"Broccan, pull her close t' ye! Ah need room!"
Hoping the fighter is able to comply, the dwarf swings around from laying on his belly to reach down to sitting on the edge of the hole. Glancing at the ring on his hand, he scoots off the edge to gently fall to the bottom of the hold.
Kata pushes her spear forward, towards the thing in the darkness, her attack wild and unfocused, the elegist silently relieved as the creature seems to be ready to flee.
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Alaïs hesitates, knowing how vulnerable she’ll be climbing, and how another person knocked out won’t help things any, but Briar and Edrukk spare her having to make the decision, as the young woman’s spell snares the slippery thing down there just long enough to slow it down, and Edrukk puts his ring to good use.
She tries to keep her spirits up as she tries to place the monster, continuing her poem,
“Come, let everyone stand fast,
with both feet firm upon the earth,
biting their lip with their teeth!”
She suits her own gesture to her words, as she looks for an opening, and tries to recall what the horrid beast might be.
She’s not sure it’s even sapient, so when she sees her moment, Alaïs lets loose a gloating laugh that echoes and flashes eerily down at the beast like a ghostly dagger...
...but unfortunately, either the angle is too awkward, or she just can't maintain her conviction in the face of the unknown lurking menace, and her scornful sound evaporates before it comes anywhere near the creature.
As Broccan pulls Rosella's body close and Edrukk slowly descends to join them, they see and hear the creature slipping away into the narrow tunnel to avoid Kata's strike, a thin trail of black blood dripping after it across the black earth. A smell like crushed ladybugs fills the stagnant air around them, a smell even Alais and Briar notice from up above.
As the creature vanishes into the darkness, there is a moment's silence. Perhaps it has learned to fear their sharp blades, and will trouble them no more.
Then again, perhaps not. A soft, croaking, rattling hiss begins to echo through the shaft, a hiss almost like bubbling, gurgling words. As the seconds tick by, those almost-words become clearer, more distinct, more word-like, and everyone notices that there is a faint rhythm and tune to them--a rhythm and tune mocking those of Alais and Kata, corrupting their comforting chants.
"Crack! Snap! Trip-trapped!
Rip, tear, stuck down there!
Can't get out! Scream and shout!
Scream until your throat's ripped out!
No way out! No way out, but:
rip, tear! Crack, snap!
Whittled! Spittled! Necks all brittled!
Scream and shout! Scream and shout!
But you're down the gullet and there's no way out!"
Edrukk mutters, "Keep singin', freak."
He touches Rosella, "Yer n' goin' anywhere, lass."
Casting stabilize on the unconscious woman.
Then he draws his axe from his back. "Yer taller, lad, get 'r out o' 'ere."
Edrukk focuses for a moment, calling one of his preparations to mind, and asking the Lord in Iron to allow him to heal his friend Rosella with it instead so that she might fight another day.
Broccan pulls the thunderstone from his bandolier, considers for a moment which side of the tunnel the thing climbed up to, takes his best guess, and hurls it up into the hole.
Broccan's aim is true, and he manages to throw the stone to just where it will affect the creature but not his friends. Still, in this cramped space, the cacophony is deafening. Everyone's ears are ringing when the echoing finally subsides. There is silence from up above.
Then the singing resumes.
"Kata, ge'ton'm'should'rs'n use'yr spear," Broccan suggests.
Kat, get on my shoulders and use your spear."
With her spell left ineffective and the creature apparently on the move, Briar aims her crossbow, readying to shoot whenever it appears.
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Alaïs really hates this – not enough room to squeeze in and make herself useful at close-quarters, and with little magic suited to the situation. She can almost hear her parents’ gentle but no less annoying murmur questioning why she couldn’t just focus like any of her brothers, and she shakes off the unhelpful feeling.
They all have, after all, at bare minimum, years more experience, and – well. Even thinking about her best friend , though: Lina would also probably have something to blast this nasty little monster with, or a deft blade smeared with something of exceedingly vehement unpleasantness, applied with an alarmingly sharp smile.
But that thought of feint and parry… How to tempt the lurker into the open, even partially?
“Hold on!” she calls, trying to introduce even more alarm than she actually feels into her voice. “We can get some goodberries down to you! Just don’t let that sneak get behind!”
It takes a moment, but eventually she gets the tiny pouch of now rather squished enhanced fruit in one hand, and – silently – her dagger in the other.
Kata blinks for a second, the space between Broccan's words and her comprehending them stretching out, a seeming eternity, while the ringing in her ears subsides.
Then she does as he says, climbing onto her friend's shoulders, mumbling an arcane syllable as she does so - a glammer, a bauble really, almost laughable in light of the horror waiting in the darkness. The tip of her spear erupts into light, pale yellow/white, warming, like sunlight through a frosted windowpane.
Peering into the darkness, Kata waves her spear watching the shadows receed and tumble. "It went up! I think it went up!"
Rosella stirs as Edrukk's spell heals her crushed throat. For a second she lays there, blinking. Then she scrambles to her feet.
"It was coming for me, right? That's what Kata said?" She looks around, frantic. "Is everyone else alright?" She apparently doesn't register the strangeness of Edrukk being down at the bottom of the hole whereas before he'd been at the top.
Seeing Kata climb on top of Broccan's shoulders, she reaches again for her bow. "I'm...I'm alright now. I can cover you while you climb."
Edrukk stands with his back to Broccan, axe readied, watching for the creature to try to come around behind the group.
As Kata creates a blossoming burst of light from her spear, she and the others catch a brief image of the monstrosity. It is springing across the shaft and scrambling up the rocky sides--straight towards Alais and Briar.
It looks almost like a child at first glance. But the longer one looks, the more obvious it becomes that it is nothing of the sort. Its arms are too long, its movements too fluid, boneless. Its needle-like teeth are like those of a deep sea fish washed up on the shore, its leathery flesh like the rotting skin of that same fish, its smell as bitter and acrid as ground-up insects.
In the blink of an eye, the creature is over the edge, and the startled Briar's shot goes wide. The creature gives a wet, rattling shriek deep in its throat as it lunges for Briar.
And then the tip of an arrow punctures up from through its lower abdomen.
The creature staggers. It gurgles, hands clenching and unclenching inches from Briar's neck. Then it tumbles backwards, back down into the pit.
The party watches as its form seems to quiver in midair, and briefly they think it might still be alive. Instead, the foul body dissolves into a mass of writhing vermin--millipedes, spiders, grubs, beetles and woodlice. The harmless but disgusting swarm rains down upon Kata and Broccan. Of the creature, nothing remains but a few scraps of tattered, rubbery skin.
Edrukk makes a fair impression of a dancer he saw once that just steps quickly, creating a series of sharp reports from his hard-soled shoes striking the wooden floor as he attempts to crush ever vestige of this swarm.
He exhales, "Right, then. Why're we 'ere, ag'n?"
He calls up, "D'ye 'ave a rope? Ah'd 'ave ye pull m' pack up 'fore I climb out."
Briar exhales as the beast finally falls silent. ”Great shot there, Ella!” She looks down and nods at Edrukk as he asks for a rope. She disappears from the edge for a moment while she pulls the 100 ft of knotted rope from her bag and lowers it down. ”This do you right, Ed?”
In the uncomfortable silence that settles after the most recent burst of nightmare – punctuated only by the muffled sounds of Edrukk’s incensed stomping to crush the horrid remains of … of whatever that thing was – Alaïs feels foolish as the moment stretches and snaps, leaving her still holding berries and blade, unnecessarily.
She’d be tempted to down one of the former, if it were in proper, liquid form. Images of a few long-ago parties flash briefly through her memories, though there the confetti were very much more agreeable. As it is, it would not quite produce the desired effect, visually speaking, so instead she tidies up and checks to see if there’s a salvageable length of rope left up top from where it was broken.
In the event, when Briar provides new, Alaïs just gets ready to help brace as necessary, sure that everyone below will be eager to get out of there.
“Glad to see you’re feeling better,” she calls cheerily from the top of the shaft, “As Briar said, that was a lovely shot. Is everyone else alright?”
Her show of taking the past minute in stride is transparently an effort to reassure, and compartmentalize.
Briar exhales as the beast finally falls silent. ”Great shot there, Ella!” She looks down and nods at Edrukk as he asks for a rope. She disappears from the edge for a moment while she pulls the 100 ft of knotted rope from her bag and lowers it down. ”This do you right, Ed?”
"Aye! Thank ye!"
He ties the pack to the rope. "'at's it! 'aul 't up, missy!"
He picks it up and holds it as high as his arms allow so the ladies have a shorter pull, just trying to be a gentledwarf.
"Shou'dwe see'f there'sany'thin in the tunn'ls? If this thing'ah hunter'it migh'teh lef thins from its prey," Broccan suggests.
"Should we see if there's anything in the tunnels? If this thing is a hunter, it might have left things from its prey."
"'r ye small 'nuff t' fit? Ah don' work well 'n tight spaces."
Briar hefts up the pack as requested, lowering the rope back down when she’s done. ”Good idea, Broc! If it’s smart enough to sing, maybe it was smart enough to hold onto something good, right?”
Broccan retrieves his sunrod, sheathes his sword and worms his way into the tunnel at the ground level, holding the sunrod in front of him. Trying not to think too hard about what he’s crawling through, ’s jus’ mud, Broc, ‘s jus’ mud, he scans around the burrow to see if the creature hoarded anything inside.
Still a bit unnerved, Alaïs waits to help the others back up, and with a bit of prestidigitation ready to get any last bits of dead bugs and whatever from the evaporated monster off them.
She’s almost certainly skinny and bendy enough to be folded neatly into tight spaces, but since she’s rarely studied things that need a quick, eagle eye on them at all times, she’s probably not the best choice for a quick rummage for interesting bits and bobs.
Rosella stands there for a moment, panting, before putting her bow away in preparation to start climbing back up. Then immediately readies it once again as soon as Broccan starts squirming into the tunnels, shifting her grip slightly so she could use it as a melee weapon if needed.
It's a good idea to look for potential valuables. That's the whole reason they're in this cairn to begin with. She's nevertheless guiltily glad that Broccan volunteered, even though she's smaller. She doesn't do well in tight spaces either.
"Be careful in there Broccan. There may be more of those things." She remembers the way it had fallen apart into a mass of vermin and shudders. "Whatever it was. If you see or hear anything moving, come back straight away." She punctuates this statement by places her ear against the wall nearest where Broccan is crawling, listening carefully for sounds of anything else moving in there.
At last, he comes to what appears to be the creature's den. This place stinks not only of crushed insects, but also the sweet scent of of decaying dead. Bones litter the floor. There are many black feathers here, too, as if from some massive crow, and the shards of was once, perhaps, an enormous black beak lie still-slick with spittle, as if the choker was licking and slurping them clean of lingering taste.
Overcoming his revulsion, Broccan searches through the hideous mess until he finds a dark-tinted potion bottle, a vial of mysterious liquid, and a very well-crafted light crossbow.
As Broccan's light disappears into the cramped depths, Seeker seems to recover some of her courage. She flutters down to the bottom of the shaft to watch the group recover, and tentatively turns the shreds of skin over with her beak. Her eye-tendrils peer at it curiously. "It's dead," she declares aloud, almost as if struggling to believe it. "You killed it."
Broccan gathers up the two potions, the crossbow, and a handful of of the dark feathers. He secures them as best he can from within the confines of the Thing's den, and then begins the process of climbing back out to the latrine shaft.
Broccan emerges and reunites with the party a few minutes later, muddy, sweating, and covered with a very unpleasant smell.
Briar runs her hand over Rosella, healing her wounds further.
”That should do you for now, Ella. Amazing shot there!” She blushes as she thinks on the movement of Rosella’s arms and shoulders a bit too hard.
Changing the subject to avoid embarrassing herself, she turns to Broccan. ”So you got any spoils down there we should be identifying?”
Once everyone is out of the latrine and back in the hallway, Broccan removes the items from his pack: the , and the handful of giant black feathers.
"I fou'nits den," he says to the others. "Look'd t've jus' finish'd eat'n a big crow'r'rav'n. Lots'eh bug shells, too. T'wernt starvin' down'ere, seems." He points to the items laid out for the party to peruse. "Was all'eh cou' find. Sorry 'bou'tmeh smell."
"I found its den. It looked to have just finished eating a big crow or raven. There were lots of bug shells, too. It wasn't starving down here, it seems. This was all I could find. Sorry about my smell."
Wordlessly, merely humming a bit of work song, Alaïs sets about with her cantrips to help the ascended explorers clean up as much as possible. She only just pulls a slightly apologetic face, knowing firsthand (i.e.: getting too close to the work of cleaning up after a successful hunt) that it does feel rather like being put through the wash along with one’s clothing. Still, it’s only a minute or two, and it’s much preferable to sitting about in a gown that’s all bloody (or worse).
“It happens,” she says, glibly enough that it’s obvious that she has not, in fact, much had to suffer through such before, before focusing her attention on what Broccan was able to find, reaching out with her aura-sight.
“Only the bowl and what's in the bottle are magical,” she reports after a moment, brow furrowing as she tries to learn more, and giving the age-clouded vial a shake to see if there’s anything in it.
As the seconds creep by and the elven lady's brow does not un-furrow, it becomes clear that she's distracted by her current, desperately unprepossessing surroundings. "Hmm," she huffs, "I confess I might just have to ask Artophanx if this is his bowl, and as to the potions, well..."
The vial contains alchemist's fire.
Rosella breathes a sigh of relief when everyone is back up out of the pit. "That could have gone worse, I suppose. At least I didn't land on anyone when I fell." She rubs her still-sore throat with a grimace, which quickly changes to a smile of gratitude as Briar soothes away the last of the injury. "Thanks, Briar. And thank you too Edrukk, for coming down and healing me." She'd been unconscious when he actually cast the spell, but she remembers waking up to a fading glow from his hands. "I suppose I shouldn't have put my bow down, but I didn't expect it to be so fast."
When Broccan lays out his findings, she immediately starts examining the crossbow. "I don't really like crossbows. They're too bulky and take too long to reload. They're easier to use than regular bows though, which is a plus." She's pretty sure they all have ranged weapons already, but depending on the craftmanship the crossbow Broccan found might be an upgrade for someone.
Rosella determines the crossbow to be of masterwork quality--whoever crafted this put a lot of care into it, and its original owner kept it in good condition.
Briar holds up her own crossbow. ”I certainly wouldn’t turn down an upgrade, ‘specially if I’ll be shooting from the back like this a lot. I’d happily give mine to someone else who needs one.”
"Ah 'spect t' be 'n front wit' m' sword. One o' yer welcome t' th' fancy bow."
's yours Miss Briar," Broccan replies offering her the well-made weapon. "I'll be stand'n w' Mast'r Eddrunk in'eh front."
Alaïs shakes her head in resignation: partly at the thought of crossbows, the barbarous things, but mainly at how the magic in Broccan’s findings eludes her. Perhaps less surprising for the bowl, but she should be able to manage a potion, she rebukes herself.
“And Kata and I will move back and forth as occasion demands, I’m sure,” Alaïs says, cheering up a bit as she manages to treat battle-order lightly, before adding, on a more serious note, “The little vial might prove convenient if we have to burn any more beetles in the near future. In any case, shall we consult our stout stone fellow?”
As she searches for the words she’s going to need, the elf bard tries not to worry too much about how she’s certain that she has no clear idea of where they’re coming from. Poking her head back into the elemental’s lair, her normally clear voice sounds dryly as she tries to find Auran words with Terran cognates so that some sort of communication is possible.
<“We found your bowl!”> she announces, her tone acknowledging her doubt even before she adds, <“We think? Can you show what we need to do?”>
Artophanx rises up once more and stares at the bowl with his piercing emerald gaze. He shambles over to Alais and looks up at her. "This is a lot you take with trust. Do you just promise to carry me where it discussed?"
That is a very fair point, come to think of it, which Alaïs has managed to overlook until now, given the question of whether the bowl could be found in the first place. She nods gravely, hoping to smooth over the gaps in speech by body language: it won’t just be a promise to her, for what it’s worth, but she has to think quick about how to convey that. After all, she knows very little about how elementals work. They must have some sort of gods, right, even if they work differently?
<“Yes, but we can carry you where you want. Do you trust Phasadriel with your eyes? Do you want us to take them all the way to our wizard? Or we could bring them back to you once we talk with Phasadriel. If we could show the bowl to our wizard, at least - even without your eyes - that might help him work on sending you home.”>
<“According to your choice, I, Alaïs Thalanassa, swear by the lady-gods of my people, Findeladlara above all, to do my best to return your eyes to you safe and sound as soon as I can, as part of trying to find a way to free you. If I do not do this, may I never see my own friends and family more!”>
She thinks she gets the gist of it across, though some of the earnestness is lost in translation. She does have another idea, though, and she quickly produces her signet and her harp as sureties. The ring, she hopes, is a fairly obvious symbol of the family she invoked in her oath, but she clarifies about the instrument, <"No gentleperson among my people would willingly give up their harp for good and all. You can keep these until we return with your eyes, and news?">
Rosella hands the crossbow to Briar as soon as she mentions wanting an upgrade. "It's very well-made. Honestly I can't believe it's still in such good condition, after being down here unmaintained for gods only know how long. The crafter must have put a lot of love into their work."
She hangs back while Alaïs talks to Artophanx. She'd have nothing to add to the conversation even if she could understand it.
Artophanx considers Alais's promise, and offer, and questions. After a pause, he shambles forward and reaches up. With a sound like spilling sand, he grasps his glowing emerald eyes and sets them clinking in the bowl.
And just like that, the elemental standing before the party is gone. The life leaves its form, and rock and dirt turn to dust and sand, spilling to the floor to rest as still as death.
The two eyes stare up at Alais, alone still glowing with life.
Briar takes the crossbow from Rosella. ”Thank you greatly, Ella. If I’m going to be shooting from a distance, might as well have something a bit better, eh?” She hefts it in her hand, feeling it out. ”Certainly won’t hit any shots like that last one a’ yours, though.”
She watches Artophanx transfer into the bowl via the eyes and looks impressed. ”Well ain’t that tidy.” She preloads her new crossbow. ”Guess we moving on, right? Maybe back towards that area with the water thing?”
Broccan nods. "Yeah, les' let th' Stone Thing n' the Wah'r Thing 'ave'eh chat."
"Yeah, let's let the Stone Thing and the Water Thing have a chat."
"Yes," Seeker says, settling to perch on the shoulder of Rosella or Briar if permitted, "let's get out of this horrible place."
She watches Artophanx transfer into the bowl via the eyes and looks impressed. ”Well ain’t that tidy.” She preloads her new crossbow. ”Guess we moving on, right? Maybe back towards that area with the water thing?”
Alaïs’ own eyes go wide and a muscle along her jawline tenses as Artophanx … condenses? distills? collapses in on, certainly, himself. That’s one way of putting it, she thinks. If only it would be so easy for every living thing. Although, when the time comes, do we have to put the eyes back or…
It occurs to her that she seems to have missed any particular instructions about when to return his eyes too.
<“I’ll take that as carte blanche, within the scope of the general idea, then?”> she half-grumbles in Elven, before her eyes go ingenuously wide again as she realizes she’s being rather rude and switches back to Common. “Oh, I am sorry! Believe me, I’m finding this as surprising as anyone!”
Her brow furrows as part of her continues to fret over just how she’s been able to talk with Artophanx at all.
“I promised to bring him back as soon as we can, and just … offered a pledge of good faith?” she explains. “I think we could see if we could convince his counterpart now to help us drain those chambers, at least until we can search them. And then they can be made more comfortable for watery sorts again until we can work out some unbinding? Or, if anyone has any other ideas, I can try to translate.”
Alaïs also doesn’t actually know Allustan all that well, and wonders if the poor wizard will have a heart attack if she knocks on his door asking about how one goes about sending a handful of elementals home. That problem’s a couple of hours away yet, she reckons, though, so she cradles the bowl carefully in front of her and offer a small self-deprecating smile that’s a bit more of a grimace. “Shall I, or does someone else want to do the honours?”
Either way, she’s as eager as anyone to get out of section of the cairn, and falls in with the others into their odd little procession.