Broccan looks at the mold carefully, but keeps his distance.
"Gone'eh remem'br this nex'time I see't," he says. "Feed'n'grow'n wi'fire'n heat? That's'eh nigh'mare. Too many folk'ssume that' fire kills ann'ehthin."
"I'm going to remember this the next time I see it. Feeding and growing with fire and heat? That's a nightmare. Too many folk assume that fire kills anything."
Kata laughs, a small bitter laugh, and the speaks once more in the harsh, gutteral tongue of the dead.
Switching to Taldane, Kata continues, her tone lighter. "And what would you do if we helped free you, Seeker? Be honest - you still have trust to earn."
While she talks, Kata circles south into the room, staying to the wall to put as much distance between her and the brown fungus. She casts light on the tip of her spear as she goes, so the party can have some light, and uses the spear to look into the darker corners of the room, shadows casting along the walls as if a children's game is afoot.
"Lighting an ice?" Rosella frowns. "Would water do? How cold is that water you can create?" She waves her hand in a vague approximation of a magical gesture. "Too bad there's no wind down here; being wet when it's windy makes you very cold."
Having exhausted all ideas of what to do about the brown mold, she follows behind Kata as she examines the rest of the room. "We could probably pry up that stone block and see what's underneath, if you think it's safe."
Briar follows after Kat. ”That mold sounds dreadful. Good eye, Alaïs. Let’s circle around for now, why don’t we? Maybe we’ll find something that can clear it up nicely further in.”
”’eard o’ that stuff. Me cousins jus’ stay away, starve ‘t fer warm bodies ‘til ‘t dies. But we don’ ‘ave ‘at kinda time.”
Edrukk stays out of the room, watching the more intrepid with thinly-veiled concern.
Broccan follows Briar and Kata over to the Southern side of the pillar, skirting away from the brown mold as much as possible. Seeing the fallen stone, he says to the other two, "Shou'deye ge'tou't m'crowbar'n try'n shif'tit?"
"Should I get out my crowbar and try and shift it?"
Broccan follows Briar and Kata over to the Southern side of the pillar, skirting away from the brown mold as much as possible. Seeing the fallen stone, he says to the other two, "Shou'deye ge'tou't m'crowbar'n try'n shif'tit?"
“Be my guest, if you think there’s likely to be anything interesting left after being buried under all that,” Alaïs shrugs, before peering into the south hall, as she starts making her way sun-wise around the rooms while she tries to think of a way to deal with the brown mold short of pestering any other alchemists in town.
She looks to the strange bird perched on Briar’s shoulder as the thought occurs to her. “Seeker, is that what you meant by the Devouring? That carpet of mold? I can see why you might.”
Broccan retrieves his trusty crowbar and jams it into the gap between the fallen stone and the pillar. He then leans into it, trying to shift the enormous block.
Broccan struggles, but can't quite get the crowbar under the block well enough for the kind of leverage he would need.
“Seeker, is that what you meant by the Devouring? That carpet of mold? I can see why you might.”
"I would not just call it a 'carpet of mold'. But yes. That is the Devouring."
Edrukk peers around. ”Lass, if’n ye see n’ normal traps, lemme ’ave a look fer odd stonework, aye?”
[dice=Perception for stonework]1d20 + 8
Fortunately, there is a hidden catch in the wall next to it. You believe that pulling on the catch will lift the block.
Seeker seems to startle slightly as Kata addresses her again in Necril. The eyes bob and weave between each other as she answers, now abandoning the pretense.
She clears her throat, an unpleasant hacking sound, and flutters to Briar's other shoulder. "I'm of two minds when it comes to where I would go. If I said I would seek wealth, power and knowledge, you would probably think I'm not such a pleasant bird, but isn't that what we are all doing in here?" She cocks her head to the side quizzically.
Briar laughs at Seeker’s comment. ”I could hardly fault ya for seekin’ any a’ those when I worship The Lady in the Room, right?”
Briar claps her hands decisively as she gives her idea. ”Okay, so I can create water at will. Some a’ ya have the ability to prestidigitate, right? So I make water, and you chill it, then we use that on the mold? Would take a while, but it’s better than the alternatives. Should be relatively safe, too, if we do it right.”
”’tis’nother fallin’ block trap, ‘ere. Looks t’ ‘ave caught som’un, too. Th’ catch ‘ere should let th’ block back ‘p, though. Broccan, be ready, aye?”
Once he’s sure someone is ready in case something unpleasant rises from the crushed body and the rest are reasonably prepared in case the catch does something else, Edrukk will flip the catch and step back. If nothing happens, he will gesture to Broccan as he readies his greatsword, ”Time fer th’ bar, lad.”
Sure enough, the block grinds upward, carried by well-concealed mechanisms back up to click back into the ceiling. The pressure plate that appears to have once triggered it has been visibly crushed, and Edrukk and Kata are both fairly sure the trap has effectively disabled itself.
Underneath the block lies the remains of a crushed human skeleton wearing a suit of shiny silver mail and clutching an ancient, near-crumbling leather sack. Behind the block are several still-uncrushed pegs, each appearing designed specially to hold a particular item. The items are a curious iron bell covered in writing, a fine, elegant two-pronged knife, and a set of red-tinted goggles stylized to be charmingly reminiscent of a housefly's wide compound eyes.
Briar is beginning to wish she had a method to scan for magic herself.
She points out the items to her more traditionally-magically skilled comrades. ”Any a’ these magic you think?”
Seeker’s unrelentingly ominous pronouncements are beginning to set Alaïs on edge. She hopes they can get past the mold relatively soon out of something close enough to spite that Briar especially might appreciate it.
Briar claps her hands decisively as she gives her idea. ”Okay, so I can create water at will. Some a’ ya have the ability to prestidigitate, right? So I make water, and you chill it, then we use that on the mold? Would take a while, but it’s better than the alternatives. Should be relatively safe, too, if we do it right.”
“We do,” Alaïs acknowledges, twinkling her fingers in an exaggeratedly witchy way that her – oh good heavens now’s not a convenient time to think about that – very dear friend in Hymbria would roll her eyes fondly at. She latches onto a less dangerously distracting non sequitur. “Among other things, it’s quite helpful for treating ice wine properly in all seasons.”
Edrukk’s discovery, since he announces it without being unnervingly morbid, brings her back easily to deal with matters at hand without persiflage. She spares the armour a look, the fine sheen reminding her of occasions back home at which various dignitaries appeared in more martial regalia, but it’s the carefully stowed items that catch her attention above all, especially the inscribed bell.
She duly calls up her cantrip to scan for magic, trying not to hurry through the other items before taking the bell in hand to see if it’s a language she recognizes.
"Thas'm fancy arm'r," Broccan says. "Too constrain'n t' fight th'way I do'n'it. I wond'r was'sin'eh bag?"
"That's some fancy armor. Too constraining to fight the way I do in it. I wonder what's in the bag?"
He reaches down, picks up the bag, and opens it.
Kata snorts, the bird pulling her attention back from the south room. Sarcasm doesn't translate well to the language of the restless dead, the dead rarely having use for it. Perhaps, Kata muses as she talks, that is for the best.
Leaving the bird be (for now), Kata turns her attention to her companions of the non-avian variety. "The room to our south must once have been a bedroom. The stone slab is similar to those in the room from the other tomb level, though this one is larger, and there's a huge bas-relief statue rests under the far wall. I can't make out what it is from here."
Rosella only shakes her head as the armor is revealed. "I don't know much about metal armors. Some people at the Lodge wore them, but not many." She doesn't know anything about magic items either, so all she can do is wait for Alaïs to identify the other things they found. "Seems likely all this will sell well though, so that's good." At this she darts a quick glance towards Seeker, whom she's otherwise been doing her best to avoid looking at. "Money is definitely why I'm here. I, um, don't have a lot of it."
The bird briefly replies to Kata before turning to Rosella.
"I think that is a common problem in Diamond Lake." It appears to examine "Ms. Hawthorne" curiously. "Those are interesting furs you wear. Are you from the Bronzewood?"
Her slight malapropism betrays that Seeker may not know much about the Bronzewood Lodge.
Broccan opens the bag and looks inside.
"Wond'r was'n'ere?"
"I wonder what's in here?"
Inside the bag are three beautifully-carved statuettes, as well as three crumbled and broken ones. Each depicts a grand architectural wonder in miniature - a slim spire with eight connected smaller towers of equal height, a grand stadium, and what looks like an entire walled city, carved to incredible detail. Each statuette is roughly large enough to cup in two hands.
Edrukk tugs the remains out of the alcove and, showing as much reverence for the dead as he can, removes them from the suit of armor.
He asks the room at large, those that are not dealing with the mold, ”D’ye ‘ave a sack yer n’ usin’ a’ th’ moment? Ah ‘ill take this one t’ town fer proper burying’.”
He wraps the armor into a bundle he can stash into his pack for later evaluation.
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Kata pulls a set of small drums from her pack, meant to be clipped to a belt or sash and played with hand. The drums - two of them - are worn, their canvas tops dirtied from years of hands running across them. Still, the sound they give off is extraordinary, a reverberation and clarity that belies their small size. Kata beats a simple rhythm, soft as one can get with a set of drums, and when she sings, she keeps her voice muted and low, gravelly, intended to just reach the ears of those working.
The song is predictably gloomy, Kata's repertoire consisting almost entirely of dirges and similar melodies.
"Babe, don't lie lonesome after I'm gone
Don't mourn your young life away
Just lower me down with a prayer and a song
Just 'fore the breaking of day
Just 'fore the breaking of day"
"It's a life with the living, but we all gotta die
All your crying can't do me no good
Lower me down with a quick said goodbye
Pour in the black Varisian mud
Pour in the black Varisian mud"
"It's a hard road you're traveling, you can't walk it alone
Find a big man to stand beside you
Take him down to he river and show him my bones
Tell him there lies a friend I once knew
There lies a friend I once knew"
"The black crow's a-screaming, the yellow sun's warm
The grass tumbles tall down the hill
There's a cold wind is building, it's bringin' a storm
When the call of the black crow goes still
When the call of the black crow goes still."
“The things in the niche are magical, though not the possessions of the trap’s victim,” Alaïs confirms. “Give me a minute or so, and I’ll see if can tell anything about what they’re meant to do. The bell…”
… is what most arrests her attention, because something about the markings just won’t leave her alone. She murmurs, mostly to herself, “Its markings aren’t grammatical, at any rate. A set of nouns? Names, if I had to guess, but of what or who…”
After a bit, she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, the details can wait. Let’s make sure we don’t get moldy while I play at wizardry.”
She sets the baubles aside for now, taking up position to redirect her energies to rapidly chilling the water Briar conjures, helping to set up a cycle of filling, cooling, and emptying the group’s waterskins in a messy cycle that should kill the brown mold by inches. The rhythm Kata lays down helps.
Briar sings along to Kata’s song, not wholly familiar with the tune, but enjoying the distraction from her chore regardless.
”Maybe they are keys needed for some later puzzle, Alaïs? Whoever designed this place seems to enjoy messin’ with people.”
"I'm from the Bronzewood Lodge, yes." Rosella glances at Seeker then looks quickly away. "Many people there eschew metal armor entirely. It's part of our culture. Or maybe religion. I'm not actualy sure which." Druids can't wear metal armors, and while many at the Lodge didn't have that restriction they still tended to follow the same rule out of respect.
She looks curiously at the items Alaïs has described as magical, but still can't tell anything about them. Wanting to be useful, she aids in passing waterskins back and forth while Briar and Alaïs conjure ever-colder water.
Broccan falls into the rhythm of the work song, finding the repetitive process of hosing down the brown mold an easy task compared to a day's work in the mines. He puts in his best effort to see the task finished as quickly, but thoroughly as possible.
These goggles in particular appear to be able to provide a sort of magnifying effect, allow the wearer to focus in on very fine details up close.
Goggles of minute seeing.
Each name on the bell is unique, and there are 17 in total. Curiously, though the names are all written in the same alphabet, they do not appear to come from the same culture. This is a diverse list, though you spot only one Elven name: Omniel.
You believe that this bell is necromantic in nature, holding some spirits, or the memories of spirits, within it. These spirit-memories can be called upon, allowing them a brief release back into the Material Plane to offer some small aid before being dismissed forever.
Wand of unseen servant, 17 charges
Amani, Nya, Sparrow, Shani, Sadiki, Stefan, Makhotsi, Yazeed, Gabriel, Manfri, Zahoor, Lily, Xantrian, Kotsi, Chaska, Jina, Omniel
The knife has a faint inscription running between the two blades, in the same language as the names on the bell: Slay the unliving. Alais is unsure what the knife does, but its name is carved into the hilt: Moriel. The Singer of Death.
As Kata sings to strike a rhythm, Briar begins magically filling waterskins, Alais freezing the contents and Rosela and Broccan gradually splashing the iced water onto the mold and freezing it away. 'The Devouring' withers and blackens instantly when the cold touches it, shriveling like a worm from salt and releasing a foul odor like soft cheese left out in the sun too long. This makes it easy to tell when the mold is fully destroyed, at least.
When the deed is done, the room is cleared, and the fountain basin beneath the mold is clean. The basin is filled with a strange orangeish sludge, which does not appear to be rot or fungus, but the actual substance the fountain is meant to disperse. It looks a bit like vomit, but smells better than it looks - sort of sweet and savory.
The chambers to the west and north are now accessible, as well. The western chamber holds only a very old and austere toilet, while the northern chamber, much larger, seems to have been some sort of workshop.
A short red metal pedestal against the south wall displays what appears to be a jet-black stone egg the size of a small boulder. A complex golden glyph that looks like a stylized arrow marks the face of the egg.
"I'm from the Bronzewood Lodge, yes." Rosella glances at Seeker then looks quickly away. "Many people there eschew metal armor entirely. It's part of our culture. Or maybe religion. I'm not actualy sure which." Druids can't wear metal armors, and while many at the Lodge didn't have that restriction they still tended to follow the same rule out of respect.
She looks curiously at the items Alaïs has described as magical, but still can't tell anything about them. Wanting to be useful, she aids in passing waterskins back and forth while Briar and Alaïs conjure ever-colder water.
"Ah, yes, of course, of course." Seeker bobs her head eagerly.
She does not assist with the mold cleanup unless asked to directly.
Edrukk explores the workshop as a craftsman, looking for signs of the workman’s skill and looking at the quality of the tools he used.
Briar goes through all of the uncovered areas to get an overall view before taking time for a more thorough search. ”The egg and this amulet both have an arrow glyph on them. Anyone know anything about what that might mean?”
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Briar sings along to Kata’s song, not wholly familiar with the tune, but enjoying the distraction from her chore regardless.
”Maybe they are keys needed for some later puzzle, Alaïs? Whoever designed this place seems to enjoy messin’ with people.”
“These seem a bit more practical than that, but maybe that would explain the oddments in the bag Broccan found.” Some sort of portal key, since they were architectural models? And there was that interesting frame on the main level…
Alaïs wrinkles her nose at the unhealthy scent of the dead mold, stepping back a bit to let the water seep into cracks in the stonework rather than getting her toes wet with the foul muck.
For now, she pokes her head in the southern room, and then starts poking around a bit more.
After having satisfied her curiosity for the moment, she perches on the edge of the stone bed and takes another look at the latest trinkets, before distributing largesse with the ease of an aristocrat for whom magical toys are a familiar trifle.
“Kata, I think you’d find the most use for these,” she says, handing over the goggles. “I’m not sure about the shape of them, but they should be useful for getting at the workings of traps and things.”
“And now that I’ve thought on it, these are definitely names on the bell – the style of the glyphs is older than anything I’m quite familiar with, but close enough to… It seems a bit of a blend, really. Anyway, it’s some form of necromancy. Not anything really sinister, but shaping the memory of old servants or something into a useful bit of force. Oh, I say! We could probably sneak one into the flooded room to see if the elemental’s guarding something that binds it here!”
She sets the instrument to one side, before holding up the knife. “Now this, honestly, I’m not sure about. Anyone keen on knife-fighting? And see here? This has to mean, ‘Slay the unliving,’ and here, this is definitely another name: Moriel. And that must mean ‘The Singer of Death.’ But it's a song too low for me to hear, right now.”
Alaïs wiggles a bit restively, looking around the room again, as all these mysteriously quasi-meaningful inscriptions weigh on her thoughts like silent whispers, though thankfully the Cairn seems disinclined to give them audible voice today. She moves over to the north chamber, and the penny drops.
”The egg and this amulet both have an arrow glyph on them. Anyone know anything about what that might mean?”
“Nadroc,” she pronounces confidently, though she’d be hard pressed to explain how or why. “Though how the two things are related, I don't know, beyond being marked with the same name. We should be very careful, if the stories about Arabrecht back home are anything to go by. Basically, beware of stone eggs where there oughtn’t be.”
Briar takes a closer look at the unidentified knife. ”I wouldn’t say I’m particuarly fancy with a knife, but I do carry at least one on me at all times, and it suits my hand when we’re fightin’. Calistria favors the whip, I know, and I wouldn’t say I dislike it. Just more I prefer someone else holds it, if you get my meaning.” Her attention is still completely on the knife; the innuendo comes out more matter-of-fact than anything, as if she has just gotten to the point that she does it out of habit. ”Well even if we can’t figure out what it does, that inscription sounds pretty promising, don’t it?”
She glances back at the egg as Alaïs gives the name “Nadroc.” ”You bring up a good point about weird stone eggs, but it seems a shame to just leave it, especially when it might be worth something. Leave it for, I suppose.”
"I c'n figh'twith'eh knife," Broccan offers. "'sup close'n pers'nal, like fists."
"I can fight with a knife. It's up close and personal, like fists."
He doesn't reach out to take the knife, though.
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Kata takes the goggles, her face perplexed even as she slides them over her face. "I don't know why you thought these look like my sty--" The end of the sentence dies in her throat as she waves a hand in front of her - Kata has always been an expressive talker, saying as much with her hands as with her voice at times - and she notices with great detail the hairs rising from her wrists, the wrinkles in her skin at the bends, the blue-ish river of a vein of blood just under her skin...
"Oh! OH! They're magic! And really good at helping you pick out detail. Yes, these will be very helpful if we find more puzzles. Which I hope we don't. Thank you, Alaïs!"
Not interested in the knife, Kata instead turns the name Nadroc over in her head, trying to recall if she's heard it or read it in any of her time spent among the cultists of Lady or their prodigious library...
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Rosella's eyes widen with an almost childlike wonder as the cold water disperses the mold. "That's amazing! It looks like we lit an ice after all." No matter how many passes she helps with, she remains fascinated by the way the water is created, then chilled, then thrown onto the mold.
She doesn't comment much on the magical items, (none of which seem to be something she'd desire), although she does heft her bow when the knife is discussed. "I can use a knife, but if anything gets that close it's probably because I messed up. Better the knife go to Broccan or Edrukk; they're the ones actually getting in the faces of things. Probably Broccan." His fists have proven impressive so far, but she's worried about the possibility of running into things that can't be punched.
(She does flush when Briar mentions preferring to be on the other side of the whip, but doesn't comment further.)
"I...don't know what you're talking about? With the stone eggs I mean. If they're valuable, why shouldn't we take them with us?" Rosella is genuinely confused, but also willing to listen to the insight of those with more magical knowledge than she. "Who's Arabrecht? Do you think he was here?"
When Alais tries to sit on the stone bed in the southern chamber, she feels a strange presence beneath her, blocking her. Looking down, she sees nothing, and it takes her a moment to realize that there seems to be a constant current of rushing wind, a nearly solid pillar that makes this bed... surprisingly comfortable, actually.
... hatred. Hatred, and shock, and consternation. You feel an aching pain in your arm, coupled with a tightness, as if your arm has been broken and placed in a splint or a cast of some kind. A gathering of winds, a fluttering of feathers, and you suddenly get the pure, panicking sense that something is about to fall on your head.
Nothing does. The feeling of hate passes quickly, leaving you unsure as to its source.
The dwarf’s brow furrows at the destruction of the fine tools. He mourns the lost legacy of the craftsman and his tools more than the unfortunate that died in the block trap. He stands looking back and forth, indecisive, before nodding and taking action, gathering up the tools into two groups, broken vs. whole.
Briar looks to their new bird friend(?). ”So, you got any insight you feel like sharing about what we’ve found down here, Seeker? Or shall we need to head back upsrairs and find another route for the time being?”
"I have never touched that egg, so I do not know much of anything about it. But I would like to." Seeker's head bobs with interest. "That rune is the name of this place's architect, I think. Much of what was here has been looted, and much of what is still here..." She flaps clumsily past Kata's head and lands on the statue, pecking at the glass disk. "... is worth very little. Maybe our Nadroc was going to put something nicer in its place when the statue was done."
She looks back down at Briar. "But he did not get around to it."
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"I...don't know what you're talking about? With the stone eggs I mean. If they're valuable, why shouldn't we take them with us?" Rosella is genuinely confused, but also willing to listen to the insight of those with more magical knowledge than she. "Who's Arabrecht? Do you think he was here?"
Alaïs beams, settling in for precisely her line of work, preparing to spin a tale. “Well, in the first place, I’m not sure I could do more than totter around with it, and until we find a buyer for a decorative stone egg, I’m not sure what we’d do with it, while it’s safe here, for now.”
“Arabrecht, though, that was the home of Aelthian, in my homeland. Some time ago, there was a spot of trouble with demons in our wood,” she says easily, turning to use the dark mass of stone like a sinister prop behind her. “But Aelthian was an archmage, and he had seen forests grow, and seas rise, and stars fall, and he was not afraid. At the time, some say he would already have lived for ten thousand years.”
“And so the people pleaded with him for his aid, where he had ensconced himself in his library for so long, even by the measure of my kind, and at last he turned his eyes and his magic to this earthly world beyond. So he set his mind to a banishing beyond the dreams of any mortal mage, and when the time came, the demon host howled, and burned, and much of it was quenched. But the spell cut short, and when the people came back to Arabrecht, Aelthian’s home had vanished, leaving only a grassy hollow where a wind blew from all around to a black ball of stone that hovered in the air high in the centre, a wind that carries away any who linger to who knows whither.”
She falls silent, her magelight casting strange shadows over her and throughout the room.
“I’m sure that won’t happen here,” she says, shaking off the mood easily, a small, fey smile wistful on her lips. After all, while it’s a sad story, it has been some two thousand years, and Aelthian’s efforts weren’t a complete failure. “I think we’d feel something in that case even without our own magic. But I could scan it first, before we decide if any of us want to touch it.”
Seeker speaks the name, and Kata shivers. "Nadroc... it is a powerful name. Can you hear the hatred it brings with it? It rings through my body, like a tolling bell."
Scooting next to Alaïs, Kata takes a look at the egg, searching it from top to bottom, muttering focus, focus under her breath, one hand rubbing her other arm, as if soothing an old ache.
Feeling foolish, Alaïs braces herself just in case, against all odds, she is about to be whisked off to some hellscape or worse. Reciting the incantation for her magic-detecting cantrip, she murmurs, in a bemused show of bravado, “If this is another trap, I’d prefer verse on my grave to ‘I told you so,’ for the record.”
With that, she concentrates on the egg long enough to attempt to pick out any aura it may have
You detect an aura from above - likely the light spell - but nothing from the egg.
Alais places a hand on the egg.
Instantly, a thrum of energy passes from it to her hand. She pulls away just in time as spikes emerge from the egg, as its very form changes to something sharp and dangerous. The egg rocks, then rolls, then crashes onto the floor. As it strikes the ground, the stone of the egg seems to "splatter", almost like a liquid, before rapidly rising back up into an active, blobby form.
Two bright emeralds emerge from the depths, glowing with an intent light as they settle on Alais. With the growl and grinding of stone on stone, the earth-creature reshapes itself, rising into a smaller, stony simulation of the elf woman - but a primitive, basic etching version of her.
It barks something out in a language like a blacksmith's hammer striking a cliff face.
"Oh, dear," Seeker sighs, fluttering up to the highest point on the statue to get as far from the scene as possible. "That explains it."
“I’m not sensing anything,” Alaïs just has time to say, before the egg rolls away of its own accord, she’s sure, and reforms itself – there’s no better word for it – angrily.
"Oh, dear," Seeker sighs, fluttering up to the highest point on the statue to get as far from the scene as possible. "That explains it."
“Does it, now?” she quips through her uncertainty, though she does take a step back and hold up her hands in what she hopes is a placating gesture. She has no idea what the elemental (she guesses) is saying, and hurries through a call for peace in every language she actually speaks, <“Hold on, we mean no harm! Peace!”>
It’s a long shot, throwing out multilingual synonyms for ‘parley,’ but Alaïs is as surprised as anyone else as she finishes with something that sounds like an uneasy hiss of wind through a stand of pines, which she realizes just feels as right as any other language she knows.
The strange rock-creature seems to pause as Alais calls out in a whispery, sibilant tongue. Its head tilts to the side. It doesn't seem to fully understand Auran, but the elemental tongues are closely-tied.