As the others talk Trox is quietly smiling to himself. The idea that he picked a lock in any way ammuses him. Erond's comments snaps him back to focus.
"Yes smashed or poked. Lets see what there is to see."
Trox is hot on the heels of Druamin into the room. If nothing happens he moves to the farthest, east, door ready to open it unless stopped.
Before advancing into the newly revealed hallway, Reynard makes sure his wrist sheathes are loaded, and says to the others "Take care, friends. Who knows what's down here." Then he advances, looking this way and that.
This room contains three low tables, their tops covered with a strange and chilling selection of tools, saws, long-bladed knives, and objects whose purpose is not readily apparent. A strange collection of bones lies near the southern table too many to be one skeleton, but too few to be two.
Faywen's smile evaporates as she follows Trox in and sees what lies on the tables in the next room. "With each new discovery I become more glad we've put an end to Nualia's obscenities."
The surgical tools on the tables are exquisitely made, and are worth 100 gp in all. Sitting on the easternmost table is an object that, upon closer examination, isn't a tool at all. It appears to be a silver and-gold seven-pointed star; one surface is studded with nodules and blades, and the other features a thin, curved handle.
Faywen reaches out as if to pick up the star, before yanking her hand back and looking to the others. "It would be just like this place to leave out an expensive and important looking cursed item for any fool to pick up on a whim."
Druamin whistles as he walks into the room. "Well, this looks like a torture chamber or something worse. But we think that Nualia didn't find this room? I wonder what would have happened if she had." Druamin steps up next to Faywen. He is about to pull her hand back when she stops herself. "Yeah, let's be careful here." He steps aside to let Erond check for magic."[/b]
Nothing in this room appears to be magical. Well, nothing you didn't already know about.
Trox looks at the bad business this room was used for. He shrugs and moves to the north door, waiting for the others to be ready.
Reynard covers the other door, across from Trox. Just in case.
"Nothing huh? Ok. Let's check out the other rooms." Druamin goes back to the room with the doors. "So, Trox or Reynard? Which one shall we do?"
This barren room contains an upraised dais on which sits a marble throne. To either side stand statues of a man clutching a book and a glaive. A ghostly figure seems to be seated in the throne, an image of the same man who appears in the statues. He seems to be addressing an audience as he moves his hands about, his fingers decorated with hooked rings, but the words issuing from his phantom mouth are difficult to make out and in a strange language.
The faded images seems stuck in a loop, repeating the following in Thassilonian.
"..is upon us, but I command you remain. Witness my power, how Alaznist's petty wrath is but a flash compared to my strength. Take my final work to your graves, and let its memory be the last thing you..."
Druamin watches the ghostly image. He doesn't understand the language but he can tell that it seems to be some preset sequence. After only a few seconds it repeats itself. "Does anyone understand this thing? Erond, you do? What did it say?"
"Alaznist? Are you sure he's not saying Azlanti? I've never heard of Alaznist. What is it? Does anyone know?"
The image is obviously mage, some sort of an illusion.
Otherwise, nothing seems to be of particular interest here.
The doors to this room are made of stone but bear no handles. An indented outline of a seven pointed star, its shape covered by hollows and slits, graces the spot where handles should be.
"Ah. Now I'm not the cleverest dwarf in the woods, but that indent looks a lot like that star thing we saw in the other room. Did someone grab it? Maybe if we insert that star thing here, it will open these doors. But I would be worried about traps."
Satisfied that the star has no obvious magical signature, Faywen picks it up off the table and follows the others out to see the others watching the magical loop. She ponders it for some time, trying to rack her memory for anything she may have learned of this Alaznist person.
"I don't know the identity of either this man or the Alaznist he's talking about, but the language he speaks is ancient Thassilonian. This has been here for a very, very long time."
Finally, she holds the star up in response to Druamin's question, but doesn't yet make any moves to insert it into the indentation.
It does indeed appear like it will fit.
Erond tries to get a glimpse of what is on the other side, but the doors are thick stone, and there is very little room. Maybe a gas could permeate the edges, or a stiff piece of paper, but little else.
He finds no traps, however.
When he hears no traps were found Trox moves to the doors and readies himself to open. He looks to the others and if no one stops him he opens the door and steps in, shield up.
"Wait. Does anyone have some magic that can move things at a distance? I had a friend, years ago, who could wave her hand around in the air and then lift small objects. She called it 'magic hand' or something like that."
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Reynard looks at the thick doors skeptically, but cracks his knuckles. "Let me give it a shot." He steps forward, but stops. "Just a minute." First, he checks it for traps.
After checking for traps (assuming he doesn't find anything) he steps forward and makes a few gestures at the doors.
No traps where found, and Reynard beams as his little magic trip seems to work as intended.
The door opens with a hiss as the air pressure moves from one location to another. You feel a humid heat start to fill the room, and the smell of burning hair assaults your senses.
Druamin sniffs at the air. "Well, what's that awful smell?" He moves to get a closer look into the room.
No, not really. It isn’t pleasant but also doesn’t seem toxic or dangerous.
Faywen pulls back from the blast of heated air and covers her nose. "Something is wrong."
"Let's not all be timid now. We've already stormed through most of this place." Druamin moves through the open doorway and into the new room.
This room is lit primarily by a 10-foot-long pit of flickering fire that fills the room with a strange humid heat and the smell of burning hair. In the northern corners of the room, wooden risers each hold several dozen golden candles that burn without melting, while to the south the wall bears an immense carving of a seven-pointed star.
You sense a presence, but see nothing.
"Still, some protective magic might be appropriate..."
Druamin grips the haft of his battleaxe tightly and casts detect magic across the room. With cautious steps, he moves to the side of the door to allow others to enter.
Reynard snaps an extract out of his wrist sheathe and downs it., then draws another.
Faywen follows after Erond, not wanting to leave the man in the room by himself.
Following the dwarf Trox enters and moves to the other side. There is no way he lets the others ahead of him.
Druamin comes in and does detect the presence of magic, but not specific enough to help him much.
Suddenly, a large beast that resembles something of a large goblin with wolflike feaures appears right next to Druamin, claws and teeth flashing from nowhere. It seems to be blinking in and out of existance.
Druamin drops in a bloody heap.
As the creature appears Trox bellows in a surprisingly high voice.
"Best look at me beastie! Your death comes!"
Sadly his bluster does, at best, get the creatures attention because the attack is ill timed.
Faywen shouts a cry of alarm, then rushes forward and slings a blast of water at the horrid creature.
Druamin continues to bleed.