Trevor kindly refuses the potions. for a moment, his heart swells as Ibrox describes the key, but then he realizes a part is missing. There was no avoiding the cellar, after all.
"Goblins are not the priority, I would say. Let's find this half-key first, yes?"
Vrindel looks at the halfling with grudging acknowledgement. "I fear you are correct. Let's go check out this cellar, and hopefully find more parts of this magical key. I don't rely on strength for my combat abilities, and the healing potions should stay with someone who has no healing abilities of their own. If Aterro and I are incapacitated, the we would need someone else to have the potion to bring us back. Perhaps Trevor or Aterro for the Strength potion, and either yourself or Ibrox for the healing potion".
He then starts to pack up his stuff.
"I would like to hold onto the Key components if that's not a problem. It's important, and I may be a bit less...well...impulsive than most of you".
"Are you sure that you don't want to try the key first?" The gnome asks, while petting his new weasel who he called Rikki.
Near the end of his last ritual, Rikki bounded out of the forest to complete the connection as a familiar. When ritual concluded, the gnome sat down with Rikki on his lap, and they yipped and yapped for awhile.
When the gnome caught someone staring at him quizzically, he answered, "We're getting to know one another. Where were from. That kind of stuff. His name is Rikki."
You all venture back into the inn and over to the open closet door. By the electric blue glow of Aterro's spear you see the hidden doorway sitting open.
The torch Scramsax threw down earlier has burnt out leaving the cellar dark as you descend. The rickety stairs creak and groan under the weight of the bigger warriors, but they do not collapse and everyone makes in down safely.
Going down the stairs, the air takes on a musty, tangy, chemical scent and the temperature cools substantially. Upon reaching the bottom, the reason for the odd smell becomes clear as your breath forms clouds in the dry cold air. In the middle of the large cellar is a long makeshift table, upon which is lying the semi eviscerated body of an elfmarked human. The chest of the corpse is cut open, large flaps of skin pinned back on the table. Most of the inner organs have been removed and sit in a set of cold copper trays haphazardly scattered about the rest of the table. Adding to the cluttered space are several small, sharp knives, bone saws, tongs, pliers, and other hooked instruments. All showing signs of use within the last few days.
Shelves line all four walls of the cellar except for where the stairs enter the room and another tunnel begins opposite. The shelves are filled with numerous jugs, jars, and other containers. Some glass, some clay or wood. The glass jars contain various body parts and other bits preserved in some kind of fluid. One holds a wide variety of eyes, another ears. Four preserved hearts float in another. Some of the clay pots are marked in common with such terms as 'Powdered Gnome Bone,' 'Goblin Teeth,' 'Maiden's Hair,' 'Liar's Tongue,' and more. The strong smell emanates from a large open half barrel of fluid sitting on the floor near the northwest corner of the table.
Trevor scans the room for a sign of a door, a trap door, or a tunnel.
However, he can't take his eyes off the gruesome sight all around him.
The gnome performs a final Zove ritual before returning to the inn, in order to concentrate on Detect Magic from the back of the marching order. Rikki the weasel curls around his shoulders clearly disturbed by the stench of death in the kitchen and cellar. The gnome looks around for any magic auras and uses Prestidigitation to clean patches where he wants to investigate for secret compartments or doors.
After seeing no magic and letting the big guys clear the room, the gnome investigates his clean spots in the room for anything useful.
Scram lit another torch, not wanting to miss any poison needles hiding in shades of grey. The glint of copper caught his eye, and he promptly sloughed off the body parts fearlessly, stacking the copper dishes into a pile. To Ibrox "Here, Red, give this a clean. Coppers copper, eh?"
And like the others, he took time to inspect the place. However, he once again utilized his 10 ft pole, probing nooks here and crannies there...he had a gut feeling (thieve's hunch) there was some illusory walls hiding among all the items screaming 'dont-touch-me'.
You also notice the bindings at the corpses wrists and ankles. All of these metal devices appear to be suffused with necromantic and enchantment magic.
While Ibrox looks for sources of arcane enchanments, Scramsax's searches for more mundane clues. Carefully poking along the walls, the back of shelves, the occasional sealed jug. But he finds nothing of real interest or value. The only other exit besides the stairs looks to be the narrow dugout tunnel leading east.
Taking a closer look at the half barrel full of liquid, Aterro discovers it to be filled with the poor elf's entire intestinal tract. The long worm-like innards float just below the surface of the awful smelling liquid. Interestingly the organ doesn't seem to have decayed at all.
"Wow. That witch tapped a nearby lay line to keep this cellar magically cold. Interesting." The gnome says with a significant tone of respect.
"Umm. Those bindings at the corpse's wrists and ankles are magical. Necromantic and Enchantment magic. Maybe that thing will animate if we trigger something. Or, the witch used them to facilitate her dissection. Just be ready."
"Or, maybe go ahead and destroy that corpse. Maybe those bindings hold that poor sod's soul from releasing to the afterlife. With the witch, we should assume the worst imaginable." The gnome hypothesizes.
Scramsax peers down the tunnel, holding his torch high...
Trevor nods at Ibrox and, choosing his magical axe, tries to take off the corpse's head in one chop.
Trevor's axe lands with a loud resounding thud that causes the instrumnets on the table to bounce and clatter adding to the burst of noise. The sharp heavy blade easily severes the elfmarked head from its body and sinks into the wooden table.
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"The poor man's innards float in this barrel, but they have not been touched by time or plague or maggots. As interesting as this is, I would contain the smell, if possible."
Aterro casts about for anything large enough to go on top of the barrel. Once it's contained, he looks around and follows the halfling.
Scram hushes the amateur cooper, whispering "Can it, Crackles. We're not alone..." never taking his eyes off the bend in the path ahead.
Trevor is about to give a satisfied nod at the bouncing down head, but instead tenses at Scramsax's words and turns towards the tunnel, moving in front of the others.
Vrindel follows the others down the tunnel, his sharp senses on the lookout for any hidden surprises.
Perception
Trevor moves to the mouth of the narrow tunnel, a pace ahead of Scramsax. Although a tight fit, the opening appears to be just big enough for the young knight, Aterro, and Vrindel to squeeze their way along.
As everyone listens at the opening, there is a loud thump and scraping noise. Almost like something heavy being dropped and adjusted. A few moments later the slow metallic grind of metal wheels on rails drifts back from the darkness beyond the bend.
Trevor peers at the tunnel ahead and says to the others: "What do you think that noise was? Anyway... How do we want to proceed? Do we need someone to scout ahead or is it too late for that now?"
There is something different about Trevor. He doesn't try to let Aterro go first this time.
"Na, they heard us...too late for that." the halfling reasoned.
The gnome hesitates for a moment when the halfling wants to get behind him. He had suspected the halfling was a disguised goblin working for the witch... right up until the ooze eaten him. So, the gnome falls in behind Vrindel.
Rikki the weasel wraps around his neck like a fur, senses perked up, on alert. The gnome maintains his concentration Detecting Magic.
Trevor shrugs and slowly moves forward, peering for tricks ahead.
I guess Vrindel is holding up the middle with plugging the passageways from the small ones.
Perception
The metallic grinding slowly fades further away as Trevor and the rest of you squeeze along the narrow confines of the tunnel coming to the first bend. Unable to see anything but darkness beyond the dim blue illumination offered by Aterro's glowing spear, you push forward another twenty paces to another opening into another larger excavated area.
Part natural cavern, part dugout. Your light is too low to make out details, but the area looks to be a good fifty feet wide and forty long. More startling is the deep, maybe very deep cavern that fills most of the cavern. A large pitch black pit. The outside edge of pit is ringed by a narrow five to ten foot ledge that gets wider on the opposite side.
A wooden crane sits across the way, its heavy wooden arm hanging out over the dark expanse of the pit. Very likely the source of the earlier sound heard by Scramsax and Vrindel.
You try to cast your gaze down into the pit to see how far it goes, but it must be further than even your eyes accustomed to the depths can see.
Just as Trevor is about to step out onto the ledge, Vrindel hisses an urgent warning. Following his pointing finger, all can now make out the thin trigger wire strung taught across the tunnel opening.
Scram knelt at the wire pointed out by Vrindel "Heh, little belt snagger...don't cut it just yet, sometimes these're weighted on both sides...let me see..." The thief tried to understand the way the trap worked, and any consequences of disabling it. Further, he wondered if there was anything useful he could salvage from it...
Trevor gives Vrindel a nod of thanks: "This is not a good plan. Only way I find traps is dying from them... That pit looks deep."
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Aterro again casts Light upon Thorspear and makes ready.
Aterro sneers. "Goblins and their traps. That may be the only reason they have not been wiped from existence--it would be too much trouble to disarm all their wires.
Mind you, they are not known to be as adamant about digging as dwarves. This cavern is so great it would make a good clan of miners envious. I wonder what goes here...."
Scramsax tries to squeeze and wiggle his way past Vrindel, Aterro, and Trevor to get a closer look at the tripwire. Unfortunately the coffin-sized tunnel just doesn't allow enough room for the halfling to get past the big armored warriors and druid.
After some grumbling, a bit of cursing, and a few other choice statements everyone reverses course back to the first room, changes positions, with Scramsax in the lead, and squeezes back into the tight confines of the tunnel.
Finally, the expert trapsman is able to get a good look at the wire and its workings. And a good thing it seems, for the wire itself is little more than a decoy. Using his trusty poking stick, the halfling discovers the illusion on the floor just beyond the tripwire where one might logically step to avoid the more obvious wire. With careful tapping and poking Scramsax discovers the illusion hides a steep, slippery smooth surface that would easily cause someone to slip and slide right out of the tunnel and into the pit where they would likely fall to their doom.
Disarming the decoy wire is a simple matter for Scramsax. A few snips with his cutters and its done. Getting around the slide is another matter. There is a very narrow ledge of solid stone along the right side of the trap. The lip of stone would allow someone to carefully avoid falling to their doom, but using it requires good balance and careful control.
"Heh...pretty clever. Wire doesn't do anything." he taps his pole in empty space "That illusory ledge would though...would slide you right down the chute." The thief wound up the trip wire into his pocket, strong filament had its uses.
"Gonna be hard to get across there, narrows quite a bit for you tall folk." he pulls out a little collapsible grappling hook, its tri-claw head *schnick*ing into existence. "We could get line secure across maybe." he suggests, rapidly tying the grapple to his rope.
"Traps behind traps... How devilishly clever of them! Now, a rope sounds best, and we'll have it for returning as well." offers Trevor and helps set up the rope, mostly by passing it to the person behind him, as there is just so little space.
"I sure hope we won't have to fight in narrow tunnels..."
Once secured, Scram volunteered to be the first across. "Not so different than the gaff-rigging on a schooner..." he said, but inside he couldn't help feel some remnant of the witch's magics numbing his tightly corded muscles...urging him downwards into the dark...
Scramsax carefully and nimbly moves along the ledge to the wider edge outside the tunnel where he can secure the rope. With the safety rope in place it is easy for the others to make the passage to the open cavern of the pit. The ledge varies in width from three or four feet to as wide as ten in a few places. But it is covered with loose dirt and rock making it dangerous to traverse since one wrong step could lead to a slip and a plunge into the depths.
At the slippery stones underfoot, Scram wonders if the walls might offer better purchase and faster travel after all...
Trevor takes his sweet time. The thought of sliding into a pit of darkness does not suit him. Takes a moment to strap his shield around his back and his axe on his hip to get his hands free.
Trevor nods at Aterro and makes his way forward.
"I am glad you were able to sense the true nature of that trap. I would have been in trouble without your skill and knowledge".
Vrindel follows the others in, and nods at Aterro as he stands vigil.
"We'll beckon you in a moment".
Spider-like, Scramsax takes to the cavern wall and its numerous hand and footholds. The halfling climbs and scrabbles his way along the wall, actually avoiding the more challenging ground of the ledge. The rest of the group, with the exception of Aterro, follow warily behind. Each navigating the narrow, rubble strewn ground with slow caution.
When Scramsax is nearly three quarters of the way around the big open pit, and the others about a third of the way, the rope and pulleys of the big wooden crane begin to turn and grind while from down below in the dark comes the clacking and clicking of gears turning.
Scram clicked his tongue along his teeth, a makeshift abacus calculating the depths as the usual digits gripped the cavern wall.
"Ah shit. Got less than a minute by the sound of it. Maybe we can slow it down or stop it..." he made his way over to the machine and immediately started to look for a way to halt the lift...
While the others continue to make slow progress along the ledge, the slow creek-creeking of the wheels echoes irritatingly through the cavern. Sparking up a torch, Scramsax hurries over to the crane, which he discovers is really something more like a two way lift. There's no obvious locking mechanism among the gears, but it'd be easy enough to jam a rock, bit of metal or something solid into the teeth to prevent further movement at least on a temporary basis.
Of course the halfling's eyes also notice the complete lack of protective coverings or guards for the rope. This oversight by the designer leaves open the more permanent and ruthless option of cutting said rope to insure nothing uses the lift for quite some time.