Having made a make-shift tower shield from a door and returned the Constable’s Príosún, the group enters the main room finding three bodies on the main floor. One body was that of the local militia that had turned undead. The other two appear to be the corpses of the City Command from Haemil. Two over turned chairs are on either side of the main doors. A desk and chair sit undisturbed to the east. Along the north wall is a locked cabinet. A low bench with manacles and ankle-irons attached to the wall sits along the southern side of the room.
An iron-bar door sits along the south wall. Two small cells with iron-bar doors are on the west side of the main room. A lone zombie dressed in black leather armor snarls from the right cell.
Using the makeshift tower shield, the group positions themselves to use the long spears and slay the undead locked in the cell. As the zombie explodes, both of the ladies are able to slip behind the door avoiding the flying flesh. Using the keys found on the militia, the group opens the cells and searches them thoroughly finding nothing of note. Sifting through the remains of the zombie, you find an empty scabbard for a dagger and a black leather belt pouch.
The pouch is attached to the belt with three, separate metal rings. Closer examination of the belt reveals that the belt is made of two leather strips sewn together over a hidden mesh of chainmail made from the same silvery metal. A buckle made of the same metal holds the belt secure. Try as she might, Maria is unable to unclasp the belt as an intricate locking mechanism is disguised within the buckle. Handling the pouch, it appears to be empty. However, this cannot be confirmed as no opening is discernible.
Searching the larger, open room. The group finds a prisoner log inside the desk. Only the first five pages have notations on them, dating back to a few weeks before the Shaping. Flustered by her earlier attempts to unclasp the belt, Maria's shaking hands are unable to open the cabinet.
"What is that?" Akula asked Maria, nodding at the belt.
Toraim whispers a short prayer and studies the belt as well, albeit from afar to allow Maria and Akula to have a good look at it...
Yilsdaë lounges with her spear waiting for tidings.
"The belt is magic. The pouch too," Akula said.
Toraim raises an eyebrow when Akula claims that there is magic where he sees none. Nonplussed, he turns his attention to the prisoner log, perusing it to see if there were notables in the prison, and then to the cabinet, breaking it open with a simple touch and peering inside...
Toraim rifles through the pages of the prisoner journal. No names stick out to him as anything meaningful or recognizable. Most crimes noted were robbery, burglary and disturbance of the peace. However, the most recent entry, on the day of the Shaping, provides no notation of why the person was detained. He also notes that one prisoner's entry, dated four days prior to the Shaping, was for murder. The prisoner was to be executed upon "the Constable's return". Another prisoner was caught burglarizing a home in the Estates and is awaiting the Constable's return for sentencing.
Toraim then reaches out and takes hold of the cabinets handles. Through the divine power of Valthyra, the lock shatters nad the doors swing open. Inside, a wooden shelf holds four small glass vials holding a clear liquid. Two other, larger flasks are filled with liquid, a deep red and pale green. Several sacks hang from hooks below the shelf with one buldging with its contents. Inside the large sack, the group finds a well crafted dagger with an ornate handle and a small wooden tube capped with wax and stamped with a runic seal.
Still calling upon Valthyra's sight, Toraim examines the small glass vials, along with the larger flasks. Then, he turns his attention to the dagger to ascertain who it might have belonged to and who might have forged it, and to the wooden tube to study the rune.
Unlike most noble elves, the mysteries of the Ether were closed to Ysildaë. She is curious about what they are discovering, but she is also patient. They will tell her in time.
In the meanwhile, she keeps watch.
Toraim shifts a discerning eye towards the smaller vials and immediately recognizes the four healing potions. However, the identity of the larger flasks, while clearly containing magical concoctions, stump the dwarf.
Grunting heavily, the forgemaster turns his attention to the construction of the dagger, a field in which he is imminently more qualified. The swirling pattern of the folded metal of the blade is reminiscent of the techniques taught within his own guild, but the skill is rudimentary. Only an early apprentice would make such a loose swirl. A master would do much better. However, the intricate work on the handle is brilliant. The grip, itself, appears as a scaly leather. Two fangs extend from the cross-guard, inset within the fuller along the flat of the blade on either side. Two small emeralds are set in the pommel. Looking closer, Toraim notices a small pinhole at the tip of either fang. Following the engraving of the fang back, he sees them intertwine as they wrap around the grip and connect to the pommel. With a slight twist the cap of the pommel, it compresses down and pops off the handle. A short, sharp prick extends from the inside of the cap. The dwarf peers down at the handle to see that it is hollow with a thin glass tube filled with black fluid.
Finally, picking up the small, wooden tube. It does not emit an aura. The symbol stamped into the wax means nothing to the dwarf.
"Poison," the dwarven smith explains to his companions, showing them the clever mechanism. "The prisoner log alludes to a murderer. Perhaps this was his blade? In any case, it won't do us much good against the undead."
With that, he puts away the dagger and gives them each a small vial, "these healing potions will be more useful."
Then, he hands Maria the flasks, "what do you make of these?"
As she inspects the flasks, Toraim commits the symbol on the seal to memory and breaks it to read the scroll inside...
Maria inspects what Toraim handed her, and after a brief moment hands them back. She begins to speak and coughs, shuddering.
"Its..."
Breaking the seal on the tube, Toraim opens it and finds a scroll that reads: "Comán, We are journeying to the Vale with members of our extended family from the east and hope to remain in your fine city for a time. Please make arrangements for our visit as we may need as many as 40 beds. We should arrive not long after the start of Autumn although our friends from Greyton may arrive sooner. Our cousin from the high lands will be most pleasantly surprised by our visit. Please ensure that our secret is safe with your family until we are able to lovingly embrace him. "
As the dwarf reads the letter, Maria sniffs the contents of the two larger flasks but is baffled with their contents.
"Should we not brave forwards with shield and spears?"
Akula moved into formation, ready to push on.
"Indeed we should," the dwarven priest agrees, "but this is of some importance and we will need to discuss it further when the time is right."
Having spoken plainly, he places the scroll back in the tube and slips the tube into his sash. Then, he nods, ready to proceed with cleansing the prison. He speaks and short prayer and grabs the wall shield...
Using the keys they found, the group enters the middle hallway and dispatches of three more zombies using the makeshift shield and thrusting their longspears through the iron bars of the heavy door. All three of the undead appear to have been part of the militia prior to their turning. Each wears some simple, studded leather armor and have swords at their sides. Nothing they own appears magical to those that peer into the ether. The group finds a total of 6 gold and 15 silver pieces among the guards' posessions.
The rooms to either side of the hallway contain a table and chair. Each also has a pair of iron bound doors on the opposite wall as the entrance. The door at the far end of the hallway stands slightly ajar.
The elven noble woman is pleased by the results of their chosen tactics even if it lacks some elegance.
"May we not continue to the far larger room to secure both exterior exits?"
"That should be good, lets make sure we know what we're running into though."
"Good idea," Akula agreed. "I love that we aren't getting blown up and showered with gore anymore."
"Is there any good reason not to just... cut this body in half to remove the belt?" she asked. The orc in her was prone to brutally pragmatic solutions, but she'd learned humans often frowned on such things. She'd learned to ask first.
It was a brutal suggestion, but Ysildaë could find no fault in it. Bones are not a person. She nods.
Toraim looks at them with incredulous eyes and shakes his head, "these people have suffered enough! It may come to such a brutal solution, but we should at least do all that we can to allow the dead some measure of respect! Let's not forget that these monsters – all of them – were not long ago our kinsmen, our brethren, our friends!"
Toraim doesn't insist, however. The dwarf grabs the wall shield and turns his back to them, taking position by the door and waiting...
"She does not propose that we punish them. She is practical. These bodies will be burned. They spread disease. Far wiser she is than carrying them around town."
"We'll deal with it on our way out?" the stubborn dwarf proposes, his eyes steadily on the door, ready to do battle...
Ysildaë is a stubborn as any dwarf. Where he imagines himself stone, she is water. Slap the water and it moves, but it also flows back into place. She shrugs. Akula, can and will do what she pleases in this matter.
Akula couldn't find any reason not to wait. The magic belt didn't open, so it wasn't really a help to them anyway.
"Alright." She shouldered up with Toraim and let him move them forward.
"Wait!" Maria raises her hand, looking at the dwarf's distaste for the plan.
"Toraim, if this is so objectional to you, I could more delicately remove the belt, perhaps. Remove the minimum of flesh and bone. I have steady hands and a knowledge of anatomies, and since this person is already long gone, at the worst we could attempt your plan, Akula."
"That sounds... worse," Akula said, her face furrowing in concern. One quick cut to bisect a corpse was somehow more reasonable to her than carving away rotting flesh like a deranged butcher. "We won't be able to figure out what it is until we leave here anyway. Toraim's right. It isn't necessary right now."
"How is it worse? Is our goal not to maximize the integrity of the body for burial purpose? Burying halves of a person leads to questions about effective arrangement, such as judging if it should be arranged aesthetically such that the body resembles itself or by efficiency by placing the lower half against the upper half."
Maria shifts uncomfortably, unsure of why Akula is upset by her suggestion.
Maybe she thinks that its better with the second method? She knows more about the ideal structure of graves in situations of crisis, I'm sure.
Ysildaë fights off the urge to giggle uncontrollably. Each of these plague ridden corpses would be burned. What is it the state they go into the flame?
"I don't know, something about it just doesn't seem right," Akula shrugged, struggling to put her feelings into words. "Lets just deal with it later."
Toraim nods, speaks a dwarven prayer, and steps into the next room, his shield ready...
Muttering and invocation to Valthyra, the dwarf moves into the southern room to find a round dining table encircled by a half dozen wooden chairs. Another pair of chairs sit cocked in the corner next to a side bar with a ceramic pitcher and a few wooden mugs sitting atop it. A pair of double doors upon the southern wall stand open to the outside. Along the east wall a single door is ajar. Next to it a wooden cupboard sits undisturbed. It's right-hand doors is open, revealing several shelves of wooden plates, bowls and larger platters.
The sound of light footfalls comes from beyond the door to the east.
Not wasting any time to get into position and assuming that his companions will follow promptly, Toraim quickly moves to block to door to the east...
The elven woman moves to back up the dwarf with her long spear.
The dwarf leaps foward, blocking the east door with his large door-shield. Ysildaë shuffles next to him, positioning her spear over his shoulder. As the elf gets into position, Toraim hears the low grumble of canine growl beyond the now closed door.
"Ready?" Toraim queries his companions. When they are ready, he pulls open the door and holds his shield to block the way while allowing their long spears to strike at whatever creature looms on the other side...
Ysildaë uses her spear to lift the latch on the door.
As Toraim steps back, Ysildaë unlatches the door and the dwarf pulls it open. He immediately steps back towards the open doorway to block the exit with his massive shield. The silence is broken by a deep growl followed by several barks. Yet, nothing approaches the doorway to stab.
Toraim peeks around the shield and into the room. In the far corner, a malnourished husky stands weakly, growling at the dwarf. Its fur is matted and dried blood coats its muzzle.
Toraim studies the sickly dog, trying to ascertain with certainty if it is alive or undead...
Akula looked heartbroken. She immediately started digging a pouch of orcish trail rations out of her pack.
The dog looks very much alive to Toraim as it barks and growls instinctively. Akula takes a good look at its condition and agrees. The dog is alive but severely weak and agitated.
Orcish trail rations were mostly just dried meat and flour rolled into preserving leaves. Akula opened two of them up and tossed the meaty middle in front of the dog.
Then she said "Anyone have a bowl?"