Upon closer inspection, Gorim sees that the figurine is an ivory dragon with amethyst eyes.
"How easy was it to get past the dragon's mouth? Because if that pile of coins is any indication, there's been hundreds of attempts over the years."
"A voice spoke to me unseen. It was full of malice, and I feel we are being watched. Be ready."
Waiting to ensure his companions are all ready for a fight, Quick then grabs the two skulls with auras and tosses them toward the treasure pile.
Gorim nods to Quick and readies his axe.
The skulls bounce across the pile of treasure, and behind each of them, Quick discovers a small stoppered vial. The unfamiliar to his knowledge of magic is labeled as the other he found among the living quarters, thaal, and the other he knows to contain an elixir of immediate divination. Retrieving the second, he sees it is labeled vahzah nos. Tossing the skulls seemed to have no ill effect on Quick or his companions, nor did the taking of these potions from their hiding place.
Leap
True Strike
Sifting through the platinum, gold, silver, and copper pieces, Quick finds the silvery dagger handle to resemble two intertwined serpents, with their heads arcing to face the blade tip to form the hilt. Such is the quality of the edge, and the lack of corrosion, that inspectors to this blade suspect this metal to be similar to silver, but not as commonly used. Continuing on to the half-buried longsword, its scabbard has certainly seen better days but is nonetheless functional. Uncovering the blade is surprisingly effortless, and the metal that forms the blade is similar to that metal shard received from Froggy, cold iron. Despite its age, the edge of the sword is still very sharp.
Aside from the two weapons, and the dragon figurine inspected by Gorim, the rest of the treasure hoard appears to be pieces of currency, and quite harmless currency at that.
Henry Southgard sets down his lantern and keeps watch as the others inspect the pile of treasure.
"How about you, Gwath? You see anything odd?"
|
"Not see. Felt. But there was nothing there."
Gwath begins to walk around the treasure horde, slowly, and with blade still raised. He inspects the walls, while returning his eyes regularly to the coin. He knows magic might well be the answer to the queer happenings, but he wants to rule out any secret passages or mechanisms that an unseen vandal might be using against them.
The studious priest remembers something about dragonlore: dragons often collected mounds of wealth, and hoarded it jealously against intruders to their lair. Perhaps these dragon disciples imitated their patron deity this way and this is merely their treasury. Many faiths have a place in their monasteries for offerings and donations, and in the case of this temple when it was active ages ago, visitors and faithful alike had to pay to enter. It may be that when the dragon worshippers absconded from this site, they left their treasure behind. Other religions also honor their most accomplished devotees, calling them saints or paragons, and store their remains in honorable places.
But Gorim also remembers that some spirits do not take kindly to irreverent intrusion, and might make attempts to scare away unwanted guests. He has even heard of small objects like candlesticks and plates to be picked up by ghostly hands and thrown to heighten the fear of the living. Such restless spirits cannot be dispatched by a sword or axe, only magic can affect their incorporeal forms.
Dragons collect treasure and value magic. This might be a manifestation of the dragon cult hoarding like their deity, and storing the skulls of their faithful among the walls.
The privateer sees no concealed mechanisms on the walls, floors, or in the ceiling.
With the initial concern wearing off, Gorim begins to wander more freely around the room, lowering his axe as he approaches a wall of skulls.
"These'd be the remains of those who revered the Dragon most, true paragons of their order... what we're feeling - a spirit - likely one of 'em."
He turns to the group, "I suggest we leave the hoard as it is, to not risk further upset", states Gorim, flicking a gold piece into the pile.
For the books.
"The vandal isn't down here".
Henry Southgard's eyes flash with anger at the suggestion that the party should leave the treasure behind, but his voice remains level.
"Assume that it's hostile and not just protective. Could you put it to rest if you had to?"
Staying in the light of the lantern, he steps up behind Quick and takes a closer look at the weapons. Even if they weren't made with atypical metals, the craftsmanship alone would have gained his approval.
"I see no reason to upset this tribute either. There must be something we are missing..."
Quick starts off along the wals of the chamber.
"Aye, should it come to that, I reckon I could" states the Dwarf, retrieving the recently discarded skulls and returning them to their resting place.
He then joins Quick in the search, though also keeping an eye out for any signs of continued ghostly activity.
Forty-five minutes pass and the thorough mages find little more than age-old dust on the skulls and the holes that keep them. Gorim experiences no more sensations from the spirits that haunt this place, and it appears that his companions are likewise unbothered.
The dagger is made of mithral! A metal as hard as steel and as light as wood, usually mined from deep underground. Lightweight, rare, and a silvery sparkle sets mithral as a precious metal above gold. This dagger could fetch at least five hundred gold pieces.
As for the longsword, the mercenary recognizes cold iron right away, and knows it is especially effective against fey. He knows the forging and crafting process is different from standard steel found in all smithies, but he has no idea how that process or the iron required affects the price.
"We should have," Henry Southgard says in agreement with Gwath. "With a pack mule, we could have taken anything that's not nailed down and on fire. As we are, I recommend leaving behind anything you can't lift with one hand or that isn't worth its weight in silver pieces."
"Now if I could direct your attention to the blades before me," he says as he holds up the dagger. "This is made of mithril. It's worth more than the pile of coins combined. As a weapon, it is invaluable to us in our situation. And this," he continues, indicating the longsword. "... is made of cold iron. Death to demons and fey, and may I remind you that we may be up against Drow?"
"We're not leaving without these," the mercenary says, louder than necessary. He holds his breath and watches for shadows on the walls.
The hundreds of skulls watch silently, the spirits apparently unmoved by the crossbowman's declaration.
Quick stops himself and takes a breath so as not to explode in anger.
"The value and usefulness of these blades is undeniable, but think on what Gorim has said and what we know of this place."
"These tributes are how the members of this order would have fed themselves and paid for what they needed, so they're already vested in it's remaining inviolate to the point of life and death."
"We also know that they revered and emulated dragons who are, without exception, covetous of their treasure holds. This makes it likely that there would be countermeasures in place to prevent theft. Now on the grounds of religious imperative AND basic survival."
Most importantly, thanks to Gorim here, we know that this horde is kept in the very vault where the orders' most respected and powerful members were laid to rest."
"We know through the tales and songs about the restless dead: some of us from personal experience. Do you not think that disturbing this wealth would cause these honored patriarchs to stir at the very least? At worst to rise in vengeful anger?"
"I will not touch it. Moreover, I will insist, as these are my forebears: my beliefs, that if you are not persuaded to leave this horde alone, you will wait to desecrate it until I have left this temple altogether."
Quick stands waiting for an answer, he slowly realizes his hand is on his sword and, even more slowly, removes it.
Henry Southgard's irritation at his concentration being interrupted is replaced by thoughtfulness as he listens to Quick's speech. The irritation returns in full force when the mage draws his sword.
"Very well. It seems that the majority vote is to let restless spirits lie. I'm going to speak my mind, then the kid can have his say, then we put it to a vote. If anyone else has something they wish to share, speak up or forever hold your peace."
"First of all, it's like the kid said: 'restless spirit'. Souls that should have passed into the hereafter, but are bound to this mortal realm until the isolation and tedium has driven them mad. The kind thing to do would be to put it to rest, by force if necessary."
"Then there's that pile of coins over there. As I was saying earlier, hundreds of people have found this place over the years. Pilgrims, maybe, but certainly treasure seekers as well. And clearly, none of them lasted long. None of the furniture upstairs has been broken up for firewood, and the solid arcane silver statue was desecrated only recently."
The mercenary wraps up his argument, raising a finger for each point.
"In summary, this place is hostile. If the spirit is involved, then our very presence is intolerable to it whether or not we clean the offering plate. And even if the spirit isn't offing every wanderer who finds his way here, I don't want to be looking over my shoulder as we dodge the other deathtraps in this temple."
Quick nods a silent thank you to Gwath, then turns to Henry.
"Hostility is most often born of disharmony. I grant you, this is not always so. However, you cannot deny that I have an affinity to this place, as I got us in without a moment's hesitation though, to my knowledge, I have never been here. The presence we all felt? It spoke to me: no one else."
"If it were hostile, it would have attacked. It desires our departure because we are not worthy. This implies that we can prove our worthiness. We can come into harmony with this place and whatever spirits may reside here."
"I cannot, nor do I wish to control you Henry, but I do want to uncover the secrets of this place. I also know that you rely on your gut and are comfortable making decisions based on the first available information. That has kept you alive this long and I will not fault it."
"However, you are in over your head this time. This is my territory. I trusted you to get us out of Port Elam. Trust me to get us through this place."
"Very well. Unless anyone else has anything to add, I call a vote. All in favor of not provoking the spirit?" Henry Southgard says, raising his right hand.
"Aye", states Coppervein, raising his free hand to the statement.
"Let's see what else this place has in stock".
Quick, satisfied that the treasure will remain unmolested for now, simply walks up the stairs to the big double door.
When everyone is there, he turns to them. "Are we ready?"
Henry Southgard picks up his lantern and follows. While waiting for Gorim and Gwath to catch up, he examines the door.
"Aye."
The wide stone steps lead to two towering grey slabs of stone with dragon rampant designs chiseled over their surface. One smooth stone ring hangs on each door at head height. By the look of it, the doors open by pulling, and considering the immensity of the solid stone, pulling very hard. Henry searches for recent use, but he spots no clues. Although every rock wall of this mountaintop temple is cold to the touch, this door is especially chilly.
Gorim nods, "Ready".
Quick grabs the the stone ring and tries to pull the door open.
Straining, Quick says, "Help..?"
Gorim joins Quick's efforts.
Henry Southgard sets down his lantern to help open the door. Before he can get into position, Gwath almost rips the massive stone portal off the hinges.
"Maybe we should have knocked first?" he asks, still recovering from amazement.
Howling, cold wind escapes between the thick stone doors as the gap widens. As it grows in strength, Henry’s lantern gutters and goes out. Darkness covers the four, the sun gone from the sky hours ago and if there is a moon, it is obscured in heavy cloud. Nearly deafening wind courses around them, and those with dark-seeing eyes look upon an enormous open bowl, walled by carved rock. Within the bowl, the torrential wind rushes and whips at loose clothing. The mountaintop proceeds from the ceilings of the rooms recently explored, but judging by the breadth of this flat, stone-floored courtyard, much of this mountain was hewn away in order to form this field. The walls of the bowl, under closer inspection, resemble two great dragon wings. The wing forearms sprout from the rock face perhaps fifty feet across, with the great double stone doors as the midpoint between the two. Continuing around the bowl, each of the reptilian fingers between the webbing serve as angled supports within the stone wall, the height of which begins thirty feet high and arcs before gradually curving downward as they continue around the bowl. The length of the yard is too far for the deepsighted to see the edge.
Just beneath the base of the wing walls, one grate on either side appears to serve as a tunneled exit for the terrible wind.
After a moment to take it all in, a faint, sorrowful moan reaches the ears of the four, though it could have just been the wind. Quick’s attentive ears knows it comes from the furthest edge of the bowl, beyond his sight and straight across the open court.
The Healer follows the Privateer, scanning his surroundings.
"Magnificent," he says distractedly, fixated on the bowls walls.
Quick walks directly forward, his mind spinning: trying to find the meaning of this place. Did you tell me of this mother? Should I know what to do?
Henry Southgard lunges for the lantern as it flickers and reaches it before it goes out entirely. He lights it and keeps it sheltered with the poncho. The lantern's light is reduced, but at least he can see well enough to follow the others.
Nothing strikes Quick as particularly familiar about this place, but he knows that temples of other faiths sometimes have a large, enclosed area to perform religious ceremonies for a big group, or perhaps practice wide-range spells or drill the martial defenders of the faith. Also, due to the altitude and cold, this may be a place for worshippers of a cold-breathing, flying magical creature to commune among the elements of cold and air.
The wind snaps at the cloaks of the four as they cross the wide stone bowl. Overhead and around them, a word here and there is whispered on the wind in a language not made for the mortal tongue. But the unseen whisperers to not harass the travelers with curses or ill will as they approach the far end of the courtyard.
The top of the walls curve downward, meeting the floor of the open area with a gap of five feet between the closest tips of the wings. Approaching the unwalled gap shows the stone floor to extend another five feet to form a narrow precipice into the bitter, howling winds. The three pairs of night-seeing eyes can see a great thin stone spike rise up from the shadows below, about twenty feet from the end of the ledge on their side. The solid rock spire continues up higher beyond the walls that curtain the yard but is well obscured by the dark sky and the occasional flurries of snow caught in the terrible winds. A small ledge carved into the spire lays equal in height to the precipice not far from the four, and beyond the spire’s ledge, a dark hole in the rock yawns ominously.
To the casual observer, it looks as though a bridge between the courtyard and this stone spire fell away. But closely inspecting the place where a bridge may have broken from, only smoothed stone is seen. Perhaps the wide gap between the two points was intentional, but the dark deep drop between the spire and the rest of the mountain spells certain death if anyone should try to leap the distance, and fall short.
From what was explored of the temple so far, and based on one’s information on other places of worship, this is difficult-to-reach part of the temple could very well be the most sacred location of the entire grounds, acceptable only to the higher echelons of this dragon cult. The Silver Scale might be kept in the spire.
Quick's eyebrows raise in surprise and realization.
"Gorim! Lay out the potions."
Quick takes a potion of jump and one of feather fall and holds them before himself.
"This is how we get across. Who will come with me?"
"Someone who can see where they're jumping, that's who."
"I err, I'm not the most... agile".
Gorim has heard this language before in his travels -it is Auran, the spoken language air elementals.
Air elementals are spirits of raw energy that hail from the Plane of Air. Perhaps they are drawn here by the powerful winds, or perhaps there is a potent magic about this place that attracts them. Their appearance usually resembles a cyclone or a windy, winged creature, and they are masters of aerial maneuvers and swift flyers.
The priest doesn’t easily spot any air elementals nearby, but with the rushing wind they would be hard to hear, and as they are creatures made of wind and vapor, very difficult to see.
Henry Southgard pulls a torch and a length of rope from his pack and hands them to Gwath.
"Gwath, you go over first. Throw the robe back and haul us over."
"Wait." Quick chuckles. "This is the last thing I thought I'd be saying, but here it goes anyway: My magics are spent and after climbing that mountain, I'm not sure I could make the jump. Perhaps we should rest? We know there's nothing in the temple that wants to harm us outright. We'll be safe, warm, and dry. What do you all think?"
Quick laughs.
"Aye, rest sounds preferable", states Gorim as he stares over the gap. He turns, distracted by a word on the wind.
"These voices..." he mumbles, his eyes darting back and forth searching for their origin.
"They're the speech of Air Elementals"
"It's been a while!" he grins.
Henry Southgard gives Quick a hard look, stows the rope and beckons the rest to follow him back to the temple.