it. "No idea what that is, but it can't be healthy to be eaten by it."
Grok whips out his sword, keeping it close to the ooze and threatening to hurt it. The solid green wall before him apparently paying no attention, he smashes it hard with his sword, which sinks deeply into the creature.
"If you can, get away from it! Fight it from afar!"
Brin sheathes his sword and pulls out a javelin.
"It can swallow you whole and paralyze you!"
The cube oozes forward attempting to engulf both Grok and Brin! Both have a chance to attack it as it attempts to engulf them. Cromwin is also able to get in a free strike at it from behind as it moves away from him.
"Grok, look out!"
Brin, forced into the melee by the gelatinous monster's quick moment, attemps to stab at anything he can hit.
"Get back here!" Cromwin swings away, blasting a chunk of out of the gelatinous wall of goop as it rolls towards Brin and Grok.
Maurie takes a quick step back. "I am beginning to think that even the orcs wouldn't be stupid enough to try to use this as an avenue for attack." She quickly throws the dart forward, whipping it back upon inpact. Using the momentum of the pull, she wraps the rope around her neck only to send the dart flying at the cube again.
Grok is engulfed by the oozing gelatinous mass and finds himself paralyzed even as his skin begins to burn as the acidic slime starts digesting him!
Snickers looks at Zove doubtfully, looks at the Gelatinous Cube and the chaos around it, looks back to Zove with what she could swear is an incredulous expression and stays routed to the spot.
"Brin, its got Grok! Move so I can hit it!"
"Grok!" Maurie calls as the cube absorbs him into it. She quickly repeats her previous attack pattern at the cube with the rope dart, connecting with the dagger-like dart again and again in an effort to puncture the beast's insides.
"Right, get in there Cromwin!"
Brin shuffles back and then launches his javelin towards the gelatin, careful aim away from Grok.
Grok keeps close, ready to hack at the cube again. He pulls his sword back to strike again, and just as he is taking a step forward to attack the cube moves straight at him. No eyes, no brain, nothing to target, no way of predicting what it's doing. Grok pulls backward, but his front foot is slightly too slow, getting caught in the surprisingly tough cube. Control over his muscles fades, and Grok covers his eyes and face with one hand, trying desperately to claw out against the encroaching slime. Then he is surrounded by burning acid and death, his struggling becoming increasingly futile and weak.