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The halfling cannot help but burst into laughter at hearing the punchline of Bazsil's joke, and remains for some time, panting and gasping for breath while his eyes stream tears and and his laughing continues on. Once he has finally collected his composure, Wrigley reaches lazily to the pile of nearby packages and rummages gently though his purchases. His hand pushes aside various garments, to keep his protected in all manner of climates, various potions and magical oils, and a magically infused torch that burned even now, spewing light into the Thirsty Scholar yet projected no heat nor scorched its container.
Lastly, the halfling is able to wrestle free, with great effort, a small cylindrically shaped drum. The instrument is slightly larger on one end and is wrapped with a pristine, white cotton-rope netting. The smaller of the drum's two ends terminated in goat skin pulled taught over the aperture while the larger was capped with the skin of a bison. Wrigley casually braces one foot against the table and proceeds to incline his chair slightly, placing the dholak under the other leg. With a hand at either end of the dholak, he quickly tabs the drum with his fingers, the smaller of the drum's two ends producing a sharper pitch while the opposite produced a lower counterpoint. His hands moved in a flurry of motion, his fingers madly tapping against the instrument, allowing Wrigley to perforate the area with a faint rhythmic beat.
Gabell hurries around filling orders and wiping up spills. It is clear the poor man is not used to so many patrons of an evening. The rhythmic drumming is subtly changing the cellists style and, without knowing it, the two musicians begin a combined song that transcends the aria. It is more fast paced... more bawdy. The sound of the music combined with the octet's revelry attracts more customers. Before long, the Thirsty Scholar is packed to the gills.
"Why did I let Stefania go home early for the night?" the bartender moans under his breath.
"Of course not, he was quite helpful, but now I wish that I had a Wild Flumph! That sounds amazing, even though I'm not quite sure what a Flumph is..." Elon says as he pulls up a chair and grabs a mug and a pitcher, pouring himself some ale.
"Barkeep! Do you have any food left? I could go for some stew or mutton. Mmm..." Elon says as he practically drools thinking of the food.
Barley looks forlornly through the window as his best friend has company.
"Mooo..."
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As the door flings open, wind rips through the bookhouse/bar. The pages on Aeslin's book riffle by, and she is forced to look up.
"Are you... The Desert Raider?".
Ciaran gives Aeslin an odd look and sits on Bazsil's proffered chair.
"Ale!" he says. He looks down, and sees his right hand tremble slightly. He hasn't been completely sober for weeks, but now he has a job. People's lives could depend on him. He imagines he can still smell the stale alcohol in his hair. "No, soft cider." he says resignedly.
"I'll have some stew too."
Ciaran snorts at Bazsil's joke but doesn't actually laugh.
"I once had a gator sandwich. I told the server, 'Be quick about making it!'"
Gado chuckles and smiles when Aeslin bursts out laughing at his joke, but grimaces when she finishes the punchline.
Not supposed to say it out loud... that's why it is funny... sigh.
"And the server snapped right to it then?" Gado asks Ciaran.
was that funny? I think so... A gator snaps his jaws... Ah, what am I thinking, its a pun. All puns are terrible. Awesome. but Terrible.
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The halfling continues to tap with both hands upon his new dholak, underscoring the conversation at the table with a subtle, almost inaudible beat. With the faint drumming rising from the instrument, intermixing with their words and weaving seamlessly into air around them, it felt, to Wrigley at least, as if this moment in time, here and now, had a pulse of its own.
"Does everyone feel prepared for the journey that's ahead of us?" he asks seriously, his tone low and purposeful, though he continues to drum with his fingers. "I can admit that I don't have the faintest idea what to expect, and so it's hard to feel prepared. Though I've tried my best to account for as many situations, however improbable, as I can." After this statement has passed his lips, he motions with his head, craning it to the size at the sizable mound of packages he had purchased.
"I'm sure I'll be sticking close to Sumaru once we've arrived," he adds. "She seems like one who could survive in the wilds."
"Wait, what? The wilds? Where are we going again? I though we were going to an island to study some old ruins?"
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"I apologize if I was mistaken, my lady," Wrigley says, continuing to drum faintly. "It was my understanding that we are plunging into the very heart of mystery and danger... an island with a largely unexplored and intentionally avoided interior, with unknown and unfathomable threats."
"Unless I actually am mistaken," he adds, even he is not sure if his tone is sarcastic.
"Oh, ok. she says, as she starts to swoon. Wrigley moves quickly once more to save the academian they have in their midst. Sebastian hurries to her side, and starts licking her face, obviously the stress of the days past have overwhelmed her!
Certain that the lady is worried about the wilderness Gratum attempts to belay her fears in the only way he knows, as an engineer, "It may be a wild island for now, but I mean to make sure it's comfortable, and that we are safe within sturdy walls not long after we arrive." Gratum says with pride for the plans he has drawn in his head. "Of course when we find and explore those ruins I hope we can find ancient fortifications that might even further protect us from what are currently unknown unknowns."
"Personally I'm hoping for some big deep caves. I've found plenty of rope to make deep delves, and I could use with some climbing again. Haven't done much since I was last in Belzkin."
Bazsil looks at Gado as if weighing how much he'll need to instruct the man on the finer things in life. He does not laugh at Gado's 'joke' for it included neither reference to boobies, nor sex, nor drinking, nor mocking of one's enemies.
"Does everyone feel prepared for the journey that's ahead of us?"
His eyes narrow on Wrigley trying to change the subject from good barroom discussion to polite, and ultimately bullshitty, discourse.
He frowns and orders another drink.
The bells toll morosely in the upper reaches of the cathedral. Magnimar's Holy Cathedral of Abadar is nestled in the center of Naos, the mercantile district. The upper-middle class mostly reside here, and the district is exceptionally well kept. The restaurants here are arguably some of the best in all of Varisia. It is within this mighty Cathedral's walls, that the priests of Abadar dispense rulings on trade disputes and other matters of import.
As home to the God of Law, Abadar's Cathedral is a cold, unfeeling place. As home to the God of Wealth and Merchants, it is also opulent and bedecked with gold, beautiful frescos, gem encrusted sculptures and other signs of both money and a slight lack of taste. As Varisia's largest bank, the security is extremely tight. Only those of extreme importance (or wealth) would have a funeral held here.
Within the main hall below, Lord Krinst greets friends and enemies alike as the nobility arrive to bear witness to the burial of a great explorer: Captain Rory Barbarosa. With the dignitaries seated on the cushioned pews, the rank and file are allowed inside to be seated on the wooden ones. The more rank of those who file in are forced to stand. The future crew of The Audacious find their reserved seats close to the front of the unadorned seats, near enough to smell the heady mix of perfumes coming from the nobles in front.
Each of the eight crew members casts their mind back to the events of the previous evening. Regret, sadness, pride, amusement... pain. All these are felt by the assembled specialists as they remember what happened.
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The Bells! The Bells! Why do they have to be so loud, and the sun so bright?! Stooped over and rubbing his back while scrunching up his face like it was the reflection in an amusement house mirror.
Standing up straight he thinks, Why can't they be small and charming like the ones on the seven dwarfettes we found last night? He thinks back to how they got so caught up in the spirits that they were all of them dancing on the table for a while.
"Did we really keep on dancing after we fell through the broken table?" And how did that song go... "Thriller!... Thriller!..."
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Elon sits quietly at the funeral, much like he did in the bar. Most of the taverns back home are quiet, somber places, but last night was definitely not that!
A blush of deep crimson crosses his face as three of the dwarfettes took turns sitting on his lap, commenting on how big his yak was. I can't believe that I dropped two off my lap when they started touching my leg... I feel like an idiot. he remembers with a grimace.
The ale was tasty though... he says with no hint of a hangover.
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Like the others, Wrigley cannot seem to raise his gaze in order to make eye contact with anyone, especially his future adventuring companions. His eyes are bloodshot, and puffy bags seem to hang from his lower lids, but the more obvious characteristic about him, like some of the others, is the red pigment of embarrassment that still lies on his face.
Why did I keep sitting on Elon's lap? The halfling questions to himself, lamenting his stupidity. And that yak comment! And what did I do with my hand?! he looks at his open palm and begins to tear up.
No wonder he threw me to the ground! I just hope he manages to not bring it up to me ever again.
Wrigley shakes his head furiously back and forth, trying in vain to forget. Who was it that dared me? And what other suggestions did they have...
Between the overly warm, stagnat air in the cathedral, the soft music playing, and the relatively comfortable seat he was sitting in, Gado was having an extremely difficult time staying awake as they waited for the funeral to begin.
*thud*
The sound of Gado's head bouncing off of the back of the pew in front of him echoes in the perfect acoustics of the chamber they are seated in. He grimaces both from the growing lump on his forehead and the crick in his neck from snapping it back up.
Why didn't I go to sleep last night? Ohhh yea... Her...
and her...
Who knew the ladies from the hall of wonders were regulars at The Thirsty Scholar? All the times I have been there, I've never seen them. Must have been the singing and dancing on the table that finally turned their heads... perhaps in part to all the Whitethrone Wines we drank together... I've never seen someone laugh so hard when the table collapsed. Note to self, next time I try to get a woman's attention... laughter. Probably mind bending embarrassment, actually. Both!
Gado looks back and forth down the row of his companions, taking in the bleary eyes and the pale faces. He catches Wrigley looking furtively towards Elon, face flush with the embarrassment of the memories he must be dwelling on.
I still can't believe Sumaru dared Wrigley to put that wig on and pretend to be one of the halfling dancers that Grim managed to find. And I'll never forget the look on Gabell's face when he realized who and what those dancers really were! And when they started climbing on everyone, Wrigley just had to sell the act. It was surprising how enthusiastic he was though.
The sleepy wizard manages to stifle a chuckle at the memory.
Still, I don't really know why Gabell was so mad when he walked in on Silvia, Ember and I.
We might have been in his apartment above the bar, but its not like we were in his bed. And for crying out loud, they are grown women. Just because they are his twin sisters doesn't mean they can't make decisions for themselves.
Maybe he was just jealous. I could make millions off of that modified enlarge spell... Just gotta make sure Lanvi doesn't find out. Yea, my little secret for now. Let them think it's natural.
Oh... note to self. Find a way to accidentally dump Aeslin's romance novels overboard. That woman can't control herself. Three chapters in and she thought she was in the book. If we are lucky, Grim, Ciaran and Aeslin won't remember what happened on the bartop. Otherwise, it is going to be SUPER awkward on this trip.
Aeslin sits quietly, watching the proceedings. 'Never been to an Abadaran funeral before. Wonder if they are going to ask for donations, or something that. Or charge us all to be here.... isn't that how Abadarans are?
'Why won't Wrigley make eye contact with anyone. I don't know why he and Ebon kept wrestling like that. Or why Wrigley kept calling him "daddy". And who were the "dwarfettes" he kept talking about. The only person that was sitting on his lap was Wrigley, and he kept pushing him off.
'Sebastian, I am glad we finally dumped that pitcher of ale over Bazsil's head. He kept on telling me I needed a "real man". Well, I never! At least he smelled better after that.'
"Look, Sebastian! They are showing of the Key! It symbolizes the actual key that Abadar uses to open the First Vault."
Baszil awakes early. He always does. Baszil, or as he prefers to call himself (and something that he mentioned repeatedly last night), prefers to be called "The Grim", makes habit of arising early to get his anger out. He's learned that if he doesn't condition his mind and body to work together, he comes off as an arrogant and smug prig. And he doesn't like seeming that way.
Rousing early due to his morning arousal, Bazsil drains himself, first in the slop bucket, then taking his hammer to practice forms in the yard.
He pushes out most memories of last night, of the halflings, and the woman...the woman who seemingly refused to understand the Common tongue.
I kept telling her that she 'needed a meal plan' if she was going to keep eating off of the plates of others...especially his.
Bazsil works his form, trying to drive the anger out of his system.
No one steals my food. No one.
As for the halflings, he wished he hadn't...he wished he just hadn't at all. It just wasn't worth it. None of it was. As he works out, a smile begins to creep across his face.
At least they learned how to act appropriately in a tavern...no more center trap lates jokes that make no sense. They make no sense at all.
As the companions nurse their aching heads and remember the bizarre events of the previous night, they become dimly aware that the eulogy has begun. It is a long, droning sermon delivered by the High Priest of Abadar, Proctor Jyronn Imikar, an imposing, bronze-skinned Keleshite. The eulogy, as one would expect, is all about the adventures of Captain Rory Barbarosa. How something so exciting could be distilled into a dreary lecture only the priests of Abadar know. Some of it seems fabricated, and the assembled crew cannot help but wonder if Captain Barbarosa himself had a hand in writing his own eulogy.
Finally, Lord Krinst himself stands and delivers his own speech. It is perhaps even more boring and dull than the one the High Priest gave. "And so," he says at last, "I bid farewell to a fond friend who was loyal to the last. May this last great journey of yours prove to be the most exciting of all." Lord Krinst raises a glass, as do all the assembled nobles (someone must have provided them with drinks at some point), and downs it in one.
"I would now like to invite everyone," Lord Krinst means just the nobles, "To come up and pay their final respects to Captain Rory Barbarosa. Proctor Imikar, if you would please open the casket now."
The high priest lifts the heavy oaken lid to Captain Barbarosa's coffin and lets out a gasp.
"It... it's just rocks!" Proctor Imikar blurts out before he can think better of it. The assemblage breaks out into uproar.
"A corpse thief, in the Cathedral of Abadar?"
"I knew he wasn't dead!"
"What is going on?"
"It's a farce!"
"Is nothing sacred anymore?"
Within moments, however, the paladins who serve the cathedral have order restored and usher the crowd out of the cathedral so that the 'proper authorities' may deal with the issue at hand.
"Friends!" calls Lord Krinst, "I have need of your aid. This was clearly not what we had planned here. Someone has stolen Rory's body and we need to get it back before they discover... anything! Can you help?"
After this morning sweating, Bazsil bathes and cleans himself, making himself presentable for the funeral. He even applies fresh oils to his hair so it glistens like fresh tar after the morning mist. He dresses in his most somber toga and ever carries his hammer (and life partner) Lucy with him to the funeral.
* * *
Bazsil smugs, wondering the full implications *if* clones hold the life memories of their copies AND if there are ways to talk to the dead...no, not the undead dead, but the regular dead.
Bazsil opens his mouth to ask Gado, aka Smart Little Man, this very question, but then realizes he doesnt care in the least. There is a body to be found either way.
Ever quick to react, Bazsil approaches Lord Krinst.
"I have questions: where was the body stored for the night? Who prepped the body? Is there anyone who might have known where the body was?" Bazsil asks forcefully.
Gado follows up Bazsil with questions of his own, not even allowing Lord Krinst a chance to answer the first ones.
"You said that the first mate, Jakob took advantage of the... ahh... life insurance policy, but is now a little cookoo for it. So who else knew about this from your first voyage? Are you sure Jakob was completely crazy? We probably shouldn't rule him out just yet. Or at least someone who might have known about him. What if he talked about what happened at that sanatarium, and someone there got some big ideas?"
He then pauses, and gets out a notebook. "Sorry, I think I went off on a wild tangent there. That might not have anything to do with... anything. I'll make sure we don't miss any leads though." He begins madly scribbling down Grim's questions, as well as his own thoughts, then writes down what Lord Krinst has to say.
Might as well make sure we get everything written down, so we don't forget.
"Hey... Where is Sumaru, by the way?"
Lord Krinst is pleased that his future crew are so eagerly asking such pointed questions, and that they seem to be helping him without hesitation. Yes, I made the right decision to hire these folk. The fake assassination was definitely a great way to separate the wheat from the chaff.
"The body was stored in my private vault for the night," Lord Krinst answers, "Proctor Imikar himself prepped the body - and not for a small amount of coin, I should note - and I inspected it afterwards. I own the key to my own vault, and there are no copies. Again, something that cost me dearly. Most of the clergy would have known where the body was kept, but none would have the means to access it - even Proctor Imikar. I wanted to leave nothing to chance... oh, Seven Hells! My vault! If they stole the body... well, I guess what's done is done. We'll look at that soon enough," Lord Krinst becomes very agitated and distracted, but remains to allow the crew to conduct their investigation in the way they see fit, "Oh, and anyone who knew anything about who financed Rory's expeditions would be able to guess where his body was kept."
"Yes, Gado, Jakob did not return as he once was. It has been a great loss to Rory... erm, the late Rory," Lord Krinst glances around, but no-one was listening, "And to me also. None else on the crew but Jakob knew about the clone - can you imagine what that would do to morale? - and yes, he is absolutely and completely off his rocker. We hope he will recover, some day. You can talk to him yourself, old boy, if you should like. Maybe the secret of how to restore his sanity will lie on the Isle somewhere.
"However, I don't think this body snatching is to do with the cloning. After all, what could they possibly gain from Rory's empty shell of a body? Far more likely, they are unaware of what happened to Rory and they are trying to speak with his spirit or raise him from the dead so that they can get to the Isle of Dread themselves! Sumaru said she might be late to the funeral, if she turned up at all. She's an experienced tracker so I hope she arrives soon!"
Ciaran grinds his teeth in irritation. Does nothing ever go smoothly? Why are we engaged in this ludicrously over-complex affair?
He puts aside memories of last night - Bazsil cursing and chasing someone - who was that? - around the bar, while they smeared his hair oil on their face and screeched, "Grease me up! I am a golden god!" - to focus on the annoyingly missing corpse.
"When did the Proctor prepare the body? If it was this morning, and you inspected it afterwards, there is a very narrow window of opportunity to tamper with the body in your vault. Perhaps while it was transported here from your vault? Someone should fetch the driver. Surely no one would be able to do it in the temple of Abadar?"
Ciaran, who has some skill in tracking himself, carefully examines the coffin.
"The body was prepared last night," Lord Krinst tries to be helpful, "About three hours before midnight, I believe. I inspected it immediately afterwards and it has been under lock and key ever since. I opened the vault this morning for the guards, who drew it out. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but we weren't really looking. As for a driver, my vault is in the basement of this very cathedral. Nowhere safer than the Bank of Abadar! Or, at least, that's what I thought."
Ciarán inspects the coffin to find only stones within. Nothing specifically stands out to him, but there is something odd about the stones. He just can't put his finger on it. Maybe someone with a background in mining or masonry might be able help. Failing that, someone more observant...
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The halfling hops once, his eyes barely managing to peer over the edge of the coffin. He hops again, likewise catching a fleeting glimpse of the rocks inside, but unable to glean anything substantial or useful from such a short glance. By the third jump his aerial height is beginning to wane, causing only his fluttering hair to show above the casket lid.
"Does it seem possible the body could have been missing this morning, when you opened the vault?" Wrigley manages to ask Lord Krinst, though is wheezing while sputtering his words. His hair is disheveled while his arms are planted firmly on his hips, his lungs taking in gulps of air, but his face still shows the unmistakable look of excitement and eagerness to help. "If it wasn't opened at that time, it seems an easy assumption to make... a body being where you left it, in a wholly locked and secure room."
"But more importantly, it seems you may think a rival would go to these lengths to find the island before you... Any suspicions who your rival may be?"
Gratum looks closely inside the coffin.
He gives a little fake cough, and says "Take a look at these. Anything seem odd to you about them? Anything..? I mean all good questions from everyone, but the facts we have are clearly in this coffin!"
He looks around at everyone waiting for them to see what he sees.
Baszil walks around the coffin and checks out the room.
"Mayhaps we should check out the vault as well," Bazsil grumps.
Perception
"I think the... Prim was it?, has a good idea! Let's go see the vault and try to find Mr. Barbacoa's body! I mean, unless anyone knows of people selling bodies..." Elon reasons.
For second, he ponders that last thought and looks like an idea has crossed his own mind! "Dwarf brother! What about Mr. Platonius Lightfoot, Esquire? He said he can procure rare things and what is rarer than the body of a dead pirate captain?!" he says as he smiles to Gratum.
Gratum points out the weird stones, but Elon doesn't really understand. "Hmm... they look like rocks. If you want, I can get Barley to carry them if you think they have some magical power, dwarf brother."
"The body could have been missing when we opened the vault," Lord Krinst agrees, "We certainly didn't check it again. I've no desire to see my friend's corpse any more times than absolutely necessary - regardless of whatever new home his spirit may have found.
"Regarding my rivals, though... I have many, my boy," Lord Krinst thinks for a while, "Most are nobles who also aspire to either exploration or the acquisition of treasure.... or to recapture the lost glory of their house. Ethram Valdemar has fallen on hard times - illness and the decline of his family's business interests - but he's in Sandpoint now, I think, and his son, Kaleb, is more cutthroat than most when it comes to attempting to restore his family's wealth. Then there is the Demerios family. Long have they competed with me for archeological finds. They thought they beat me when Madam Irba was made curator for the Founder's Archive, but that just meant I had more time to find things than she did. I donated several very historically significant pieces to that museum so that she'd have to look at them every day. There are more, but I don't think any of them would stoop so low as to steal a corpse! I mean, how much more dastardly can one get? The Valdemars and the Demerioses, however, I'm not sure they wouldn't do whatever it took..."
Gratum runs his keen eye over the stones in the coffin. While Elon and Bazsil both come to the conclusion that the stone looks very similar to that used as the flagstones for the floor of the cathedral, Gratum further notes that the stone has been worked by (probably dwarven) hands but has been warped or modified in some way (likely magic) since it was used as a building material. The current shape of these stones would not lie flat on the floor nor sit evenly. It is as though they have been deliberately modified to slip past one another rather than hold together in a lattice.
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At Bazsiil and Elon's suggestion, the group decide to inspect Lord Krinst's vault. The Keleshi Proctor Jyronn Imikar leads the group down some long winding hallways behind the Cathedral's Bank of Abadar. Gold plating and trim are in abundance throughout the bank's halls. Eventually, the Proctor is stopped at entrance to the Private Vaults.
"Name," says the guard, clearly some kind of holy warrior with the key of Abadar emblazoned upon his breastplate.
"Proctor Jyronn Imikar," says the High Priest of the cathedral. Though the man clearly should recognize him - and probably does - the High Priest shows no sign of annoyance. Clearly following procedure is more important to him than his own celebrity.
"Lord Pelius Krinst, and guests" Lord Krinst follows up with the names of the specialists, and displays the key to his own vault.
The guard nods and his companion - a bookish scribe - notes the names down in a ledger. The more martial of the pair then steps forwards with his own key and indicates for Krinst to do the same. They turn their keys simultaneously and the heavy steel door to the Private Vaults swings open. In contrast to the remainder of the Bank of Abadar, the private vaults are unadorned. The doors to the vaults are imposing and composed entirely of steel. Each looks as heavy, or heavier, than the door that led into this area. The vaults are numbered, and Lord Krinst leads the way unerringly to his personal vault.
Krinst's Vault opens with nary a creak as the beautifully crafted door is opened by a combination of a secret code and the actual key. Inside are treasures to boggle the mind. Ancient carvings carved from a variety of rare and precious stones, paintings depicting scenes from history rarely - or never - seen even in the most comprehensive of museums, weapons and armor belonging to strange foreign cultures, whole stuffed exotic animals, precious gems and simply piles and piles and piles of just gold line the shelves, walls and chambers of this vault.
"Nothing seems to be missing," notes Krinst after a cursory inspection, "But I'd have to spend more time to be sure."
As Krinst goes over to a particularly prized piece of sculpture, a quick warning shouted by Gratum prevents him from falling through the floor. Knowing what they are looking for, it is relatively easy for the specialists to spot and disbelieve the illusion of the floor covering an underground tunnel beneath the cathedral itself. Nearly a foot of steel has been expertly removed by what must have been some kind of adamantine pick with the help of some exceptionally strong acid. The rocks have been similarly mined out, but also show signs of magical tampering. Some twenty more feet down and the tunnel beyond looks like it has been formed by some kind of burrowing animal. It is very unstable, but Gratum thinks it will hold... for now.
"Well at least that answers the question as to how they got in, and where the rocks came from."
"This kind of excavation wouldn't require very powerful magic, at least I don't think. The most difficult thing I can think of is the patience and time it would require, wouldn't you think Gratum? That makes me think that someone has known about this for quite some time. My gut says this could not have been pulled off spur of the moment."
Gado turns to Lord Krinst. "Someone either pulled off the planning on this the moment the news hit of Captain Barbarosa's death, or knew about it ahead of time, would be my guess. That may help narrow down the list of suspects. That is some food for thought, but it seems the only real lead we have is this tunnel, and finding out to where it leads. Good thing I studied before we came to the funeral."
And good thing I bought that ring of sustenance. No way I would have been able to focus long enough after how late last night went...
"I think the... Prim was it?, has a good idea..."
The Grim nods primly grimly in agreement with the dwarf agreeing with him.
"'The Grim', please. That's what people call me," Bazsil notes as he follows the dwarf to the vault. "It's too bad there is no magic that allows us to locate a known object...that would make all this footwork and asking of questions less necessary."
Baz examines the tunnel path, sticking his head down the hole to examine it from above.
"This is clearly a trap. They have stolen from us, actually from the Temple of Abadar, and have left an obvious trial. This cannot be where they have taken the body...right?"
Baz ponders his options, thinking about the incompetence of the Abadaran clergy to protect its valuables.
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The halfling nods along to the Grim's words, peering from behind the man with luscious, beautiful curls, to see the tunnel ahead. As Wrigley's eyes fall upon the section of the rough hewn corridor ahead, he can see the composition of the tunnel change to that which was apparently carved by some large, burrowing animal. The thought of such a creature sends a chill traversing up his spin and sets his finger tips to tingling. Luckily he is able to breathe a sigh of relief when Gratum voices that way forward should hold, even though Wrigley had hoped the phrasing would have more definite, something to the effect... 'that the way forward will hold'.
"I think your logic is perfectly on point, Grim. This tunnel could very well be trapped," he says, straightening his composer, no longer leaning to look around the man. "But as Gado mentioned, this appears to be our only lead. Surely one of our number, as skilled and diverse as we are, may have an idea how to approach a tunnel that has been trapped, in all likelihood."
He says, not knowing how to approach the situation of a tunnel that is most likely trapped, Wrigley scoffs at his own words, silently and to himself.
"Manual labor and a stone shape spell. These would only be a small challenge to someone financially motivated enough to steal a dead body in hopes it could lead them to the riches of the Isle. Getting past the magical wards that should have been in place would be more challenging, but not impossible. Grim has a point, this all seems too... easy. But I cannot imagine what other possibility exists."
Gado begins to pace back and forth as the cogs in his brain spin.
"Proctor, just how strong were the magical wards that defended against an intrusion like this? And if we do go down the tunnel, how do we know they have been removed?"
The floor was an illusion over the tunnel... What else is an illusion in here?
Gado doesn't wait for an answer, expecting to hear what he needs over top of his spellcasting. Weaving his hands, he quickly casts detect magic and looks around.
Are the very treasures illusions? Did they take everything? Are there still magical wards present down in the tunnels?
With the spell active, Gado moves around the room, touching various things to see if even his weak mind will see whatever illusion might be there.
"It couldn't have taken long if'n they had a small burrowing creature to get them this far. A couple swings with a'adamantine pick axe would do it. Mind, now, it'd be quite loud."
Brushing the others back from the hole Gratum says, "Here. Step away. I need some light to find what you're worried of." No need to worry these poor saps before I find a problem He goes about his business of trap spotting with quite a few, HMM's and Hu'h's, but eventually steps back and grins at the others and gives his analysis...
"Ah, the Grim! That's make more sense. Much more manly and scary." Elon comments as he is corrected by Baszil. At the man's suggestion about magic, Elon looks oddly at him. "I think that magic does exist!"
As Gratum examines the hole, Elon gives Barley a quick ruffle of his fringe. "It's okay Barley! We are going to avenge the Captain!" Elon waits for the go ahead from Gratum, but then leaps into the tunnel and boldly strides onward!
Bazsil looks at the group of yahoos and miscreants brave heroes and ponders.
"Should we split up? One team follows the rabbit hole, continues the search around here?"
"Hmm... me and Barley never split up and it seems to work for us." Elon reasons. "We should stick together! We can explore the tunnel faster and then investigate around here later."
Proctor Jyronn Imikar looks to be in a very sour mood. He looks again and again at the hideous hole that mars the floor of one of his vaults.
"What? Oh, the wards?" the Proctor snaps out of his reverie when he realises Gado is asking him a question, "Well the area immediately behind the door is alarmed as you might imagine. We use arcane locks keyed to our clients, as well as the mundane locks... and of course, two glyphs of warding, one to damage the opponent, and one to notify us of intrusion. Both of which are now missing.
"But the floor was reinforced by a foot of steel!" the Proctor protests, "...adamantine picks you say?... but even so, the bedrock beneath... ...oh, yes, adamantine picks... beyond that, though, the vaults are in the sub levels and there are no sewers beneath them, just solid earth! ...large burrowing animal you say?... but even then, they would have needed to be able to unerringly find the exact place they were looking for! ...scrying, locate object, augury, to name but a few, you say?... " The man appears defeated.
Gado notices that quite a few of Lord Krinst's treasures are indeed magical, a weapon here, a wand there... but nothing out of the ordinary, even down the tunnel, except for the illusory floor.
"Umm... Gado, old boy?" Lord Krinst begins, "I know you need to investigate, but would you mind terribly if you avoided putting your finger marks on everything? A lot of those silvers and golds will tarnish when exposed to the human body's natural... erm, excretions.
"Do grab one of those scrolls over there, though..." The nobleman indicates a shelf of neatly stacked scrolls, "I give those to explorers, like Barbarosa... uh, the late Barbarosa... to help them find things when they get close to the actual location. Anyone know how to cast it? I imagine you would, old chap?"
Lord Krinst gifts Gado with a labeled scroll of locate object . "Hope it helps!"
Gratum inspects the tunnel below and does indeed find a hastily constructed trap. Anyone standing on a certain spot on the tunnel floor below would cause some hidden supports to give way, collapsing it on top of themselves. Gratum quickly reinforces the tunnel himself using his expert dwarven engineering knowledge and a few well-placed stones from the coffin. The trap is now rendered useless (though stepping on it will still cause the other supports to give way).
Aeslin will scan around using detect magic to identify what's going on around her.
Aeslin looks around the room also, but finds nothing new. Though she does find herself more drawn to a magical text than Gado was... but that's probably just her predilection for reading. 'Manual of Gainful...', oh dear, one of those books for meat heads.
Bazsil 'grim'aces, flicking his oiled hair with the back of hand.
"This all seems very strange. Can anyone tell if the tunnel was dug away from here or toward here? I mean, with the magics you described, seems like it would be easier to disarm them from inside, then go outside rather than coming in."
After close inspection, Bazsil is absolutely positive that the tunnel was dug towards the vault. This was not an "inside job".
Bazsil looks at Gado as if hoping or expecting something that he is not sure he wants to ask for but would appreciate. He waits a moment for Gado to read his mind and act, then jumps down the tunnel.
"If you wish to come, come. I'm sure this is just a falso trial down the rabbit hole, but the only way we'll know for sure is to follow it."
He avoids any spots that the dwarf points out as dangerous and takes out his new Ioun Torch. He sets it a'spin about his head.
He carries Lucy in his left hand, leaving his preferred right hand open for important tasks: steadying himself over difficult terrain, picking up anything of interest, and flicking his oiled coif.
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Gado looks down the hole as Gratum secures the supports.
Well I suppose that means we are going in....
Taking his new rod in one hand and waving his other, Gado casts a spell that brings a shimmering field of force over him. He then reaches in his pocket for one of the giant pearls he keeps there.
Huh. I bet I could make a necklace from these...
Summoning its power, the arcane words to the spell he just cast come back to his mind, as if they had never left. He then turns to Bazsil, who is giving him an odd, yet expectant look.
"Don't worry my new friend. I didn't forget." As far as anyone else knows...
With practiced motions, Gado casts the spell on Bazsil just before he hops down the hole.
Gado sits on the floor with his feet dangling through the opening, then rolls over onto his stomach. He shuffles his body, inching his way back so more and more of his body hangs over the edge. Eventually, after several minutes of struggle, he is dangling from his fingertips, eyes clenched shut.
Its to much! I can't hold on!
After only a few seconds of hanging from the ledge, Gado's fingertips can no longer support his frail weight. He lets go with a short gasp, only to find that his feet were mere inches off the ground. He looks up sheepishly.
"Looks like we go that way, huh?" he says, point out the obvious, and only path down the tunnel.
With a loud "Caw" the sleek, black feathered raven glides down through the tunnel opening and finds a place to rest on Gado's shoulder. With a couple of quick pecks, he lets his master know he is hungry. Again.
For the raven's typical bluster, Gado and the bird both share the same trepidation as they move down the tunnel together, a sensation felt most keenly through their magical bond.
Elon summons Barley, much to the displeasure of the Abadarites, who choose not to complain when the Lord whose vault was just broken into give them a stare. With their animal companions in place, the seven mission specialists dutifully head down the tunnel. It is amazingly wide for a tunnel that was created by a burrowing creature. The human-sized members of the party only have to duck slightly to fit within its confines. The tunnel first heads north and east, but soon begins to wind back towards the west and the coast of Magnimar. Footprints are noticed going in both directions. Occasionally, the tunnel dips down to reveal moist sand beneath, but it quickly rises again - presumably to avoid such an unstable material.
Throughout the length of the tunnel, footprints can be seen going in both directions. There are three sets of humainoid prints and one set of something... insectoid and monstrous. The footprints of the beast going towards the cathedral are somelighter than those coming back. One can assume it is carrying some kind of load on the return journey - some kind of corpse-like load.
Gradually, the light from Bazsils spinning glow-stone becomes ever more superfluous as the light at the end of the tunnel grows brighter. Warily, the septet step out into daylight. Their eyes adjust to the brightness, to find that they are standing within a copse of trees on a on a muddy beach . Elon's best guess is that it is located inside a secluded alcove north of Magnimar proper.
Chanting mixed with loud cursing can be heard from the distance to the south west, though the words and the spells cannot be made out over the sound of the ocean.
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"How does one get a body out of the vaults of the Abadarites?" the Bard whispers to himself. "Therein lies the rub." Wrigley's words immediately fade to silence as he peers toward the sounds of cursing coming from the south west. He then turns back to peer at the tunnel some twenty feet away, and can feel the wet sand squish beneath is shoes, but the halfling finds that he is happy at least to be beneath a true sky once again.
His mind is spinning at the forethought, planning, and execution of such a grand heist, and likewise, his mind reels at the thought of who, or what, might be waiting just around the bend out of sight. Intermixed into his thoughts is a begrudging respect for the perpetrators that would shortly be revealed to his eyes.