The kobold nods. ”I appreciate the concern, kid. I’ll try to stay closer… but every decision is based on the situation. I’m small and sneaky. Light and noise travel far. If there had been a Scary Boojum at the end of the hall, I felt the better risk was sneaking up to spot it then slinking away to warn you folks. If you had followed me into the hall, the Boojum was far more likely to come running – all fangs, buck-teeth, and halfling-waving tentacles.”
He provides a light spell for Raka. On her ax maybe? Up to you Raka.
Raka nods. "Okay. Which way should we go? Up is where we wanna be, so should we head for the staircase? Could be a-- I dunno, bell tower or somethin' like that. But it could also be a way out."
"D'you think he can disable a dwarf trap?"
"I'd lay odds he can," Xira says, than snorts softly. "Though we're really all laying odds, aren't we?"
"The definite bad news is there is a huge, pale, wispy, mold bloom in the dining room, like 40’ long. Mold is bad and we don’t want to stir up the air around it. So, I’m asking you to NOT go past the dwarfgold double doors for safety, just until we can suss out the danger. Please and thank you.”
Without a word, Xira pulls her scarf from around her neck, wets it with her water skin, and ties it around her face.
"Marching order?" she asks once Brimble and Argatha have finished.
Weapon in hand: Quarterstaff
Effects:
While Brimble is away scouting, Phantrel answers Raka's question. It may have been rhetorical but he deems it worth responding to anyway. "I don't know. But he's shown himself to be brave and capable, and he's got a good sense for hazards so I'd say he's got a better chance than most."
”Thunder-follows-Lightning it is. When you got time to chat with it – maybe it knows what happened to the dwarves? Or… can a sword forget things like people can? Can it change shape?” He’s going down a tangent but Phantrel opened the door a crack and that was all the room a kobold needed. He rubs his muzzle, and explains. ”I only know dwarves by legend. I only heard tell of axes, mallets, picks, and the like. So, a sword cane seems odd. But it does fit Highcliff. It made me wonder if Thunder-follows-Lightning turned into a sword cane for Highcliff. Or maybe I’m just stupid about dwarf stuff. Anyhow, if you get a chance to ask, I'd appreciate it.”
After the kobold returns and relays his findings, Phantrel listens thoughtfully. They seem to be reasonable enough questions and he has no concept of how old the sword may be, how its magic works, what it remembers. "I will," he says, though he's not exactly thrilled about the prospect. He's not ungrateful to the weapon, but equally it was a lot more than he was bargaining for when he made the decision to snatch it up. "It's quite taxing, so I'd prefer to do it when we have some time to sit and do it properly. But I agree that it might have some useful insights that would be beneficial to our situation." He pauses, musing. "I don't think it will necessarily know about these Dwarves though. Not unless Lord Highcliff had been here before, or had only just acquired Thunder-follows-Lightning himself."
"I'd like to see the mould too," he says. "Some are sensitive to the elements - fire, ice - and if we can identify it, we might be able to remove it as a hazard. I can provide light too." He runs through the motions of a simple spell and follows Brimble and Colin down the corridor.
Before he does so, he answers Argatha.
"Em, perhaps you could take a look and see if there's any more script you can translate?" he suggests.
”Okay. Which way should we go? Up is where we wanna be, so should we head for the staircase? Could be a-- I dunno, bell tower or somethin' like that. But it could also be a way out.”
"Marching order?" she asks once Brimble and Argatha have finished.
The kobold looks around to see who Xira is addressing. He does a double-take when he realises he is the object of her inquiry. ”Me? … Uh, I think it would good to get these signs and chalk scratchings translated. Then investigate the rooms. Maybe we find more goods we can use or even the backdoor. If you’re gonna search, partner up.”
With a small group on ‘mold detail’, Brimble pulls the filter hood from his bag and hands it to Colin before slapping Carver’s fancy helmet/mask on his own head. He attempts to surreptitiously listen to the ear-piece for a moment, to hear if there is anything but static on it.
He regards Phantrel while trying to recall the equipment they fished out of the lake. He arrives at an unfortunate conclusion. Dammit, we only got two filter hoods! ”OK, change of plans.” He tucks the ear-piece up into the helmet and hands it to Phantrel, slapping a cloth over his muzzle instead. ”You two wear the helmets to get a good look at the mold. I’ll hang back once we get close. Try not to stir the air. We back out when you are done and talk by the gold door.”
”You do you, I’m not trying to put limits on you. I’m no boss. It’s just you gave us a big speech about not going off alone, and then you do exactly that.” Argatha looks more confused than anything. He’s not exceptionally worried, just bringing up something that seems obvious to him.
As the group begins to fan out a bit and search with their various specialties, Argatha takes a position in the middle of the hall. In theory a place where he's in the center of the research groups. As a backup for when... er if... things go wrong.
He has his sling ready, and he tries to pay attention.
However, his mind drifts a bit. Much like when he's watching the goats feed on the hillside. There's just not a lot to focus on. Contrary to some belief however, he's not thinking deep thoughts. He's lost in the pattern on the walls - adrift in the beauty of it. He wonders what it might look like in clay.
Without thinking, he puts away his sling, and takes out his clay. He pinches a bit off, and begins to model.
As the others learn things, he creates... a blob of clay. He proudly sets it on the floor, along the wall and out of the way, and then reclaims his sling.
He stares at the wall.
”Understood.” Phantrel takes the offered helmet and puts it on, pulling the attached material across his nose and mouth. It itches a bit and there’s a distinct odour to it, but better to err on the side of caution.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Before Em follows the others into the hallway, she grabs one of the metal skewers, holding it in both hands. At Phantrel's behest, she picks the first door and starts trying to read the dwarven writing. She plans to move down the hallway and do her best to read as much as she can. Following Xira's lead, Em holds a fold of her still wet shirt over her nose and mouth.
"Though we're really all laying odds, aren't we?"
"Don't worry, Xira. I've done well enough in my last few wagers. It will be no different down here." Em wonders if the group will be back in time for their day off, seven days from now. Something tells me we won't quite go back to exerting ourselves for silver when we win the surface. Lady Highcliff probably doesn't even know what happened to her father yet. It hasn't been long.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Em is able to study the grid-listing in the kitchen and determine it appears to be a weekly shift-- the dwarves had ten-day workweeks, it seems, each named after one of their deities.
Colin and Phantrel don protective equipment before sidling down the hall to get a better look at the fungus, or mold, whichever it is, from a nice safe distance back. Phantrel holds the light source high and its rays can just reach the wispy, soft-looking cloud over yonder. With the light playing on it, it's actually rather sparkly. Very pretty. But dangerous?
"Silverspore," Colin says authoritatively, a moment before Phantrel says the same. The half-elf adds on that it's certainly a robust specimen-- he's never seen a patch remotely this large before.
Both men know that silverspore is relatively harmless. It's a mold more often found on stone and metal than wood or soil-- while it does need organic matter to draw nutrients from, it also absorbs minute amounts of minerals as well, which is what causes the glittery aspect, especially if it's had a good source of mica or quartz or other such minerals around. The trace amounts of mineral reinforce the filaments, allowing it to grow and spread more sturdily than its cloud-like appearance would suggest, with a behavior almost like coral-- growing upon itself, layer after layer, outward and upwards.
The risk it poses to humanoids is minimal. It does not 'attack' in any conventional sense, and the same trace metals that make it sparkly also mean individual spores tend to be fairly heavy (comparatively) and cannot travel far in the air (thus usually limiting the growth of the patches to a few feet at most). 'Minimal' does not mean 'no' harm, however: attempts to destroy it often result in a greater spread of the spores than nature itself has granted to the silverspore-- fire quickly incinerates a silverspore structure, but also aerosolizes it, and the micro-metal-laden smoke can cause internal bleeding if inhaled. Using physical force to clear the stuff results in the same risk of inhalation, as silverspore dust flies up and clings easily to any sort of mucous membranes. Phantrel somewhat remembers a miner, years ago, who lost his vision due to silverspore dust getting into his eyes. A severe case, but possible.
The safest way to deal with silverspore is simply to leave it alone. But if that is not possible, moisture and cold are good-- dampening the mold with a light spray or mist so the 'dust' effect is minimized, and then freezing to shatter the structures and let them fall in on themselves, heavy with ice. If one does not have ice at hand, a simpler but still effective method is to toss a cloth or canvas over the patch to help contain the spread of the spore-laden dust, then smash it through the cloth. Of course, this is a very large patch. A third method, if you have such available to you, is to let rockgrub larvae loose on it-- the creatures love the stuff and it does them no harm to consume it. In fact, small amounts of metal can even be harvested from their excretions in this way.
Sadly, you are fresh out of rockgrub larvae.
The silverspore is milky-ish translucent: through it you can just see the outline of a set of double doors to the east, as well as a number of slots in the wall to the south. The slots are about three feet up and have little lids/doors.
Em gazes at one of the northern doors. She thinks there's the dwarven numeral for "1," but the word that it follows is unfamiliar to her. The door to the south has the numeral for "2" and the same word in front of it. Possibly more interesting than the script, to Em, is the doorknob and a panel just above it. It is made of... glass? Maybe. Dark, opaque glass, perhaps an inch to each side. Door #2 has the same small panel. She is close enough to the "heavy-duty" door to recognize this one, too, has a small glass square set into its surface, dead center in the midst of all the writing on it.
One thing Brimble discovers with the helmet on is that the noise persists, though he can still hear no words. The other thing he discovers is that it makes it hard to hear other things. Perhaps this influences his desire to pass it off to Phantrel~
Working backward from the cafeteria (which Phantrel sees is labeled 'Iron Mess') Phantrel follows the chalk tally trail. He is able to call out the translations for the other doors passed, as they are all straightforward enough-- Food Stores, Kitchen, and so forth-- but the trail takes him a bit longer, his brows knit as he reads terse inscriptions that are often abbreviated and take a bit more puzzling.
In the hallway, Phantrel is able to piece together the following notes, one after the other-- it is unclear (so far) if the writer made their tallies left to right, or right to left, so the order may or may not be reversed:
-LARGE spikemouth to-day. white it or black it?
-rats in storeroom - need traps
-screwdriver broke in furnace. replace. stripped screw 5th from left
-G. birthday to-day. i think. miss you.
-trip to Steel for tools
-sprained ankle
-chore list keeps growing. too much work
-no answer today from others. four days no answer. out of range? dead?
-spikemouth almost pulled me in today. got away just scratches.
-keep thinking i see G
All of these are with multiple day-gaps between them, sometimes weeks apart. The hallway itself encompasses (assuming the tally marks each mean a day) at least two hundred days. To keep reading the trail would mean going into the Iron Mess; doing that now?
Argatha makes a.... a.. thing. Maybe he's modeling what a rockgrub larvae might look like.
Thunder-Follows-Lightning is silent for much of this exploration, but at the end of all the reading of tally marks that has been done, he feels a psychic sigh from the blade. This is a laborer level. There will be nothing of value here. To answer your lizard, he is stupid about dwarf stuff.
Em remarks on the odd glass doorknobs, poking at them curiously. She is baffled by the panels above them, though they must have some purpose. She drifts down the hallway a bit, towards the mess hall. "If we could find some food while we're down here, that would probably be for the best."
Once Phantrel translates the writing, Em will suggest that the group look in the storeroom next. There might still be edible rats.
After considering the silverspore issue for a while, Colin suggested a little downcast, "If we want to go through that door, I think the best way to deal with the silverspore is to find a dormitory and hope the dwarves used sheets or some other large pieces of fabric that we can wet, and tie on to long poles (assuming we can find any) and push it back. You really don't want to touch it or breathe it in, speaking of which ideally we can find some way of spraying water on it."
Colin was rather dubious about finding all that. When Em suggested food, his stomach rumbled and he nodded, worried they'd end up being forced to eat those fish below. Fish that had feasted well today, something he didn't want to think too much about.
"Well, we can create water without issue, though ideally we'd want a way of concentrating it correctly," Phantrel replies to Colin. "If we can do that, I can freeze it - like I did back on the platform - and we can shatter it. Let's steer clear for now though."
Returning, Phantrel joins Em and starts to read the notes. They appear to be some sort of records or diary entries, though whoever made them did so only sporadically. He reads them aloud to the others, before opining, "There are two references to 'spikemouths'. Whatever they are, from the context it seems they are dangerous. The note about receiving no answer is also ominous."
His sword has been quiet for a while but when it pipes up, Phantrel defends Brimble. I think he's just curious. It's not really surprising - we don't know what happened to the Dwarves and it's been a very long time. People fill in the blanks with stories and ideas of their own. He looks around at their location. And this, even if it is only a labourer's level, is still impressive and is only like to fuel imaginations and questions.
He hadn't planned on engaging in a heavy conversation now, but since the opportunity has presented itself, he decides to take it. Working out the right angle to take with his next question, he asks, Are you able to tell me about your story, Thunder-follows-Lightning? How old are you? Where were you forged? Have you been to these halls before? There's a lot to chew on there so he hopes the blade is feeling talkative.
Phantrel:
You didn't know swords could have snits, or throw them, but you do get a vibe of a light snit being thrown. You don't really hear it sniffing, but you kind of feel it. The blade is only partially assuaged by Phantrel's attempted conciliatory words.
The 'dwarves,' as you call them, have many weapons. Yes, axes and hammers are more common. But they do not disdain any useful tool. My form has applications.
There's a longer pause in response to the next questions.
I was the first. Proof of concept. Perhaps with time you will prove yourself the equal of Auric, to understand more.
***
Em pokes at the doorknob lightly, but unable to parse much of the writing, relocates to near the food storage room, in hopes something edible might somehow still remain. Even rats, if needed. Not anyone's first choice of meal, but better, perhaps, than the fish below, with your knowledge of their recent diet....
Colin and Phantrel trade a few bits of their knowledge about the silverspore, and Phantrel translates the various signs observed so far for everyone, as well as the tally-marker's various notes. A pity you have no paper indeed, for the making of notes as well as a map.
The halls continue to seem very silent, very still. Your lights and your talking, quiet and careful though it is, would surely have drawn anything that was immediately likely to eat your face. Although maybe it's just lurking and waiting, behind one of these many doors.
After the mold team finishes their study, Brimble retrieves Carver’s helmet and packs it away. There’s a doorway at the other end of the dining room that needs to be investigated. For the moment, however, he turns his attention to the doors. The dormitories might have useful gear and bedding they could use to handle the Silverspore. But the talk of food from the others indicates that’s a more immediate concern…
The kobold heads over to the ‘Food Stores’ door. If anyone seems interested in his activities, he waves them over. He listens at the door before checking it for traps and locks.
HP: 8 / 8 | AC:15 / T:13 / FF:13 | CMD:11/9
Bullets (20):
Frost Spitter (1):
Effects:
When Xira has finished mentally mapping the kitchen, she moves to the hall to do more of the same. After quietly circling (or ovaling) the space as far as the dwarfgold doors, she fetches up by the heavy-duty doors next to the kitchen.
"Furnaces," she murmurs to no one in particular. "Maybe they're connected to Colin's energy source." She also notes the blue-and-red contraption on the door and its similarity to those in the kitchen storage 'sheds.'
When Brimble heads for the door to Food Storage, Xira walks over to join him. Having been entrusted with one of their precious packs of rations, she feels she ought to help figure out what kinds of alternative meals (eugh) might help stretch their resources.
At least sliverspore salad won't be on the menu.
Weapon in hand: Quarterstaff
Effects:
....and something else going on inside with the wires and crystals- Kn Engineering, raw Int check, or Perception to examine that bit.
---------------
Brimble doesn't see any traps, doesn't hear any particular sounds, but he does catch a... smell when his snoot is near the door. It's not a good smell. Smells like rats. Well, that is not entirely surprising. The door is a swinging one like the kitchen door, though it has some sort of pliant, flexible material around the edges that give it a closer seal to the floor and ceiling. Though Brimble investigates it cautiously, it doesn't seem dangerous. Just more weird dwarven tech of some sort.
He can mention the smell to the others, but assuming this doesn't dissuade you all:
The door opens easily enough. Raka's axe-light spills into a good-sized chamber filled with shelves, and there is a sudden scrabbling noise as tiny clawed feet flee from the first light to shine in this place in who-knows-how-long. Raka, in the lead, catches a glimpse of small furry bodies streaking away, into corners and nooks, chittering with alarm as they go. Though she might instinctively tense up at the sight of motion and the hissing noises of the rats-- for rats they are-- this is no combat, or if it is, it is one you have already conquered, for the rats are fleeing the battlefield immediately.
Within a few breaths the only trace of their presence is the sound of skittering little claws, somewhere out of sight. Well. That and the rat droppings. And the smell of the rat droppings. And the rat nests. And the signs of what happens when rats have the run of an extensive warehouse for a really long time...
Can anything still be edible in here, after so long, even leaving aside the rats? Bracing yourselves against the smell, you get ready to investigate....
The floor is a mess. The more breachable storage containers have been chewed open by very determined rats and their contents spilled out in many places; little pellets of hard, petrifed food of some sort (well you hope it's food) crunch under Raka's first bootsteps.
Dozens of rats (or more) shrilly chatter from the safety of dark nooks, registering their protest to your presence with angry chatters, but they stay out of sight. If only they were also out of smell. It... smells... really... foul in here.
Brimble recoils at the smell. The good news is… that’s a lot of fresh meat. He tugs on Raka's tunic to get her out of the room and lets the flexible door swing shut, hopefully blocking the smell somewhat. He looks at the group. ”Any volunteers willing to hunt for useable supplies in there? We got two filter hoods that will make the job less unpleasant…”
He notes the immediate silence then adds, ”If no one steps up, I’ll do it. But I want to search a few more rooms first.”
Rats. Eugh indeed.
Needs must drive, however, no matter how much Xira wishes they wouldn't drive her into there.
"'Willing' may be too strong a word," she says at last, "But hand me a filter hood. I'll check."
But first she'll check to make sure her sleeves are securely tucked into her gloves and her trousers into her boots. Food-hunt or no, Xira has yet to see anything in that room that she would want contacting her skin.
Weapon in hand: Quarterstaff
Effects:
”I haven’t seen this many rats in one place in, well, forever. Not living in their own stink neither.”
Argatha, without thinking about protection, enters the room to help search. He’s not afraid of rats - as a farmer he’d have seen plenty that the cats don’t catch. Still, he switches to his dagger so he can prod at things without touching them.
Alas, the smell hits him like a wall and he cannot contain himself. He tries to throw his own stomach contents to the side, so no-one else needs to walk through it to get anywhere. But it was foul!
Still, he steals himself, or tries to, and pushes further in - no doubt dry-heaving at times as he goes. He searches for supplies because that's the job before him.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
”’Preciate you volunteering, folks! Here’s Carver’s…” Brimble belatedly offers the helmet/mask to Argatha, after he’s added his own unique contribution to the grossness on the floor. ” …mask.”
With the food gathers sorted (and possibly out of sorts), Brimble grabs Raka and moves to Dormitory #2. Again, he listens at the door before inspecting it and opening it.
”Shall we go upstairs next?” Em suggests, standing beside Raka and Brimble as they prepare to enter another room. ”For my part, I feel no need to linger longer than we must.”
With the filter hood in place, the smell is bearable. Unfortunately, the helmet's construction seems to crowd in at Xira's field of vision. Carver's helmet has moveable goggles, but this version doesn't, and the dark glass lenses don't help matters. After spending all the minutes that she cares to in this room, Xira's only discoveries are some wheeled carts that were literally too big for her to miss, and a small, sealed metal keg that looks to have been ratproof.
Ironically, even though Argatha is resisting the urge to hork every few seconds, he somehow manages to conduct a more thorough search Or, if not thorough, at least lucky -- one of the times that he bends double, trying to keep down anything that might still remain from of lunch, he sees a metal crate on a lower shelf with a number of latches that have kept the rats at bay. In between horking, he grabs it by a convenient handle, confirms it's heavy (hopefully that means it's full of food), and hauls it back out into the corridor.
After the dule careful inspection for traps, both containers are able to be opened. For the keg, that means breaking a thick seal of wax-or-something-like-it, which is stamped with an inscription that Phantrel can translate as: Brewer: Ember of Frostcrown; 9375tr.
Though old, the seal presents you no real obstacle. The ancient keg is opened-- with an audible pop that suggest the seal truly was air-tight-- and you have found.... beer! A thick, dark, pungent beer. It is not, technically, food-- but a suitably thick beer is almost as good as a loaf of bread, right? Sure!
Imagine what a keg of lost dwarven beer could sell for.... which is meaningless, if you never get out of here.
The beer seems, astonishingly, to still be drinkable-- but then, alcohol has long been used as a preservative. A touch of purifying magic will ensure it poses no health risks.
When you get the crate open, it contains a number of flat-packed containers that are also metal. Tin? Steel that doesn't rust? Unclear. They are about an inch high and three by five inches on their other dimensions. The crate contains at least two hundred of these. A single dwarven rune is stamped into the top of each packet-- Phantrel is able to translate it as Spikemouth.
After getting some fresh air (and firmly closing that door), Argatha casts purify food and drink on the beer.
"Time for a break boss? This will go flat if we don't drink it now." he suggests. He gives everyone a favorable pour if they agree.
He savors his. Ancient Dwarven beer! Can you imagine! He drinks it slowly, enjoying the hops and the warmth of the flavor. Ahhhh
When he is finished, or if the party doesn't want beer(!), he says, "If this is food," tapping the crate with his foot, "we have plenty of it. Anyone want to try a taste?" He's not as eager to open up the Spikemouth, but he'll dutifully cast another purify food and drink on the opened package before anyone else tries it.
During the minutes it takes for Argatha and Xiramona to locate their prizes and haul them out, Brimble and Raka check out one of the dormitory doors. Brimble looks it over as cautiously as he knows how, but despite his past experience with some dwarven devices, this one's new: the knob looks to be bronze, but above it, set into the door, is a small panel of dark glass, an inch square. That's not something he's seen before. After cautious investigation he attempts to turn the knob.
It does not turn. Locked? But there is no sign of a keyhole. He has his thieves' tools, of course, but there's no lock to pick.
Poking at the glass square does not seem to do anything. It is fixed in place, as immobile as the knob currently seems to be. Pulling the knob towards him does nothing; pushing inward does nothing.
The kobold scratches the scales around one ear (or columella?) as he considers this puzzle. His keen eyes do notice that the frame of the door has a small, small gap of not-flush-ness on one side that isn't matched on the other, and there are no obvious hinges. At first he assumed the lack of hinges was just because they were on the other side of the wall, but it's possible that the door slides sideways into the wall? There are some very light wear-scratches that run horizontally across the door that seem to bear credence to that, though they're so faint Brimble only notices them when specifically looking for them.
Maybe he should have waited for Raka to try, but spurred on by the sudden satisfaction of realizing the door goes sideways, the kobold summons all the strength of his wiry little muscles, grabs the knob in both hands, and wrenches it sideways with sudden force!!!
There is a loud SCREEELLLLL of metal grinding reluctantly against stone and other metal. Well, if anything within 100 feet didn't already know you were all here, they probably do now. The door does not wish to be opened in this manner, but all the same Brimble has wrenched it open about a foot.
If only Ubek had been here to see that, Brimble might think for just a second.
He and Raka are able to peer into the chamber beyond. The kobold get easily slip inside if he wished; Raka would fit with a tight tight squeeze. The light from Raka's axe shines into a room that is not too surprising given the label: there are two-tiered structures here that must be bunk beds-- ladders going up to the upper level, etc. They go all the way to the ceiling and look to have been cut into the original stone. Each bed-alcove has a storage chest with it, presumably for personal possessions. Kind of like your dorm, come to think of it. Fabric hangs from the top of many of the alcoves-- these workers had curtains! You didn't get curtains.... The beds also have what look to be simple mattresses on them.
The room is tidy, and shows no signs of either the tally-count text or of rats having gained entrance. No personal possessions appear to have been left out on surfaces-- if they exist, they must be in the individual chests. A cursory glance at the nearest one reveals a reassuringly-mundane-looking lock on it.
A similar door to the one you are now peering through exists on the far wall. The air in here seems extra-musty.
*****
"Shall we go upstairs next?”
Phantrel 'hears' the voice of Thunder-follows-Lightning again. Yes! The girl is correct. If you wish tools to survive-- weapons-- they will not be on this level. You must go up.
*****
Anyone wishing to open a container of 'spikemouth' must contend with how to open the metal packages. Closer inspection reveals there is a thinly-pressed line on the side with the rune; you could use your new knives to poke into that and prise them open, maybe.
The mustiness of the room says ‘safe’ to Brimble… at least in the mundane ways. He’s willing to bet the door at the other end leads to the bath or somesuch. He glances at Raka, ”I’m going in. It’ll be a quick check.”
He slides through the gap and into the room, narrating as he goes for the warrior’s benefit. ”24 beds. I figure the far side just about mirrors this one… so four dormitories with almost a hun’erd beds on this level. Got some curtains we could use on that Silverspore maybe...” He notes the tidiness then stops at the footlocker. ”Everything is squared away, nothing left out. I’m gonna try and open a footlocker.”
The kobold gives the footlocker a quick once over, not really expecting traps. He tries to open it, or pick it if it appears locked.
Alas, though the lock looks a good deal simpler than whatever-is-going-on-with-the-doorknob, Brimble's tools do not succeed, at least, not on his first try.
It takes about three tries before Brimble finally feels the catch and ting of the old lock. He bets it was rusty inside! That's why it was so hard! Never mind nothing else here has seemed rusty.
The storage locker creaks as Brimble gets it open. Raka remains at the door, vigilant and holding the axe up for additional light, as Brimble pulls out some clothes and linens. The fabric is stiff, cold, and a bit dusty, but folded neatly: three shirts, two pairs of trousers, some pairs of socks, a woolen blanket, several handkerchiefs, a pair of once-decent steel-toed boots with the leather gone brittle and flaking, undergarments.... very exciting dwarven treasure, here.
There's also a crowbar (more likely to be useful) tucked against one side of the chest's interior and a small pendant. The chain looks to be gold or at least gilt; the pendant itself is about the size and shape of a coin, with fine-line tracery in it that reminds you of the entrance hall walls. In the center of the face of the disc is a square-cut piece of dark metal the size of a man's thumbnail-- iron, you'd wager.
Finally there is a small bundle of cloth holding something hard and heavy. Carefully unwrapping the cloth, which has become somewhat brittle, reveals a very well-made dagger with several tiny gemstones set into the pommel, milky white stones along with some so dark a blue as to be almost black.
Em looks over Raka's shoulder at the clothing. I wonder if the dwarves ever wore purple. Textiles are hard to come by in Salt Spire, and aside from her one nice dress, everything Em owns is threadbare and faded. "Never mind about going upstairs, Brimble, would you mind opening up some more of those chests? There could be more treasure."
Despite his oversized sense of pragmatism, Brimble has a certain reverence for the history captured in the footlocker. Even the clothes aren’t easily cast aside. In many ways, he was no different than the person whose life he was rummaging through. They both lived in a dorm and eked out a living below ground. That said, he had to try to survive this tomb. He removes the blanket and handkerchiefs. They might prove useful. He also takes the crowbar, fine dagger (sadly too large), and the pendant.
He returns to the door and passes the items through to Raka. For the benefit of the mining novices that are listening, he says, ”Don’t get too attached to anything we scrounge up. When we get back to the surface, the GMC is like to confiscate everything we find. Doesn’t matter what we went through to get it. To the GMC, everything down here is theirs… Hey, can any of you see magic? Like hidden in a footlocker? It'll make this go faster.”
Brimble heads back into the room. Using a miner’s logic, he figures the savviest and more experienced dwarves probably got beds in the corners of the room, so he heads to those footlockers. If possible, he tries to rock them, to determine which ones are heavier than the others and breaks into them first.
It being fairly obvious what she's found, Xira immediately goes to scavenge some drinking containers from the kitchen. Mugs, measuring cups, bowls, any of the above will do as far as she's concerned, but she uncovers cups and a tray to put them on in short order.
"Time for a break boss? This will go flat if we don't drink it now." he suggests.
"I think first taste goes to the finder, don't you?" Xira accepts Argatha's pour with cheery thanks and relishes her first sip. Well, swig. "Oh, that helps."
"If this is food," tapping the crate with his foot, "we have plenty of it. Anyone want to try a taste?"
"Hmmm." She picks up a metal container and examines it. "Getting into these could be tricky. A knife might work, but I wonder if the dwarves had something more to the purpose?" She runs the various utensils they found in the kitchen through her mind.
"Hey, can any of you see magic? Like hidden in a footlocker? It'll make this go faster.”
But before Xira can go on another search, she hears Brimble's request. Heading over to the dormitory door, she replies, "Certainly. Which chest should I try first?"
She faces the chest Brimble indicates and extends her mystical sense.
Weapon in hand: Quarterstaff
Effects:
The beer is.... somewhat funky, and strong, and has a pronounced smokey flavor. It's not precisely BAD, but it doesn't quite taste like any beer you've ever had before.
When you woke up this morning, you were surely not expecting that before the day was done you'd be stranded deep underground, standing in a dwarven hall and drinking the beer of a vanished people. It might even seem strange to an observer, that at a time like this you are drinking. But, like the orange, perhaps this is an affirmation of life. You survived. The shadow-monster, the trap, the fall, the fishy monsters... Others died-- others with more experience, more weapons, more magic and more power and more wealth...
...but you lived. Through luck, if you like, or the favor of the gods, if you prefer that explanation. You saw a horror, and then more horrors, but there is still air in your lungs and blood in your veins and you can roll around on your tongue the taste of beer brewed centuries ago by an alien people... and life remains sweet.
"Remarkable..." muttera Colin as he followed Brimble into what was apparently a dormitory, "Looks to be rather more comfortable than the accommodation the GMC saw fit to provide us, even accounting for the beds being on the small size..."
Noting the blanket, Colin remarked "I guess in a pinch that could be used to help deal with the mold although, maybe we should just leave it alone."
On a normal day, Colin would have easily marked the dagger as a clan dagger. He was of course well aware of such things, but it was not a good day. His mind was still reeling from all the things he'd seen.
"Don’t get too attached to anything we scrounge up. When we get back to the surface, the GMC is like to confiscate everything we find"
"This morning I would have agreed with you. Now I wonder how much of the GMC is left..."
Colin was interested in venturing upstairs but it seemed logical to explore most of this level first, so he didn't say anything to that debate.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Brimble regards the delightfully naïve alchemist. ”Got a riddle for ya… What’s soulless, sucks the life out of people, can’t be killed with normal weapons, and never dies?” He pauses a beat, ”A company with a large profit margin.”
The kobold waggles a friendly claw at Colin. ”Don’t say I never warned ya.”
Argatha helps Xiramona in the kitchen, on the grounds we shouldn't be alone. He looks for something to easily open the tins rather than just stand around.
"The GMC may never die, but that doesn't mean it can never lose." Em follows Xira into the dormitory, inspecting the contents of the chest. "I do wonder," she begins idly, while changing into dry socks. "Will they be able to pry Thuder-Follows-Lightning from Phantrel's careful grip?" The rest of the clothing, sized for dwarves, will need to be altered before it can be worn. Em has mostly stopped dripping, but it will take more time before her clothing dries.
Thunder-follows-Lightning’s answers are vague and Phantrel has the distinct feeling that he’s said something wrong. Whatever the cause, the sword seems to be in some kind of mood. Apparently sentient weapons have a range of emotions to match any humanoid. Still, ignoring the slight, there was some information there. The dwarves, perhaps, referred to themselves by another name. And there’s a strong suggestion that if Thunder-follows-Lightning was a proof of concept, there were - are? - likely other similar weapons. How common they might be is another question, though presumably there can’t have been too many of them or more would likely have been discovered and come to prominence, at least outside of humble backwaters like Salt Spire. More to ask about later, anyway.
While he and Colin examine the silverspore, deciding for the present to leave it be, the others begin exploring some of the store rooms off the main corridor. Phantrel is content to leave them to it while he tries to regain some kind of equilibrium after recent events.
Having been silent for a while, his swordcane pipes up after Em’s comment regarding moving to a different floor. Food and drink are important too, Phantrel mentally replies. We’re not going to be able to survive much without basic supplies. But thank you, that’s useful. What would we need weapons for though? he asks, curious and a little concerned. Thunder-follows-Lightning’s advice seems sound but the half-elf senses that its eagerness to head up is concealing something else. While it’s practical to be armed, this place is abandoned. And we already have one incredible blade, he adds, happy to stroke the sword’s ego a little.
The scavenged sustenance isn’t bad, and frankly on an empty stomach most things quickly become palatable. The smokiness of the beer isn’t unpleasant but Phantrel considers it to be an acquired taste, and one he’s yet to develop. He snorts at Brimble’s joke, finding it hard to disagree with the kobold’s assessment. ”I assume the sword would pass to his daughter,” he replies to Em. ”Or his spouse or any other children. I have no idea about the rest of his family but somebody so powerful will certainly have made arrangements in the event of their death. Though that does leave out Thunder-follows-Lightning’s opinion on the matter,” he looks at the sword lying next to him. ”I don’t suppose you found a scabbard or anything that might suffice?” he asks the storeroom explorers.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Doing her best to keep her axe pointed at various allies in turn, to keep the light useful in as many directions as possible, Raka looks at the beds. "Well, if we don't find a way out anytime soon, at least we know where we can sleep tonight. These beds are better'n we've been using."
When he is finished, or if the party doesn't want beer(!), he says, "If this is food," tapping the crate with his foot, "we have plenty of it. Anyone want to try a taste?"
"I'll do it. Worst case, I don't poison easy-- there's more o' me it's gotta get through." She smiles self-deprecatingly.
Joining Argatha and Xira at the crate, Raka picks up one of the small metal containers and looks it over for an obvious opening mechanism. Seeing none, she shrugs and places it on the floor in front of her. Then she swings her axe over her head and brings it down in the center of the small container, hoping to cut the thing in half. It might not be the most efficient method of accessing the contents, but at least it's quick.
Raka dips into the storeroom as well briefly to see if she can find anything else. She manfully-- womanfully?-- soldiers through the foul smell, but has no desire to linger very long-- she comes out with a few glass jars with lids and something amber-colored inside.
Inspecting them in the hall reveals they are honey!
Argatha checks the kitchen for some sort of device that might open these tins and finds a small hand-sized gadget that has a sort of a 'beak' and might be able to puncture the cans more safely than a knife. He brings it back out to suggest this might be useful, only to see Raka bringing her axe down with concussive force on a hapless tin. There is a disconcerting CRACK noise as the blade goes right through the tin and into the stone floor beneath.
Raka has acquired inventory item: one (1) bisected, but open, can, of what can quickly be ascertained to be very pickled fish. Wooooooof that's a smell! It is food. Yes. It is food, though if this is all you have to eat for the duration of your time down here, you will quickly grow tired of pickled fish filets.
(Good thing you also found the honey.)
Raka has also acquired inventory item: broken axe.
A thorough search of the dormitory turns up a number of mundane clothes– certainly enough for you all to switch to dry socks and boots if you like, though, as Em observes, most of the rest of the garments would need some alterations to be worn comfortably. Team Seamstress may become a very important role! Dwarves appear to have been both broader and shorter than most of you– not a new revelation, judging by armor and so forth that has been found in the past, but this is more confirmation of that fact.
The garments are all rather stiff with age, with nigh-permanent creases from how many untold decades they have sat in their same folded configurations, and some are rather brittle, but there are still plenty in good enough condition to wear.
Aside from clothes, searching the room turns up the following tools, keepsakes, and miscellanea- some of it in the chests, some of it resting on stone shelf-niches that are carved into the wall above each bed.
-A masterwork backpack
-20 sets of earplugs (???)
-A fishing pole that can be telescoped down to a foot long, fishing line, mechanical lures and hooks, all fitting into a cunningly-crafted steel box that unfolds somewhat as it opens
-A hammer
-A magnet
-A pouch of marbles
-A small hand-mirror of polished steel
-A roperunner
-A sewing kit
-A silver snuffbox () with some long-dried-out tobacco inside and an engraved dwarfscript message of To Varyn from Goldie. All my love.
-A silver and mother-of-pearl pipe () found next to the snuffbox
-A waterproof bag
-A whetstone
-A mapmaker’s kit
-A merchant’s scale
-A set of small puzzles of wooden blocks, metal rings, and the like (mechanically we will treat this as a book of puzzles, although it is not in book form)
-A glass box about two feet by one foot by one foot, containing a little hollow wheel that spins on an axis rod, a few small bowls, and what looks to be a layer of sawdust-mulch on the bottom. The top of the box can be easily removed
-A pair of cleats
-A set of stone dice
-A gold locket with a small cameo engraving inside of a broad-featured woman– a dwarf?? Dwarfscript in the inner lid reads: In memory of Mother, 9224tr.
-23 (!) more daggers, most of them of the same quality as the first one you found. You realize that for six of them, the gemstones are very faintly glowing.
-15 more small pendants with chips of dark metal inset into them
Some of these things may be more useful to you than others.
Colin was curious to see various things they found, he remarked "It's interesting they didn't take this stuff with them. I wonder if they had to travel light?"
He selected a dagger at random, just in case. He also pocketed the marbles noting, "I'm not much of a fighter, but these could trip an enemy." The magnet was a fascinating find, it seemed superior to the loadstones he'd used in the past.
What would we need weapons for though? While it’s practical to be armed, this place is abandoned. And we already have one incredible blade.
Have you forgotten about what slew Auric? It's odd, to be able to detect acidic sarcasm in a soundless voice. Abandoned by the stone-born does not mean no threats exist here. There are likely various security measures. Or things that have bypassed those measures, over time, and taken up residence.
Raka chops a can in two-- and then gazes in dismay at her axe head, now showing a definite chip taken from the blade and fractures starting to spread through it. Phantrel can somehow feel Thunder-follows-Lightning observing this coolly.
Yes. Well. Perhaps your people will not know what to do with weapons if you do find them.
Brimble leaves the dwarf clothes because he’d be swimming in them. For similar reasons, he can’t put the masterwork backpack to good use. But he takes one of the awkwardly large daggers, a pair of ear plugs, and the rope runner.
With the gear sorted, the kobold heads to the door at the far end of the room. As was becoming his practice, he listens at it, checks it for traps, and then tries to open it. Having learned from the last couple of doors, he tests if it is flexible like the store room door or slides into the wall.
Argatha eyes that fishing pole, and will add it to his pack if given a chance. And of course he too grabs a Dwarven masterwork dagger along with a pair of earplugs. He also pockets the can opener for later. He doesn’t realize he didn’t tell anyone he found it.
He’ll also help carry things that we might need, like food.
Colin was curious to see various things they found, he remarked "It's interesting they didn't take this stuff with them. I wonder if they had to travel light?"
"Or maybe wherever they went, they expected to come back." Xira runs a finger over the inscription on the snuffbox, marveling at the craftmanship. "My Mam taught me some of the history she learned at the Academy, including stories about how most of the elves left this world entirely, only to return thousands and thousands of years later. I wonder if something similar happened to the dwarves?"
At first she hesitates to take any of the things they've found, the shadow creature's words to Lord Highcliff ghosting through her mind. You are a common grave robber. But as with the rat-infested storage room, their needs are too obvious to spurn any aids, and she soon follows Em's example and trades off for dry socks.
After consideration, she trades her kitchen knives for two of the beautifully-forged daggers, wrapping the knives in cloth and stowing them at the bottom of the backpack found in one of the chests. The mapmaker’s kit should prove immediately useful; Xira sets it aside while she transfers her kit from her old backpack to the new. She also takes a set of earplugs (if they had that many pairs, they must have been needed for something), the whetstone, the dice, and the small mirror. She and Colin might be able to work out some useful things to do with the polished steel and her light spells.
As she finishes stowing what she is reluctant to think of as loot, Xira turns to Em. "At lunch you started talking about theories concerning the dwarves' vanishment." Only lunchtime today. Gods. "Have you learned any details about those theories, Em?"
She secures the pack, pulls the slate and a piece of white chalk from the kit, and starts sketching what little area they've already covered.
Weapon in hand (when she's no longer mapping): Quarterstaff
Effects:
Em collects two more daggers, leaving her kitchen knives behind behind. She also takes the sewing kit and the mirror. She hangs one of the pendants around her neck before pocketing a pair of earplugs. Em wrinkles her nose at the canned fish, her hunger having not returned since the group fell. The beer she would gladly drink, if she didn't need all her wits.
"I read a description of another dwarven ruin once. I cannot say whether it's fate was shared by others." Em thinks for a moment, wondering if she should share the chilling details of the account, which have brought her evil dreams on not a few occasions. "Bludznchakh, it was called. There were sepulchers there, ostentatiously decorated with the trappings of rich life. Ah, but you have never seen a dwarven tomb." Em herself has been called below, by hands cold and pale, she herself has lain on a stony bed, while the embalmers and the stitchers surrounding her set about their grim work. "Beside an ossuary, which would have also been a charnel house in those midnight days, a laboratory was located where the dwarves sought to prolong life. Though necromantic magic would have been anathema for the dwarf-priests of Bluznchakh, their scholars and scientists developed an art not dissimilar in function." Em herself has risen, her watery eyes blinking against a wan yellow light, her ears throbbing with the maddened cries of those still living, who fled before her horrid form as she stumbled after them, her limp tongue straining to form words veiled and forgotten. "Melly was a creature of shadow and soul, I gather, though my recollection of the moments before my consciousness failed me is dim. These were creatures of flesh, whose myriad forms could be altered and shaped to suit the caprice of mortal creators." Em falls suddenly silent, not wishing to go on with her tale.
| 3 people marked this as a favorite. |
Phantrel is a patient man but Thunder-follows-Lightning is beginning to wear at the edges of his forbearance. What was intended as a brief marriage of convenience against an immediate threat seems to be growing increasingly inconvenient, the sword’s ego and superiority grating against the half-elf’s humble outlook and lifestyle. Obviously not, Phantrel returns, mirroring the weapon’s sarcasm given his preferred method of speaking softly seems not to be generating results. Otherwise I would not have risked my life by picking you up. But speak plainly. If there are other creatures here, name them. The same with the other dangers that you allude to but fail to spell out. We have established that you know far more than the rest of us but it’s of little use unless you tell us what you know and how to make use of it.
He’s glad that the rest of the group is spared the sword’s comments. You seem to be under the impression that ‘my people’ are warriors rather than simple labourers - miners and farmers and craftsfolk. If we do not know how to swing a sword to your satisfaction it’s because most of us have probably never had cause and certainly not the training. So you can either help us get out of here and then we can go our separate ways when you find yourself a bearer you deem more worthy, or we can all struggle our way to an inglorious death.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Raka expected the reverberation off the floor to hurt her hands. But she didn't intend to swing with so much force that the impact would crack the handle. Oh f***. She stared at the axe, its head now wobbling loosely against the wooden shaft. It could still be deadly if she swung it hard enough, but another impact like that is likely to break the axe-head off completely and render the weapon useless.
She shifts her grip closer to the head of the weapon; it's still a fine light source, after all. "Well, we have some pickl--" Raka notices then that Argatha had in fact turned up what looks like a can opener. She mentally sighs. "Whyyyyy don't you handle openin' the food from now on."
Dwarven Lore DC 15 (Colin only; Em already tried it), for the info here
Perception DC 15 (anyone), for the information at the bottom of this post
***
Thunder-follows-Lightning is silent for a few moments in the wake of Phantrel's fed-up retort. After a pause just long enough to make Phantrel wonder if the blade is going to talk again, he hears, Well, at least you have some spirit.
I have never been here before. I cannot name precisely what creatures may be here: security measures are LIKELY, as I said. Those measures are most likely to be traps, mechanical and magical alike. Crafted guardians of metal, or stone, that might have survived the years. There may be more of the dead-- such as the shadow back at the entrance. And of course if other things have crept into these halls I cannot know precisely what they may be. But for all these reasons, you ought seek out the best weapons available here.
******
Brimble has picked the locks of at least half a dozen chests for his companions, and lets them look through the contents as he moves on to the door at the far end. He notices the same configuration to the door's inside as the outside: the unmoving knob, the small glass panel above it. He spends a fair amount of time assessing the edges-- it looks very much like the door he entered this room through-- and finally decides to give the handle a sideways yank, as he did the other.
This time it doesn't budge, at least not on his first try.
The kobold had been expecting a bathroom, but finds himself staring into a dark hallway instead. To the north, it ends in a set of double doors; on the eastern wall is the door into, presumably, Dormitory 1, and on the western wall is a single door.
Immediately to Brimble's left, about ten feet away, there's a door in the same vein as this one, with more dwarfscript. The corridor continues to the west, and he can just make out a door at the end of it, and one on the north and the south. Phantrel will no doubt have to come play translator again.
However, the first thing to catch Brimble's eye is that there's more chalk marks here. A LOT more. Where it was one horizontal row of marks in the previous hallway, the wall directly across from him has at least a dozen vertical rows, line after line, tally after tally, cramped dwarfscript wedged between the five tallies. The lines meander, swerving up and down the walls like a drunk making his way down a street. Brimble doesn't need to be able to read the script to tell that the script here is messier, a scrawl rather than the precise notes of the first instance. His own wall, indeed all the walls he can currently see, feature more and more and more tallies.