The group approaches the tower cautiously, but there is no sign of movement, apart from the ever-swirling mists. The orc's body hangs still, and from a closer view, it is possible to see that it is suspended by a long rope of auroch hide, tied around its waist. It wears rough hide armour, and displays no weapons. It has no visible wounds, although its face is frozen in a contortion of pain. The other end of the rope disappears over the lip of the ruined ring of stones.
A worn stone path leads up to the top of the tor, and to a small gap in the stones.
Bonewright hisses a whisper
"Let me go in openly first, or leave me behind."
The faint breeze swirling the mists catches for a second in the loose bones on Bonewright's chest
...Because I'll ruin your chances of sneaking...
"Go. Call out if you need us."
Ensuring the iron dagger is hidden, Bonewright composes himself, nods and proceeds a little way towards the tower.
Before he reaches it he takes a small stone and taps it against a bone on his staff as if carving. The small tapping sound is arythmic and unusual, but not threatening. He does this for about a minute before advancing.
And if I AM going to get shot at, this is where it tends to happen.
"If anyone is up there," Asheru says, shading his eyes with a hand, "They are no friend of orcs."
But does that make them friends of us? he wonders.
Bah! the familiar voice mutters. You think too much.
Caedmon is simply quiet and waiting.
The Bonewright clambers somewhat stiffly up the rocks towards the tower, his long staff almost unbalancing him a couple of times. There is no noise except the breeze whistling through ancient cracks in the rocks, and the quiet clicking of the many bones he wears.
Eventually reaching the top of the climb, he is able to see into the ring of stones that is all that remains of these ancient towers. There is the remains of a camp, with the cold ashes of a campfire set against one wall where it would have shelter from the wind. There are sleeping furs and other accoutrements that would indicate that this camp was home to at least half a dozen orcs. However, there are none, living or dead to be seen.
What this is, is a large dark pit in the center of the ring, descending vertically into the earth. A wooden stake has been driven into the ground beside it, and the auroch-hide rope, which suspends the body seen hanging halfway down the cliff, has been tied to it.
Wheatbeard's short legs made the climb difficult, but he eventually made it to the pinnacle. It was not too surprising to see the traces of the fire against the stone, nor the sleeping furs. What was troubling was the hung Orc. This must be a sign. But did it say friends-of-Orc-killers or merely killers-of-Orcs? The Dwarf couldn't say.
Most interesting - and perhaps ominous - of all was the pit. Wheatbeard could not see to the bottom of the it, so this hole opened-up a whole new series of questions. Did the Orcs go down here? If so, was the top left as a lookout - and ambushed? Then did the ambushers follow? Glancing at the body hanging, Wheatbeard realized it would provide a good counterweight against a single person climbing - more if women or children. It was entirely possible one party - or both, if there were - were down in the deeps right this minute.
"This is a queer passage. There is no telling where it leads, but I have a feeling in my bones there are more of his kind down in it," said Wheatbeard, gesturing towards the hanging Orc. "Perhaps their assailants too - if they had a mind to follow. We should see what's what." Curious more than fearful, the Dwarf did not like the myriad mysteries the scene left him.
Although he now shunned his kin, Wheatbeard had spend enough time underground to have learned a few things about masonry. The pit appeared to be artificial - perhaps an ancient sublevel or cellar? - but he could tell that until recently it had been covered over by soil. The edge of the pit showed that the soil covering it had recently collapsed inwards, in the last few days even.
Could it be...yes...there was the brown stain of ancient rotted wood. So the pit had been covered with a wooden lid, which had allowed a crust of soil to develop over the centuries, hiding it. The wood had rotted away, and something in the last few days, perhaps the weight of a passing orc, had caused the covering to collapse.
The Bonewright waves the others up. When the first arrives he addresses them
"This place makes me uneasy. I am going to try to search for traces of lingering magics." he swallows - an unusually human sign for a Bonewright, especially with the profligate use of the first person.
"I must open my mind to do so. There is a chance that this will trigger something. Possibly out here, possibly inside my mind. Guard me, but mind me when I wake."
With his warning delivered the Bonewright sits cross legged and starts to concentrate. Calling upon images burned into his mind through practice he looks for any trace of occult energy
Casting Detect Magic
Moklik nods at the Bonewright and takes up a guard position between him and the pit.
Tupilek will haul up the dead orc and untie the body, then toss the corpse back out the window. "Can use rope go down hole."
@Bonewright
Something stirs in the Bonewright's mind, something that he knows is there, but cannot pinpoint. Like an old faded stain in a piece of cloth, bleached by time but still visible in the right light, he gradually realises that the magic is all around. Once, centuries ago, these stones were woven with protective magic, but what lingers is so faint, so ancient and fragile, that is barely registers anymore.
Glancing around, he sees the things he expects to see glowing with his enhanced visions - the moisu armbands, the fetish bundles - and one thing he doesn't - a twisted copper ring on Elenid Kingsdaughter's finger.
Tupilek notices a vague purplish tinge to the orc's skin and lips, and its face contorted in death. He heaves the body over the side.
Caedmon stands ready."Do you sense anything Bonewright?"
Bonewright stands jerkily
"What there is - is old. Faded. Ancient."
Bonewright moves to the edge of the pit, grips Moklik and leans over.
The new discovery only heightened Wheatbeard's curiosity. "Look here," he relayed to the group. "Around this edge - there was a top here at some point. Hasn't been gone too long, 'n' what'er got rid of it's probably down there."
The rope would allow them down, and Bonewright's readings said there was no magics to be worried about - just whatever lurked below.
Looking around Caedmon thinks out loud while searching through his backpack."Anyone got a Torch and Flint handy?"
@Bonewright - no magic down the pit. You can just make out a floor approximately 25 feet below. What may or may not be a body is sprawled in the shadows there.
Elenid sniffs and draws her cloak about her as the others in their groups make their investigations. "I wonder what the orcs were doing here, Captain. Do you think they may be another group sent after my kinsfolk?"
"I think they might have been sent to secure or man this outpost. But anything I say is simply a guess..."
Wheatbeard did not like this Elf, expectant of others to do her bidding as she was. She also was unaffected by this revelation, as if such scenes were commonplace for her.
Perhaps she was hiding something.
Caedmon signals for Wheatbeard to come talk to him in private.
Caedmon moves over out of earshot of everyone else as he moves he taps Wheatbeard on the shoulder and motions for him to follow while speaking in a whisper just loud enough for the Dwarf to hear him."I need your opinion on something."He then stops, turns, and hollers at Bonewright & Asheru."Bonewright! Asheru! I need a word with you two and Wheatbeard! Privately!"His face betrays an odd sense of unease.
Bonewright advances
"If we intend to go down there then we will need light"
"I wonder if they have found iron that has somehow survived in caches from before the Worldbreaking?"
"Aye, lets go down."
Wheatbeard follows Caedmon aside, mildly suspicious of whatever he had in mind. He was happy to hear Bonewright and Tupilek weren't afraid of the darkness below though - the mystery gnawed at him.
Looking back to Asheru and Bonewright he yells again."Asheru! Bonewright! Please come over here!"
He then turns to Wheatbeard."Sorry for doing this friend. But something has been bugging me for a bit now. What do you think of the Elf Woman?"
Bonewright shakes off his reverie and attends
Unsure of where this was going, Wheatbeard saw no reason to lie to the human. "We're not friends, you and I, but she's less an acqauintance than you. I don't much like you taking care of everything for her, but she's done nothing harmful so far."
"Easier to win her over into thinking we are harmless than the opposite. That way if we do get betrayed we can surprise her."Turning to Bonewright when/if he gets to us."Did you sense anything from her?"
Wheatbeard lets out a chuckle, perhaps disrupting their secrecy. "Think we are? My hands are made for fishing, not fighting, my feet for walking, not running. I daresay it's the truth!" He walked back to the hole, the bit of mirth doing much to lift his spirits before they - hopefully - descended.
Caedmon stops the dwarf."Even the calmest winds can erupt into a Storm when needed."He then lets the Dwarf continue forward.
Asheru shrugs. "She hasn't said or done anything to give me pause. What troubles you?"
"She seems... Odd... Though it might just be the fact that the Druids I was raised by where independent and proud of Accomplishing things for themselves."
Bonewright speaks quietly
"Odd? A little. But who would not be a little odd after an ancient enemy threatens your people, those you travel with are killed and humans do terrible things to you. Even we, her rescuers, surrounded her with slaughter and lead her into danger. There are none of her people to comfort her."
"A young girl who has seen such trauma might well push people to demonstrate they will care for her by doing physical tasks."
"Can she be trusted? Her story rings of truth. Do not doubt that she would choose the welfare of the elves over humans or dwarfs... but all have a common enemy now."
"She is not, I think, as fragile as she appears. She wields power, though how much or what I do not know."
In a louder voice he asks
"So, no-one has a good light source?"
Caedmon digs in his pack and draws out his Flint & Tender and a Torch."This should do for at least 2 of us."
Wheatbeard peers into the pit, assessing the best way into it.
The pit appears to be about 25 feet deep. With his superior vision, Wheatbeard can see two orc bodies twisted at the bottom. An arched passage appears to lead off deeper into rock of the tor.
The walls are worked stone, although badly crumbled with age and wet with moss.
Wheatbeard also notices a scrap of a strange, gauzy material hanging from the wall about 10 down, stirring gently in the wind.
More and more curious. Wheatbeard could not wait any longer. "If one o' you'll secure the rope, I'll let myself down and see what's what." He shades his eyes, letting them adjust to the darkness below briefly. "Looks like there's a few greenskin bodies and a tunnel. Not too deep." He tugs on the rope to test it's give, then - if secure - lets himself down.
The auroch-hide rope is strong and secure, tied to a stake at the edge of the pit. By bracing himself against the wall, Wheatbeard is easily able to rappel down.
The floor of the pit is covered in sand and grit, and has obviously been recently stirred up by the feet of the orcs. A number of tiny beetles scuttle away from the dwarf's feet as he steps away from the wall.
The orc corpses lie twisted on the floor of the pit. A huge stone maul lies near one, while the other still clutches a spear, the tip of which is covered in some sticky green substance. The faces of both are twisted in death, their lips unusually dark.
Poison. The thought came to Wheatbeard before he inspected the bodies in detail, but it was the best he could tell from the scene.
The lack of blood made him think the fall or maul could have been an option, but they still held their weapons. A bad feeling began to take hold on him, but he spoke up to those above. "These won't be bothering us much, but keep your eyes open if you plan on coming down."
It doesn't take Wheatbeard long to find the wounds, ragged and purple with poison. One orc has his wound on the back of the neck, the other in the arm, which is swollen and mishapen.
Moklik keeps his spear out and watches the perimeter as the dwarf rapells into the pit. This whole place makes him nervous; his hackles are up.