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"That went pretty well, methinks. The greedy lil' weasel seems to think we're up to somethin'. That's good. He'll try to profit off it, and we can use that to our advantage..."
Raveen nodded once, saying, "Greed is the grease that moves the wheel of accomplishment."
Raveen keeps a low and unassuming profile, having a lot to think about. Wrapped around an ankle were the sling's materials he gathered.
Once in his cell, he takes a deep breath as the unnatural light sheds a thin shadow below him. Shoes scraping the silent and cold cell, Raveen made his way to his cot.
The cloth in his hand was a piece of the ratty blanket, dry and smelling of sweat. Wringing it in his hands for a moment to test its durability, he nodded to himself.
"Let's go then," he mused to himself.
Once he was finished, he hid his newfound ranged weapon, wrapping the improvised sling around his ankle. Upon superficial inspection, it appeared as a primitive bandage to cover a bruise, before he covered it with his pants.
He then looked up briefly to the light, careful to not stare into the brilliant radiance.
You will need my full attention...but not today, he thought, hand reaching to rub the bruise he gained from the white guard's strike this morning--if the cursed prison had any timekeeping mechanism beyond 'wake up' and 'shift over'.
After writing a brief one-sentence report of today in code, he rested his arm over his eyes, and drifted into a restless sleep.
You waken from a dream filled with ghost-haunted ruins, and cold ashes raining from the moonlit sky.
As previously, Myrna comes well before the bell to tend to your wounds. She takes in your fresh bruises, but instead of berating you further, she simply tsks and goes about her business—a motherly gesture, not without empathy, but making it clear you have been foolish. You know she is disappointed in you without her having to say it. The healer feels your ribs as she replaces your bandages, causing you to wince in pain.
"You're lucky there are no major fractures," she says after she is done. "There's little I can do about internal injuries, save for tightening the linens and hoping for the best. Even if I had the tools, proper surgery is beyond my skills..."
The half-elf sighs, her disappointment directed inward. For a moment, she looks very tired.
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You waken from a dream filled with ghost-haunted ruins, and cold ashes raining from the moonlit sky.
For a long while, Raveen's eyes were still fixed on the rough ceiling. His bruises from yesterday ache. In an attempt to rest, he begins meditating until his pain dulled--a technique taught to him by his Nidalese master.
He then performs aerobic stretches while seated, but grunts as he exercises his back.
As the door creaks open and Myra enters, Raveen sits up, nodding quietly at Myrna.
As previously, Myrna comes well before the bell to tend to your wounds. She takes in your fresh bruises, but instead of berating you further, she simply tsks and goes about her business—a motherly gesture, not without empathy, but making it clear you have been foolish. You know she is disappointed in you without her having to say it. The healer feels your ribs as she replaces your bandages, causing you to wince in pain.
"You're lucky there are no major fractures," she says after she is done. "There's little I can do about internal injuries, save for tightening the linens and hoping for the best. Even if I had the tools, proper surgery is beyond my skills..."
"I'll take care of myself better, Myrna," he says, feeling a little distant. "If only I could treat my wounds between work shifts."
He then paused to observe her.
"I'll take care of myself better, Myrna," he says, feeling a little distant. "If only I could treat my wounds between work shifts."
He then paused to observe her. "What tools do you lack?"
Myrna nods absently at your promise, though she does not seem very convinced.
"What do I lack?" she sighs in return. "Oh, I could use more of just about everything. I can salvage bandages readily enough, as well as needles and thread for suturing. Alcohol is harder to come by, at least any that's hard enough to clean wounds with—not to mention proper medicine. If only I could get aboveground to gather herbs, for just an hour or two... there's so much you can do with so little of nature's bounty, but even that is denied to me."
The healer shakes her head sourly, her voice filled with bitterness.
The healer looks you up and down, narrowing her eyes.
"I might be able to use them," she admits reluctantly. "They're not really speciality, so I'd have to experiment. But I'm certain I could do more with them than without. Unfortunately, I'm barred from entering the lower tunnels, just as I'm denied the surface..."
She rather pointedly does not ask you for anything, but nevertheless you feel a silent question hanging in the air.
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The healer looks you up and down, narrowing her eyes.
"I might be able to use them," she admits reluctantly. "They're not really speciality, so I'd have to experiment. But I'm certain I could do more with them than without. Unfortunately, I'm barred from entering the lower tunnels, just as I'm denied the surface..."
She rather pointedly does not ask you for anything, but nevertheless you feel a silent question hanging in the air.
Raveen gives a calming smile, and says, "I'll see what I can find, Myrna. I might just need a few more days to recover beforehand, however."
He stretches an arm, but winces as the crushing back blow from yesterday stung.
Myrna clucks her tongue and gets up from the floor. She dusts herself off and goes over to the door, knocking in a specific pattern. The door opens, and for a moment you fear she might have lost her patience with you. However, after a quick discussion with the guards, the door shuts once more and Myrna returns to your side. While there were no raised voices, the tone of the exchange seemed tense. You get the impression that, in order to have her way, the healer had to muster all of what little authority the warden has given her. No doubt there are consequences to such a brazen display...
The half-elf takes another look at your injuries, this time more analytically. "My apologies, but you're going to be late for work. We don't have the time to do what I have to do before the bell rings, and you need to be ready for the next collapse. We're due one any day now..."
As she starts procuring various bottles and flasks from her bag, Myrna gives you another pointed look. "Of course, any supplies I'm forced to use here are going to have to be replaced, as soon as possible. Preferably with interest. Before that, I won't waste as much as a scrap of linen on you, even if your life depended on it. As such, you'd better stay out of trouble until you've gotten me what I need. Are we clear on that?"
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"My apologies, but you're going to be late for work. We don't have the time to do what I have to do before the bell rings, and you need to be ready for the next collapse. We're due one any day now..."
As she starts procuring various bottles and flasks from her bag, Myrna gives you another pointed look. "Of course, any supplies I'm forced to use here are going to have to be replaced, as soon as possible. Preferably with interest. Before that, I won't waste as much as a scrap of linen on you, even if your life depended on it. As such, you'd better stay out of trouble until you've gotten me what I need. Are we clear on that?"
Raveen nodded seriously, all traces of humor evaporating from his eyes.
Myrna nods back, and sets to work. This time, she brings to bear the entirety of her medical arsenal: her simple leather bag folds open, revealing various hidden pockets filled with various tools and substances—trickery clever enough to impress even an experienced smuggler like Andrzej.
The healer does not get far beyond removing your bandages, however, before the inevitable tolling of the bell. This forces her to pause for a moment, more due to your inability to stay still than her own discomfort. Like yourself, she appears to be aware of the vibrations, though she is affected to a much lesser degree. While your teeth seem intent on rattling their way out of your skull, she waits with patient calm, studying you with her hands crossed on her lap. It occurs to you that you have not seen her wearing a manacle, though it would be hard to tell under her aproned skirt.
After the clamour has passed, the healer returns to her task. Outside, you can make out the sounds of the guards and the prisoners, as the latter are gathered from their cells. Myrna makes no note of this, focusing on cleaning wounds, setting ribs, and redoing ruptured sutures. Minutes pass in the immutable brightness of your cell, and with no knowledge of the outside, it becomes impossible to keep track of time. Eventually, the half-elf carries on to spreading herbal salves on the affected areas, and binding them tightly with fresh linens. These poultices both cleanse the wounds and numb the pain, she explains, the latter effect soon apparent as the previously persistent ache diminishes to a soft tingle. They will need to be washed off later, lest they spoil.
Once she is done with the bandages, the healer procures an assortment of ground herbs from her bag, as well as small glass tubes containing various coloured liquids—none more than half full. After a moment of measuring, she adds everything into a vial and mixes them into a greenish, sour-smelling concoction. There is an oily quality to it, with some of its reagents refusing to mix cleanly into rest of the solution. Refracting the light of the orb, the liquid seems to squirm and writhe.
Myrna hands the mixture over to you.
"Drink this," she orders. "Quickly, then give me back the vial. Make sure your bandages cover everything, or they might get suspicious..."
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Raveen accepts the mixture, glancing at it for a brief moment.
The mixture is definitely curative in nature, though not the kind of alchemically sweetened potion commonly sold in stores. There is no concession to the imbiber's comfort, with much of the process reeking of improvisation—many of the reagents could just as soon be used to drug or poison someone as to heal them.
Raveen upends the bottle, before sighing in relief. He then nods his thanks, and stands up, stretching to feel if his aches have vanished, and says, "I owe you, Myrna. Let us be off, then?"
The concoction tastes of bitter herbs and chemics, leaving behind a sour aftertaste. A small price to pay, for the effects are immediately noticeable: cuts knit themselves closed, and bones crack as they mend under the skin. Myrna watches impassively as your injuries vanish before her eyes, days of recovery elapsing in an instant.
"Indeed," she says grimly.
Immediately after exiting the cell, two white-robed guards grab you and start moving along the corridor, with Myrna following close behind. At the end of the cell block, you are met with one of the black-robed Heralds. Clearly armoured under his robes, the man carries on his belt a viciously barbed iron chain. Both of the guards at your side drop their gazes, approaching with respectful—borderline grovelling—bows. The healer also inclines her head, but meets the Herald's masked visage.
As you reach him, the Herald raises a gauntleted hand towards Myrna, and wordlessly points to the ramp leading upwards. She complies, walking away without as much as looking back. The Herald's gaze only briefly sweeps over you before he follows, hard eyes glinting coldly under the dark iron of his mask. With their departure, the two guards start shoving you towards the downward ramp. Both complain about having to do additional work, though only after the Herald is out of earshot.
Without the throngs of prisoners marching through it, the central shaft is relatively empty. There are dozens of less dangerous convicts slaving away at the various cranes and pulleys, as well as driving carts up and down the ramps, but they have been divided into smaller teams scattered along the way. Each of them is only lightly guarded, with approximately one guard per six prisoners. Both parties give you curious looks as you pass—clearly, this is quite out of the ordinary.
The way down is as long and tiring as ever, but at least your escorts seem to have no interest in tormenting you further. Finally, down in the mining tunnels, you are led along a familiar throng. The guards link you up with the others, securing the chain. They shove a pickaxe in your hands and depart, grumbling.
Andrzej nods to you with a wide grin. "Oi, I thought you'd gotten yourself killed! But on the contrary, you're lookin' much livelier. Good to see I was wrong..."
Pike glances at you with a grunt, seeming far less enthused about your return.
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"I owe you, Myrna. Let us be off, then?"...
Myrna watches impassively as your injuries vanish before her eyes, days of recovery elapsing in an instant.
"Indeed," she says grimly.
Although Raveen knew the tired healer did not mean it as a threat, he felts a dark sense of foreboding.
As you reach him, the Herald raises a gauntleted hand towards Myrna, and wordlessly points to the ramp leading upwards. She complies, walking away without as much as looking back. The Herald's gaze only briefly sweeps over you before he follows, hard eyes glinting coldly under the dark iron of his mask. With their departure, the two guards start shoving you towards the downward ramp--
Raveen drops his gaze as well, before noticing his escorts' bowing and the black-robed guard's attention focused on Myrna.
He takes this rare moment to study the Herald before the guards stand and start shoving him away.
Andrzej nods to you with a wide grin. "Oi, I thought you'd gotten yourself killed! But on the contrary, you're lookin' much livelier. Good to see I was wrong..."
Pike glances at you with a grunt, seeming far less enthused about your return.
"Aye. I'm getting used to this lovely place," Raveen replies wryly.
Actions
Gather Information/Talking(?)
As the hours of work pass by, Raveen speaks up between the short breaks, asking Andrzej, "Any news of spelunking?"
As you reach him, the Herald raises a gauntleted hand towards Myrna, and wordlessly points to the ramp leading upwards. She complies, walking away without as much as looking back. The Herald's gaze only briefly sweeps over you before he follows, hard eyes glinting coldly under the dark iron of his mask. With their departure, the two guards start shoving you towards the downward ramp--Raveen drops his gaze as well, before noticing his escorts' bowing and the black-robed guard's attention focused on Myrna.
He takes this rare moment to study the Herald before the guards stand and start shoving him away.
You get a good look at the man as he departs: tall, strong, and well-equipped. However, something about his bearing and movements feels off to you—unnatural, even. As someone closely attuned with illusion magic, you get the impression that whoever or whatever he really is, the Herald's true capabilities have been hidden from you. There is a cloying sense of terror as you briefly meet his gaze, familiar but unplaceable.
Actions
Gather Information/Talking(?)
As the hours of work pass by, Raveen speaks up between the short breaks, asking Andrzej, "Any news of spelunking?"
"Aye," says Andrzej, nodding at the end of the throng. "I think so. There's some talk this mornin', while you're away. Looks like they've found somethin' at the end of the tunnel, though I don't rightly know what. I was too busy askin' about you to investigate, but now that you're here..."
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You get a good look at the man as he departs: tall, strong, and well-equipped. However, something about his bearing and movements feels off to you—unnatural, even. As someone closely attuned with illusion magic, you get the impression that whoever or whatever he really is, the Herald's true capabilities have been hidden from you. There is a cloying sense of terror as you briefly meet his gaze, familiar but unplaceable.
Raveen lowers his eyes.
"Aye," says Andrzej, nodding at the end of the throng. "I think so. There's some talk this mornin', while you're away. Looks like they've found somethin' at the end of the tunnel, though I don't rightly know what. I was too busy askin' about you to investigate, but now that you're here..."
"That sounds nice. I'm interested," Raveen says, before adding with a wry grin. "Besides, I happen to owe Myrna a nice batch of mold. Can't get it tied here, can I?"
"That sounds nice. I'm interested," Raveen says, before adding with a wry grin. "Besides, I happen to owe Myrna a nice batch of mold. Can't get it tied here, can I?""Aye," says Andrzej, nodding at the end of the throng. "I think so.
There's some talk this mornin', while you're away. Looks like they've found somethin' at the end of the tunnel, though I don't rightly know what. I was too busy askin' about you to investigate, but now that you're here..."
The smuggler appears to be impressed, looking meaningfully at your freshly bound wounds. The bitter smell of herbs is faint, but noticeable.
"Ah, that's what kept you?" he sniffs. "Well, I don't know how you talked Myrna into takin' risks for a bunch of mold, but that's more than I've ever managed. Plays it nice and safe, that one... with all due respect, of course. Stitched me up more than once, as well."
Andrzej glances to his sides, making sure no guards are listening. "So, want to find out what's goin' on in the front, or what? We'll hear of it eventually, I'm sure, but it's good to be prepared. We gotta be quick to volunteer once they call for it, if there's spelunkin' to be had..."
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"Ah, that's what kept you?" he sniffs. "Well, I don't know how you talked Myrna into takin' risks for a bunch of mold, but that's more than I've ever managed. Plays it nice and safe, that one... with all due respect, of course. Stitched me up more than once, as well."
"Well, I am talking top of the line mold, Raven says with a small smile. His smile then fades, as he adds, "As you may have noticed, I owe her. I'm committed to this expedition."
He then says, "Will they go around us asking for volunteers?"
The smuggler flashes a smile at your quip, but quickly turns serious as you get back into business.
"Go around?" he says in response. "Not really. Customarily, they wait until the day's done, and then call for volunteers from the crowd. After they've got enough folks for a search party—three to five, dependin' on the size of the cave—they shove the rest back in their cells for the night. Spelunker's get to sleep in, and an extra dollop of gruel if they make it out alive. That's why it's good to know beforehand when they're gonna make the call, and to find out if anyone else is interested. Once we know, we can come to an agreement beforehand: let everyone know we're gonna be the ones to go down, so as to avoid gettin' grouped up with a bunch of strangers. Doesn't really serve anyone's interests, that."
With that, you set to work, continuing to chip away at the wall even as you pass along messages to the rest of the throng...
As usual, the process of communicating through veiled gestures and coded messages is agonisingly slow, but the rumour mill is already churning, and it soon becomes apparent that there has indeed been some sort of a cave-in. The prisoners near the end of the throng report that they dug into a large cavern through its ceiling, and have now been set to widening the gap for entry. Some people have already shown interest in volunteering, but Andrzej is quick to press them to back down, turning in old favours to settle new demands, as well as resorting to threats where needed. No doubt Pike's imposing presence comes in handy here.
You get the last of the messages out as the prisoners are settling down for their lunch break, preparing their bowls.
"That should be enough," says the Ustalav. "Once they call for volunteers, the three of us wi—"
He is suddenly cut off by the rumbling of stone, followed by cries of fear and pain from the front of the throng. A cloud of dust fills the tunnel, and some of the weaker convicts are thrown off their feet by the tremors. There is a moment of confusion, with Acolytes running down the line to aid their brethren down the tunnel, and others limping back, their white robes stained with blood and grit. Those who remain eye the prisoners closely, grasping their batons with intent.
As soon as the dust has settled, the hulking form of Curnow emerges from the gloom, tense with frustration. The other priests move to shove the prisoners into an more-or-less orderly line, not even bothering to beat those who fell, instead simply dragging them to their feet.
"We need volunteers," rumbles the grey-robed Priest. "Anyone seeking to absolve themselves in the eyes of the Living God, step forward. Those who do are freed from mining duty for the rest of the day, and receive three portions of gruel come tomorrow..."
There is no immediate response from the crowd. Andrzej, clearly rattled by the sudden change in your circumstances, looks to you for confirmation.
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He is suddenly cut off by the rumbling of stone, followed by cries of fear and pain from the front of the throng. A cloud of dust fills the tunnel, and some of the weaker convicts are thrown off their feet by the tremors.
Raveen grunts, balancing himself as the tremor shakes the ground.
"We need volunteers. Anyone seeking to absolve themselves in the eyes of the Living God, step forward. Those who do are freed from mining duty for the rest of the day, and receive three portions of gruel come tomorrow..."
Raveen nods at Andrzej and Pike down the line.
"Lady Luck gave us a chance, friends," Raveen whispers. "Let's not let her blessing go to waste."
Andrzej nods back, stepping forth with renewed confidence. Pike grumbles to herself but does the same, shoving you forward as well. Some of the Acolytes are already moving to release you when the elderly dwarf stumbles to his knees, dragging himself back to his feet and raising a trembling hand to signal his own willingness to join. Curnow waves dismissively at his underlings, who have paused to look for his approval. With that, all four of you are unchained from the throng, its glow dimming ever so slightly. You are brought before Curnow, who looks you over, inscrutable behind his mask.
"We lost two prisoners and one of my Acolytes," he says once he is satisfied. "You're free to use whatever you find on them to your advantage, but it'll be confiscated once you return. The corpses can stay—they'll be buried either way. And don't even think about trying to hide things from me, or you will regret it. Above all, you need to retrieve the manacles. Come back without them, and I'll kill you and take yours in their place. I'll also be expecting a report on everything you find down there. You have until the bell tolls to be back, or we'll assume you're dead. Understood?"
Everyone nods their assent. Before you are led away, the Priest turns to Andrzej. "Better not be trying any funny business, Kedzierski. Don't think I haven't seen you chumming up with the newcomer..."
The smuggler bows his head, careful to appear respectful, but not so ingratiating as to arouse suspicion. "Just lookin' to stretch my legs, boss. I don't think us Varisians were meant to stay put for so long."
Dismissed with a growl, the Acolytes drag you to the scene of the accident. All convicts have been moved away from the opening, widened into a small chasm by the cave-in, completely cutting off access to the end of the tunnel. The end of the chain dangles over the precipice, leading down into darkness. The guards procure some rope, and watch carefully as Pike ties it to one of the nearby rocks. Satisfied that it will hold, the half-orc grunts and ties the other end around her broad torso. She is handed a torch and a piece of flint. Tucking these into her tunic, she grabs the rope and starts rappeling herself down into the cavern...
Clearly, she has done this before. She is down in moments, a light blooming some sixty feet below you. The sputtering torch casts light across the bottom of the cavern, revealing rubble and some of the broken corpses lying amongst them. The walls of the cavern are only barely perceptible in the dim light.
Andrzej bows to you, indicating the rope. "After you, my friend. I'll make sure the old man gets down alright..."
Something goes terribly wrong. Whether the fault is yours or not quickly becomes irrelevant, as you find yourself blindly tumbling down into the darkness. The first ten feet or so are a struggle, the rope burning your hands to blisters as you attempt desperately to recover your grip. After that, there is the rushing of air around you, a shout from above, and... suddenly, everything crawls to a halt. For the briefest of moments, the backlit rent in the stone above reminds you of a full moon, slowly receding into the darkened sky: a baleful eye staring down at you from behind its mask of darkened iron.
Soon, you land on the cave floor, gently as a feather. The touch of the cool, moist rock underneath you shakes you from your reverie.
Lying on your back, you can see the light above flickering, and hear meaty thuds and rough shouting. Pike appears above you, dragging you to your feet by the collar. She seems furious, the torchlight turning her dark eyes into pools of black tar, promising a slow and agonising death. Instead, she shoves the torch in your hand and turns to face the rope, looking up expectantly. Her fists clench and unclench as she grinds her tusks in anticipation.
Finally, the rope is hauled up and Andrzej is subsequently lowered down, followed by the old dwarf. There is little doubt about who received the beating you heard earlier, with the smuggler sporting a black eye and a freshly bloodied nose, visibly wincing as he takes his first steps into the cave. Pike is there instantly, wordlessly fussing over him, but the smuggler waves her off with a smile. The half-orc huffs, crossing her arms indignantly.
"I'm fine," Andrzej says soothingly. "We've both had it worse, my friend. Might have it worse yet, before we're done 'ere..."
He turns to you with an embarrassed shrug. "Sorry 'bout that. I'm not in the habit of showin' my hand before I'm sure I can win, but I've bet far too much on you already. Should've tried to convince them to lower us all down, but I didn't think it wise to stretch my luck just now. You alright?"
Meanwhile, the dwarf has wandered off a ways, kneeling to touch the bedrock. He stares into the darkness with wide eyes, looking at something you cannot see.
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Guile 2/3
Ah, Raveen thinks as he lays on the stone, before Pike hauls him to his feet. That feels familiar.
"I'm fine," Andrzej says soothingly. "We've both had it worse, my friend. Might have it worse yet, before we're done 'ere..Sorry 'bout that. I'm not in the habit of showin' my hand before I'm sure I can win, but I've bet far too much on you already. Should've tried to convince them to lower us all down, but I didn't think it wise to stretch my luck just now. You alright?
Raveen's jaw set, nodding, concealing his embarrassment behind a neutral 'yes. thanks.'.
No time to choke on shame, he thinks, before looking into the darkness. His vision was, though superior to a human's, not close to a dwarf's. Though I think that answers one fear I had--whether the bracers can prevent casting. Something good came out of this, in the end.Meanwhile, the dwarf has wandered off a ways, kneeling to touch the bedrock. He stares into the darkness with wide eyes, looking at something you cannot see.
Even in the sputtering torchlight, your preternaturally keen eyes can make the rough stone walls of the ceiling and the floor some forty to sixty feet away in all directions, likely just out of sight for Andzrej. Where the dwarf is staring at, however, the cavern expands deeper into the darkness—perhaps into some sort of an underground lake or river, with the sounds of running water echoing in from the darkness. Pike seems to be glancing that way as well, though she does not seem transfixed like the dwarf. Clearly, her orcish heritage allows her to see quite well in the dark herself.
Amidst the rubble on the floor lie broken corpses, one dressed in rags and the other in the white robes of an Acolyte of the First Step. Though you were told by Curnow there were two prisoners and one guard, you see only two dead bodies. There is a fresh trail of blood leading into the darkness, towards the sound of the water—it must have been dragged away only minutes ago, while you were in the process of being drafted up above. You find it unlikely they would have survived the fall, though not impossible—perhaps they managed to crawl away by themselves? If so, they could not have gotten far.
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Guile 2/3
"Do you see any foes?" Raveen asks the dwarf cautiously.
Raveen wipes the back of his hand over his eyes, dismissing the haze, before turning to Andrzej, asking, "Do you need to take a breather? If your bruises act up when we're surprised..."
After asking Andrzej, Raveen peers to the trail of blood, studying it.
"One prisoner is missing."
"Do you see any foes?" Raveen asks the dwarf cautiously.
You have to repeat your question twice before you manage to get the old dwarf's attention. He looks at you with eyes wide in his filth-caked face, his matted grey beard waggling as he works his jaw for a moment—almost as if he is unused to speaking, and needs some time to warm up.
"T-the bones of the earth," he finally gasps, pointing at the darkness.
Again, you fail to notice anything but the distant sound of running water.
Raveen wipes the back of his hand over his eyes, dismissing the haze, before turning to Andrzej, asking, "Do you need to take a breather? If your bruises act up when we're surprised..."
The smuggler limps over to a large rock, sitting down with a sigh. He lays the crossbow on his lap, making sure it is loaded.
"Maybe just a minute," he groans. "But the clock's ticking, friend. We've got an errand to run, and... business to discuss."
He glances meaningfully at the dwarf, who does nothing to acknowledge his existence. The question left unsaid is, "Can we trust him?"
After asking Andrzej, Raveen peers to the trail of blood, studying it.
"One prisoner is missing."
Andrzej glances at the blood trail, shaking his head with a wry smile on his split lips. "Yeah, I noticed. Nothin' is ever so easy, eh?"
Looking at them more closely, you find it hard to make out any signs of locomotion amongst the smeared red stains dotting the earth—neither the tracks of those who might have dragged away the body, nor their own handprints. Certainly, there is no sign of a struggle. Having finished stuffing herself into the guard's leathers, Pike crouches over next to you with her new morningstar, dipping her fingers in the blood. Bringing it to her lips, she follows the trail with her gaze...
You are suddenly wrenched around as Pike grabs your shoulder, pointing at something you failed to notice: a single bloody footprint. A little ways away, she indicates another, and then another. Whatever left them seems to have been approximately the same size as a human child, or some smaller race such as halfling or gnome, or perhaps even a goblin. They are not bare-footed, nor are they wearing shoes—it seems like their feet had been wrapped in cloth, or something similar.
"Pike should be able to sniff 'em out," says the smuggler from where he is sitting. "Whatever they are. Lemme tell you, I wouldn't be sittin' here in such illustrious company without her tellin' me what's safe to eat and drink, and huntin' game when we ran out of rations... I mean, I can shoot a rabbit if I see it, but I've no clue where begin lookin' for one. Hey, if you ask nicely, maybe she can help you with your, eh... mold, as well."
The half-orc raises an eyebrow at both of you and snorts, turning her attention back on the tracks. After a moment, she raises three fingers.
Andrzej smirks. "Well, we've got the numbers on 'em, at the very least..."
Taking a closer look at the manacle, you deem it functionally identical to your own: made from iron and etched with a complex, interlocking web of magical inscriptions. It seems almost welded in place, though without a clearly identifiable seam. Mundane means soon prove useless, as there are no visible locking mechanisms to tamper with. Moreover, you quickly determine that even if you were able to mar the inscriptions, it would only make the manacle impossible to activate.
This proves to be the key, both figuratively and literally: if the symbols are not themselves the source of the magic, they must simply be a method by which the manacle's power can be directed. From what you know, normally this would be achieved by introducing it to a control device, but you deduce that the same effects could be duplicated by direct manipulation of the symbols. You are already fairly certain the hypnotically whirling patterns have some basis in enchantment, their highly regular layout suggesting an admixture of abjuration. Focusing your attention on these latter details, you run a finger across the sharp angles, tactilely coaxing the magical energies contained therein. Muttering some commonly used command words, you finally luck out: the symbols flare, then flicker, and suddenly blink out. With a snap, the manacles open, revealing previously concealed hinges. There is a slight jolt that runs through your fingers, like static electricity.
Andrzej and Pike stare at you, dumbfounded.
"Whoa!" cries the former. "How in the Hells did you— did you just—"
His injuries forgotten, the smuggler rushes over, looking wide-eyed at the piece of inert iron in your hand.
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"Do you need to take a breather? If your bruises act up when we're surprised...""Maybe just a minute," he groans. "But the clock's ticking, friend. We've got an errand to run, and... business to discuss."
He glances meaningfully at the dwarf, who does nothing to acknowledge his existence. The question left unsaid is, "Can we trust him?"
Raveen peers silently at the dwarf, but says nothing.
"Pike should be able to sniff 'em out. Whatever they are. Lemme tell you, I wouldn't be sittin' here in such illustrious company without her tellin' me what's safe to eat and drink, and huntin' game when we ran out of rations... I mean, I can shoot a rabbit if I see it, but I've no clue where begin lookin' for one. Hey, if you ask nicely, maybe she can help you with your, eh... mold, as well."
"I'll need a few moments anyway," he says, kneeling at the corpse of the prisoner. He nods at the half-orc, and says, "I will need mold, mushrooms, and similar underground plants or fungi to help Myrna, please. I believe we can all benefit from this. I'll try to find them myself, but would appreciate any aid."[b]
His hands, grimy and sore as they were after days of hard, unsophisticated labor, ran deftly over the runes and inscriptions once Andrzej relaxed. A memory arose in his mind as the sounds around him faded in his mind.
"All that is carries a flaw from its origin, my student. Just as a child inherits a sickness from their parents, so must things woven with magic bear the weaknesses of magic itself. Such is the nature of our imperfectly realized world. A spell is channeled through words of power and gestures, which serve to direct the flow of manna. It is so with magic weapons or protective wards. There is always a flaw.
The woman's head resting on the polished surface of the black-wood table, looking on, unblinking on to the room. The classroom was equipped but forgotten, with fallen-over school-desks, a blank but well-used blackboard, and a single hanging spiked sphere in the middle of the room, that seemed to serve as a lantern of some sort. Raveen's crouched on a table under the spiked sphere, cradling a bleeding palm. The hanging sphere dripped with his blood, before the spikes withdrew with a sharp twang.
"You must find the mechanism...A figurative cog that channels magical power to serve the item's purpose," she continued as if nothing happened.
"I can't find it, Nalutari."
"Mistress Nalutari," She sighed. "What student doesn't respect his teacher? Keep trying, boy, until you figure it out. Pain is a great teacher."
The twang sounded again, and Raveen's grunt was accompanied by the soft dripping of crimson blood against a dusty gray floor.
"You won't get an infection, Nalutari said with a grim smile. "So try again. Just remember to thank me later once you do figure it out. It may just save your life some day..."
Taking a closer look at the manacle, you deem it functionally identical to your own: made from iron and etched with a complex, interlocking web of magical inscriptions. It seems almost welded in place, though without a clearly identifiable seam. Mundane means soon prove useless, as there are no visible locking mechanisms to tamper with. Moreover, you quickly determine that even if you were able to mar the inscriptions, it would only make the manacle impossible to activate.
This proves to be the key, both figuratively and literally: if the symbols are not themselves the source of the magic, they must simply be a method by which the manacle's power can be directed. From what you know, normally this would be achieved by introducing it to a control device, but you deduce that the same effects could be duplicated by direct manipulation of the symbols. You are already fairly certain the hypnotically whirling patterns have some basis in enchantment, their highly regular layout suggesting an admixture of abjuration. Focusing your attention on these latter details, you run a finger across the sharp angles, tactilely coaxing the magical energies contained therein. Muttering some commonly used command words, you finally luck out: the symbols flare, then flicker, and suddenly blink out. With a snap, the manacles open, revealing previously concealed hinges. There is a slight jolt that runs through your fingers, like static electricity.
Thank you, Mistress.
Andrzej and Pike stare at you, dumbfounded.
"Whoa! How in the Hells did you— did you just—"
His injuries forgotten, the smuggler rushes over, looking wide-eyed at the piece of inert iron in your hand.
"I found the key," Raveen answers, handing Andrzej the opened manacle. "With the next one ahead, I can gain greater proficiency in unlocking them.
Raveen then says, "Coming down here was wise. Failing to open the manacles would have sent a signal, which would provoke alarm upstairs, but no reaction from down here. They'd expect amateur manipulations, since we were ordered to retrieve them...Raveen pockets the manacle, and looks at the corpse of the prisoner. He shakes his head, sighing, and then twists the corpse's foot, provoking a low crack.
After a few other gruesome acts, the prisoner's foot looks like it could slide the manacles out by force.
"If they'll bury them, I wouldn't have them being curious on how the manacles were removed," Raveen explains if he sees his allies' disgruntled expressions.
He then looks to where the sound of the water comes from, and thinks. From here?
"Let's move on quickly," he says. "The other prisoner may be still alive, and we are now fit enough to follow."
He nods at the half-orc, and says, "I will need mold, mushrooms, and similar underground plants or fungi to help Myrna, please. I believe we can all benefit from this. I'll try to find them myself, but would appreciate any aid."
Pike shrugs impatiently, but shows no signs of outright refusal.
"I found the key," Raveen answers, handing Andrzej the opened manacle. "With the next one ahead, I can gain greater proficiency in unlocking them."
Raveen then says, "Coming down here was wise. Failing to open the manacles would have sent a signal, which would provoke alarm upstairs, but no reaction from down here. They'd expect amateur manipulations, since we were ordered to retrieve them..."
"That's... that's amazing!" Andrzej exclaims. "There's been many fools ready to get themselves killed tryin', but I've never seen anyone actually succeed. You have to show me how you managed it! I've some magical trainin' myself, as you've seen. Nothin' too fancy, but if you teach me, we could..."
The smuggler trails off, casting another suspicious glance at the dwarf.
Raveen pockets the manacle, and looks at the corpse of the prisoner. He shakes his head, sighing, and then twists the corpse's foot, provoking a low crack.
After a few other gruesome acts, the prisoner's foot looks like it could slide the manacles out by force.
"If they'll bury them, I wouldn't have them being curious on how the manacles were removed," Raveen explains if he sees his allies' disgruntled expressions.
Andrzej and Pike do not seem fazed, and the dwarf continues to be oblivious to anything going on around him.
"That's how we've been doin' it up until now," says the smuggler. "Honestly, they're not usually very interested with the bodies, but it might be wise to play it safe this time. Ol' Curnow seems a bit... on edge, for some reason."
He then looks to where the sound of the water comes from, and thinks. From here?
There is some pale lichen coating the nearby rocks, but little else in the way of flora or fungi.
As you move to investigate, Pike shakes her head. She points to her stomach and makes a gagging sound.
"Let's move on quickly," he says. "The other prisoner may be still alive, and we are now fit enough to follow."
You have been walking for barely a minute before the torchlight shines off a massive, metallic outcropping in the middle of the tunnel: slightly curved and tapering into a sharp point towards one end, it looks almost like a giant tusk jutting up from the cave floor. Its surface is barely reflective, having a dark, greenish cast to its mat surface. There is no mistaking this for a natural formation, though there is nothing obvious on or around it to indicate its original function.
The dwarf approaches, reaching out with a shaky hand and muttering to himself. "Adamantine..."
Pike spits and makes a gesture, likely to ward off evil. This seems to put Andrzej on edge as well.
"She's from Numeria," he explains nervously. "I don't know much of anythin' about them skymetals, but I've heard the tribes up north aren't too fond of the stuff... probably for a good reason. Not worth my life to try and smuggle 'em out, anyhow. But what's this hunk of junk doin' down 'ere...?"
Behind the ominous monument, the tunnel widens and joins into a large underground ravine, roughly perpendicular to the former. The blood trail continues ahead to the left, down a gentle slope. This is where the sounds of water seem to be coming from—there are rivulets of water dripping from above, forming narrow streams flowing in that direction. To the right, the ravine slopes upwards, arcing out of sight behind a veritable forest of dripstones.
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"That's... that's amazing!" Andrzej exclaims. "There's been many fools ready to get themselves killed tryin', but I've never seen anyone actually succeed. You have to show me how you managed it! I've some magical trainin' myself, as you've seen. Nothin' too fancy, but if you teach me, we could..."
The smuggler trails off, casting another suspicious glance at the dwarf.
Raveen says nothing initially, eyes following the silent dwarf, but turns back and gives a quick nod to Andrzej.
"That's how we've been doin' it up until now," says the smuggler. "Honestly, they're not usually very interested with the bodies, but it might be wise to play it safe this time. Ol' Curnow seems a bit... on edge, for some reason."
"Really? Does he have a smaller stick up his ass on regular days?" Raveen asks with a small smile. He moves ahead, catching up to the old dwarf.
"Hello, master dwarf. I'm Raveen," Raveen says, extending a quick hand as he walked by the old one. "What's your name?"Raveen tries to understand the look in the dwarf's eye (whether it be obsession, focus, or fatigue), but withdraws his hand awkwardly, nodding to nothing, before catching up to watch Pike's back.
"Adamantine..."
Pike spits and makes a gesture, likely to ward off evil. This seems to put Andrzej on edge as well.
"She's from Numeria. I don't know much of anythin' about them skymetals, but I've heard the tribes up north aren't too fond of the stuff... probably for a good reason. Not worth my life to try and smuggle 'em out, anyhow. But what's this hunk of junk doin' down 'ere...?"
Raveen's eyes linger on the spike, admiring how it seems to absorb light.
"'tis a shame," he says. As he approaches, he scoops up a stone, considering whether or not to push it against a sharp point of the spike. "If I remember correctly, adamantine can pierce the thickest mail as if paper. I'd believe it if it's too difficult to extract."Now a dagger made of skymetal...that'll be something, Raveen thinks with a sigh.
Behind the ominous monument, the tunnel widens and joins into a large underground ravine, roughly perpendicular to the former. The blood trail continues ahead to the left, down a gentle slope. This is where the sounds of water seem to be coming from—there are rivulets of water dripping from above, forming narrow streams flowing in that direction. To the right, the ravine slopes upwards, arcing out of sight behind a veritable forest of dripstones.
Raveen studies the place for fungi or underground plants.
"Really? Does he have a smaller stick up his ass on regular days?" Raveen asks with a small smile.
Andrzej shrugs. "I wouldn't say that, exactly. He just seemed... ill at ease. And I reckon whatever's got him worried can't be good for us, either."
He moves ahead, catching up to the old dwarf.
"Hello, master dwarf. I'm Raveen," Raveen says, extending a quick hand as he walked by the old one. "What's your name?"
The dwarf starts, staring at you wide-eyed. He works his jaw for a moment, as if even his own name did not come readily to his lips.
"H-Hjarni," he finally mutters. "Hjarni Talhrik."
He does not shake your hand, but this does not appear to be an intentional slight on his part—he simply does not seem to notice.
Raveen's eyes linger on the spike, admiring how it seems to absorb light.
"'tis a shame," he says. As he approaches, he scoops up a stone, considering whether or not to push it against a sharp point of the spike. "If I remember correctly, adamantine can pierce the thickest mail as if paper. I'd believe it if it's too difficult to extract."
Looking at it more closely, it seems as if the spike of skymetal is protruding through the stone from below—perhaps a part of some larger structure. While the stone has been worn smooth by water, there is a small but visible gap between it and the adamantine. There is nothing marring the smooth surface of the metal, however. If it was pushed through the floor from below, or the stone came crashing on it from above, it certainly does not seem to have been harmed in the process.
Raveen studies the place for fungi or underground plants.
With more moisture to feed off, there is suddenly a plethora of different life forms on display. Mushrooms seem to be especially abundant in the loose earth amongst the dripstones to the right, with some more tenacious lichen and moulds clinging to the walls on the left—the streams of water seem to keep the floor clean of growth, with cave-dwelling lizards and vermin taking care of the rest. Where these forces cannot reach, flora and fungi flourish. This leads you to think there must be something keeping the local fauna from wandering amidst the dripstones, as there are no animals or signs of past feeding in that direction.
You immediately recognise some of the mushrooms as being safe for ingestion—if not particularly appealing from a culinary perspective—and others as being toxic to some degree, though the exact medicinal properties of the various fungi are beyond you.
Pike points out a particularly abundant mould growing across a nearby stretch of wall, and shakes her head at the others. She also motions at some of the mushrooms growing amongst the dripstones, but then glances inquiringly at the trail of blood leading away from said growths.
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Raveen nods upon hearing Andrzej's response. He reaches for his shoes, and unlaces the string that apparently serves as a shoe reinforcement, tinkering until he has a sling.
"Makes sense," he says, picking up five stones balanced and aerodynamic enough for sling bullets.
Raveen stops. Once Andrzej catches up from behind, Raveen says, "Oi, Andrzej. You seem to know a few things. You know a Hjarni Talhrik from around here?"
Pike points out a particularly abundant mould growing across a nearby stretch of wall, and shakes her head at the others. She also motions at some of the mushrooms growing amongst the dripstones, but then glances inquiringly at the trail of blood leading away from said growths.
Raveen nods, efficiently making an improvised pouch to hold the mold, cutting up cloth with the guardsman's dagger.
He then observed the area between the dripstones. It wouldn't make sense for animal life to avoid this area if it had food...unless it held something of greater danger.
Raveen stops. Once Andrzej catches up from behind, Raveen says, "Oi, Andrzej. You seem to know a few things. You know a Hjarni Talhrik from around here?"
Andrzej scratches his head for a moment, looking puzzled...
"Talhrik, eh?" he muses. "Hmm. Nope, can't say I've ever heard of a Hjarni Talhrik. However, if I remember my dwarven history correctly, there's a king by that name: Talhrik the Industrious of Tar Khadurrm. Came to power some seven hundred years ago, after Droskar's Crag erupted—it's a volcano, y'see, in the Five Kings Mountains. Bad time for the stout folk. Talhrik tried to make things right, but it didn't really work out. After 'im, there was Garbold Talhrik—the old king's son, didn't last long—and then Ordrik Talhrik... he was bad news, as I recall. Murdered his cousin for the throne, forced all the dwarves worship a dark god 'gainst their will, and then there was a civil war... that's the end of the dynasty, as far as I know. Two hundred or so years ago..."
The smuggler trails off, looking at you with an apologetic smile. "Hm, sorry. Didn't mean to ramble. There's a lot of half-remembered stories rattlin' around inside my noggin', and sometimes they have to get out..."
He then observed the area between the dripstones. It wouldn't make sense for animal life to avoid this area if it had food...unless it held something of greater danger.
You find it hard to tell from a distance what might be keeping animals from entering the area. If there is some creature lurking amidst the dripstones, it does not seem to have left the safety of the cluster, as there are not any tracks on the cave floor that would indicate a large predator. Some of the mushrooms might emit toxic spores, or there may be some dangerous moulds hiding behind the stalagmites, maybe even oozes, but so far Pike has not warned you of such dangers.
As for the trail, you find that the blood is still warm, which makes you fairly certain that you are nearing your quarry. Obviously, your group is moving faster than they are. It is hard to say whether the prisoner is still living or not, though. They have lost a lot of blood, if they are...
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"Talhrik, eh? Hmm. Nope, can't say I've ever heard of a Hjarni Talhrik. However, if I remember my dwarven history correctly, there's a king by that name: Talhrik the Industrious of Tar Khadurrm. Came to power some seven hundred years ago, after Droskar's Crag erupted—it's a volcano, y'see, in the Five Kings Mountains. Bad time for the stout folk. Talhrik tried to make things right, but it didn't really work out. After 'im, there was Garbold Talhrik—the old king's son, didn't last long—and then Ordrik Talhrik... he was bad news, as I recall. Murdered his cousin for the throne, forced all the dwarves worship a dark god 'gainst their will, and then there was a civil war... that's the end of the dynasty, as far as I know. Two hundred or so years ago...Hm, sorry. Didn't mean to ramble. There's a lot of half-remembered stories rattlin' around inside my noggin', and sometimes they have to get out..."
"Well, dwarves do live longer than us, however," Raveen replies, casting an eye on the old dwarf. "Two hundred or so years, I recall...Maybe he's not senile."
Although the significance of this might be little in our current predicament, Raveen thinks.You find it hard to tell from a distance what might be keeping animals from entering the area. If there is some creature lurking amidst the dripstones, it does not seem to have left the safety of the cluster, as there are not any tracks on the cave floor that would indicate a large predator. Some of the mushrooms might emit toxic spores, or there may be some dangerous moulds hiding behind the stalagmites, maybe even oozes, but so far Pike has not warned you of such dangers.
As for the trail, you find that the blood is still warm, which makes you fairly certain that you are nearing your quarry. Obviously, your group is moving faster than they are. It is hard to say whether the prisoner is still living or not, though. They have lost a lot of blood, if they are..."
Raveen loads a sling bullet into his off-hand, and holds his dagger firmly in his other hand, before nodding to Pike, whispering, "I'll back you up from the side."
"Well, dwarves do live longer than us, however," Raveen replies, casting an eye on the old dwarf. "Two hundred or so years, I recall...Maybe he's not senile."
Andrzej shrugs. "Might be, or might not. Doesn't matter much, does it? No kings down 'ere in the Track, save maybe for the Warden 'imself. I'd just like to know if we can trust the old man or not..."
Raveen loads a sling bullet into his off-hand, and holds his dagger firmly in his other hand, before nodding to Pike, whispering, "I'll back you up from the side."
Pike grunts and nods, hefting her morningstar on one shoulder. She takes the most direct route through the ravine, with Andrzej following some twenty feet behind with the torch, crossbow at the ready. The smuggler has to practically drag Hjarni away from the spike of adamantine—even after it has disappeared from sight, the dwarf continues to glance back the way you came. Meanwhile, you stay closer to the walls, dashing from this pillar to that rock, trying to keep out of sight.
Following the trail brings you to a dip at the bottom of the ravine, allowing the trickles of water to gradually form a clear stream in the middle of the floor. The ceiling keeps rising as well, finally disappearing from sight altogether. Above, you can hear the sounds of something bat-like, squeaking swarms of fluttering creatures up in the darkness. As you continue, the murmur of falling water becomes ever louder, echoing off the walls some thirty feet to either side of your companions.
After some ten minutes of walking, you finally come to the source of the noise: the stream comes to a sudden end, falling into a large opening in the floor of the ravine, along with more flowing from other directions. On its edge stand three humanoids, who have only just finished tying up a body—that of a human man—with rope, its other end secured around a nearby rock formation. Whether he is alive is hard to tell from a distance, but he is pale and covered in blood, lying entirely unmoving on the floor. The creatures surrounding the prisoner are small in stature, each of them measuring just under four feet tall. They are shrouded in endless layers of filthy, mouldering black cloth, leaving only their pale hands and noses visible. Even from a distance, they exude the foul stench of sweat and spoiled food.
The creatures whirl around as soon as they notice light approaching. Their milky white eyes glint in the dim illumination, squinting against even this dim flicker amidst their native gloom. All of them pull long knives out of their rags—dull blades visibly dripping with a black, viscous liquid. One of them gibbers something in an unintelligible language, waving its weapon as if to shoo you away, while the other two start hurriedly kicking and shoving the body towards the hole.
Dark creepers exude a stench rot and stale sweat, owing primarily to a diet consisting of spoiled meat, as well as fact that they never take off their clothing—instead piling on new layers when the outermost one grows too ragged. This leads some to believe that the creatures inside are smaller still than their bearing might suggest. Usually encountered in groups, dark creepers flee from bright light, but are quite brave in the dark. They can be very unpredictable when threatened.
Though dark folk mostly subsist on rotting meat and fungi, they supplement their diet by absorbing small amounts of light and somehow converting it into nutrition. Bright light causes them to become ill, as it overwhelms their ability to absorb it. Upon death, this stored light is released in a single blinding flash. Moreover, dark folk have a cultural tradition of shadow magic: even the lowliest of dark creepers is capable of conjuring supernatural darkness, snuffing out mundane light sources.
Regardless of their genesis, it is known that during the Age of Darkness, their ancestors split into five morphologically distinct phenotypes: callers, creepers, dancers, empaths, slayers and stalkers. These groups fulfil the roles of priests, menial labourers, entertainers, mystics, assassins and tribal leaders, respectively. How an individual develops into one of these different forms is a matter of debate, though the process is sometimes linked to owbs, malevolent beings from the Shadow Plane. Certainly, most dark folk themselves believe that the first of their kind were created by owbs, serving as proxies to gods of darkness and shadow.
Occasionally, due to unknown reasons, from any of these strains may be born individuals called caligni, who are said to more closely resemble their peoples' ancient ancestors. You recall reading of a sizeable population of dark folk inhabiting the Shadow Caverns beneath the Uskwood. From there, some of these throwbacks have ventured to live amongst the surface folk, finding Nidal's perpetual gloom to be a tolerable substitute for their underground homes. What drives them to do so is a mystery, but the calignis' testimonies have given scholars valuable information about dark folk society, though much of it still proves puzzling, even to experts.
There is a glimmer of recognition in Hjarni's eyes, though the old man does nothing but cower behind Andrzej and mutter to himself. The smuggler seems to catch some of what he is saying, however, his own eyes growing wide with disbelief. He lowers his crossbow, cursing in Varisian.
"Dark folk?!" he exclaims incredulously. "Godsdammit, those things are real? Pike, don't smash 'em just yet, maybe we can negotiate! Oi, any o' you speak Taldane? No?! Sh*t..."
The so-called "dark folk" do nothing to indicate they understand what the Ustalav is saying, continuing to gibber amongst themselves, as well as moving the body closer to the edge. Pike takes a half-step forward, growling at them despite herself.
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They are shrouded in endless layers of filthy, mouldering black cloth, leaving only their pale hands and noses visible. Even from a distance, they exude the foul stench of sweat and spoiled food.
Dark folk? Bad sign, Raveen thinks, before shaking his head. He focused on one of the creepers pushing at the silent prisoners.
He readied his sling, moving up closer to within point-blank range, and swinging it in a silent arc, before releasing the bullet at the precise moment for a surprising attack from the darkness.
"Pike! Andrzej! Don't let them get away!" Raveen shouts from cover, biting on his dagger to occupy his other hand on reloading his sling.
Pike's Rage: 13/14 rounds left
Distracted by the more obvious threat of your companions, the dark folk are taken completely by surprise when you strike, with one of their number taking a solid hit to the head. As it stumbles to its knees, the others start babbling panickedly amongst themselves, glancing between you and the others.
Andrzej swears loudly at the premature breakdown of negotiations, but does as he is bid. Shoving the torch in Hjarni's hands to free his own, he takes aim and shoots a bolt from his new crossbow. This is more than enough to bring down the already wounded creeper, who collapses unconsciously on the stone floor.
Elated by the opportunity for violence, Pike lets out a wordless bellow that echoes across the ravine, charging in and swinging her morningstar with reckless abandon. A single two-handed swing is almost enough to bring down another creeper, causing it to let out a muffled cry as it staggers back, grasping its side.
Your slung rock hits the wounded creeper square on its jaw, snapping its head sideways and sending it sprawling on the ground. The last conscious dark folk looks up in shock, standing just a few feet away from its fallen comrades, with the body of the prisoner between it and Pike. It lifts one of its rag-wrapped hands, letting out what can only be described as an ululating mewl. Immediately, the area surrounding it and Pike is engulfed in a roiling cloud of darkness, extending out some twenty feet in every direction. You can hear the half-orc bark out a hoarse laugh, clearly unhindered by the magic.
Andrzej lowers his crossbow, squinting uselessly against the supernatural gloom.
"What's goin' on in there!?" he asks Hjarni.
The dwarf makes no answer, instead kneeling and putting his calloused hands against the floor. He mutters something in Dwarven, caressing the stone with the gentleness of an old man putting his grandchildren to bed. There is a slight tremor, and a yelp from within the darkness. This is followed by another guffaw from Pike.
The smuggler shakes his head incredulously at the spectacle, but is quick to recover his wits.
"Give 'im what for!" he shouts to Pike. "Remember that gang o' halflings south of Sezgin? This guy ain't much bigger, and there were a dozen of 'em!"
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As the darkness radiated from around Pike, Raveen moved around it. His sling hung in one hand, and he reached out with his other. He grit his teeth, drawing power unto himself.
For a moment, it didn't work. So much bright light and inability to rest could have...
The shadows cast by him against Andrzej's torchlight rippled.
"Yes..." he whispered, drawing shadows unto himself. His own shadow expanded in size, filling Raveen with dark purpose, before he projects the weave of shadows against the Dark Creeper, whose own shadow rises up in dark tendrils to bind it.
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Your slung rock hits the wounded creeper square on its jaw, snapping its head sideways and sending it sprawling on the ground. The last conscious dark folk looks up in shock, standing just a few feet away from its fallen comrades, with the body of the prisoner between it and Pike. It lifts one of its rag-wrapped hands, letting out what can only be described as an ululating mewl. Immediately, the area surrounding it and Pike is engulfed in a roiling cloud of darkness, extending out some twenty feet in every direction.
Raveen narrowed his eyes. "Clever."
The dwarf makes no answer, instead kneeling and putting his calloused hands against the floor. He mutters something in Dwarven, caressing the stone with the gentleness of an old man putting his grandchildren to bed. You can hear the half-orc bark out a hoarse laugh, clearly unhindered by the magic.
Andrzej lowers his crossbow, squinting uselessly against the supernatural gloom.
"But not clever enough," he muttered, smiling slightly at the half-orc's apparent glee, just noticing Hjarni.
What the...He then shook his head. Regardless.
Pike, I'm moving in!" he said.
Raveen drew his knife with his other hand as he moved into the darkness , to where he last saw the dark creeper. Adept in fighting while not seeing his enemy, Raveen expertly navigated his way in the darkness, to where he last pinpointed the dark creeper.
What the...
Led true by your well-honed instincts, you feel your new dagger sink through ragged fabric into flesh, quickly followed by the another rage-filled roar from Pike. As soon as you pull back your blade, there is a whoosh, crunch, and a wordless cry of triumph, leaving no question as to the fate of the remaining creeper.
Suddenly, there is a surprised shout from Andrzej, as well as some agitated vocalisations from Hjarni, though you are unable to see exactly what is occurring outside the cloying darkness. You do hear the sounds of what can only be described as a scuffle: shoving, shuffling, and the hissing of the torch.
"A little help 'ere!?" shouts the smuggler. "This little geezer has gone totally off 'is rocker!"
Pike grunts annoyedly as she turns to face whatever it is that is going on in the light, shoving you ahead of her towards the right direction.
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Raveen moved quietly with Pike's shove, before he came out to the sight.
"Hjarni--" Raveen said sternly. "Stop!"
Raveen contemplates entangling him in shadows, but stops at the last moment. He could sense Pike behind him in the magical void of darkness.
Perhaps not yet.
He then moves between Hjarni and Andrzej, holding up his hands. "Calm down. We're your friends. Talhrik..."
Raveen moved quietly with Pike's shove, before he came out to the sight.
"Hjarni--" Raveen said sternly. "Stop!"
Hjarni is completely unresponsive, eyes darting around wildly, met with threats that only he can see. Your initial words have no impact—in fact, he does not seem to hear them at all. Pike drops her morningstar and rushes up alongside you, helping you restrain the old man. He does his best to resist, but age an imprisonment have left their marks: he is little more than skin and bone, not a match for your youthful vigour, not to mention an enraged half-orc.
Pinned against the ground, the old man struggles for a moment, seemingly intent on bashing his own skull against the floor. Pike is quick to reverse her grip, holding him off the ground on top of her. Then, suddenly, he calms down. He looks around confusedly, as if he was not sure of his whereabouts.
Andrzej crouches down next to him, looking at him with pity in his eyes. "Why'd y'have to go and do that, huh? We're all friends here..."
"S-sorry," Hjarni mutters. "The earth, it speaks to me... the voice is so s-strong, down here... overwhelming."
The cloud of darkness is still roiling around near the edge of the drop, though you know it the magic cannot hold more than a few more minutes, at most.
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The cloud of darkness is still roiling around near the edge of the drop, though you know it the magic cannot hold more than a few more minutes, at most.
Raveen narrows his eyes, contemplating Hjarni's words. He then turns to Pike, nodding at her to let the old dwarf go.
"I've got this. Is the prisoner still in the darkness?" he says. "I fear the dark folk might have friends--I'd hate for them to pop out and take our quarry with them."
Also, I'd like to see what poisons they use...
Raveen turns back to Hjarni, thinking.
"Hjarni...what do you hear?" he asks slowly.
Raveen nods, sitting down in a dim corner.
"I can't help in first aid, unfortunately," Raveen says, closing his eyes. "I can only cut people up. Andrzej, can you sew them back together, or do we have to twist this poor sod's foot, too?"
The cloud of darkness is still roiling around near the edge of the drop, though you know it the magic cannot hold more than a few more minutes, at most.
Raveen narrows his eyes, contemplating Hjarni's words. He then turns to Pike, nodding at her to let the old dwarf go.
"I've got this. Is the prisoner still in the darkness?" he says. "I fear the dark folk might have friends--I'd hate for them to pop out and take our quarry with them."
Pike grunts, dropping the dwarf on the ground. She takes a moment to catch her breath, before wading back into the darkness to retrieve the prisoner—at least you assume that is what she intends, as she shows no sign of seeing anything untoward going on within the gloom.
Raveen turns back to Hjarni, thinking.
"Hjarni...what do you hear?" he asks slowly.
Hjarni chews on his beard for a moment, staying prone where Pike left him. It takes him a moment to compose his thoughts, and even then the result is not what you would call intelligible: "Lies, promises, quakes upon quakes, rippling through my mind... s-something buried alive, underneath us."
"I fear that we are being used to dig out something unsavory, or are unwittingly coming close to do so. Adamantine is possibly not the only thing the Razmirans want down here--valuable as it is, I get the feeling like it's only a bit of a larger thing. If the skymetal is the 'bone of the earth' Hjarni sensed once he entered here, I'd hate to see the body."
Andrzej listens to Hjarni's words, and then yours, looking ever more unsettled. You can see his mind racing to piece together old information with these new revelations, modifying and revising whatever plans and schemes he had been hatching before.
"Makes sense," he finally muses. "Obviously, they've got us diggin' for somethin' in particular—otherwise, they wouldn't have us switching tunnels so often, when there's still ore to be found. I can't rightly think o' what it might be, though. Whatever it is those bastards want, it can't be good for us..."
The smuggler scratches his neck. "Honestly, I feel a lil' out of my depth 'ere, friend. So far, we've only really bumped into animals when spelunkin'—not things with two hands 'n' feet. Think the dark folk have somethin' to do with what they're lookin' for down 'ere?"
Raveen nods, sitting down in a dim corner.
"I can't help in first aid, unfortunately," Raveen says, closing his eyes. "I can only cut people up. Andrzej, can you sew them back together, or do we have to twist this poor sod's foot, too?"
Andrzej shakes his head grimly, but does make an effort to look at the body once Pike drags it out of the darkness—soon followed by the creepers. His check is cursory at best, though even froma distance you can quickly come to the same conclusion as the smuggler.
"Dead as a doornail," he huffs. "That much is clear. I reckon some o' these guys are still alive, though. See?"
He points out one of the creepers, its chest rising and falling weakly below layers of ragged cloth.
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"Honestly, I feel a lil' out of my depth 'ere, friend. So far, we've only really bumped into animals when spelunkin'—not things with two hands 'n' feet. Think the dark folk have somethin' to do with what they're lookin' for down 'ere?"
"The deeper we head in, the worse the situation is," Raveen mused. "But the more we could learn."
"Dead as a doornail. That much is clear. I reckon some o' these guys are still alive, though. See?"
Raveen paused, not opening his eyes from the corner where he was concentrating.
"I can understand snippets of their language, but nothing good enough for prolonged communication or complex sentences..."
"Dead as a doornail. That much is clear. I reckon some o' these guys are still alive, though. See?"Raveen paused, not opening his eyes from the corner where he was concentrating.
"I can understand snippets of their language, but nothing good enough for prolonged communication or complex sentences..."
Andrzej nods approvingly. "Sounds good to me—anythin' is better than nothin', right? We'll use their rope to tie 'em for now, and see if any of the buggers come to. Could use a lil' rest, anyhow. I'll do my best to look after 'em, but as stated, I'm no Myrna..."
If the smuggler is curious about what you are doing in your shadowy nook, he keeps his questions to himself for now. He rallies his half-orc companion, making her gather the rope while he does his best to bandage and splint any injuries the creepers have sustained. The Ustalav is also quick to remove any items of note, piling them up nearby for later inspection—mostly just their weapons, but there is also an assortment of various personal possessions, uniformly grimy and rank.
After a while, the magical darkness subsides. Pike lights another torch to keep the more mundane variety at bay, propping the light source between two rocks while she patrols the edge of the gloom. Hjarni crouches down nearby, rocking back and forth on the floor and muttering quietly to himself.
Soon after you are done with your preparations, you hear a shout from Andrzej. He waves you closer, crouching so that he is facing one of the tied-up creepers—it is practically impossible to tell which one. The thing is coughing and mewling weakly in its bizarre tongue, blinking its milky white eyes against the torchlight. Not a particularly difficult message to parse—the creature is clearly confused, scared for its life, and wants to be let go.