Frowing in thought and concern over the information Klagor has related to him regarding Elannaris, Garidan rejoins the others. He takes a moment to share that he learned from Klagor, then heads for a comfortable-looking seat near the cart, intent on getting a brief nap before they resume their journey. Once the party is ready to get moving, Garidan awakens with a snort, wipes the drool from his cheek--while hoping that nobody noticed it--and gets ready to move out. For the sake of mobility, his pack with its reduced load is stowed on the cart, while the bow he acquired earlier is strung over his shoulder, a loaded quiver alreadt present on his equipment belt.
"Thank you, Elder Kragor. It is good to know that in this bleak world we have at least one friendly sanctuary."
"Of course, my brother, I am with you in all things; but first you should determine what your spirit-guest actually desires."
Truk'tosh finds himself nodding in agreement. What do you want?
***
When Taurman arrives, Truk glances at his sister and heads toward the acolyte's chamber.
Niyut follows quietly behind her brother.
The labor of repairing the flasks did not bother Gruskorb as much as it usually would, for his thoughts had turned inwards.
How is it these dwarves are content to stay in their hold? There are tons of chances for exploration and gain outside. Undead are there, sure, but once they're cleansed, there's lots of land for the taking. They don't know the doom the Hazard mentioned firsthand, ... or are they withholding that from us?
As he toyed with the options in his mind, he felt the spirit again in his mind. Though it was not as hostile as he anticipated, he did not like the feeling of oversight. Once the group rejoined, he sought-out Niyut. I need an in though.
"How are you and your brother faring around the place?" Gruskorb knew the enmity between dwarves and orcs was deep-rooted, and he was curious to see if the dislike had surfaced at all.
Niyut leans in closer so that her whisper soft voice will not carry.
"I will not speak for my brother, but the dwarves seem friendly and helpful to me. Wizard Dtukk loaned me a book that I believe will teach me much about what lowlanders call gods. I've learned a bit more about the 'blood of fire.' It's comforting to be able confront at least some of these mysteries. If the dwarven leader is holding back from us, I do not believe it to be malice but a fear for his people. How are you faring, Gruskorb?"
"Unwell. The voice in my head is surely a spirit. It quarrels with me, offers advice, has its own way of doing things." He returned her inquiry in the same soft voice, spoken closely. "You know the most about them among us; I must ask for your help."
"I would have the spirit removed if you could. Make it into a ghost, a zombie. Just get it out. It would be good to hear some stories about the gods and this blood though... it might take my mind off things."
It didn't take long for the spirit to respond.
You want to expel me that much?
Would you want a stranger inside your head?
Niyut frowns.
"These spirits are deeply rooted within us. When we were torn from our palaces of bone, these spirits entered when we returned to our own. The reason that you remain the ruler of your palace of bone is that you have more experience ruling it then does it. I am not saying I cannot help you. I am saying that an exorcism would be dangerous for us both at this time. However, I can help you. There are meditative practices that can either shield your thoughts from it or to speed its integration of its substance into your own. Either will silence it, though the latter is a process."
Besides being left alone... I wish to see my father again... but that cannot happen now. I doubt you or anyone can help me...
******************
Taurman stares at Niyut a moment, sizing up the female half-orc. The uncomfortable weight of his glare causes Niyut to shrink away from the massive dwarf. Her thoughts betray her courage as she catches herself contemplating a quick return to dinner and the others, but a look from her brother restores her confidence.
Taurman turns and leads the pair into a smaller dressing chamber behind the main alter of the temple. An older female dwarf with a braided beard that nearly touches the ground stands talking quietly to Klagor and Katadante. Her robes are made of fine silk and draped with strands of silver and platinum. She leans with her left hand upon an ornate walking cane encrusted with jewels of every shade and hue. Her right hand is raised pointing at Katadante, "...It must be dealt with immediately! The nobles won't stand for such incompetence..."
Her voice trails off as you enter the acolyte's chamber. Katadante bows his head and taking her right hand, kisses the signet ring she offers to the commander. Without a word, he turns to Klagor then the half-orcs, and with that look, they leave. Taurman is the first to speak, "Lady Garlana, may I present Truk'tosh and his... companion."
Lady Garlana glares at both of the half-orcs for a long minute, then addresses them clearly put off by the pair, Taurman says you bring word of Morgrym. Let's hear it then."
True... but this was not by choice. Perhaps I can help you if you will reciprocate...
Truk'tosh bows his head slightly when the dwarven woman is introduced. He knew very little about dwarven customs but understood Garlana as a figure to be respected.
"Thank you Taurman. I am Truk'tosh of the Firebird and this is my sister Niyut. We came to these halls by the will of one the Hazards on a quest to halt the damage done to our world."
"I have spoken with Morgrym just recently. He wishes to know what became of his father. I understand he was killed in the Shaping."
Lady Garlana pauses a moment then collects herself, "Yes, as I understand it, he died a hero, protecting Eastgate. And what of Morgrym,? Has the prodigal son, decided to return? He will not get no grand reception at Hammerfist Hall. "
Make me an offer, spirit.
*******
"I'm willing for either step; there's nothing more irritating than an itch you can't scratch." While Gruskorb meant in earnest his willingness to consider Niyut's proposals, he didn't know what was involved.
Niyut pulls out several small pouches filled with what look to be colored sand. She starts making a circle with cerulean sand around Gruskorb and herself, but then uses a red colored sand to create a secondary circle filled with strange -- to the hobgoblin -- pictograms.
She then lights sage from a different pouch and then begins to smudge the air with a strange wand.
"I will begin chanting. Imagine a place, a secure place. This place should be special to you. Imagine it being yours. All that is within you is in this space. Focus on the space as I chant. Imagine it as secure. Imagine everything that is your guest is beyond you. We will continue this ceremony until you can easily create this space in your mind. Afterwards, if the spirit seeks to speak to you imagine this space until you can no longer hear its voice."
The oracle follows her own advice as she begins to chant, she imagines a hogan built from the earth. The earth is her. The animal skins that cover the eastern aperture is also her. The fire in the hogan is her will. The sacred herbs that this fire burns are the power are the unwelcome sorcerer. She imagines his will and his voice outside the hogan, unable to enter cut off from her and his power. She imagines that his cries are nothing more than the wind howling beyond the hides. She inhales the smoke of his power. She lets the smoke fill her lungs until all outside the hogan is stillness.
All the while she continues to chant.
Her mother had once spoken of shamans and oracles who could not only see the world of spirits as easily as the world of flesh but were able to shape it around them. As she chants, she opens herself, like a flower unfurling, in the world of spirit. The hogan she imagines would be a truth in this world as it is a truth in her mind. She would not be cut off from the Firebird because she carried their ways within her. She would make herself an anchor for their teachings in both worlds. Niyut would be their sacred space.
The spirits who assailed her, both greater and lesser, would realize that she was the mistress of her body and spirit, not they.
Appreciative of the help, the curious Gruskorb held his silence and did as bidden. A special place, a secure place. His times in the quarry led him to imagine something quite the opposite - a meadow dampened from the rain, temperate and plentiful in resources. Upon the meadow next to its wooded edge was a well-made house. Thick lumber gave shelter. In his past, this may have been his home. But it was from there I was captured; it is not secure.
The imagery did indeed take him out of focus in the world around him, so his next thought - pushing the spirit away - was in an abstract sense. He pictured a wise, old man resisting the exodus. Yet an exodus it was, him willing the man away with a firm though benevolent hand. You can stay in the meadow, but not in my house. You were not invited.
"He has returned", Truk'tosh answers after a long pause. "I understand the two of you were not close in the past and I doubt he was expecting a reception, grand or otherwise. But faced with these new dangers I hope you can find some common ground and make amends. In dark times one needs family more than ever and I believe neither of you want the Hammerfist name lost to history."
"Are Balendor Hammerfist's remains interred in the crypts below with the rest of your people's heroes?"
"Morgrym left on his own accord renouncing his claim to my husband's name and title," she states dryly. "Besides, why would I care what He means nothing to me... never has. As for my 'wants', they now rest with my young daughter. She will wed a lord and our bloodline will merge with theirs. As you said, in dark times, one needs family. Morgrym isn't part of mine."
A mix of emotions stir in Truk'tosh; a deep seeded resentment, most prominently.
...and he wondered why I never accepted her...
Those in power are much the same everywhere, Niyut thinks. It is rare that she has any satisfaction about being proven correct. In troubled times there are always those who seek advantage at the expense of others.
"Are Balendor Hammerfist's remains interred in the crypts below with the rest of your people's heroes?"
"Balendor's body was snatched up by the vortex that brought this destruction upon us. There was nothing to recover."
A vision flashes in Tru'tosh's mind of a dwarven lord enraged and shouting. He wears a shining breastplate with an engraved emblem upon the chest. It is the sigil of the Hammerfist clan. He has seen this before. Yes... On the scroll... Truk'tosh thinks.
Balendor might live on as his son does... Truk thinks as he glances at Taurman before searching his own thoughts.
I need your help to fight this. I don't know her or your own customs like you do. Would your father want you to yield so easily?
Niyut touches her brother's arm. This woman is dangerous. The less she knows of their business the better.
You're a stubborn one, aren't you? Truk'tosh hears the voice of Morgrym echoing in his skull. As my father died without a male heir, Garlana will keep her title as Lady Hammerfist until she succombs to death. The possession of my family's ancestral home will fall to her family. She will wed off her daughter. She will have taken all that we were or will ever be... we will be nothing... Truk'tosh feels his hands go cold and numb as the spirit of Morgrym fights for control of his mortal prison. Truk'tosh struggles with the dwarf's fury and his hands move to his double axe.
Truk'tosh's eyes go cloudy as another vision takes hold. The dwarven lord stands above the druid, his hands held open. He reaches for Truk'tosh but a bloodied hand push the lord away. She does not love you... a familiar voice says.
Truk'tosh struggles to retain control, but with a final, mental roar of his most primal essence, Morgrym fades to the background again.
I'm sorry... that is not the answer... but I feel powerless.
A deep sorrow fills Truk'tosh, and his eyes swell with tears. He raises his eyes and sees that Taurman has moved closer to Garlana's side. The massive dwarf looks concerned not only for his Lady but for the young half-orc as well. With one hand on his axe, the other reaches out, "Are you alright?" Taurman inquires.
My apologies, boy. The world is falling apart, and I am consumed with my past. I want to aid the wizard as much as you and your sister... take me from that woman's presence, and I shall not assert myself again but will assist you as best I can.
"We should go, my brother. Thank you for your time, Lady Garlana."
With a minute bow, Niyut does her best to guide her brother out of the room.
As some of the group return to the main Temple chamber and begin to settle in for some well-deserved sleep. Grymdor approaches, "Although its still early in the evening, I suggest you get some rest. Your beasts are being tended to as well. I'll return in the early morning hours to get us on our way. Sleep well."
Truk'tosh stands weakly, leaning heavily on his twin as he climbs to his feet. "Yes, thank you for your time."
"That's a plan I can get behind," replied Gruskorb to Grymdor. Some rest. Well-earned, and the town better not forget that come the morning.
*******
As the occult process went forward, Gruskorb wondered to Niyut: "What is the blue powder made from?" It was not that common a color, and the rarity of reagent made him a bit wary about the forces involved. Though not a wizard, he surely knew their spells required components to cast, some quite expensive.
The loss of control seemed to last several minutes and the conversation several more, but to Niyut and the dwarves only moments had lapsed when Truk'tosh grew weak and leaned upon his sister. Lady Garlana frowned at the half-orc then stormed away without a word. Taurman followed silently behind her, his hands still resting on his axe. As they left, the warrior looked over his shoulder at Truk'tosh.
The siblings make their way back to the Temple to find the others already falling asleep. Garidan mumbles something about a long rest and Grymdor coming back in the early morning before his eyes close once again. The ever-present, low rumbling murmur of the chanting priests in the back of the Temple creates a peaceful ambiance as the pair drift asleep.
****************
Visions of an ancient willow tree dominates the hobgoblins dreams tonight. A crack of thunder. The violent winds of the rift. A flash of lightening. Gruskorb awakens in a sweat.
Niyut does not immediately answer, but continues to chant for some time. Finally her soft chants come to a close. She begins to brush as much of the blue and red sands as she can into her pouches.
"The blue sand is from a stone called lapis lazuli. It is common enough in the mountains above the badlands. I do not know whether I will ever return there or even if the badlands still exist. So I want to preserve as much as I can."
Her voice is wistful but not overly distressed. "The only path for us is the path ahead. What was, what was lost, can be no more to us than the dust in the winds"
As she falls asleep, Niyut does something that the shamans of her clan with their rigid ritual and careful taboos would never have done. She lets her senses drift betwixt and between the world of the flesh and the world of the spirit. Her blessing and her curse was that she can easily slip between either, a beacon and a prize for spirits without an easy bridge. She had always been so careful to avoid possession, and now she was possessed.
The only path forward is the path ahead. It is better to be eat than be eaten.
As she drifts into dream she returns to the hogan she constructed earlier. She stokes the sacred fire that may not exist anywhere else but in what she projects in the spirit world since the change of the world and listens to the wind howl beyond the hogan.
As the mystic revealed the identity, Gruskorb nodded his head. I should have known that was the stone but did not recognize it as a powder. Lapis lazuli was not as valuable as gold, but it was indeed rare enough to be worth its weight. "Surely the dwarves can tell us where to find more ... Thank you for your help, Niyut."
********
What was that supposed to be? An omen? A message? Speak up, spirit! Fearful not of the images but rather of the penetration of his internal security, Gruskorb had authentic fear in the matter.
That was my home. I was her warden. I fear it has been destroyed.
*****************
The peaceful night is disturbed with a shake of your shoulder. You open your eyes and see the dwarf, Grymdor, looking down upon you with a sullen face. "It is time to leave. Gather your things. " Silently, the group shoulders their packs and follows the young dwarf.
Grymdor leads the group through a rear exit from the temple onto a wide road leading east. Much to Garidan's relief, you find the cart set upon the road. It has been packed, and the oxen hitched to it. Several priestesses of Tysur (Halcyon), garbbed in their white robes, surround the cart, blessing it with gentle swipes of a wilted tree branch. As you approach, several of them step forward and offer each of you a slice of warm, rosemary bread and a mug of honey mead. In silence, they finish their blessing and depart.
Grymdor nods his approval, "Ready?"
"Please, lead onwards."
Niyut taps her thigh with her mother's wand to activate its protection.
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As she lays down in her cot, Niyut pulls out a delicate, leather bound book and opens it to the inside cover.
"Of Creation and the Greater Spirits" by Enasilaor, the Keeper of History for the Aleamitore House of First Elves
Amus was the first of the Greater Spirits to gain consciousness. She marvelled at her own thought and spent an entire age alone in the void. She could hear the thoughts of the other Greater Spirits but they knew only themselves and would not respond to her. At long last, she gathered all thought together so that she may hear them all at once and she understood. As the knowledge of each thought grew, so grew her own thoughts, and she felt power for the first time. The universe sprang to life as all thought became energy. She named this energy, the Ether, and she drank her fill and stepped out of the void and into the Ether.
Through the next age, Amus watched as each thought took shape and form in the Ether and gave birth to her siblings. She loved each of them and let them grow as they willed, discovering their thoughts and desires. Amus did not interfere with her siblings as they explored the Ether, and she did not dissuade them from their desires as they learned to use the Ether to mold the Material Plane.
The first of her siblings to take shape was Teysura, followed quickly by their brother Kiravor. From those first moments, the younger siblings opposed each other's will, and Amus took it upon herself to make their thoughts coexist within the Ether. While Teysura wished to follow Amus and create life, Kiravor desired only to destroy it. Not wanting either to feel impotent, Amus brought forward a new thought, and it was Time. As Teysura made life, Time would slowly impose Kiravor's thought of death, and the life would begin to fade. Then, from death, life would spring forth again.
For a time, the younger pair were fascinated by the circle that Amus had first thought, but soon, Kiravor became unsettled and desired for death to reign over life. He sought to break the circle and destroy all that Teysura thought to create. But, Amus was the elder sibling and understood the Ether more deeply, and so, she kept the balance. Angered by this, Kiravor withdrew to the void and was not seen for a time.
Amus is not a jealous Spirit. Although she once held infinite power, she willingly gave up power to give life to her siblings. At here essence, she is the creator of the Ether and by incorporation all that exists in the Material Planes. Upon Esteparon, she has dominion over all that can be seen and touched, and she has the ability to control all of the prime elements.
As she does not seek dominion over Mortals, Amus's followers do not amass in great numbers. Her clerics are few and they tend to live in rural, secluded pockets on Esteparon. While she has a significant following of Druids, they seldom visit any civilized community, preferring, instead, to remain in the rural, outlying areas so as to be closer to nature where Amus's power can best be experienced. They dress in common clothes and are not distinguishable from other migratory pilgrims. They are often the peacemakers in confrontational situations but most are very skilled with at least one weapon. Their ability to easily forgive and trust others is often their biggest fault. Amus rarely has temples dedicated to her. However, a sanctuary in her honor, consisting of a small grotto set about a willow tree with both a fountain and flame, can always be found with in a days journey everywhere upon Esteparon.
After a quick feast of the bounty of Teysura's (Halcyon's) table, Grymdor leads the group down into the depths of Eastgate. The way is not easy as there are several sets of stairs to descend with the cart. But with Grymdor's assistance, you are able to coax the oxen down the stairs and help brace the cart. On more than one occasion, the cart is tossled so violently that Garidan and Gruskorb check the vials to be sure none have broken. But fortune smiles upon the group, and all their supplies make the journey down several levels to Balomar's Bridge in good condition.
Garidan remembers this section of the trek as beyond the bridge is the armory which he visited on a couple of occasions. Even now, in the presumably early morning, the sounds of the blacksmiths echo in the cavernous chamber. Grymdor turns north immediately after crossing the old, stone bridge and leads the group down a torch lit passage narrower than those you have previously traveled. The passageway makes several turns and ends at a set of large iron, double doors. Two dwarven guards stand on duty.
The guards nod at Grymdor and unlock the doors. Pulling them wide open, the guards signal you to pass beyond. The smooth, well-kept flooring of the Eastgate ends here, and you feel the rough stone floor become more difficult to traverse. The oxen moans as it must work harder to haul the cart across this surface.
With a loud Clang!, the doors are sealed shut behind you, and the sound of the lock engaging is unmistakeable. Grymdor pounds on the door, Bam, bam... bam... bam, bam, bam. Two muffled thuds can be heard in return. "We have left the safety of Eastgate. Be mindful of your surroundings. I've been down here a handful of times, and only come now at the request of Katadante. We head east."
The widened passage leads off in two directions. Grymdor leads you to the right. After a hundred feet or so, you can see that the passage ends in a cave-in of tumbled stone and earth. Twenty-five feet prior to the end, there is an archway to the left.
Bright-eyed and full of energy after his nap, Garidan is practically bouncing in place as the party's final preparations are made. Hearing Grymdor's question, he nods sharply, but doesn't say anything. Instead, his thoughts are focused forward, on the journey to come and the potential hazards awaiting them. For a certainty, more undead will bar their passage, and Garidan is utterly certain that among their number will be the sorts that can think for themselves, particularly once Kiravor gets more fully involved in matters. With that in mind, he does another quick check of the keg and its blessed contents, as well as the four flasks waiting in their padded bandolier sleeves. Satisfied, he resumes his pondering.
Goblins are another likely prospect, since they'll likely be sending out parties of their own to gather what supplies they can, as well as surveying alternate routes past Eastgate's defenses. And there will likely be others things lurking as well, their normal routines disrupted by the cataclysm. He makes a mental note to check with Grymdor about likely prospects in that regard. Finally, his thoughts to turn to the sort of hazards that can't be solved with the careful--and repeated, if necessary--application of a weapon; cave-ins, hazardous gases, rifts that interrupt their path, and the ever-looming shortness of supplies. Well aware that he can't plan for every possible occurence, Garidan eventually sets aside his musing and turns his attention to the rest of the party, wondering how they're dealing with the resumption of the journey to the missing Hazard.
When the party reaches the doors leading out of Eastgate and into the depths, Garidan puts aside further thoughts of anything but the road ahead, as any distraction could be potentially fatal. While Grymdor goes through what he assumes is a security check of some sort, Garidan prepares his bow, nocking an arrow on the string but keeping it slack for the time being. As the darkness presses in upon the party and their nervous animals, Garidan wordlessly lifts the ioun torch hovering at the base of his throat to hang directly over his head. As it takes its new position, it begins emitting a steady glow that illuminates a short stretch of the road, enough for the animals to see.
Garidan keeps his senses as focused as possible, but the unfamiliar environment plays havoc on them, with his attention constantly getting caught by faint echoes and odd shadows. His efforts are further hampered by constant looks back at the path behind them, trying to ensure that nothing is creeping along in their wake.
Niyut sinks into her cot gratefully. It has been a very long day: battle, learning, ritual, and being assaulted by a spirit. She had rarely desired rest more, but being forewarned is being forearmed. She doesn't know how much to trust the author of this book. Simply because something is written down does not make it true. But his prose is both engaging and informative.
Niyut walks quietly behind the cart. Much to her dismay she remembers a few words that the spirit whispered into her ear and is worried that it may be affecting her behavior in ways she will not easily recognize.
Her musings distract her on the walk down. She focuses when the gate locks behind them. The tumbling of the lock forebodes an unwelcome finality. Will we ever return here?
Leaving the wizard's tower had been easy. It was a ruin and the wizard to blame for their current troubles, but leaving the dwarves was leaving the only friendly community they had discovered in this new world.
Vigilance is the only way to stay alive.
Maltahzir stretches as they begin riding out; he had only had an hour or so to read this morning, but he was glad his companions liked getting things done early in the morning.
As the group, approaches the dead-end, the right wheel of the cart becomes stuck upon a large, displaced stone from the floor. The oxen groans as the cart comes to a sudden halt. Truk'tosh puts a hand on the beast to calm it, then bends down to slide the stone slab out of the way.
While the cart is stationary, the silence becomes a heavy over the group until an echo of footfalls from behind alerts Niyut, Garidan and Gruskorb. With a helpful push from Mathazir and a tug upon the beast's yolk by the dwarf, Truk encourages the beast forward, and the cart lurches ahead once again.
Hearing footfalls from behind, and quite sure that they're not distant echoes from elsewhere, Garidan snaps his finger together to get the attention of the others--though he notes that Niyut and Gruskorb have apparently heard as well--and mutters a quiet warning. "We've got someone, or something, coming up behind us. Can't tell how many."
Readying his bow, he draws the previously-nocked arrow back as far as the string will allow, eyes fixed firmly on the road to their rear as he lingers at the back of the party.
"We have been flanked. There is movement ahead as well."
Upon hearing Niyut's warning, Garidan risks a quick glance at the passage ahead, but notices nothing out of place. Returning his attention to the darkened corridor behind, he frowns for a moment as he tries to think of something to spoil the possible ambush in the making. Then a slight smile flickers across his lips and calls back quietly to the others. "In the front left corner of the cart is pile of six small sacks. They're full of caltrops. Maybe empty a couple across the mouth of that passage there? Then move the cart and the animals to the cave-in further on to secure our back?"
As the group becomes alert, the unsettling silence of the catacombs of Eastgate becomes keenly prominent. The echo of more noises in the darkness behind you can be heard, closer than before...
The horse behind Mathazir becomes slightly agitated. The elf tries desperately to quiet the beast as Grymdor gives him a frustrated look...
Garidan snaps his head around as the sound of several stones falling from the crumbling walls, just beyond his vision, grabs his attention. He squints trying to focus on the darkness...
Niyut listens for those trying to outflank the group up ahead. Closing her eyes, she tries to focus her hearing. Her efforts payoff as she's certain she hears the hissing of some unseen creature through the archway...
Truk'tosh grips his orcish axe in both hands prepared for the inevitable assault...
Gruskorb creeps up past Niyut, uncoiling his whip in anticipation...
Garidan sees the eyes first...
Darting about on the edge of the darkness...
Red eyes...
A lone, small rat scampers into view and approaches Garidan sniffing in the air. When it reaches within scent range, it squeals then darts back into the darkness.
That was my home. I was her warden. I fear it has been destroyed.
I was taken from mine too; couldn't do much about it. Don't blame yourself. Move on. Gruskorb was partially giving the spirit advice to aid him and partially giving the spirit advice to calm him; the rogue didn't at all like the extreme imagery coming to him, especially depriving him of sleep.
*******
Happy to be on the next leg of their journey, perilous as it was sure to be, Gruskorb did not mind the darkness. Harder to be ambushed this way like with those goblins. No sooner had he thought that then did the footfalls sound behind them.
Be still!
For what seemed like a small eternity, he kept rigid while the pack animal held by Truk'tosh made the majority of the sound.
He waited. And waited...
A RAT!?!?!?...
He'd sidled up to Niyut, but he felt prudent to express to her through whisper: "I think there's more in these parts than just that rat. We made a good deal of noise with that cart coming down." While the noises would have been distant, tremors went a long way in a cavern...
Looking around warily, Garidan starts to sweat under the rising tension. "I think we're about to get rushed here," he says, his voice betraying his nervousness. The sight of the lone rat does little to reassure him, as he quite easily recalls the party's last encounter with "mere" rats. He can't escape the distinct feeling that the rat he just saw was acting as a scout for whatever is lurking in the dark beyond the range of his vision. Looking over his shoulder, he's dismayed to see that the others have stopped moving. "Damnit," he hisses in annoyance. "If we're about to be attacked, don't just sit there like statues and give them two sides from which to hit us! Get to that rock fall ahead and prepare a defensive line."
"Garidan is not wrong. Why don't we take a defensive position and then I can scout ahead. Given the cart it's not as if we can sneak forward. It's better to know the way we are going."
Grymdor nods and gives the yolk a tug. The cart lurches forward with a groan of the axel echoing throughout the stone halls. The dwarf leads the cart to the left side of tunnel allowing the oxen to make a partial turn within the wide hallway. The group takes a defensive position.
Carefully, quietly, and with exceptional skill, Niyut blends in with the shadows of the darkness and scouts the ways forward.