Torvi tries swimming towards the shore...
Glug, glug...
Dropping into the water and kicking her feat to keep afloat, "Are we gonna try to take that thing with us?"
Though Dasur's spellbook, writing materials, and scrolls are stored in a waterproof bag, he has other delicate optical instruments that he would prfer not to get wet.
A quick mental bout of mental calculus and the w izard decides not to trust the machinations of Water after such a close brush with death at the hands of Air. The steel of the gondola, with its close association to Earth, seems much more trustworthy.
Landing with a hard thump and a dramatic splash of water out of the boat, Dasur involuntarily groans as the impact pounds his knees.
Shakily standing at the edge of the water laden vessel, he watches the others bob to the surface. "It appears the bottom part of the vessels remains intact, though our supplies may be moist."
He starts to bail out the boat with his hands unless he finds a more suitable bucket-like object, preparing to move the gondola ashore when it is no longer in danger of taking on more water.
Glenda lands with a great splash in the water and immediately sinks to the bottom.
Iverna floats lightly into the water. She manages to tread water, keeping her head above water, but can't make any headway even in the calm water.
Erebos falls to the surface of the gondola, but remains floating inches above it.
He looks about, grasping an anchor and rope and tossing it in the direction of the sinking Glenda, but the anchor falls short.
Snorri does the same, somehow also missing Nalnera.
Torvi tries swimming towards the shore...
And at least keeps her head above water this time!
Round 2
Dasur stops bailing out the boat as Snorri and Erebos begin tossing anchors, realizing the four in the water could be drowning. "The Water has asked a price for saving our supplies. Do not let it!" He says cryptically, searching for any other means of rescue.
With no arcane solutions, Dasur has to rely on the mundane- he follows suit with the others and grasps an anchor, briefly twirling it in a circle before loosing the item towards the bubbles where Glenda used to be.
Dasur drops an anchor into the water above Glenda's head.
Kicking her feet but this has been a long day and that pack is getting heavy. Death is really not that bad. I wonder what idiots head you will be trapped in?
Eventually, Snorri, Erebos and Dasur drag everyone back into the gondola, which is trying hard to sink, but you can bail it well enough to get the gondola to the edge of the pool. You are wet and probably unhappy, but you have reached the Lower Azathyr.
Dasur ungracefully stumbles off out the gondola and onto hard rock, his sodden boots leaving puddles of water as he falls to his aching knees. "Stone..." He says breathlessly, laying hands on its cool, familiar edges.
"The Earth has guided us to the Lower Azathyr, just as my calculations foretold." The wizard seems to speak to himself, sitting up on his knees to gaze straight ahead to the limits of his darkvision.
"Zhashilgeax..." He mutters, touching the trillion ruby through his shirt. "First you guided me with your brilliant geometry, and then spoke the Prophecy into my ears. Soon, my theories will be realized thanks to your help, and Dammerhall will rise again." Appropriately, the dwarven arcanist and mathematician rises back to his feet, walking unsteadily back to the gondola to help unload supplies.
"Shall we rest from our battle against the Air and Water, fasten our supplies, and forge onward?" He asks of his companions, grabbing a sodden hunk of smoked auroch that was destined for their next meal.
”Are we done with traveling by water and air? We are dwarves! We should stick with walking.”
Having been dragged sodden out of the water, Glenda continues to squeeze water out of her hair and carefully rebraids it before replacing her helmet.
"I have had enough of not-walking, yes," she says. "We have made significant progress. Let's finish our journey to a new home by reaffirming our connection to the earth, as we walk deep beneath its surface."
At the bottom of the long hole, the pool is surrounded by a wide ledge, ranging from 20 to 100 feet wide. The area is fairly damp and unpleasant, and after so many days in the magical darklight of the Fungal Jungle, your normal darkvision seems almost claustrophobic. There are three exits from the chamber that you are in, at least three. Perhaps there is another one at the bottom of the deep well, but the sinking swimmers found no bottom, so that seems like a path you can't tread at the moment.
Iverna slinks around the edge of the pool, inspecting each exit, before saying,"We are now completely beyond my knowldege, Lord Snorri. I will continue to serve you as a scout as you will have me, but I can serve you no more as a guide. What about you, darkman, do you know anything about where we might be?"
Erebos ponders, drawing in the mud with the tip of a dagger. "I do now recognize this maw, though it is remarkably similar to the Dragon's Maw, what the gnomes call the Great-Jumping-Off-Point. Based on our distance and direction from Vothys, I would judge that we are south of the Earth's Wound, and I believe it is there that we will find the mine that the dwarves seek. But the tunnels here do not always award a direct approach. It could be any of the three exits that lead there. The wide path seems easiest, so perhaps we should go that way."
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After they have secured all of their supplies, Dasur joins in the discussion on where they should travel next. "We stand in the center of a great wheel, and the adjourning tunnels are spokes." The wizard says cryptically, beginning to draw in the mud alongside Erebos. He draws a 3-dimensional object that looks like their surroundings- three lines emerge from a single point, going out into infinity, with another line going through the z-axis above and below them.
"We fell through the z-axis, here, landing in center. This is not a coincidence, because the Earth is sending us a message. It does not matter which way we choose, for we will find our way to Zaraketh." He lifts up his staff, now casually leaning on it. "The ancient mines were said to contain miles long veins of mithral ore. Indeed, I conjeture we merely need to find a civilized race to ask its whereabouts. Surely such a place would be spoke of in their collective memories. I agree with Erebos that the widest tunnel would be most useful. It would be sort after by socities for trade and travel, and thus patrolled, incresing our chances of meeting a communicative race."
He turns is head to Glenda, who may be able to provide some sort of divine assistance. "Could Magrim lend us assistance in this endevaor? I have no spells in my repotoire that aid in navigation."
Glenda thinks for a few moments, then slowly says, "I do not... immediately know of a spell that I can perform that will help. There are a few spells that help with divine guidance to find an item some distance away, or even to find an unerring path to a location. But I don't know of any beyond those and they are far beyond my ability."
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Torvi glares at Dasur, ”I understand less than half of what you say, and I like less than half of what I understand. But a mile of mithral? Now that I could grow to like.”
Wringing the water from her hair and quietly listening, "I have no magic for that. And I am fine withe the middle one." You all are lost. Thanks." Your welcome.
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Snorri hits the gondola hard, protected by his armor, and rushes to help his retainers, muttering unflattering words about dark elves, gnomes and deathtraps. Only when they are all safe does he consider his location.
"Of course I will have you, Iverna. I won't leave behind anyone who's sharing this path."
His voice raises slightly as he makes a brief speech, smiling through the injuries. "Over and over have we found traps, foes and danger opposing our path, and over and over have we triumphed, together. Today we took our single biggest step towards Dammerhall, our new and old home."
"There is no telling what we'll find here. Familiar faces like deep gnomes and dark elves, something more alien like the intelligent spiders or the Xan, or maybe something we can't even fathom. If they are friendly, we will trade and make alliances. If they are hostile, they will learn of our might, and that there are still breathing dwarves in the Azathyr."
"Now I say we find a place to rest. Then, we will move forth, with lighter heart as we are closer to our goal. And one day, we will take back our birthright."
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"The earth is a friend to dwarves," says Glenda. "I feel confident that if we show prudence and care, we will find our way, with magic or without."
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The earth may be a friend to dwarves, but the larger central passage is quite chummy with water. The cavern is wet and alive with complex stone flow. Not surprising, since there is a massive underground lake above you. Even the many smaller winding side passages are somewhat wet. In the end, you spend a wet night on wet stone, comforted only by meager magic and huddled bodies.
You wake from sleep to more damp, but your spirits are strong, and you believe that you are closer to the mine. You break your fast and make haste, spirits lifted. Erebos, normally proud, seems nervous, as though he walks in a world beyond his control, while Iverna is more relaxed than you have ever seen her, as if she has shed weights that she has carried for many years. Nalnera ponders her dreams.
Dasur spends his spare time in a perfectly clean and dry part of their camp entirely of his own making, thanks to liberal and near constant application of presdigitisation.
He sits in front of a piece of cloth stretched before him, the jewels taken from the gnomish observatory spread out in various patterns, grouped by type. He will look at one through his jeweler's scope for several minutes at a time, then place it back on the cloth in a slightly different position than before. Occassionally he will jump with surprise, as if startled by something, and then rapidly make notes on an overused piece of parchment.
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”Let’s go people! That miles long vein of mithral isn’t going to find itself!”
Tilting her head and staring at him, "Do you know where we are Regnir?"
Laying on her bedroll staring into the dimming embers. Glancing up at Torvi and then laying her head back down on her tattered pillow, "Or we could just sleep some more. Maybe go mithral hunting tomorrow."
Snorri chews on a strip of auroch jerky as breakfast. "No sense in standing around much longer. As soon as Dasur and Glenda have prepared their spells for today, we can leave. Iverna, take a look forward if you feel like it, but be cautious."
The dwarf opens his backpack, taking out a signaling horn and handing it to the deep gnome. "Call us with this if you run into trouble."
Iverna vanishes into the cavern ahead. The terrain is rough and unfinished, so she finds plenty of places to hide. She checks back many times, each time indicating that no dangers lie ahead. After a day's march, nothing has changed, but two days brings you to another crossroads. While your broad tunnel ends, smaller tunnels break off to the north and south. More importantly, however is the crossroads. Near the end of the second days march, Iverna returns from her scouting. She holds a strange and grey-white object before her.
"Dwarves, I think there is something ahead that you will like to see".
She holds out to your inspection a long bone, a femur that is distinctly short and dwarven.
”Umm, where are the other two hundred?”
"Ah!" says Glenda excitedly when she sees the femur. "This is from one of our people!"
"We know, of course, that a bad fate befell our forebears here... so this is not unexpected. But it means we are close! We are in the area where dwarves lived once... and will hopefully live again."
She seems more animated than she has been before, positively upbeat by this revelation.
Dasur approaches Iverna as she presents the demur to the group, carefully stroking his beard he reaches into one of his many belt pouches and removes his jeweler's scope, nearly pressing his face against the femur as he observes its calcified surface.
"Are there more?" The wizard asks casually as he peers over the bone.
"There are bones scattered across the floor, mostly sunk into the mud. It looks like the remains of a big battle."
The bone is a few hundred years old, well within the timeframe of the fall of Dammerhall. It has also been gnawed upon by teeth not strong enough to break it, but sharp enough to clean off the flesh.
Snorri frowns seeing the bone. "Let us mark the location. We have no time to properly bury them now, but we should lay our forefathers' remains to rest when we can. For the moment, a prayer to Magrim seems in order. Were there bones that looked like they came from non-dwarves? If there are, we will know of a foe. But if there aren't, it means either invertebrates... or duergar."
"We are in the area where dwarves lived once... and will hopefully live again."
"Strictly speaking, it means we are in an area where dwarves died once. In a battle, or massacre, or some other form of death. I definitely agree that looking for further evidence of what transpired here is prudent."
Torvi will cast detect magic and commence searching the boneyard. Either for signs of other creatures, useful data, and of course, loot.
Twitchy and agitated the first day and showing no sign of changing at they move into the next day. Your timing is off.
Nodding her head, "Regnir thinks something is here."
Holding out a hand to their future king, "We can always take a little break but I need that shifting tool Lord Snorri"
Dasur relinquishes his hold on the bone so that others may inspect if if they wish. "This bone could belong to those that fled Dammerhall hundreds of years ago. This battlefield could be littered with the remains of our ancestors. There is a theoretical but low possibility this could be the bone of a duergar due to the lack of skeletal differences between us and our subterranean kin, but they would have collected and buried their dead if they had been victorious."
After droning on for over a minute about hypotheticals, the wizard reaches a conclusion. "In any case, we should explore this battle site fully to discover more."
As you approach the remains of the battle, you find a broad intersection, a dome of stone at least 200 feet across where your tunnel joins two smaller ones. It would be wrong to say that the place is littered with bones, because most of them are at least partially buried in silt, washed in from flooding, most likely.
With some inspection, you can say with confidence that a great many dwarves died here, at least a hundred. You find signs of trauma, mostly penetrating wounds like crossbows and rapiers, some lighter slashing weapons. There are also a few larger bones, likely orcs, but no orc skulls.
Torvi walks the room, her feet walking across the firm soil. She crosses the chamber and turns about, making a careful search. Her magical senses lock onto a faint glow from beneath the ground. She moves toward it and pulls away the dirt, unearthing a skull and then an amulet that is reminiscent of Dasur's, though set with an emerald. The amulet emanates magic as it sits on the earth.
Torvi can't decipher the nature of the magic, but she knows that it is not immensely powerful.
"Crossbows and rapiers... probably drow," says Glenda as she makes her way through the remains. "Magrim, I hope that you have brought every dwarf who lies here into your grace."
Well, if it's not immensely powerful, she'll go ahead and grab it and take it to the more magical members of the party. "Here now, lookee what I found."
Torvi lifts the amulet and freezes as though struck by a paralyzing spell.
You’ve been walking for days with little rest. The sting of Dammerhall’s loss makes every step heavy. But you must press on. You must. Not for yourself but for those hundreds who travel with you. They need every one of us now. They need every soldier, every miner, every matron and yes, even every shoemaker like yourself. Master Horath speaks with great conviction that the entrance to the surface is not far and that there you will find allies there. And these allies ... perhaps they can provide shelter to the refugees who travel with you. Dare you hope that there is even still hope of retaking lost Dammerhall? Such notions seem impossible even as you unfold your bedroll and make a place amongst five hundred other dwarves. Worry about such things tomorrow. Now, find some sleep...
Yes...sleep. Wait. What’s that? A cry of alarm is raised. You roll over and where you had been sleeping just moments before, three crossbow bolts imbed in your blanket. You recognize the black iron of the bolt heads. Drow! You scramble on arms and knees, moving desperately amidst the shrieking terrified throng. Around you everywhere are such scenes of horror that they are hard even to acknowledge they are real. Drow raiders fire their cruel barbed crossbows into the mass of dwarves indiscriminately. You see dwarven children slaughtered next to their dying matrons. You see soldiers overwhelmed and murdered where they stand. You see ... no... it’s too much even to bear. You run...run...as fast your legs will take you. There is only escape. There is only...A sharp dull thud. Something is in your back. You
can feel the poison course through your veins. A stinging blackness and then ... sleep overwhelms you. You struggle
to stay awake but you are so tired, so very tired...“This one’s still alive. Take him as a slave?”
You look into a familiar face. Maybe you are racist, thinking all drow look alike, but the one who says “The baron says no slaves.” looks astoundingly like the one who calls himself Erebos.
“Too bad. Dwarves are valuable in Taaryssia.” The knife is drawn across your throat even as you are helpless to speak. The blood covers the pendant, thick and clotted. And then silence. And at last...rest...
Torvi shakes her head and blinks tears from her eyes as they come back into focus. She scans the area. Finally she spots the one she is after, the drow! She shrieks a dwarven warcry that has not been heard in these caverns since, well, since these dead dwarves would have used it. She screams, ”murderer! You were here! You killed these people! She brings the words of her rage song to her lips as she charges Erebos.
Growling at the lack of a response and moving to stalking around the abandoned battleground. What were you talking about?.. Or am I going mad..
Kicking at a rock but starting to head over towards Torvi only to have to break into a run of her own. Trying to cut into Torvi's path, "Hey! Wait, wait, wait!"
Dasur slowly walks among the bones, pondering the timing and nature of this battle. There were hundreds of dwarves killed here, hundreds of years ago. "It seems our ancestors lost this battle. If this was a group fleeing from Dammerhall, we now know why the secret passage remained a secret. Of course, we have seen nothing to indicate these bones do not belong to the duergar..."
This seemed like the beginning of another long monotonous lecture on the differences between duergar and dwarven culture when Torvi mentions she she has discovered something. "Oh? Is that... a bejeweled amulet?" A certain breathless wonder enters the wizard's usually flat voice, and he begins making his way to Torvi even as she is struck still.
Despite his excitement, her sudden outburst gives him pause. "While Erebos could indeed be old enou..." He begins to explain, though he stops as Torvi begins to charge across the muddy field in a battle rage. Frowning, Dasur quickly reaches into his spell component pouch, throwing bits of colored sand into the air in front of their resident skald.
He barks a word of power; suddenly Trovi's sight is an incredible miasma of swirling, otherworldly bright colors. Not even closing her eyes can banish the overwhelming hues, for they are in her very mind.
Snorri walks the battlefield, whispering prayers to Torag and his brother Magrim to get the fallen ones to safe rest. When Torvi lifts the amulet, his eyes light up at the sight of a dwarven relic, a memento from the past. But as she charges, he hesitates for a moment until it's clear that her target is Erebos.
Is she blaming her for this?
No armor ever constrained the speed of a dwarf, but the precious time to realize what was happening was lost. As Dasur casts forth a mesmerizing torrent of raw magic, Snorri is charging without his axe, aiming to restrain Torvi and separate the quarrelling pair. "Hold! Earth Immortal, hold your weapon!"
21 Erebos
14 Dasur
12 Nalnera
7 Torvi
7 Glenda
4 Snorri
As Torvi turns on Erebos, his eyes widen in surprise. He speaks dark words as one hand slices the air and another touches a pouch at his belt. The dark elf vanishes from sight.
So, a Will save against color spray...
+1 when raging, +2 vs spells = 16!
Success!
Torvi pushes through the pathetic magical and physical barriers presented by the other dwarves and proceeds on her path of vengeance. She rushes up to where the elf had been and takes a mighty swing at the location...
Bludgeon
Miss
She looks around for signs that her hated foe has moved away.
I suppose that Torvi would have attempted to keep from getting grappled...
Nalnera tried first...
Probably I missed, but her grapple failed...
And should Snorri continue to try his grapple, By the time Snorri tries, I am power attacking...
Ouch! That may have thumped Snorri.
As the boulder helmet slams into his face, Snorri recoils for a moment before slamming his arm into Torvi's neck. "Is it mind control? Yield to your liege, fool!"