The arrow sinks into the larger wolf's side, and it yipes and snarls, whirling to see what hit it.
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Kata's jaw drops open for a second, her expression twists, her eyes shut and grimacing, she turns her head, pulling her spear from the wolf. Twenty-five years. She'd gone twenty-five, and never hurt anything.
Get over it! Shaking her head, she drifts around the next beast, again finding herself across from Alaïs, another wolf between them. Another wolf, another lunge.
Broccan hews into the scarred wolf with his axe, trying to finish it before it can do any more harm.
True to her burst of song, whose melody she wordlessly maintains, Alaïs takes advantage of the bloody opening the others have made for her and circles carefully around to put the last wolf between her and Kata, waiting until the last second to close, and making sure to give the beast room to flee if it has any sense of self-preservation.
“Go!” she calls, hoping the wolf will take the hint of the direction of her vicious slash, and flee the cairn.
Moving to flank the scarred wolf with Kata, Alaïs moves in and scores an ugly slash along the wolf's cheek.
The wolf yelps and cringes away.
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Edrukk has a running commentary going once the fighting begins in earnest.
"'as right, wee beastie, get 'ff th' lady, chew 'n th' dwarf!"
"Oho! Two 'n one, fightin' smart, 'r ye? Ye'll 'ave t' work 'arder t' pull down a dwarf!"
"Well struck, lass, 'at's a fine blow! N' need fer 't t' suffer, put 't outta misery, aye!"
"Time fer endin' 'is, boyo! Bite me, Ah'll be fer bitin' ye back!"
Edrukk takes a nasty bite from the larger wolf, but his dwarven frame easily resists the attempt to pull him down and he whips the greatsword around quickly enough to cause the smaller wolf to hesitate and miss before falling to a well-placed spear thrust.
The dwarf turns and nods at the combined efforts of his singing companions and how the larger wolf appears to be cowed, but he's not going to let a predator go to hunt his friends in their bedrolls. Not an animal...
The scarred wolf ducks under Edrukk's swing and takes off bounding for the exit. Perhaps by chance, it manages to choose the best and quickest route out, springing north away from Broccan, past Kata and Briar, and straight towards the entrance.
Briar screeches as the wolf turns, thinking that it’s about to pounce on her. She slashes reflexively at it with her dagger, immediately regretting the action when she sees the creature is trying to bound away.
“Wait, let it go! It’s running!” Alaïs cries out, too late for Edrukk and Briar, but maybe enough to stay the others’ hands if the wolf passes close to them on its way out. She can’t blame anyone if their reflexes kick in, but she can’t really fault the wolf either: it’s only a beast, all but cornered in its lair.
Briar cuts the scarred wolf's side, though she gets little more than fur and a growl for it.
"S' prob'ly gonn'h run f'r th' hills. I'm think'n'e won' be stay'n 'ere ann'eh long'r," Broccan remarks, as he watches the scarred Alpha wolf lope for the entrance of the cairn.
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Edrukk grasps his holy symbol and whispers a prayer as the wolf flees before replying, ”’tis a wily one, ‘at beast. See ‘ow ‘e ‘ad more meat on ‘im? ‘ow ‘e waited fer th’ others t’ attack first? ‘e’s a problem, too smart t’ trust t’ run like ‘n animal ought.”
The dwarf limps over to some rubble to sit and examine where the Alpha ripped into his leg. ”Uncle’d not get caught like ‘at. Need t’ learn ‘ow t’ block better wit’ ‘at blade. Bandages. Ah brought n’ bandages.” He smacks his forehead.
Kata lets her spear drop and watches the wolf go. Planting the spear's butt-end on the cairn floor, she then leans her head into it and shuts her eyes. "Thank you, Alaïs. I couldn't bear stabbing another one."
As Edrukk talks of the wolf's cunning, Kata rubs one wrist with her other hand and reverses, her frown widening. "Do you think so? Is Rosella's horse in any danger? Maybe we should bring it into the Cairn with us?"
Maybe I should have stabbed it. What if it kills a Lakesider?
Briar looks Ed over, her expression grave as though he is deeply injured. She suddenly grins and lightens. ”Who needs bandages?” She snaps her fingers and taps him on the head.
She looks at the former wound location and nods to herself, satisfied. ”No wound, no bandages. The Lady in the Room is feeling generous today; I was worried I wouldn’t get that in one go.”
"Shou'we take'eh look'r'roun' n' then see was' deep'r in?" Broccan suggests, once he confirms no one was permanently harmed by their first battle.
He walks a ways into the western corridor, holding the sunrod before him.
As Broccan advances into the western corridor, his light spills upon a brilliant gallery of color.
A wide dais spanning the back half of the western wing calls attention to a faded fresco upon the south, west, and north walls. From a vantage point at the center of the dais, the wall painting makes it look like one stands within a massive room with seven short hallways radiating outward from a central point. A chain dangles from the ceiling at the end of each hallway, and each chain bears a gleaming colored lantern. Clockwise, the colors are red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet.
thieves
looters
sacrilege
hopeless
despair
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Kata lets her spear drop and watches the wolf go. Planting the spear's butt-end on the cairn floor, she then leans her head into it and shuts her eyes. "Thank you, Alaïs. I couldn't bear stabbing another one."
As Edrukk talks of the wolf's cunning, Kata rubs one wrist with her other hand and reverses, her frown widening. "Do you think so? Is Rosella's horse in any danger? Maybe we should bring it into the Cairn with us?"
Alaïs nods her acknowledgement of Kata’s words while she wipes her sword clean. “I don’t think so, if Dancer’s been trained for combat.” She’s not sure, but to her, Rosella looks like the sort who would train her mount practically. “One swift kick would probably do for that wolf if it got any ideas, in the state we left it.”
“Are any of –us,” only the slightest hesitation suggests her silent self-correction from assuming that of course one of the others would be glad to render service, “skilled at cleaning a kill? I can do it, though it won’t be the neatest. But the gods of my people do not love an empty hunt. I won’t pretend that my wolf stew would win any prizes, but someone less fastidious might take these poor devils off our hands, and a tanner might be interested in the skins.”
Her thoughts stray fondly to the mistress of the hunt at home that taught her most all of what she knows about hunting and woodcraft. How did Therisiel always put it? ‘If it’s not to defend the forest, girl, make sure either you or someone else keep it from going to waste. That’s true sport, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.’
Although she enjoys a break in the wilds every now and again and can get by in them, hawks and hounds and hunting are some of the many things Alaïs – unlike her middle brother, for example – only dabbles in. As soon as she sheathes her sword, then, she turns her attention back to something that can really hold her interest, the frescoes in the western cross-branch around the dais.
As she gets closer, Alaïs realizes that she hadn’t quite processed what she was seeing correctly while distracted and in the half-light, and, more distressingly, that the cairn’s whispers are getting more insistent.
“My mistake,” she says softly, addressing both her initial assessment of the painting and the voices she’s hearing. Still trying not to alarm the others, she starts lightly before getting serious. “Interesting. Rather too insistent a separation of hues for my taste, but I’m not the arbiter of everyone’s elegance. Although speaking of arbiters, as I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted, I can’t be the only one hearing that, surely?”
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Rosella frowns as the wolf runs out of the cairn, though she makes no attempt to pursue. "Dancer'll be fine. That wolf isn't going to attack her, hurt as he is. If he did he'd get a hoof to the head for his trouble. A whole pack hiding in here also means there shouldn't be any other predators lurking around. Not natural ones anyway."
"However Edrukk's right; we should have killed him if we could. It would have been more merciful. No pack, severe injuries...he'll almost certainly die anyway, a lot slower and more painfully than if we'd stabbed him." Seeing the concerned look on Kata's face, her voice softens. "If he lives though I don't think he'll be a threat. A lone wolf isn't going to attack people. He'd stick to smaller, easier prey."
"Oh, and nicely done Briar." Rosella smiles at the taller woman. "Much neater and cleaner than bandages. Edrukk won't even have a scar." That last bit is delivered in a teasing tone. She knows enough about Gorum's faith to know they view scars as a point of pride.
When Alaïs asks about cleaning the kills, she nods and pulls out her dagger. "I can skin them while you check out the wall; the pelts make good coats. I'm not much of one for art anyway." The brilliant hues of the lanterns are intriguing, but Rosella has no idea what they could mean and is content to let the others figure it out. She briefly pauses though when Alaïs mentions hearing something. "I've heard what sounds like whispers, but nothing distinct. Are you hearing actual words?"
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Briar looks Ed over, her expression grave as though he is deeply injured. She suddenly grins and lightens. ”Who needs bandages?” She snaps her fingers and taps him on the head.
She looks at the former wound location and nods to herself, satisfied. ”No wound, no bandages. The Lady in the Room is feeling generous today; I was worried I wouldn’t get that in one go.”
Edrukk grunts as he admires Briar's handiwork. "Thankee, lass. Yer connection t' yer lady 's strong. Ah shoulda asked th' Laird 'n Iron fer some healin' t'day, but Ah prepared fer battle 'nstead." He stands and flexes the once-injured area, "Well done, 'ndeed. Thank yer Lady fer me, if'n ye would."
"Oh, and nicely done Briar." Rosella smiles at the taller woman. "Much neater and cleaner than bandages. Edrukk won't even have a scar." That last bit is delivered in a teasing tone. She knows enough about Gorum's faith to know they view scars as a point of pride.
Edrukk feigns a scowl at that and harumphs as he sheathes the greatsword and collects his fallen bow and arrow.
"Want me t' drag the remains outta th' cave when yer done, lassie?"
"If y' wan' th' pelts, I'll'elp wi'the skinnin'," Broccan says to Rosella. "N I'll'elp Edrukk get the car'csses ou'side."
Rosella does her best, with Broccan's help and Edrukk's waste disposal services. These wolves didn't have the nicest pelts, and their meat isn't exactly ready to cure, but Roselle's learned a trick or two about improving the quality of a low-quality hide. She's not able to finish the job, but she is able to collect pelts that can, once she has the alchemical supplies, be tanned properly, and she's made sure they won't rot in the meantime. Luckily, the wolves weren't mangy, just hungry.
Meanwhile, Alais grows increasingly unnerved by the whispers around her.
"Shou'we look'n'eh wolf den'n make sure'neh pups'r in'ere?" Broccan asks the others.
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Broccan holsters his axe, and crawls into the den, holding the sunrod before him. Once inside and able to stand again, he carefully nudges the piles with his feet, looking for movement or anything unusual. He starts in the Southwestern side of the den entrance, and works his way around the edges of the area.
In the northern half of the den, you find an old leather backpack half-buried under a pile of humanoid bones.
"Wait, you're hearing whispers?" Kata asks, moving closer to Alaïs. The elegist's eyes are wide, her head jerks from side to side, peering into the darkest corners of the chamber. "Stay close! Don't go off on your own."
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Kata hears a rustling, and turns to see that Broccan has disappeared.
Oh, wait, there he is, crawling in the rubble.
Broccan grabs the pack and makes his way back out of the wolf den.
He carries it back to the group and sets it on the ground. "Some unfor'tunate's pack. Care t' see was' innit? No pups in'eh den, by'th'way."
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With Broccan's help Rosella finishes skinning the wolves. "Meat's probably not worth saving, but the pelts aren't too bad. Doubt there's pups with most of the pack that skinny, but it's a good idea to check." Mindful of the other's...squeamishness, for lack of a better word, Rosella doesn't mention that if they do find any pups she'd advocate for humanely killing them. Hopefully the issue won't come up.
She doesn't try to crawl in after Broccan, given that the area's a bit too small for two. Instead she, (likely along with Edrukk), starts moving the wolf carcasses outside. Once they're all outside, she pauses for a moment. "The grass is eaten by the deer, the deer is eaten by the wolf, the wolf is eaten by the worms, and the worms fertilize the grass. Understand the cycle." She makes a circular gesture with her hands and bows her head. The Green Faith is clear about showing respect to whatever you kill, and this is her way of doing so.
Brief ceremony over, she returns to the others. "Hey, you said you could create water, right? That would be real helpful, because I'd like to empty my waterskin." She waits for Briar's acknowledgement, then quickly cleans off her hands. "Glad to hear there weren't any pups. What's that lantern though? Does it match that one on the wall?"
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Briar preens a bit at Edrukk and Rosella's praise, happy to not have to think too hard about the melee. "She's been especially good to me lately. You do somethin' for Her and She's like to return the favor." A double revenge murder faked to obscure her involvement and it took place at a brothel. That's what they call a Calistian Hat Trick. Well, at least what Briar calls it. "The worm will turn, though. Probably be cursin' Her in a bit. I think She likes the satisfaction of our pitiful mortal reactions. Bit of a top, I'd say."
She turns to Rosella as she asks about the waterskin. "Sure thing. Pop her open and I can fill her up. Should probably top me own up." She snaps her fingers and the waterskin fills up with water.
"Where to next, everyone?"
Thick cobwebs completely cover the arch leading north, blocking any view of what's beyond or within except for a flickering green light in the distance. Those who draw near the dense webbing can make out a long flight of steep stairs leading down.
"Fin'out wha'th'green ligh'tis, I s'pose," Broccan suggests.
He looks at the tangle of webs covering the stairs. "I'd say jus' burn'em, but this'won'do." He holds up the heatless sunrod. "Any'one bring'a torch?"
"If'nah, we c'n jus' cut't, I s'pose."
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She briefly pauses though when Alaïs mentions hearing something. "I've heard what sounds like whispers, but nothing distinct. Are you hearing actual words?"
"Wait, you're hearing whispers?" Kata asks, moving closer to Alaïs. The elegist's eyes are wide, her head jerks from side to side, peering into the darkest corners of the chamber. "Stay close! Don't go off on your own."
“Many voices, single words. Unhappy, unfriendly ones: hopeless, thieves, despair, sacrilege. And the like.”
Alaïs gives her head a shake in a vain attempt to chase the insidious thoughts away. “And isn’t that strange? I know that, but for the life of me I couldn’t tell you what language they’re in.”
She makes Findeladlara’s sign over herself, a just-barely murmured prayer staying mostly in her head. Guiding Hand, guard us. Guiding Hand, shield us. Guiding Hand, shelter us.
It’s only when she hears Rosella asking about water and gathers that she and the others have dealt with the dead wolves already that Alaïs realizes how long she must have been lost in – contemplation? a daze? a haunting? Oh. That was kind of them. I’ll have to see what favour I can return.
"The worm will turn, though. Probably be cursin' Her in a bit. I think She likes the satisfaction of our pitiful mortal reactions. Bit of a top, I'd say."
Briar’s words (true, the elf aristocrat thinks, but she blushes at the maybe less-than metaphor, if the myths of the goddess are that true) and the sound of running water snap her back to the physical world, and she joins the group in considering the webs blocking the way forward. It’s not just that she doesn’t look forward to having to extricate herself from the sticky stuff (though she doesn’t), but she wonders what it might be hiding. She wonders if cutting or burning might be the way forward.
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Briar stays especially far away from the webs. "Sorry, bugs ain't for me. I got an extra dagger if ya need one to cut through." Taking a moment to think about what she can do instead, she gets out her crossbow and starts loading it, just in case they run into something else nasty or the scarred wolf comes back.
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Since it seems like the group is ready to move on, Rosella moves forward to study the only path forward. "Spiders, but just little ones. Not poisonous or dangerous." She considers Broccan's suggestion of fire for a moment, then shakes her head. "I'd rather slash the webs, if you all don't mind. It'll still destroy their home, and it'll probably kill some of them, but at least it won't burn them alive."
She shrugs a little uncomfortably, gaze dropping to the ground. "They're just spiders, but still...it's my faith. Like Gorum, or the Lady in the Room, or the gods of Alaïs' people. You don't hurt nature unless you have to, and never more than you have to. If that makes any sense."
Assuming there's no objections, she takes her own dagger and slashes through the webs.
Broccan draws his shortsword and helps Rosella cut a path through the webs wide enough for everyone to pass through single file.
Briar noticably relaxes as Rosella mentions that the spiders are not poisonous. "Fine by me, Rose. I've got no murderous hate in my heart for bugs, save for those that try to bite me. By the by, you prefer Rose, Ella, or Ro? Big fan a' nicknames, I am, and you have a name full a' 'em. If you'd prefer I just stick with Rosella, though, I certainly can."
Rosella takes her dagger and hacks through the webs, joined promptly by Broccan. Together, the two suspiciously similar warriors cut a convenient path for everyone to follow without too much risk of spiders falling on their heads. The rest of the party proceeds down the stairs after them.
A wide stairway descends into an immense domed chamber. Seven short tunnels branch from the room in all directions, extending some thirty feet before ending in rounded walls. At the terminus of each passage, a thick chain dangles from an unseen high ceiling. Five of the chains bear colorful unlit lanterns, but two hold nothing at all. Opposite the entry stairs, a bright green lantern containing what looks like a torch casts a weird, murky light about the room.
Countless chips of glass and shiny metal inset into the chamber's domed ceiling reflect this light, giving the impression of starlight and falling snow. The dome starts about ten feet off the ground and reaches an apex about thirty feet over the center of the room.
Below the dome's peak, a long dais holds what appears to be a marble sarcophagus. A milky white bas-relief figure rests passively upon the sarcophagus lid.
Unlike the rest of the tomb, this room is deathly silent. Alaïs hears only the echoes of her own footsteps as she reaches the bottom of the stairs.
She knows as soon as the silence hits that she has been here before. No lanterns were lit then, and it was very dark. Only their candles lit the way. She saw little. But she remembers the sudden silence that falls over the tomb upon entering. And she remembers the sudden darkness of candles being extinguished.
You notice that the figure wears a scarab-like amulet around its neck, also inscribed with a letter—but this letter is a strange symbol you don't know.
You notice that the figure wears a scarab-like amulet around its neck, also inscribed with a letter—but this letter is a strange symbol you find you immediately understand. The symbol is another name:
Zosiel.
Once the path is cut through the webs, Broccan cleans his sword and sheathes it. He then returns to the hallway and retrieves the pack with the lantern, left in the hallway.
"M'guess's this goes in'ere," he says, removing the indigo lantern from the bag and holding it up. He looks to the alcoves with the empty chains, first one then the other. "Which'one? D'we guess? What'd th'paint'n show?"
Rosella frowns, looking at the radiating hallways. "Probably between the blue and the purple? If whoever designed this place was going for a rainbow that makes sense, although in that case we're still missing the red..."
She cautiously approaches the sarcophagus. "Think the red one is in there?" Unless someone stops her, she tries to push open the lid. (Respect for those you personally killed is part of the Green Faith. Respect for those long dead is not.)
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"Maybe Ella? I mean, I don't mind whatever you want to call me, but there's, um, only one person who's ever called me Rose..." Rosella's voice trails off and there is definitely a blush on her face.