Guldarin chants something unusually unintelligible and the heat is suddenly less oppressive.
After the battle, Greeg helped to clear the corpses of the giants away from the township. He gave a quick word for each of them, offering his respect and wishing them speedy travels to whatever afterlife they went to. It's what he did for combatants he respected.
Later, as they planned for the coming trip into the desert, he looked at Cronin dubiously.
"Flying? Isn't that what birds do? What's wrong with walking, getting a feel for the land my friend?"
He sat surrounded by the expanse of sand coloured material that the elder had provided him. The new garb was far more subdued than the girl had provided for him when they'd met with the satrap, and brezier. A lucky thing really, because the hides and stiffened leather of his armour was beginning to smell a little on teh funky side after all teh sweating he'd been doing. This might give it a chance to air a little.
"Flying? Isn't that what birds do? What's wrong with walking, getting a feel for the land my friend?"
"Not a thing, when we have the time," Cronin answers. "But you know we're not just exploring -- we have a timetable. Kord's eagles can move us along."
Either that or we can supplement your free casting of the eagles spell with one of Phantom Steed which might be cheaper.
Guldarin provides his usual help against the weather, while Cronin looks at the sky and prepares to summon transport.
Rukoth stares fascinated at the preparations.
Cronin carefully creates 8 piles of sand in a wide ring around himself. He then stands in the middle of the ring, looks skyward, and turns in slow circles. After a few minutes, the piles swirl up as if in wind and then form into shimmering images resembling great translucent eagles.
The cleric frowns at the bear and pulls a pinch of silvery powder from a pouch, creating a 9th pile, and resumes his rotations. Soon enough, a 9th eagle forms.
"We have steeds."
"So, which way are we flying?" The paladin asks Madrissa.
"I hope it's north, 'cos maybe we could stop on the way to "fix" whatever's poisoning the groundwater… assuming, of course, that it's a separate issue to the city and the giants."
"So, which way are we flying?" The paladin asks Madrissa.
"I hope it's north, 'cos maybe we could stop on the way to "fix" whatever's poisoning the groundwater… assuming, of course, that it's a separate issue to the city and the giants."
Madrissa bows slightly to Cronin and Guldarin.
"This makes the journey much easier. How sensible."
To Kevaras, she continues, "We fly north. It may be that we will see the watercourse from above more easily than on the ground."
She smiles at Greeg. "That suits you much better. You could pass for a good sand dune now."
All preparations made, she leads the way, sitting gravely on her eagle as though she has done this every day of her life. Nothing attacks from the sky, but far below she points to whirling dunes that might be sand giants and notes that as predicted the watercourse is visible.
"Discoloured," she calls to the companions flying around her, concern in her voice. "Discoloured and coming from the tower."
At first it is nearly impossible to see what Madrissa's desert-trained eyes have spotted so easily, but eventually, your own eyes adjust and there it is. A spire rises from the sand, so broken and surrounded by shifting dunes that it would have been hard to spot without Madrissa's help. She sighs with satisfaction.
"As I told you, no mirage, but a real thing."
Landing alongside, she points to the place. "I must return to Hallampour, but I wish you good journeying."
You are about 500 yards from the tower and realise that it must often be invisible with blown sand covering it. Even so, the tallest part rises fully 30 feet above you in a narrow peak.
"Good journeying, Madrissa, and thank you.
"So we knock?"
Nayce finds the flight very unsettling - he is not accustomed to open spaces, and none are so open as the desert sky. His feet finally on land, he breathes a sigh of relief. "Knock, or at least take a closer look," he says to Cronin.
Approaching the tower, the group sees large brass doors set into a sloped side as well as narrow stone window openings. The brass is centuries old and blasted by sand, but the doors look as though they would open if enough strength was used.
"Knock," Cronin says firmly. He concentrates a moment, then slams an armored shoulder into the door.
To no effect. "A few minutes, please."
The Kord priest kneels in front of the door, staring at it unblinking for ten minutes. He then rises and repeats the effort.
Sighing, Cronin signals to others to help.
Greeg was thankful the Great eagles had finally placed him back on Terra Firma. He reached out with his senses, feeling the primal nature of this land and getting a grip on how the sands and earth shifted here.
The great tower rose before them, and he grinned as he watched his friend try and smash his way in. Finally defeated, the big cleric called for his friends to assist.
"These things are built last Cronin, don't be too disheartened."
He dropped his shoulder heavily into the door, hoping to succeed where his friend had failed. With luck, a few of his stronger companions would do the same and they could get inside. For a moment he wondered why they hadn't just seen if anyone was home, but he tended to leave that kind of thinking up to Cronin and the wizardy types.
Edit - As usual, with Greegs general ability to just lean on things and have them break, the door flew open on his first attempt. He stumbled slightly as it opened and then he looked back a little guiltily at his friends. "Obviously not built for Goliaths" he muttered.
Under Greeg's gentle thump, the doors give up, sending sand cascading over the goliath's feet.
Musty air greets the party as the chamber below sees sunlight for the first time in centuries. Closer examination of the door suggests that they are not so much doors as a shuttered skylight. The floor is 15 feet below you and covered in drifts of sand, let in through the now broken windows.
Kevaras circles joyfully around the ruined structure a couple of times on his ethereal eagle, as excited as he was the first time he gazed upon the sky and the world above.
Landing near the others, he peers curiously down the skylight and unpacks his climbing kit and rope.
Cronin is happy to descend Kevaras's rope, if the drow permits.
Andaros concentrates for a moment and then invokes a Light cantrip on a silver coin, tossing it in the revealed opening.
Cronin also invokes Sun's Glow on his halberd.
Greeg puts a hand on his friends shoulder to stop him climbing too soon.
"Let's see what's down there first my friend."
With the eladrins lighted coin glwoing in the shadow room, he takes a good look around before letting anyone climb in
"Oh dear, climbing. Well, sand is fairly soft. Except when it gets turned into glass, I suppose. It doesn't look as if that's the case here, mind you. A good thing, really, not that obsidian is exactly a form of glass, but it wouldn't be the first time I've discovered by practical experience that glass is sharp enough to cut ropes." Guldarin waits his turn to climb down the rope.
"I will need some assistance getting Dirt down there with us, he is adept at climbing but I am not sure how he will do in the enclosed spaces."
Cronin is happy to descend Kevaras's rope, if the drow permits.
"Volunteers are most welcome." The drow gestures at the rope as if he were a maître d' leading guests to a table.
"I will need some assistance getting Dirt down there with us, he is adept at climbing but I am not sure how he will do in the enclosed spaces."
Kevaras asks around, "Does anyone have more rope? Perhaps we could fashion some sort of harness out of knots and ropes?"
Because of Don's expertise in the field of thievery, the drow looks to the rogue for Ocean's Eleven-style inspiration.
Andaros offers the use of his rope if it's needed, if there's a wall to climb down though, he'll use his Spidersilk mantle to go down Spiderman style.
The light from Andaros' coin reveals that most of the furnishing seems to consist of a large table. On the walls there are glimpses of decoration.
Greeg sees no signs of life at all, although he judges that to a goliath of his bulk the sand will be tiresome to walk on. He and Cronin can descend with no difficulty at all.
Andaros and Nayce can descend without trouble, each in his own way.
Dram calms the bear in preparation for the descent and lends in a hand.
Realising the big bear would need to be lowered, Greeg chipped in and helped before decending himself.
Dirt looks slightly reproachful if resigned as the companions cluster around him.
Before teleporting down to the floor below, Nayce lends his expertise in securing Dirt to a rope.
Nayce's quick fingers create a safe harness for Dirt and the bear is lowered safely down.
Guldarin hits the ground with a resounding thud as he takes the direct route down. The room is now rather full, but you are free to look around.
Kevaras pulls the harness back to the top before using it to lower his shield.
Then he climbs down himself, hoping not to fall on either Guldarin or the bear-shaped cushion below.
The paladin holds his hand up in front of Guldarin, asking: "Would you like me to cast the old Cleric's Feather Fall?"
Kevaras arrives safely among the group, successfully avoiding both Guldarin and Dirt.
Cronin looks around him as his companions churn around looking for space. The tower is centuries old, and ravaged by sand, but there is clearly a way down. Large spiral stairs lead into darkness, made treacherous by the drifts. On the walls are the remains of maps. As far as the cleric can judge they seem to show the known world, although it is hard to tell for sure.
"You make it look so effortless, Guldarin," Nayce quips.
"I was admired for my athleticism in my younger days. Always in rather sarcastic tones, as I remember it."
The paladin holds his hand up in front of Guldarin, asking: "Would you like me to cast the old Cleric's Feather Fall?"
"That would be most kind of you. Most kind."
Guldarin looks around. "Ooh. Maps."
The maps carefully drawn all around the walls. They are meticulously made and marked with letters that Guldarin cannot identify - although he would take a guess that they represent compass points.
Dram slips up climbing down.
"Be healed!" Declares the paladin, as he gently puts his hand on the dwarf's descent-breaking forehead.
"I do weddings too, would you believe? As well as funeral services, of course," he adds.
Overly concerned with Dirt, Dram fails to notice his feet slipping.