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Since the beginning of history, the mortal world has measured time in ages. Ages of Legend, of Enthronement, and even of Anguish mark the human tally of years, giving a sense of order to the events of past centuries. Over one hundred years ago, another Age was meant to begin—an Age of Glory for humankind, for Avistan, an Age marked by Aroden's return.
But it never came. The anointed date arrived, and Aroden did not. His clerics were called upon to explain it, but you might as well call upon a telescope to explain why a star has gone out. Prayers were answered with silence. The empires Aroden had molded into being crumbled. Many of the old gods were cast aside, for not one could explain what had happened. Prophecy was slain, and the Age of Lost Omens had begun.
A century passed. Mortals found new gods, or new names for old gods, or some combination of the two. Empires crumble or fall into hollow ruin, but Varisia has never had any use for empires, and so the Chelaxians and Taldans are not missed.
No town has exemplified the shift more than Diamond Lake. The pristine, near-crystalline body of water came under focus nearly one hundred and fifty years ago for the many ancient tombs dotting the Cairn Hills around it. An outpost sprouted up of adventurers, tomb robbers, treasure hunters. As the years went by, cairn after cairn was picked clean of relics. By the time of Aroden's death, the town was dying, too. The town would have collapsed had coal and silver deposits not been discovered in some of the old tombs, and so Diamond Lake became a mining town.
Over the last century, the lake has become more and more polluted, the fish within mutated and borderline inedible. The town has followed suit. Corruption has seeped into every crack in Diamond Lake's crumbling pavement. It is oft-said that there are two kinds of people found in the mining town of Diamond Lake: Those who have arrived disgraced, broken, seeking a fresh start in a town that will accept them as they are...and those who've come to take what little the former have left.
It is also said that one Age has yet to occur—the last prophecy still intact, the final fate for a world left sick and infected without its Living God. Golarion draws near an age of rot, of decay, and of writhing doom. Madmen and seers rave about it drawing nearer by the day. The Harrow has become obsessed with it, scarce able to perform even simple readings without whispers of writhing doom emerging from the cards. Monsters rasp its name in the fell tongue of Aklo with fear and excitement dripping from their jaws. Astrologers, diviners, and the servants of Fate believe that the Age of Worms may begin at any time.
The wisest among them fear that it has already begun.
The entire town stinks of sweat, beer, and despair on this warm summer day. But it's just another day in Diamond Lake.
In the perfumed arcade known as the Emporium, a drunken Governor-Mayor Lanod Neff rubs shoulders with petty heirs and heiresses awaiting appointments in the Veiled Corridor. Several of the less pleasant among them peek out the windows and holler catcalls at a passing elven woman down below. She ignores them, pulling her hood down slightly. She has no time for such nonsense at the moment. A floor below, a gaggle of grasping miners presses against the windowed door of a darkened cell, impatient for a glimpse of a two-headed calf. Many of the poorer patrons are using hard-won days off from their abusive employers to come here and have some fun. This is their idea of it.
Out in the street, a gang of rowdies screams obscenities at a crumpled halfling, kicking it as if scrambling for a ball. Their drunken laughter echoes off shuttered windows and booted doors, but peters out when they notice a heavily-armored dwarf coming their way. The gang scatters. His symbol of a sword embedded in a mountaintop might be wooden, but his greatsword and axes are not. The halfling crawls into an alleyway, leans against a wall, and pulls out a wad of something medicinal.
Across the polluted lake, an ancient tomb stands decorated with vivid green tapestries, colorful mint gardens growing atop it. Symbols of Wee Jas and Pharasma are carved above the entrance, though the latter has recently been vandalized to make the swirling spiral look like a very oddly-shaped item of human anatomy. From the Cult of the Lady of Mint emerges an out-of-breath woman in black, her purple cloak billowing behind her in the mind breeze as she races to catch the Jasidians' morning ferry into town. She's running very late.
Off the northeastern corner of town, a woman dressed quite like a ranger or druid rides a sleek warhorse. The horse pauses as it passes the Moonmeadow Mine, sniffing the air. After a moment, it lets out an uneasy whinny and hurries along, cringing under the baleful glare of a pale yellow-haired elf sitting by the mine entrance.
Up about fifty yards ahead of her, just out of sight thanks to the shape of the hills, a tall woman in a red riding habit and matching sun hat makes her way northeast. The Company Road here is littered with smashed wine and whiskey bottles, along with the occasional broken vial that likely once contained less wholesome substances, and her riding boots make unpleasant crunching noises every time she picks a less-than-cautious step.
At a crumbling old homestead further along the same road—the rendezvous point for the motley crew that is assembling, just an hour or two away from the Whispering Cairn—patiently waits a lean, muscular man with an oft-broken nose and the garb of a soldier. He sits on an old stool and... waits. He didn't expect to be the first one here.
So you had many reasons to accept Briar's invitation when she came by. She seems like a genuinely nice person, and you're a little starved for nice persons at the moment. Plus, it's a nice small group—that bard of Wee Jas you've seen around town, some miner fellow who grew up here with Kata. Maybe you can make some friends. At any rate, you're trapped in Diamond Lake until you can raise the money to venture north to the Lurkwood, and your ancestral estate. The promise of massive profits is... well, appealing, to say the least.
Allustan has implored you to bring back copious notes, as well as any relics you find that he can examine. You've found it strangely easy to decipher many of the relics he has in his study, and both you and he wonder why. It's not Elven, that's for sure. So why does the language seem to flow so easily through your mind?
Quietly, there's more than one reason you're so eager to tag along. The whispers that trail around you seem very keen on something beneath Diamond Lake. You can't shake the sense that Gorum wants you to venture underground, and... perhaps the Whispering Cairn is what he means.
She probed at your amusement, and you got to talking about the Cairn, and about the Cairn you happen to know of that actually is still unlooted. And the more you and she talked, the more you got to thinking. Nobody's ever looted the Whispering Cairn in full. Why shouldn't you? I mean, if anyone has a right to the contents of that Sarenrae-forsaken hole in the ground...
You brought up your idea to her. Briar seemed reluctant at first, but you managed to persuade her. You decided to bring Broccan into the mix as well—an experienced miner would be helpful to have along, and you've known Broccan through Caith since you were kids, so he's probably not out to betray your plans to Auric's Warband, or anyone else, for that matter. The town's been making you nervous lately. Auric's Warband aren't the only strangers in town: There's a rather uppity elf woman who's arrived quite recently, always hanging around Allustan or the Ellival residence. Plus, that strange pale-skinned sorceress with the jet-black hair who's been clinging to Balabar Smenk like a lamprey. Ilthane the Black. What do all these strangers want in town?
Of course, they aren't the real reasons you've been uneasy lately. You know that.
The three of you set the date: The 13th of Arodus, eight in the morning, you'd meet up at the old homestead the kids of Diamond Lake used to use as a hideout and clubhouse. There should be enough ancient treasures in the old cairn to see the three of you all the way to Katapesh. All the way to... wherever you want to go. All the way to Not Here.
A few days ago, Edrukk, an unusually friendly dwarf who fixes up your armor and tools from time to time, gave you a surprising invitation: Apparently, he, a sturdy fellow named Broccan he'd just introduced you to, and that cultist bard, Kata Coszma, were going on an outing to the old Whispering Cairn. Four hands were better than three, after all.
You were taken aback that he'd thought of you, but excited at the prospect. This seems like a good crew, too. Kata has a good reputation around town, and Broccan, well, you've heard the accounts. Kullen's crew likes to push around Bronzewood Lodge members whenever they come into town. You've never heard of anyone standing up to him before.
After stocking up on tools and provisions, you set off first thing in the morning. You pray the dwarf wasn't exaggerating the potention earnings, and that this expedition bears fruit. With any luck, you can earn the cash on this job to finally get out of this town, out of this whole region, and to the big city you've dreamed about for years. Anywhere but here will do, but Magnimar beckons.
Zalamandra knows what you did. You can tell—she hired you a little too eagerly after what happened, and she knows. She's being nice so far, but you don't trust the rakshasa tiefling as far as you can throw her. This is bad. Secrets held by Zalamandra are commodities like any other. You don't have money to keep her quiet, nor to get out of town. You don't have time to decipher the book. But opportunity knocks on strange doors.
Strangers have come to town of late. Most recently, a pale woman with long straight hair the color of a starless night, who's cozied up to Balabar Smenk like a sly, slippery eel. Her name is Ilthane the Black, and apparently she's some manner of alchemist or wizardess. More importantly, however, a group calling themselves Auric's Warband has shown up—adventurers from Magnimar, apparently, keen on looting the Stirgenest Cairn and bragging about it to anyone they meet. You mentioned this offhandedly to Kata, and she laughed. According to her, the Stirgenest Cairn has been empty for years, and contains only, well, stirges now. The only cairn in town that's not been looted is...
She trailed off. But you pried a little further. There was something else, you could tell, something she didn't particularly want to talk about. You didn't like prying, but this was important. She eventually revealed that there was another tomb. The Whispering Cairn. Unlooted, but very dangerous. You can tell Kata has some memories there. You convinced her that it would be worth trying your luck there, and importantly, you convinced her it was her own idea. You're putting a crew together: Kata, some stalwart fellow named Broccan you've never met, and, of your own volition, you've also recruited a bright-eyed elven woman you met while visiting Allustan's for translation advice. She seems eager to help, and she doesn't seem to have a lot of friends in town—which both makes you feel good about helping her and safer about bringing her on board. Best to keep a job like this discrete. Ideally, Zalamandra doesn't have to have any idea where the lot of you are headed.
A nice, simple four-way secret. Easy to keep.
The town's been making you nervous lately. The adventurers aren't the only strangers in town: A strange pale-skinned witch with jet-black hair has been following at Balabar Smenk's heel like a stalking mountain cat. Chillblain the Dark, or something like that. What do all these strangers want with a wretched town like Diamond Lake?
Just you and Kata seemed like a rather small team, so you decided to bring in a friend of yours, Edrukk Thorvirgunson. He, in turn, recruited a ranger from the Bronzewood Lodge named Rosella. Four is a safer group size than two, after all. Today, first thing in the morning, you're all set to meet up at the old homestead the kids of Diamond Lake used to use as a hideout and clubhouse.
It looks like you're the first one here.
A rather nice map of Diamond lake. A less-nice map with a key.
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Dancer had not been happy with the decision to leave the Bronzewood Lodge behind. Some days neither was Rosella.
She rides on with a polite inclination of her head towards Ellival. Rosella had been hoping to be able to say goodbye to Ava, but she must be working somewhere else today. Which is fine, she'd told Ava about the plan the same day she'd decided to go. If Rosella's not back in a week she'll write to the Lodge and let them know of her presumed death.
(Mount a rescue party? Of course not. Ava may be her friend, but if Rosella gets in over her head that's her own fault. Nature can be harsh.)
Hopefully it won't come to that. Rosella might actually be safer on this expedition than she has been on her solo excursions through the hills. Edrukk knows what he's doing; she's personally helped him with his archery and he's already pretty damn good. He's probably even better with his preferred weapons. She hasn't seen Broccan fight outside of the bouts at the Feral Dog, but that's enough to know he can pack quite a punch. Not to mention take one; she's still impressed that he survived a greataxe to the torso.
Then there's Kata, the one putting this whole expedition together. Rosella knows her by reputation, but has never approached. (Quite frankly she finds the self-confident woman to be rather intimidating.) It's hard to imagine the slender Pharasman out in the wilderness, and harder still to imagine her fighting anything. But she's certainly not stupid. If she couldn't handle herself, she wouldn't be going.
These musing are cut short when Rosella sees the homestead in front of her. She's not the first to arrive, but at least it's Broccan out in front rather than Kata.
Riding up to the homestead is a muscular woman atop a chestnut horse. The horse is fastidiously clean, mane and tail both free of tangles and with surprisingly little dirt anywhere on its body. The woman on the other hand has several smudges already showing on her cheeks, arms, and hands, (possibly obtained while grooming the aforementioned horse). Her dark hair is chopped short. Her outfit is predominately brown in color, with the pelts used for her armor blending into the clothing underneath.
"Hey Broccan! You the first one here?" Rosella eases Dancer to a stop in front of the waiting man and hops off her horse. "I was a little worried I'd be late; took a brief detour by the Moonmeadow mine. Not mention my girl here gets antsy without at least an hour of currying." Dancer snorts as if to refute this claim.
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Broccan checks his gear, starting with his pack, then his pouch, then his bandolier, and finally his weapons. With the last, he decides keen edges wouldn't hurt before starting out. He retrieves his whetstone, and sets to work on his short sword, meticulously honing the blade and then the saw teeth on the back side. Once he is satisfied with his work, he starts on the blade of his hand axe, again meticulously grinding every burr and nick from the edge.
"Pa always said t' start the day with yer gear'n tip-top, if ye can," he mutters to himself.
"Hey Broccan! You the first one here?" Rosella eases Dancer to a stop in front of the waiting man and hops off her horse. "I was a little worried I'd be late; took a brief detour by the Moonmeadow mine. Not mention my girl here gets antsy without at least an hour of currying." Dancer snorts as if to refute this claim.
"Aye, Rosella. Yeah, I'm th'one oos use'ly first at th' mine in th' mornins. Don' wanna get turn'd away'n miss m' pay fer the day, y'know?"
Broccan half-looks up from his work and smiles, though his eyes never meet Rosella's.
"Th' rest'll be 'long shortly 'spect."
Broccan looks down and resumes his work, and appears to be muttering to himself:
"Well'I get'up o'fore th' sun'n go t'work at dawn. I got n'time fer livin' once'a work'n day is done. Seems t'me a bett'r life is somethin' I will' nev'r make, long as I'm diggin' coal down und'r Diamon' Lake."
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This really, really is not the kind of work that Briar is accustomed to. Working with a team, delving dungeons, but strange times make strange bedfellows, and nobody knows that better than a Jaded Jenny. It is a big risk, especially with four people involved, and she's more of a planner than a chancer, but there's not much to be done.
As she comes into sight of the old homestead, she spies not just the presumed Broccan, but a woman next to a horse. And she looks ready for an expedition. Well ain't that just grand. Splitting five ways now it seems. She is...less than pleased by this news, but there's not much she can do about it now. As she walks closer, she notes that the woman has a nice bow and looks rather buff, so at least she's ready for a scrap. A shame she's not 10 years older, as she'd be one of Briar's types.
Either way, best not to let anyone notice her displeasure. she puts on a smile and picks up a little bit of a jig as she picks up the man's singing.
"Howya, pleasure to meet both a' ya. Broccan, I presume. And who's this fine lady?" She curtsies for Rosella. "Another for the cairn?"
Broccan looks up, clearly confused. "Uh, yeah, er yeah. M' name's Broccan. Er, are y' a friend o' Kat's?"
After a moment, he realizes he's being an unmannered lout again. "This'ere's Rosella. She'sa friend o' mine'n Edrukk."
Rosella looks up in confusion at the new arrival. She hadn't been expecting anyone other than Kata or Edrukk, and the change in plans makes her nervous. "Um, yes." She briefly thinks about curtseying, discards the thought, considers offering her hand before remembering how dirty it is, and settles on a nod almost identical to the one she'd given Ellival earlier. "I'm Rosella, like Broccan said. Edrukk invited me? But, um...I thought it would just be me and Edrukk and Broccan and Kata. Who are you? If you don't mind me asking."
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Briar does not show it, but she is both a little surprised and a little peeved that Kata clearly didn't pass on the info as to who was going. "I'm hearin' a lot of miscommunication all round. I invited someone myself, so by my count, we can expect six. Can't say I'm not a little hurt Kat didn't mention me." She's actually not hurt at all, and in fact is pleased at Kat's discretion, but it's more fun to play it this way, isn't it? "Why, I was the one she first mentioned the idea to. Could say we cooked it up together. Name's Briar, Briar Vervain." She tips her hat to Broc and offers her hand Rosella. "Professional Calistrian and dancer by trade, though I'm not on the clock now of course. I'm a good union girl so I don't work outside Jenny's Guild hours." As she chats, she sizes up the two others. Archer perhaps and some muscle? That Kat has a right deadly eye for help. At least they can handle themselves. "Bit of a chemist, too, if you ever need a drop a' somethin' on the down low." She tilts her head to one side and her grin to the other. "Got a few more tricks in case we run into trouble in there, but you'll have to wait and see for those."
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The entire town stinks of sweat, beer, and despair on this warm summer day. But it's just another day in Diamond Lake.
And in the meantime, she might as well keep busy, and what she has been able to glean from hushed conversations on evenings out – overheard, since the locals seem an unfriendly lot, not that she can particularly blame them, under the circumstances – seems more serious to her than it does to her host. True, she doesn’t know this Nogwier, but druids need to have a sound head on their shoulders, so if they’re worried that something’s prowling about…
She shakes her head, her pace carrying her along the Vein almost as quick as her racing thoughts, her pulse. She cuts cross-country to the Company Road, where she’s to meet the others, one eye out for the Moonmeadow house. She doesn’t exactly give it a wide berth – she refuses to be intimidated – but he’s a nasty little sprite, and she doesn’t need a scene first thing.
Meeting Briar was a stroke of luck. She, at least, seems nice, and she’s a Calistrian, which is reassuring, compared to the dour faiths that dominate the town. Speak of the devil – Alaïs spots a familiar red riding coat up ahead, whose wearer is in conversation with two unfamiliar faces. Making introductions it seems, as far as she can tell at her distance.
She makes sure to make enough noise as she approaches that she doesn’t just appear out of the blue, and adds a cheery, “Oh, hello, Briar! Fancy meeting you here!”
Alaïs doesn’t quite curtsey to acknowledge the others, in her informal attire of the burnished scale mail that gleams darkly beneath her simple, but well-woven cloak, but she tilts her head and offers a hint of a bow with a small, self-deprecating smile. “You must be the Broccan that Kata was telling Briar about.”
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Rosella looks nervously at the dirt on her hand for a second before taking Briar's. "To be perfectly honest I don't know if Kata's expecting me. Like I said, Edrukk invited me. Seemed to think you all could use an extra hand." She feels a little guilty for throwing Edrukk under the bush like that, but he's the primary reason she's in this situation right now so he can deal with it.
The newcomer definitely isn't Kata, which implies she's the one Briar invited. "Um, hi. I'm Rosella. Archer." She's starting to get a little tongue-tied with all the people here she didn't expect. Wait. Elvish, noble-looking...
"Are you the one who's been pissing Ellival off lately?" She blushes furiously as she realizes she said that out loud. "I mean, my friend works for him, and he's been in a foul mood the past few days, and..." Earth please swallow me now.
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Running along the pier, Kata hoisted her backpack onto her back and groaned. She'd intended to purchase the rest of the things on Broccan's list - rope, something called a piton, other explorer-y things - before setting out for the Cairn this morning , but there just wasn't time for it now. Her other hand gripped her longspear, and she used to keep time as she ran, a kind of metronome/walking stick, clunk clunk clunk. Ah well, good thing she'd reached out to her childhood friend. There was no way the miner would be so unprepared.
Out of town and onto the path to the Cairn, Kata slows and her boots crunch on the earth with each satisfying step, and out here, like at the Lady of Mint's tomb, you can hear the birds, even in the now late morning, chattering among the trees. Kata balances her spear on the other side of a downed tree and hops over it, catching sight of her wrist under the cloak, spurring memories of her mother. Her mother always said she had her father's wrists, small, birdlike, and possessing surprising strength. Kata plants her longspear/walking staff in the dirt and leans on it, closing her eyes. Months later, grief still comes on in these giant crashing waves, out of nowhere, and each time Kata struggles to regain her breath. You'd think you'd be better at this grieving thing, it being your job and all.
The wave passes and Kata looks up, blinking. Just down the path lies an old elm, blackened by lightning. It was struck four years ago during a spring storm, and a small fire burned for days in the area. Most of the burn has been grown over again by new saplings and undergrass, as is the way of life, to crawl into the cracks left by the departed, but more importantly for this moment, for Kata's life, this means that lost in thought, she had passed the turnoff for the Cairn about a mile back. Groaning, Kata turns around and backtracks towards the turnoff, silently cursing. Of course, it would be totally my thing to be the last one to my own tomb raiding.
---
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
Kata mouths the words to one of her favorite poems as she turns the last winding bend on the trail to the Cairn, long overgrown and little maintained since Caith had vanished all those years ago.Caith. Kata stops and shuts her eyes, breathing in and out, slow, like the priesthood had taught, a way to calm nerves before a service.
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea? What if they discovered what the search party didn't all those years ago, and came across Caith, down in the Cairn? What if whatever took Caith was still down there? Would a miner and a courtesan and a elegist be safe in the depths?
On the other hand, the Cairn is one place where reminders of mom won't be. And what was a life lived in grief's shadow, but one lived like a prize fighter, in moments, always waiting the next moment the wind is knocked from you? Kata had to get out of Diamond Lake.
Centered again, Kata picked up the pace, rounding the corner, her walking stick/spear clicking off rocks as she went. Spying Broccan, Kata begins apologizing even before he says hello. "Ugh, so OK, I didn't buy everything on your list. I still need the rope and the pi-tions, and I meant to go shopping this morning, but I got really absorbed by some Wilhelm Wordsworth, which you know, happens," Kata turns to Briar and nods hello! "And then Jempsy, that old coot, wouldn't speed up the ferry, and then I passed the turnoff because I was thinking about birds and you know, it was all just a cavalcade of absentmindedness on my part and I'm very sorr--"
Only then does Kata notice the other two - unexpected - arrivals. She groans, and then groans again, not entirely sure if the first groan was out loud or not.
"Oh! Hi, uh, Rosella, right? And you're uh, the regal looking lady's been about town? Uhm, Althea? Nice to see you... out here?" Kata's voice lilts at the end, and she can't help but feel she's frowning just ever so slightly. Turning her head from the unexpected guest, she coughs politely and shoots Briar and Broccan a quick glance, complete with one quizzically raised eyebrow.
What. Is. Going. On?
Broccan's neck and face flush scarlet. "Er, uh, seems I might'a 'sumed that it was just me'n you goin' t' the cairn, an'I figur'd we'd need at leas' four t' be safe, so I ass'd Rosella'n Edrukk t' join us. Umm, Edrukk's not 'ere yet. E'sza dwarf chap what came t' town jus' a bit back, look'n for his uncle. E' shoul' be along soon."
Suddenly realizing he never returned Alaïs' greeting, Broccan flushes a deeper scarlet. He turns awkardly to bow to her, pressing his knuckles to his forelocks, like his mother taught him. "Uh, pleas' t' make yera'quaintance, Miss," he says lamely.
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Briar throws a cocked salute to Alais. "Fancy seeing you here!" She laughs at the shared joke.
Briar laughs as everyone finally comes together. She places an arm around Kata's shoulder, trying to comfort her in her confusion. "'tis no great worry, long as nobody else save Edrukk's gonna be poppin' over the hill. We're trying something nobody's ever done before, so the extra help will probably do us right. Just hope there's enough to share six ways and have everyone sorted." The thought briefly enters Briar's head that she could always just find a way to not have to split it six ways, but she immediately quashes it. She does not want to be that kind of person. Besides, there will probably be enough, and if there isn't, she can just come up with a new scheme. One that doesn't involve any of those darker ideas.
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The newcomer definitely isn't Kata, which implies she's the one Briar invited. "Um, hi. I'm Rosella. Archer." She's starting to get a little tongue-tied with all the people here she didn't expect. Wait. Elvish, noble-looking...
"Are you the one who's been pissing Ellival off lately?" She blushes furiously as she realizes she said that out loud. "I mean, my friend works for him, and he's been in a foul mood the past few days, and..." Earth please swallow me now.
Well, this is amusing. If this isn’t Briar’s friend, then… It will all sort itself out, I’m sure.
“Am I really?” Alaïs says, her eyes sparkling. “Good, he deserves it. Giving our people a bad name he is, the scoundrel.”
She shuts her mouth quickly as if to stop herself from an impromptu disquisition as to exactly how he falls short. Someone else who she can only presume is the real Kata arrives a moment after, saving her from the temptation to pontificate and to mean-spirited gossip.
"Oh! Hi, uh, Rosella, right? And you're uh, the regal looking lady's been about town? Uhm, Althea? Nice to see you... out here?" Kata's voice lilts at the end, and she can't help but feel she's frowning just ever so slightly. Turning her head from the unexpected guest, she coughs politely and shoots Briar and Broccan a quick glance, complete with one quizzically raised eyebrow.
“Nothing so high as all that, I shouldn't think, but I’ll gladly accept the compliment. Alaïs. Thalanassa,” she smiles, corrects ever so gently, and appends her surname.
Broccan's neck and face flush scarlet. "Er, uh, seems I might'a 'sumed that it was just me'n you goin' t' the cairn, an'I figur'd we'd need at leas' four t' be safe, so I ass'd Rosella'n Edrukk t' join us. Umm, Edrukk's not 'ere yet. E'sza dwarf chap what came t' town jus' a bit back, look'n for his uncle. E' shoul' be along soon."
Suddenly realizing he never returned Alaïs' greeting, Broccan flushes a deeper scarlet. He turns awkardly to bow to her, pressing his knuckles to his forelocks, like his mother taught him. "Uh, pleas' t' make yera'quaintance, Miss," he says lamely.
She watches in some alarm as Broccan goes red and then redder, and intervenes as best she can, “Forests of Elysium, they don’t actually make you do that in human lands, do they? We’re all friends here, or will be, I hope.”
Fortunately, Kata’s arrival has made everything clear, at least. Mostly. “I suppose Briar must have thought along the same lines, so she invited me along. I hope that’s alright? I don’t mean to intrude.”
“I’m a dabbler. A species of bard, I suppose, if one’s inclined to be generous. It sounds more exciting than gentlewoman, doesn’t it?”
"So, there's six of us then, provided Edrukk doesn't bring anyone else?" Kata grabs Briar's hand and gives it a squeeze, grateful for her friend's care and comfort, and realizes what she's feeling is relief. Relief that her friends were present enough to think about things like their safety, and wise enough to think about the ramifications of her plan when Kata so clearly wasn't. And with that relief comes a sense of worry for poor Broccan, who looks so completely miserable...
"I'm so thankful you thought to invite Rosella and Edrukk, Broccan! And that you thought to bring Alaïs, Briar!" Kata hoists her cheap backpack, obviously mostly empty, and quite unimpressive next to Broccan's finely-made pack, from which many useful-looking - and to Kata's untrained eye - mysterious objects dangle. "I brought food." Well enough for me for two days.
Smiling, Kata turns to Alaïs. "A species of bard? Fantastic! I have some facility with minor magics and performance myself. So, we've got magic, brains, mining know-how, a wicked-looking bow, song and dance, and I'm not too late to the party. Things are looking good!"
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The armored dwarf pauses at the alley, looking at the halfling from under his heavy brows, "Got business t' get t', lad, but d'ye need aid? Coulda used a warmup 'is mornin' if'n th' cowards kickin' ye hadn' run off. C'n Ah 'elp ye get somewhere friendlier, p'haps?" He waits patiently for the youngling to meet his eyes and quickly shake his head 'no'.
With a firm nod, he continues, "Good fer ye, then. T' take a beatin' 'n 'ntend t' get back 'n yer feet 'n yer own, 'at be strength. Name's Edrukk 'n mebbe we'll be meetin' once more. May th' Laird 'n Iron guide yer 'and."
With another nod, the Gorumite turns back to the path set before him this day, and continues. In the distance he sees a lass hurrying up the trail where Broccan should be waiting. Muttering to himself, "Mebbe 'is friend, then. Ne'er quite caught th' name right. Started wit' a K, Ah'm thinkin'. Mebbe a G? Prolly n' 'er 't all, ye fool, ye'll know when ye get there."
Eventually, he is far enough along the path to see several people. "Hmm, mebbe not me group. Looks like Rosella 'n 'er Dancer, though."
"'ere's Broccan, glowin' like a sword straight outta th' coals. Lad's gonna 'urt 'imself some day."
"Ho, lad! Ah see ye've taken 'p wit' some fine company 'is fine morn! 'r we 'll goin' th' same way, 'r waitin' fer th' mornin' tea t' finish steepin'?"
The symbol of Gorum prominent on his gear, the dwarf looks like he is literally headed to war with weapons and gear attached to him every which way. His eyes twinkle at Broccan's obvious discomfort but he waits to learn more about the group before him before he volunteers information they don't need to know.
"Ho, lad! Ah see ye've taken 'p wit' some fine company 'is fine morn! 'r we 'll goin' th' same way, 'r waitin' fer th' mornin' tea t' finish steepin'?"
A look of relief crosses his face as Broccan slowly exhales. His pallor returns to normal and a he breaks into a broad grin.
"Edrukk! Yeah, this's th' right crew. We'wer jus' doin' our formal intr'ductions. This ere's Kata, she's the one who ass'd me 'bout th' job. This ere's Briar. Turns out she'n Kata came up with'the idea'ah loot'n the cairn. And this is...er...Miss'Alaïs. Briar brought'er along. Um, and er, 'course y'know Rosella."
Broccan stops talking, and finishes his introduction with a gesture universally recognized as and...there you have it.
Feet firmly planted on the ground and thumbs hooked in his belt, the dwarf gives a nod of acknowledgement to each of the women as his friend introduces them.
"Pleased t' be meetin' ye. Ah'm a bad 'un fer names, Ah'll say 'p front, but Ah'll get 'em."
"'m Edrukk Thorvirgunson, grandson o' th' Thorvir, son o' th' brother o' Edrukk Thorvirgun, if'n ye 'ave 'eard o' 'im." He pauses, looking for signs of recognition in any of their faces before continuing. "Ah'm a 'umble servant o' th' Laird 'n Iron 'n be 'onored t' offer m' blades t' th' cause."
"Whereabouts 'r we goin'? 'ave ye smart ones a plan t' be followin'? Ah'm a slow one, should Ah start walkin' now?" His eyes twinkle a bit.
All in all, it's hard to tell behind all of the facial hair, but he seems to be in a good mood.
"Kata'n me know th' way," Broccan says. "Th' Whisper'n Cairn w's one'h th' places th'kids'n town'd dare each oth'r t'enter, least'n'til Caith went missin'. Now'days folk don' go near't, n' tell'r kids 'bout Caith t' keep'm away."
His expression goes slightly melancholy when he mentions Caith, but he pulls himself together quickly.
Rosella looks around. Edrukk, Broccan, and three fine ladies who definitely don't look like they're used to spending a lot of time in the wilderness.
Surely they know what they're doing, surely they know what they're doing...
"Um, looks like Dancer here is our only horse?" The inflection is that of a question, but one with an obvious answer. "I won't ride then, and she can carry any gear anyone has." Rosella's own gear has already been stuffed into the saddlebags. From the looks of it, she's planning on spending several days away from town. And possibly doing some random carpentry along the way.
She glances at Kata. "I've got rope and pitons. Plus, well, anything else I thought might be helpful. If you think you're missing something, just ask. Chances are I brought it." She flushes again. "I, um, prefer to be overprepared. Especially before going somewhere no-one else goes."
She doesn't ask about Caith. From Broccan's expression that's a sore subject, and she thinks she understands what must have happened.
"Oh! Um, and it's nice to meet you. Kata. Briar. Alaïs." She stumbles a little over the elven syllables of the final name, but it's a good effort.
”’ow far ‘s th’ Cairn, then? We c’n be fer talkin’ ’s we walk, aye? Rosella, Ah think Dancer ‘n yerself ‘ll be ‘elpful ridin’ a’ead ’r behind t’ scout, y’know. Don’ be feelin’ th’ fool fer bein’ th’ only one wit’ a ‘orse.” He starts down the road, ”This way? Ah’ve already delayed th’ plan wit’ me short legs, don’ let me make ‘t worse!”
Briar tips her hat to the friendly dwarf. ”Pleasure to meet ya, Ed. Kat’s the lady with the plan. I wish I could say I’m over-prepared, but I’m making do.” If she had the money to be better prepared, she wouldn’t be trying this half-arsed scheme to get some quick money, would she? Ugh, now she’s gotta walk that line between explaining how she’s useful and not giving away too many of her secrets.
She starts walking along with the others towards the Cairn. ”Got this nice shield, a crossbow and some cold iron bolts, a hundred feet of silk rope, my waterskin, and I can make water at will, so we won’t be running out. I can keep food from spoilin’, too. Oh and don’t worry about me not having armor; I have something for that, too, should we come to it. Any a’ you get hurt, I’ve got a heal or two.”
S'bout n'hour that way," Broccan says, pointing down the road away from town. "We go off th' road in'eh'bout'eh mile or so, and it's rough ground t' the mouth'f th'cairn from there."
Nobody knows how old the Old Dead Tree is, nor who planted it. Nobody in town remembers anyone who remembers it being alive, much less being young. It might be purely superstition, but the children of Diamond Lake whisper that the tree is supernatural—that it grows over the heart of a dead dragon, or was once a dryad done wrong by the peoples who came before the miners and looters. It is a hideous tree, rotting and foul, and some of the rowdier children once liked to dare each other to go up and touch it. Similar superstitions could be found among the few youths of the Bronzewood Lodge.
This isn't to say that Kata, Broccan and Roselle are afraid of some dead tree now as adults, of course. It's just a tree. However, its location is something they would be aware of, and this is as good a time as any to mention it.
I think one of us will mention it once the Tree comes into view. I suggest going ahead with a short description of us traveling from here to there, and prompt the conversation with an intricate description of the Tree.
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The party sets out, leaving the old mine office behind and forming a somewhat ragtag line as they make their way over the hilly terrain.
Close to where Broccan said to turn off, the group notices an ominous morning shadow stretching over the old Company Road.
A hill juts upward to the northeast, blocking out the rising sun. Atop the hill there grows a massive old gnarled oak tree. Actually, 'grows' is not quite the correct phrase, nor is 'oak'. In truth, the species of the tree is hard to tell, and as for 'grows'... well, the old tree has clearly been dead for a very, very long time. Even from a ways away, it is visibly rotted and decaying, with an unpleasant mildewy sweetness reaching all the way to the travelers on the road. Its trunk is bulbous and bloated, its roots slithering into the soil like slimy tentacles, its branches twisting over itself like a great bone devil sheltering beneath its skeletal wings from the sun.
The sight of it is deeply unnerving in a way that is difficult to place, though nothing about it is unfamiliar to Diamond Lake natives.
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"There's trails that dot the forests and hills all around here," Kata says, thinking that they aren't always shorter, especially if you're prone to getting lost, or too far into your head. "I took one here. Still, the quickest route is probably the old Company Road." Kata doesn't mention the tree. It had been years since she'd been this way - maybe it... for lack of a better word, calmed down?
The butt-end of Kata's spear clicks on the road as they walk, up and down through the flinty hills, and as they approach the turnoff, the countryside gets browner, flintier, stunted. Kata stops and squints in the shadow of Old Dead Tree, and points.
"It's been dead for as long as anyone remembers. I remember Caith used to say it grows over the heart of a dead dragon. Others thought it was a dryad's tree met a sad fate. We used to dare each other to up and touch it." Kata shrugs, exaggerated, her cloak lifting up and down. "Don't know if the kids still have these stories. But, we can go around if you like."
Raising her hand to her eyes, Kata's other hand - perhaps unconsciously - goes to her cloak and pulls it tight to her, like a blanket. "Do you see them? The maggots and beetles? Old Dead Tree was always a feast."
Nope. Hasn't calmed down at all.
Briar holds her nose as they pass by. She sure hopes this is not a portent of things to come. She already hated the feeling of bugs on her skin, even just a single fly, but the very rational fear of a bug’s poison with her weakened body has only exacerbated the situation. She plays the scene cool, though, telling herself the creepy-crawlies are far off and little threat.
”I simply have got to say that is the most disgustin’ assault to the senses I’ve ever had the misfortune of crossin’ my path. Bury it or burn it, it’s no different than a corpse at this point, and no sense keepin’ one a’ them around either. The hells are those maggots and beetles still feastin’ on after all this time, anyways.”
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"A species of bard? Fantastic! I have some facility with minor magics and performance myself. So, we've got magic, brains, mining know-how, a wicked-looking bow, song and dance, and I'm not too late to the party. Things are looking good!"
Alaïs follows along as Kata goes over the plan, idly trying to figure out how the Pharasmin singer has assigned the various talents she’s identified. As the last adventurer – and isn’t that a thought! – arrives, Alaïs turns to greet him cheerfully. “I would never say no to a nice cup of tea, Master Thorvirgunson, but I think we’re about ready to set out.”
Things quiet when Caith’s mentioned, and while she’s sure there’s a story there, Alaïs is far too well brought-up to pry. She can sense the relief as the conversation turns to the last preparations, though she’s a bit surprised by how much some of the others are carrying. Like they half expect they won’t be coming back. Which - understandable, really. “I can get along in the wild if we get turned around or delayed, though it won’t be spectacular. At least, not in a flattering sense. And I’ve some magic that will keep us from starving in the very worst case, if I don’t deplete all my reserves for the day.”
Alaïs is quiet once everyone gets going, though once or twice she hums a brief passage from songs she’s working on as she goes. She looks up as Kata points out the Old Dead Tree, and considers the other young woman’s remarks. Paling at the sickly scent of rot that she can pick out even from here, the skald decides she really hopes the dryad story isn’t the truth of it, for the forest spirit’s sake. Because, as Briar says…
“I really must agree. Ordinarily, I would think it best to just let the poor thing fall into the earth again, and if there are still beetles about, I can hardly imagine how there’s enough left for it to be standing, but that means...” Something sinister, she’s sure, and she very definitely does not have the stomach to address the question of maggots at all right now, so she doesn’t look too closely at the bloated bole even as her eyes can’t help but be drawn to the tree as a whole as she tries to determine what might be going on, or at least properly identify the tree’s species.
Edrukk, bringing up the rear, glances at the tree and wrinkles his nose at the smell, but has no comment.
"Yeah, bein' dared t'touch th' Tree was righ'teh pass'ge back when we's kids," Broccan comments. "There w's even a few dares t'climb it, but I din't know any'eh one who ev'r did it."
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Rosella eyes the tree with clear distaste. "No one at the Bronzewood Lodge knows what that thing is either, other than unnatural. Burning it might be best, but, well...you'd have to get closer than most people are comfortable with to do that safely." She keeps a hand on Dancer's neck as they walk. The horse is far too well-trained to bolt, but they both could use the comfort.
"Besides, most people don't have much reason to come out this way. It's much easier to just ignore things you don't want to deal with." There's an odd shadow in her eyes as she talks.
But it certainly feels a bit... much. Like a parody of what is natural. Like the old paintings you've seen of wolves and stags and other beasts, from the time when the elves had spent so long away from Golarion they'd almost forgotten what those creatures looked like.
After some consideration, the party continues on and off the path—likely giving the tree a wide berth for Briar's sake—and to the old site of the Whispering Cairn.
The hills here have become overgrown with tangled roots and thorny verdant blackberry brambles, many still laden with plump, sweet fruits. These blackberries come from Garund, but they're almost impossible to get rid of no matter where they grow. Still, the berries are tasty, and one of the few easy sources sources of fruit available to the poor of Diamond Lake.
As you draw near the brambles, you suddenly feel the ground shift beneath your feet. It's a deeply familiar sensation, but it still gives you a little vertigo to experience it aboveground, with no comforting ceiling above your head—moreso with only soil beneath your feet, and not solid stone. It is the instinctive dwarven sense that there is a tunnel beneath you, not far down. However, you have no idea where it is. All you can do is corroborate that Broccan and Kata aren't delusional.
"It's somewhere'ere 'bouts," Broccan says. "We'll need t' clear some'eh th' brambles'it seems."
He draws his short sword, revealing that one side of the blade has saw-teeth instead of a straight edge. He turns it teeth down, and begins sawing at the thicker branches of bramble, looking for signs of the cairn entrance.
After some searching, Broccan is able to locate the entrance, which lies at the bottom of a hill, a monolith-lined portal partially obscured by underbrush and boulders. It's about ten feet wide, but it appears to get more spacious inside.
"If we don' clear't all th' way, we don' have t' worry 'bout some'nelse finin' it if we need t' leave'n come back," Broccan suggests to the others.
As Broccan works clearing branches, Kata silently curses her lack of preparation and goes about pulling blackberries from the vine, and dropping them gently into a side pouch of her pack. Kata finds herself closing her eyes and centering herself again and again and again. Sighing, she pops a blackberry into her mouth, chews, and speaks, her voice wavering.
"There's something I need to mention. When we're in the Cairn, you'll hear voices. Least I did. Some of the other kids too. They're like," Kata waves hands a little as she speaks, as if she's hoping they can conjure the right words. "They're like something in a long lost language, sitting just behind your ears, in your head. The adults always said we were hearing things, but there's breezes too, that come with the whispers."
Then there was the other thing. Kata frowns, contemplating what may lay deeper in the Cairn.
"And, we used to go and play with the puzzles, uh traps I mean." Kata taps a nearby rock with the butt-end of her longspear, looking over her shoulder. "All the kids did. The traps were harmless, but if we go deeper, they may not be. I spent my childhood fiddling with those puzzles, and if we come across any, I'll take a look at them. But be careful where you step."
Nodding to Broccan and his suggestion, Kata thrusts her longspear into the remaining mass of brambles and pushes them aside, enough that the others could squeeze through the doorway.
While Broccan and the others clear away a few brambles, Rosella busies herself taking off Dancer's tack. "There's a good girl. We'll be back before you know it. In the meantime, you make sure no one takes this stuff, okay? I paid good money for that saddle to make sure it was nice and comfy for you. You'd better appreciate it." She loops a very, very loose rope around the horse's neck in such a way that she has plenty of room to move around, (and could easily pull free if she needed to).
Despite her apparent distraction, she is listening to Kata's explanation of what they might find in the cairn. "Voices. Traps. Be sure to let you take a look before I step anywhere. Got it." Lots of people at the Lodge had said they could hear the voices of nature. Rosella doubts any voices in the cairn will be those of nature, but she's still not too disturbed by the idea of hearing strange things on the wind.
The traps do concern her, if only because they're something she's not particularly used to. Traps used for hunting yes, but puzzles? Those will be a new experience.
There's a shovel handle sticking out the top of her backpack, which she grabs and uses to help Kata push aside the brambles. "Ready when you are."
The group makes their way through the rubble and vines. With little fanfare, the team enters the Whispering Cairn.
Natural light dimly illuminates a long hallway extending north into darkness. A faint breeze at the party's back brings with it sibilant whispers that sound almost like sighing breath.
The walls bear horizontal bands of deceptively simple geometric patterns. In places the bands reveal startling detail, but in others the walls look as though they have been hacked apart with weapons or eroded by the rigors of time. Flakes of ancient paint, brilliant purple and a dull mustard hue, still cling to the walls in places, hinting at what must once have been a riot of color. A thin carpet of dust coats the floor.
Here and there throughout the hall, broken traps emerge from the walls, floor and ceiling. A spear that stabs forward along a clockwork arm, the gears long-since rusted to the point of uselessness. A shallow pit trap long-since sprung, filled with blown-in sediment and debris and overgrown with a thick layer of lichen and moss to the point that it looks more cozy than dangerous. The remains of a bronze cage, clearly once designed to fall atop and trap someone, now with most of its bars broken up or bent so that exploring children could climb out. Few of these traps and 'puzzles' were meant to kill—most were meant to repel, though the children of Diamond Lake rarely took the hint.
Just inside the darkened tomb, the hallway branches into shallow alcoves to the east and west. Here the walls bear the most significant damage. Dozens of clumsy etchings may the beautiful ancient masonry like graffiti on a city wall. A clump of soiled cloth about the size of a halfling rests in the rounded terminus of the western alcove.
Outside, the wind picks up, and a chorus of almost human sounds rises from the darkened hall.
"There's a bit'o green shine in th' dark'head," Broccan says. "'S gonn'eh get too dark for all bt' Edrukk t' see in'bout twenny more feet. Anyone bring'eh light'sides m'self?"
He reaches for one of the sunrods on his bandolier, but doesn't activate it just yet.
Broccan takes a moment to smell and taste air, trying to see if the air is fresh or fouling.
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Briar's ears perk up as she hears a woman say "good girl." As she swivels around and realizes it's just Rosella talking to her horse, Briar laughs to herself and pats her own shoulder. Down, girl.
Briar takes out one of her several daggers to help cut through the brambles. "Voices, eh? What kinda voices?" As they make their way in and she hears the wind, she relaxes a little. "Ah, so just windy voices, I suppose."
She brandishes her dagger, one of the basic metal ones, as they spot the green light. She waves off Broccan's query about light. "I don't need light. I suspect I can see as well as Ed down here, tell the truth."
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"There's a bit'o green shine in th' dark'head," Broccan says. "'S gonn'eh get too dark for all bt' Edrukk t' see in'bout twenny more feet. Anyone bring'eh light'sides m'self?"
He reaches for one of the sunrods on his bandolier, but doesn't activate it just yet.
Broccan takes a moment to smell and taste air, trying to see if the air is fresh or fouling.
Briar's ears perk up as she hears a woman say "good girl." As she swivels around and realizes it's just Rosella talking to her horse, Briar laughs to herself and pats her own shoulder. Down, girl.
"Least th'air's fresh..." Broccan says to no one in particular.
Briar, having redoubled her efforts to focus on the task at hand, picks out something on the floor. She elbows Broc.
"I'm hardly an expert on nature, but don't those tracks look a bit like some kinda animal tracks? Kinda like a wolf or a dog. Maybe a few of 'em?"
Broccan looks down at Briar's prompting, then kneels and examines the tracks. "W'lf tracks, fairly'fresh. Migh'be use'n th' cairn'sa den 'r jus' a place t' get out'eh th' sun. If we're lucky they'din stay'ere. If w're not..." He looks down the hallway into the darkness.
Briar straps on her shield and keeps her dagger in front of her. ”We’d best stay wary then.” She awaits the prompting of the more frontline fighters and follows along forward.