GM Dien's Salt Spire

Game Master dien

"Oh, yeah, that was me," begins Argatha sheepishly. "You were possessed or something and we were trying to snap you out of it. Em just talked to you though, and you were fine after that. Didn't need the water."

He looks through the door into the room where the others are, and decides he doesn't need to go in there. He continues to guard the hall, in case it tries to get away.

"Magic, words," Em shrugs at Argatha, "he and I did the same thing, more or less." It is clear that Em thinks this elevates herself; she also has an eye to reassure Argatha that he was justified.

The hall locked down, Em keeps an eye on Raka, in case of another paroxysm.

"Er What?!" yawned Colin, "Gosh, I'm tired?!" He shook his head as if to clear it and clearly annoyed he muttered, "Something was messing with my head, something obsessed with manual labour and with all sorts of intrusive thoughts! Uh yawwwwwn, gods I'm tired..."

Brimble blinks hard. He looks around to see that everyone has moved from where they were before, that he has moved as well, and notes the cleaning supplies in his claws. He drops the rags like they scald him.

Without another word, he leaves the room, walks down the hall, then sits down against the wall... to rest and gather his wits.

When Xira sees that Colin is coming around and that Phantrel is attending to Brimble, she darts into the hall, hoping to help Em and Argatha -- well, not tackle Raka as such. Her worry evaporates in a relieved sigh when she realizes her big little sister is once again herself ... and drenched. Ah yes, she hadn't imagined those splashing sounds.

"I don't suppose anyone has found any towels?" she asks whoever is listening. Poor Raka, having to drip-dry for the second time today.

Xira follows Brimble's example after he emerges, sitting down with her back against her own chunk of wall. After yet another major adrenalin jolt, she feels about as tired as Brimble looks and Colin sounds, though probably with less cause than either of them.

Everything now seems as quiet and still (other than the sound of water dripping from Raka) as it did before Phantrel crouched besides the body in the overseer's office.

Those of you who experienced the phantom sensations firsthand feel you could now hazard a guess as to what killed that dwarf: they worked until it killed them. Literally.

With all the searching thus far, I'd say it's been at least a half-hour since Highcliff's death. Just to establish how long things are taking you thus far.

Thunder-follows-Lightning seemed to guess that it ought not distract Phantrel during the ruckus involving the dwarven corpse, but now that you out of immediate danger, the blade resumes its mental discussion with Phantrel, as if there had barely been an interruption-- probably sooner than Phantrel would have wished, as the half-elf no doubt wishes to process what just happened. But his new weapon is chatty.

You are unlike Auric. You do not have his intelligence, nor his prowess as a warrior. Yet you also do not have his ambition, his… greed. I had thought it was universal to your kind. It is certainly very common among them.

I… have not yet decided if it is better for the stoneborn to be forgotten, or to be plundered by those such as Auric’s consortium. What would you wish done with your works and your name, when you die? To be falsely remembered, with half-truths and outright lies, or even to be forgotten entirely... like the poor dwarf that lies here? Or to have all of your legacy dug up, analyzed, and claimed for profit?

Raka sets down the bucket of water in her hand, her mind still foggy, her eyes not really seeing her surroundings. Her thoughts are on the dead dwarf in the other room. Worked to death. She has no doubt that's what happened.

Raka has her fears, but this god Droskar had just forced her to confront what is perhaps the greatest of them: You're only good for one thing. The day she stops being useful is the day she finds herself alone. Is it any wonder you work so hard? The pack on her back feels much heavier now, and it isn't just the extra water weight.

She readjusts the straps, using the motion to try and push down the dread that, whatever their present circumstances, is now stronger than ever. "That was... somethin' else. I'm back to myself now though, I think. Thank you, Em."

She plasters a smile onto her face.

Argatha sees the fatigue in his companions - both emotional and physical. While it seems that many are taking a break, he does not feel particularly tired, though it has been a long day, packed in a short time.

He stands watch in the hall while the others collect themselves. When everyone is out, he'll quietly close the door on the dead Dwarf.

He keeps his eyes open for other threats while they collectively catch their breaths.

Perception: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 1 = 19

"Of course, my friend," Em says, turning to survey the group and ensure that no one else is trying to leave. "I saw a dish towel in the kitchen, but it had grown mold. Perhaps some of the unused clothing could be put to the purpose?"

"Of course, my friend," Em says, turning to survey the group and ensure that no one else is trying to leave. "I saw a dish towel in the kitchen, but it had grown mold. Perhaps some of the unused clothing could be put to the purpose?"

"The clothing, Xira agrees. "Or the blankets. Or both." Deciding that getting off the cold stone floor before her muscles tighten up is a good idea, she stands, stretches, and rolls her shoulders.

At the nearest dormitory door, she pauses. "Anyone care to come along? I suppose we should have company, even if it's a room we've already been in."

With the trio who had been overcome by the desire to work all thankfully snapped out of it, Phantrel breathes out. They haven’t nullified the cause but at least they have ended the effect. ”Perhaps it would be best if we all leave this poor soul to their rest and withdraw,” he says.

The words have scarcely left his lips when he feels the mental pull of Thunder-follows-Lightning striking up a conversation again. I’ll take that as a compliment, he returns drily. I am half human, though I think you are doing a lot of people a disservice here. But we can definitely agree that the works of the stoneborn are impressive. He snorts with light laughter at the mention of his ‘legacy’, a faintly ridiculous concept. I can’t foresee that being something I need to worry about. When I die I will go back to nature and if my friends and family keep fond memories of me, that’s as much as anybody needs.

I appreciate there’s a difference when we’re talking about a civilisation and it's a difficult question. For what it’s worth, I don’t think being forgotten is realistic here – stories and myths and artifacts are too prevalent for that. If people can learn more, the truth as far as it is possible to ascertain, and to harness the knowledge of the stoneborn for the betterment of people’s lives, that, I think, is the best case. He pauses, having put across the optimistic view. I’m not naïve though and I can’t disagree that plunder and profit will be on the minds of others. For now though, all we here can do is set a good example of respect. And if you’re willing to continue to teach me, I will do my best to spread such information as you see fit.

"I'll come with you, Xira," Raka says, almost instinctively. She joins her friend as they head into the other room.

Yes, the haunting presence seems to say. Something to do. That's what they keep you around for.

She stays quiet as they return to the dormitory room, away from the others. Xira hands her one of the dusty blankets, which she wraps around herself like a towel, then piles more blankets and clothing into her arms to take with them back to the others. "Xira, d'you... D'you think you an' Em would still..." She takes a breath and wipes her face with the blanket. "I dunno. I mean... we're friends. Right?"

Phantrel Diplomacy: 1d20 + 6 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 6 + 1 = 15

Phantrel can occasionally get flickers of emotional sensation from the blade: just now it seems to be mulling his response. Then the sense of consideration changes to one of decision.

I will tell you what Auric sought here: others like myself. I was the first, and there were others after me, and then the greatest of their number were forged here in Thurznchakh.

The main stairwells and lifts are the most direct route, but likely to be the focus of Thurznchakh's security protocols. A slower but safer method would be to seek out less obvious routes upward, such as the maintenance tunnels and shafts.

People moving, talking, dripping, processing…

Brimble finds it difficult to rest in the hubbub, quiet though it likely is. When he gets tired, his temper is even shorter than he is. Fine. One more room to go. He pulls himself off the floor and drags tail (literally) through the dormitory and down the hall to the gold double-doors.

Normally, he wouldn’t drink on the job. But seeing the cask Argatha tapped… he could use a little ‘fortifying’. He downs a small draft, puts on his heaviest gloves and goes to examine the shiny door. He’s so tired, he doesn’t even bother listening at it first. He does give it a thorough looksee.

Inspect & Trap Check: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (13) + 7 = 20
Disable Device: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (9) + 6 = 15

I’m not going to crowbar it yet since it resembles the door up top.

"Xira, d'you... D'you think you an' Em would still..." She takes a breath and wipes her face with the blanket. "I dunno. I mean... we're friends. Right?"

Though Xira doesn't know the exact nature of Raka's worry, she can tell that her friend has been deeply disturbed by her strange possession. As who would not be? And so she answers with the truth of her heart.

"As far as I'm concerned, you and Em are more than friends," she says softly. "You're family." The only family I have who aren't missing or out on the roads who knows where.

On impulse, Xira puts down the blanket she'd just picked up and hugs Raka hard, soaking wet clothes and all. "You're my big little sister." She pulls back enough to look up at Raka, fixing a mock-stern expression on her face. "So don't you forget it."

Argatha sees their leader head toward the gold doors. He refreshes the light on the axe (just in case), and readies his sling (just in case).

He closes to the hall, and nods to Brimble from across the hall - though if the man needs help with the doors, he lends his aid.

With the taste of the strong, tangy beer in his mouth and his body aching with weariness, Brimble forces himself to inspect the last door. No doubt he tells himself that it's hardly the first time he's been tired, on the job.

The gold double doors seem to slide into the walls as well, judging by the lack of obvious hinges. Again there is no obvious lock mechanism, again there is a small dark glass panel set into one of them. He is sure that the glass panel represents some way to open these bastards, because Brimble doubts that the dwarves brute-forced them all the time, but whatever it is seems to be currently inert or at least beyond his weary comprehension's ability to figure out.

No signs of traps. But it does look as though this is another door, or two doors, that will have to be wrestled with physically. At least the dividing line in the center provides a good slot for a crowbar.

He's tempted to jam it in there and force the door open, grumpy and tired as he is. But despite the fatigue, his common sense reasserts itself: better to wait for the others. Better to follow his own advice to the others, about not tackling shinies on your own. He calls (his voice slightly raspy) for the others to come nearer.

Argatha hasn't waited for the summons. As the others approach, the other man is already there. Seeing Brimble's tiredness, he holds out a hand for the crowbar...

Stepping up, the human wedges it between the doors, takes a breath, and HUPS with his body weight against it. The doors are forced open enough that you can wriggle your way through to the chamber beyond...

...which is smaller and a lot more boring than Brimble was hoping. Whatever this is, it's not a temple. Or at least not any temple he's ever seen.

The room beyond is about 15 feet deep, perhaps 12 feet wide. It's empty, and fairly bare. On the far wall there is a small alcove about two feet deep, with inset ladder rungs, that runs from floor up to the ceiling...

Oh yeah, the ceiling. There isn't one. Looking up, Brimble sees that the room-- or more accurately, the smooth-walled shaft-- goes up as far as his vision allows him to see-- as does the alcove with the ladder rungs. He thinks there's some interruptions above, as if other levels open up into this shaft.

There are various metal panels and dwarfgold lines on the walls in here, their purpose not immediately obvious.

Stifling another yawn, Colin wandered over to see what Brimble was up to, remarking to Argatha "I suspect an impressive amount of force was required to open that but you made it look easy!"

Peering inside Colin muttered, "Well that doesn't look like a temple... "

Then he looked up and exclaimed, "Oh! That goes up a long way! Could those be other levels?"

Colin frowned at the metal panels and the dwarfgold lines. He waved his borrowed dagger in front of the strange metal panels trying to detect any magnetic pull, "Eh I was expecting these to be magnetic... But you can't really turn a magnet off tho, or can you? Just another reminder of how far ahead of us Dwarven technology was."
Kn: Engineering, fatigued: 1d20 + 7 - 2 ⇒ (15) + 7 - 2 = 20

He couldn't hold back the yawn he'd been stifling anymore and after a deep sigh he said, "A puzzle for another day I think. We should really think about turning in - but I wonder is it safe to sleep here? Some of us should probably try to stay, uhhh, up for a bit and uh--aaaah, um sorry, kind of tired. What was I saying, ah yes, when we do rest, we should probably set watches."

Earlier...

Tears well in Raka's eyes at the unexpected show of emotion from Xira. She drops her own armload to return the embrace.

"You're my big little sister." She pulls back enough to look up at Raka, fixing a mock-stern expression on her face. "So don't you forget it."

Raka exhales sharply, somewhere between a sob and a chuckle. "I'll try not to." She wipes her eyes. "Sorry, I'm prob'ly bein' ridiculous. It was... somethin' that spirit, or vision, or whatever it was said to me back there. It just got me thinkin' about... Em was always the smart one, an' you were always the clever one, an' you can be that forever. An' then there's me, an'..."

She trails off. For the first time, Raka is grateful for the dismal lighting conditions. She doesn't want Xira to fully see her embarrassment. "I know. Ridiculous."

She looks down at the now much-less-organized bundle of fabrics and at the shadowy room around them. "I'll say this though," she says a bit sheepishly, looking back to Xira and meeting her gaze. "If you had to get stuck down here... I'm glad I did too."

Previously…

Again there is no obvious lock mechanism, again there is a small dark glass panel set into one of them. He is sure that the glass panel represents some way to open these bastards, because Brimble doubts that the dwarves brute-forced them all the time.

This was a matter the kobold had considered after straining multiple times to open the second door. His conclusion, based on no evidence save ‘people are lazy’, is that IF the dwarven glowy magic lines were working, a body would probably just need to push the glass panel a bit to get the doors to open. No power and you gotta crank everything open by hand.

Argatha hasn't waited for the summons. As the others approach, the other man is already there. Seeing Brimble's tiredness, he holds out a hand for the crowbar...

The kobold regards the open-faced young man. He always steps up and tries to be helpful. Brimble rather likes the kid. On past gigs, there had been some a$$holes Brimble didn’t like looking out for. And a couple he… well, the point is that every so often, you run into a worker who is cute as a pup and keepin’ them safe makes dealing with the a$$holes worth it. As every miner knows, you gotta chip a lot of rock to find a vein of silver.

Brimble hands over the crowbar. ”OK, kid, give it a shot… BUT if some gas pours out or something seems off, you drop the damn crowbar and back off fast, right? A crowbar is replaceable, you aren’t.”

He watches the young man like a hawk, hoping he hasn’t set him up to die… When Argatha muscles the door open safely, Brimble exhales.

The chamber …is not a temple… It's empty, and fairly bare. On the far wall there is a small alcove about two feet deep, with inset ladder rungs, that runs from floor up to the ceiling... Oh yeah, the ceiling. There isn't one. Looking up, Brimble sees that the room-- or more accurately, the smooth-walled shaft-- goes up as far as his vision allows him to see-- as does the alcove with the ladder rungs. He thinks there's some interruptions above, as if other levels open up into this shaft.

Even exhausted, Brimble is delighted. This is better than a shrine. He scurries back to the kid and speaks quietly. ”Great work, kid! This is our way up and maybe out. Push that door wider and get in here. I’m going up and I might need some light in a minute… but not til I say so.”

Tired as he is, the discovery buoys him enough that he climbs the ladder with confidence and as silently as he can manage. He is cautious of traps but mostly this is a quick reconnaissance mission. He wants to get a feel for how many levels are above them and what the shaft exits look like. His darkvision might be all he needs (and certainly all he trusts if there are open doorways above him) but this shaft will give him some idea if his guesstimates are wrong.

Climb: 1d20 + 4 - 1 ⇒ (18) + 4 - 1 = 21 fatigue on most things
Stealth: 1d20 + 10 - 1 ⇒ (12) + 10 - 1 = 21
Inspect & Trap Check: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (10) + 7 = 17
Disable Device: 1d20 + 6 - 1 ⇒ (17) + 6 - 1 = 22

Brimble peers up into the darkness, unimpeded by the gloom, and starts to climb the rungs. Once he gets ten feet off the ground, he can juuust see a 'ceiling' to the shaft - though Brimble's experience as a miner would suggest this is not so much a ceiling, but the floor of a platform that moves up and down this shaft. Other digs have had platforms rigged to carry workers and gear up and down-- granted, those platforms moved via rope, winches, pulleys, and sometimes sheer muscle, and not via... whatever theoretically powers the dwarven complex.

To clarify: the platform is 70' up

Clinging to the ladder in its niche, Brimble twists to look behind him at the east wall and assess various possible entrances.

It looks like there's about 10 solid feet of rock between the level you have been exploring, and a pair of closed double doors very similar to the ones Argatha just forced open, which must be the next level up.

Then it's another 10 feet of rock to a seemingly-identical set of double doors. Then 10 more feet of rock. Then.... oh those doors are open, judging by the dark gap there. And then it's the platform blocking his idea of how much further the shaft might ascend.

If Brimble was well-rested, he’d continue up the ladder to get a look at the open doorway. But he is in no shape to press his luck and he lacks the energy to even run away… so he slides back down the ladder and reports what he’s found to the team. He adds his opinion to the simple facts.

”We got a lift shaft here. I’m not sure if there’s a way to get past the lift… Based on how far I think we dropped I’d say, best case, there are five levels of structure above us. Worse case – it’s likely eight or nine. So, it's gonna be a slog to get out. I don’t think we have a grappling hook, but we could really use one if we use the shaft to go up. I can climb the ladder til I'm across from the open doorway. Then I might be able to free climb across to the opening. If we’re lucky, I can find something to tie off to in there and lower a rope. But I’m gonna need sleep before I do that. That spook took a lot out of me. The other option - at least to go up one level - is trying those stairs.”

He looks to the others for their thoughts.

He doesn't yet voice his concern because it might be a bit paranoid. Why is that doorway open to the shaft? It'd be too easy for people to fall in. Did something bad happen on that level?

Em has followed the others to get a glimpse of the elevator shaft, but she overhears the end of Raka's conversation with Xira. "Raka," she asks quietly, moving into the dorm to stand by the two of them. "Do you remember when we were young, and I asked if I could sleep next to you for your warmth?" It's a distant memory, but not beyond recalling.

Raising his eyebrows at the mention of more powerful weapons similar to Thunder-follows-Lightning, Phantrel supposes he probably shouldn’t be that surprised, but it is good to have confirmation of Lord Highcliff’s aim – and that as dangerous as his quest may have been, it wasn’t a wild goose chase.

Thank you, he replies, that’s very helpful. With no immediate questions – the advice seems both straightforward and sensible – Phantrel leaves the conversation there. He heads over to Brimble, Colin and Argatha to relay the information to the reconnaissance group. He mindfully gives Em, Raka and Xira some space, the three friends clearly having something of a private conversation. His heart feels a little lighter seeing how they care for each other and he feels a twinge of… something. Right now he’s exhausted though and would dearly love a little space but the circumstances, not to mention his sword, means that it seems unlikely.

He listens to the kobold’s report from his brief foray up the shaft. ”Thunder-follows-Lightning says that conventional routes up,” he indicates the lift shaft, ”are more likely to be the focus of such defences as may still exist here. Which I think makes sense, these being where you would want to concentrate them. It suggests that other routes up exist, such as maintenance tunnels, that might be safer. Based on everything that has happened so far, I would recommend caution. Would you agree?” he asks.

”The other thing it mentioned is that it can feel the presence of other powerful weapons in the same vein as Thunder-follows-Lightning somewhere above us. When we are closer it should be able to help direct us towards them. They would certainly be useful in terms of getting out, though,” he hesitates slightly, ”bearing such a weapon is not without cost. It was not something I was looking for and I am still learning of the consequences and implications. Something to bear in mind,” he says sombrely. Then, after a pause, ”I don't think it affects us right now, but you may also be interested to know that Lord Highcliff was looking for them.”

Argatha shrugs, doubting the Dwarves used anything he could manage to wield. He's not even sure what that would be if he's being honest. Interesting though, he'd never had much companionship. Other then the goats, chickens, and possibly other livestock of a poor farmer of course. But two way conversations were difficult.

He nods though, "So we have to find another shaft to climb. Let's get these other doors open then." The healer in him sees the tiredness in the group, "We could rest then, before ascending. The cots will mostly fit us. Better than the barn anyway." Part of him wonders when they're going to check the bathrooms...

He hoists his waterproof bag of tinned food, clattering together as he shifts it. He then moves to the next door, and offers to open it again, though not without waiting for more perceptive folks to check for traps.

”A little rest might be in order,” Em admits, though she’s grown far more eager to explore. Phantrel’s mention of other dwarf weapons has set her mind whirring, and now notions sprout and grow faster than she can snuff them. ”I shall keep first watch, for I am restless.”

"I uh..." yawned Colin who seemed to be collecting bags under his eyes, "Sigh... I'll have to take one of the later watches after I've had a chance to recuperate a bit."

Earlier: Xira won't interrupt Raka and Em's conversation, but she does have one more thing to say when it concludes.

"Sorry, I'm prob'ly bein' ridiculous. It was... somethin' that spirit, or vision, or whatever it was said to me back there. It just got me thinkin' about... Em was always the smart one, an' you were always the clever one, an' you can be that forever. An' then there's me, an'..."

Xira smiles, warm and reassuring. "If you were about to label yourself 'the strong one' a bit ago, let me remind you that your best strength lies in your warm heart and caring soul, not these." She gently pokes one of Raka's impressive biceps for emphasis. "You are so much more to us than just your muscles, m'dear. Have faith in that."

With that, Xira bends down to collect clothes and blankets. "C'mon. Let's get these to the others and then go see what Brimble and Argatha have found."

With the others at the lift shaft:

Xira nods agreement with both Em and Colin. "Perhaps Em should watch with either myself, Argatha or Phantrel, with the remaining two taking the second watch. That will give those who were really put through it a longer stretch of uninterrupted rest."

Earlier...

"Do you remember when we were young, and I asked if I could sleep next to you for your warmth?"

Raka lets go of Xira and half-turns toward Em, motioning her other friend to join in. "Heh. Yea, I remember. 'S how I learned not everybody is as warm when they sleep as me. Why?"

Some unspecified amount of time later...

Raka looks up at the ceiling during the group discussion of the shaft leading upward, imagining what might lay above them. "More weapons would definitely be good. More smart weapons would be... um, prob'ly good too," she adds with a hasty glance at Phantrel's sword. "But seems like that vision or whatever took it out of a lot of us. We've got a place to rest, maybe we should use it. I'll take first watch."

Knowing she isn't the only one to not only succumb to the vision but to feel emotionally drained by it, coupled with the very helpful heart-to-heart with her closest girls, gives Raka some of her vigor back. But she can't deny that it's been a hell of a day.

”It suggests that other routes up exist, such as maintenance tunnels, that might be safer. Based on everything that has happened so far, I would recommend caution. Would you agree?” he asks.

Brimble is remarkably still, absorbing the half-elf’s words. ”I like cautious. ‘S better than screamin’ and dyin’. So, the shaft is a last resort. This stairway,” he pats the wall, ”has gotta be a main route, too. It’s another last resort. Which means we gotta scour this level for the maintenance ways up. They could be on the other side or maybe, more likely, in one of the work spaces like the Furnace room or the Bellows.”

”I don't think it affects us right now, but you may also be interested to know that Lord Highcliff was looking for them.”

The kobold scratches his ocular ridge with a claw. ”First, I’m glad Thunder-follows-Lightning is helping out. It gets my thanks. Second, I’m not surprised by Highcliff’s doings. I got some thoughts about what he was up to, but it can wait ‘til we set down for some rest.”

After hearing the grumblings about sleep (which mirror his own feelings), he slaps his little clawed hands together trying to bolster his own enthusiasm. ”Right! I say we crack open the door to the toilets, make sure they are safe, then bed down for a bit.” He looks to Argatha, ”You’re good with that crowbar. How about you give me a hand with that bathroom, eh?”

Feeling the end of a tiring day just around the corner, Brimble heads through the dormitory to the bathroom for one last search… This time, he actually listens at the door first. Last thing they needed was opening the door to a flooded bathroom and being drowned in 300 year old dwarven sewage.

Perception (listen for trouble): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (3) + 7 = 10
Inspect & Trap Check: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (20) + 7 = 27
Disable Device: 1d20 + 6 - 1 ⇒ (4) + 6 - 1 = 9 Wow, feast or famine rolls!

Interesting though, he'd never had much companionship. Other then the goats, chickens, and possibly other livestock of a poor farmer of course. But two way conversations were difficult.

But those sheep are gaddamn liars! XD

Argatha helps with the doors, rather more eager than he'd like to admit about seeing what's on the other side.

Strength: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3
Strength: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 2 = 13
Strength: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 2 = 11
Strength: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 2 = 20

Perhaps because of that he it takes a few tries.

Our heroes ordinary folk spend some time discussing their situation - the strange weariness that has gripped Brimble and Colin both means you are collectively not at your best... but does it mean justifying stopping long enough to sleep? The overall consensus seems to be that it is the path of prudent caution-- but first, one more biological necessity to figure out, now that food and water have been found.

Full caution back on display, Brimble resumes his scouting on the door to the helpfully-labeled toilets. This one has no glass panel! Argatha is ready to lend his muscles, but they turn out not to be needed: this door is on good old fashioned hinges. Maybe the dwarves did not want to lose access to the loos if the power went out? A true question for the archaeologists.

Pushing the door open cautiously, Brimble faces.... A SEWAGE GOLEM!!!! No, not really.

Instead he is gazing down a short hallway lined with a dozen doors, six to the north and six to the south, close together and facing each other. By the entrance way, there are two basins also north-and-south, with various pipes sticking out of the walls near them. A little more cautious investigation reveals that the first of the dozen doors can be opened with a push (dwarven hinges are works of engineering genius, after all this time the weight and balance remain smooth) and reveals a bowl set into a bench, where, presumably, the needful can be done.

Like much of the rest you have seen, everything is very tidy; the cleanest-smelling toilets any of you have ever visited. In fact, if not for the label on the door, you might puzzle over what these bench-bowls might be for, as there isn't the faintest trace they ever received any kind of biological ickiness. The basins and the bowls are all bone dry, but you see pipes that presumably dispensed water into them, and holes that presumably drained out the contents after. Witchcraft!

The other eleven tiny rooms are the same. At the end of the short hall is one more door that is also not secured with any glass panel.

Brimble listens, and checks, and finds no danger on this one either. Cautiously, he opens it. He is looking into a small hallway, narrow and shorter than any others so far (still spacious for Brimble, of course, but Raka wouldn't be able to walk fully upright here), that has various cleaning tools stacked against the wall. It veers north, then doubles back again east, and he would have to proceed further down it to know where else it might go.

Tiny bot of Brimble there just for the sake of giving the party a bit more information than 'yep, them's toilets, alright.'

"Heh. Yea, I remember. 'S how I learned not everybody is as warm when they sleep as me. Why?"

"There was a chill wind blowing and a bit of rain this morning, but down here the air is still and comforting." Em inches a little closer, her ever distant air dropped for the moment. "You're steady, Raka, no one could tip you over. I'm not referring to your strength or your sense of balance, but to what's inside you. There is something there which won't yield, and that has always made me see you as safe."

If the sign hadn’t said 'bathroom', Brimble would guess these are tiny prayer cubicles for the dwarven faithful. That aside, he continues around the corner and down the short hall, leaving no possible avenue for sewage golems to get to his charges mid-‘prayer’.

Perception (listen for trouble): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 7 = 9
Inspect & Trap Check: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18
Disable Device: 1d20 + 6 - 1 ⇒ (2) + 6 - 1 = 7

Brimble creeps forward (Argatha faithfully following a short distance behind). He doesn't hear anything that promises danger, but he smells..... moisture, and not just from his own still-slightly-damp clothes, moisture and maybe mold.

To the corner, and he finds himself looking down-- a short ladder, or steps so steep they might almost be a ladder, descends a mere five feet to... a dizzying mess of pipes. Some are only a few inches in diameter; the thickest is as big around as Brimble's own torso, and they thread across and down the walls here.

This space, Brimble realizes, must go under the floor of the toilets room-- a crawlspace, about two feet high, filled with more pipes that presumably feed to and from the other side.

A glimpse behind the smooth stone walls at some of the actual nuts-and-bolts of what keeps this place going. (Or kept.) Colin could no doubt poke around happily for hours here-- other than the fact that at some point, it looks like a pipe leaked; there is standing water at the base of the ladder and filling this maintenance area. Determining its depth would mean more active investigation.

The maintenance space keeps going-- Brimble can see yet more big pipes stretching away north, following (he would imagine) the wall of a room you have yet to go into. From his current perch he can't see much more.

Brimble looks at the water and weighs his options. He was little better than a novice at molds, silverspore, and the like. But he knew enough to know mold in mines could be very dangerous. They would need to check this hallway in case it lead to a maintenance shaft, but that could wait. And he didn’t want to plunge ahead without the mold experts taking a look first. We can handle that after a bit of rest.

He turns around and heads back out to the dormitory, making sure the door to the back hallway is closed. He even wedges the door shut with a piton (if possible). When he and Agartha get into the area of the dormitories, he informs the group. ”Nothing wrong with the toilets. There’s a door on the far end that leads to a pipe maintenance area. It’s flooded and smells moldy in there. I chocked the door close. Let’s leave it that way until we are ready to check it out.”

Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (10) + 7 = 17

Shortly thereafter…

Brimble shrugs off his boots and sits on the bed fiddling with Carver’s helmet, attempting to figure out how to dial down the noise from the ‘ear-bit’ (as he thinks of it). He’s bone-weary right now, but it’s worth a shot… And if he can figure out any part of the mechanism, maybe his brain will work on the problem while he sleeps. That happens sometimes.

Disable Device: 1d20 + 6 - 1 ⇒ (14) + 6 - 1 = 19

Later…

The kobold lies on the bunk, trying to sleep. He rolls onto his side and directs his comments at the more studious talls. ”Tell me if I’m wrong… but the tales we hear about dwarves today are pretty much the same as what we heard five years, or ten years, or maybe even a hun’ert years ago, right?”

He looks to the learned folk for confirmation before continuing. ”Highcliff got hisself a sword that talks. And it probably knows more about the dwarves in every single way than all the scholars on Golarion put together... down to what they had for lunch. But none of that information has ever got out, far as we know. You’d think if all the GMC mucky-mucks had that knowledge, some of it would shake itself loose. Some drunk fat-cat tryin’ to impress his doxy would brag a bit. And she’d tell her friends, et cetera. Pretty soon you’d have scholars knockin’ on the doors of the Absalom headquarters wantin’ to know about dwarf table manners.”

”So, I’m wondering if Highcliff held back on telling his peers everything about Thunder-follows-Lightning. Greed is funny. Some people are greedy for money, others for power, and others for knowledge. They all squirrel away whatever feeds their greed like nuts. I gotta wonder if Highcliff wanted the money, the magic, and the knowledge all to hisself.”

He punches what passes for his pillow attempting to get it into the right shape for his skull. ”If he was keeping that secret, it died with him. That might be an opportunity for you folks to keep Thunder-follows-Lightning out of their hands.”

Pillow adjusted, he puts his head back down.

At bedtime...

"I bet that's why, though, right? I mean, way I heard it from my gran, it was... how'd she say it? 'In the end it was greed what did the dwarves in, every one.' That's how she always ended the stories, anyway. All that gold all over the place, y'know? I mean, if we've learned anythin' down here, it's that they put the stuff in everythin'. Not just decorations, but like all over the walls an' stuff too.

"My gran always said it's the gold itself that's greed-cursed. Ol' Sturm-- the harbormaster here in Salt Spire-- he once told me dwarves were always greedy, an' like... made it that way by workin' it so much." Raka shrugs in the darkness. "Either way-- take it from me, that gold is funny. Does somethin' to your mind, if you're not careful."

Raka doesn't comment on what Lady Highcliff had told her about the dwarven god Trudd, lord of protecting the innocent and using strength responsibly. So far, none of Raka's experiences with dwarvencraft-- the gold that gave her strange visions, the traps that killed so many miners, the dead dwarf that made her doubt her own friends-- would indicate any such deity.

"Anyway, so what if, like, having the sword is what made Highcliff not wanna share what he knew? I mean, no offense, sword, but y'know. If that's how it is it's just how it is."

I do not envy Phantrel when this conversation happens!

Phantrel lies on his own bunk, legs folded as the bed isn’t quite long enough for him to fully stretch out, and listens to Brimble espouse his theory. ”That’s a good point,” he muses. ”We are tucked out of the way down here in Salt Spire but as well as scholars you’d see treasure seekers and more besides. As it is, things down here on our little peninsula are just those stories you mention and a place for the local kids to dare themselves to go in and see.” He looks over at the trio of young women, smiling. ”No tomb robbers that I’m aware of.”

”So yes, I think you’re probably right about Lord Highcliff keeping some things to himself.” Thunder-follows-Lightning has said as much about its former wielder, called him greedy, but Phantrel still feels hesitant to voice that. It’s not that he’s unwilling to speak ill of the dead and it’s almost certainly true. So what do I owe him? The answer, perhaps a little uncomfortably, is as obvious as it is large: My life.

”Perhaps it died with him,” Phantrel contradicts Brimble, manoeuvring himself into a sitting position. ”I think you’re likely correct about anybody else at the GMC. But his daughter might know. He clearly doted on her. Either she is – was –" he corrects himself, "his favourite, or his only child, else why would she have been here around GMC business? On the other hand, he likely thought her soft-hearted so he might not have told her everything about the reality of how the business works or everything else to protect her from it. Easy enough to justify that to himself as “for her own good”. I think it could go either way.” The half-elf scratches his head. ”Alithea is probably his heir though, so by rights she is likely to inherit the sword rather than the corporation. Instinctively I feel better about that.” He looks at the sword lying on the floor at the side of the cot. ”Thunder-follows-Lightning may have different ideas about that though.”

That possibly depends on whether TfL can hear independently. Phantrel isn't currently holding the sword and I don't actually know if he needs to be holding it for either the sword to be able to hear what he hears or whether he can communicate with it in either direction. One for our GM. =)

”...That might be an opportunity for you folks to keep Thunder-follows-Lightning out of their hands.”

Argatha nods along with what Brimble is saying. "But we'll be searched. They may not know it's, uh, a smart weapon, but they'll surely see its value as an object. They won't let us keep a valuable Dwarven relic." he looks to the sword, "No offense."

He shrugs, resigned to his fate, "They won't let us keep anything we find down here. So let's rest and tomorrow we'll try and find some maintenance shafts up, and go home." He frowns, missing his bedroll in the drafty barn far more than he thought he would. That's the bedroll he had when he first went up in the hills with the goats. Papa was with him of course, as it was his first time and all. What a magical night that was.

He drifts off a bit before returning.

"Either way-- take it from me, that gold is funny. Does somethin' to your mind, if you're not careful."

Argatha nods along with what Raka is saying. He turns to Phantrel and asks simply, "Do feel different? Less like sharing, and more greedy?"

As the party selects a dormitory in which to pass the .... 'night', or more accurately, the rest of the afternoon and evening, Phantrel is no doubt pleased to be able to put the sword down. Carrying a naked blade constantly in hand is stressful in a way that has nothing to do with Thunder-follows-Lightning's powers or intelligence-- it's SHARP and pointy and requires constant wariness to be sure he's not about to cut himself, someone else, or bang the blade's keen edge against a stone wall. And it's not as though Phantrel is used to carrying a sword regularly. Or, well, ever.

Perhaps while Colin and Brimble regain their strength, some sort of impromptu scabbard could be crafted.

He hears nothing from Thunder-follows-Lightning with the blade out of his grasp. Whether that is because it has nothing to say or because he needs to be in contact with it is not clear to him at this time. Perhaps it's also a relief to have some hours of internal silence.

While the half-elf has to curl just a bit to lie on the dorm beds, poor Raka quickly realizes these are just not going to work for her unless she spends the whole night in a semi-ball. If she'd prefer to drag a few mattresses onto the floor, and blankets as well, to create a spot big enough for her to lie comfortably, there are no shortage of these things available.

Your lunch, as long ago as it seems, was perhaps an hour ago-- two hours at the very most. You're most likely not too hungry (then again, you burned a lot of energy getting this far), and the very-strongly-pickled fish no doubt needs a good, built-up appetite to.... uh, 'appreciate.' But those who wish to do so can eat some fish, and drink some beer; Argatha's discovery takes a few minutes experimentation to figure out how it opens the tins, but it does so quite nicely and will keep Raka from having to use her axe again.

Brimble spends a bit of time fiddling with the helmet, tired as he is, and manages to find a small wheel inset into housing. When he rotates it up, the KRRSsKKSSK gets louder, when he rotates it down, it becomes softer until it is inaudible. Hoorah, you've discovered volume control! The helm is still too big for him, and was definitely not designed with a kobold's crests and ridges in mind, but he could stuff some dwarven socks into the gaps and get it to fit... sort-of-okay on him, if he wished.

With that done, the kobold drops to his borrowed bed and is asleep within mere minutes. Colin isn't far behind, the engineer very glad to succumb to restorative sleep.

The rest of you are perhaps not quite so quick to crash, and spend a bit of time in chatting quietly before taking advantage of the chance to steal a nap-- other than Raka and Em, your dutiful first-watchers.

Just a breather spot for any more RP you want to do before I discover what if anything happens during first watch

"They won't let us keep a valuable Dwarven relic." he looks to the sword, "No offense."

Colin was having a hard time staying awake and much of the conversation flowed past him but this but Argatha's observation made him perk up enough to add, "For all the GMC know, we're all dead and Thunder-follows-Lightning is lost. Maybe it should stay that way?"

Brimble starts to drift pleasantly toward sleep, unable to give more than half attention to the rest of the conversation. His thoughts are as disconnected as his words, ”Highcliff brung his greed. The girl… good egg…. might know… Out, not up.” He rouses himself briefly to bark a warning to the door guards. ”Keep a eye! Creepin’ Screwjacks 'r nasty!” Then he passes out.

A titch earlier:

"On the other hand, he likely thought her soft-hearted so he might not have told her everything about the reality of how the business works or everything else to protect her from it. Easy enough to justify that to himself as “for her own good”. I think it could go either way.”

Xira only needs to lie on her side and bend her knees a bit to fit comfortably on one of the dwarven beds. Propped on an elbow, she considers the conversation. "He did speak of Alithea taking over the company after he died," she says thoughtfully. "So he couldn't have protected her from anything pertaining to successfully running the Consortium, not if he wanted it to survive her taking charge. Though he might have indulged in some wishful thinking about what she would and wouldn't need to know."

"For all the GMC know, we're all dead and Thunder-follows-Lightning is lost. Maybe it should stay that way?"

"One snag there, Colin," Xira sighs. "Highcliff saved our lives so that we could save his daughter. I have a hard time imagining how we could save Alithea from anything without revealing that we're still alive." With that, she drops her head back to her pillow. "We'd best just focus on getting out of here first."

Colin was having a hard time staying awake and much of the conversation flowed past him but this but Argatha's observation made him perk up enough to add, "For all the GMC know, we're all dead and Thunder-follows-Lightning is lost. Maybe it should stay that way?"

"So we're deserters? Forever lost? Look, I'm happy to say Phantrel didn't make it and the blade was lost with him if that's what he wants. But I do not want to be hunted the rest of my life because of this."

"I mean, I get it. We want to keep what we found. But we work for the company. We don't own any of this." He looks at the really impressive dagger, but it's a life, not just a blade. It's not his.

He turns in, and falls asleep himself, after a while pondering...

"Highcliff saved our lives so that we could save his daughter."

Sleepily Colin nodded, "Yes, that is true... I need to sleep on this, but I can't help but think the GMC as is shouldn't own all this."

Later when sleep finally claimed him, Colin dreamed of hostile takeovers and worker buyouts. Wish fulfilment perhaps, the seed of something grander one day? Only time would tell.

Faking your deaths is perhaps a simpler matter for some than for others-- some of you have family in Salt Spire. Both Raka and Em have brothers back in town... brothers who it is likely that they have never gone more than a 24-hour period without seeing, before. Reuniting with their family members covertly while the GMC maintains its operation in town would be dicey, to say the least.

The conversation topic seeming to have run its course, things quiet down. Even those of you who aren't immediately likely to fall asleep may appreciate the chance to just rest - to take off your packs, your still-kind-of-wet footwear, and just sit and process everything that's occurred so far.

The beds are... not UNcomfortable, anyway, though it seems like whatever filler is in the mattress has grown brittle over time and it crackles a little beneath you as you each get comfortable.

Some seven or eight minutes later, the lights go out.

This may cause a moment's panic for our doughty watchers, until Xira, still awake, clears her throat sheepishly and points out the light spell only lasts about ten minutes at a time. Fortunately, you have alternative light sources-- lanterns, sunrods, and so forth. Raka and Em can light a lantern or two to keep the deep and ancient darkness at bay.

Not quite ready to sleep yet, Xira decides it's time to do something she's been putting off. With a deep breath, she starts the task of seeing just how bad the water damaged her Harrow deck.

To her surprise and relief, the damage is less than she feared. Her decision that morning to wrap the deck in oilcloth turns out to have been very fortunate indeed. The cards are not unscathed, but neither are they soaked. Some bleeding of colors has happened on the topmost and bottom cards (The Uprising and The Survivor, respectively), but the others show no more than minimal damage. Desna smiles!

Raka and Em settle into their watch....

Raka Per: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (12) - 1 = 11
Em Per: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (13) + 3 = 16

Perhaps an hour into their watch (it's quite difficult to tell the exact time, of course-- there are no stars for you to watch, no moon to track the rise, no convenient hourglass at hand), Em nudges Raka's elbow and wordlessly points down the hall. The lantern's light picks up the glint of numerous pairs of tiny eyes, down at ground level.... coming closer in little fits and bursts.

What do our brave watchers do?

Em passes her watch in deep thought for a long time, while one by one the rest of the group falls asleep. She occasionally makes some small comment to Raka, quietly discussing how best they might extricate from present circumstance, and always suggesting that a stop to search for more dwarven weapons would be necessary. Em is completely disagreeable to the idea that she should return to the surface without first at least searching for more dwarven relics. She tries, for the sake of being a pleasant conversant, not to belabor the point, but at last she cannot restrain herself any longer.

”If I lay one finger on a weapon, which speaks to me as Thunder-follows-Lightning does to Phantrel, then I will not for a moment admit that I may be separated from it, though Alethia herself, in such tones, determined or desperate,” Em waves a hand before her face as she fantasizes, ”as she might implore me with, I would remain resolute.” Em is well aware that her opinion on the matter may not be consulted, but she can't let such abysmal realities ruin an otherwise perfect train of thought. After a few more such comments, Em falls quiet again, beginning to grow tired from the quiet and dark.

------------

"Those must be rats," Em says, grabbing a flask of oil and the lit lantern. "Think they taste better than their cousins above?"

Raka hadn't realized just how quickly she had grown accustomed to the soft, steady glow of her friends' light spells until it disappeared, and she and Em were forced to rely on the flickering of more conventional light sources. The moving shadows cast in the unfamiliar room were not comforting, even surrounded by familiar faces.

"I know what you mean," Raka says after a pause, not entirely knowing what Em meant but catching the words "weapon," "not," and "be separated from it." "Not every day you come across a weapon that talks to ya. But then again... Those are dwarf weapons. Gotta be careful not to let 'em-- I dunno-- turn us into somethin' we aren't.

"I mean, we dunno how long Highpart had his. Years, maybe. An' maybe it did nothin' at all." She recalls how, in his last moments, Lord Highcliff's thoughts were on his daughter, placing her life above his own. Surely that counted in the sword's favor, didn't it?

Her thoughts are interrupted by Em's words and gesture toward the eyes' direction. Instantly on alert, Raka peers into the darkness as best she can.

Perception: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (15) - 1 = 14