That double-headed, scruffy-looking… nerfherder! She just tried to cast a spell on me!
Beorae squints her eyes in suspicion and speaks loudly, hoping that the rest of the troupe can hear what's going on. "Friend, indeed." Stepping forward slightly, the druidess gives a wave of her own hand and mutters a quick "gloria" . Speaking loudly again, she continues with a smile, "Some might consider it a sign of distrust to cast a spell on someone you just met. Who are you? Do you live here?"
Nme'an hears Beorae's call and moves to the right stairwell to stand supportively behind the Druidess, placing himself in full view of any potential enemy.
Olp does not follow the Knight Lieutenant, and instead raises a single claw to his lips. He indicates that he will quietly wait in the hallway he stands.
The large woman starts at the sudden coating of red specks of light, and then smirks knowingly. “So pretty!" she preens. After a moment, she answers Beorae's question.
"Who am I? Call me Eleanor, pleased to meet you.” She nods graciously, an Urlghain accent faintly lilting some of her words. “Soorry I am a bit on edge, I hold no ill will against you - ‘twas marely a precaution. Much like yoor friend’s armor,” with a beautiful smile she nods to Nme’an. “The last visitors were rather bullish and rude. We dinnae get along, they would hear nothing of friendship or pleasantness.”
Eleanor gestures dismissively, smiling again. “But enough of that! Already you show yoorselves to have bushels more manners than they. I welcome you here, now! I wunnae call this my home, but I have lived here for... “ the thick digits of her left hand count quietly, “Two moons? Nearly three?”
She rises from her seat, idly glancing at the parchment in her hand as she steps away from the table. Two wood chairs are pulled back as she makes an inviting gesture to the half-elves. “Once more I say, come and sit. You look tired. I’m getting tired just looking at you! Hah!” From where she stands, half-obscured by the hallway corner, it is obvious that Eleanor is quite tall. Still glittering in red lights, her thick arm sweeps high over the long empty table. “Plenty of room at this table, and the fireplace is warm. When supper comes, perhaps we can talk of helping one another?”
"Others were here? We are looking for friends of mine," Nme'an replies as he takes a few steps forward.
Nme'an senses a wickedness about this woman, similar in its foulness to the monstrous man, Craig, encountered just yesterday.
"Friends, some of who Craig across the lake attacked and killed. As he tried to do to us," Nme'an says. "You act kindly, but your heart is anything but kind. We will not sit with you and we will not eat with you."
The Knight Lieutenant steps forward, placing himself protectively between the tall, dangerous looking woman and Beorae.
"I will give you this fair warning: Either help us finish our mission, or stay out of our way. Do anything else and you will suffer the same fate as Craig did," He says loudly enough for the others nearby to hear him.
Something clicks in Beorae's head when Nem'an mentions Craig. "Wait, you're Craig's sister, aren't you?"
Uh oh Themp thinks to himself. If Nme'an is all worked up and Beorae is right, we're in for some bad times...
He cautiously approaches the corner of the stairs, still careful to stay concealed.
Mot continues sitting still as stone. Only occasionally turning to reveal the next page in his illustrated epic.
Eleanor’s pleasant expression evaporates when Nme’an speaks of Craig’s fate, and she regards the knight with a sour look.
“I was,” she bitterly answers the druidess, never taking her eyes off the holy warrior. “Or am I mistaken? Let me haer it from your own lips, Dawnfloo’er knight. Is my brother alive or dead?”
Her tall and heavyset stature is tense, and her great hand grips the back of a wooden chair until her thick knuckles are white.
"We approached your brother cautiously but with no ill intent, none too different as we have approached you. When we asked for passage to this tower he demanded one of us dead. We fought and he lost." Nme'an says, plain and honest.
"I myself gave him a burial of sorts with fire, which is far more kindness than he showed my companions whose heads I found on pikes!" the knight further informs Craig's sister.
Her great form is stock still as she holds an intense, unblinking stare at the Knight Lieutenant. Then without warning the stern look breaks and she slips away from Nme'an sight. A soft "Excuse me..." escapes her lips as she departs into a part of the room that Nme'an and Beorae cannot see.
A second later, the champions of Thaleniel hear the scooting of wooden chair legs on stone floor, followed by low muffled sobs.
Those who reach the end of the hallway find a large dining hall, with four long tables and one square table at the center. In a wall near the center table, crackles a large warm hearthfire. The fire appears to be slowly dying, and as such casts a low light over the entire hall. The corners of the room and the opposite staircase are covered shadow.
"Buuuuhuhuhuhuh..." With her back to the newcomers, Eleanor's broad shoulders shake where she sits at a far table, her weeping buried in her thick arms on the petrified wood surface. From her cascading auburn hair, the bulging lump on her neck sticks out. The fleshy mass has two eyes, and two nostrils without a nose. Presently, the two glassy eyes leer at those who enter the dining hall.
Not content with potentially dangerous woman's withdrawal, Nme'an moves cautiously forward until he can once again see her.
Beorae and Shark follow Nme'an. As they make their way down the corridor, she whispers, "Kuwa makini, alijaribu kuwafukuza baadhi ya aina ya Spell juu yangu, lakini sidhani ni kazi. Na mimi kuchukua umegundua kichwa chake pili?"
The half-elf senses that, while Eleanor’s grief for her dead brother is very real, it does seem a little odd that she did not use the closer table to grieve onto. The paladin reasons that she feels safer with distance between her and the killer of her brother.
Shark usually follows his fire-haired friend closely unless told to do otherwise. But right now, it seems to Beorae that he is following a little too closely -his big furry grey head keeps bumping into her side. Looking down, it seems that he is trying to get her attention.
Shark appears to smell something he does not like, and he is trying to warn her about it.
At the clanking of knight’s armor plates approach, Eleanor sniffles and her weeping abates. “Go!” she moans pitifully, not looking up from the table. “Leave me in peace! Spread your wrath to some other undeserving lowlife.” One of her big arms waves toward the stairs, indicating the way further up the tower. Her sobs return as her broad shoulders shake. The two glassy eyes bulging from her neck-lump watch the knight eerily.
Beorae sniffs the air, "Whaddya smell, buddy?"
"We should go. I do not feel the best about leaving her behind us, but what other choice is there?" the Knight asks. He moves back down the hallway, intending to loop back around and guide Olp down the right hallway then back to the right hand stairs keeping clear of the woman.
Themp moves up the hallway, only to meet Nme'an halfway down.
"Where are you going? Is there any danger ahead?", he asks the knight, in a hushed whisper.
"Perhaps. Craig's sister is in the large room ahead but does not seem to want to fight. Seems sadden, even. I will retrieve Olp then we should head on up the tower."
Surprised when Nme'an does an about-face, Beorae hesitates just before the corner. She scratches Shark between the ears and, looking up, realizes that the hallway has doors. She rests her hand on the door knob for a brief moment, but lifts her hand away without turning the handle.
She peeks around the corner and calls out, "Elen… *ahem* Eleanor, may I ask what's stored in these rooms? And… who is bringing supper? Who else is in the tower, besides you?"
Peeking around the corner, she sees Eleanor weeping on the table surface. In the shadows under the heavy table near one of the chair legs under the giant woman, she spots a tiny foot. The foot is small enough to belong to a child, and the uncovered part of the little leg is green. However the rest of the body is obscured by shadow under the table and the angle from which the druidess watches.
Nothing comes to Beorae’s mind that relates the woman’s deformity to a magical ability or caused by a magical effect.
Eleanor’s crying pauses, “Bedrooms…” She is scarcely able to control her sobs. “The unseen servants…” she adds, before giving way to her grief again.
The Unseen Servant spell is what she is talking about. Evidently some of them provide support services to the tower.
Nme'an sees Olp standing at the top of the far stairs, looking unsure at what to do.
"Mu rund briinah do volgin mu fought vok amvit. Rek dreh ni fon wah hind wah krif ahrk los sinon tiiraaz wah saan ek zeymah ful mu fen rahn ek naal ahrk fahbo vok avokei kotin angaar." Nme'an says to Olp by way of explanation before leading him back down the right hand hall.
"There are the stairs. Are we ready to go?" Nme'an asks the others.
"Unseen servants... of course this place would have unseen servants," Beorae says, mostly to herself. She retreats back around the corner for a moment and commands Shark to heel before deciding to enter the room properly.
Walking into the room, Beorae keeps the momentum of the conversation—such as it is—going, "May I ask... what drew you to this tower, Eleanor? And... who's your little friend under the table there? Did one of you cast the scrying eye earlier?" Wary of a surprise attack, the druidess tries to be friendly and non-threatening.
Olp nods to Nme’an’s report and approaches, indicating that he is ready to go. As he passes the highlander, he nudges Mot’s big leg with the butt of his spear. “We are leaving. Are you coming with us?”
As Beorae moves further into the room, she can see a bit more of the small hidden creature: tiny green legs, small wiry frame, and a bulbous, oversized head for the little body. A wide, tiny toothed smile leers out from the shadows. Unless she is mistaken, the druidess thinks she sees a goblin hiding under that table.
“I… what? Scrying? No…” Eleanor is able to momentarily control her crying. She wipes her face and looks down to her feet. “Oh, this Gixard Kneecatcher, firstborn to Bigwig Kixnard of the Bogtoe tribe. We shared common purpose to travel here…” The giant woman breaks down into pitiful moans again.
“We… Craig and I…” she sputters through the sobs, “A spell to…” Eleanor struggles speak, for how intensely she weeps. “...renew the family line. Continue the clan… but…” She makes a hopeless gesture in the direction of Beorae and the hallway from which she heard the dreadful news, and dissolves into a heaving mound of grief.
Themp waits for the knight and kobold to circle back and moves up with them. The conversation has certainly piqued his interest now, but he still tries to keep his presence unnoticed.
Upon hearing Eleanor's latest words echo down the hall, the expression on Nme'an's face shifts from a look of uneasy sympathy to that of hardened resolve.
"Olp, lig fun Mot mu aal das praag mok," Nme'an says quietly to Olp.
"Stay ready, there may yet be trouble," he whispers to Themp as he walks back towards the room with the stairs and fireplace.
"Najua wa kabila Bogtoe. Hii ni ishara mbaya sana. Kuwa tayari," he says quietly to Beorae as he moves past her and into the room shared by Eleanor and her companion.
"Eleanor, you have my sympathy. I too lost a brother. To a goblin Raid on my town. Twelve. Years. Ago." Nme'an emphasizes the timing of the Raid for the goblin's benefit.
"That having being said, many dark things have been happening at this tower and either you are the cause of them, or you will not be safe from them. Neither is good, so you and your companion will leave. The monster in the lake has been killed and we have a sturdy boat on the shore which we will see you to. And when we emerge from this tower in a day or two, you will both be long gone from this place."
Olp loudly raps the dull end of his spear onto the stone floor very close to Mot’s toes, and the big man stirs.
“Aye, Ahm coomin’...” the highlander mumbles, rising to his feet. He keeps his head down, never taking his eyes off the open book in his hands as he starts slow, shuffling steps up the stairs that lead to the long hallway. No longer in the light from the library, he grunts in frustration as the glow from Nme’an’s hand marches quickly forward, darkening the hallway and leaving Mot unable to read.
With a sigh he carefully stores the book into his bag. He squints in the dark as he sees the silhouette of Themp padding quietly, just at the edge of the light from the big room. A mischievous grin plays across his face as he draws up his hood and takes on the walk of a hunter, trying to creep up on the creeper.
Olp follows Nme’an and stops between both half-elves. When the paladin enters the room, he does not see the goblin mentioned by the towering woman.
It takes Eleanor several moments to regain her composure as the knight speaks to her, and as she does so, the goblin Gixard Kneecatcher steps forward from hiding into plain view. His wide grin of tiny sharp teeth gleam in the low light, and a green hand holds loops of vine at his side. He shrugs unapologetically at the mention of the raid on Nme’an hometown.
“Goblin’s don’t farm. We reap the farmers.” Gixard says matter-of-factly.
“Shush.” Eleanor commands the goblin. At last, the giant highland lady manages to clear her eyes of tears, and she slowly rises while regarding the Knight Lieutenant with utmost suspicion. “Your offer… is this a trick? Will you fire the boot once we are well awey from the shore?”
I hope Nme'an knows what he's doing…
"Trick? I don't think he could tell a lie even if he wanted to." she says, nodding toward Nme'an. "If you leave peacefully and do not move to harm us, you are free to go."
Nme'an shifts his focus as the goblin appears and speaks.
For the briefest of moments he is a decade younger, bound in ill-fitting hardened leather and covered in mud and blood. Behind him, Helli'an badly wounded by an arrow and dozens of towns people barricaded in their homes. Beside him, Heav'en and not even a handful of determined others all prepared to give their lives to block the way. Ahead of him, beyond his shaking hands and dull chipped sword, a dozen or more goblins readying to charge...
"I know," Nme'an responds to the smaller creature before listening to Eleanor's and then Beorae's words. He nods at the druid's promise.
"I will see you as far as the stairs leading out of this tower and then will stay there at the doorway safely distanced from the boat and the shore until you have reached the other side." Nme'an says, making his own promise to the grieving woman and her vile companion.
"The time for you to go is now. If you would lead," he says, politely gesturing her down the nearer hallway.
Eleanor looks as though she might argue with the knight, but she keeps her words to herself.
“Withaoot Craig, there is no line. Our clan is finished. There is nothing left for me here,” she sighs bitterly. With heavy steps, she plods for the hallway, gesturing for Gixard to follow. The small green goblin holds a haughty look at Nme’an before turning a swaggering gait after the tall Urlghain woman.
“Five minutes, after I get my things,” she raises her voice over her shoulder, reaching for the first door. Without waiting for an answer, she throws the door open and steps inside. Sounds of hurried tousling, crinkling of paper, and metallic clicks of belt buckle straps come from the door. Any who watch see her hastily throw things into a large backpack, and secures a sharp looking sickle into her belt. Donning a traveling cloak, she shoulders the great pack into her back. Parts of her form not covered by the new layers still sparkle red from Beorae’s spell, though the druidess knows that the little lights will fade at any moment. She announces, “Alright, I am ready to laeve.”
“I must say, your conduct is much more greacious than your other knight friends,” she remarks as she turns to walk further down the hallway. The second head sticking out from her neck, partially shrouded by the hood, manages to stare at Nme'an while Eleanor's back is turned. She walks into the dark.
Eleanor tried to, without very much subtlety, pass a secret message to her ally: Something is going to happen in five minutes.
Nme'an follows behind the large woman and says so only she can her, "Traveling with me is one of the Casns clan who took back his sword from your brother. Either call off whatever you have planned or with one shout I will alert him to your presence and things will end for you as they did Craig."
The Knight Lieutenant of the Dawnflower stops, stands tall, and places a hand on the hilt of his sword.
"I showed you good faith despite knowing a little of who you are and what you might have done. Our agreement can stand, or it can crumble. The choice is yours to make."
Unaware of Mot, Themp moves up as soon as he notices the woman is up to something, careful to stay out of sight of both Nme'an and the residents. The scoundrel can clearly feel the tension rise as the knight also notices it.
He signals Olp to be ready for trouble, though he can't be sure the little kobold will understand.
Mot follows Themp on tiptoes. The street rat feels hot breath buffet his ear and neck as the big man leans in closely. “Wot are wea snekkin oop on?” the highlander breathes with a mischievous look in his big blue eyes. The spear he uses as a walking stick is in his hand, but it does not touch the stone floor.
This woman grows more and more suspicious, and Themp notices a strange tone in Eleanor’s last words. The tone reminded him of someone holding a morsel just out of reach of a hungry dog. She seems to be toying with Nme’an, though he doesn’t realize it. Eleanor knows what happened to the Prince and the other Knights of the Dawnflower but she isn’t letting on.
Olp nods silently to Themp, and he thumbs the spear in his grip. His yellow draconic eyes study the tall woman and the little goblin.
“It seems I am given little choice. No need to bring your dog here to finish me off for good,” Eleanor says through grit teeth. She looks down at the goblin and makes a stopping gesture with one meaty hand while shaking her head. He gibbers up a few lines in protest, and she gives a lengthy answer in the screechy tongue of goblins. “We will leave you in peace. I am near useless in watercraft, but Gixard is quite familiar,” she affirms with a smile of forced pleasantness to Nme’an.
The two continue through the hallway, down the steps, and into the library. Her strides are long, and she wastes no time reaching the other staircase, down to the first floor. Nme’an is not able to keep up as closely as he might like, for he is slowed by the weight of his armor. “Such a wealth of knowledge here. A shame I could not stay longer,” she comments wistfully as she takes in the bookshelves and the thousands of books one last time before descending the steps.
Noticing Mot just early enough not to be startled by his whisper, Themp turns in a very deliberate motion to the barbarian, hoping the big man understands the need for silence.
"Our knight in shining armor is defusing a situation here. I think he has got it covered and has told me to stay here, but just in case he needs a second set of eyes, I'm following him down to the entrance, which is why I'm sneaking. Can you stay with Red and Olp, in case anything happens up here?"
The city boy then sets into stealthly following Nme'an doing his best to stay of his sight, yet observant of anything that might indicate trouble towards them, sure that Mot will keep the party safe upstairs.
“Five minutes…” Beorae says to herself as Elenor and Gixard leave down the hallway. She immediately starts scanning the room for magical traps or other signs of sabotage.
"Aye, Ah cen do that," he answers Themp.
Mot watches the scoundrel stalk off down the other hallway and shrugs, leaving him to his sneaky business. Taking in the dining hall, and large hearth, he grins widely to the druidess.
“Stoke teh foir, roast eight boar, and brreng twoo score o’ kinsman, each wit’ a barrel o’ ale, thes ‘ood bea juss liek hoam!” He gestures grandly to the empty feasting hall with outspread arms.
In his reverie, a meaty hand strays to the highland pipes. His big clear blue eyes blink in the low-light, and he squints into the dark corners of the room and ceiling. The Casns shakes his head at the bare stone walls, sorely lacking for colorful tapestries of rich family history.
“Thes pleace needs soom cheerin’ oop,” Mot says decisively. He delicately removes his bagpipes from his pack. “An’ sence teh pretty pally ent heer tah fooss…”
Puffed Casns cheeks blow a low hum as his muscled arm presses against the bag. Over the hum a clear, slow tune pierces the quiet as Mot finds his way with the instrument, having not played it since he departed from the gnome warrens. The lilting tune is calm and happy as Mot begins to pace around the square table near the fire.
The unsavory pair descend down onto the first floor, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls and floor. Nme’an continues solemnly behind them, watchful of any trickery. Olp quietly falls in behind Nme’an, his spear in his hand. Eleanor continues at a quicker pace than the knight, though she pauses at doorways and corners out of consideration as he catches up. A good distance behind the four, the thief pads after them, his bow ready for any treachery that might arise.
Eventually, the Urlghain woman and the goblin reach the massive iron doors. She runs her hands over the artistic etchings, pausing over the image of the unrolled scroll. Then she and Gixard continue down and trod onto the matted green grass that surrounds the tower. It takes them a few minutes to find the catamaran used to cross Stillwater Lake. Nearby are rubbery remains of the beast from the deep of the waters. The heir of Bogtoe saunters near the boat, testing the rigging and checking the twin hulls.
Before leaving a comfortable distance for conversation, Eleanor looks to Nme’an. “You never did say why you were here. What, or who, sent two half-elves, a kobold, and an Urlghain to this edge of the world? What do you seek in this tower?” She smiles easily, “I answered your questions, it is only fair that you answer mine. Then I will be off, hopefully to never see you again.”
------------------------------
Eleanor certainly knows what happened to the knights that preceded the druidess’ companions, but the highlander is intentionally omitting that information.
Much like the lights in the library, two everburning torches are affixed to two of the long dining tables. The large hearth with the orange coals and dying flames appear to be a permanent Evocation spell that produces fire. Above the hearth, the druidess finds silver glyphs inlaid within the grey stone. They appear to have some connection to the fire in the hearth.
After those obvious things are accounted for, the druidess searches the room for more magic. She does not find any more on the tables or chairs of the banquet room. However, she does notice that the wooden walls to the bedrooms are thin enough for her spell to sense magic beyond them. Beorae thinks that the detection spell might even reach into the second room, but too many walls interfere for her to sense magic in the third room without leaving the dining hall. In the closest of them, the room she almost opened earlier, a few magical signatures are revealed.
The first two auras she easily recognizes as Abjuration and Transmutation, but the third aura eludes her. After a moment of concentration, she discerns the function of the magics: the Abjuration aura is an enchantment on armor, to make the material more resilient, and the Transmutation aura is very much like Themp’s belt, imbued to make the wearer quicker and more nimble. She knows that most harmful magical traps come from the Evocation school, and she found no other Evocation magic in effect aside from the fireplace and the everburning torches. A moderately strong aura emanates from the fireplace, while all other magic auras are faint.
Even though the woman and goblin have been gone for a few minutes, Shark still seems uneasy. The pale tiger sniffs the air near the door of the bedroom where Beorae noticed magical auras inside, but does not want to go near it. When the Casns begins his pipe-playing, Shark pads near the highlander. The music seems to help the big grey cat’s uneasiness, though he is still casually wary as he lays down on the warm floor in front of the fire.
"I have given you every chance to leave peacefully and yet you insist on being coy and clever. First by mentioning my fellow knights and then by putting something in motion with your goblin friend," Nme'an says, his voice wavering between frustration and anger.
"Very well. If you wish to talk then we should start of the knights you met. The ones you said were unruly and not gracious even though I know them to all be good and loyal protectors of Thaleniel. Did you meet the four whose heads I had to bury after I removed them from the pikes around your brother's home across this lake? Or were the ones you met others who somehow made it across this lake and into the tower? And if so what has happened to them?" Nme'an asks.
Though he still stands within the doorway of the tower as he said he would, Nme'an draws his sword and holds the point of it in Eleanor's direction. "You may answer me or you may leave in peace as promised," he tells her firmly. "But if you stay know that I will not permit you to continue to pretend to know nothing of what happened and has happened here."
Woah, she really hit a nerve there. Themp thinks to himself.
Slowly and silently, he sneaks up to the door still out of sight of the woman, but within spitting distance of Nme'an. It is important that the knight realizes he isn't alone anymore, but the city boy can't risk blowing his cover by speaking.
Eleanor holds up her thick arms in a wide gesture, pretending to cast about in search of something. “What crime have I committed? Coyness? Cleverness? Hah! Lock me away then, clap me in irons and throw away the key!” she dramatically cries out with a sarcastic sneer. “A sad state your country will be if such things are outlawed.”
“You Dawnfloo’er knights are all the same: you demand compliance, and give nothing in return but misery and grief and death. Whatever goodness is in your fire god is occluded by your bloodthirst for those you see as evil. Have I not complied with your orders, even though I was at this tower first? We are far from the borders of Vyren! Your law does not apply here! Your right to order about me does not apply!” she roars, her face turning red with anger.
Her meaty hands balled into large, quivering fists, her breaths begin to slow and deepen. Eleanor appears to be calming down. In a few moments, she manages to get her anger under control. The giant woman says in a voice that is eerily calm, “I do not think you understand what fairness means: you did not give answers in exchange for the answers I already gave you. This conversation is getting me nowhere, and I owe you nothing. Goodbye, half-elf Dawnfloo'er knight. If I remember your code correctly, it is dishonorable for you to attack someone who is unarmed.” With a knowing smirk, she unhooks the sickle from her belt lazily flings it into the lake, and then turns up empty palms to Nme’an. She turns away from the knight and takes long strides to the eastern side of the island.
“And shame on the knight who attacks an enemy with their back turned,” she taunts over her shoulder, approaching the corner of the tower, beyond which Gixard waits to depart on the watercraft. The glistening eyes in the second head silently stare at Nme’an until her large form rounds the corner to the eastern side of the island.
Nme'an stays silent and still throughout Eleanor's anger and taunting. He waits a short time after she passes behind the edge of the tower then sheathes his sword and re-enters the tower where he notices Themp waiting nearby.
"For all her anger and bluster she was right. I had no firm reason to harm her. Even not answering if she knew what happened to the others did not give me that right. Honestly, I do not know what I would have done if she had simply stood her ground and talked at me..." he admits.
Nme'an is about to head back up to the others but then glances back to the damaged doorway.
"Perhaps it is best that we do not become too trusting too quickly?" He asks the rogue before leaning against a nearby wall so as to watch the doorway. "Care to wait with me?"
"Yeah, I wouldn't. In fact, still not quite sure you should've given her the entire boat. I'm sure she could manage with only half of it..." Themp answers. He fidgets uneasily before continuing. "Maybe we should make sure she actually leaves the island? Perhaps ask her nicely to leave one of the hulls for us? I could stay hidden or guard the door, whatever you think is... err... more tactically sound."
"For as polite as she was, I suspect she was only so since we outnumbered and surprised her. At her core she was as twisted as her brother. Having her out of this place of power without risking our greater goal would seem worth the boat," Nme'an answers. "Not that I entirely trust her to not sneak back in later. We will have to watch our backs carefully from here on out."
"It does seem the waste of a weapon, throwing it in the lake in a poor attempt the goad my into attacking her. Did she actually expect that to work, or was it just her nature to try and cause a lack of honor?"
"Regardless," Nme'an concludes, "I do not think she would be helpful if we asked for half the boat..."
"Well, I sure hope we figure out a way to go back to the shore, but I'm definitely not swimming back. Anyway, how do you want to play this out?"
"We are standing inside the entrance of a powerful mage tower. I'm sure one of us will think of some way back across. And if not, we could build a raft out of those books in the library," Nme'an jokes.
Eleanor behavior consistently avoided physical violence. She probably was more interested in using the Dawnflower code to protect herself, rather than goad Nme’an into combat. Speaking of which, the Order of the Dawnflower doesn’t necessarily broadcast their code of conduct to the outside world, although it is neither a closely-guarded secret. There are few outside the knighthood who are familiar with the rules of the order. It begs the question, how did she come to learn it?
Themp and Nme’an do not hear the two fiends approach the stairs leading to the large iron doors of Ithalgol’s Keep. Instead, they hear gentle, rhythmic splashing of what could be oars pushing through water. The sound comes from where they last left the catamaran.
------------------------------
Beorae squints at the suspect auras in the wood-walled bedroom.
“Mot. Mot,” the druidess has to raise her voice over the blaring pipes to get the highlander’s attention. She gestures to be quiet and to come closer to the fireplace to speak in lowered tones.
“There might be trouble just beyond that door,” she whispers to the Casns, as she quietly takes her darkwood shield in one hand. “I need your help to check it out.”
She utters a magical word three times. Once, with a hand on Urlghain shoulder, second, while scratching the head of Shark, and lastly imbuing the same spell onto herself. The druidess motions for her dark-striped friend to wait near the door, although Shark seems reluctant to do so.
“I’ll pull the door open, and you can meet whatever trouble is in there. Remember that the room might be dark, and your family sword glows. Are you ready?” she asks in a hushed voice to the highlander. Miss Sevenstone approaches the door, and quietly grips the handle and waits for Mot to get into position. When he appears to be ready, she pulls back the door with great speed.
Twak!
A sharp sound springs from the darkness, and a tiny sharp stick twangs off the stone wall beside Mot. The light from the highlander illuminates a dark figure that nearly blends in with the shadows of the room. Gaunt, grey features and black eyes hold a stoic, nearly alien expression at the big man. Cloaked in blacks and greys, this lean figure holds a discharged hand crossbow in one hand, and a short blade in the other. Whatever this lurker in the shadows is, it is not an elf, dwarf, man, or orc.
The room is sparsely furnished, but on the bed in the far corner lays a ghastly visage. Strapped by wrists and ankles, a dark-haired middle-aged man lays bound immobile and seriously wounded. By the red and brown stains on the bedding, his wounds are several days old. The captive man’s eyes and ears are wrapped in dirty cloth, and his mouth is tightly gagged. The room reeks of blood. On the night stand near the bed lays scattered a mess of implements of surgery, or torture.
A hissing, chanting voice echoes off the stone walls of the dining hall. Very quickly, the light from the everburning torches gutter out, and the low burning fire in the hearth is swallowed up in shadow. Even the lights carried by Mot and Beorae dim as the darkness hedges in closer. Beorae thinks she spots a grey man standing at the top of the stairs, just a second before blackness covers him completely. A harsh, rasping laughter rings out over the darkened room.
Without warning the creature with a crossbow lashes out at Mot, black-oiled blade first!
Mot instinctively swats away the blade, deflecting the blow from his neck. Red blood drips from the gash along his arm. Moments later, the berserker begins to to feel a little sick.
A cruel laughter that does not belong to Beorae or Mot echoes faintly down the stairwells, followed by the muffled sounds of a scuffle.
Nme'an sets down his pack and pulls out some small scraps of food to eat.
Beorae shouts at the top of her lungs, hoping that Nme’an, Themp, and Olp will hear the call. In the next breath, she mutters, ”Ignis!” and lashes out her free hand toward the grey creature, a bright fireball leaping from her open palm.
Shark roars as the light collapses in upon itself and chaos explodes all around. He lunges toward Mot’s attacker with jaws wide.