Rejecting Garen's recommendation, Silvio follows the western path in the next room past two bends ending in another door. The door has no handle, knob, or keyhole.
Further south, Garen hears the unintelligible muttering continue.
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On the other side of the door, Sledge and Median grouse and lament their current situation. Khuvaan chuckles ruefully. "No risk, no reward. From what I saw, the door closed in under ten seconds. So if you want to make it, you have to go quick. Just remember to take a running start next time, Sledge."
The half-orc frowns, though, thinking about the situation. "Don't worry about getting trapped, though. There will be another way out that doesn't require coming back through a one way door, or else no one would have survived this. Now I'll head north and run after you with my rope just in case one of you falls in again. Ready?"
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Silvio slinks back to the door, satisfied that at least one path did not seem to be an immediate danger in their presence. "Another door a couple bends down that way. No doorknob, key, or handle, not sure how you're supposed to open it, which is good if you ask me."
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Garen tries talking through the door even though he suspects no one can hear him. "Anyone on the other side? If so, let me know when you intend to try again." He says. He respects Silvio's wishes and does not call out but waits patiently by the door. Assuming his companions will try the doors again he waits with the intent of using the sledge hammer to block the door and hold it in place this time to slow the descent of the door.
Silvio returns from his brief scouting mission where Garen waits and hopes that the others are trying to open the door again.
In another coordinated effort, Sledge, Median, and Khuvaan count down to make sure that they all flip their levers at the same time. And this time they all take off running. The door rises again with the grinding of stone against metal and just as quickly begins to fall again.
Sledge flips his lever and jumps across the pit to the other side, where he sees Garen waiting. The sledgehammer lies between them, while Sledge waits to see if Median is going to make it or have a hard time.
Median takes a few steps backward, swiftly and nimbly soaring over the pit but skidding on a patch of tiny stones around the next pillar. She begins to pitch into the pit!
She leaps as best as she can, and although she falls short she sees Sledge with arm outstretched towards her. Their hands smack, fingers fumbling in the grip, but Sledge was ready for this possibility. Median's feet slam into the opposite wall within the pit, threatening to drag Sledge in as he tries to pull her up.
With a mighty yank, Sledge lifts Median up out of the pit. They pinwheel through the air, glancing back to see
Garen crouches down with the door's ever-encroaching crush, the audible clock of grinding metal and stone, while the magus and sorcerer try to regain their footing. From the other side of the pit, a screaming half-orc swings into view and leaps across the final pit. He sees Median and Sledge off-balance and puts his shoulder first partway through his jump. Touching down down on the other side, he catches Median in the lower back and with a shove launches both of his companions across the threshhold and under the door.
They tumble together in a mass of limbs, torches, and magical light, colliding into Garen and taking him down with them, ultimately stopping just short of the wall on the other side of the door. "Good luck!" Khuvaan calls out, kicking the sledgehammer back under the door right before the door closest between you with a shudder.
Although the loud wailing had stopped, now that you are in this hallway you hear strained sniffles and occasional murmurs coming from a door at the south end of this musty hallway. There are a host of bones strewn on the floor here, many of which are cracked and broken. It almost looks like there is a makeshift barricade in front of the door. There are bits of rope and string around some of the bones, along with some pieces of wood and cloth bags all tied haphazardly together.
"Praise Erastil that you made it!" cries Silvio as the rest of the team expertly navigates the treacherous path to the door.
"Can any of you make heads or tails of this mishmash of bones?" Silvio tries to figure out if the rope and string signals yet another trap. And he wonders if the bones look new or if they're much older like the skeletons they'd fought earlier.
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Whew, thanks Sledge! I thought I was going into the pit for sure, but then ... you are much stronger than you appear, and then Khuvaan tackling us like that... I think I am going to have a bruise, but at least we made it.
When Silvio speaks up, Median says
Uh, looks like someone fought more of those skeletons here...
but then she sees the bits of string and rope and wood and cloth, and actually stops complaining to look.
Weird... okay, wait, let me look.
Sledge nearly blacks out as he hauls Median. It wasn't that she was too heavy per se, it was the injuries. Blood oozed from where the skeletons had brutalized him, and was pretty sure the fall into the pit had bruised at least one of his lungs.
Don't show weakness Sledge. Say something flippant. Dismissive. Prove you're still in charge of this situation
As he unsteadily rises to his feet, he glances over at Median. "Darling, we simply must stop meeting like this."
Hmmm. Not your best work.
"Shut up," Sledge mutters to himself, as he joins Median to look at the bones.
He hits one against the wall, experimentally. Recent bones would be much more pliable than old dried ones.
"If there are people still alive here, we should find them. Noises from the end of the hallway seem like a good place to start." He re-casts light on his flail, not wanting it to go out if there's a fight. "Shall we go?"
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"We were just waiting for you all to join the party. Let us see if we have a beast or a person in distress." Garen says and heads down the hall. If Sledge acts as if he wants to take the lead he offers, "You may want to hang back, you've been worked over pretty good already. You can step in and save my bacon again if necessary."
Garen carefully places the hammer in the door. After he and Sledge and Median go tumbling, he looks to where the door was descending and sees that the hammer has stopped the door from descending completely.
To Sledge's eye, the bones appear just as old as those they had fought in the entryway, brittle rather than pliable. They're all humanoid, mostly of medium size, though it's hard to know without a full set whether they belonged specifically to humans, elves, orcs...but given Kassen's history and current population, human is a good guess.
Ahead, the mess of bones and wood and cloth and string looks more like a makeshift barricade, but not a trap. The barricade is probably more prominent on the other side of the door, where the occupant could have piled things in front, but it looks like they tried to make it even harder to get through. The door, however, is locked.
As you all continue speaking, even the muttering that you all had heard upon entry stops.
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Median hears a bow being drawn, but figures it is the crying person, and they probably are just scared, so she tries to engage with them.
Hey, you, in the room! Are you from Kassen? I'm Median... you know, of the Vargidans? Everyone knows us. I have a small group with me... we're the ones that were chosen to bring back the Everflame, you know? We cleared the way back to the entrance, and we can escort you back to town if you want. I'm sure they're worried about you back there. The mayor sent you guys out here to prepare for us, right? You did a great job in that last room. Those pillows were sure better than landing on spikes or something... thanks for that! Hey... who am I speaking to in there? Do you need healing ... or food? We can share. We're just trying to make sure you're okay!
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As Median begins talking, Silvio's contribution is to pray that she knew what she was doing.
"Yep--you've got the whole chosen crew here," adds Silvio, hoping he was offering a familiar voice.
"No no, be my guest," Sledge says as he lets Garen past him. He listens in silence as Median talks, but keeps his flail drawn. Certainly that speech could melt the heart of a stone, but did skeletons have hearts? Probably not. Impressive anyway though.
As she talks, Median hears the sound of the bowstring undrawing, and the muttering resumes.
Me-di-an. Var-gi-dan. That sounds familiar. Why would the angry bones know that name? Think, Roldare, think."
You hear pacing begin on the other side of the door and then the voice calls out to you. "Are you a trick of the dead one, the dead one who speaks? Trying to fool me?" There is a brief pause and then the muttering resumes. "No, no, nonononono, if they were, they wouldn't tell you. Dumb, Roldare, dumb."
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He sounds a little mentally frazzled, so Median keeps talking to him carefully.
I'm not a trick, I promise. I'm really Median Vargidan, from Kassen. We came to find you and help you get back to town. Could you unlock the door, maybe? I'm here with the others and we'd like to help you get out of here. Do you know Khuvaan, the ranger? He's here too, and Garen, the Paladin. We killed the skeletons, so the way back to town is safe. Just peek through the door and make sure it is us. We'll stand way back so nothing can hurt you while you check.
"Is Damira with you?" Sledge calls through the door.
"Damira?" Roldare repeats, hearing his sister's name. he screams, beginning to wail again. "Oooooh, Damira, why? Why did they take you? The angry boooones, no, no, nonononono. Why did they kill Gerol and Vark? What did they do to deserve that?"
The voice trails off into disturbed muttering, and you can hear the pacing continue on the other side. You catch a disjointed scatter of previously-spoken words and names: Chosen, pillows, spikes, guest, paladin, skeleton, Damira, unlock, food.
As the pacing continues, you hear the sound of crates being dragged around on the other side, followed by the *click* of a lock. The door cracks open and you see a completely disheveled man who looks like he hasn't slept in days. He has a fine-looking bow slung across his back.
A horrendous smell also wafts out of the room. It doesn't seem like Roldare has left this room in days, and the evidence of that is everywhere. It doesn't take a doctor to realize that the man has gone somewhat mad. Calming him down further may take some effort.
"Do you know Damira?" he says, a bloodshot eye scanning the lot of you through the crack in the door.
"I know her." Sledge says. "Did she accompany you here? How many came, and how many can you confirm to be dead? Were you ambushed? Who did this?"
The torrent of questions comes flowing out of the young magus, but he can't help it. He is much less eloquent than Median, and answers were of the utmost importance to him.
The bloodshot eye in the crack of the door widens, bulging at Sledge, before Roldare huffs and begins pacing again.
"Two days...two days ago the walking bones came. It was dark, the middle of the night. We had been setting up the dungeon for the young adventurers' arrival, to test them, yes. Three days ago we came, six of us. Me, Damira, Gerol, Vark, Paak, and Bree. They dragged Damira off and killed Gerol and Vark. We were putting pillows in the pits and checking the shields and the keys and the pool, but oooooooohhh the walking bones! And the one with the voice of death, who stalks these halls in ancient mail. He wasn't here four years ago, no, no, nonononono. I barely got away. I wanted to try to save Damira, but I couldn't. No, Damira, no..."
You recognize all of those names. Damira is a local woodcutter who also does some shifts at the Seven Silvers Tavern, and is Roldare's younger sister. Gerol and Vark are two of the mayor's good friends. Paak is an acolyte at the Temple of Erastil. And Bree is a baker and a disciple of Ilimara Oniri, a Qadiran woman who has lived on the outskirts of Kassen for eight years.
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"I know Damira as well, and Bree. Perhaps if you survived, someone else might be alive as well. But let's take care of what is in front of us first, and get you cleaned up and taken care of."
She tries to push through the door to help the man get cleaned up... as the oldest child of a very large family she is used to such filthy tasks, including her father at times, who occasionally drinks to excess and vomits on himself, but this is much worse than her father ever gets, and the smell is hard to take.
She is unable to force her way through the remains of the barricades however, so instead she gets as far as she can and holds out one of her waterskins, offering him a drink, and trying to get him to focus on sanity... cleanliness often helped with that, if her father was any indication.
Here, have a drink, and let's make sure you are okay.
She casts Prestidigitation and starts helping him get cleaned up.
"Don't give up hope yet, Roldare. You've got backup now, and we struck down some skeletons on our way in. But you need to get your strength back. To be honest, we all do." Silvio shows some of his bruises, which are really much milder than the cuts that others still have. "I think it's time for us to rest, like Median's been saying all along."
Silvio begins the slow task of non-magically tending to wounds. He treats Median, Garen, and anyone else who could use it.
Hopefully, as Roldare settles into his new situation, he's willing to talk. "Can you tell us about the different traps you set up? You said shields, keys, and the pool?"
Garen (Con 14): 3 lethal, 5 nonlethal
Median (Con 12): 3 lethal, 3 nonlethal
Silvio (Con 12): 0 lethal, 6 nonlethal
Sledge (Con 12): 4 lethal, 5 nonlethal
Winter (Con 15): 0 lethal, 1 nonlethal
Roldare (Con unknown): unknown lethal, unknown nonlethal
Long-Term Care (DC 15): Providing long-term care means treating a wounded person for a day or more. If your Heal check is successful, the patient recovers hit points or ability score points lost to ability damage at twice the normal rate: 2 hit points + Double Con per level for a full 8 hours of rest in a day, or 4 hit points + Quadruple Con per level for each full day of complete rest; 2 ability score points for a full 8 hours of rest in a day, or 4 ability score points for each full day of complete rest.
You can tend to as many as six patients at a time. You need a few items and supplies (bandages, salves, and so on) that are easy to come by in settled lands. Giving long-term care counts as light activity for the healer. You cannot give long-term care to yourself.
Treat Deadly Wounds (DC 20): When treating deadly wounds, you can restore hit points to a damaged creature. Treating deadly wounds restores 1 hit point per level of the creature. If you exceed the DC by 5 or more, add your Wisdom modifier (if positive) to this amount. A creature can only benefit from its deadly wounds being treated within 24 hours of being injured and never more than once per day. You must expend two uses from a healer’s kit to perform this task. You take a –2 penalty on your Heal skill check for each use from the healer’s kit that you lack.
Healing Nonlethal Damage: You heal nonlethal damage at the rate of 1 hit point per hour per character level. When a spell or ability cures hit point damage, it also removes an equal amount of nonlethal damage.
Roldare flinches away from the waterskin as it is passed through the door, but then reaches for it and gulps water down noisily and quickly. He barely even seems to notice as the filth slowly begins to disappear from his skin and clothing. Underneath the grime, you see that Roldare's wounds match those of the two men you found in the entry hall, and of the dead horses outside. Some of the wounds are showing signs of infection as well, as they have not been properly cared for. You see that his tongue is white, dry, and cracked, showing severe signs of dehydration as well.
Searching through the crates in the room, you find ten bedrolls, a pair of bullseye lanterns with 4 flasks of oil, 5 days' worth of rations, and two potions labeled "healing." It looks like some of the rations have been eaten, so Roldare isn't starving. But there is no waterskin in sight.
When Silvio pulls out a few words from his rambling speech, Roldare looks blank. Then he gets a little fearful, squirming around again. He hits his head with his hand, more in frustration than actual injury, wailing again. "I don't remember! But you'll need them. And you'll go for a swim somewhere. Ungh, why can't I remember?"
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Silvio remains curious about Roldare's story. "You talked about coming here four years ago. Were there any of these walking bones back then? Or is this an entirely new event?"
As he asks this, he conjures more water in Roldare's waterskin. "Please drink. Erastil provides."
Silvio helps himself to some of the food from his backpack as well.
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Median also encourages Roldare to sleep, telling him that it is okay. They'll figure it out. She's a little worried that his mind is permanently broken, but hopes that with time and rest (and, Sarenrae willing, the rescue of his sister), he will be okay.
She leaves her second waterskin with him, letting him get rehydrated.
If she is able to clean the room Roldare was staying in up enough that it doesn't stink anymore, then she suggests that they stay in that room... seems safe, since he survived for several days.
I'll take first watch she volunteers, putting some of the simpler, lighter barricades back in place on the inside of the door.
"No, no, nonononono, I never saw the angry bones before!" Roldare wails between gulps of water. If he doesn't slow down, he might get sick soon.
Median busies herself with prestidigitation, and although it can't completely banish the stench it goes a long way to making the room somewhat more habitable. Still, it will be somewhat cramped overnight. And despite your best efforts, Roldare doesn't necessarily look like he will be getting too much sleep. He rocks in the corner, arms around his knees, continuing to mutter. But at least the wailing has more or less stopped.
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Median goes and gently takes her extra waterskin away from Roldare. More in the morning, okay? Too much now will make you sick. Now, do your best to rest, and hopefully tomorrow we'll get you on the way back to Kassen. No more crypts.
She spends most of her watch sitting with him, hoping that the human contact will help.
"Alright, I'll take the second watch," agrees Silvio. He and Winter roll with the plan of holing up in the tiny room.
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"No, no, nonononono, not without Damira," Roldare mutters in response to Median's suggestion of returning to Kassen, shaking his head and descending into a repetitive script of "not without Damira, not without Damira" for the next several minutes, until he gets distracted by something else.
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"I suppose if she isn't dead yet, it's unlikely that she'll be killed tonight. And if she's dead, she won't get more dead" Sledge thinks about where they are, and what befell the bones here. "Probably anyway. The man is exhausted. This may be a mercy. And it won't work on the bones anyway. Look at me Roldare. Watch my hand." Sledge color sprays the man, which if he's 2 or less hit dice and he fails a DC 15 will save, he falls unconscious for 2d4 rounds, which I hope might let him fall asleep for real.
"What?" he says pre-emptively, looking at his companions. "I'm helping."
Roldare does as he is told, watching Sledge's hand. When the vibrant cone of clashing color emerges and washes over him, his eyes widen and he begins looking all around him. The gibbering screaming, which had more or less abated due to Median and Silvio's efforts to calm him down, resumes with new fervor.
"Damn it, what did I say about aiming that thing?" shouts Silvio, as he pulls Sledge's hands out of Roldare's face. The halfling has no idea what to say in this unexpected situation, so he fumbles about. "It's okay, Roldare. Sledge is just . . . unconventional in his ways!" He glares with annoyance at Sledge, clearly having wanted to say something more insulting in that space.
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Garen's firm approach earns a return to mostly soft, whimpered, occasional mutterings. "Yes, Damira, help Damira. Yes Damira, help Damira. Yes Damira, help Damira."
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In the morning, Median talks to Roldare.
Hey Roldare, we're going to find Damira now, but we want you to stay by the entrance with Khuvaan, who can guard you and keep you safe, okay? Do you mind if I take your bow so that I can kill the bad guys with it?
Median gives Garen back his crossbow, thanking him for the loan.
A bit put out that he's gone 0 for 4 on color sprays, Sledge gets some rest before his watch, and decides to put that spell on the back burner.
Throughout the night, whoever is on watch occasionally hears whimpering and mumbled whispers from Roldare, but it's not enough to interrupt your sleep. You all sleep soundly, given a long day or travel, a hard-fought battle, and several treacherous hazards. This could not have been with the town elders of Kassen had had in mind, nor what previous groups had experience--right? Four years ago, Olan had come back with a sprained ankle, but was otherwise in good spirits. What was going on here?
Either way, the Inheritor would be proud of you. You had charged in valorously ahead of the throng and put yourself directly in harm's way to ensure the survival of your fellow townsfolk. But it's certainly more active danger than Sir Dramott's usual training regimens.
You dream of an incident with one of the other acolytes at Kassen's Temple. Paak, one of the few other acolytes who was not an Erastilian, was discussing similarities and differences between the missions and works of Iomedae versus Sarenrae. Despite being a Sarenite, he was deathly afraid of fire. As you speak together, one of the simple candelabras falls over and the pyrophobic acolyte runs screaming from the room.
When this had happened for real, you had found Paak cowering in a corner, where he had confessed to you his great shame. A Sarenite, afraid of the cleansing flame! He believed in the Dawnflower's message of Redemption, but felt like a fraud that he could not wield the Healing Flame as he felt his goddess command him to do. But as the dream persists, flames lick up all around you. The fire from the fallen candelabra had caught and now spread out of control, consuming the Temple. You walk and kneel down next to Paak, clasping your hands together in deific adoration. A breeze whips the flames into a frenzy and you both erupt. All is agony.
When you wake, sweating, you swear that you can still smell your hair burning.
You land on one of the docks and see dozens of people milling about in a crowd far larger than anything you have seen in Kassen. The woman, now wreathed in rainbows and once again sporting shimmering gossamer wings, takes you through twists and turns of alleys and into a tavern. She encourages you to go and play a round of dice with some ranger-looking types in the corner. She blows on your dice as you walk over. You win three games in a row before turning around to see that she has disappeared. And then you wake up.
As he rises back up, he turns back towards you. Behind him, you see three more figures with swirling not-faces. Their statures look familiar: a dark-haired woman with a fine bow, a dark-haired man swinging a flail around, and a well-armed knight with a longsword. All at once, the four people are overwhelmed with a wave of purple-black energy that burbles up from the ground. The reach their hands up to their non-existent swirls of mouths, seeming to scream silently in agony before they fall to the ground.
In your dreams, you walk through stone hallways not unlike what you had wandered through during the crypt so far. You pass through a stone archway and see Damira bound to a marble table. A figure in a white robe stands on the other side of the room, facing away from you. The figure slowly turns around to face you and raises a large, vicious curved blade over her head. She is a pale elven woman whose dark tresses nearly disappear in the shadows of her cloak. Around her neck, she wears a simple golden chain with an odd-looking medallion that you can't make out from this distance. Before you can move, she stabs the blade down into Damira's chest.
The night was, thankfully, uneventful after a full day yesterday. No skeletons knocked down the door. Even Roldare seems quiet this morning. But you have to imagine that Damira is still somewhere in the Crypt.
As Roldare wakes up, he looks nervously over at Sledge, but seems comforted by Median's demeanor. "You find Damira. Yes! Yes, yes, use my bow! Save her, save her, yes yes yes." He goes over to where he had stored the bow in a box full of straw the night before. Picking it up, he looks at the fine weapon fondly and hands it to Median.
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Median looks admiringly at the longbow, checks the string, makes sure she has blunt arrows ready, and hugs Roldare if he lets her.
Thank you, Roldare. I will do everything in my power to save your sister.
Then she goes with the others, calling to Khuvaan to help from the other side, to lift the door and get Roldare to safety (at the entrance with Khuvaan).
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Garen says a series of short prayers preparing Guidance, Light, and Detect Magic. Then he dons his armor. He pulls part of a ration to break his fast and then moves through a series of exercises to limber up his shoulders and stretch his legs in preparation for a potentially violent day. As he does this he says, "This place has a dark aura. It invaded my dreams. Let us hope it does not take inspiration from them."