Even as Niyut throws her flask, Garidan nervously steps closer to the body and the spectral form hovering over it. Unsealing the flask, he begins to douse the haunt with the blessed contents.
As Niyut's flask flies through the air, Garidan steps forward. When he approaches the corpse, the Haunt swells up, building towards a discharge of energy, but Niyut's throw is accurate. The flask breaks sending a shower of holy water upon the corpse. The Haunt seems to diminish and retreat into the dead elf. A soft moan can be heard coming from it.
"My lady, I have failed you... even in death, I'm powerless to defend you."
Before Garidan can get even a drop out of his own flask, Niyut's sails past him and shatters. The results of this are enough to stop Garidan, and he warily watches for a moment before resealing his flask, it's precious contents unused. Drawing back from the corpse and its mournful shade, he stows the flask in an empty spot on the bandolier, then clears his throat. "Uh, beg pardon for disturing your rest, spirit, but to what are you referring?" As he speak, Garidan looks to the others with a notably unsure expression; speaking to spirits--one particular one aside of late--is something wildly out of his experience, and he's not certain he should be doing so. Only his parents' teachings, acquired over a lifetime of successful adventuring--talk first, run second, fight last--leads him to even try. Well, that and the niggling mystery of just what happened to Brynderie del'Agost Dianndor. The prospect of a solution to that is too much to resist to the scholar under the armor.
Gruskorb stepped in. "There was a setup. The woman he was defending - the one from the writing - was assassinated. He died in her defense." Though the rogue did not seek to interject ethics often, he was in no mood for more undead surprises. "It was ... honorable. A vision came to me when I approached the pack."
A faint moan continues to come from the elf's corpse.
"Yes, yes... I was to protect Lady Brenderie, but failed. The dwarves... they betrayed us... sundered my captain's blade and destroyed us all... I must see her safely back to her father..."
The spirit seems less agitated but the weight of its sorrow is evident. For the first time, one of you has approached it without harm.
There was an opportunity here. "Who might that be? We are not kin with them."
Though you might be. Listen well, spirit - you might be able to fill in the blanks.
Listening to the spirit's unhappy revelations fills Garidan with a faint sense of sorrow. How horrible to be trapped in such a way, because of a duty left unfulfilled. And there is a further wrinkle that the spirit is likely unaware of. While Gruskorb asks his own questions of the haunt, Garidan wrestles with the possible consequences of revealing that the family of the haunt's long-dead charge may no longer be alive themselves after the cataclysm that has rent the world.
In response to the hobgoblin, the haunt speaks again, "Faenillyn del'Agost Dianndor was her father... take her from this dwarven tomb... in her family's house, she should rest..."
In response to the hobgoblin, the haunt speaks again, "Faenillyn del'Agost Dianndor was her father... take her from this dwarven tomb... in her family's house, she should rest..."
That type of servile etiquette unto - or in this case, past death - did not sit well with Gruskorb. He crossed his arms over his chest.
"What about where you should rest? Seems you've done more than your part. You died in your service. That releases you from it, right?"
The end was said with a slightly gentler inflection; the hobgoblin did not look to be any expert on noble contracts, though he wasn't taking a full shot in the dark with a rather common thread among them.
Still debating with himself whether or not to reveal the state of the world to the trapped spirit, Garidan manages to keep a bit of attention on Gruskorb and his words. It take a few moments, but something the hobgoblin said finally registers, prompting him to speak up. "Wait, why was Brynderie slain in such a fashion to begin with? What was going on here that would drive this Bloodforge family to such actions?" Garidan alternates between looking at Gruskorb and the body, wondering if either source can answer those questions. "To risk a war with a family of del'Agost Diannodor's stature by slaying their representative, it must have been something incredibly important."
As the Gruskorb speaks, the haunt replies, "I will rest when I know that my Lady has been taken from this place devoid of light..." It then responds to Garidan, "Lady Brynderie was here to renegotiate with the Bloodforge dwarves. They were not pleased by her demands."
Garidan frowns at this answer, finding it notably lacking in certain details, foremost among them the subject of the negotiation itself. "Truly spirit, that is your best answer? She was slain out of hand, in an act of treachery at that, for a matter of a few coins on a deal?" Garidan snorts and shakes his head in disbelief. "Pardon, but I find that rather difficult to accept." He then sighs and, with obvious reluctance, decides to inform the spirit of the world's state, as it is relevant to the haunt's overriding desire. "And I'm afraid your lady will find scant comfort or light outside of these halls now. There has been a cataclysm, quite recent, and what little of the world that remains intact has only the stars for light. Further, given the scope of this disaster, it is likely that the family of del'Agost Dianndor and its properties both no longer exist. So there is little prospect of returning her remains to a familial tomb."
Garidan scuffs the stone floor with the tip of a boot for a moment before continuing. "I suppose, if you'd accept it, that we could at least take her remains away from the ruins of the Bloodforge halls and put her to rest beyond them, and you alongside her. I can't promise more than that, however, as our path will long, arduous, and dangerous. The chance is quite high that we will come out of here with little but what we can carry in our packs. And that space must, of necessity, be given over to vital supplies for our own survival."
"The state of the world you describe disturbs and saddens me, but if you take her and lay her to rest, I would be pleased... Lady Brynderie was a good soul, but her duty to her family was too great. The del'Agost Dianndor family sold slaves to the dwarves to work the mines below Eastgate. They had discovered a vein in the mines that would bring them great wealth, but they wanted that treasure for themselves and not be shared with the other families of Eastgate. When my Lady's father found this truth, he sent Lady Brynderie to change the terms on the Bloodforge family.... to demand more. This greed... by both the Bloodforge and del'Agost Dianndor families... led to her death. NOW, do as you promised! Remove her and my remains from these darkened halls!"
Truk'tosh frowns as he tries to make sense of the details imparted on the party by the elven spirit. He reflects for a moment, willing his own guest to chime in.
Could Garlana have arranged this? What would she hope to gain by betraying the elves?
Bah... Garlana had no involvement here, boy! This happened over 250 years ago... but she is one of them, and I wouldn't trust her. Ever since she came into my father's life, I felt her greed... she wanted my family's wealth... now it seems she has it and will pass it down to her... daughter. Morgrym's voice fades but you still feels his deep-seateed hatred for Garlana and a confusion over his emotions regarding her daughter.
Damn it.
There had been the potential of great wealth, yet it seemed the auric reality had not materialized for them to exploit. They were left with stories. Words of a dead man that were potentially of value to the dead man within him, stories of another time and - thanks to the cataclysm - somewhat of another place.
Looks like your father and his family had a good eye for business. Maybe I could've learned a thing or two. The elves may be haughty, but their level of learning was unquestioned. Having them bridge the gap between thought and practice in an outward sense was rare though, and it seemed that diamond in the rough of the spirit's line was buried - at least one of the crown jewels that had visited here.
Yet Gruskorb was too stubborn to give up completely. There are secrets to be had here, I'm sure - and there must be surviving members of this family. The rich always float atop disaster. What better news than to hear of closure to an expensive loose end?
As an idea began to percolate, the ex-slave looked inward. What is your full name, spirit? This servant would surely take a word from an innocent one of the family, however removed, as a salve for a wound of the heart.
For once, the scheme in his mind actually might benefit all the parties involved ... but not equally, of course.
We must put this spirit to rest. It is my duty. "Hello brother. I am Malthazir of the noble house Aleamitore. I swear by my blood's honor that you both shall be moved to a proper resting point."
Hearing the reason behind the sordid murder in these deserted halls brings a grimace of disgust to Garidan's face, but he says nothing on the subject. Those involved are long beyond reproach for their part in this mess, and the party truly has more important things to worry about right now. "Agreed then, spirit. We will remove the remains of Brynderie and her guards from the portion of these old halls once claimed by the Bloodforge family, and at the very least lay them to rest somewhere more congenial than their murder sites. Further, should it be possible that some members of the del'Agost Dianndor famoly yet survives, and we encounter them, we will pass on word of her final fate." Turning on his heel in preparation for leaving the kitchen, Garidan stops and faces the corpse once more. "Uh, and what are the names of her guards, before I forget? If either of you have family left alive somewhere, they might like to know what befell the two of you as well."
The more Niyut learned of the peoples beyond her can the more sordid their economic and political practices seem. However, punishing the unquiet dead for their sins only increased the suffering of the living. She is pleased that her companions seemed to realize this truth.
As she relaxes, the pain of her wounds increases. It troubles her that she is coming to appreciate Malthazir's evil magic. Nevertheless, her deep pragmatism quickly quiets these thoughts.
In life I was Flendario Merithan... my captain was Menludarja Vizzion... and I thank you...
A captain? You don't sound like the military type, so I'm guessing you didn't know him.
Gruskorb's spirit speaks to him, Oh, I suppose that I never said my name, did I? I am... or at least, I was Querkus Windrazor.
"Well then, Flendario, let me tell you the del'Agost line watches your loyalty even now." Gruskorb took a breath before continuing with his difficult exposition. "You're not the only spirit in this room."
He took a step towards the spirit before panning a gaze back to his party. "When we came together at the wizard's tower, there were more acquaintances made than met the eye; somehow in the mayhem, a spirit of a stranger came to reside within me. This'll surprise some of you, I'm sure." His gaze skipped Niyut, though it panned across the others to read their expressions.
The rogue took a moment to let the statement seep in, particularly with the dwarf. Thanks to Garidan inadvertently making difficult the man's immediate retreat with the iron chains, Gruskorb would have time to deal with him sounding an alarm of sorts among his own people. I can't imagine they are keen on seeing visitors in the heart of their city infected with ghosts.
"His name's Querkus." The aegean turned back to Flendario. "His father's of del'Agost blood, and though the two were not close, you did defend his family to your death; your service doesn't go unseen, and if we can find his kin, you might even be memorialized."
"My Lord..." The haunt says with all deference. "Her pack, upon my lap, should be returned as well."
At Gruskorb's mention of the party sharing space with disembodied spirits, followed by his probing look at the others, Garidan does his best to keep his face free of any expression beyond that of curiousity.
He does, however, fail to resist a quick, reactive flick of his eyes toward the ioun torch as it slides casually out of sight behind his head.
Before he does something to give himself away--if he hasn't already--Garidan turns to Grymdor and gestures toward to the two dwarven dead. "As these are your people and all, Grymdor, do you have any objection to us laying claim to their equipment? And what, if anything, do you feel we should do with their bodies?" He glances back at the haunt and its body for a moment. "I'm certain that, uh, Flendario there won't abide us putting the dwarven dead anywhere near him, Brynderie, and the Captain. That doesn't leave much for options."
Precisely.
As Garidan built the bridge for him some more, Gruskorb felt the need to nudge his spirit; he got the feeling he could be a bit shy in these social situations. A bit of a hermit, I'm thinking.
So, Querkus, you have a golden chance here: meet your family. You might not know your father, but if you can describe your mother, this guard might be inclined to tell us where to find her family. You can see all the things you've missed all those years. Get some idea for your lineage.
It certainly didn't go unnoticed a noble family would be in a noble debt to one going on such a quest. And it may well be where we're going anyway.
"Centuries have passed and their families have not tried to claim their possessions, so I have no reservations with you taking such items... besides in these dangerous times, I'd prefer to see them put to use. As for their bodies, we must be respectful, but burial in these halls is sufficient."
Malthazir nods to the pragmatic dwarf. "I agree entirely. Honor the dead, but not at the expense of the living."
Yes, my mother, while likely gone, may still live. I would very much like to see the grove. Perhaps she is there waiting for me. And while I need nothing from my father's family, I would surely like to know if he's alive.
Let's find out.
Gruskorb looked to Flendario. "You wouldn't happen to know Kyllvyn, would you?" If the spirit was truly connected to a family of note, the name should ring a bell. "His son is curious how he's doing."
It doesn't take Garidan long to strip the dead dwarves of their unneeded equipmemt, and he piles all of it--even the obviously damaged stuff--for removal from the kitchen. The body of Flendario he leaves untouched for now, as Gruskorb is still engaging the haunt in discussion, though Garidan knows not the reason behind the hobgoblin's actions; the haunt is appeased, so what reason to delay its long-overdue journey to the afterlife? Leaving the bodies stacked carefully in the corner furthest from Flendario, Garidan gathers up the pile and makes his way from the kitchen. On his way out, he has Truk'tosh return the unused flask as well.
With a bit of effort, he hauls the pile of salvaged gear to the tidy collection of gathered loot waiting at the base of the split. There, he begins to catalogue each piece, making note of the overall quality and condition of each piece, as well as which can be made whole with a bit of work--or spellcasting on Gruskorb's part, possibly--and which are beyond recovery. That task completed, he decides to inspect the hide that Truk'tosh must have finished before arriving in the kitchen. Garidan can easily see the messy remnants of the cloaker, but the lack of a hide puzzles him for a few moments until he happens to note some stains on the rope leading to the upper part of the split.
A quick climb, and he can see the hide spread and drying on the cart. Garidan examines the material closely, and hums happily. With little to work with beyond what he had on his person, Truk'tosh has done a very nice job of it. A bit of field expedient ingenuity on Garidan's part to make up for what he lacks in the way of needed tools should see a rather impressive suit of armor made from this beast's hide. After checking over the supplies, and returning the unneeded bandolier with its three remaining flasks--and Garidan makes a mental note to recover the shards once Flendario is out of the kitchen--he slides back down the rope and makes his way to the final unexamined passage to the north. Watching the hallway, with occasional glances east to the kitchen, Garidan lets his mind go blank for a time.
"Yes, Kyllvyn is the younger brother to Lady Brynderie," says the Haunt.
Garidan strips any usuable gear from the dwarves. On the first dwarf he finds a set of chainmail, a small dagger and a battle axe. A small leather pouch on its decaying belt contains a dozen silver coins.
On the dwarf closer to the haunt, he finds a masterwork warhammer, as well as, a fine set of studded leather armor that is heavily damaged in the chest. As Garidan begins to move the remains of the two dwarves to the kitchen, he notices the sparkle of something lying beneath the dwarf's jaw bone. Bending a knee, he finds that the dwarf once wore a gem-encrusted broach. Picking up the broach, Garidan is amazed to find beneath the centuries of dust and silt that the broach is the clasp to a cloak made of thin, sparkling mesh of brilliant metal.
Niyut helps Garidan by examining these finds for magic.
Niyut studies the items that Garidan recovers from the dwarves but finds nothing is magical. However, as she and the swashbuckler handle the cloak, they both realize that it is extremely light weight and made of mithril.
The group works feverishly over the next two hours securing the ropes to the chandelier chains to the cart, the horse and the oxen. Garidan, Gruskorb, Grymdor and Truk'tosh all work together to slowly lower the chain to bring the cart to the next level without incident.
As they lower the horse, however, the groups footing on the stone floor gives way and the horse is violently jostled. It panics for a moment, but they regain their composure and lower it to the ground. Niyut and Malthazir try to calm the horse and after several minutes, the beast stops whining and calms.
After a long rest, the group hitches up the oxen to lower the beast. Half way down the chain kinks and refuses to lower any further. Seeing the kink in chain as it passes through the wall anchor near them, Grymdor points out the problem. The foursome attempt to raise the beast back up, but cannot make any headway. With the others preparing to take more weight, Garidan releases his grip and graps the crowbar. Attempting to free the kink in the chain, he slips the crowbar into place and pulls with all his might. CRACK! A link in the chain begins to give under the weight of the oxen. Watching in horror, the foursome can do nothing as the link opens and the chain breaks.
"LOOKOUT BELOW!" shouts Garidan. Malthazir without hesitation dives out of the way, but Niyut lingers a moment longer to see the oxen fall from 20' above them. The oxen lands with an echoing thud and wails in pain. Debris falls all about the oracle, but she is unhurt. Miraculously, the oxen landed on all four hooves upon the ancient oaken table, smashing several of the table's legs.
The boys run to the ledge to see the oxen limping away with a bewildered look. The sixty foot wooden table now leans at a decline upon two of its remaining legs. Grymdor cocks his head to one side, "Perhaps we could have used the table to make a ramp for the next section?"
With the transfer accomplished, though not without a few nerve-wracking moments and a terrifying accident, Garidan swiftly repacks the cart, showing a bit a knack for getting everything situated just right. He makes a particular point of hanging the filled bandoliers, a quiver, and a few bolt cases from the cart's exterior sides so that their contents are quickly accessible in case of need. During the recovery of Flendario's remains, he also gathers up the shards of that flask Niyut threw; Gruskorb's handy little mending spell can fix it up good as new, and it's one less thing to worry about using up as a result. While the party rests up for the last step, Garidan finishes up his scavenging by stripping two of the chandeliers of the chains suspending them. He even takes the two segments of the chain that broke, certain that use can be found for them if Gruskorb can't use his spell on that broken link.
"Right, now we just do as Grymdor suggested and use that table there for a ramp past the next split, and we can continue our journey," Garidan says with a rather cheerful tone of voice as he feeds a bit of dried fruit to the ox by way of apology for the drop. Wiping the slobber off with a grimace, the swashbuckler then nervously approaches Flendario's body and hesitantly address the spirit within, whom Gruskorb has been conversing with intermittently. "Uh, begging your pardon there, Flendario, but I'd like to ask a bit of a favor of you, if I may. Could you possibly use your, um, abilities to keep away anything that tries to get at the cart while we're carrying you out of here?"