The guardians nod approval and offer their second riddle.
My origin was age-old (I endured many winters);
I lived in towns after the keeper of fire
(unlocked the lives) of men encircled by flame,
purged by fire. Now the brother of earth,
my enemy, who from the first brought me
sorrow, imprisons me. I well remember
who drew me and my like from our first
abode; I can do him no evil
but at times I'm an instrument of bondage
the whole world over. I've many talents,
on middle-earth I've vast strength,
but I must conceal from all men
the secret source of my precious skill
and my extraction. Guess what I'm called.
Another nod from the guardians and the third and last riddle is intoned.
I stretch beyond the bounds of the world,
I'm smaller than a worm, clearer than the moon,
swifter than the sun, Swelling seas,
and the lap of the earth, the green fields,
are within my clasp. I cover the depths,
and plunge beneath hell; I ascend above heaven,
highland of glory; I stretch across
the region of angels; I fill the earth
with myself - this whole middle-earth
and the oceans streams. Say what my name is.
As the companions correctly answer the last riddle, the doors at the back of the chamber swing open and reveal a room more sumptuous than any you have seen so far.
At the centre, you see a deep well surmounted by golden bowl on a roughly hewn arm. To the far end, on a ten foot high plinth, you see six thrones, each marked by a golden tablet set above them. Staircases on either side lead up to the platform.
"Oh, now that's interesting. I wonder what those tablets have on them. Perhaps the names and deeds of the people who originally established this chamber, imprisoning the spirits here. Now that would be a nice find." Guldarin wanders closer to take a look at the tablets. Although he's not going to climb the stairs yet.
As Guldarin potters closer, he notices several slumped and battered forms on and around the podium. They bear a slight resemblance to Rabscuttle, the ancient gear-forged dwarf, but are dismantled, cogs and gears lying in disarray around them.
Rusty admires the well surmounted by a golden bowl, pausing to consider the party's next move in this hallowed hall.
The well is full of dark, glittering dust, but the bowl itself is empty.
Are there any writings or inscriptions?
Perception
Guldarin looks around at all the pretty things. "Some of this looks ritualistic."
Guldarin can't make out the script on the plaques at this distance, but long experience of dwarven ceremonial tells him that the bowl is an offering plate.
"Guldarin, correct me if I am wrong but gold and spirits comes to mind when I think of a dwarf offering plate. Can you think of anything else?"
"Well, it does depend a bit on the god. Some really like something that's been made, whether it's gold or not. Which of course spirits have been, and that's a very popular gift, but anything crafted and useful will keep most happy, particularly if, as you say, it's made of gold."
Guldarin's knowledge serves him well. Gold is always an acceptable gifts to the dwarven gods.
"Do we have a suitable offering? I have gold coins, but not much else."
"How about scrolls?" Asks the fighter, thinking that stored knowledge would fit the ethos of the Silent Masters.
The slumped forms spotted earlier by Guldarin start to smoke slightly.
"You know, I really think we might need to find something to appease the locals. Let's see, now...." Guldarin rumages through his pouches, before recovering the Passwall scroll the group found earlier. "Ah, now, something of knowledge, that might help." He tosses it onto the plate. "And something made of gold." He adds his Phylactery of Divinity.
Nayce places 20 gold coins on the plate.
The offerings seem to please. Certainly the bowl immediately starts to sink into the well and the ground rumbles, presumably in approval as in its place, an earth archon rises, staring impassively at the party.
"The Old Masters call and the Old Mountain answers!" it bellows abruptly.
As Nayce and Dorvin move to the far side of the offering bowl, they notice more smoking piles both on and around the podium behind them.
Dorvin sighs. Ancestors, why'd ye have te make everythin' so complicated? he thinks.
"The Old Masters call and the Old Mountain answers!" bellows the archon again. Neither voice nor stance have changed.
Guldarin digs through his pouches, and finds another 20gp to toss onto the offering plate. He moves up to take a closer look at the plaques.
"You have offered. I have answered. You may question me," booms the archon.
The gold reappears on the lip of the well.
"The old mountain freely offers itself, as you have offered the Teardrop."
Nayce goes for the obvious question. "What are these smoking forms?"