Broccan pulls a sunrod from his bandolier and gives it a hard tap on the stone floor, causing it to flare to life.
He rises to his feet, holding the sunrod in his left hand, and drawing his handaxe with his right.
He takes a few steps down the hallway into the dim, deciding to be the first to breach the darkness.
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Rosella crouches down next to the clearest of the tracks, studying them with a practiced eye. "At least three wolves, if I had to make a guess. Maybe more. Not the largest pack around here, but they'll be dangerous if cornered." She stands up again, somewhat self-consciously brushing off her pants.
"Here's my suggestion. Broccan, if you're taking the lead, Edrukk should go next to back you up. Then Kata so she can keep an eye out for those traps. I should head up the rear, both to have room to shoot if necessary and so if anything drops down behind us they hit me instead of you."
She digs through her pack and produces a torch. "Alaïs, mind going right in front of me and holding this? My bow takes two hands, but having one source of light at each end might be a good idea. That would leave Briar in the middle. Sound good to everyone?"
"Works perfectly for me!" She feels safest in the middle anyways, not the first into trouble, but also not the easy-to-pick-off last. She taps Broccan on the shoulder. "Have a bit a' Calistria's guidance, just to be safe."
The party proceeds onward to the northern alcoves.
The western hall extends perhaps forty feet, ending at a small marble platform raised about six inches off the floor. A strange, shattered arcane apparatus rests upon this platform, its curved ovular frame giving the appearance of a noble's dressing mirror. Only a third of this frame remains. An unusual arcane glyph about the size of a man's head has been delicately carved into the baseplate of the support platform.
Fifteen feet down the east passage, a huge pile of collapsed rubble blocks the alcove from top to bottom. It looks like it would take weeks to tunnel through the densely packed debris.
The green light from the north is easier for everyone to spot here, flicking faintly like a flame trapped in emerald.
Broccan remains where he is in the middle of the hall, moving forward as the others examine the alcoves.
"Don' wann'eh have any'wolves sneak'n up'n'us," he says to no one in particular, as he scans the edges of the sunrod's light for signs of movement.
Briar gives herself a little bit of Calistria's guidance, too, and takes a look at the clump of soiled cloth. Even though she's wearing gloves, she still uses her dagger to poke and move the cloth as necessary.
The western alcove contains a moldy old bedroll, hardened and brittle with age. When Briar cautiously pokes it, several whittling shavings fall out, along with something small and made of wood. On closer examination, the wooden object appears to be an unfinished carving of a scarab beetle. The carving is crude, but ambitious—perhaps carved by a whittler still honing their craft. The letter "G" has been carved into the scarab's back.
"Caith used't carve'h bit," Broccan says softly. He looks at Kata with an unspoken question: do you think it was hers?
While Briar checks the western alcove, Rosella heads over to the eastern. They're here for valuables after all, and there's no telling what might be stuck in a random corner. Even if the odds are against them this close to the entrance.
It also gives Broccan and Kata a mostly-private moment to examine the effects that might have once belonged to their friend.
She worries a bit as she listens to Kata’s explanation of what to expect inside the cairn, noting her starts and stops, and offers a sympathetic glance while maintaining her decision not to be inquisitive.
"Here's my suggestion. Broccan, if you're taking the lead, Edrukk should go next to back you up. Then Kata so she can keep an eye out for those traps. I should head up the rear, both to have room to shoot if necessary and so if anything drops down behind us they hit me instead of you."
She digs through her pack and produces a torch. "Alaïs, mind going right in front of me and holding this? My bow takes two hands, but having one source of light at each end might be a good idea. That would leave Briar in the middle. Sound good to everyone?"
“I don’t mind going a step ahead,” Alaïs acknowledges, making no move to take the torch. “But unless you particularly want an open flame…”
Singing a quick cantrip, she calls a light to the gauntlet of her off-hand. As she lets her own voice drop, she keeps an ear out for the breath of air within the cairn. I would swear there are words there after all. Whispers. And not kind ones.
While Briar checks the bundle in the nearer alcove, Alaïs is drawn to the shattered apparatus in the alcove beyond. Catching Broccan’s quiet question, she begins to understand Kata’s unease, and her heart goes out to the other singer. A brave thing, this, to put it mildly. To press on into a place that – There are a lot of things about Diamond Lake that seem to call for more preparation to consider fully than Alaïs would like.
She concentrates on examining the arcane wreckage, trying to figure out what sort of device it might originally have held, and to identify the glyph carved into the support platform. As she steps up to what’s left of the shattered frame, Alaïs can’t help but think she cuts an emblematic figure, like something out of a book of improving woodcuts. An illustration of Vanity.
Kata finds little in the small southeastern alcove.
You also notice a number of remaining shards of an unidentifiable shiny black substance. They feel like stone, and are slightly cold to the touch—colder than the floor they've fallen on.
Black Heron. The thought flashes across her mind unexpectedly, and Alaïs tries to place it. It’s strange. The glyph doesn’t look particularly like anything from the languages she’s most familiar with. She repeats it aloud. “Black Heron. How odd. Does the name mean anything to anyone?”
With that, she swoops down and up again as she refocuses on the apparatus, running her fingers over a black shard to pocket for later. Allustan might be interested, she decides. Certainly, she is.
Black Heron? Black Heron...the name does not sound familiar. A heron is a bird, though, right? She wonders if they happen to look much like a raven. She was not exactly an ornithologist as a child, so she could be forgiven for mistaking one bird tattoo for another. She immediately rushes over towards Alaïs to take a look at what prompted her. She'd just as well not have to deal with thinking about any poor murdered children left to rot in the corner. "I don't think I know any Black Heron. Why'd you ask?"
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Kata stops, closing her eyes, memories coming on pressing into her head for the first time in years. "Things. Things long forgotten, they're coming back. A strange broken sculpture of some sort, beautiful mosaics, and a chamber shaped like an octopus full of glowing lanterns of every color. Whispers, everywhere, a sarcophagus shaped like an arrow. Caith, she bounded over the rubble, found her way easily. I struggled to keep my bearings. It's all fragments, like a shattered mirror."
Kata stares back at Broccon, answering his unspoken question. "Could be. This... wasn't here, right? When the search party came through?"
Her hand hesitates over the bundle, and then she reaches down and picks up a bit of the cloth. What did Caith wear that day? Kata holds the cloth to the light, hoping, praying, that there's no memory left to unearth.
The bundle is a bedroll, Kata finds, cracked and dry with the years. That's not to say it wasn't Caith's.
"Could be hers." Kata frowns, and places the bedroll back, her touch gently, the Pharasman offering a quick, silent prayer to its owner. "Caith, she'd sometimes go 'camping.' She was a little distant from her family."
Looking to the others, Kata picks up the carving, eyeing the letter G.
"Camp'n...n'ere?!?" Broccan replies in a tone of incredulity. "Mos'kids 'ad t' work up'h nerve t' jus' walk in 'ere. Twas'h ser'ys dare t' stay fer for more'n'eh few min'its."
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"I don't think I know any Black Heron. Why'd you ask?"
“It’s what that glyph means,” Alaïs says, pointing, “but I can’t place it beyond that.”
“As to whatever this thing was when it was whole, the inside of the frame’s marked with runes that suggest transportation. Something like an aiudara, perhaps? Stepping into a mirror, how marvellous!”
Briar nods and looks over the device and the glyph. She starts muttering to herself. "Figures that even the magical transportation out of this shambolic town would be shambolic itself." She finally straightens her back and scans around. With all the time she's had to devote to practical learning and skills, she never had much opportunity to get into the details of magic. "Well, that's sorted then, I suppose. Let's keep lookin'." She looks back to the others near the mound of cloth. "Best stay close though, give the others a chance to mourn. Shouldn't rush 'em through that." She reflexively draws a Calistrian three-pointed-dagger on her chest, much how an Iomedaean might cross themself.
Noticing the others' desire to move forward, and not wanting to shirk his duties as the party's point-man, Broccan gives Kata a gentle nudge and says softly, "We c'n sor'tout th' mem'ries later. Bes' keep mov'n fer now."
He turns and walks back to the front of the group, keeping the sunrod before him, and handaxe at the ready.
"'s like a bard's flute." He gestures vaguely at the ceiling, "Not far below th' ground. Som'un drilled 'oles through t' th' open air s' th' breeze makes notes 'n tunes."
"Aye, put me t' th' front 'n let me watch fer th' dogs. Ah should see 'em 'bout when they get 'n th' light o' yer sunrod." Perhaps surprisingly, he unlimbers a shortbow rather than one of his blades. He nods and winks at Rosella as he does so. "Jus' like target practice, aye?"
The party continues onwards.
The central hallway opens into a large chamber with wings leading to the east and west. Across the chamber to the north yawns a twenty-foot-wide open arch draped from top to bottom in translucent cobwebs. An eerie green light flickers from beyond the webs, casting strange shadows about this room.
The place smells of animal spoor and wet fur. The sibilant, almost human whispers present in the passage become a chorus in this massive chamber, eerily echoing off the walls.
Huge slabs of cracked masonry and irregular piles of scattered debris choke the eastern wing, giving the appearance of complete collapse.
Huge slabs of cracked masonry and irregular piles of scattered debris choke the eastern wing, giving the appearance of complete collapse.
Huge slabs of cracked masonry and irregular piles of scattered debris choke the eastern wing, giving the appearance of complete collapse.
You can make out words in the whispers now.
hopeless
sacrilege
enemies
thieves
Alais and Briar don't appear to have noticed the beasts yet.
If they attack first, as will probably be the case, he will forgo the move and attack with the greatsword, focusing on one threatening/attacking an ally, prioritizing those attacking non-fighters first, then Rosella, then Broccan.
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Alaïs decides, mostly consciously, although honestly she is a bit distracted, to let the more skillful trackers worry about how fresh the scent of wet fur might be as she catches sight of the dais and frescoes in another alcove to the west. Knowing that she’ll need more light, she presses on ahead.
“How fascinating! Trompe-l’oeil paintings over here! If only we had a coloured lantern or a lens to look through. It looks like they’re designed to bring out different parts of the composition based on the balance of the light…” she keeps her voice respectfully low, considering the sombre space she’s in, but she does stroll over eagerly to get a closer look. It would be fair for the others to goggle a bit, she expects: she wears her armour and is coping with poking about in a ransacked cairn well, but her tone and her movements very much suggest someone who’s happiest in an elegant gown, discussing the details of the latest exhibitions at a gallery with other cognoscenti.
Before she gets close enough for much more than a second glance, Alaïs stops and turns on her heel as the whispering echoes build up to demand her attention.
“Oh, I say! I resent that remark. Only half of those things are even plausibly true, and not even, yet.” Her attempt at a nonchalant tone makes it clear that she’s doing her best to put on a brave face, but her expression is pale in her mage-light, and she’s very clearly frightened. She looks to the others. They’re going to think you’re mad. “There are very definitely words in the whispers. Did anyone else hear that?”
Broccan faces down the wolves, his teeth bared in a look of determination, and hopefully, deterrence. He holds his axe high, in a ready position, prepared to bring it down on the first wolf that gets within reach.
Rosella continues forward in her recently-determined spot in the marching order. She knows little of history and less of magic, so she understands basically none of what Alaïs and Briar are talking about. "You think this thing used to be a mirror? That...transported people?" She eyes it warily. "I guess if this cairn used to be some sort of landmark it would make sense to have a way to get here. Not sure what's wrong with just walking or riding though."
She's relieved when they leave the broken mirror/transporter/whatever thing behind. As Edrukk unsheathes his bow she winks back at him, lightly running her fingers across the string of her own. "Those trees never knew what hit them."
As they continue down the hall she tenses at the smell of wet fur. Peering around, even in the dim light it's not difficult to spot the wolves. Probably because she'd expected them.
"Four, not three, must have missed one of their tracks..." Her eyes widen as Alaïs keeps going forward. "Alaïs, wait, don't you see the wolves?"
As they continue down the hall she tenses at the smell of wet fur. Peering around, even in the dim light it's not difficult to spot the wolves. Probably because she'd expected them.
"Four, not three, must have missed one of their tracks..." Her eyes widen as Alaïs keeps going forward. "Alaïs, wait, don't you see the wolves?"
“…” Alaïs blinks.
“No?” and again, feeling incredibly foolish as she peers into the darkness beyond the limits of her vision. She raises her hands as if to ward off what might be coming. Wolves, apparently. They’re normally more scared of us than we are of them, right?
She hesitates between reaching quietly for bow and sword and shield, in case she’s wrong.
"Wolves!" Kata yells, her voice rising in pitch as she fumbles to get her spear up. Kata's mind, always partially present somewhere else, turns itself over, tumbling through its wolf-lore, and her mouth follows. Where her warning was hurried and high-pitched, her voice now carries through the cairn, low and assured.
"Poor, loving-wistful, long and lean, with a smile askew,
They wandered up and down, gaunt wolves, and hungry too."
As Alaïs steps into the room, Broccan, Kata and Edrukk go stiff. Rosella cries out a warning. Moving the swiftest, Kata begins shouts her own warning—which lapses into a low, reassuring melody that echoes throughout the hall.
Alaïs spins in time to see three lean gray wolves springing down from the rubble to the east, growling and snapping as they race straight for her. Spittle flies from their jaws. One leaps at her leg, trying to pull the elf to the ground. The others move swiftly to block her off from the party.
Broccan and Edrukk leap into action. Broccan rushes forward and swings his axe down in a vicious, bloody arc, cutting a shallow gash in the side of the nearest wolf. Edrukk drops his shortbow and unsheathes his greatsword from his back in one startlingly swift motion, slashing at the same beast—and slipping into the rhythm Kata has provided, his sword narrowly finds its mark, sinking deep into the wolf's back. Everyone hears a snapping sound, and the wolf crumples.
Between the masses of rubble, a fourth wolf steps out. Its lip curls in a snarl. This wolf is a little larger than the others and looks much better-fed. A straight line of scar tissue bisects its face from forehead to muzzle.
It stalks forward, but keeps its distance, observing the party with a wary gleam in its eye.
Rosella steps to the side and looses an arrow, but misses.
Broccan strikes at the wolf directly in front of him, trying to give Alaïs a clear path out of danger.
Broccan slashes at the wolf's leg—it yipes and falls back slightly as a dark streak of red appears across its mangy gray fur.
Kata scoots forward gripping her spear with both hands, and looks to Alaïs, who seemed stunned by the quick reactions of the wolves. Best to attack the one closest; perhaps they could kill the wolf and her companion can get out of danger. Putting as much force into her attack as she can muster. Kata thrusts her spear at the nearest wolf.
Edrukk circles around the other side and strikes at the wolf "north" of Alais. He roars at the wolf, "Off wit' ye, ye mangy cur!"
Edrukk rushes forward and strikes, but this time, the rhythm of Kata's song isn't enough to save his swing, and his target narrowly ducks under a swing that would have nearly decapitated it.
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Alaïs' hesitation is ended for her as a pack of mangy beasts springs at her, and she narrowly avoids being pulled down. Her shield will have to wait, but seeing Kata loop around to flank one of the wolves, she draws her sword and lunges.
Even with everyone taking some of the pressure off her, it's too much, and as she realizes her blow's going astray, she shifts back into a defensive posture. She finds a song to answer Kata's in an attempt to recentre herself, though she knows her words will be wasted on the animals.
"With an arch of the neck and the bristling of fur,
I'll cling to the earth with a footing that's sure.
With sinewy limbs, pounding the ground,
By the scruff of your neck, I'll hold you for hours."
Alaïs's attack goes wide, but the wolf is distracted by her for a critical moment—long enough for Kata to lunge and stab the wolf in the neck with her spear. The beast crumples.
The scarred wolf howls and rushes in, it and its remaining packmate ganging up on Edrukk.
Rosella takes a few steps forward, more annoyed with herself for missing her first shot than concerned. The bite Edrukk took certainly looked nasty, but they can get it patched up once the wolves are dead.
Her brows furrow in confusion when the other women start...singing? The tune is oddly catchy though, and it seems to help her aim. This time she focuses on the leader. Broccan should be able to handle the last of the poor half-starved creatures.
Briar curses in shock as the wolves descend on everyone and a chaotic melee begins. Exactly the kind of scenario she was dreading. She reflexively draws in the shadows around her into a cloak of protection, then advances to the front, dagger in hand, but hesitating to strike. "Well what a holy show this is, Sweetbrier Sinead Vervain in a knife fight with a wolf."