Gruskorb's whip lashes out at the goblin extracting flesh from his neck. The goblin wails in pain, reaching up and clutching his throat. He smiles at Garidan showing his razor-sharp teeth and opens his mouth to speak. Yet, no words come forth, only blood. He falls in a heap.
Behind the group, the door takes another harsh blow but doesn't yield to those outside. Then... silence looms as the clawing and screeching on the other side of the door fades. And a collective sigh of relief over comes the outsiders.
But it is short-lived... for a moment later, the doors bursts open in a fiery explosion. The room illuminates fully and you can see a long hall beyond the portal to the east. The ox-drawn cart scurries off towards the hall with a loud whine of the gelding. An army of dwarves stand motionless in the distant hall before the light fades and darkness returns.
"Brother, the cart and oxen! I will try to deal with the drakes, but we will die without our supplies."
Niyut summons a swirling ball of snow and ice, holding it ready for the drakes' entrance.
The eagle continues it's onslaught!
Malthazir moves away from the conflict and begins summoning a second eagle. I will bog them down.
As Niyut prepares to attack any drake as it enter the room, Malthazir's bird of prey descends upon the archer. It's talons sink into the protective armor of the goblin preventing any harm, but the eagle's beak clamps down upon his neck and the resulting injury is to great for him to overcome. The goblin falls to the ground.
On the balcony above, several more goblins appear and shout curses at the group.
Hearing his sister's warning Truk'tosh lowers his weapon and charges after the fleeing livestock and cart.
Seeing, in the darkness beyond the limit of both his stone's light and that of the fire, more enemies arriving, Garidan sighs in frustration. Though sorely tempted to join Truk'tosh in chasing after the wagon, necessity and his own sense of duty compel the swashbuckler to stay behind a bit longer. Returning his rapier to the sheathe at his side, he quickly unslings the bow in its place and loads an arrow, then--after a moment's thought--takes aim at the recently-breached doorway. He's quite tired of these damnable overgrown lizards, and hopefully between himself, Niyut, and Malthazir, the first one through that door should have a very bad day shortly.
As he sights down the arrow, he takes a few careful, shuffling steps back, past the dead goblin at his feet, then calls back over his shoulder to Gruskorb. "Can you occupy those goblins before they get down the stairs and get room to spread out," he asks the hobgoblin.
The rogue let his movement be the answer to Garidan.
Gruskorb dashed to the base of the stairs, using the architecture as cover and catching a breath before what could be a very dangerous ascent.
The half-orc, hearing his sister's shouts, races off after the cart and attempts to calm the animals. While Garidan and Gruskorb prepare to defend the party on multiple fronts.
As the group prepares for the onslaught, the flame drake with the blue ridge scales bursts through the door and opens its mouth to breath fire down upon the group. When it does so, Garidan fires an arrow that harmlessly bounces off its hardened flesh, but Niyut is well prepared. The oracle produces a ball of ice and snow in her hand and hurls it at the drake. With near perfect aim, the snowball hits the drake in its opened mouth and it swallows the ball whole.
Taking a step backwards, the beast opens its mouth once again to breath fire, but finds that its throat has succumbed to the ice. As the beasts innards freeze, it stiffens and falls to the ground.
Then, the flame drake with the green talons charges into the room and snaps its tail at Malthazir, catching the elf in the chest.
With his bloody weapon gripped in one hand, Truk'tosh makes soft cooing sounds and rests the other on the oxen's haunch.
The young oracle cups her left hand fand blows into again creating another orb of frost. It whips out and shatters against the green scales of the surviving flame drake.
[ooc]24 damage with vulnerability and the drake must make a Fort save of 15 to avoid being staggered for the round.
As Truk'tosh calms the oxen and brings the cart to a halt, his sister lands a devastating blow to the remaining flame drake. The iceball hurled by the oracle hits the drake with green talons in the chest. It rises up on its hind legs and roars loudly clearly in pain. Yet, the beast shakes off any ill effects that the stunning blow may have otherwise caused.
Malthazir perseveres through the pain of the attack and summons forth another eagle, bearing a single yellow tail feather, which flails uselessly at the drake. As it attempts to bite the drake, the flaming beast lashes out its tail and strikes the yellow-tailed eagle. Simultaneously, the first, jet black eagle swoops in at the drake, nimbly avoiding a bite from the beast, and claws ferociously at its snout. No sooner had his second eagle appeared, Malthazir ducks and scrambles to safety.
The goblins quickly advance on Gruskorb, however, they are clearly still shaken from seeing their friends tumble into the abyss as the bridge collapsed while attacking the dwarves. Their attacks are timid to the point of being humorous. The goblin with the red tattoo swings his sword wildly with his eyes closed nearly hitting his friend in the black loin cloth. That goblin stumbles as he avoids his fellow goblin's blade and exposes himself to Gruskorb's fury.
Having withstood the hobgoblin's whip, the goblin in the black loin cloth screams in goblin, "Death to all surface dwellers!" He raises his shortsword high and brings it down across his body missing Gruskorb by a wide margin and hitting the stone banister. The reverberation of the blow, causes the goblin to lose his grip of his shortsword which flips into the air and conveniently comes to rest in Gruskorb's possession.
Injured as he was, the hobgoblin took some grim satisfaction in seeing the cousins of his namesake flounder.
Perhaps there was some part of him that was embittered enough to be cruel by nature now, for the wicked smirk that spread across the rogue's face was mirrored by the lash he wrought upon his assailant. The quarters were closer than he liked, but the wide arc of the razor tassels scored the goblin's face bloody. Acquired his weapon deftly in his offhand was only a boon beyond, though he wouldn't need to subject himself to counterattacks in close quarters if he chose to use it instead.
Instead of choosing that safer route, Gruskorb pressed his advantage on the injured goblin.
"Back to the pit with you!"
Finding his prospects of a good shot foiled by the drake's frustrated shifting and thrashing under the constant harrassment offered it by Malthazir's summoned birds, Garidan elects to fall back out of its reach and assist Gruskorb with the goblins. Taking time to stow his bow on the move, he makes the switch to his rapier with practiced ease, then pauses to evaluate the situation that the hobgoblin is embroiled in.
Gruskorb's whip lashes out slicing an artery on the goblin's neck. Reaching for his neck, the goblin's knees quiver, and he tumbles over the banister to the floor below... dead. As he tumbles over, the hobgoblin notices several bolts protruding from his back.
The goblin with the red tattoos takes advantage of Gruskorb's attack and counters with one of his own, slicing across the hobgoblin's forearm. In retaliation, Gruskorb lashes out at the goblin in front of him, but the creature deftly steps out of the way of the barbed tongues of the scorpion whip.
Simultaneously, the first, jet black eagle swoops in at the drake, nimbly avoiding a bite from the beast, and claws ferociously at its snout.
With the drake demonstrating just how far it can lash out at targets, Garidan is careful to move evasively as he retreats from its presence.
A shiver of fear races up Niyut's spine as one by one her companions flee the drake's wrath. She knows that she is their best hope for survival, since her icy sorcery was so ruinous to these beasts of flame.
Yet, she had been grievously wounded by their claws. She fears to feel them again. Watching Garidan leap away reminds her that only two eagles stood between her and her bloody death. She prays to their ancestors that the beast is battle mad and unable to reason. Yet she does not begrudge the swordsman his prudence. After all, she had sent her brother after their cart in part to save him and spare him the vision of her death.
Simultaneously, the first, jet black eagle swoops in at the drake, nimbly avoiding a bite from the beast, and claws ferociously at its snout.
As Garidan turns to move towards Gruskorb and the goblins, the flame drake turns and snaps its jaws at the departing swashbuckler. Luckily for Garidan, his natural panache and flamboyant withdrawal proves the difference between being eaten and escaping unscathed.
With the cart reclaimed, Truk'tosh stops making soothing sounds and turns his attention back to his companions.
After a moment of searching Truk finds a chunk of debris to tied the leads onto keeping them secure for now.
While the lumbering half-orc rushes back towards the fight, the flame drake's screech echoes through the chamber with a thunderous reverberation. It turns its head towards the black eagle and unleashes a fiery explosion upon the bird of prey. The fireball engulfs the drake and the yellow feathered eagle, and its flames reach out to burn Niyut. The oracle instinctively throws both arms up before her face, then turns away from the blast expecting it to take her from this world in a fiery grave. The flames reach out and tickle her, just as she turns, singeing the hairs upon her arms but nothing more.
When the blinding flash of the fireball recedes, Malthazir sees a single yellow feather softly float to the ground before his feet. He looks to the drake and does not see his summoned creatures at the beast's flank.
Confused by her good fortune, but pleased with her survival, Niyut thanks her ancestors and the dwarven spirits for their intercession. Her icy breath blows another globe swirling frost into being, which shoots unerringly towards the remaining fire drake.
"Malthazir, they might have power we can harvest," the oracle calls softly to the elven mage.
The good fortuned oracle calls upon her inner sorcerer once more and vanquishes the second flame drake with a precise throw of her snowball. The beast collapses upon its brethren. Mystical lights drain from their bodies and hover above the lifeless carcasses of the flame drakes.
The two remaining goblins gasp as the drakes fall to the duo of spell-casters. Crying out in terror, they turn tail and scurry back up the staircase from whence they came.
Niyut and Malthazir quickly move in on the corpses and find that they are able to extract a life essence from the drake with the green talons and four ethereal essences between the two drakes. Hearing the screeches from beyond the entrance, Niyut looks out the doorway to see, the red drake circling the crumbling, small tower. Two dwarves and an elf continue to battle the beast. Far off in the distance, you can hear the response of more drakes. All about the tower and the structures on the side of the cavern, several fires rage brightly. Among the flickering light of the fires, she can make out the scurrying figures of dozens of humanoids... some of which are headed her way.
The five essences swirl and dart towards various members of the party as something within their spirits calls to the remnants in the gems.
"We cannot face so many. My sorcery is exhausted from fighting two of them. We must fly. Malthazir, please use your stone to heal us."
Niyut follows her own advice and moves swiftly towards the cart.
The group turns and scampers to the cart which Truk'tosh has quickly untied and already started down the long Hall of Warriors. The cart moves slowly until the half-orc slaps the oxen on his haunches and the cart lurches forward at a faster pace.
Behind you, the sounds of many angry voices echoes through the grand hall. You can feel the goblins gaining on you even with the cart bounding along in the dim light of Garidan's ioun torch. Several times, the hall is illuminated from bursts of fire... the drakes have arrived. Every chance you get, you survey the road ahead and the enemy behind. The hall seems to have no end and the enemy behind closes in.
Suddenly, the hall ends and the cart rattles down a short, low staircase and through a vaulted archway. You enter another massive cavern with no visible sides or ceiling. Only the worn tracks of dwarven steps in the rock floor guides you forward. You race along with all the speed the oxen can muster. Garidan and Gruskorb begin to push the cart for more speed. Niyut, weary from the battle, leaps onto the cart as the fatigue in her legs becomes too much.
Malthazir, the elven wizard, is fairing no better, but his natural elven agility takes over as he bounds upon the back of the horse, his right hand gripping the steed's mane. With a flick of his left wrist, an ethereal hand materializes and unties the horse from the cart. Freed from the restraint, the horse flies ahead of the cart, leading the oxen and the others across the vast openness of the cavern.
Several drakes rush out of the tunnel behind you, taking to the air in a silent flight. The nearest, a massive red-horned beast, belches a blast of fire and flame at the cart, but comes up just short of the group. Niyut, looking back from her spot on the cart, sees the explosion of goblins ushering forth into the cavern.... more than one hundred by her quick count. The fireball also grants the others a chance to survey the cavern before them... and spot the exit not another hundred feet ahead.
The drakes circle above and prepare to descend upon the helpless cart. But at that moment, Malthazir is the first to see the barricade in the darkness. The way is shut. There is no escape. The exit has collapsed in upon itself... another byproduct of the Shaping of the world.
The elf looks back over his shoulder at at the flame drakes and then down at his friends. His saddened eyes move from Truk'tosh to Garidan... then to Gruskorb and finally upon Niyut, whose slender figure is silhouetted by the fiery explosions behind her. As he prepares to feel the fury of the drakes, the world goes silent and he closes his eyes.
A high-pitched whine snaps the elf back to life. He looks up to see a blanket of bolts and arrows fly overhead toward his pursuers. A pair of drakes crash to the ground flattening several goblins beneath them. A score more of goblins fall to the volley of missiles launched from...
"The Dwarves!" shouts Malthazir as he spies the myriad of balconies above the crumbled exit. A second wave of projectiles are launched from the dwarven fortification tumbling more goblins to the ground. Beneath the cart, the ground swells up as the stone floor is reshaped into a ramp by an ethereal force. The cart slows slightly as the ascent is challenging for the tired oxen, but with the help of Garidan and Gruskorb, not to mention the urging of Truk'tosh, the oxen bellows out and delivers the group to the awaitng dwarven army perched upon a balcony nearly fifty feet above the exit.
As you look back into the cavern, the illuminating fires die down. Hovering in the air is the massive, red-horned drake. It stares at your soul and you recoil just a bit. With a final burst of flame, it turns and retreats into the darkness.
The magically crafted ramp melds back into the ground cutting off any goblins below. A venerable dwarf ambles upon among the many warriors.
"Greetings! We have been waiting for you! I was not confident that you would make it through the Lost City, but she was convinced that you would. Now, where is Elannaris Darantholar? I must speak with the young elf."
"Our thanks for your timely rescue, honored elder."
Niyut replies softly in greeting as she clutches the remnants of her tattered skirts. A small piece of her is glad that she had a new dress in her pack, the black silk dress of the elven noble woman.
"She stayed behind in Eastgate. We have not seen her in a handful of days. Who was so confident in our arrival?"
"Silly child..." the dwarf chuckles at Niyut. "It was Elannaris who had such high expectations for your arrival. She told me herself, just this morning!"
At that moment, two younger dwarves dressed in uniforms similar to Grymdor arrive. "Master Bryndyll," they address the old dwarf. "We found no sign of the scouting party... nor the elf. But, we did collect these essences for you... from the fallen drakes."
The dwarves hand the essences to Bryndyll. The oracle turns to the gathering dwarven warriors and tosses the five essences into the air. One brightly glowing essence descends upon a young female ranger. She smiles as it enters her chest. Another bright essence comes down upon a balding dwarven warrior in tarnished and beaten plate armor. Almost instantly the armor seems to harden and repair itself. Then, three ethereal essences shudder and permeate Garidan and Malthazir before the final life essence comes to rest on Truk'tosh.
The dwarves cheer as the essences meld with their recipient.
Truk'tosh is visibly relieved to see the dwarven reinforcements but focuses on silently tending to the wounded livestock while his sister greets them.
He looks over the beasts' tack and harnesses as well to make sure none of it was overly damaged by the drake's flames.
Niyut quivers slightly as the life energy flows out of her brother from the spirit world and her wounds almost entirely knit together.
"Then she knows more of our whereabouts, they we of hers."
"She left with a squad of rangers to find you less than two hours ago! Did she not find you?!?" Bryndyll says with a concerned look upon his face.
"She did not," Niyut replies stoically. "How did she reach you ahead of us?"
With the fight in the Hall coming to an unexpected end as the last drake drops dead to the floor and the remaining goblins flee, Garidan sags in relief. They're still alive, and the unhappy noises from the horse and ox indicate that Truk'tosh managed to catch them before something unpleasant happened. Getting his weapons properly put away, he watches in fascination as Niyut and Malthazir use their knowledge to extract more of those curious essences from the slain reptiles. His fascination turns, briefly, to alarm as one of the vibrant crystals wobbles violently before launching itself at him. Throwing up a hand to intercept it, Garidan is puzzled for a moment by the lack of impact, as the crystal fades into his palm the instant it makes contact.
Garidan's senses suddenly sharpen to an almost painful level, and he realizes as he looks around at the others that he can see an odd aura around them, a sort of preview of how and when they're going to move. The aura is perhaps a second, at best, in advance of their actual motion, but he knows beyond doubt that it's enough for him to react to in a fight. The--hyperawareness? Precognition? He's not sure what it is--fades almost as rapidly as it hit, but Garidan is left with the knowledge that he can call it up at need any time. His introspection on this unusual new ability is cut short by Niyut's alarmed warning of further threats approaching the Hall, and Garidan wastes no time in joining the other in making a hasty exit from the area. He does, however, spare a mournful thought at the lost opportunity to recover those drake bodies; while even one would be too much for their poor cart, a judicious harvesting would certainly garner some nice prizes for the party's benefit.
Soon enough, even that thought is cast aside as Garidan puts all his effort into making good the party's flight from the oncoming enemies. As the chase comes to end at the blockage, Garidan is prepared to do his part in the--futile--last stand when hope reappears at the last moment. Once the cart is shoved up the ramp and he is certain nothing else needs doing, Garidan collapses in an exhausted heap against the nearest wall. He has just enough energy left to pay a bit of attention to the conversation between Niyut and the leader of the dwarven contingent, but no more. Not even mention of the party's missing member can rouse him to participate right now.
When the dwarven warrior comes in bearing another collection of essences harvested from fallen drakes, Garidan perks up a bit and watches as each essence seemingly chooses for itself where it will go. He feels a bit of surprise as one of the shinging crystals moves to him and hovers over the hilt of his rapier, remaining there for several heartbeats before twitching, almost as if impatient. Unsure of what to do, Garidan simply watches the crystal for a moment longer before tentatively reaching out and taking it in his hand. When it doesn't immediately absorb into his body as the previous crystals have done, he warily tucks it away in a belt pouch for later consideration.
So this is the end of our cycle. Perhaps we will meet again in the next.
The residing spirit did not help Gruskorb's nerves. As they ran for their lives from the drakes, his heart sunk to see the dead end in front of them. In fact, it meant a literal dead end for their party; no amount of snowballs from Niyut or eagles from Malthazir was going to matter. They were doomed.
And yet, as the rogue felt fear for what he expected to be the last time in his life, the ground began to rise before them.
These dwarves are bending the earth!
Though Gruskorb couldn't discern whether his companion was surprised as opposed to impressed, he did hear relief in the telepathy. So he's not anxious to move to the afterlife either. Good to know. The aegean felt slightly closer to his visitor as a result; before, the spirit seemed so aloof as to be above the concerns of mortals. Now, the man - even in his incorporeal state - seemed to be interested in keeping life, limited as it might be.
He only cast a quick glance behind him while heading up the ramp, though looking back at their pursuer seemed like an hour, its deathly visage gazing back.
Given the adrenaline and recent scrape with the end of his rope, Gruskorb was understandably short with the new dwarf.
"Expectations?!" He caught his breath. "My thanks to you all, but expectations be damned. I thought I was dead a moment ago." He clasped Truk's shoulder as he mended their wounds. Gotta stick around that one.
Niyut's question was the crux of this conversation he struggled to keep track of. If there was an easier passage to use for communication, why didn't we use it?
"She came by the same route as you, but was sent before you. She travelled with another of the rangers... they travelled fast and stealthy. Something, you could not do with your numbers and supplies. She arrived two days ago and informed us of your imminent arrival. We sent her back with a squad of rangers to find you. It is strange that you did not come upon them."
Having regained a bit of his energy, Garidan joins the conversation with a bit relevant information. "Didn't Grymdor refer to that group of dwarves at the bridge, the ones trading shots with the goblins, as rangers? I'm pretty sure there was a taller figure among their number. Might that have been the group of which Elannaris was a member?" He frowns in concentration while continuing. "The last I saw of them, they were battling a small number of goblins and one of those drakes. Then we retreated into the Hall of Warriors, and after that had to flee for our lives. So I've no way of knowing if they survived."
Niyut shrugs.
She doesn't quite understand why the dwarven elder expected them to know or care where the wayward elven bard is. They had barely spent a day in her company. From what Niyut remembers of the woman she was something of a coward. There was no shame to her cowardice. The world had ended. It is not the brave who survived but the lucky and the cunning.
"There was an elf among their number, but I know not whether it was she. I pray that Grymdor survived. He is brave and true. In fact, we spent more time with him than we did with Elannaris. I wish them both health and long life. Is there a place to rest and tend to our wounded?" She asks gesturing to her shredded blouse and skirts.
Niyut chooses not to mention her confusion about why the dwarves chose to abandon their city if the path between the two strongholds is so well traveled.
"Certainly, follow me back to Eastgate," says Bryndyll.
The dwarf leads the party up a winding ramp in a subterrainian tower, eventually coming out onto to a massive road. Clearly you have found your way to the Dragon Road and the eastern exit of Eastgate. You are shown to the Undermountain Inn where you are allowed to rest and recover while your animals and supplies are well attended to.
After the rest, you are greeted at the door by a stout dwarf who is the proprietor of the inn. He brings you a hearty meal and says that his kitchen has restocked your cart with provisions to last the entire group and the animals 30 days. Unfortunately, they cannot provide any other supplies, nor can anyone on this side of Eastgate.
They inform you that they have seen random undead outside beyond the gate. Additionally, a large band of gnolls were spotted by a patrol that Bryndyll sent out following the Shaping. The gnolls were traveling the wastelands between Eastgate and Pyrae.
Outside of the Inn, you note that this side of Eastgate has been heavily damaged. You see very few dwarves beyond the military. Bryndyll seems to be in charge although he is preoccupied with the defenses against the goblins and the drakes.
Once they had settled the horse and oxen, Niyut tends to the remaining wounds of her companions before taking a long and well deserved bath. She doesn't believe that she has ever enjoyed a bath so much. She marvels at the smoothness of her unblemished olive skin. Healing magic washed away any sign of the drakes' talons.
Now that her bath is complete, she cleans the black silk robe worn by the elven noble woman. The silk feels amazing against her skin. Niyut has never before worn something so fine. The robe had absorbed some of the drake's essence and felt protective somehow. She saves the clean remnants of her old skirts as rags. Now that the world has ended cloth may be much more rare.
The robe was not the only thing that had improved by the captured essences. An icy power throbbed in the wand her mother had given her. It is as if the essence of the drake and the sorcery within her had somehow mingled and infused the wand.
Despite desiring to sleep, Niyut studies another section of the book, hoping to learn something that could help her with the great spirit who stalked her.
When she does fall asleep her dreams are troubled. Viosil continues to be devoured. Niyut is troubled not only by the spirit's pain; he may be an ass and a parasite, but as a spirit guide Niyut has a sacred duty to protect the world of flesh and appease the world of the spirits. Her unspoken fear is that it is not some unknown horror that feasted upon Viosil but that it is Niyut herself who devours him. Though he felt weaker, she had never felt more powerful.
Am I a new Gaeruhn?
The thought troubles her enough that she burns some of her precious sage and performs a cleansing ritual when she awakens. As she performs her rite, she feels closer to the spirits. The spirit of flame that lives within these mountains calls out to her from beyond the veil between worlds. She feels a great heat as some of its fire passes from the spirit world into the world of the flesh, into her own body.
Is this spirit one of weal or woe? Is it the spirit the goblins worship? Is it Gaeruhn? Is it the spirit of shadow and flame that stalks me?
Whatever its origins, the fire within her quickens her steps like a darting flame. She had never moved so quickly before.
Truk'tosh is quietly grateful for the hospitality shown to himself and the others within Eastgate. A bit of shelter and a warm hearth was a welcome reprieve from the harsh reality outside the city's sturdy walls.
During a moment of quiet Truk takes some time to reflect. One of the essences his sister had extracted from the drakes had surprisingly merged with his own. The sensation was incredible - equal parts pain and pleasure - but in the afterglow he felt stronger than ever. His muscular form surged with might and his legs burned with an eagerness to run. And yet it's the quiet from his spiritual companion that earned the majority of his attention. The dwarven spirit had been a boundless font of advice/suggestions since their joining but he'd been become almost silent since the battle with the drakes.
Morgrym? Are you unwell?
With the availability of safe shelter for a time, and the certainty of more danger ahead, Garidan takes up his self-appointed role as the party's supply gatherer once again. They acquired a number of things in the depths, most of which they have little use for, that the dwarves here might want. His first stop is at Gruskorb, for the hobgoblin's handy little spell will prove quite needful. "Gruskorb, if you have some time to spare, I could use your help in getting some of this of stuff fixed up good and proper. That'll hopefully make it easier to trade to the dwarves here for stuff we can actually use." Leaving Gruskorb to ponder his request, Garidan gathers the equipment in question and sets its aside, the damaged stuff in one pile and the rest in another. Spying Niyut, dressed in her new robes, eyeing the hairpin speculatively, he pauses and looks at it, then at her. "If you want it, then go ahead and claim it. It'll look better in your hair than in any of ours," he says with a laugh and a wave of his hand that encompasses himself and the other males in the party.
Before he attempts any hustling and dealing, however, there is one vital matter to see to. He seeks out Bryndyll and explains what he has need of. "Pardon, Master Deepdweller, but I have need of a bit more aid than what you've already shown to us. Down below, in the abandoned halls of the former Bloodforge clan, we found some slain elves, representative of the del'Agost Dianndor family. They were killed by Bloodforge dwarves in an act of betrayal, and the spirit of one was trapped in his remains afterward."
As Garidan explains the situation to the elderly dwarf, he guides him to the cart, where the remains are. "We gave our word to this spirit that we would take their bodies out of the halls of their killers and lay them to rest properly. We would, with your permission and the spirit's agreement, like to do that here before we set out once more." With that said, Garidan nervously addresses the body of Flendario Merithan. "Uh, Flendario? Do you, um, have any problems with yourself, your captain, and your lady being interred just outside the gates here?" After a moment's further thought, he steels his nerve and quickly asks another question before Flendario can reply to the first. "And would you object if my companions and I lay claim to the gear used by yourself and your captain? While we can't use it for ourselves, it can still be of aid in securing us what we need for our mission." A bit shame-faced, Garidan reluctantly, and very quietly, continues. "Brynderie's equipment has, ah, already been claimed by one of our number who had need of it."