"Let's bring everybody that's alive in the same place. Vrindel, is the... Bee Lady still trapped? Perhaps we should camp by the tree? I mean, not so near, because ti seems like a predatorial tree, but near enough?"
It takes a little time, but you eventually manage to get the two paralyzed dwarves and the other injured pair safely set up a in small camp safely set away from the witches inn and its various potential dangers. Vrindel checks the other bodies hanging within the old willow tree, but all are quite dead and beyond any of your abilities to revive.
The bee-woman remains unconscious and bound to the tree. The wood having been shaped and warped so it continues to bind her tightly in place. An occasional she bursts forth a moan of pain or eerie cry of haunting fear but never regains any semblance of true consciousness.
An old woodpile near the inn's stable still has enough wood that hasn't rotted to uselessness to provide a warm fire against the night's chill. With water from the old well out back, and your own supplies you have all you need for a solid meal and to clean and tend all of the various cuts, bruises, boiled flesh, and other injuries suffered over the last day.
Vrindel will cast Lesser restoration on one of the dwarves to see if it works. If so he'll cast it on the other one. If not he'll use a 2nd level slot for cure wounds on Trevor, and a first level slot on himself.
If available
Cure wounds.
He is angry at those who chose to go into the inn hunting loot, instead of help rescue the known entities, and doesn't speak with them throughout the evening.
Trevor nods at the druid and thanks him for the healing. He, for once, gets busy helping to build a fire. He keeps peering through the darkness, staring for long moments, expecting the hag to spring forth and drag him into the forest.
When the fire crackles reassuringly, he relaxes a bit and says, staring at the embers flying up like motes: "What do we do then? We can try to cut the tree down come morning, but the hag has warned us against that, no? Cursed, twice cursed, and thrice cursed, no less... Unless we find that tunnel under the tree... I wish we would burn her inn down! Can we do it come morning? Can we forget about trying to plunder every last rotten worm of it? There's nothing but death, evil, in there. Nothing else!" His voice is a mix of anger and fear. There is a unnerving need for violence in his voice, something you've never heard before.
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"By Odin's golden throne I am spent. I have not been this drained since.... No, I have never been this drained."
Aterro flops down upon the ground, weary unto his bones at the day's exertions, pleased to find peace in whatever form it may come.
'At least the tree-bowing druid is keeping to his own council and not going on about leaving the carnivorous tree unharmed. Truly I am smiled upon by Thor this day.'
"Be not overly zealous, Trevor. For the Thirteen Chapters teach us: 'One bushel of the enemy's is equivalent to twenty of our own'.
Suppose there is something crucial in there, a thing that makes the difference between life and death some months from now. Would you allow evil to rise just because you are too pretentious to use a thing given to you?
So too, you would refuse a trophy earned by Right of Conquest? That does not sound like something Khors would smile upon. Meditate on this and think on it anew in the morning."
The gnome attempts his campsite routine but is obviously destabilized. The witches curse really shook him. Already cursed by the Grandmother herself with a life goal to break that curse for his whole people, but now he's twice-cursed. He passes out next to the fire without completing his usual routine.
In the morning, after food, sleep and food, he starts to think that his Patron put the witch in their path, so he can learn to break one curse. And be better prepared to break the ultimate curse. But, his dreams are not yet filled with that promise. No, he dreams of bees and goblins and ooze and being paralyzed while they all circle around him for the feast.
Trevor fights the urge to punch (or at least try to) punch Aterro. He thinks of his ward, who Aterro was only too eager to place in harms' way, then he thinks of the walk back to the grove, where he nearly lost his mind, and then he thinks of the forced march, which led them to this place of death.
Unsurprisingly, he doesn't sleep much. Perhaps punching Aterro would have given him a better night's sleep, he wonders, but the morning see him in a foul mood.
He turns to Aterro and says: "I thought long and hard about what you told me yesterday. All night, really, and here's what I think: I think that instruments of death and despair should be burned down. This place has cost us all, simply because we walked in. I say that's enough. Time for cleaning! Vrindel, Ibrox, what do you think?"
Vrindel attempts to heal the two dwarves found inside the burnt out inn. His efforts are not wasted. As his magic washes over the two victims of the witches poisonous offerings rigid muscles begin to relax and move again. Unfortunately the healing does little to ease the broken mind of the one dwarf who comes out of his paralyzed state screaming in bone jarring and nerve wracking terror.
It takes several long, peace and ear shattering minutes but eventually the efforts of Vrindel and the dwarf he originally rescued from the tree manage to calm the sailor enough to stop his screams. But his muttering, panicked mumbling continues to drift softly over the camp a constant reminder of what could happen to anyone should they fall under the influence of witch and her dark schemes.
Aside from the suffering of the rescued victims and the occasional cry from the bee-woman of the willow, little else happens to disrupt the short hours of the early summer night. Yet the longing for a return of sunlight has everyone yearning for dawn as if it were the depths of Midwinter. Finally, slowly, the telltale gray of early dawn starts to brighten the eastern horizon and soon enough the sun breaks over the hills and shines upon the little vale.
As the rays of sunlight strike the inn and surrounding buildings the last of the witches illusions vanish. Gone is the inviting inn with its cozy charm and tended garden. Instead what stands before you, is what you know it to be. A rotting, partially burnt, ruined building. The timbers covered with moss and a sickly yellowish fungus, roof collapsed, the entire place smelling of rot, death, and worse. Flies wake with the sun to buzz at the goblin corpses, the rotting pile of refuse, and your own camp. The garden, not a well tended patch of healing herbs and cooking spices. It is overgrown with weeds, thorns, and thistles overshadowing patches of mushrooms and other fungal growths. Except where the willow tree stands within its circle of blood bathed stones. That remains as it was found during the night. Knowing what to look for, it is easy to make out the gruesome cocoons wrapped within the trees inner branches. Each leafy lump a constant reminder of the dangers and death the witch harbored in this place as the young knight and war cleric debate what should be done next.
"Ah well, before you do that...I left my pick set back with that lock. I guess I had better go grab it..." giving an 'aw shucks' shrug.
Scram goes back to loot the room he left unlooted.
"That's fine, but you best hurry, the inn is about to burn down..." replies Trevor flatly. Stiffly, he walks over the dying fire and picks up a half burnt log and blows on it. With each labouring breath, the flames come alive and sparkle back in his eyes.
"It is an abomnation. let it burn".
He then thinks back on the days events, and hollars after Scramsax. "Look for a key in there, if you're determined to go back in".
He looks at the remaining team. "I'm pretty sure I saw a large keyhole across from the bee lady. There may be an opening beneath that tree".
Just after disappearing inside you see a little fist exit and give a thumbs up.
Poking your head inside you can't help but curse with frustration as you find little more than a pile of moldering armor pieces of various sizes and styles. Several rust eaten swords, axes, knifes, and other weapons fill an old ale barrel. There's really nothing of value or any use in the small room.
But just as you start to turn away, you notice an odd seam in the back wall, behind the barrel and other junk. Now surely that long, straight seam where none should be is a gods given sign someone is trying to hide a door. And hidden doors often mean hidden treasures...or hidden dangers, but most certainly treasures.
He took a closer look trying to reason out how to open it, checked for traps, then cautiously opened the door with the end of his trusty 10 ft pole...
The gnome awakes the next morning refreshed and putters away in his morning routine: cleaning, breaking fast, packing, etc. In ignores the bickering and the house of horror and focuses on the saner dwarf. He shares his food and drink with the sailor and softly starts asking him who he is and what he knows. A conversation with a stranger is always good to keep frightening thoughts away.
Trevor looks at Vrindel: "A key... Right. I guess I'll wait then, but I'm not going in!"
As he watches Aterro's greedy eyes, he wonders if he could manage to light the barrel on fire...
"Brother Aterro, will you help me light this nefarious inn and bring it to cinders?" and he hands him a burning piece of wood.
"I mean, once Scramsax is out..."
With sweat beginning to break out across your brow you finally manage to locate the actual lock and mechanism to open the hidden door. Fortunately it ends up being a very simple mechanism, the witch apparently considering her oozing guard and other threats more reliable than mere mundane locks.
With a click and the squeal of rusty hinges the door swing open revealing a rickety dark stairwell and very narrow passage. Once upon a time the stairs led both up and down, but now the passage up is blocked by a collapsed wall and rubble. The passage down into pitch black darkness is clear of debris and judging from the relative lack of dust, has seen fairly recent use.
Scram hurries back outside "Hey guys I found an escape tunnel of some kind...looks like its been recently used, too. Leads down, down to the dark." he informs. "My torch only showed..."
Scramsax disappears into the inn with a thumbs up. Time passes and the sun slowly continues its morning climb bringing what looks like is going to be a bright, warm summer day. Trevor continues to stomp around and wave his torch at the inn like a maddened villager, threatening every few minutes to burn the place to the ground. The young knights antics doing little except helping to keep the flies away from the camp.
Aterro hears the halfing poking around in the closet when he grabs the half barrel of ale. A constant tap, tap, tap of a pole hitting the wall. But focused on the ale and its potential medicinal usage, the cleric merely shrugs and focuses on the heavy work of removing the barrel. Interestingly as Aterro drops the heavy burden down near the camp everyone can't help but notice the newness of the ale barrel. With the illusions gone and in the bright light of the sun, it is easy to see how the barrel is not blackened by fire, covered in fungus, mold, or rot, and in fact is quite well kept and clean. As if only recently delivered from the brewer.
In the meantime, Ibrox hands a griddle cake to the dwarf Vrindel originally rescued from the tree. Nodding his thanks the sailor happily accepts the food and drink while watching over his young relation and keeping a wary eye on the fuming knight.
"I thank you for sharing what you can spare." He says to Ibrox. "In all of the fright and trauma of last night I forgot my manners." He holds out a hand in greeting to both Vrindel and Ibrox. "My names Vorik Settersson off the trader Golden Mermaid. Was the first mate to Captain Regis."
"That is Lythur Sifson, my sisters boy. And I thank you again for the saving of his life." The last is addressed to Vrindel. "Them there are Torm and Havrim out of Tannershall." He adds with a nod toward the other two sleeping dwarves from the inn.
He shivers despite the warm early morning sun. "I thought we were all headed to Thors halls for sure, but it seems the fates have decided not to cut our threads after all. Although I'm not sure if that is for the best for all of us." He says frowning at the white haired face of Havrim still contorted in fear as his restless sleep continues. "That foul thing and her cursed goblin minions appeared on the shore just after we landed. Course they were all disguised as halfling farmers and herself a village matron. Offered to guide us to safety. Bloody fools we were. Too tired and battle worn after fighting off that blasted beast to care. Her promises of warm beds and ale was all we needed."
"Should have turned around when we lost Konner in that meadow, but her smile and friendliness kept us going." A weathered hand rubs his tired eyes. "Thought we'd been blessed by Thor himself when we came upon the inn. All lit up and welcoming." He makes a simple sign of protection. "Wasn't blessed though. Cursed and doomed we were. That is until you folk came along...."
It's at that moment that Scramsax comes hurrying out of the inn speaking of a hidden tunnel. One that goes down into what looked to be a root cellar and perhaps more. But his torch and view from the stairs only allowed him to see so much without venturing further into the dank cellar.
"Are you good in a fight? We've been cursed by that witch. To avoid dying, we need to go underground and find a key. Can you and your crew come with us? Help us find that key?" The gnome tries to recruit an army. Someone to stand between him and any threats would be great.
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Aterro makes no move to take up Trevor's brand. Instead he just chuckles and holds up a hand. "Oh, you paladins...." In his hand dances a tongue of the Sacred Flame. "I have my own, if we need it."
In the wait for the halfling, Aterro busies himself searching the barrel for some clue of its origin.
"Does anyone else find this odd? The inn is a rank place to give any housekeeper nightmares, but this barrel looks as if come fresh from a barrel-maker. I see no brewery apparatus set up here. One wonders where it came from."
He listens with but half an ear as the dwarf re-counts their plight. The care and tending of those rescued was never in his calling. He preferred to keep the edge sharp to do the rescuing, but found little diversion in the hand-holding that often went about in the aftermath.
Still, at the mention of Konner being lost in the meadow, Aterro approaches, holding up the silver amulet of Sif. "We found that one. Much did it cost us, as some of us, not me, mind you, but some were assaulted by the mind-bending pollen of those flowers.
Still, you may have this as a token to take back to his family so they may know he feasts well in Thor's hall."
As the halfling bursts out, Aterro chuckles openly. "Alas, poor Trevor. Beseems you are denied thy fiery vengeance again! We are given but little choice to venture underground to seek the cure for our curse . Well, there is nothing for it."
Aterro again casts Light upon Thorspear and makes ready.
"The offer is a good one, good Vorik. The witche's legacy is not yet done, and we are to sojourn to end another part. You may stay here, an ye wish it, but it is thy Right if you want to join us.
Surely a death in this service would count as entry to Valhalla, methinks."
The dwarf holds the locket Aterro hands him up to the sunlight. "This is Konner's. A good man whose family I do know back at the hall. I'll see they get this and thank you again for its return."
He carefully wraps the locket up in a scrap of cloth and tucks slips it into his pocket. His eyes take in Ibrox and Aterro, Trevor and Vrindel, and finally the halfling who just returned from the horrors of the inn, ready to delve deeper into its secrets. His gaze shifts, to his battered, wounded, resting comrades. Finally he sighs and shakes his head. "We're sailors and traders, not reavers." He says with a wry halfhearted smile. "Good enough in a bar fight or defending our ship from bandit rabble. But we're not warriors and blessed by the thunderer himself." His eyes gaze with wonder at the long electrically charged spear Aterro holds.
"I fear Havrim's spirit may be completely broken after all of this. Torm's as well, although he always was a quiet lad. Time and by Sif's grace will see them healed I hope. I will stay and watch over them until we can move." He looks off toward the tree line. "I'm afraid the storm and frantic flight from the hydra, has me unsure where we actually landed. Somewhere along the Wild Coast I'd guess? Is there a village or other shelter near here where we could find welcome?"
"Nargenstal, Jewel of the North." he beams with a politeness hes seen others use before "Say, there's an old coast runner with a jury-rigged keel offshore. Might be your ticket home if you'd offer some expertise fixin' er up, eh?"
"There is a small village near here called Nargenthal, that lost many men to the Reavers. We will most likely be returning there after we finish taking care of the threat here. I'm sure they could use a few strong backs to help in their recovery... and the Reavers are no longer a threat".
"Let us first check out the oddity I found near the tree before going back into that cursed place. Perhaps it is a backdoor".
Vrindel starts back towards the bee woman in the tree, and the keyhole he thought he spotted.
"Oh right, thought you spied a keyhole didn't you, Paws? Well, not much in the way of security I haven't seen. You know, they say cipher mechanisms were first invented on the labyrinthian islands off the coast of Barsella. That's my city, out there at the edge of the world. Or was anyways." he waddles eagerly to the next distraction.
There's a growing hum as you approach the old willow tree and the suns light shines upon the vale. From the path you see several of the giant bees circling around and over the tree. Occasionally one appears to dive down upon the tree only to pull back up and continue its frustrated circling. None of the big bees seem to take interest in your presence until you step within the circle of stones.
Being in the lead, Scramsax is the first to do so and suddenly finds himself standing face to multieyed face with two bees as large as he is. Yet they do not attack. Instead they seem to be guarding and trying to protect the woman under the tree. A bit of gentle experimenting proves this. If the halfling takes a step or two closer to the tree, the bees become more agitated and threatening. Buzzing fiercely while flashing a stinger the size of a small sword at the encroaching thief. If he steps away, they back away.
"...say good fellows, did any of you also else just see our buzzy friends deliver some fresh libations to the inn? I may be seeing things again..."
Not waiting for an answer, Scram inspected the keyhole and pondered ways to circumvent the need for a key...using his lexicon of thievery tricks.
"So be it." the gnome replies to the dwarf. "I suggest you recover your strength here as long as you have food. The purple-flowered meadow is dangerous. Cross it by breathing through a mask. Then, you can reach the village within a day's walk, back to the shore and continue going. The villagers will be wary of dwarves but would accept you weaponless. Describe meeting us, and it should go better."
Ignoring the halfling (if it wasn't for the ooze, he was certain that the halfling had been working with the witch) the gnome does his own examination of the inside of the house of horror.
Then, he polices the area around the inn of death looking for anything useful or informative.
Vrindel observes the giant bees behavior with interest.
"Ho friends. Is this your queen then? Has the witch enslaved her and forced you all to work providing this ale? Fear not. We'll get to the bottom of this and release your queen, so you can live free as bees live again".
Vrindel investigates the keyhole shaped notch in the bole.
Perception
"Yes. I saw that as well".
"Ibrox? Ibrox, where are you going. Has that place not already caused us enough grief. Let's look for another solutions first. We can use the entrance our halfling friend found as a last resort".
The giant bees appear to hold at Vrindel's words and within a few minutes a swarm of normal bees appears to gather near the druid. The humming, buzzing swarm swirls and curls around itself for several seconds before taking a shape something similar to the woman bound to the tree. As the shape forms so the hum becomes something more as the myriad insects harmonize their efforts into one vaguely feminine voice.
"I am....Sunlight-upon-the-dawns-dew-covered-blossoms-of-fragrant-beauty-wonde r-and-joy...and I am the current mother of my hive." The voice speaks a slightly archaic, formalized form of the Northern Tongue. "You are correct in your deduction. I am a prisoner of One-who-smells-of-ancient-rot-darkness-death-and-suffering-taking-glee-in-b ringing-pain-and-sorrow-to-all-she-touches. Through trickery and deceit she captured me and now force my children to do her bidding." The figure appears to look around as if waiting for the witch to suddenly appear from some hidden shadow. "She does not know I can still reach out through my smaller cousins, but I can only do so for a short time. With what little strength I have, I beg you for your aid. Should I die, as I fear I soon will for the pain is great and I grow weaker by the day, there is no other to take my place in the hive. My children will all perish. The hive will cease to be." Even via the unusual method of communication you can feel the sorrow and desperation within her plea. "I believe you are beings of goodness and light. Please, help save my people from the evil ones dark fate."
While Vrindel speaks with the swarm queen, Scramsax is able to slip past the bigger, giant bees and get a closer look at the lock on the back side of the willow. His investigations reveal an unfortunate but unsurprising truth, the doorway and lock are both magical in nature. No mere mechanical mechanism exists for the halfling to even try his luck. Yet his closer investigation does reveal the locks shape to be a unique eight pointed star. The cardinal points longer that those between. Finally there's a central pillar of solid wood within the lock, shaped like two crescent moons back-to-back. That would mean the key must be hollowed out with the same shape in order to fit. The magical nature of the lock, also means the key is most likely magical in some form or fashion.
Trevor grows a dark shade of purple as Aterro replies back in earnest. Several rebuttals, very good ones and a great one about Thor's thunder, come to his mind, about an hour later, but at the moment, he remains speechless. He opts instead to brrod away from the thunderous priest.
Approaching the bees, he smiles at their pattern and is taken by the queen's voice: "I shall put all my efforts towards saving you!" he shouts solemnly.
When things quiet, he is glad for a bit of silence, but then quickly break it: "So you found a way down and no key, while this way down requires a key. Do you think this is the back door, or the inn is? Or perhaps these two are not connected... No sign of a key? If so, then let's go down the cellar first. THEN we can burn the place down..."
He avoids looking at Aterro.
At Vrindel "Hey its no good, Paws. There's some sorta arcane dweomercraft in play there...looks like a medallion with 8 points and a double crescent moon is whats needed, I mean at least from what I can tell. Maybe Queen Sunny here knows something about it? Ah..." he was about to address with the question himself, but Scram suddenly felt ashamed for killing one of her subjects earlier.
"I'm gonna try something to make you more comfortable..." his dagger suddenly materialized in his hand as if from some magic spell, Morrinn's Misery...the Navigator he liked to call it. The blade had an unnatural cold he thought might effect the branches...
"Careful. Don't want to cause an over-reaction to any damage or anything. Perhaps the witch has the key, and we need to find her... or perhaps it's beneath the Inn in the tunnels you found. Either way I believe that unfortunately that's out next stop".
You manage to find several bottles of newt eyes, frogs feet, spider legs, elf warts, salamander tails, and other nasty ingredients the witch must use in her deadly concoctions and spells. Tucked back up behind all of those are two glass vials. One blue, one yellow. Both seem different in that they obviously haven't been touched for quite a long time judging from the layer of dust covering each bottle. They are also each marked with a single faded runic symbol.
While examining the curious bottles, you just happen to catch a glimmer of metal coming from the dark iron cauldron. Something reflecting off the light coming through the open back door. It is difficult to tell, but something silver pokes up from the thick, goopy slop of stew that still sits puddled within the knocked over cauldron. Unfortunately the stench is so bad as you get closer that it takes a great amount of mental effort to keep your body from revolting long enough to grab or examine the object further.
The dust is probably dangerous too, the gnome wonders when he spots the two class bottles of yellow and blue. He doesn't take the silver bait but will tell Vrindel about it. Then, he just remembers that he learned how to detect magic from a ritual, so he heads outside.
He performs the rituals for an unseen servant and detect magic, so he can restart his survey of the area. During his sweep, he looks for the components to perform the ritual of find familiar. The gnome wants a friend who is comfortable underground.
The queenly form bows her head to Trevor. "I thank you for your aid son of the everlight-that-brings-warmth-and-life." She says to Trevor.
Drawing his dagger Scramsax steps over to the tree near the bound figure of the bee queen. When the swarm figure realizes the halfling intent she becomes agitated and quickly swirls toward Scramsax.
The other giant bees, sensing their queens fear and discomfort also begin to grow agitated and begin to buzz and whirl about Scramsax and the others dangerously.
"No! Beware the tree! Your blade will cause little harm, but waken the evil within!" She warns.
"Eh, alright...was just tryin' ta help (don't sting me). Evil's better asleep." the dagger vanishes instantly.
Ignoring the tunnels through the fields for now, you find a spot near the ruined building to perform your rituals. Once finished you pole back into the kitchen and see light auras of magic surrounding both dusty bottles on the shelf, and the odd looking silver piece at the bottom of the cauldron. The potion bottles both have auras of Transmutation magic. One is blue, one is yellow. The silver object has an unusual mix of Abjuration and Conjuration magic woven together in its silver and deep, dark green aura.
"I cannot hold this form much longer." The swarming shape says, her voice strained and clearly in pain. She bows toward Vrindel, Scramsax, Aterro and Trevor. "I thank each of you for your aid and should you succeed in overcoming the evil ones foul bindings I would would be in your debt."
"But beware, the one you go against is an ancient evil. Clever and devious with a hatred of all things of beauty, light, and life. She will not seek to destroy you directly, but instead work through the things you care about or fear the most to weaken your resolve of heart and spirit."
Her words drift away on the wind as the swarm of bees slowly dissipates back to its individual insects who flit off in every direction. The giant bees continue to hover nearby, but no longer prevent or interfere when approach the tree, its captive, or the keyhole.
Back out to the beehive, the gnome clears his throat to get the attention of his companions, "Hey, I found three magic items in the house of horrors and set them down outside: two potions and something silver. I need about an hour to Identify them."
"I also found a pair of goblin-sized tunnels out the back of the inn of death. One heads north and the other east. I doubt the witch would leave the goblins much of anything of worth."
"And, I need to Find a Familiar who is comfortable underground, and then I'll be ready to go. I think we need to head down that root cellar to find the key for the keyhole in that tree to break the curse."
Then, he returns to the inn doorway to collect the magic items. Concentrating on sensing magic from as close to the doorway as possible, the gnome directs his unseen servant to gather the yellow and blue vials and bring them outside and set them down near their campsite. Then, he sends the unseen servant to collect the magical silver object and again set it down 5 feet from the vials.
Nudging Vrindel "Heh, 'bee'-ware, she says. Thanks."
As Ibrox chants and dances around, Scram cuts a little hammock out of a sack of rotten potatoes, stringing it up on the back porch for nap.
Trevor nods solemnly and goes to pack his kit and prepare for some cave exploring.
You all take a short respite while Ibrox works his magical ritual on the various items discovered in the witch's kitchen. All appears peaceful and calm about the surrounding fields as a warm breeze rustles the leaves of the big willow. The big branches of the tree creek quietly as the various contents within the leafy cocoons swing back and forth in the wind.
Not far away a squirrel chatters and a jay screeches back. The gnome identifies the blue bottle.
The sun drifts a bit further, magical incantations are spoken. A smell of burnt dust fills the air momentarily and after a single loud sneeze, the gnome learns the contents of the yellow bottle.
The item of silver sparkles in the mid-morning sun. A half round chunk of silver with a hollow half crescent shape in the middle, surrounded by four points. It is as long as the gnomes hand but clearly only part of a larger object and thus is not easily or fully identified. Under closer examination there are recesses and bumps in the inside portion of the object clearly meant to align with other parts.
"All done. Are we ready? Who wants the potion of Hill Giant Strength? This one is a potion of Greater Healing. And this is a magic key. Did your keyhole look anything like it?" The gnome says triumphantly thanking Zove for her rituals.
Scram was having a little daymare of sitting down to a 12 course meal of dwarf parts, but his eyes popped open immediately at the shrill sound of the gnomes voice rattling off some apothecarist's jargon. He glanced over the silver key with interest "Yep. Well its half-right maybe. Needs a second moon and 4 more points... We gonna check the cellar yet or go fight the goblin tribes?"