Zenari manages to wrestle the box open. Impressively enough, the contents are dry. They include:
An old scrap of paper with the words “For the Ilnudar family matter”, 5GP and a jade cat.
away from Absalom almost 100 years ago.
Meanwhile, Maxis makes sure Blue Leader doesn't die.
He doesn't know much more about Olansa Terimor than they tell him, though what he does know gibes.
"Normally, that's true, but it's not illegal or even particularly frowned upon here in Absalom," the woman mercenary answers about his doubts regarding Norgorber. "If anything, she's proud of it."
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"It looks to me like a payoff. Someone making restitution for some slight or other. But I suppose we'll never know." says Maxis in response to Drokki.
Maxis then turns to the mercs. "Right. Take your friend and go. And steer clear of Miss Olansa Terimor for the next day or so before reporting to her that after a thorough search of the sewers of Absalom, you found nothing. She might even still pay you for your efforts."
"Oh, and I'm sorry, but you'll have to leave your weapons here. Wouldn't want you hurting yourselves."
They don't look too pleased about leaving their weapons behind, especially since they have to sneak back out of a theater infested with goblins that they already snuck past, but this time carrying an unconscious person.
But, then, they also don't want to die, so they accept the offer with some alacrity.
Soon, the Pathfinders are the only ones left down in the caverns and chambers under Absalom...as far as they know...
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Bork eyes the murky expanse ahead with a sigh, already calculating depths, buoyancy ratios, and the water-resistance present. “Given another few hours and a dry workspace, I could rig a flotation chassis for Sir Goodshanks,” he mutters, rubbing his chin. “But as it stands…”
He glances toward the others, tightening a strap on his pack.
“Well. We’ll do it the old-fashioned way. Careful footing, teamwork, and a strong dislike of drowning.”
With that, he begins picking his way toward the edge, offering a quick gesture for SGS to follow.
"It seems a nautical expedition in a necessity despite apparent lack of seaworthiness of the craft. Perhaps an aquatic type could maneuver the craft more proximal to shore, so that we might determine its buoyancy or propensity to submerge us all"
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Bork approaches the boat, crouches close to the hull, sniffs a moldy board, and pokes at a barnacle with the handle of his wrench. After a moment he steps aboard with exaggerated caution, shifting his weight left and right as the wood creaks beneath him.
“Well,” he announces, “it doesn’t immediately sink. That’s usually promising.”
He turns to the others, still standing ankle-deep in the vessel. “No major rot, seams are mostly holding, and it smells only moderately cursed. I’d call it seaworthy… for sewers at least.”
He pauses, then nods gravely. “With steady balance and limited optimism, she’ll do.”
He plants both hands on his hips and gives a disappointed sniff. “She’s got more holes than a cheese sieve, and less structural integrity than a goblin promise. We’d get further strapping barrels to a shovel.”
He pauses. “Sir Goodshanks would still float. Probably.”
The group puts their faith in the somewhat dubious vessel and sets out for a cruise into the darkness. The aquatic members of the team keep in the water and push. Much to their surprise, they find that the water never gets higher than their waist and they are able to wade across the underground cove the entire way. You lose sight of the shore that you left but for less than a minute before a new one comes into view.
A rocky beach covered in bits of assorted refuse meets the water to the northeast. To the southwest, what once must have been a natural cavern wall partially collapsed some time ago by the settling ground on the water side, revealing an area beyond of worked stone. The chamber within is large and constructed of a pale green stone. Multiple rounded passages worm their way to the northwest and southeast, while a grand staircase rises to the southwest.
It appears that the collapse occurred approximately 20 years ago when the big earthquake in Absalom struck.
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As the boat begins to drift toward the far shore, Bork scrambles forward over packs and limbs until he’s balanced at the very front of the vessel, one foot on the edge of a crate, the other planted squarely on the prow.
He raises a hand to shield his eyes from the dim sewer light, cloak billowing slightly from the damp breeze.
“Behold!” he declares, voice echoing off the cavern walls. “A new shore, untouched by wrench or rivet. We sail not into darkness, but into duty!”
He squints up at the collapsed cavern wall and the structure beyond, tone shifting as he gets serious.
“This wasn’t part of the original design. Quake damage, maybe twenty years back. It's held together better than I would expect. Might even be safe.”
A pause. “Probably.”
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"Probably only counts with boats and crocodiles." The athamaru walks past the beached boat and onto the gravelly shore. "I guess something must have consumed any crocodiles in these waters. Lucky for us." Koi investigates the refuse on the shore, picking up pieces and turning them over in its webbed hand. It is flotsam typical of a sewer or of a beach? Could it be evidence of anything living here?
"It is theoretical that any supposed amphibious carnivores present locally are simply uninterested in consuming pathfinders such as yourselves," Magnus chuckles to himself as if that's the funniest thing ever...
He nods in agreement as the clockwise exploration pattern is repeated.
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”If it’s up to me, I’d say we explore down the big grand staircase first, then maybe circle back to check these side passages. But it probably doesn’t matter too much.”
”You know, it occurs to me that if this is the place the cult of Norgorber was looking for, this might be one of their old underground shrines, from decades ago, and lost to them in the earthquakes. And since that stairway seems to be the entrance to this place, that boat probably belonged to whoever was going back and forth to here from the theater.”
”Now, not being a Norgorberite myself, I don’t know much about what to expect from an old meeting place of theirs. But I’d guess traps, and possibly evidence of ritual murders, and a few wandering undead. This is obviously more than a smuggling hideout.”
Koi finds seaweed and a few shells as well as some tiny fish and crustaceans but also bits of paper and waterlogged wood and other discarded materials from civilization, suggesting they are in an area where the runoff from Absalom's sewers meets the tides from the sea.
After some discussion, the group decides to resume their clockwise exploration method. They wander several corridors and chambers without finding anything of interest and may begin wondering if there's even a point being down here.
Then, notice that a prominent hole has been opened in the southern wall of a passage from the opposite side. Some of the bricks have crumbled and fallen, or perhaps been knocked loose, creating a small opening into a room beyond. The walls of this inner room show signs of being scratched or clawed.
Magnus will cast light from this staff, and hold it to provide as much illumination as possible into the hole in the wall.
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Maxis fingers the scratches in the walls. "Hoo boy, looks like we aren't the first ones to find this place. Or maybe those scratches are from someone or something that busted out of there?"
"You know, it's still sorta puzzles me why that Olansa Terimor would hire those goons to find this place. Why didn't they just do it themselves? I have to wonder if they know something about this place, and expected those clowns to be expendable, you know? Blunder into the traps or the hordes of zombies or whatever."
"It's not impossible they've followed us down here and are shadowing our progress, invisibly."
"At any rate, I recommend Sir Goodshanks to lead the way in and serve as a trap sweeper. Just in case. But of course that's up to Master Bork."
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Bork tightens a valve on his bracer and peers into the newly revealed hole, squinting at the claw marks and rubble. “Y’know, I don’t mind strange holes in walls, but I prefer when I’m the one who put them there.”
He gives a small, thoughtful grunt at Maxis’ suggestion.
“Mm. Right. Possible traps. Possible undead rodent infestation. Maybe some dogs.”
Bork pats Sir Goodshanks on the elbow joint and gestures ahead.
“Sir Good Longshanks Armor Pants, front and center! Knight of the First Corridor, Defender of Suspicious Openings—do your duty.”
He pauses, glancing to the others with a wry, knowing, smile.
This probably says more about me than anything else, but I do trust him with my life… and with the poking of dangerous holes.
As Bork stares into the hole there is an abrupt darkening then a flash of needle-like teeth as big as his smallest finger. Then, a red eye in an emaciated socket stares out at him.
"Hello! Is someone out there? Oh yes! You there! Can you please help me? I've been trapped here for so long. Can you help me move these stones so I can get free?" he calls out.
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Bork jerks back half a step as the eye appears, clutching his wrench like a holy symbol.
“You’re nearly out already,” he calls, voice cautious but not unkind. “One more push, one more pull—that’s the good work! No honor in being rescued at the finish line.”
He plants his feet and tilts his head.
“Let’s see you earn it, fangs and all.”
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"You know, we were told that the goblins had sealed away some dangerous beast down here. The king might not be happy if we turn around and release it." says Maxis to his companions, loud enough that the fellow in the wall can hear too. He then stoops down and talks into the hole.
"I say, who are you exactly? And what do you know about this place? Looks like some old shrine?"
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Bork scratches the side of his head, clearly thrown off.
“Huh. Hadn’t… really thought about it like that.”
He glances at the hole again, then back at Zenari, brows furrowed.
“Helping is good. Helping is very chivalric. But is it pathfindery? I mean, I’ve got the badge and all, but no one’s actually explained the rules yet.”
He mutters, more to himself now, “Maybe there’s an instruction manual. I should ask about that…”
"Am I really? That's good to know but, any assistance would be ever so greatly appreciated," he replies to Bork.
“I…I am…was called Marcon Tinol. Thou art living? Yes?” he begins his answer to Maxis.
But his answer to the second question is less clear.
"I...don't really know this place. I was…’prisoned here, chained and bricked up behind that same wall. I…slept…died? I woke then and broke the chains. Searched for escape, but there was none. So slept again I did ‘til the ground shook. Since then I have drifted…and chipped. A crack, I noticed after the shaking. This hole is all I have…created.”
He speaks in a style 500 years out of date.
Magnus says, "Individual imprisoned regardless of rationale require caution when proceeding. I suggest we converse more, and then make an informed decision on liberating this individual."
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"I art living, yes." answers Maxis, who then turns to his companions. "You know, anyone who admits he's undead is probably not trying to trick us, unless he's way more crafty than me. And it sounds like he's been in there since before the earthquake 20 years ago, so probably not the beast the goblins sealed up."
"I say we help the poor schmuck."