Dartalis reels at the stench from the tunnel. Coughing, he covers his nose with his sleeves until he regains some propriety.
"I agree with Koryn," he says with a cough. "We should check the other crypts. Then we will have cleared an area that we can rest in before going down, if needed. But, I am willing to go along with the desires of the group, whatever you choose to do."
When the others walk out of the crypt, Marcus is already outside, waving his hand infront of his face.
"Did you smell that? I mean. . .really."
You stand once again in the courtyard area, outside the main mausoleum. The two unexplored tombs stand to your right and left. Both of these buildings are made of the same green stone as the main mausoleum, although they lack the intricate carvings and the green stone gargoyles of
that building. The doors on both of these buildings appear to have iron chains strung across them, fastened securley with padlocks.
A light rain has now began to fall and the sky is now moonless, as the dark clouds overhead have hidden it. A roll of thunder sounds, now much closer than when you first arrived. Lightning flashes, illuminating your faces. tension shows, even on those who try and make light of things...
Koryn lets the rain wash over him, letting it cool him down as he attempts to regulate his breathing.
"As blessed as I think this rain is right now, I can't help but think it an omen."
"Omen of what", rumbles huge Litorian, revealed by the flash of lightning.
"He reminds me of you, just a bit more...dramatic", as the words come the silhouette of a woman steps out from behind the Litoran's massive frame.
As the lightning flashes, she is highlighted for a moment, pale of skin, long dark hair plastered to her in the downpour, an interesting scar across a face of otherwise flawless skin.
"We didn't scare you did we?", she smiles.
"He reminds me of you, just a bit more...dramatic", as the words come the silhouette of a woman steps out from behind the Litoran's massive frame.
As the lightning flashes, she is highlighted for a moment, pale of skin, long dark hair plastered to her in the downpour, an interesting scar across a face of otherwise flawless skin.
"We didn't scare you did we?", she smiles.
Marcus moves so a gravestone is between himself and the two figures that appeared . His hand slides up to rest on the pommel of his sword. "How could one so lovely frighten anyone?" Always that smile.
"OK a lot more dramatic."
"He reminds me of you, just a bit more...dramatic", as the words come the silhouette of a woman steps out from behind the Litoran's massive frame.
As the lightning flashes, she is highlighted for a moment, pale of skin, long dark hair plastered to her in the downpour, an interesting scar across a face of otherwise flawless skin.
"We didn't scare you did we?", she smiles.
"Why is it always raining with us three? Remember that night in Ptolus?"
"Ahhh!" gasps Joneth, nearly stumbling in the mud. "Who are you? Be you friend or fiendish foe?"
"Stay your sword, friend. My bladesister and me are no enemy of yours. Hmmm... but where is the Loud One, Ilona? Did he got lost in the dark?"
"Why is it always raining with us three? Remember that night in Ptolus?"
"Heh, I remember, that was an interesting one wasn't it?"
"Ahhh!" gasps Joneth, nearly stumbling in the mud. "Who are you? Be you friend or fiendish foe?""Stay your sword, friend. My bladesister and me are no enemy of yours. Hmmm... but where is the Loud One, Ilona? Did he got lost in the dark?"
"Hmm, I don't know he was behind me last time I checked," Ilona loos back down the dark path and raises her voice, "You lost back there? I told you you shouldn't have worn all those furs on a rainy day!"
"I am sure he will find a way to come back to us." Num-Rah turns to paladin. "Do you require some assistance, friend?" He sniffs the air. "And what is that stench?"
"I am sure he will find a way to come back to us." Num-Rah turns to paladin. "Do you require some assistance, friend?" He sniffs the air. "And what is that stench?"
"Righteousness," Marcus says under his breath.
"Ah, I see that Feathered Serpent has guided my blade here for a reason. We will not depart this place. If you are willing to accept our blades to fight alongside yours, than we shall stand together against the darkness; if not - so be it, but we shall not depart."
"The 'Loud One' stopped to take a p*ss, fanged one! Hail, strangers!" The man is six feet tall, blond with a thick beard and blond hair pulled into ponytails. His booming voice seems to make him seem larger than he is. A longsword is slung across his back and a drum hangs at his side. "The name is Ulven Northman, skald and storyteller of long tales. I hear you lot are seeking death in this vile place! We've come to join you!"
The rain is starting to fall heavy now. It's the kind of rain that seems to seep into every crack in your armor and runs coldly down your neck.
But on the bright side the smell has now all but disappeared.
The rain is starting to fall heavy now. It's the kind of rain that seems to seep into every crack in your armor and runs coldly down your neck.
But on the bright side the smell has now all but disappeared.
Marcus looks down at his, again, soaked clothes. "This is not my day," he says looking skyward before turning back to the newcomers. "Join. . .don't join. . .what ever makes you happy, but can we decide out of this dye-ruining rain?"
Moving to one of the locked crypts, Marcus pulls the key from a belt pouch and trys to slide it into the lock.
The rain is starting to fall heavy now. It's the kind of rain that seems to seep into every crack in your armor and runs coldly down your neck.
But on the bright side the smell has now all but disappeared.
Marcus looks down at his, again, soaked clothes. "This is not my day," he says looking skyward before turning back to the newcomers. "Join. . .don't join. . .what ever makes you happy, but can we decide out of this dye-ruining rain?"
Moving to one of the locked crypts, Marcus pulls the key from a belt pouch and trys to slide it into the lock.
"Aye, squirrelly man! Let us get out of the rain before we are killed by the pox! It would less than honorable to die of such disease when there are perfectly good evil things in this place that would gladly kill us!"
Ulven walks over to the man picking the lock. "Lad, this reminds me of the time that Fair Gwendolyn had to pick a lock while hanging upside down from her hair! She was a saucy lass that Gwen, with huge cleav..."
Inspire Competence: +2 to your skill check
"Aye, squirrelly man! Let us get out of the rain before we are killed by the pox! It would less than honorable to die of such disease when there are perfectly good evil things in this place that would gladly kill us!"
Ulven walks over to the man picking the lock. "Lad, this reminds me of the time that Fair Gwendolyn had to pick a lock while hanging upside down from her hair! She was a saucy lass that Gwen, with huge cleav..."
Inspire Competence: +2 to your skill check
Marcus stops short and turns to the man, his hand moving slowly to his sword. "I'd watch my tongue, my good man. I've seen knights die battling monsters beyond nightmares, and they died no more honorably than my sister when she and the rest of my family died of the pox."
"Now, save your stories and let me do my job."
"Is that all you ever think about?" Ilona's mock chiding is ruined by a smile.
Dartalis nods to each of the newcomers. "If our paladin trusts you, then I trust you. Given the undead monstrosity we ran into in the main mausoleum, I for one would be glad for more help."
Smiling, Dartalis adds, "It's good to meet you all."
"Fret not, lad! 'Tis not a sin for ordinary folk to die of the pox, only for heroes destined for song! Come, when this is over, we shall sing of your family and ensure they live forever in the Sun-Drenched Lands, where the seals are plentiful and the whales are fat and tasty!"
"Ah, beautiful one," turning to Ilona, "What is better in life than a fair maiden, a cold mug and a good meal? And if she be amply endowed, then that is sweeter, is it not? But worry not, lass, you'll always have a place on my knee!"
"Well, let me welcome you if you choose to join us. It is always good to have more when fighting Orcus's minions."
"Orcus, you say? Are you sure? Perhaps he is not the Father of Lies, but Demon Prince of Undeath is powerful foe."
"Aye, squirrelly man! Let us get out of the rain before we are killed by the pox! It would less than honorable to die of such disease when there are perfectly good evil things in this place that would gladly kill us!"
Ulven walks over to the man picking the lock. "Lad, this reminds me of the time that Fair Gwendolyn had to pick a lock while hanging upside down from her hair! She was a saucy lass that Gwen, with huge cleav..."
Inspire Competence: +2 to your skill check
Marcus stops short and turns to the man, his hand moving slowly to his sword. "I'd watch my tongue, my good man. I've seen knights die battling monsters beyond nightmares, and they died no more honorably than my sister when she and the rest of my family died of the pox."
"Now, save your stories and let me do my job."
The lock snicks open and drops to the floor, closely followed by the chain. With the release of the chain the iron door swings inward slightly, leaving a gap just wide enough to squeeze through.
"Koryn identified this as a place of worship for the cult of Orcus through the carvings on the wall. He knows much about religions.
"Also, there were words carved in stone that I translated from the Abyssal tongue. I will share them with you, though they are vile.
"The carving read:
Where for the glory of the Horned One does the true essence lie?
Not in the skin, that tattered rag that clothes us; strip it away.
Not in the flesh, mere meat to rot to nothing; let the worms feast upon it.
Not in the brain, for thought is fleeting, ever changing; crack the
skull and suck it forth.
Not in breath, that most fragile of sighs so easily stolen; drown it in tears and pain.
Not in the belly, that furnace of power, for it so easily turns; dissolve it in acids of its own creation.
Not in the seed of man and woman, the agent but not the source of the
spark; it shall waste away in the shadow of false hope.
Not in the bones, the final dancing relic of the dead; crush them to dust and let the wind take them.
Where then does the true spark hide?"
The lock snicks open and drops to the floor, closely followed by the chain. With the release of the chain the iron door swings inward slightly, leaving a gap just wide enough to squeeze through.
After a quick search at the entry way , Marcus draws his sword and cautiously slips through the gap.
Num-Rah follows little man, drawing his dreadclaw.
With what meager light can be gained, coming in through cracks in the ceiling and through the door, you can make out the shadowy interior of the mausoleum. Much smaller than the main tomb, the building seems to
contain numerous destroyed sarcophagi, along with lots of dust.
Num-Rah
"Someone or something desecrated the final resting place of these souls. A vile thing to do."
Seeing nothing of interest, Marcus walks from the building and heads to the last crypt. He trying to open the lock with the key.
Ilona draws her dark bladed katana from its sheath on her hip. "So, the hunt is on."
Her posture shifts noticable as she sniffs the air, becoming more predatory in nature.
Ulven follows after, his sword drawn and his eyes open and searching. For once, he seems quiet. It doesn't suit him.
Dartalis watches quietly as the others explore the room, impressed by the way the newcomers integrate so easily. We are lucky to have stumbled upon these brave people, he thinks. They seem to be true professionals.
Nevertheless, his hand hovers nervously near his spell component pouch.
Seeing nothing of interest, Marcus walks from the building and heads to the last crypt. He trying to open the lock with the key.
Marcus
"Empty," Marcus says after looking inside the crypt. "Looks like that narrowed are choices." He turns and heads towards the first crypt. . .the hole. . .the stench.
"Very well. I think I should go first."
"Very well. I think I should go first."
"Pardon me, my feline friend, but shouldn't I check the way for "surprises" before everyone else goes traipsing down that putrid hole?"
Marcus enters the crypt, drawing his cloak up to cover his mouth and nose. "Don't one of you magickers have some sort of protection from stink spell you could whip up?"
"Don't one of you magickers have some sort of protection from stink spell you could whip up?"
Dartalis smiles. "Unfortunately not, my friend, though now I wish I did."