Niccan sees the ratling fall, and freeze in place? He doesn't care the creature is just insane! He moves up and attacks it with all of his strength.
"You abused them by changing them. Turning simple animals evil! Die and be gone!"
A less than pleased Khavel looked up at the Opparan's words, beard bedraggled and swollen with vermin. His exasperated stare swiveled from man to rat-thing. "Soot and slag, are you tellin' me this fiend's to blame?!" he called out, jerkily brushing another rodent from his shoulder before teeth could meet flesh.
Then, with a roar of frustration, he followed Niccan's example and barreled forward as swiftly as his stubby legs would allow, intent on ending the abomination at the heart of this warren. Rats trailed him like inky droplets, falling from his armor. With a practiced hand, the dwarf brought up his warhammer - weapon and holy symbol both - so high it nearly scraped the ceiling. From this great arc, it came down with all the momentum of the charge, all the frustration of the priest, all the might Torag saw fit to bless his servant with. It made for a stupendous crash.
It was Niccan, just having struck at the ratling himself, who saw it most clearly. Life and death struggle had a way of stretching seconds into ages. That's what happened when a combatant's senses strained to take in every minutia, every swipe and spark; the overload ballooned the momentary to the agelong. And yet. One second the ratling was there. The next Khavel's hammer came down. And somewhere in that interstice the ratling was obliterated.
The warhammer struck the floor with all the force of a falling star, cracking the stone. In that some moment, the vermin horde froze. Like deer catching wind of the novice hunter, they all turned their heads as one, black eyes glaring at the new crater. Then, just as Quintus had promised, they simply faded away. The spectral rats had appeared as if from nowhere, and nowhere was where they disappeared to. Their conjurer was no more.
The being that had been the warren patriarch, this bizarre rat-creature whose humanoid features only befouled its rodent aspect and vice versa, this mad emperor ruling its court of misshapen parasites for however long here in the dark... was now only a bloodied smear on the ground. The last Niccan saw of it was its evil glare. It had been defiant to the end, even paralyzed by the Abadaran's command, each wrinkle of its loathsome face more hateful than the last.
Good riddance.
Khavel stumbled backwards, momentarily overcome by a hundred rat bites.
Looking with admiration at Khavel, Quintus says, "Great timing! It looks like our Underwriter isn't the only one favored by the gods."
Kalig stands in the hall, muttering some very rude curses in Orc as the desire to heave subsides. She nods weakly to the others standing further in, amid the horrific pile of rat bodies. "If I'd thought to expect that this morning, I would have prepared myself very differently. But we never know, do we..." She looks herself over, covered in rat bites, and kneels down to pull out the healer's kit she did at least have the presence of mind to request earlier.
She does not reenter the chamber but speaks loudly enough for the others to hear: "We need to regroup in a safe place. Niccan warned us of disease spread by rats earlier. I'd like to check your wounds and look for signs of infection, and we need to bandage ourselves up. The only healing magic I have is the one goodberry I have left, but I hope Danton and Khavel may be able to provide."
Niccan looks at his tiny mace, and Khavel's hammer.... and the mess that used to be an insane, evil, ratling. He stands there for several seconds, unable to move, then starts to chuckle. "Magdh? This was a truly great twist of fate. I'm sure someday I'll understand. But not today."
He hangs the weapon on his belt again and looks at the members of the team. Yes, they were working like a team. He had done poorly himself, but he'd get better. If he lived.
"I can cast a simple curing spell. Twice only though. I can't channel like a true cleric, but who's hurt the worst?" He thinks again about what he remembers about rats. "We kept our rats clean on the docks and the ships. But usually they can be dangerous because of their diet and the generally filthy places where they live. Their bites can spread whatever filth they've been living in."
"I have some wounds but I don't think I'm the worst off. I know nothing about the healing arts, magical or mundane, but yours and Kalig's concerns over disease makes me think we should call an end to this day's exploration, go back to Belhaim, literally tend to our wounds, and consider our next steps."
Hearing Quintus' words Niccan looks around the room. "Yes. Yes. Good idea. Give Kallig time to be sure none of our wounds are infected. And we can sell the stuff we've found, and report."
He starts slowly moving around the room, examining the torture equipment and anything else of interest, also studying the walls. "But where do we go when we come back? We're at a dead end. If there's anything else the door there is hidden.... Maybe here or in the hallway by the prison rooms?"
Quintus helps Niccan in searching the area for anything hidden.
Looking with admiration at Khavel, Quintus says, "Great timing! It looks like our Underwriter isn't the only one favored by the gods."
Though he groaned under the collective weight of exertion and many, many rat bites, the dwarf nevertheless allowed himself a smile. "Aye, I felt the Forge Father himself put his shoulder in that one..."
A low chuckle, cheery as only those who have survived near-death can make it, rang out through the torture chamber, the seat of this now toppled 'empire' of vermin. It was a frankly horrific scene. The numerous elaborate instruments of agony were bad enough, but with the myriad rodent corpses littering the floor, it all looked like some sliver of the Hells transplanted to the mortal plane: a dark dungeon designed around despair and death. The cadavers choked the doorway in particular. Aroden's ghost, how many had they exterminated? Well over a hundred.
A strange day indeed. Perhaps best to look to something practical as pragmatic Kalig suggested and see to their injuries. With this in mind, Khavel roused himself. "I hear ye, druid. Should I set to restoring what flesh those damnable rats made morsels out of, or do you want to examine the bites first?"
The priest set one hefty hand onto tiefling and half-orc each, and both felt a comforting warmth pass through them, their abused hides flushing with renewed energy as wounds seemingly faded into healthy skin. Notably, Khavel did not apply such healing to his own injuries, however. Although he said nothing of it, stolid as his kind was wont to be, it was clear that he couldn't manage any more miracles for today. Mayhap the Opparan was right to suggest withdrawing back to the village for now.
Then again, what was there left to explore down here? As Niccan observed, the torture chamber marked a dead end. This was especially disappointing as the group was yet to find any sign of what had led to the Witch Tower's collapse here. Odd too, if the ratling was to be believed. For hadn't its mad ramblings included something about 'scaled disciples'? Were there in fact kobolds in the dungeon? Curious as ever, the ratfolk wasn't ready to leave this room without giving it a cursory examination at the very least. And he found much to gawk at.
Danton, the first of them to actually step within the space, had thought he saw something curious about the walls earlier. That something now become obvious beneath the ratfolk's light. The walls were covered - absolutely crabbed - with writing. Every inch not obscured by some torture implement - such as mounted racks - had text scratched into it, floor to ceiling. Dizzyingly expansive as it initially appeared, a second look confirmed the walls-turned-tablets to be worse still. For the lettering was so minuscule as to have been written by the most pietistic of scholars. That, or a very small hand. The ratling?
If so, the creature had clearly had something on its addled mind. No dedicated student of Oppara's finest universities had ever produced a dissertation as voluminous as this. How long had it been at work down here? A question never to be answered as, unfortunately, none among the group could decipher a word of it; although covering an entire encyclopedia's worth of something, it was all scribbled in some ominous lettering not understood by any of the ex-caravanners.
One surface in the chamber broke this uninterrupted stream of scribbles, however. On the far wall an artfully wrought heraldic shield, a so-called coat of arms, was engraved into the stone. No rat paws had made this, certainly. Although faded with age, its imagery was still perfectly clear: a crowned rooster, proud and regal. Even the heraldry, the family motto, was legible. Of course, it was written in Ancient Azlanti, that tongue which still dominated Taldor's learned circles, handed down dutifully through generations from the glorious founders of the nation. "Floreat qui laborat." Sounded pretty.
But this wasn't all that drew the ratfolk's attention. His keen eyes were drawn to a glitter emerging from a very curious source indeed: the bloodied smear that used to be the ratling! What in the world was this now? Although not the most appetizing sight to scrutinize, Niccan nevertheless managed to locate the glint among the mass of grey fur and broken bones. It was a ring, heavy, golden and now just a bit bent, presumably from Khavel's blow earlier. Although clearly meant to be worn on the finger, the tiny abomination had apparently used it as an armband.
Huh. A closer look revealed the trinket to be a proper signet ring. The symbol on its face - that was the same crowned roster of the heraldry.
Oh, and there was another secret door disguised as a section of wall here. The last pair of hidden doors the group found had led to a secret prison wing where five people starved to death. Where might such a door in a torture chamber lead? A more secret, even more horrid hall of pain? Did that make any sense, or had the vermin ordeal made cynics of them all?
"Despite that ordeal we have made it through." The cleric coolly recomposed himself. "Niccan, what is that you've noticed?" He saw the ratfolk move around and examine the walls until he came upon the hidden door. Danton moved over, being careful not to touch any of the disgusting implements, corpses, and remains as he did so.
Magdh? Did I hear that correctly? He was somewhat wary of the Eldest, but at least Magdh was one of the less capricious ones.
"If there is a passage here, we should ensure it is clear before we report back. Providing false, or worse, misleading information can prove problematic." He had a suspicion that Kalig might make a fuss as it wasn't a pragmatic decision to push onward, "However, I have a feeling the whole story with our employer hasn't been revealed to us, and I do worry what might happen if she has nefarious intent."
The priest wasn't sure what the course of action was, but thankfully Abadar was clear. Finish what you've been paid to do.
"Let me look at the wounds before you begin healing, as I don't think anyone is bleeding to death."
Kalig makes everyone sit in as clean a spot as she can find and looks at everyone's wounds, including her own.
Kalig frowns lengthily at some smears of dirt, blood, and redness around her own wounds, but says nothing, and pokes and prods at the others, warning them to tell her if they start feeling feverish in the next day or so. She helps clean their wounds if they allow before Khavel begins healing. She mentions, "I also have a goodberry left, which won't do much but can help a wound close." She herself looks much better after Khavel heals her, but is not pleased at the sight of the wounds.
"I have a mind to burn the corpses. It would prevent spread of disease and hopefully cleanse some of the pain caused by whatever the heck that thing was. It's all stone down here, do you think fire would risk the place further collapsing? And is that a bad thing?"
One surface in the chamber broke this uninterrupted stream of scribbles, however. On the far wall an artfully wrought heraldic shield, a so-called coat of arms, was engraved into the stone. No rat paws had made this, certainly. Although faded with age, its imagery was still perfectly clear: a crowned rooster, proud and regal. Even the heraldry, the family motto, was legible. Of course, it was written in Ancient Azlanti, that tongue which still dominated Taldor's learned circles, handed down dutifully through generations from the glorious founders of the nation. "Floreat qui laborat." Sounded pretty.
"I have a mind to burn the corpses. It would prevent spread of disease and hopefully cleanse some of the pain caused by whatever the heck that thing was. It's all stone down here, do you think fire would risk the place further collapsing? And is that a bad thing?"
"I'm not an engineer but I've never heard anyone say it's a good idea to start a fire in a structure you're working in. Considering how much damage the Tower collapse caused to the structure I wouldn't stress it any further. As for wounds I do have some that could use healing.
Kalig frowned. The incisors had left a little puncture wound, one she wasn't altogether pleased with. For it had a characteristic yellow discoloration about the rim. Infected. No amount of flesh-knitting curative magics would combat an illness already in the body.
"That bad, eh?" said Khavel, the owner of this particular injury in reading her face. She lifted a hand to his forehead. Hot. Not sweltering, but hotter than this dark dungeon called for. Worse still, the half-orc was feeling just a bit flushed herself. Filth fever was, as the name implied, a malady born of waste and refuse. She had heard of people contracting it after stints in sewers, but the primary spreaders were the bites of unsanitary creatures - carrion eaters and the like. Rats were prime suspects. And unless she was very much mistaken both she and Khavel had been infected.
Nothing to panic over. Not that the druid was given to panic, but this certainly wasn't the occasion. Filth fever was a rocky road to travel indeed, that much was true. In the worst cases it could even lead to death. But it should take a day or two for the symptoms - fever, nausea, jitters and more - to set in. They had time to combat this. Didn't Belhaim have two churches? Maybe that High Enumerator fellow could help.
Danton could only concur with the druid's diagnosis. Yet while these two conferred on the base and bodily, the Opparan considered the noble and lofty. He walked past contraptions such as the Chelish Cradle - the very profile of which made the mind cringe at its implications - to peruse the heraldic shield embedded into the wall here. Were they to assume that this was the family insignia of the Canteclures, then? The Witch Tower, with dungeon, had supposedly once been part of their stronghold after all, before all that hullabaloo about betrayal and the Throne razing it all to the ground. The imagery, that of the crowned rooster, matched the signet ring Niccan found too.
If so, a torture chamber was an awfully funny place to display the family crest. No, not funny. Morbid.
Actually, that same book might have included the family motto as well. "Floreat qui laborat"? He prospers who labors? Something like that.
Quintus studied the heraldry but couldn't remember who it belonged to.
"There seems to be another hidden door here. Considering that this was a torture room it is an odd location, at least in my mind. But? I think we should try to open it before we take the time with the rat bodies or whatever else. Oh, and the ratling had this ring. A bit damaged but the insignia is still there." He searches the assumed door for any method to open it.
Danton happened to know a lot about the Cantleclures.
What was the name of that acolyte who kept talking about them? Marilla?
A strange area of study for sure but her obsession was helpful. Clearly something of her fascination rubbed off on him.
"He who prospers, labours...?"
"Thanks, lad." Khavel fussed a bit in being offered healing, insisting that he was 'fine' and that the ratfolk should look to the others first, but not even the magnificent beard could conceal his relief as he relented and allowed Niccan to work his magic. Was it misplaced pride or the unwillingness to be a burden that made him so reticent? Dwarves were certainly known for both.
With the whole group thusly looking significantly better, they felt more inclined to explore further. Thanks the gods - literally so - the band was in no short supply of curative magic. They had more to explore as well; Niccan's discovery of the secret door evidenced that the Canteclures had hidden more than prisons and torture chambers down here. Quintus put his strong shoulders to use again in pushing open the false wall. It ground open only slowly, clearly not having been used in decades, probably centuries. The newly revealed portal cut a dark square through the ratling's mad scribbling, a black page among its tablets. The hallway it led to was all smooth stone, nondescript and sober. Here and there a recent crack ran through the low ceiling, but the construction appeared stable on the whole.
The cramped corridor was quite long and turned twice, so that the group thought they were now heading south. Its dusty floor was undisturbed but for the occasional rat dropping, yet the ex-carvanners saw neither hide nor hair of any rodent here. Frankly, they rather doubted they would again after the torture room massacre already suffered by the rats. With their numbers so diminished and their patriarch dead, it would surely be some time before the vermin would dare leave their tunnels.
No, what the band ultimately halted for was no creature. Instead they stopped because the floor stopped. The floor - after turning another corner it simply dropped away into a trough. The remainder of the passageway was designed as a five-foot-deep trench filled with... Heavens above, what was that? Their conjured lights showed the bottom of this passage to be filled with thick green sludge, a sludge their noses had warned them off before their eyes ever saw it. The stench rising from this mass befouled even the bad air of the dungeon. Oof, that was acidic enough to singe the nostrils. And just as the party had gotten used to the smell down here...
What in the world was this all about? How was one supposed to traverse this hallway? Best as the group pondered this, they noticed a ledge - no wider than a hand's length - flanking the south wall. It continued all the way around another corner, one they couldn't see past without tiptoeing along said ledge. Oh dear. Was this the only way forward? The walls seemed quite smooth, their stonework offering few handholds. What a strange and no less forceful security measure this slime pit was.
Which of course prompted the question of what exactly it was meant to safeguard.
Niccan moves up to the trench, his nose covered with a cloth. It didn't do much other than the mental filter but with the stench as bad and now even acidic, anything helped. He studies the green, stuff at the bottom of the trench. "With the smell I wouldn't call it safe. But it doesn't look quite right for what I'd call classic green slime. If we could break a piece of the torture equipment to get a pole to stir it? Maybe we'd be able to determine how strong the acid is?"
He considers the ledge and shakes his head. "But I doubt they risked this ledge. Maybe there's a hidden panel along the walls, or some lever. Maybe the ledge expands across the trough?
He walks back searching the walls on either side.
"Or someone used it as an escape tunnel and triggered the green slime to 'cover' their escape? Besides some metal I'd gather some rat carcasses and toss them in, see what the slime does to flesh."
Quintus helps Niccan search for anything hidden:
Try as they might, neither Niccan nor Quintus could find anything underhanded here. The hallway, sudden drop and all, appeared genuine as masonry could be. Which, given how the basement's masonry had hidden quite a few concealed doors so far, they were of course right to be suspicious of. And yet the two found nothing like secretive panels, levers or switches. How disappointing.
Unable to find anything to assist their crossing Quintus goes back to the carcass-filled room of terror to retrieve some metal and some carcasses to determine the level of threat posed by the green slime.
When he gets back to the group Quintus has them stand back while he gently tosses first the metal and then the carcasses into the slime as they await the results of this 'scientific' experiment...
"Sorry, Niccan, I didn't mean to exclude you from a possible healer," Kalig says earlier, as she works on cleaning wounds perfunctorily but as swiftly as she can. "I saw you as more of an explorer, but of course one can be both."
As they proceed down the cavern, she stays quiet until they get to the slime blockade.
"Does it burn?" She asks. "And can we get far enough back in time that if we do burn it, we don't choke ourselves to death?"
"If it lives I may be able to waste it away. I am not sure though." The cleric was frank about his knowledge.
"It smells acidic. Just not sure how strong. Give it some time and watch what it does to the rat body, and the metal bar. If it were green slime the body would dissolve in seconds. A terrible death if it weren't already dead."
Weaving his fingers through the familiar cantrip, Quintus lit a magical light of his own. Braving the pitch-black hallway would be a slow affair without it. But after a quick trot he reached the torture chamber again. There his eyes fell on a rickety table strewn with tools of a tormenter's trade, each more sinister than the last. What misplaced ingenuity to design these horrors.
He settled on a hook-like implement whose exact purpose he'd rather not contemplate, and then set to finding a rat. Which was hardly difficult, of course; the group had killed enough of the little fiends that they littered the floor like hailstones. He picked one up by its naked tail. And then nearly recoiled at the touch. What the...? Were there vertebrae inside this one's tail? The Opparan was quite sure that wasn't part of normal rodent anatomy. The group might never know how this warren had become so twisted, so tainted with simian features, but good riddance to them.
"What's that you've got there?" the dwarf queried upon Quintus's return, test subjects in hand. Actually, this almost reminded him of arcane experimentation during his schooling back at the Kith, reciting formulae, practicing hand gestures and, yes, mixing and matching one spell component with another, all under the stern gaze of professors. And now here he was in a dank dungeon throwing rat cadavers into acid pits. Truly there was no substitute for a university education.
Now what to try first? How about introducing Substance A (oxidized iron) to Solvent B (unknown acid)? He tossed the metal hook into the slime trough. It landed with what could almost be described as a dry splash, the congealed sludge apparently almost rubbery in texture. And then...
"Nuthin' happening." He had to agree with Khavel commenting over his shoulder. The hook just lay there, resting on the viscous stuff. Well, this told the group something. But the test couldn't be called conclusive yet. Not before they had introduced Subject B. And so the rodent was similarly chucked into the mire. There it ragdolled on top of the sludge, perfectly innocuous, leading the impatient scholar to conclude that the test proved the slime inert.
Except then it happened - what Quintus's teachers would call an alchemical reaction. "Erk!" The rat's fur began to slough off and an all new odor, that of burning flesh, was added to the miasma. Beneath the group's conjured lights the misbegotten creature was in fact dissolving into the acid, if only slowly. Well then. Knowing what he did, Niccan could only infer that this wasn't green slime, capable as it was of eating through any of the Taldan Horse's battle-plated elephants, armor and all. But this trough still represented a danger. Whatever it was, the sludge could melt away the organic if given enough time.
What to do? Looking at the rat slowly sinking into the stuff, the channel didn't seem that deep, the slime really only coating the bottom. Given how it wasn't all that potent, a person could conceivably wade through it all, assuming the through didn't continue much further beyond the corner. Still, that would be an awfully uncomfortable stint. Could it all be burned away as Kalig suggested? Maybe. The ratfolk thought he'd heard of infamous green slime being susceptible to fire. Then again there was an awful lot of it, and he wasn't sure the resulting fumes wouldn't be toxic themselves.
This was some pickle.
"I didn't think we'd be lucky enough that it was no longer a hazard. So are we going to traverse this trough and see where it goes? And can any of our divine friends use magic to produce water to rinse the slime off of us?"
Kalig shakes her head. "We are in no hurry, I can't easily jump with this stuff I'm carrying, and I'm not risking losing my feet to a pit of acid for some woman I just met who's obviously never worked a day in her life and a town I hardly know. As it is, I'm already at risk of dying from rat bites for these people. No, we approach this like thinking people. We go back outside, find some broken rafters and stone blocks from the upper tower's collapse, and bridge the gap."
She turns to leave. "And yes, I can create water if need be, but let's not plan to get coated in acid."
She turns to go back out the way they came to look for suitable material to jury-rig a way across the trough of acid. "You can come with me, or wait here," she calls back to the group, not intent on asking their permission to go. "Or go on ahead and I'll catch up."
She'll go back to the surface and use pick and crowbar to pry loose suitable materials from the collapsed area to throw over the trough to cross it safely. She can throw the materials down the hatch and use rope and her cloak to drag the materials to where they currently are.
Danton raises an eyebrow at the acid, "Well I certainly expected that. Nothing good grows in the dark and oozes like that." He reflexively steps away from the green.
"I am not good at climbing at all... Nor am I equipped to do heavy labour like set up an entire bridge system." He sighs, "But this does leave me curious." He wonders if there was a way to sub out the job to some villagers, but he quickly dismissed the idea.
Shaking his head he followed Kalig, "I'll join you. If there's yet another swarm you shouldn't be alone."
For a little while there the group had rather felt like proper adventurers - plumbing dark dungeons, unearthing secrets, battling the monstrous and so on and so forth, the stuff of fireplace storytelling. It wasn't all glitz & glamor, certainly, but there was a grandeur to it, a certain pioneering vim that lifted the spirit through the dirt and danger of the trade.
No more. Now came manual labor. Doubling back through the dungeon, the group decided that attempting a bridge through the through was preferable to braving the narrow ledge over it. Weapons were returned to their sheaths to be replaced with pick and shovel, the arms of the everyman. 'Building material' was plentiful; the cracked and sagging barracks and what remained of the ground floor above in particular had plenty of loose stone, even some select beams, for them to salvage. Yet this effort was by necessity slow. The last thing the ex-caravanners wanted was to bring down what remained of the Witch Tower over their own heads, and so they had to be careful in how they proceeded. Hours went by like this, selecting suitable rocks, finding them load-bearing, settling for others, hoisting these about, dumping them down the hatch, maneuvering a broken timber beam or two, and finally dragging it all back to the pit over multiple trips. The menial work was a change of pace, to be sure, but scaling the ladder back up at least made one appreciate fresh air. Heavens above, it was like taking in mouthfuls of sparkling spring water compared to the gaseous lead of the basement.
Even the strong shoulders of Quintus, Star and Khavel were taxed by the time the group had a suitable stack of construction material sitting by the slime through. And even this only marked the start of the effort in earnest. Now they had to build their makeshift bridge.
Of course, 'bridging' the gap wasn't exactly possible. Given the smooth walls and singular narrow ledge, there was nothing to support a bridge over the through. This was to say nothing of its length and especially the 90° bend. What was possible, however, was dropping rocks into the channel to make a stepping stone path through the sludge. Being the only realistic option, this was what the group set out to accomplish.
"Heave-ho!" Khavel groaned with Quintus as the two hoisted their largest slab into the pit. The resulting *thud* reverberated across the silent hallway. This slab would serve as a good starting point, one the group could clamber the five feet down onto to continue their 'bridge'. And this was how their labors proceeded, the six of them acting as a chain. At the back one of them would take bricks, rocks or beams from their supplies. These would then be daisy-chained along from hand to hand, reaching whoever stood at the front of their ever expanding path, there to be thrown into the sludge. Slowly but surely, the group's crossing extended through the acid like a snake through grass.
Enough of his martial training carried over into the hard, back-breaking physical labor involved in the group's construction project. Each 'thud' of a particularly heavy piece of rock, stone, or timber elicited a nervous look around to see if anything in the structure shifted and if Quintus needed to make a hasty exit.
And although nimble wasn't his strong suit he managed to not fall into the sludge below.
"No one can say we haven't earned our pay for this particular mission."
Kalig the Tireless lives up to her name, and despite sweating profusely from a rising fever, nonetheless pulls her weight without complaint or lagging.
And perhaps Kalig shall add "the Sure-Footed" to her epithets as, while no athlete, she manages to cross the makeshift bridge without embarrassing herself.
Once across, she adjusts to their surroundings.
Niccan struggles with the heavy materials wondering.... How did they do this back when the prison was in use? And if the mage or the kobolds came here, was there a back door? Probably. But apparently nobody knew of it, or was willing to admit....
A loud thud saw the entire group crane their heads back. Noises from the hallway behind them? Was someone sneaking up on them? Had they somehow missed some beastie here in the dark?
No, nothing quite so bad. Not quite. Instead they saw Khavel at one end of their daisy chain, slumped against a wall and breathing heavy after having dropped the slab he'd meant to pass along. "No no, I'm fine, honest!" he insisted, waving away any concern irritably - an irritation aimed only at himself. "Torag's tongs, what sort of dwarf am I if I can't help set one stone onto another?!"
A sick dwarf, Kalig couldn't help but think. She knew all too well what the priest was going through. After all, she was starting to feel just a bit feverish herself. Damn rats. Beneath the beard Khavel's face was red and glistening with sweat, even more so than what their labor necessitated. But despite their differing backgrounds, both were disciplined sorts and so they soldiered on. Working together, the ex-caravanners made steady progress. Every rock conveyed between them and chucked into the sludge was another hop-and-skip forward. Their stepping stone path soon reached the trough's corner, and with it they found new encouragement: their conjured lights revealed how the slime canal continued another 30-odd feet, but there was an end to it. The pit did make way for normal floor again.
However, no sooner had Niccan wondered how in the world the Canteclures themselves had traversed this obstacle before he found more to wonder at. That ledge that flanked one wall of the trough - it simply ended immediately after the bend. It didn't actually continue on this side to the other end of the trough. Huh? What on earth was it for, then? Was it merely meant to entrap an invader, lure them far out over the acid before they realized they had to double back? What a strange scheme.
Except this was when they all noted a new feature about the wall here. The ledge might stop abruptly after the corner, but it did lead to something. A wide iron-banded board, long enough to stretch across the remainder of the channel, was fastened up against the wall with large hinges. Chains descending from the ceiling - through the ceiling actually - held it level with the wall, making it impossible to traverse raised as it was, yet there was no doubt as to the nature of this construction: it was a drawbridge. Somehow, the chains could lower it into place. So the idea was to use the bridge - however it was operated - and then traverse just half of the trough using the ledge?
Surely this was still awfully excessive as security measures went?
Oh well. The group had a 'bridge' of their own now. Or very nearly so, anyway. It took them a bit longer still - and a few near spills in hauling their materials - but finally they reached the other side of the trough. There they clambered the five feet back up to what looked to be a proper hallway, a continuation of what the sludge pit interrupted. Success! And they'd made it without anyone's flesh melting. Granted, their shoe leather was a little singed, and their stomachs told them that they'd definitely missed lunch by now, and there had been a close call with the ratfolk's tail, and their voices were all a bit rough from the caustic air in the pit, but still. At least the stepping stones would be easy enough to traverse when it came time to head back.
"Secret doors and acid pits," Khavel grumbled as Star helped him climb up from the channel. "Any thoughts on what those Canteclure yahoos meant all this to ward down here?"
An increasingly fair question. One they could only answer by venturing further. Fortunately, the iron door the passage terminated in proved no obstacle in this regard. For although it was locked and the druid's key proved not to be a match this time, the metal was terribly corroded. Some underground trickle or another ran down the wall here to disappear into another crack, rusting the iron. In fact, she felt something give inside the lock upon turning the key. This door was little more solid than an overbaked meringue. A swift kick from Quintus proved all needed to breach the door.
What it opened into wasn't particularly inspiring. Another corridor, a long, narrow and rather oppressive one. Taking the lead, the Opparan walked first with sword in one hand and conjured light in the other. It was just a bit tense, crossing a blackened hallway too long for one's light to travel, not knowing what your every step brought you closer to, what might be uncovered from the shrinking darkness at any moment.
In this case, what came into view was merely another door. No, not just another door. This one was different. The passage ended in a hefty slab of metal, heavy and reinforced. The door was almost large enough to subsume the wall it was set in, a cork to mark the end of this hall. It looked very secure indeed. Stranger still then that it hung open.
Beyond it was another room, a small one. Forming a near-perfect square, it was a 10-by-10 ft. broom closet of a space, another heavy door at its furthest wall, this one closed. Door fit for a strongbox, tiny space and then another such door? It felt almost like a strange little toll booth of sorts. Stranger still was how both doors were completely featureless beyond a utilitarian handle; there was no keyhole to be found on them.
Finding an open door to a little empty room seems a bit odd to Niccan. He motions everyone back a few feet, then steps forward to search the room for anything suspicious.
If nothing is found he will try pulling on the handle.
Taking the opportunity to speak his mind (again) Quintus addresses Khavel's questions, "I still think these are defensive measures meant to control access in the event the Canteclures crimes were discovered. The drawbridge is the proof of it! Niccan thought there was such a mechanism to traverse the green slime and there it is. I suspect this means we will see more traps to defend this secret set of tunnels."
Pretending that Niccan's motions are obviously for the others, and not himself, he joins Niccan in the room and attempts to aid his search of the space:
"With all the surprises in this place none of us should enter or search anything alone."
It was strange to be sure, this featureless little cube of a room whose only entrance and exit were such heavy, secure doors. Especially so given how one had to pass through it to progress. It certainly warranted caution and Niccan gave it its due, looking the space over before proceeding.
However, perhaps still not having entirely recovered from the rigors of their construction project, the ratfolk didn't have all his wits about him on this occasion. Worse still, even his friend the Opparan who aided his search trusted Niccan's usually so keen eyes too much to interject when he stepped into the room. A shame, as poor Niccan was in for a shock.
In entering the room to test the opposite door, he found it very much locked and bolted. It felt every bit the iron slab it was. The handle didn't budge at his touch. And yet the young ratfolk did see it shift - in a sense. At his approach, the metal began rippling. Under the accompaniment of creaks and groans, ridges emerged from the metal surface. These rearranged themselves and converged until they had taken something resembling a recognizable shape: a great iron mouth. It was like looking into the literal maw of a cold furnace. And as if to add absurdity onto oddity, it then spoke.
"Prithee," it called in a clangorous voice, "close the portal behind you and speak the pass phrase."
Seemingly having said all it cared to say, the disembodied mouth disassembled itself to sink back into the iron door.
Quintus now gestures to Niccan to join him in backing out of the room.
Niccan stumbles back when the mouth appears. He checks his hands quickly. Is it true what they say that if a finger was bitten off you wouldn't feel the pain immediately? But they were all there. Then it started to talk! He backs off more. Was it chanting the words of a spell? No. It was saying something about a pass phrase?
He notices Quintus motioning for him to back completely out of the room. That sounded really smart! He moves back, thinking about closing the door.... but runs by it instead. How far should he go? Magic like a fireball was 20', right? Maybe a bit more! 30'. Then they could think about this.
"Pass phrase? We didn't find any pass phrase. What did that ghost say? Or the Ratling? But he was crazy!"
Niccan stumbles back when the mouth appears. He checks his hands quickly. Is it true what they say that if a finger was bitten off you wouldn't feel the pain immediately? But they were all there. Then it started to talk! He backs off more. Was it chanting the words of a spell? No. It was saying something about a pass phrase?
He notices Quintus motioning for him to back completely out of the room. That sounded really smart! He moves back, thinking about closing the door.... but runs by it instead. How far should he go? Magic like a fireball was 20', right? Maybe a bit more! 30'. Then they could think about this.
[dice=Knowledge-Arcana]1d20 +9
"Pass phrase? We didn't find any pass phrase. What did that ghost say? Or the Ratling? But he was crazy!"
"I'm thinking it's the family's motto from the coat of arms we discovered but that's purely a guess. And having to close the entry door behind us to open the second door? That's quite a risk; we have no idea if the entry door can be opened once closed for this attempt."
"Well, what is the alternative? Stop the exploration here? Maybe we could get more information about the family in town. And Khavel and I could treat our fevers. But if we want to finish the job, is this the only way forward?"
"Well, what is the alternative? Stop the exploration here? Maybe we could get more information about the family in town. And Khavel and I could treat our fevers. But if we want to finish the job, is this the only way forward?"
"It appears to be but are you comfortable possibly locking yourself in with no way out? The whole 'Close the entry door and then speak the pass phrase' suggests it was designed to trap any 'unworthy' from not only moving forward but possibly from leaving as well."
Niccan nods at the teams concerns. "We haven't found any other way inward, and I'm sure what we are looking for is deeper in. We haven't found the kobolds or how the tower was collapsed."
"The coat of arms? Lets go examine it. I wonder if we get more than one guess at the passphrase though. You know, if we say several phrases and one of the is right, but it isn't the first phrase stated.... ??"
"The ghost. He said something, like the guards must have beaten into him, or them. 'He prospers who labors.' He said it a couple of times. That could be it. Was that on the Coat of Arms?"
Than he considers what Kavil said and stops. "Kavil is right though. We've people that need to be properly treated, and our healing is mostly gone. And maybe we should replace the alchemist's fire flasks. There are still rats here. Let's return to town after we examine the Coat of Arms. We can explain what we've found. And sell the stuff that we found. Probably won't get much but it might cover the cost of the flasks. A night's rest and recover our magic before we try that room."
Danton nods.
"With everything going on down here, we may need to alter the deal anyway. There's something bugging me about the Cantleclures but I can't put my finger on it right now."
He began to think on it, What was it?
Niccan nods at the teams concerns. "We haven't found any other way inward, and I'm sure what we are looking for is deeper in. We haven't found the kobolds or how the tower was collapsed."
"The coat of arms? Lets go examine it. I wonder if we get more than one guess at the passphrase though. You know, if we say several phrases and one of the is right, but it isn't the first phrase stated.... ??"
"The ghost. He said something, like the guards must have beaten into him, or them. 'He prospers who labors.' He said it a couple of times. That could be it. Was that on the Coat of Arms?"
Than he considers what Kavil said and stops. "Kavil is right though. We've people that need to be properly treated, and our healing is mostly gone. And maybe we should replace the alchemist's fire flasks. There are still rats here. Let's return to town after we examine the Coat of Arms. We can explain what we've found. And sell the stuff that we found. Probably won't get much but it might cover the cost of the flasks. A night's rest and recover our magic before we try that room."
Quintus nods at Niccan and says, "Yes that's what Danton thinks the family motto was and it's what was engraved with the coat of arms. That's why I guessed it might be the pass phrase to open the second door but that's only a guess. I don't like that we have to close the first door before uttering the phrase which is why I suspect it may be a trap. They invested enough time and effort to trap this escape route with the trough and the green slime so yet another trap is a distinct possibility."
Dark corridors and their own stepping stone path took the ex-caravanners back to the torture chamber. It looked its miserable self, just as they'd left it, walls covered in a mad scrawl that hurt the eye trying to follow it and dusty devices hurting the mind trying to imagine their use. No rodents had tried to reclaim their 'throne room' in the group's absence.
Absurd as the rat-thing's mumblings about his so-called empire had been, there was nevertheless one genuine sign of nobility about the space. Literally so, in fact: the heraldic shield. It was carved out of the far wall, strange and out of place in such a wicked room. The group gathered about it, wanting to see if they could find anything to confirm their suspicions regarding this passphrase demanded of them.
They found little more than their initial search had already yielded. The smooth stonework - expert enough to earn a begrudging nod from Khavel - formed the image of a crowned rooster over the family motto. A betting man wouldn't hesitate to guess this the coat of arms of the Canteclures. After all, the Witch Tower with dungeon had once been part of that hated family's long since levelled stronghold. In fact, Danton was fairly certain of this. He hadn't slept particularly well at the temple, an acolyte there having talked his ear off about local history well into the night. A blessing in disguise perhaps, as he thought he recognized the shield from her descriptions. The motto as well: "Floreat qui laborat." His Azlanti wasn't strong, but it should translate roughly into, "He prospers who labors."
The apparition of the starved man... It was as Niccan said. They had heard something similar from it. And mayhap even from someone else...
A seemingly benign phrase given the ill reputation of that long gone house. Yet it was their successors the Abadaran found suspect. This Lady Origena Devy they'd met - there was something off about her. No, if what he'd heard was true, then she shouldn't be here at all.
Niccan studies the Coat of Arms and thinks about the phrase. He doesn't understand the language, but maybe.... "Floreat qui laborat? Does that sound right? I think you're right Quintus. A trap. But I think we'll need to get past it, and we don't have a trained trap breaker. Let me try it, alone. I'll take the cure potion in case I get hurt. It'll give me a chance to try the phrase, 'Floreat qui laborat', or 'He prospers who labors', or maybe even the ratling's version, 'prosperity through labor'. I doubt the ratling's version but if I try all of them? I can talk fast.... And, I'll have time to study what happens to maybe figure out a way to get past it."
"Kavel? Take Khavel out and start treating yourself and him. Quintus can stay with me, to open the door after I've tried. Danton and Star, can choose either."
"Quintus, I know you won't want me to be alone. But if it's a killer trap you can tell the town that we're done and there's no way forward from here. Maybe whatever caused the collapse destroyed everything past here."
Niccan studies the Coat of Arms and thinks about the phrase. He doesn't understand the language, but maybe.... "Floreat qui laborat? Does that sound right? I think you're right Quintus. A trap. But I think we'll need to get past it, and we don't have a trained trap breaker. Let me try it, alone. I'll take the cure potion in case I get hurt. It'll give me a chance to try the phrase, 'Floreat qui laborat', or 'He prospers who labors', or maybe even the ratling's version, 'prosperity through labor'. I doubt the ratling's version but if I try all of them? I can talk fast.... And, I'll have time to study what happens to maybe figure out a way to get past it."
"Kavel? Take Khavel out and start treating yourself and him. Quintus can stay with me, to open the door after I've tried. Danton and Star, can choose either."
"Quintus, I know you won't want me to be alone. But if it's a killer trap you can tell the town that we're done and there's no way forward from here. Maybe whatever caused the collapse destroyed everything past here."
Quintus's eyebrows raise with surprise at Niccan's idea.
"You're as brave as any Taldan warrior Niccan. I don't advocate or agree with your plan but, if you're convinced it's what you want to do, I'll remain here with you and try to open the first door to the best of my ability should my guess of the 'pass phrase' be wrong."