The tall elf shrugs one shoulder, laconically. "What's to study? I haven't met anything yet that's immune to an arrow through the eye."
"There are always things to study," the gnome counters.
Unable to get into the ruckus, Gull Peeper throws a dagger over Big Bumble Brunyarth and into the undead.
Gull's dagger embeds itself in the damaged undead's skull, and the creature lashes out one more time at Alak before collapsing, unmoving. The Hellknight armiger groans and clutches his wounds, barely managing to stay on his feet. Allandir scores a good hit on the second one while Bruynarth and Pril come up a little short.
After waiting until his companions have landed their blows at the wicked creature, Ervan ties together improbable math and the arcane to conjure forth a terrifying blast of pressurized water.
Nell moves up to attack the undead but fails to hit. Guided by Lucius's blessing, Ervan blasts the creature with a torrent of water, knocking it back against the wall. As it struggles to recover, Alak strides forward and slices it in two with his greatsword!
As the last undead creature in the crypts falls, the glowing runes on the wall vanish. Alak breathes heavily, leaning on his blade. "Good. That must have been the last one. I'm grateful I don't have to kill any more of my reanimated brethren."
The two open coffins contain halberds that glow when viewed with detect magic. The other coffins in here remain closed.
Alak winces at the suggestion, but he nods. "Very well. Just don't desecrate the bodies," the armiger requests. "Much as it pains me to disturb these tombs, I understand that any magical treasures you find here will help your cause."
Ervan is somewhat on Alak's side, but only because he doesn't care for desiccated remains. "Eh, we must be prepared for the possibility that they too have been reanimated. After all, while a necromancer might be to blame for what's going on, it might as well be a horrific event that has spurred these remains to haunt the living once more. So if you do open those coffins, please, be careful."
It takes a moment, but Gull Peeper's handed down skills aren't so rusty as they seem.
Nell hangs back, unsure how she feels about taking from dead people, but willing to defer to the others. She tucks her journal back into her pocket, the pages covered with notes about the creatures they've encountered down here, and waits with her hand on her blade while the coffins are unlocked.
Six lictors of the Order of the Nail were interred here; three of the name plates on the sepulchers are so old and tarnished that they’re unreadable, but the other three are still legible and bear the names Lictor Serafina DiViri, Lictor Rexinald Harvenskein, and Lictor Yorick Mellano.
Each of the coffins holds the intact body of a lictor, as well as a magical weapon. One of the coffins contains another magical halberd. The others contain a morningstar, a longsword, and a war flail.
Once the group has finished requisitioning the magical weapons, Pril heads back to the main hall.
"I say we try the southern door first," she says.
"I could use some healing before we press on much further, Father," Alak says to Lucius.
Pril opens the south door. This entry hall is still decorated with the remnants of homages to the Order of the Nail’s most storied deeds. Tall oil paintings, many of which are damaged but still recognizable, depict Hellknights gaining the upper hand in clashes with bandits, opposing armies, and terrible monsters.
Alak thumps a mailed hand to his armored chest. "Thank you, Father."
The wizard calmly observes how Lucius heals Alak and waits until they're done putting the knight back together before opening his mouth. "Is everyone ready to proceed? I understand that we've run out of favor with Abadar for today, so that's something worth keeping in mind. Perhaps it is best to be careful and call it a day for now. Combat, after all, taxes both the body and soul."
Allandír looks around to gauge the mood of his companions. "I am happy to continue, although I am aware that I speak as, ah, one who has not had to face considerable threat to life and limb."
Pril shrugs. "We can go back out the cave and return tomorrow," she offers.
She gives the elf an elbow to the thigh. "And I wouldn't say that you haven't faced any threats. If we all go down, they're coming after you next," she says with a grin. "Anyone would be quite happy to munch on an elf like yourself."
She thinks about what she said for a moment. "That came out wrong. Forget I said that," she says.
You head back to Breachill to take your rest, recovering from your ordeals beneath Citadel Alterein. Awakening refreshed, you trek back out to the keep to finish exploring the subterranean chambers.
Nell spends the evening cleaning the undead gunk from her armor and weapons, and then sits down to transcribe and compile her notes into a more pleasing narrative form, before eventually crawling into bed and sleeping soundly. She meets the party early the next morning, eager to follow this story to its conclusion.
She gives the elf an elbow to the thigh. "And I wouldn't say that you haven't faced any threats. If we all go down, they're coming after you next," she says with a grin. "Anyone would be quite happy to munch on an elf like yourself."
She thinks about what she said for a moment. "That came out wrong. Forget I said that," she says.
Allandír winces at the elbow. "Elves like myself aren't as robust as you."
He grins in a manner that suggests he is not simply going to forget she said that. "And anything that wants to, ah, munch on me has to catch me first... or at least, let me have dinner with them."
As they leave the fort and return towards civilisation, Allandír catches Bruynarth's eye, and the bear wanders off, towards the tree-line. The tall elf looks supremely unconcerned; and indeed, the next morning, the bear is waiting for them all at the same spot. He hruffs in a questioning tone; Allandír nods, and the bear falls in with the group as they re-enter the fort. The ranger keeps a wary eye out for any of the goblin tribe, hoping that they have the wit to keep their distance from the former captive.
He grins in a manner that suggests he is not simply going to forget she said that. "And anything that wants to, ah, munch on me has to catch me first... or at least, let me have dinner with them."
Pril covers her laugh with a cough, trying to keep the grin from her face.
"What are you suggesting?" the gnome asks, her hand going to her chest in feigned-innocence.
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Ervan blinks as if struck by lightning and turns away from the social exchange. While he has nothing against inter-species mingling, there's something about the idea of a gnome and an elf that bothers him. The measurements! They don't add up!!! screams a voice inside his head.
"Well, among other things, I'm inclined to avoid taking these pups into the tavern - at least for now." Alkandír gives a rueful smile. "All it takes is one idiot to see them for what they are and start a panic, and there goes our chance of raising them."
He gives Pril a sidelong glance. "Would you care to eat at home with me? I make no claim at being, ah, the world's best cook, but I can boil water without burning it."
Giving the gnome time to think about his offer, he retrieves Talitha from the hood of his cloak and lets her scamper around for a bit. "What do you think, little one? Does home sound like a good word to you?"
"Home! Good! Home!" barks the warg puppy, tail wagging happily.
Allandír smiles as he gently scoops the warglet up, turning her towards Pril. "There. How can you resist the power of the puppy-dog eyes? Hers, not mine," he adds, as if clarification were needed.
"At your home?" Pril repeats, raising an eyebrow at Allandír. She considers the offer for a bit.
"I would be happy to join you at your home ... for dinner," she says finally. "To be honest, I hope you're not planning on any ... dessert. I'm not ... ready for that ... yet." The woman's eyes turn sad and she looks away for a moment before turning back with her smile firmly in place. "Besides, you seem like a cake man and I'm more of a pie kinda girl."
"I understand perfectly. Dessert is for, ah, special occasions." Allandír gives the gnome a quietly understanding look. "Otherwise it ceases to be a treat, yes?"
"Besides, you seem like a cake man and I'm more of a pie kinda girl."
He looks Pril up and down. "I'm sure you could, ah, broaden my tastes. If you had a mind to do so."
"Down, Boy," Pril answers with a chuckle. "'Lead me to your domain', said the naive rabbit to the wolf."
She gestures for the elf to lead the way.
"If you could perhaps keep your dinner plans a little more private?" The Cardinal suggests gently. "Some of us prefer our deserts without a generous helping of subtext."
"Sorry, Cardinal," Pril says with genuine remorse. "I didn't mean to step on toes."
Lucius' words get a chuckle out of Ervan, but the wizard makes sure to keep well away from this particular argument.
Retracing your steps to the painting gallery, you head through the door at the far end. Toppled armor racks are scattered throughout this wide room, as well as anvils, hammers, tool sets, and other supplies that were once used to repair the Hellknight’s iconic armor.
"Some of us prefer our deserts without a generous helping of subtext."
Allandír raises an eyebrow at the Cardinal, querying his choice of phrase: "Oh, that isn't subtext - that's innuendo. Subtext is more subtle. Your, ah, point however is well made."
Afterwards, he spends some time showing Pril some basic animal training with their warg puppies. Crouching on the floor playing with the warglets allows him to be at the same eye-level as the gnome, which makes conversation much easier - at least, from his perspective.
At the end of the evening, he hesitates briefly. "You are, ah, welcome to keep Small Peeper here - I do not know how the innkeeper will take to a pet in your room, especially a warglet." He glances at the two pups, dozing quietly on a blanket in the corner of the room.
He shrugs. "It is up to you, of course. But the offer is there."
Allandír moves forward warily, keeping an eye out for trouble.
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"Elfs not good for munching, bones too small," Gull Peeper murmurs, not following the thread of the conversation.
They spend the night at the tavern, drinking away, and make sure to find the goblin what sent them on this quest to assure her that the Bumblebrashers are safe- for the most part.
She hops down from her chair and walks over to get down on the floor with the dozey pups. At her attention, they wake and scamper about her, the gnome laughing all the while. She rolls around as they climb over her and tug at her with their teeth. As she wrestles with one on her stomach the other grabs at the back of her tunic and pulls at it. This produces a squeal from the laughing monk as she reaches back to tug it back down.
Not before, however, the observing elf notices a glimmer of gold on the skin of her back.
"What are you doing sitting over there?" she asks with laughter. "One of these miscreants is yours, you know?"
Pril moves to the door that opens into the northern portion of this area. After waiting for Gull Peeper to check it for traps, she opens it.
As Pril walks up to the door, she suddenly finds herself floating in a mass of thick, viscous liquid! The liquid burns her flesh as she is stuck fast! You can just barely make out the transparent form of an enormous cube-shaped ooze that is engulfing the gnome!
Pril resists the creeping coldness that threatens to paralyze her and struggles to fight her way out of the substance.
She fails.
Allandír gives a rueful smile at Pril's suggestion he is trying to get her drunk. "Alas, I learned many years ago not to, ah, contest the drinking skills of gnomes or dwarves. I have no doubt you could outlast me. Besides, this is good wine. It is for drinking slowly and enjoying with a friend."
His amusement at Pril's mock fight with the pups is evident, although whose side he is on is perhaps less so: "Oh, good girls! Just as I showed you, one from the front and the other from behind." He strides in and plucks Talitha off the gnome, dropping the warglet into his lap and scritching behind her ears as she yips with delight. "Aren't you clever, such a quick learner!"
Seated cross-legged on the floor, he looks across at Pril. "I, unfortunately, still have much to learn, especially about the art of conversation. I am better with pointed arrows than I am at firing pointed questions. If you have something on your mind, I will gladly listen; but the art of, ah, prying has never been mine. Your secrets are safe unless and until you decide you want to share them."
Allandír blinks as the cube comes into view as if from nowhere. Before he can do anything, Pril is engulfed. His first instinct is to run forward and try to free her, but his training keeps him from doing anything so foolish. He instead looses a volley of arrows at the ooze.
Bruynarth rumbles forward and swipes at the cube with one claw.
"Give it everything you have!" To emphasize his instructions, Ervan raises his arms and tries to combine the tasks of figuring out what exactly this 'it' is while calling upon the mathematically impossible to wash away this gelatinous creature.
Pril struggles in vain to free herself, her skin sizzling as the acidic ooze melts it.
Nell strides forward and scores a hit on the ooze. Lucius enchants Alak's sword, and Allandir and Bruynarth each punch holes in the ooze's body.
The cubic ooze slams one of its faces at Nell, but she dodges its strike. Then it slithers forward to try to engulf her and Bruynarth!
Ervan recognizes the ooze as a gelatinous cube. Found underground or in dungeons, these quivering cubes of slime continuously scour their domain for food. They are immune to acid and resist electricity. The wizard blasts it with a torrent of water, pushing it back a few feet.
Alak moves up and slices into the cube with his enchanted greatsword! Chunks of protoplasm fly about the room, but the thing is still alive.
"Secrets?" she gasps in mock outrage. "Are you asking if the color is real?" Her hand reaches up to toss her short golden locks. "I'll have you know, Sir, that my color is completely natural. No secrets here!" Her gaze moves to the narrow strand of vivid purple that provides contrast.
"You might already know this, but if not... Did you know that gnomes' hair can come in almost literally any color or combination of colors? I met one who's hair was every color of the rainbow. Although, he confided in me later that the blue wasn't natural. He had to dye it to get the blue streaks." She laughs, seemingly warming to the subject.
"Our environment can influence it as well," she continues. "For example, if a gnome spends years in the forest, their hair can turn green. Strangely enough, it wouldn't have to be a muted foresty green, though. It could very well turn a bright lime. I guess the touch of the First World just has to come out larger than life."
Her voice grows softer and more wistful as she continues.
"It can also be influenced by ... people we're close to. Her hand moves again to take the purple strand and begins twisting it into a small braid. [b]"It's gotten smaller," she says as her hands move through the hair, weaving. "My fear is that someday it'll be gone completely. Like she never ..." The braid finished, she takes a deep breath and smiles at the elf.
"I'll tell you that story if you like, but it's not a happy one and I'll probably need a lot more wine I'm done. And you'll have a crying gnome to deal with and no one wants that."
Her skin burning like fire, Pril makes her last desperate struggle to escape the ooze.
With a final push, the gnome's small body gushes forth from the creature to sprawl across the stone floor, gasping for breath.
Ervan freezes as the realization strikes him that his much-beloved electric arc cantrip won't do much against the ooze and, with it possessing no mind, his other crutch, daze, is no good as well. He fiddles about with his satchel and after rummaging through it for a second or two, manages to conjure a bottle filled with liquid fire. "Turn your eyebrows away from it, Pril!"
The elf listens with interest to Pril's talk. "I wasn't aware of that, although we elves can, ah, do something similar in response to our environments; albeit at a much slower pace."
He picks up Talitha and strokes the warglet absently as he talks. "My first love - not my first lover, you understand, but my first love - grew up in the neighbouring town to mine. She was, ah, slightly older, nor more than a few decades or so and already known to be skilled in the magical arts. Everything I know of the aiudara I learned from her. She became a Riftwarden and travelled to what was then the Worldwound - this was thirty years or so ago." He sighs. "They never found her body, or those of her companions.."
There is a pause as he tries to remember the thread of the conversation. Ah, yes. "Anyway, the, ah point that I hope to make is that I have almost nothing of her to go by: no grave to visit, no keepsakes; even my memories of her are now uncertain; hazy. But what I do have, and will never lose, is what I learned from her. Not simply about magical matters such as the aiudara, but a way of looking at the world."
He gives a wry smile: "What I have not yet learned is how to, ah, deal with a crying gnome. So perhaps we should leave that for another time..."
The young bear growls ferociously as he is pushed forward by the ooze; he snaps at it twice with tooth and claw.
Allandír fires a volley of arrows, glad to be at a safe distance. "Pril - to me. Get clear of the thing."
As Pril manages to extract herself from the ooze, Gull Peeper stabs it twice with their dagger. Bruynarth bites the quivering mass, while Allandir embeds three arrows in its bulk. That seems to finally be too much for the cube to handle, and it collapses in on itself, melting into an enormous puddle on the floor.
Amidst the puddle are a few undigested bones of one the ooze's previous victim, as well as a fine-looking longbow. The ooze's acid has not damaged the wood.
Coughing and spitting in an attempt to clear the foul substance from her mouth and get a good breath of air, Pril manages to crawl over to where Allandír waits with a readied bow.
"That wasn't ... fun," she manages in a hoarse voice. "An experience that I ... have no wish ... to repeat."
She rests on the ground for a moment catching her breath.
Gull Peeper prods Pril, crouched low. "You okay, gnome? Need healing?"