Henry Southgard motions to Gorim to follow him and sets out to explore that final room.
Gorim follows along.
Up the unexplored spiral stairs, the four find a dining hall with a long, decaying table and chairs. At the end of the hall, a doorway leads into a kitchen area, with the wooden cabinets and furniture also crumbling into disrepair. Quick’s enthusiastic search yields a few items of note, however. Labeled as klav viidost, or antitoxin, when translated by Gorim, the five vials are set aside. Within a low, disintegrating drawer, a collection of tarnished silver cutlery is discovered. With some polish, they could still salvaged for market standards, or at the very least sold to a smithy or jeweler.
Gwath determines the mess hall as the ideal place to rest for the night, as there is only one entrance to watch and there is a place in the kitchen to start a fire if need be. Also, it is furthest from the treasury cairn, in case the restless spirits change their minds.
Quick returns to the library as the others unpack their things, knowing that the party only glanced over the room before. He is gone for over an hour, perhaps two, but when he returns, eyes heavy for want of sleep, he carries two additional scrolls in his arms. Evidently, he found them among the shattered cylindrical pottery.
One of these scrolls is a written spell of healing.
The second scroll is inscribed with magic that edifies the friends of the caster.
As his three companions settle in to rest, Gwath patiently listens for any sounds of trespassing, and watches the door for intruders. He finds none, and at long last he turns to wake Henry and finally get some sleep.
Henry Southgard quietly repacks his gear, waxes the bowstring, and searches the kitchen for a serviceable pot or pitcher.
The crossbowman finds an iron pot, but the bottom is so rusty it might collapse under any weight. The rest of his watch passes without incident.
Before waking Gorim, Henry Southgard spends the rest of his shift gently cleaning the rust from the pot with a bit of sharkskin from his pouch of artisan's tools.
After a few minutes, he determines that it won't hold boiling water, and discards it.
Gorim wakes and pulls himself to his feet almost immediately.
"Mornin'", he says quietly, though rather chipper for someone just getting up.
He begins reacquainting himself with his surroundings, looking for a nice spot to stretch and exercise, and soon begin his mediation.
The temple weighs heavily on Henry Southgard's mind as he drifts off to sleep. The dragon at the entrance was impressive enough, and clearly the work of a powerful mage. Surely, that level of detail could have been captured by a team of exceptionally skilled dwarven craftsmen, but the elements would have worn it down like any other statue. Powerful magic could shape and sculpt stone at a whim, and protect it against eons.
A smile passes across his face. It seemed to be base instinct that drove tinpot dictators and self-proclaimed kings to commission their likeness in stone and hire a wizard to proof it against time. More times than he cared to count, Shaleclast's Free Company had wandered past statues and menhir boasting of their patron's mighty works; as crisp and polished as the day they had been finished, but half buried beneath ancient trees or meandering rivers. A game had sprung up among the men, one of translating the inscriptions and speculating how big were the vanished cities that these forgotten kings boasted of.
But the temple was different. It was older than Henry dared guess, and the courtyard... Henry could only imagine how large it had truly been, but he'd gotten a look at the wings carved into the walls. This temple, this retreat for dragon-worshiping cultists, could easily be as large as the Gilded Cathedral back home.
Henry Southgard shakes sleep aside and tries to follow the implications of that thought. The Gilded Cathedral was large because it had to be; the marble edifice was practically built around the massive belltower that housed the Stormsoother Carillon, and the banks and service halls and almshouses appropriate to a temple of Abadar neatly filled the extra space. Given the same room, what would worshippers of a dragon do with it?
Well, hoard treasure of course, but besides that.
Diametrically opposed to Abadar was Henry's own patron deity, Gorum. Temples dedicated to the Lord in Iron served to mark the places of great battles and train new warriors in the ways of weapons and armor. He could easily imagine an Order of the Silver Scale building a temple around their patron's old retreat and exercising their magic.
Sleep returns with reinforcements, and Henry Southgard has to choice but to surrender. His thoughts briefly drift back to memories of the Gilded Cathedral and waiting for his father to return home.
Eight hours later, he's back up and ready for another day of hard work.
Upon finishing his meditation, the Dwarf retrieves the recently collected books from his bag. He begins to study the pages, turning back and forth between them with great care while the others eventually wake one by one.
"I'm ready tah set out whenever you lot are," he says, his eyes not venturing from the pages, "But I can't say I'm in any real rush" he adds jokingly.
He finally looks up and gestures at the gathered scrolls, "I'll be giving those one more look over. I've prepared a trick".
Gorim deciphers the magical script and finds one scroll capable of animating rope. Another is a litany of blessing over one’s allies. Lastly, the third scroll is written to close wounds.
However, the magic used in the writing of the spell to invigorate mundane rope is different from the other two, and is foreign to Gorim’s understanding of magic. This scroll was written by one with arcane powers, rather than magic derived from a divine source. The dwarf doesn’t think he can activate this scroll.
Henry Southgard slowly awakes from uncertain dreams about ghosts, fey, and cultists and stretches.
"First order of business is..." Henry Southgard pauses, blinks groggily, and digs into his pack for a cloth-wrapped brick of something. He opens it, scratches a few grains into his palm, and then swallows them. The smell of coffee and nuts fills the room.
"Correction, first order of business is to find something to boil water in. I've got a gold piece for the person who turns up a good iron pot."
The Dwarf chuckles at Henry's comment and hands a scroll back to Quick.
"This'll let you animate rope. May come in handy crossing that gap."
Gorim tucks one of the scrolls beneath an arm and begins to unravel the other, "These are divine... one a blessing and the other for healin'", he says, grinning at the scripture, "A good find!"
"Indeed it may." Quick state enthusiastically.
He turns to Henry, " we may have to forgo the coffee Henry, lamentable as it is. We have canvased every inch of this place and I do not recall anything capable of boiling water."
He continues to no one in particular, "Moreover, I am eager to reash the sanctum across that chasm. I beleive I will head there now and prepare."
Quick gathers his belongings and head outside to survey the gap.
"Unthinkable." Henry Southgard retorts to Quick's suggestion. Nevertheless, he digs through his pack for the items he suspects to have magical properties and already has two potions out by the time Quick dashes from the room.
"Eager little sprite," he remarks, depositing the potions back into his bandoleer. "Second order of business was to take inventory and discuss proper sharing of income, but that'll have to wait until we catch up with the kid."
Henry follows Quick to the ledge, and thanks to the white, overcast daylight sees the stone wings form arc around an oval courtyard, rising to form a bowl where the wind whips at his clothing. At the ledge where the half-orc mage waits, the crossbowman can see a great stone spire rise up from the whirling clouds of fog and snow. Twenty feet from the lip of the ledge closest to the two, a hole in the enormous stone spike gapes darkly, though they scarcely discern a door recessed into the shadows.
Between the two ledges, the cliff faces underfoot drop endlessly, perhaps two hundred feet before the fog obscures the remainder of the fall.
"I'm going to jump. I'll take a rope with me and try to secure iton the other side."
"Any advice?" Nervous laughter escapes unbidden from the young mage.
"Don't trip."
Henry Southgard motions for Quick to hand him the rope and turn around.
"Let's get a harness tied around you. If you slip, we'll catch you."
"Aye, we've got yah".
That's a good idea." Quick says, embarrassed he didn't think of that.
When all's ready. Quick will drink the potion of jump, say a prayer to Apsu, then dash across the courtyard and jump!
The half-orc feels his muscles surge with energy as he leaps over the gap, carrying him far further than under his own power. His feet land on the opposite ledge, a mere five feet from a single stone door. The entrance has a stone handle carved into the grey surface, and the wind diminishes when Quick approaches it. Looking at the hewn rock walls leading to the door, there is little other than the handle to secure a rope to. Written in the tongue of dragons, markings are chiseled into the door.
Dovah kogaan vos hin havaat,
ahrk dovah uld fusrot nii.
Aal lok Vsok siiv hi bahlaan.
Nunon vaalt viing aal haav,
ahrk nunon malz hil fent domor
unahzaal reyziin do tozeinvu Uthylzarion.
A dragon’s blessing allows your entrance,
and a dragon’s might demands it.
May the high Vsok find you worthy.
Only folded wings may enter,
and only measured hearts shall see
the eternal remnant of righteous Uthylzarion.
Henry Southgard takes the moment to look around the courtyard, studying what he couldn't see last night. Quite often, he sneaks a furtive glance at the sky.
Shortly, he catches Gorim's attention and asks "Were those really Air Elementals you heard last night?"
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"Is the rope secured, Quick?" asks Gwath, still a bit sleepy from a surprisingly good night of sleep, at least as good as one you can have in a haunted temple atop a desolate mountain.
He turns to Henry and Gorim. "You two should go across first, I'll stay and keep a hand on the rope once we've secured it."
The meaning of “folded wings” isn’t obvious to Quick, perhaps it means one with lowered pride. Or, as Quick remembers, the highest blessing bestowed on a worshiper of a dragon is the sprouting of wings and the ability to fly. In that case, “folded wings” might be quite literal, and this sanctum was only to be accessed by the most blessed of the devout. The unfamiliar title “High Vsok” sounds like it could belong to the high priest of this deserted temple.
Quick secures the rope to the door, then presses his back to that door and holds the rope tightly.
"Ready! Go one at a time!"
"Yes" states the Dwarf, gazing around, "I've only heard 'em once before, but I'm sure of it. I remember their voices as plain as day!"
The Dwarf begins the remove his breastplate and then his shield.
"Who shall be crossin' first?" he asks Henry, peering over the edge.
"It has been a long time," Henry Southgard says with a smile on his face. He scans the sky for Elementals one last time before checking the pouches on his backpack. The crossbow is tied to his chest, quivers are sealed, and his trusty lantern is hooked to his belt.
"I'll go first," he says as he hooks a leg over the rope.
Halfway across, Henry glances down and estimates the distance to the bottom of the pit.
And finally reaches the far end.
Gorim’s ears catch whisperings of the Auran tongue through the wind, but they sound much further away than the night before. Scanning the sky, the dwarf catches sight of small humanoid creature with wings spanned between its legs and arms, tumbling acrobatically some hundreds of feet above them. The priest thinks he spots two tiny horns pointing out of the playing creature.
The swirling fog far below obscures the floor of the chasm. Judging the length of cliff face that is visible before it swallowed up by mist, the mercenary thinks it may be at least a two hundred foot drop before the fallen likewise disappear into the fog. Beyond that, the fall could be anywhere from a few feet to hundreds more.
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"Right then."
Gwath removes his scale mail and stuffs it into his pack. It might be easier to leverage it that way, and if it comes down to it, he could choose the pack over himself, which was an easy decision when you find yourself dangling on a rope.
Gwath then ties the rope around his waist securely and steps back as far as it can reach.
He waits a moment.
Then he begins to run, and an inch before the edge leaps...
He didn't imagine he would reach the other side, but he also didn't think he would trip on the edge, careen down the length of the rope until it snapped him back, swinging him side to side.
"The rope was a good idea," he shouts.
Gwath begins his ascent. Luckily, that goes as planned.
15 feet closer...
And Gwath heaves himself over the edge and onto the floor with the others.
"Let's find a different way back."
Gorim begins his climb across the ripe...
...and slips.
"Gahh!!"
"Having...
"...a spot.."
"...of trouble..."
"...here..."
"...fellas!"
Struggling for grip, the Dwarf stops to re-evaluate his situation, scanning for foot and handholds. He spots a likely path.
"Almost there!"
Coppervein reaches the edge, pulls himself over, and climbs to his feet.
"I err, I'm so sorry about that... not very graceful of me."
Observing the symbols on the door, the Dwarf retrieves his books and begins translation.
"What do yah make of this, Quick? ...folded wings?", he says distractedly.
"I think it is meant to convey that an attitude humility is expected. Follow my lead."
Quick opens the door and walks inside.
The stone door smoothly swings open to a small room with a single door straight across from where they enter. Inscribed on the stone door, it says:
Dahmaan hokoron do jul ahrk
sivaas zomaar diiv do yol ahrk dinok
Wen sosahlos lost praal naal Uthyzarion
jisdeyn do un bonaar meyr.
Remember the enemy of man and beast
The terrible wyrm of fire and death
Whose bloodlust was sated by Uthyzarion
The martyr of our lowly ancestors
Two waist high braziers glow a dim blue light over the antichamber, which is nearly empty save for a ridged metal tube laying coiled before the unopened door. At the sound of the footsteps of those entering, the spiraled oddity begins to uncoil on its own!
Small, clinking metal plates overlap to resemble scales and a reptilian head rises from the body. Metallic legs and wings unfold from the clicking form, displaying crimson webbing between the wing fingers. Red eyes glow in the black holes of the metal skull, and the small creature does not hiss a challenge or warning, but the silent posture is unmistakably threatening.
The metal legs and scaled underbelly of the draconic imitation half-walks, half-slithers toward the four, scraping across the stone floor. Stopping five feet away from the adventurers, it rears back and opens a fanged jaw. A gout of fire sprays from its mouth, covering the first into the room with flames.
""
"Your lesser flames are no threat to me, servant of Armaag."
Quick draws his falchion, steps forward, and attacks the construct.
"That's... I have no idea what it is." Henry Southgard says as the serpent uncoils. His tune changes as it unleashes a gout of fire.
"Spread out and take it down!
Nothing more than a mechanism of mundane material animated by magic, this construct resembles a known archetype to experimenters called the Iron Cobra. In this instance, however, the construct has wings, legs, and apparently a spray of fire. Iron Cobras typically attack with a bite, injecting poison into their victims. As with the original model, the dragon's metal body means it will be difficult to damage the moving parts within.
Quick's swing misses entirely and Henry's bolt glances off the hard metal scales.
Gorim conjures a faint light in his hand and turns to briefly press his fingers on Henry's crossbow, transferring the energy.
The Dwarf pulls his axe from his pack.
While the blow is lessened somewhat by the creature's hardy build, Gwath's blade chops a spray of metal scales and tiny mechanical parts. But the automation dragon looks like it has plenty of fight left.
Gwath flinches back from the snapping mechanical jaws.
"Flank it Gwath!" Quick steps around the creature and strikes again with his sword.
Henry Southgard loads his crossbow, aims...
And the arrow tinks harmlessly off the iron door behind the construct, almost hitting Gwath on the rebound.