You descend the ladder carved from the stone lining the shaft into the tower's cellar. Very little remains, but as best as you can tell, you have climbed down into a guard barracks that has been abandoned for centuries, if not millennia.
The stone frames of cots still sit in an orderly row. Piles of rusted iron fittings and preserved wooden scraps serve as the crumbled skeletons of old footlockers. Narrow niches are carved into the walls, similar to the room atop the tower, but these all sit empty save for cobwebs and thick layers of dust.
A short, low passage - just high enough so that even the tallest among you will not need to stoop down - proceeds off from this room to the west. A breeze carrying fresh air flows from out of this passage.
Following this passage down its ten-foot length reveals two discoveries. The first and most jarring is the source of the breeze. Whatever this cellar complex once was, and however large it may have been, it was torn asunder by the ancient earthquakes that left the large rift in the ground.
The northern side of this room has been shorn away, leaving a sheer drop down into the canyon below.
The second discovery, easily overshadowed by the yawning gulf just outside, is the more obscure nature of this room. More piles of rusted iron bands and lacquered or treated wood mark the resting places of barrels and boxes. Perhaps this was a storeroom?
Two more ways to proceed present themselves. A set of stone stairs leads down further, although one side of the staircase is likewise exposed to the canyon. Additionally, a second, smooth passage continues westward.
Wulf looks at the others and shrugs."Who is better at scouting ahead? I wasn't well suited for it" Wulf stated to the others as he peered into the stairs.
"I believe Liam and I make good scouts. Though I hesitate to move too far ahead. There is strength in numbers."
"Indeed." Liam says, following the frog-man toward the new passages.
"Wait. I hear something." Liam says, stopping as he approaches the doorways. "There's a scraping, shuffling sound coming from farther down the stairs, and a buzzing down the western passage." the hooded man says.
"Let us try the buzzing. Insects often make good meals." He proceeds slowly into the western passage.
The light from Naomi's arrow illuminates the portions of the cellars left in shadows by the surviving walls and ceilings.
The passage west narrows, forcing the taller among you to hunch down slightly. You also steady yourselves with hands upon the walls as the path slopes down and becomes more unsteady. At the end, you find the broken remains of an old dwarven cistern that likely once served the long-gone fortress buried somewhere in the rift.
The dwarven engineering here has largely survived, preserving the broad circular walls enclosing the cistern. Most of the ceiling has collapsed, though, leaving an opening to the sky above in a shape comparable to a gibbous moon. The stone and earth from above has fallen into the murky, algae-blanketed water that fills the cistern's unsounded depths. Moss and ivy has found purchase in gaps weathered into the ancient, exposed stonework, and the plant growth has crept down towards the fetid water's edge.
As for the buzzing sound, the source proves to be thick clouds of mosquitoes and gnats that swarm the air and dart from the water's surface.
The dank, odoriferous cistern, rife with insects, leaves Boggel feeling very at home.
Helgrim searches each room for any unusual stone work or passageways.
[dice=stone cunning1d20+7[/dice]
[his cheerful baratone voice carries a scholarly tone as he descends the stairway.
”So you see the pattern change in the stone? That there is waterproofing work, the smaller stones are scalloped and fitted together tightly. The edges must he nearly perfect to work. Dwarves, the unrivaled stonemasons of that age
The dwarf covers his nose upon entering the strongholds well room.
[b]”Aaagh! Dang it. A clean water source would have made this place. No telling how deep or dirty this pool is. . . Wait . . . Boggel. You could swim down this and see if the source is blocked. Maybe see if there is something at the bottom.”
He shrugs at Naomi.
”After we make sure it’s safe of course!”
Boggel's tongue darts out several times snagging mosquitoes. "I may be able to. I'm afraid I cannot breathe underwater. It would depend how deep it is."
”Oh! I am glad you said that Boggel. I don’t thought you were an amphibian. You know what they say about assumptions.”
”I suppose we should check the other passageway before we check the well though. Let me make sure there aren’t any places one could fall through the floor and down the cliff face—and that is not a joke!”
After the others are finished in this room the dwarf checks the last unexplored passage.
Helgrim assesses the engineering legacy of his forebears with pride - and no small amount of relief. Despite the grievous wound dealt to the cellar by the earth itself, what remains is remarkably sturdy.
Of course, that isn't to say it's entirely safe. An unfortuitous slip could have deadly consequences.
Boggel's tongue ensnares most of the mosquitoes that draw close, keeping these stragglers from biting the party. However, the larger swarm seems to grow agitated, but the party withdraws from the cistern and its damp, waterproof access tunnel before the blood-drinking insects can descend en masse.
Helgrim leads the way down the stairs to the next level of the exposed cellar, estimating that it stretches another twenty feet down. The breeze from the canyon laps upon you as it blows in from your left-hand side.
An old workshop awaits you at the foot of the stairs, denoted by the stone workbenches and smattering of well-rusted iron tools littering the floor. The top of another set of stairs sits on the far end of the room, but your attention is diverted by the other occupants of the room - and the evident source of the scraping sounds you heard from above.
A pair of figures, the size of burly gnomes, idly fiddles around with the old tools. One seems to scratch at the stony floor with a rusted hammer, while the other tosses the broken halves of a chisel into the chasm.
Of course, the most noticeable feature of these two is that their bodies are entirely composed of dirt and bits of stone. Bits of mica embedded in their rough faces like eyes turn to you as you approach, but it is impossible to read an expression upon their inhuman faces.
Like tiny elementals. Boggel is no master of languages, but he attempts to greet them anyway. "Hello," he says in common. "Are you able to speak?"
The dwarf continues his inspection of the ruin paying attention to minuscule details that only an engineer or scholar would languish upon. Boggel’ words snap him out of his focused attentions.
”Uh, what? Oh yeah, sorry I got a little distracted there I was looking at these work benches and the tools and . . . “
Helgrim becomes aware of the two humanoids.
”Uh, who or what are these guys? Oh man! I hope you guys aren’t throwing all the artifacts down into the ditch. Those are historical relics.”
The Rouge Lady squats on the edge of town, just outside the palisade, like a bloated beast chewing on its cud. A number of smaller shacks and hovels cluster around the gambling hall like fleas.
Many tough, unsavory men loiter around this small, dirty neighborhood. They eye you as you pass, but likely recognizing you as one of Kreed's agents, so you are able to pass unmolested.
You push the door open and are ushered into a world apart from Falcon's Hollow. Red-shaded lanterns cast their scarlet glow across the lattice screens, velvet hangings, and polished gambling tables that adorn the wide hall. Twisting columns reach up to the ceiling, ending with sculptures of overly buxom women who seem to strain to hold up the weight of the roof.
Lewd wall panels depicts scenes of frolicking nymphs, tumescent satyrs, whip-bedecked succubi, and other scandalous sights.
Not a single eye looks up to take notice of your entrance; everyone remains fixated on their wooden mugs, the sheep's knuckle dice clattering across the table, or a dancer twirling a scarlet scarf.
You find your contacts clustered at the foot of a stage where a dangerously young dancer awkwardly turns her body. The men seem almost disinterested, instead discussing whose turn it was with Ralla that evening.
.....
The earthen creatures look curiously upon Naomi as she attempts to speak with them. If they understand, they offer no sign and no reply.
They stop their destructive fiddling with the ancient tools, but they do not set them aside.
Reading their expressions is like trying to judge a stone's mood. They seemingly exchange glances when not shifting their mica-flecked eyes between the party, the old tools, and the chasm dominating one entire side of the workshop.
Such stories often cropped up when miners would simply vanish without a trace.
Wulf remained silent for the descent and with the cistern he pulled out his kerchief and tied it about his face.
" Interesting, but not gonna lie this reinforces my reason why I didn't leave for the mining job!" he says stopping at the appearance aof strange creatures.
"Well, they have not attacked. I cannot say that they are friendly, but perhaps they are unconcerned. Hmm, that is not the right word. Neutral? If we do not bother them, they may not bother us."
Helgrim takes pains to look non menacing and speaks calmly and smoothly.
”Uh . . . Anyone speak Terran?”
”Um, Naomi, I think you’re the most dioplomatic out of the bunch. Maybe you could try some sign language or something. Maybe we could aid you in it.”
”Wulf, you’ve got some kind of thing with languages don’t you?”
The "dirt gnomes" show no sign of understanding your words, whether in Gnomish, Dwarven, or Taldane. However, they seemingly recognize Naomi's wave as a gesture of greeting, marking your group as non-hostile.
Nevertheless, these creatures must either be shy or simply uninterested in making friends, for they dive off the side and into the chasm. They blend with the earthen canyon walls, much like a swimmer might dive into water, and vanish from sight as they "swim" back down into the bottom of the chasm.
After a tense, surprised few moments, it becomes clear that the creatures are not coming back.
Helgrim examines the relics of this forgotten workshop. The tools and workbenches are all but useless now. However, he suspects that they could be cleaned and repaired, bringing them back into service, but it would be a difficult process with no certainty of success.
Crossing to the other side of the room and peering down the next flight of exposed stone stairs, you discover that they end at an imposing iron door, carved with images of dwarven warriors.
As this was the climactic battle in the dwarven campaign to drive the orcish invaders out of the Five Kings Mountains, thus leading to the founding of the Kingdom of Tar Khadurrm, you reason that this tower and cellar are all that remain of a fortress granted to the Dunkil clan by King Khadon as reward for Thane Uther's service.
These details lead you to suspect that the door may lead to an armory for the guards or soldiers who once lived in the barracks above.
When the dirt gnomes flee, Boggel nods. "As I suspected. I'm just happy they weren't hostile." He follows Helgrim's eyes as they drift over the old tools and finally to the great iron door. "That is most impressive. I wish I knew more about dwarven religion or history to interpret the reliefs."
”I recognize the dwarven lord depicted here among the warriors engraved upon on the iron door. These personal runes identify him as Thane Uther Dunkil, who personally helped King Khadon the Mighty slay Tarkdok Manyspears at the Battle of Splitmist Pass!”
The exuberant dwarf turns to his companions to share the magnitude of this discovery.
”Isn’t this amazing!?”
Seeing that they aren’t aware of this icons great deeds he explains.
”This was the climactic battle in the dwarven campaign to drive the orcish invaders out of the Five Kings Mountains, thus leading to the founding of the Kingdom of Tar Khadurrm, This tower and cellar are all that remain of a fortress granted to the Dunkil clan by King Khadon as reward for The Thanes service and victories.”
He continues to study the door.
”I need to get this open, but we need to look carefully for traps and other doors first. I think I may know who this god is too as it is Dwarven, but give me a minute.”
”I wonder if those rock guys eat iron? Crap! Want else have they thrown into the chasm?”
" Seems quite the find for you and your people Helgrim. We should mark it on a map so if you want you can mount an official expedition.As for the rock gnomes...maybe we should figure out how to communicate with them. Think there might be some books for sale In town about strange creatures, the might be in it" Wulf says looking at the room wondering what to do next.
"Who knows," one of them slurs, waving a dismissive hand towards the dancing girl now wearing even less than when you approached. "Who cares, for that matter?"
The sorry excuse for a joke from the sorry excuse for a man nevertheless elicits throaty, drunken laughs from the other spectators at your shoulder.
These men know you and welcome you, but an examination around the room reminds you that they, like the other regulars of the Rouge Lady, do not see you as "one of theirs."
Most residents of the Hollow can't see the line drawn between the Redrock Guild and the Lumber Consortium; between Bloodeye's men and Kreed's men. They only see thuggish men who work together to indulge themselves upon the misery of others. Paradoxically, there is at once both overlap between the two groups and an indelible demarcation.
You remind yourself that there is a difference between relying on these men for information and actually relying on them.
"Kabran's downstairs, having his...personal time," another of the men explains. "D'ya have a message for him?"
Your experience plumbing the scarcely concealed underbelly of Falcon's Hollow leaves you all too aware of the even darker goings-on within the bordello. Behind the games of huckle-chuck and spin-the saw and the bawdy shows of the main parlor, the silk-curtained backrooms offer privacy for those seeking pleasures of the flesh.
The basement, though, conceals Kabran Bloodeye's personal playground where he explores far bloodier pleasures. You've never been privy to the gory details, and thankfully you have never had to witness such deeds, but you know that Kreed has sent many men down to Bloodeye's torture chamber to ensure that they never return.
.....
An examination of the worn stone walls and weathered iron door reveals no surviving traps or natural hazards - beyond the inherent danger in taking too large of a step to the left.
A complex locking mechanism still sits within the thickest portion of the iron door, embedded above the recessed bar that serves as a handle. However, even if the lock is still functional, it serves little purpose as the jamb into which the mechanism fit fell away into the chasm long ago.
Unfortunately, that does not mean the door will cooperate. Testing its weight, you discover that a combination of rust and the buckling of the surrounding stone has wedged the door into place.
Two solutions make themselves readily apparent. First, you could try to use brute strength to force the door open. You will be testing your might against the literal weight of ages, so there will be no guarantee of success. Not to mention that a slip could be fatal.
Secondly, and perhaps more daring, someone could attempt to shimmy around the door. By clinging tightly to the iron handle or handholds in the engraving, it might be possible to pass over the chasm and around the door. This will require steady balance and a good grip, for it promises even less forgiveness for a slip.
Boggel peeks around Helgrim's side. "If you cannot push it open, I can try climbing around."
Boggel will allow you to tie a rope to him but he holds up a hand to Naomi wanting to climb. "Please, friend Naomi. This is what Boggel is good at. You hold the rope in case of a problem. Agreed?"
Liam steps up to provide an extra set of hands on the rope, just in case.
"I like the idea Boggel. You scamper across. Secure the rope and then the rest of us can climb across. The question is who is the next best climber among us"Wulf says liking the assisted climbing aspect.
”That would be wonderful Boggel! I was thinkin of askin yah! But I was worried it would be askin too much to put you in danger like that if you hadn’t offered. We can use a rope as a back up, but I’d really really like to get into the vault for worry the rock gnomes are looting what might be left.”
”I’m sure footed and strong! I can hold the rope with Naomi, but first I want to share a new discovery with you.”
The dwarf points at part of the door.
” See how the upper reaches of the carving depict a rune-carved stone throne within the sun? And see how the beams seeming to radiate down upon the arrayed warriors?”
Helgrim checks that the group is following along.
”This clearly represents a blessing from Trudd, the strongest member of the dwarven pantheon and youngest son of Torag. Often entrusted with guarding his father's halls when the Father of Dwarvenkind is absent, Trudd is the god of bravery, strength, and duty.”
He smiles broadly.
”These details lead me to suspect that the door may lead to an armory for the guards or soldiers who once lived in the barracks above!”
”There could be armor, weapons, tools or even BOOKS still inside!”
With the rope tied around his waist, Boggel started his climb up and over/around the door. It wasn't as comfortable as climbing in a tree, but it was necessary. Some of Helgrim's enthusiasm even rubbed off on him.
”Looking good, but be careful! That’s it. What do you see?”
Helgrim holds the rope firmly hitched to the handle for an extra anchor point.
”Oh the suspense is killing me. . . Better not be a harpy nursery dang it!”
Boggel grips the cold, rough recesses of the iron door as he slowly slides his body along the edge. As he passes over the chasm, a sudden gust of wind from below buffets him. He bitterly likens the natural coincidence to an archer fish trying to down a fly with a spurt of water.
The intrepid grippli maintains his firm grasp, however, and is not jostled by the rough air current. Once the wind calms, he resumes his careful movements. Although it does not seem quick enough to him, Boggel has soon passed around the door and into the room on the other side.
The state of disrepair is similar to that of the workshop, with many weapons and pieces of armor fallen into heaps to rust and tarnish.
"I am sorry to disappoint you, friend Helgrim. There are no books," he calls back to the group. "It's an old armoury." Just in case, Boggel stands back and casts detect magic to see if anything has a magical aura to it.
”Well, that’s okay. Hopefully there are still artifacts. It’s all history mind you and we aren’t that far out of town really.”
The men eye you for a quiet moment, your request seeming to suddenly sober them.
"Yeah...I'll get 'im," one of the men announces cautiously, pushing his way up from his seat. You recognize him: a definite member of the Redrock Guild. A homely man named Brosk; his fellows often tease him that his ugly features are his inheritance from an orcish grandmother.
The dancer leaves the stage, gathering up her clothes in a rough bundle in her arms. The stage remains vacant as you wait, although one man at the dice table - evidently on a hot streak of Huckle Chuck - drunkenly brays for Ralla to put on a show.
Soon enough, Kabran Bloodeye emerges from the back rooms. His blood-red eyes scan the wide parlor before settling upon you. He adjusts the clean, pressed vest he evidently just donned. He walks over but takes no seat.
Bloodeye draws a crimson handkerchief from a vest pocket and dabs away a trickle of blood just below the bronze nose-piece he wears to disguise the gaping hole in his face.
"Mister Lawrence," he drawls in a rumbling voice, "What kind words do you bring from the good gavel?"
.....
Boggel focuses his magic and his senses. A blue glow catches his eye, nearly buried beneath the heap of glass and preserved wood that must have once been a beautiful armor case.
My, my, what have we here? Boggel approaches the shattered case to see if he can pull out the magical object. He'll have to let someone else identify it, but at least he can see what he's dealing with.
Gingerly sifting through the broken case, avoiding ancient splinters and dirty slivers of glass, Boggel withdraws an ornate breastplate of dwarven steel with brass adornments. Engraved with runes and symbols similar to those on the iron door's face, this armor was likely worn by a warrior of distinction. Whatever magic lies slumbering within has protected the armor from the worst of time's ravages, although it could still use a good polishing.
"Friend Helgrim," he calls over. "I'll tie the rope off to make it easier for others to come around. I have found something I believe you in particular will appreciate."
He gently sets the breastplate down and goes to work securing the rope.
”Wow, that’s great! Okay now I’m going to take my time getting over there so we don’t have any accidents.”
Helgrim makes use of the ropes and takes 20 on climb.
Helgrim's progress is akin to watching sap flow from a newly tapped maple tree, but the dwarf safely makes his way to the far side in due time.
He scarcely has time to calm his racing heart, removed from the precipice's edge, before facing the excitement of these old relics of a bygone kingdom. Even through the layers of rust and grime, he glimpses tantalizing clues to the smithing style of early Tar Khadurrm.
Of course, the enchanted breastplate that Boggel uncovered attracts the lion's share of Helgrim's interest.
"Remind me to give you all a crash coarse in climbing when we get back. Got some trees need trimming and hornets to be killing" He says waiting out on the side watching the dwarf climb along gingerly