"Take the time you need, Tuco. I'll keep an eye out for any reinforcements."
Daerokh takes up a position near the front of the group and looks into the darkness.
The Tailor fiddles around his pack, "Waits a tick." A sound of clanking comes from his hand as he pulls out two potions. "Soz 'dere. I plumb forgot."
The red lantern above the easternmost door glows.
Joie makes a face. ”I would hate to take so much for myself,” she says, considering. Usually, she’d take one to make it bearable and then be on bed rest for a couple of days while her jaw healed.
“A few days” wasn’t a luxury they were afforded right now, though, and as the most capable one here (in her opinion), she had to carry on.
She takes both. ”I will do my part to make sure no one else needs the ones we are missing on my account,” she states.
The Tailor hands them over and pats her own the shoulder, "Ain't no good to any of us dead. You ain't want tos be joinin' these 'ere guys, doubt theys be nearly as funs as us, tell you 'dat much."
"Damn straight, Tuco!" Daerokh calls back. "No sign of movement, so either they didn't hear that fracas or they're biding their time so we come to them."
Tuco nods, "Then les go. Ain't no time to let them make mores of 'em."
Deciding that Joie could make the best on her claim by taking point, the young man waited until the Nexian soldier decided to move, idly inspecting the doorway besides the glowing lantern to see if any traps had been left to welcome them.
Joie does just that—taking care to be cautious, of course.
Daerokh keeps close to Joie, battleaxe at the ready, his eyes darting around, cutting through the darkness in the way only a dwarf's eyes can.
The key assembled by the party fits in the red lantern door's lock with a *CLICK*. The door swings open.
The smell of rotting meat billows out to blanket the party when the door opens. Several half-eaten skeletons lie strewn about near a flight of crude stairs going into a hole in the floor.
Joie’s face turns along with her stomach as the smell hits her. It hasn’t smelled particularly good up to this point; the fact that it managed to get worse is impressive.
The stench washes over Tuco and he takes a brief moment with his hand up against a wall. "Smells like abattoir but worse."
"Guess we found their pantry," Daerokh comments. "Let's keep moving."
Jase turned rather pale as the stench of rot washed over him. Even more pale than usual. He gritted his teeth and prepared to follow Joie and Daerokh in, trying not to think too hard about what the dwarven man had just said.
Daerokh steps over to Jase.
"Easy, Jase. If you need a shoulder to lean on, I can help."
The reek of rotten meat gets weaker the further the party goes down the stairs. It's soon replaced with the cold chill of deep, dark stone and the sounds of dripping condensation. No light illuminates the rocky tunnel, though several torch sconces stand empty on either side.
The passage widens into an oval-shaped chamber. Several old broken tables and chairs lie strewn about, along with rusted iron pickaxes and shovels left to rot in the dark. Several tunnels branch off from this room, but most of them are choked with caved-in rubble. Only three are reasonably free enough of debris to traverse--one to the south, one to the east and one to the west.
The Tailor mustered his breath and walked down. Eventually the stench started to subside and there was an audible sound of relief coming from the half-orc. "Yous think yous have it bad... Oof." He stares at the ghoulish warrens, "Guess wes found it. I ain't gettin' ambushed so stay together ye?"
Daerokh glowers at the abandoned tools.
"Slaggin' shameful. Good tools should never be wasted in this way."
He takes a few sniffs and looks around. Then he points to the left passage.
"That seems to be where the smell's strongest. I'll take point."
He begins moving forward, slowly and quietly, making sure to give the others the space to keep up with him.
Jase patted Daerokh's arm appreciately when the dwarf spoke to him, resisting the urge to verbally deny that he was ill. Perhaps he'd get there one day, but his life so far had not prepared him for rotting corpses and the smell that accompanied them.
Following the others into the tunnels, the young man sniffed when the dwarf made his announcement, but all of it seemed to smell pretty stale and bad to him. Trusting Daerokh to make a good call, Jase nodded to Tuco when the half-orc mentioned not wanting to be ambushed, thinking that was a good call. As they started down the passageway, the swashbuckler had to force himself to walk upright, his natural inclination to crouch in the relatively tight confines.
He nods at Daerokh, "Ye, seems so." The half-orc cursed his keen nose under his breath but continued with the others, this was going to be dangerous and he knew full well it could end poorly. He kept his hands free, they lingered on the small bag that contained his components, he had prepared something for the undead but hoped that he didn't have to use it.
It was too dangerous to have this... pantry go up in smoke.
Joie is quiet.
None of this is good, obviously.
Perhaps it would have been wiser to return to the base, inform her superiors, get a troop of proper soldiers down here to flush the place out.
But it was too late now. If something was in here, hiding, waiting for them... well, it would surely move if they gave it the time.
But still...
She puts a hand on Daerokh's shoulder.
"If we find an enemy we don't have the discipline or equipment to battle, don't be afraid to retreat. I've seen enough to get a squad dispatched if we need it."
"Discipline?" Daerokh replies. He chuckles a bit. "Joie, I'm a dwarf. Torag forged discipline into us at the dawn of the world."
"If we do need to fall back, I'll be the first to say so, but if we turn back now, we give these things time to hunker down or worse, scatter and hide someplace else. Sure you'd agree that'd set our investigation back."
He gives her a confident wink.
Joie’s pupils flicker toward the rest of the group, as if to indicate who she’s more concerned about with regards to discipline.
She nods, though, in general agreement.
The half-orc is unaware of what they are talking about, but to survive on the harsh streets needed something more than discipline. It needed wits and grit and determination to do what needed to be done. He knew that better than most and steeled himself for whatever would come.
The trek through the abandoned mining tunnels is quiet, the smell of death coming and going with each step the party takes. The hairs on the backs of the party's magically-inclined members start to prickle and stand on end with the subtle twitching and pulsing of primal magic.
The silence is broken by a wet cough from further down the pitch-black tunnel.
"I hears a cough... Thinks wes found our culprit." Unfurling his rope whip, the half-orc prepares for the ghoulish serial killer.
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[auote=Dragoncat]
Faithe stayed with her companions as they made their way down and then into the tunnels. The stench was astounding, the smell of things rotting, and she was sure it was the foul stench of undeath that made it all the worse. The only good thing was it was easily dark enough that he felt the shadows begin to take her, envelope her in their cool embrace, and she kept her scythe ready and eyes sharp as they went ever closer to their foul quarry.
When they heard the wet coughing sound Faithe nodded in agreement with Tuco and said very softly, "I believe you are right." Her scythe at the ready and the bones comprising her armor mended from the previous battle Faithe prepared to advance around the corner to where the apparent killer lurked as quietly as possible.
Joie gets into a stance that helps cushion her footfalls, keeping her weapon out and her center of gravity low.
When everyone is ready, she quietly creeps forward with anyone else that wants to sneak.
Daerokh doesn't say anything, but nods quietly and begins sneaking with the others.
Seeing that everyone started to creep forward after they heard the disgusting cough from up ahead, Jase bent over slightly and started trying to stealth along with them. Although he made a respectable effort, he was more used to walking with swagger, and it showed.
Alorea glides down the corridor, quiet as a breeze.
The party creeps down the tunnel, quieter than they've ever been. The tunnel eventually widens out into what was once some sort of meeting chamber, filled with the broken remains of old tables and chairs. Mine cart tracks crisscross the width of the room, with a couple of overturned mine carts blocking entrance to a couple of the other mining tunnels branching away from the room.
Crouched next to a scattered pile of books is a pale, bald and gaunt figure in well-oiled black leathers. A pair of short swords of fine make hang from its belt. It appears to be engrossed in something, and does not appear to have noticed anyone entering the room.
Daerokh raises a fist to indicate the rest of the party to stop behind him. Then he looks back at them, points in the direction of the crouched figure and makes a slicing motion across his throat, a questioning expression in his eyes.
Joie shakes her head and raises her dan bong. She raises her dan bong to her throat instead, then points to the mystery figure.
Daerokh nods, and allows Joie to pass.
Joie closes her eyes for a moment.
She plays over how to move in her mind, where to pry with her dan bong.
She slips forward, reaching out—
And, if she’s successful, turns this person from a guy with full control of his limbs into a guy with... not that so much.
Daerokh made the motion to the others, and Jase hesitated for a moment before remembering that this creature was not a person at all, likely. He started to nod, but was preempted by the soldier, who slipped forward quietly towards the thing. The young man made a note of her supple figure as she snuck forward, only because one day he might be leading a revoluation against Nex, of course. He gripped his weapon tightly, ready to spring forward should things go awry.
Joie creeps up on the crouching figure--and manages to easily grab them by the arm. The figure lets out a startled roar and wrenches its stinking, putrescent arm forward, preventing the soldier from establishing a pin!
Joie wordlessly pivots—
—and forces her target into an ineffectual lock.
”If you are sentient, speak now and you will establish your basic rights under Nexian law. If you remain silent you acquiesce these rights and will be treated as any common undead,” she says; her dictation is methodical and practiced.
There's a *CRACK* as Joie forces the rigor mortis-afflicted arm into an uncomfortable position.
"OW! F@@!!" The ghoul cries out.
Tuco approaches, but allows the undead to speak.
"She be serious yous knows."
The white glow comes off his hands as he moves in.
"G!#$$!mit, I can think and speak for myself!" The ghoul growls.
Daerokh blinks in surprise at Joie's effective and efficient move.
"Slag, that's impressive, Joie!"
He hangs his axe from his belt and gets out his pelletbow, loading it in the event that the ghoul broke free of Joie's grip.