Lann looks displeased at the thought. "If you think it is best, my lady," the mongrel replies, "then I am certain we will see it done at your request. But men such as these... we have seen them in the tunnels before, and more oft of late than I would like, given my will. They are allied with others of our kind who live here below, a tribe of traitors with rites and appetites most unholy. They have forgotten who we are and from whence we came." He glances at Crel. "That tribe is also the 'complication' my cousin spoke of. The traitors' tribe bars your path to Kenabres above." He spits, a shocking display given his normally-genteel attitude. "I mean no disrespect to you, my lady, but I would rather see them left for the dire rats."
"Regardless of their role in life, they seem to have done us a service in killing this fungus creature. We can create a cairn and not risk upsetting the chief."
She retrieves items from the bodies, prying open the fingers of the one body to reveal a gold charm in the shape of brass bull's head with tiny red gemstones for eyes. "Does this signify anything to anyone?"
After hearing Lann's feelings, she looks troubled. "Ellena, does your goddess-given sight reveal any taint on these items?" "Perhaps you can determine what these are?"
Know. Religion
"They still wear the armor of the crusaders. Are you saying they are traitors who consort with fiends?". She looks at the item offered from Lyddy.
Lyddy gently points out, "We have both heard of crusaders whose actions do not reflect the Lady's teachings, whether by being misguided or misled. These men's spirits are no longer here for us to try to judge. They are in Pharasma's realm, most likely, awaiting final judgment. We can lay them to rest here to honor that they were once crusaders, but we have no way of determining why they were here. A cairn here shows them honor without offering offense to those that would aid us."
She looks at the mongrelfolk, "I realize it would not be your choice, but would it be acceptable?"
"I can't tell you about these things. With preparation I shall be able to read the scroll tomorrow, but I'm afraid I am a little befuddled at the moment. I'm uneasy about these people. Mayhap we should listen to our brothers here and leave these bodies be. But I guess a cairn never hurt anyone."
Ellena drops the symbol in horror. "They bear the holy symbol of Baphomet, a demon lord of minotaurs! Maybe we should leave the demon worshippers where they lay," she adds icily.
"Baphomet?" Aravashnial says, sounding startled. "Cultists!"
Anevia looks shocked. "You don't mean... Templars? The Ivory Labyrinth?" she asks the elf.
He replies at once, "That is exactly what I mean. We must return the bodies to the city, so we can determine who these men were and the church can seek out their confederates!"
Anevia shakes her head and looks at the floor of the cave. She begins twisting her wedding band again, faster even than before. "Irabeth..." she murmurs, her eyes closed as though in prayer.
Lyddy points out, "We do not know the condition of the church right now. Hunting traitors might be low on the list right now. Besides, carrying the bodies of two grown men will slow down and get rather disgusting unless someone has a way to shrink them and preserve them. I think magically investigating their possessions makes more sense. The church has people that can do that, right?"
"Perhaps if we can broker an agreement with the Chief, we might be able to keep the corpses in some sort of cairn. Then we could collect them again, once all the skirmishes on the surface are dealt with. Assuming your Chief would allow this, of course."
Church cares little for people's names. Tell them cultists live below the city, and a crusade will come to destroy them..."
"...and Neathhome," Belgood adds sadly, in an almost whisper.
"Oh, they don't live down here, I suspect," Aravashnial replies. "The Temple of the Ivory Labyrinth is just a rumor, but these men give credence to it. The whispers describe it as cultists of Baphomet infiltrating mercenary groups to turn the defenders of Good against one another - the 'labyrinth' part of Baphomet's portfolio is metaphorical, you see, as well as literal; they are building of labyrinth of deception and misdirection to use against us. These two, though... actual crusaders who might be Templars? That's new, and unsettling information." Despite his words, Aravashnial looks almost excited at the prospect.
"One way or another, we should put them in a cairn. If we can return, they will be here. If we cannot, no harm done. What do you think?"
"To a cairn with them then. If there is a possibility it might help us gather more information about these cults, we can come back and retrieve them later."
Nodding, Lyddy starts looking for rocks that could be used. "A place alongside the wall would reduce the number of rocks we have to gather. We are not honoring them, so it need not stand alone."
You build the cairn and strip the bodies of valuables in a few minutes' work. The mongrels seem satisfied, and you quickly move on.
About fifteen minutes' worth of walking later, you enter a small, circular cavern. There is a large stone door set into the far wall, carved with an emblem in the shape of a bat perched on a mushroom. Standing in front of the door are four more mongrels, clearly guarding it - they react with surprise when they see you, but Lann, Crel and Dyra move quickly forward, greeting their fellows and being met in turn with glad cries. Lann and Crel introduce the rest of you (their introduction of Gwerm is... "curt" is a good word for it), and explain how you helped rescue Crel from the rubble. The guards eye you all warily, but Crel and Lann's words are enough to persuade them to allow you entrance into the chamber beyond the door.
As you pass through, you find a wonder. A small, dark lake ripples in the center of this two-hundred-foot-wide cavern, the walls and ceiling aglow with thick sheets of luminescent fungi. In the center of the lake, over two dozen low stone buildings cluster on a rocky one-hundred-foot-wide island. Lights glow in the windows of the buildings, giving the settlement an almost welcoming look. Rafts made of mismatched planks of timber bob along the length of a crooked pier at the lake’s closest shore.
Lann leads you and his fellow mongrels down to the pier, untying one of the rafts and steadying it while you board. He hands a pole to Dyra, and together they begin steering you across the lake toward the island.
Lyddy respectfully remains silent and nods when introduced.
As they enter into the chamber beyond, she stops to take in the view. "Amazing. How long have your people lived here?"
Ellena, too, remains quiet. She couldn't help but gape a bit at the strange city created under the city that before earlier in the day, she had never heard of. "The architecture is very nice," she adds as they hop on the rafts.
Belgood attempts to pull Lann aside before the raft sets out. Reaching into one of the pouches on his belt, he retrieves the pendant of the bat and mushroom he found earlier.
"Found this. Seems to belong here."
Lann's eyes widen at Belgood's revelation. "What... where did you come upon this item?" he asks, staring.
"Abandoned campsite. Between waking up after falling and Torag's temple. Picked up some nubby candles, too."
Lann does not touch the pendant, but he continues to stare at it for a long moment. "This... this belonged to the second son of Chief Sull," the mongrel explains. He looks as though he wants to go on, but after a pause, he shakes his head. [b]"Nay, I will explain no further. It is the tale of another, and I've no cause to intrude upon it. This alone will I tell you: present this to Chief Sull, and I believe you will earn his favor."
As they enter into the chamber beyond, she stops to take in the view. "Amazing. How long have your people lived here?"
"The fourth generation of our tribe is even now being born," Crel growls, his hyena-like snout unable to conceal the pride in his voice. "Our forebears founded Neathholm in the chaos after the First Mendevian Crusade, and we have built upon and expanded it since that time."
Aravashnial says, his voice tinged with eagerness and regret, "Oh, that I could see this place! The mole people are mere rumors, but I am standing in an actual pitling settlement, and I can't even see it!"
Crel, Dyra and Lann all grimace at his choice of terms for their kind, Crel going far enough to bare teeth for an instant before subsiding again.
As an observer, Ellena watched the interaction between the mongrelfolk and the elf over his choice of words. She feels a twinge of guilt at seeing the obvious anger his words caused the mongrelfolk. Perhaps the part-fiends like that Belgood feel the same way, when I call them 'fiends?' She resolved to work on that in the future. Iomedae wouldn't want her slurring one who is obviously not evil at heart, in that manner.
"Perhaps you could use a different choice of words for our helpful guides, please, Aravashnial." As she said this, she nodded toward the tiefling, hoping he caught the message as well.
"It is truly a living work of art. Crel, Lann, Dyra, please forgive such a base question, but in light of your reaction to his words, do your people have a preferred name for yourselves?"
"Mongrels," Lann says, and there is a strange note of pride in his voice as he poles across the lake. "In animal breeding, if a bloodline is kept truly pure for too many generations, weakness sets in and defects can appear. In such cases, you need a crossbreed - a mongrel - to restore health to the line. It is true that, for many, mongrels lack aesthetic value, but none can deny they have the strength of their disparate natures unified." Crel and Dyra nod, a similar air of pride about them as well.
Ellena didn't comment on Lann's take on breeding. She was trying to expand her horizons to become more tolerant, but she wasn't quite ready to go that far in her thinking just yet.
"Mongrels. Thank you for your answer. And you are right, I have seen what happens with too pure a line. Friend elf, please address our new friends by their chosen name. We can hardly afford to offend someone here."
"Er, yes, of course," replies Aravashnial, sounding once more abashed. Lann looks somewhat mollified, and even Crel relaxes a little. Dyra and Lann continue to pole in silence.
When the raft reaches the island, the three mongrels lead you through the settlement. It looks to hold perhaps three dozen souls altogether, a double handful of families, including children. Several watch you warily as you make your way along, but your escorts seem to reassure them, and they merely stay out of your way.
After just a few moments, you arrive at the largest of the ramshackle huts, built on the highest point of the low island. You have to duck your heads to enter, and there isn't much room inside either. About half of the available space inside the one-room building is filled with a low dais, only a couple of inches higher than the stone floor. Seated on a stack of hides - you can barely call them cushions - is a bulgingly fat mongrel, his nose and mouth resembling something more like a rat than a human and one eye milky-white with blindness and age. Lann, Crel and Dyra place one hand on their hearts, in a fist, and bow their heads - it is a crusader's bow, and Anevia's eyes widen as they make it. The older mongrel's good eye widens likewise as he sees you enter, but Lann quickly steps forward and explains in his smooth, eloquent voice how you came to be with him.
When Lann finishes his story, the other man runs his good eye over your group. "Your tale intrigues me, good Lann," he replies, his voice oddly high-pitched for a man of his size. "And it would seem that you are deserving of the gratitude of my tribe, uplanders." He nods to you "I am Sull, chief of Neathholm. Please accept my thanks for your efforts on behalf of Crel. Though we lost many of his fellow guards in these tremors, I will not forgo the celebration of his life simply for the sake of grief. Tell me, if you will, how you chanced to be here in the caverns, that you were positioned to aid him?"
"Chief Sull, I am Ellena, and we were brought down here by the very same tremors you speak of. We are from Kenbares, and due to an invasion by demons, the very ground broke open in a battle between our town's dragon and the invader's huge demon. We fell through the earth, and have been seeking to return to our home and try to save it from the demonic horde. We encountered your people along the way, and thankfully were in a position to aid him."
Lyddy steps forward alongside Ellena and bows. "Chief Sull. I am Lyddy, also of Kenabres. The city had gathered for celebration when the tremors began and the Kite disappeared."
"The great silver dragon Terendelev, guardian of the city, met the balor Storm King Khorramzadeh in battle in the air above the cathedral."
"The ground continued to shake and demons continued to come up from the earth itself. The balor got the better of our greatest hope. As she fell, she crashed into the facade of the Cathedral of St. Clydwell. The impact caused the ground under us to open. Many in the crowd fell into the depths. The last act of the great Terendelev was to use her magic to slow the fall of as many as she could. Even so, many were crushed by the stone that fell in with us. Those you see here are all that survived, as far as we know."
"We have followed the paths we have found and they have led us to you and your people. I am glad it has. It is an honor to meet all of you."
At Lyddy and Ellena's words, the assembled mongrels gasp. "The city has fallen? To demons?" Sull repeats, shocked. His voice is squeaky, but his expression is as much angry as it is horrified. Lann, Crel and Dyra look on the edge of panic, but their chief cuts through their anxious whispers to one another.
"Friends, you bring dark tidings, layering grief upon grief. We had believed the quakes to be just that, simple tremors of the earth that cost us lives and property, but to which we could attribute no malice. Now, though, you tell us that the city of our ancestors has ransacked and ruined by the foes our forebears gave their bodies and betimes their souls to defeat? Hear me, and know my words for truth: uplanders consider us 'freaks' and outcasts, but we carry the blood of crusaders in our veins no matter our shapes. We will not allow the demons to hold Kenabres while we take in breath. My people, and the other tribes of mongrels we hold ties with, are willing to stand with the armies of sanctity when they march to drive out the demons. I know you seek to return to the surface, and we can tell you the way - but will you also carry word of our offer of alliance when you go?"
"I am afraid out town will need as many crusaders as possible. If you'd side with us, we would appreciate your generosity. I would be happy to advise the city dwellers of your gracious offer."
Lyddy grimly nods, "And I will be proud to stand alongside your crusaders."
"Excellent," Sull nods, smiling. (It is a little disconcerting, as it shows off the two rodent-like teeth in the front of his mouth.) "Then I declare you friends of Neathholm; you may rest here as long as you require until health and strength are restored. If you wish the aid of mystic powers, Opoli, our seer, may be able to provide it to you."
The chief sobers some as he continues, "There is one obstacle that you must face, however, before you can return to the surface. The tribe of traitors lies on the ascending path, and you will need to battle your way through them to reach Kenabres. We know them to be friends of cultists that worship the darkest powers of the Abyss, and many among them have turned to such worship themselves. We weep that they have so forgotten our blood as to turn against those who gave birth to us, but the demons corrupt with quicksilver lies and promises of glittering damnation. We have merely avoided contact with them, out of respect for our distant ties of family, but you cannot do likewise - the only route we know to the surface lies beyond their caverns.
"I would send my warriors to aid you in your efforts, but I cannot; most are searching out survivors in the damaged caverns, and I will need the rest to send word to the other tribes that we are to rally here at Neathholm before we seek to aid the uplander defenses. The seven of you alone will have to prove enough to battle through. If you remove the tribe from our path, though, we will be able to reach Kenabres unbloodied, and ready to face the demons with our full strength. All I can provide is a collection of supplies, but these I do with a right glad heart." He produces a collection of potion bottles, nine altogether, and hands them to Lann, who passes them along to you. Six are neatly labeled in Common as potions of cure light wounds, while the remaining three are potions of lesser restoration.
"With your willingness to aid our city, I swear to you to I will eliminate your enemies. Nothing will stand between both people reuniting and defending the city versus the demonic attackers. Iomedae would be pleased, I think."
"uhm. Do not wish to repay your .. uhm.. generosity with further.. uh.. grief, Chief Sull, but Lann suggested you as the .. uh .. p..proper owner of this p..p..pendant, found shortly after hmmm.. falling here."
With some hesitation, Belgood offers the bat and mushroom pendant to the Mongrel's leader, though he clearly wishes he were someone or somewhere else.
"Your offer is very generous and greatly appreciated. Are there any among your crusaders who might be able to tell us of these traitors - strengths, tactics, locations?"
"Oh! I must not forget. Two of our number were injured in the initial battle and subsequent fall. Is your seer able to mend broken bones or restore sight? Both feats are beyond my meager skills."
"uhm. Do not wish to repay your .. uhm.. generosity with further.. uh.. grief, Chief Sull, but Lann suggested you as the .. uh .. p..proper owner of this p..p..pendant, found shortly after hmmm.. falling here."
With some hesitation, Belgood offers the bat and mushroom pendant to the Mongrel's leader, though he clearly wishes he were someone or somewhere else.
Sull leans forward, brow furrowed, to take the pendant, but his eye widens as he sees the pendant. "This... where did you encounter this?" he demands.
The chief is quiet for a moment, but then he says, "This pendant belonged to my second son. He left here, just over under a month ago, after we quarreled. He argued with great passion that we should take a more aggressive stance in opposition to our traitorous kin, while I chided him for inflaming anger that could not be readily calmed and risking the lives of our people. He chose to set out and find others of our kind who believed as he did. Knowing what I do now about the state of Kenabres, I am proud that he showed the wisdom I did not, and I... am ashamed I did not follow his advice sooner."
Sull looks down, running a sharp talon over the pendant's face. "Thank you for returning this, friend Belgood," he murmurs quietly. "I am pleased to know he made it at least as far as that camp - that tells me where he was likely going, and I can send my runners in that direction to seek him out and learn if he found the allies he sought. And in penance for my failure to heed his insightful argument..." The chief stands, moving slowly over to a large wooden chest and opening it. From within the chest he produces a large, well-made morningstar, too large for Belgood but easily borne by Lyddy or Ellena. It is nonetheless to Belgood that he gives it. "This is my grandfather's weapon, handed down from the days of the First Crusade, and carries an enchantment on it to aid the bearer in battle. I should have wielded it against the traitors as my son suggested, but did not. I ask now that you use it on my behalf, and be sure to crush at least one traitor's skull with it on your way through." He smiles again, and this time, it does not seem disconcerting - it seems feral.
"Your offer is very generous and greatly appreciated. Are there any among your crusaders who might be able to tell us of these traitors - strengths, tactics, locations?"
"There are a dozen, perhaps, altogether, but other than where to find them, we know little more. As I said, we have kept away for some time, hoping that their corruption would eventually devour them from within."
"Oh! I must not forget. Two of our number were injured in the initial battle and subsequent fall. Is your seer able to mend broken bones or restore sight? Both feats are beyond my meager skills."
The chief frowns, then shakes his head. "I do not know, but I do not believe so. Our own ills of like severity he has never cured. You will need to speak with him to know for certain."
Ellena tries to make sure the other survivors of the rockfall are in good shape before she begins exploring the town. The last thing she needed was the blind wizard inflaming the populace of the town by using his derogatory terms for the mongrels, or the fat one just being himself. Once they were fed, watered, and shown to their dwelling for the evening, Ellena went to meet the other group members to see who might be interested in a stroll around the block.
Lyddy is definitely game. She will tend to Anevia and check the splint to see if it needs adjustment or replacement and tend to Aravashnial's burns.
Quietly, almost to herself, she says, "My friends, how I wish I could ease your pain. And Aravashnial, I hope you can forgive my tone before we entered Neathholm - the comment about referring to our hosts as mongrels. It does my heart good to see your pure excitement at these experiences in the midst of our challenges. I have rarely felt that since losing my sight. I hope to feel it again. I certainly did not wish to curtail that wonder in you. I only wanted to make sure we put our best foot forward and I could see your words, unintentional as they were, had bothered our guides."
Having done what she could and reaffirming her inability to do more, Lyddy stands, looks at them with a grim smile, and turns toward the businessman. "You have been quiet, sir. What do you make of this? A legend come to live below the very stone of our home? You seem to be a man that sees the potential that others overlook. Do you think that there is potential for the folk of Neathholm to rejoin those of us on the surface?"
There really isn't much to see in Neathholm - the entire settlement covers about two acres, give or take, and is mostly a collection of tiny huts, each sleeping anywhere from one to five or so people. There is a "town square" of sorts - basically about 50 feet of cleared space, with a kind of fungal garden on one side that seems to be tended by pretty much everyone in the town as suits their inclinations. There is a village church, tended by Seer Opoli; Opoli is tall and almost skeletally thin, with tusks that curve sharply outward, tiny vestigal wings growing unevenly from his shoulder blades, and a crablike pincer where his left hand should be. His eyes are slitted like a cat's, but his smile seems genuine when you visit, and he happily provides you with all the spells you might ask for. During your visit, his familiar - a large gecko with eye-catching green and red stripes - watches you all with interest.
As you travel through the town, a number of the locals come out to greet you; word has spread of your arrival, and everyone seems to want to know what has happened to Kenabres. During one such meeting, Lyddy actually meets an older mongrel, nearly fifty (which is apparently quite venerable for them), who tells her that his father fought alongside her grandfather during the First Crusade.
"Let us see if my gifts are any more successful today than when I first tried to heal you, OK?"
She frowns at little apparent improvement for Anevia's wounds - not that she expected the leg to knit. But she feels some pride in seeing some of Aravashnial's burns showing improvement this time.