The stone is cool to the touch, but nothing happens for a few seconds. Then Corvin feels a sharp, burning pain on his hand. It feels like someone pressed a white-hot brand to his hand. There doesn't seem to be any damage to his gauntlet, or even any sign that anything happened, but the pain remains.
"'The hell?"
Corvin swats at one of the stones.
Anarath lowers the twisted rod with a sigh. “I can’t even tell if this is magical. I need to rest, replenish my spells. I say we set up camp, here and now.” Midnight squawks in agreement from his position on the wizard’s shoulder.
The mysterious stones don't even pause their hypnotic revolutions when Corvin swats at one, merely slowly orbiting on without showing the slightest hint of damage or slowing.
The dwarf is already in one corner, his eyes starting to droop while the rest carried on searching.
His lovely quarterstaff is close by, marked with high dwarven sigils and shod with black iron at each tip.
Anarath votes for resting here – he does not fancy traipsing back through the kobold occupied manor and the surrounding woods at night in their present condition.
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
"Damned rocks are f$#@in' with me."
"Just leave it Corvin ... lets get some sleep."
"Screw it."
Corvin lies down, curling up like a dog.
He stretches, pausing to pull an inch-long rivet out of the back of his forearm, then falls asleep.
Dohrlok looks around at his snoozing companions and snorts with mild disgust. He begins to pace around the room, keeping himself awake and keeping guard for anything dangerous or out of the ordinary. He peers down the stairwell occasionally, assuring himself that there's nothing or no-one cutting off their route of egress.
After three hours or so, assuming they aren't attacked by anything, Dohrlok wakes Corvin for the mid-shift. He then returns to staring at the orbiting stones, meditating on their motion until he falls asleep.
Dohrlok
That’s when you awaken, finding yourself back in the eerie chamber of the tower, yor dream clearly remembered.
Corvin
Anarath and Arodwumm
Upon awakening, Anarath studies his spellbooks, preparing which spells he will be able to cast during this day.
Once that is done, and he has taken a meal from his rations, he turns to his companions.
“We came here to unravel the mysteries of Grimmbold Manor, and gain its treasure. Some mysteries we have solved, but more have been discovered. We have gained a little treasure, but I do not think it enough to make our fortunes.
“What now? Should we return to the town? This chamber has stumped us, I think that perhaps study of some of the notes found herein may shed some light, but I would prefer to do that in more comfortable surrounds. We also do not know for certain which faction of kobolds – if either – holds the balance of power in the manor, whether the ones we allied with will honour that alliance, or indeed how exactly to escape this place. But I would vote for a return to town.”
The necromancer gathers up the notes and papers on the pedestals, hoping to investigate them later, the ones under the box, and the ones under the rotating stones. He’ll also take the box.
"Masters, I shall abide by your decisions. The mortals outside do not know what is coming and they are as lambs in the fold."
Arodwumm has no armour, but he collects all his magic tools, wands etc together and prepares for everyone's decision.
The dwarf calls on his divinely blessed magic and begins to search the upper area for secret doors.
Despite is newly heightened senses, Arodwumm finds only the hole in the floor through which you entered the chamber and the four doors occuring at regular intervals along the chamber's wall.
Corvin awakens suddenly, punching a patch of air that, for a moment, the fighter was sure contained a strange, alien form.
He shakes his head like a dog as he stands unsteadily.
"F$#~ed dreams..."
Dohrlok wakes with dark circles under his eyes. He's clearly slept poorly, and he's in a particularly dour mood. As the rest of the group is studying and praying, he inspects the doors more closely, trying to determine if they can be opened without too much risk. He's clearly an amateur at this sort of thing, and gives up before too long.
When the goup is all ready to face the day, he suggests, "I'm going to try to open one of these doors." He looks back and forth between all assembled, and if noone dissents, he tries to open one of the doors. If it's locked, he'll try to bash it in. (Hopefully he can get some healing beforehand.)
Arodwumm finishes his search and comes over to the other dwarf.
"Master, you have no ordered me to heal you? do you not wish it? I have few spells and I am at your command."
Arodwumm is careful not to look him. or anyone else, in the eye. He tries to notice if anyone else may need healing.
"Master, you have no ordered me to heal you? do you not wish it? I have few spells and I am at your command."
Corvin's temper breaks momentarily.
"Stop f+@&ing callin' everyone 'master'. It's f~%%ing annoying, it is. We ain't no one's masters. Think fer yourself, rag boy!"
He pauses for a moment.
"And for f$$!'s sake, SHUT UP! Feels like I spent all last night drinkin' Dwarven holy water."
"Yes sir." Arodwumm looks crestfallen.
Despite his efforts, Dohrlok fails to find a way to open the white doors. Slamming his fists into the door, he discovers that the door is a solid plate of some kind of bony plates that don't yield under his blows.
Corvin
Dohrlok accepts the offer of healing from the Outcast. He tries not to flinch at his unclean touch, but is not entirely successfully. When it's done, he offers a stoic "Thank you."
After hammering on the door a few times, Dohrlok steps back and addresses the group. "Force will not open these doors. Magic or engineering will be required. There is nothing more for us here."
The Iron Fist rubs his gnarled knuckles thoughtfully, considering the situation. "I did not come here for knowledge or spoils, but to test myself against my enemies. I find myself with a dearth of enemies now. What is our new goal?"
After hammering on the door a few times, Dohrlok steps back and addresses the group. "Force will not open these doors. Magic or engineering will be required. There is nothing more for us here."
"Try the handle, stumpy."
Dohrlok stares at Corvin for a moment, unsure if his remark was some sort of humor he's not familiar with. Making an educated guess that it wasn't, he suggests, "Since you're the knob expert, why don't you show me how?"
Anarath smirks, then speaks. “I have no magic that can open these doors. As I said, I believe the key lies in studying the notes we have found here – I advocate returning to town. Let us start by getting down from this tower.”
Arodwumm opens his mouth to speak then closes it. He keeps his distance from the aggressive one in spiked armour.
Corvin saunters over to the door and places his hand in the indentation.
Corvin reaches forward and it appears that his hand is swallowed up by the bone-white surface of the door. A moment later, he withdraws his hand and the door splits evenly into quarters and each quarter receeds into the wall.
Corvin
Beyond the door is a short corridor, ending in a black iron door with an ornate lock.
Anarath quirks an eyebrow at Corvin, and looks silently at him for some time.
"Well," is all he finally says, then spends a moment examing the iron door.
"I don't suppose you can open that one too?" he asks.
"Well done, that was very clever," adds the respectful dwarf.
Anarath quirks an eyebrow at Corvin, and looks silently at him for some time.
"Well," is all he finally says, then spends a moment examing the iron door.
"I don't suppose you can open that one too?" he asks.
"Hey, I opened that one, you can open this one."
Through his investigation, Anarath determines that to open the iron door you would need either the proper key, or a very talented locksmith.
Through his investigation, Anarath determines that to open the iron door you would need either the proper key, or a very talented locksmith.
"Does anyone have a key?" the mage asks. "We found one earlier, further down in the tower, in that strange desk..."
Dohrlok tries not to look too embarassed as Corvin easily opens the door he had been venting his angst upon. A low "Hmph" escapes his lips as he surveys the new iron door. Thinking better of his "pounding uselessly" approach this time, he simply stays in the background and waits until he can leave this frustrating place.
The key was indeed for the manacles, and is much too small to fit this lock. Also, the key for the manacles is made of some white, bone-like substance.
"Perhaps we should head back to the village and recruit a locksmith," Anarath suggests. He really appears to want to get back to the village.
Arodwumm prepares to leave with the others.
"You guys are a bunch o' pansies!"
Corvin ducks and charges, ramming his shoulder into the door.
Corvin slams into the iron door with the loud crash of metal on metal. The door doesn't budge.
"Perhaps we should head back to the village and recruit a locksmith," Anarath suggests. He really appears to want to get back to the village.
"F~!%."
Also yes, you will be leveling up soon.
What's your job Arctaris? Anything good?
The return journey through the deathly silent tower is uneventful. You pass through the wall and are once again in the courtyard. Bodies are strewn amongst the mossy rubble from the Manor, but the only thing moving is the grass, whipped by a strong, cold wind.
The Manor and it’s grounds seem completely lifeless; whichever group of the Manor kobolds won their civil war have retreated.
Even the forest through which you pass is quite and still; nothing disturbs you during the day’s walk nor during the cold night. The next morning the sun is obscured by dark clouds, promising rain and the same chill wind blows through the forest.
Indeed, no sooner are you within sight of the weathered stone walls of Greenhollow than a cold rain begins to fall in heavy sheets. At the gate a reluctant guard in a heavy leather cloak lets you in, eyeing the five of you suspiciously and warning you to avoid casing a fuss. “The pub’ll have a couple empty rooms for ye to stay. He says, gesturing down the muddy street to one of the only two-story buildings in town.
The pub is a slightly decrepit wooden structure, with a weathered and indistinct sign creaking above it’s door.
The pub is a simple affair; a large room with a massive stone fireplace and a set of stairs leading to the second floor. A few men scattered around the room in twos and threes, talking quietly amongst themselves.
A dark-haired young woman greets you warmly as you enter, offering you warm cider, hot food, and the table near the roaring fire.
“Ah,” says Anarath, pulling his cloak tightly around him and nodding to the woman as he looks about the common room. “Yes, we are thirsty, hungry and cold, so that will do nicely.”
The dwarf attacks the food with a passion close to gluttony. He finishes quickly and asks for another plateful and drink.
Eventually he stops and seems to curl up a little inside, "I have not the money for this, m- Sirs!" A sickly grin filled with beard and food appears.
Corvin enters the tavern, drawing a few frightened looks from the regular patrons. Reaching deep inside some hidden cavity of his pack, he pulls out a stained leather pouch. He peers inside.