Flippered and goggled, Scramsax quietly emerges from the tunnel exit to once again take in the vast cavern tucked within the cliff. The trinkle of water falling. The smell of damp air and dirt. The eerie glimmer of the statue in the depths, guarding the sunken temple. The power of the falls a distant tremor rippling through the stone. The shrine and its sole caretaker.
All is the same, yet something is vastly different. A warmth fills the air. Like a hot wind bringing fire, death and destruction. Although water still drips and drops, its rhythmic cascade is out of sync, slowing. The light glimmering from the pool is slightly brighter, shimmering with emerging excitement. Most importantly, the figure at once kneeling at the shrine, now stands before it. Tattered rags billowing in that hot, dry wind. It stands, skeletal arms thrown outward in ecstatic rapture, unintelligible, excited whispers of prayer emerging from crackling lips that have not spoken for centuries.
Coin gives one last pleading look to their mistress, hoping to dissuade her from the reckless course. But the ruby light of greed and desire burn in the halfling's eyes as she compels the owl to take flight a begin the dive toward the smooth surface of the pool.
With the first rustle of feathers upon the air. The first flap, flap, flap of beating wings. The whispered prayers abruptly cease. The hooded head at the shrine looks up into the darkness and twists in the direction of the owl revealing the grim skeletal visage of the undying. Its void gaze follows the owls flight, its yellowed ivory jaw clenched in anger at an intrusion upon the holiest of moments as its god finally awakens to stir the realms of mortals once again. Seeing that empty eyed gaze, Coin knows fear and curses sparkling gemstones and their unnatural draw upon the hearts of mortals.
Time passes. Seconds...minutes. Ten, perhaps fifteen minutes pass since the halfling's departure, chattering teeth make it hard to keep count. Nothing emerges from the tunnel. Then another burst of warm, odd smelling air billows forth from the depths. Despite the smell of doom and blood and summer's grassy fields, the heat is a welcome respite from the bone freezing cold swirling inside and out of the little shelter. It is like sitting opposite a blacksmiths bellows, the heat of the furnace blowing into the small shelter. Darrel welcomes the warmth, holding cold hands out as he slides closer to the opening. Even Luthael's fire seems to take heart from the warmth. It's struggling, hissing flames suddenly burn a little brighter, its own heat grows a little stronger. For a few moments, the shelter is warm and even comfortable.
NNNZZZZZZ...**snort**...**Smack**...**Smack** ...Apple Cinnamon Mead...No not pear...apple Came from Ingryd as she shifted comfortable and relaxing near the fire.
Scram used the moment of distraction to cast forth a veil of fog, covering the surface of water from the line of shore out to the statue.
Just like Flippy, the tourmaline spackled finned wonder of yore, Scramsax slipped underwater...making a rapid effort to reach the statue.
Gunnar shifts uneasily, but says nothing. Trying to tell people not to say a name again may be more risky than hoping they just don’t. He maintains concentration in case Scramsax needs the aerial escape.
At first, Raseri relaxes at the welcome respite from the frigid cold, then she remembers the last time, after the third utterance of a long dead god's name.
"Fjandinn," she mutters as she stirs and wakes everyone.
"Say not the thrice-uttered's name. I fear our small, earthen-star obsessed friend has wakened some trouble for us to deal with." She looks to Darrel and gives him a smirk. "Mayhaps you will wish you had taken up my offer afore the hour has passed."
When Raseri looks like she is preparing for rescue, Luthael starts getting ready, too. "Gunnar, Ingryd. She'd be out by now. Don't the think the blast of comfortable warmth is a good sign for her. Time for a rescue."
Gunnar looks dubiously at the narrow passage, then at his wide, armored shoulders. ”But do you think we can fit down this tunnel?”
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"Uhhh...does she do that a lot?" Darrel replies to Raseri. His eyes stare at the dark opening of the tunnel. "Create some trouble for you to deal with?"
Before any can answer a piercing cry of red hot anger boils like molten rock from the tunnel. Stone rattles and hairs stand up as the power is palpable and filled with promised of blood and destruction. But that lone cry is not all that causes concern. Staring into the narrow doom of the tunnel all can sense a deeper, darker, much more ancient and troublesome power awaken. Like a dragon cracking its eyes open after a gluttony fueled hibernation, the ancient beast stretches and uncoils the immortal tendrils of its being. Threads of power quiver and quake brushing against all those in the little hut and down in the dark chaos of the hidden prison.
Worried glances flash silently about the little group. The foxkin looking back and forth between Raseri, Lutheal, Gunnar and Ingryd.
"By the gods, what was that?" Asks the shivering foxkin.
Immediate answers are not forthcoming as all gauge both the size and soundness of the narrow tunnel. The halfling did not mention anything about it narrowing. It might be possible for all to squeeze through.
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Sighing, Gunner answers, ”All too often,” as he takes a deep breath and prepares to squeeze down the tight tunnel.
**YAWN** Ingryd shakes and rubs her eyes as she takes some water and splashes in her eyes.
"So Scram needs us eh? Are you sure we can, you know get down there?" She says eyeing the hole and then herself followed by the others.
"I don't have armor, but...." she gestures to her large frame then her gear.
"I guess we can try it? Who is gonna go first, and we should tie rope around use and any no essential gear. that gear will be held by the last person. Arm yourselves with daggers should anything pop in and to be ready when you crest the other side."The bearkin states as she gets up and begins to prepare for the trek
Setting her plan into motion, Scramsax flip-flops to the shoreline as Coin splashes into the water. As she slips beneath the surface, a piercing scream unleashed from the very pits of hell erupts within the cavern shattering ancient mineral stone formations hanging from the ceiling above. Plummeting down throughout the cavern they crash and shatter on the stone floor or splash into the massive ponds churning up bubbles on their slow decent to the bottom.
Moments later a burst of light blooms where Coin performed their water ballet. Fortunately, the owl was already heeding their mistresses call to return to the safety of her pocket. Even so the water boils and hisses and churns as the fireball explodes just above the surface.
Diving deeper to avoid the undying priest's fury and better avoid the cascade of falling debris, the halfling does her best to become just another bit of falling debris swirling slowly down toward the depths and the statue.
Deeper into the lake and mass of rock from above tumbles slowly upon the entrance to the sunken temple. Cracks appear in the roof. A deep bass rumble echoes through the depths. Billowing sediment creates an underwater cloud impossible to see through.
It takes a few precious moments, but there, you see what looks like just another mass of piled stones and glittering minerals, is actually a huge head. From this side you can only see a single, large eye staring toward the surface and the chaos above. But soon enough it shifts its attention closer to avoid some of the falling debris. The entire mass slowly shifts. It is as if half the lake bottom suddenly becomes restless. Even the huge statue with its gleaming prize wobbles under the beast shifting position.
Luthael shrugs in reply and adds, "it's a dice throw."
The prophet really struggles getting through the tunnel holding back the troop's pace.
Approaching the glowing gem, blocking out the gigantic octopus god for the moment, the jewel thief attempted to confront destiny...
Ingrud follows, the others hoping to pull those out who get stuck.
"Well, I owe her. Time to repay the debt."
Raseri says and gives Darrel a grin.
"Wish us luck," she tells the guide as she claps him on the shoulder, then she disappears down the hole, only to find herself wedged tightly in the tunnel with Lutheal.
"Methinks the wee one is souring our luck," Raseri says after finding she can't move forward or back.
Although skeptical of his ability to navigate the narrow tunnel, Gunnar's dwarven heritage and experience of many a tight fitting underground opening have him crawling, squeezing, scraping, and scooching along at a fairly easy and even pace. He about three quarters of the way along when the entire situation grows more ominous and troublesome, which for the obvious reasons, the dwarf is not really surprised about.
The first sign of trouble is the all too familiar fiery orange flash and thundering arcane boom a large, a very large, fireball detonating somewhere beyond the end of the tunnel. The brilliant light briefly illuminates the tunnel exit still approximately forty feet further along. Not far in truth, but forced to his crawling, scrambling pace he might as well be trying to reach the moon.
Then the curses echo from behind. The dwarf wouldn't be faulted if he'd guessed Ingryd would be the first to find herself stuck in the tunnel. No matter what, the trip wouldn't be easy for the big bearkin. But then he realizes it is Luthael's grunts and complaints and ever more frantic struggles he hears.
With all momentum stopped behind the prophet of light now trapped in the deep dark depths of the earth, Ingryd and Raseri find themselves stuck as well. Unable to move forward, unable to turn around or crawl backward to the entrance. Trapped.
A horrific scream erupts again drowning out the growing shouts of concern among those trapped in the tunnel. Then true fear reaches out and squeezes upon hearts and minds and the entire cavern and tunnel itself rumble and tremor and quake under whatever catastrophic events seem to be occurring beyond the exit. The boom and crash of stone striking stone or water fill the air. A crack runs chaotically along one wall of the tunnel as dirt and grit cascade down turning shouts of anger and frustration into choking fits of growing panic.
Carefully, slowly working his way back toward Luthael's position, the dwarf is able to spot where the priests robes have hooked themselves securely on an slightly outstretched finger of stone. More importantly he is also able to see another spiderweb of cracks growing along the ceiling of the tunnel. The crackle of weakening stone the loudest, most terrifying sound above all the other chaos erupting from beyond the exit.
The fear doesn't have time to even make the fire flaring up inside Raseri flicker before it blazes white-hot with indignation.
"Damned, bloody grain-theives! They make their tunnels to small for us to stand. I will not die here! Not crawling in the dirt like some worm!"
Gunnar helps as best he can, assisting Luthael to get past the narrow point (Help action). If that is successful, he continues onward so as not to be an obstruction himself.
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Luthael tries to leave his frustration behind as he struggles to wiggle free with Gunnar's help. 'Khors bless me."
Believing that he has squeezed past his last bottleneck, Luthael blesses the bearkin, too. "Khors bless Ingryd."