Beorae guides Shark out of the boat and helps secure their improvised catamaran to shore. She watches as Mot does his… well… whatever it is he’s doing. ”So, you slayed the Quons’Maki, first and the last of the nonfish all by yourself there, Mot?” she asks with a raised eyebrow and a slightly mischievous grin. ”I grew up hearing stories about this beast. It was said that it could smell fear and move under the earth to any lake or stream. It would pull you down and down, and in the depths, its prey would suffer some fate even worse than drowning.”
”There are many tales, told throughout the kingdom to frighten children – I had always assumed the Qons’Maki was one of those. Until today…” The druidess looks away as Mot brutally disembowels and dismantles the creature. ”I think Mot’s making it pay for those sins… and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s probably good that you brought it out of the water – The Quons'Maki could heal its wounds and regenerate while under the surface.” The druidess pauses for a moment, then turns and looks up at the immensity of the tower. ”I’d ask what evil attracted that creature to this lake, but I think we all know the answer to that. Or at least part of it…”
Beorae attempts to Detect Magic on the structure and surrounding area. ”Perhaps there’s a door or passageway hidden somewhere around here,” she says cautiously.
Mot appears a little nonplussed as he glances up from his task. "Wea ahl kelled et." He says, gesturing with a gore-soaked hand at the now-pulverized carcass. "Ah was able tae get fooor servens oof steak froom et. Ah fegure ef wea all trem doown ae lettle, wea coold stretch et tae fahve." He finishes looking at their diminutive, fifth member.
There's no guile in his face, and it appears the big warrior truly considered it a team effort to bring down the Quons'Maki.
"Well, it might just be on the other side. Want me and Nme'an to look for one while you guys freshen up?" Themp asks Beorae, indicating Mot's and Beorae's injuries.
"When I flew around here yesterday..." Beorae starts, then pauses with a smile on her face. "Flew, that feels weird to say... Anyway, there are large doors on the north side. Just thought we should check for a secret entrance or something while we're here."
"Plus, we should probably stay together. Let me finish checking for magical elements, and then I'll bandage up."
Wait, that wasn't a fever dream?!
The druidess' divination spell tells her that there is indeed magic emanating from the stone tower, but not from the grass or water. Her senses focus and she discerns two separate magical auras, one slightly stronger than the other. Normally, a magical effect is contained to small things, such as potion bottles, rings, cloaks, and bodily forms. But the entirety of the charcoal grey wall seems to buzz with this magical energy.
So immense is this source of magic that she nearly misses an aura near Themp's person, aside from the magical items he normally carries. Tiny in size, and lingering just over his shoulder...
The stone walls of the tower appear to be enchanted against disrepair. The masonry can be damaged, but the imbued transmutive magic functions to close cracks and seal holes made by physical damage to the stone. To enchant this sheer volume of stone must have taken years to properly weave into place, and a large fortune in material spell components to lock the magic into a persistent effect. Any bits of stone broken off would cease to be magical.
The stone of the tower walls is also imbued with another protective magic, this one from the school of abjuration. It forms an invisible barrier within the stone, an impenetrable force that seems to transcend the Material Plane. Beorae knows that mages more powerful than herself could instantly travel vast distances in the blink of an eye. This abjuring barrier, also woven permanent into the stone by an even greater fortune, functions to block that mode of travel.
It is difficult to spot for its invisibility, but the faint, out-of-place shadow on Themp's cloak gives it away. A floating, invisible magical eye!
Also, she finds no hidden doors or traps or unusual stonework on this part of the wall.
Beorae lets out a low whistle as she takes in the magic in the stonework. She runs her hand along the impossibly smooth stone, then presses her palm against it, feeling its warmth. ”Whoever built this tower commanded some powerful magic. This entire building has been enchanted to repair itself when damaged!”
The druidess turns back to the group and squints her eyes slightly when they catch something not quite right.
Thinking quickly, she puts her pack down and prepares to tend to her wounds. ”Hey, Themp, can you make sure Shark is uninjured? Nme’an, kuja kunisaidia kwa haraka hii halisi.”
She presents some bandaging material to the paladin, ”Here, help me with this…”
"Uh... sure, I guess." accepts Themp, not expecting such request at all. He casually walks over to the tiger and checks him for wounds.
"Jicho uchawi? Hivyo mtu imekuwa kuangalia yetu?" Nme'an asks quietly, in shocked reply. "Je, unataka kuondoa hiyo ... au kuzungumza na yake? Mimi shaka tunaweza kufanya kwanza bila akifafanua kuwa tunajua lakini pili ina mbinu moja kwa moja mimi kupata rufaa..."
Themp sees no obvious wounds on the big grey cat. Shark sniffs curiously at the portions of raw meat butchered by the Highlander. Olp nods appreciatively at Mot's consideration for food, and after listening to Beorae's reading, turns to scratch a line in the stone with the point of his spear.
The mark he leaves silently fades almost immediately, as though it were never there. Satisfied, he hefts his shield and waits for everyone else to be ready to go.
"I think he's fine, Red." Themp addresses Beorae from afar. "Mot, are you ok?"
"Aye, Ah'm fine." Mot assures his city-bred friend. He smiles reassuringly and continues his efforts with the slaughter.
With Beorae's tacit agreement, Nme'an rounds the tower, readies his warhammer, and approaches Themp saying, "Themp, your cloak has been spying on us. Please remove it and place it on the ground."
"Uh, Red?" Themp addresses Beorae, looking over Nme'an's shoulder. "Are you sure Shiny-Armor over here wasn't poisoned or something?"
"She is the one who told me about the magic eye that you cannot see..." Nme'an says in annoyance.
Direct approach it is!
Beorae follows Nme'an over to Themp, watching the magical device as she does. "No, he's right. Although I don't think it's attached to your cloak, specifically. I think it's following you."
As she speaks, Beorae works on bandaging her own wounds, wrapping her bruised ribs tightly.
Olp's posture shifts from boredom to tensely alert. "A magic eye? Who does it spy for?"
"Why is it spying me?!"
Mot's ears perk up at the accusations and his eyes narrow as the looks at Themp directly, seeing no eyes other than his in the vicinity...
”I don’t know, Olp. But that’s a very good question.”
Olp opens a sharp-toothed grin at Themp. "Why? Spy could be smart..." he trails off, struggling for the right words in Common. He finds a different way, and gestures first to Nme'an, then Beorae, and then Mot. "A knight, a beast-master, a big scary man, and a dragonkin," he preens for a moment before looking at the scoundrel up and down. He shrugs. "Obvious threats. If I had a spy, to watch the likes of us, I would watch the one that didn't look like much."
"Well, shame they choose you, oh mighty dragonborn, for they're missing out on some great knee-height spying." theatrically scorns Themp, not so successful at hiding his concern.
"So, are we... hmm... are doing anything about this invisible eye spying me? Can I poke it with my dagger?"
"We will talk to it," Nme'an says. He then looks less at Themp and more past him to whoever is watching and says, "Whoever you are, know that we are on a mission of peace. All we seek is to provide and protect the people of our lands. we are armed but only as a defense. If you are friend, we ask that you do more than watch. That you help. If you are a not friend, we ask that you stand aside or make a bargain instead of a fight you will lose."
Olp smirks at the scorn of the thief. The Knight Lieutenant says his words, and nothing happens. The invisible magical eye does not respond in anyway.
The magical eye still hovers around Themp at the moment.
"Wait, it might be gone...", Beorae says, shifting her position slightly to get a different perspective.
"Oh, nope, it's still there. I'm not sure if there's anything we can do about it for the moment, other than keep an... eye... on it.", she says, stressing the terrible pun.
"Then I suppose we should leave it be and in its stead look around this tower," Nme'an says. "Though we should not go off alone. Olp? Would you care for a walk to the other side of this tower?" the Knight asks as he begins a slow counterclockwise circle of the structure.
"So... we just ignore it? Uh, fine. I'll go with you, then, Red. Let me know if this 'eye' starts doing anything weird...er..."
"I'm thinking we should stick together," Beorae says, following Nme'an. "Let's see what's over this way and work our way to the main doors at the north."
The five circle to the south, finding more thick damp grass leading to a pebbly shore. The dark grey walls of the tower continue upward, featureless save for the fine lines of excellent masonry. Not a ripple disturbs the lake, and sounds of the distant jungle echo off its placid surface. They find the eastern side of the island very much the same. As they round the tower northward, they find wide stone stairs leading up to immense double doors, standing ten feet wide and ten feet tall.
It is made with two dark, heavy slabs of iron, overlaid with thick bands and large bolts to strengthen it. For all the moisture in the air, the iron has not a spot of rust on it, as though the doors were forged, cast, and assembled yesterday. Directly in the center of the iron surfaces is a sunburst in relief, split by the line between the two doors. Eleven rays stretch out, pointing at the edges of the iron square. Between each ray are finely etched images of exquisite detail. The top image is of the sun and moon, respectively split by the doors. Clockwise, the next image is a tree leaf. Next, is a cloud over a bolt of lightning. Then a humanoid skull, with a third eye hole centered in the forehead. A blazing fire. A vial containing a bubbling fluid. An open blank scroll beside a quill resting in an inkwell. An octagonal snowflake. A large six-fingered handprint, tipped with short claws. A long-tailed comet among stars. Lastly, a balanced scale. These eleven images are in between the arms of the smooth sunburst.
The stone threshold over the door has a carved line of the runic tongue of dragons. It reads: Mindah los Suleyk.
Knowledge is Power
"Hmm… these icons. Different schools of magic, maybe?"
"What does it say, Olp?", Beorae asks, indicating the Draconic runes. She attempts to detect magical energies emanating from the doors. Perhaps there's a magical lock?
"That's... not ominous at all"
"It says, 'Knowledge is power,'" Nme'an replies as he studies the door.
There are two magic auras emanating from the iron door. One of them is similar in function to the self-repairing stones that make up the outer walls. She cannot quite recognize the other aura, but she can tell it is slightly stronger than the transmutive magic she detects.
Olp finds himself halfway up the stairs, gawping at the intricate iron etchings. He glances at the words on the threshold and looks back at Nme'an, nodding in approval at the knight's translation. He notices Beorae concentrating on a spell and squints suspiciously back the door. The shortspear in one hand flips absently, now gripped just behind the tip, with the butt of the spear pointing outward.
"Shall I touch it?" he gestures, indicating to tap the iron with the wooden end of his spear.
Once the kobold steps between the holy warrior and his focus on the iron door, Nme'an does indeed detect a spirit of wickedness. However, unlike their first meeting, the dragonkin's evil convictions gutter like a lit candle in the wind.
Olp's sense of duty and order are set firmly in his mind, as were the draconic values of hoarding material wealth and superiority based solely on his bloodline. It seems that both greed and pride are less pronounced now than they used to be, though not all the way abolished. However, he is still a cold-blooded killer.
Mot watches the others worry at the door. He tugs at the still-wet leather of his new sea-beast skin vest before harumphing at Olps suggestion. With a few great strides he approaches the doors and heaves with both hands.
Planting his big meaty hands on the iron, it is very cold to the touch. Nothing happens when he makes contact with the magical doors. However, when he heaves against them, they do not budge.
"Coold." Mot mutters as he redoubles his efforts.
"It's probably locked, big man. However, I can't quite see a lock I could..." *ahem* "work around. Any hints, Red? Nme'an?"
The big man strains against the doors, and the heavy iron makes a brief groan, and the highlander sees the cold metal give just a fraction of an inch! Encouraged, he keeps pushing, watching it open just a fraction more. But even the mighty warrior is feeling the limit of his strength. Suddenly he sees the little kobold at his hairy knees, thin scaly arms joining the struggle against the weight of the door.
Olp's assistance scarcely makes a difference, but those who stand at the foot of the steps can see the line between the iron slabs widen by not-quite-an-inch.
"Remember, Olp, we are here to help countless thousands, and not to enrich ourselves. There will be rewards, but they will come from the people we help, and not from the evils from within this place," Nme'an reminds the dragonkin.
When the big man throws caution to the wind and presses heaves against the doors... because of course he does... Nme'an waits to assist in case something bad happens. When it seemingly does not, he gestures to the others saying, "Come on, lets us do this," before adding his own effort to the door.
”There’s some sort of magic on these doors, but I’m not sure what–" Beorae is almost done explaining when Mot slams into the doors. When he says cold, Beorae squints at the doors, then up the tower, then back to the doors. ”I wonder… Could this be a magical lock that requires some action on our part? The question is, if the doors are cold, do they need matching cold, or would they need heat to counteract?”
As Mot keeps slamming into the doors, Beorae sees the slight opening and rushes up to help. ”Or we could just push!
”Shark, come push this!”
Shark immediately scampers up the stairs and leans into the door with his shoulder.
"Breaking the lock it is!" concedes Themp, moving up to the large door and joining the effort.
With the power of teamwork, the champions of Thaleniel heave the irons doors open. They groan softly on ancient hinges, revealing unlit open room inside. When the gap between the doors widens enough for one man, a silver glyph suddenly flashes over the blankness of the iron-etched scroll image. An ear-splitting resonates between the two iron slabs, and all six creatures struggling in between them.
Blood ruptures from the circular membranes on the sides of Olp's draconic head. His yellow eyes roll back and he collapses onto the stone floor as the ringing subsides. The magical burst of noise echoes out over the Stillwater Lake, and even causes a flock of birds in the jungle to relocate.
The kobold lays unconscious in a growing pool of his dragon blood.
Nme'an somehow feels the blast moments before it arrives. "Get down!" he warns as he turns to shield himself with the heavy armor encasing his arm.
The knight lieutenant reaches down and Olp as he checks to see if the others are all right.
Beorae and Shark both cry out in pain at the immense sound. Her ears ringing, the druidess tries to reconcile what just happened, and she notices blood coming from her ears.
Mot flinches as the blast of sound peels out. Blood runs freely from his ears, ringing as if his head were the striker of a bell.
With the flat of his hand he bangs against the side of his matted skull, like a swimmer trying to clear their ear canal. Flecks of blood spatters the floor with the effort.
Looking around the group he asks: "Wea ahl right?"