Aarnr grins delightedly at Erista's response, rousing a little from his torpor. "Just the froggin' land and buildin'," he assures her. "An' Bowbe's portion.  An' the bits the rat-snared pumpion claims fer his own.  The rest is all ours."

The priest nods as Colwyn completes the first part of the conditions Eilieen has placed, turning pillage into a tediously orderly affair ... but the way she grips that spear is warning enough.

Noting that both Eilieen and Erista are standing by, Aarnr turns his attention to desecrating the sarcophagus, spitting on his hands for no good reason before attempting to wrestle the lid off, though with him suffering from the same chill strength-sapping pains that afflict Ozzy, that contest is not such a foregone conclusion as might usually be expected.  As if that would stop him or the stream of blasphemous invective that accompanies the effort ...

Aarnr lays his hands on the stone slab which forms the lid of the ornate sarcophagus and pushes.  And nothing happens.  He tries again, and the massive piece of stones shifts perhaps a quarter inch.

Eilieen comes to his aid, wedging the tip of her spear in under the block and applying a little leverage in addition to Aarnr's raw muscle.  With a loud grating sound, the stone moves, tilts, and topples to the floor, crushing Eralion's remains into unrecognisable powder.

The sarcophagus is far from empty... precious metal gleams there, both coin and jewellery.  Gems too, as well as a ceramic flask inscribed with runes, and a bronze tube, about a foot long and stoppered at both ends.

"Oh?  Oh!  Oh."

Bilfro speaks in an eloquent fashion, much like a dead mouse realising that she shadow of a cat that scared it to death was just shadow play.

"Thanks, kiddo," says he casually as a cool cucumber in a wok.

He saunters (read: jitters) over to the nearest wall and leans up against.  Or would have, had it been closer.  Now he merely hits it halfway down to the floor and then slides noisily down until he lays on the floor with only his head and the top of his shoulders actually touching the wall.

"Meant to do that."

From his sleeves peeks a small tortoise out, having more sense than the owner of said sleeve.  The valiant wizard gives a wave only to be ignored by the little animal.

Aarnr, fortunately, has no objections to her suggestion on dispensation of goods (calling it 'loot'?  Never be so crass!), and Eilieen beams delightedly, clacking the butt of her spear on the floor in her pleasure.  Finally, people are listening to her!  Far better than the temple.

"- if we did the ceremony that way, people would enjoy singing together -"

"- but we don't need the money, and the people do -"

"- told you to get out of my bed three times, so it's your own fault you're bleeding -"

She hurries to assist with the sarcophagus.

"Poot," Eilieen mutters as the block pulverizes the remains of the mage.  "I would have liked a ceremony or something..."  While such might be appropriate, it's also true that Eilieen can hold a grudge, and a ceremony might have honked off whatever remained of the spectral creature in its afterlife.

The gleam of gold beckons, but the priestess hears poor Ozzy's trembling voice.  Abandoning the treasure for the moment, she hurries to his side.  "Oh, Ozzy.  My apologies.  I should have done this minutes ago!"  Touching his shoulder, she calls upon the last of her fading strength.  "Zadastha, bring forth the warmth within your infinite heart, and push the chill from this sufferer!"

A faint flare of light erupts about her hand; it quickly fades.

OOC - Cure Minor Wounds, all I have left.  :(
This message was last edited by the player at 12:32, Mon 19 Aug 2013.

Fergus gives a low whistle of surprise.  "I thought them boxes were supposed to be for dead people, not treasure."

There had to be enough money down there to buy a farm, and quote a big one at that.  Maybe the Marks' or the Holdstock's over on the east side.  That was a concern for the old Fergus, though.  The new Fergus should be thinking of equipping an expedition to Rappan Athuk.

"What's that bronze rod-thing?"

Ozzy smiles as her touch warms the cold shoulder of death clutching to his bones. " Thank you." he says politely, finding his way to his feet as his curiousity to see the treasure hoard gets the better of him. " Whoaaa... how we gonna' carry all THAT?" he asks no one in particular.

Eilieen, having just come up out of the pit with Ozzy, and slid back down to assist Aarnr, promptly climbs back up again to heal the halfling.  Colwyn watches her comings and goings with some small amusement, and mutters to Aarnr, "Say what yer likes 'bout them there Zadasthans... temple life's keepin' 'em fit an' strong." 

He moves back to the sarcophagus and looks at the treasures within, with a low whistle. "Even if Bowbe's takin' 'is cut, we' still doin' well 'ere mate."

In the chamber above, Corian barely spares a glance for the softly gleaming metal in the coffin below.  He already has what he came for...  He does, however, respond to Ozzy's query regarding the hoard.

"In several sacks, I would imagine."  Then, after a moment's thought, "Or in the cart."

Aarnr knows treasure when he sees it (and if the value of the riches that lie within the sarcophagus are beyond his reckoning, at lesat he can trust to the expressions on the faces of those eyeing it avariciously), and he grins broadly around at all those admiring the hoard. "Froggin' puttock chose some mouldy books an' a useless stick over this lot ?!!"  The priest is obviously well chuffed at getting the better of that deal.

Colwyn's comment brings a frown to Aarnr's face - he's pretty fobbin' sure he's not allowed to say what he likes about Zadasthans - leastways not when there's a chance of Eilieen overhearing him.  But he claps Colwyn on the back for good measure (which might be taken for approval or reprobation, depending on your perspective).

Ensuring he has his weapons squared away (including his found axe-cum-lockpick), Aarnr rumages in his pack for a sack, carried in the best barbarian tradition of being prepared to haul it all away with you.

"You reckon them pukin' hedge-pigs," probably the orcs, "got any ale ?" he asks generally, his mind obviously also on a ceremony of sorts.

Erista runs her fingers through the pile, picking up a gem and looking through it.  "It's a start," she allows.  Following Fergus's eye, she looks at the tube, dropping the gem back in and lifting it out.  "Looks like a scroll case to me," she suggests.  "Hold on.  Lost track with the whole Lich thing... 偵查 魔法!"

"Spectacular, Oswald!" Eilieen beams, happy to be of assistance.  Treasure be hanged; THIS is why she came out on the expedition.  Also to get away from the temple - far, far away - but that's better not thought about.

"How could I leave my brave compatriot to suffer?"  For a moment, her bright features are shadowed.  "I should have done this before...but indeed, let us go down again and examine the gains we have garnered."

Perhaps there's enough in her share for good clothing...after she has purchased some useful items for the group.  Salves of healing, for example, if she can find them.

The treasure is removed from the stone coffin, and transferred to various sacks.  Colwyn watches like a hawk as items are moved, and keeps a rough tally.

At the end, the rogue announces, "By my reckonin' we's lookin' at about three 'un'red of gold, a couple of thousan' of silver, an a bit less copper.  Then we's 'avin' eight little stones - agates fer the most, but there's bein' a bit of lapis an' a amall piece of quartz - all bein' worth maybe a couple of 'un'red gold all telled."

"Then there's bein' that there gold bracelet, the silver ring, the two iv'ry... er... animals - not 'xactly sure whay' they is - the bronze comb with the bits of coloured glass, them there copper bracers, an'... what else?  Oh, yeah, the silver cloak pin.  That lot'd be worth about twenty or thirty gold apiece I reckons."

The rogue picks up a dagger, the last item left, and unsheaths it to take a look.  "This is bein' nice too.  See 'ow the 'andle's all wrapped 'bout with silver wire, an' the blade's sharp as a fishwife's tongue, an' it's bein' engraved with leafs an' stuff.  An these 'ere sparklers on the pommel... them's garnets.  Very nice."

In the upper chamber, Corian, having given the newly discovered wealth no more than a cursory glance, moves away from the trap door, into the living chamber, where he lays the staff on the bed.  Then sits on the edge, takes out one of Eralion's tomes, and starts to examine it.  For the moment he seems to be making no effort to read it, but simply studies some of the diagrams...

Below, Colwyn gives the knife a last look, and drops it into the sack.  "I reckons as 'ow that's bein' all of it." he announces, "An' I's not seein' no traps down 'ere neither."

"I's goin' ter 'ead back up, seein' as 'ow there's nought 'ere fer me ter be doin'.  An' I can be takin' one of the sacks up with me."

Fergus supervises the loading of the treasure, although from where he's seated 'oversees' might be a better description.

He nods sagely at Colwyn's description of their takings, though his eyes glaze over slightly at the numbers.  Three hundred is three lots of...no, one hundred is ten lots of ten.  So three hundred is three lots of ten lots of...lots, anyway.  Fortunately the idea of lots of gold coins is still a happy one and when Colwyn suggests coming up, Fergus calls down cheerfully, "Righto, tie off the sack on the rope and hold on, I'll pull you up."

Like Fergus, Aarnr struggles to grasp exactly what the trove is worth, though to the priest the conversion is a lot simpler. "A lot of ale," he concludes, happy that he's ascertained the true value of all those coin and precious stones.

"Looks like we're froggin' well done here," ... lots of dead orcs, Eralion slain, the plume-plucked puttock that hired them has got his books and staff ... and they've even found the precious drinking-cup of Freya ... "what now then ?"

Just as long as it involves eating and drinking.  Some sleeping might not go amiss either.

"Ooh," Erista peers over under Colwyn's shoulder as things are sorted, helping move things into piles and sacks.  "I want the comb and bracers," she requests, setting them aside unless anyone objects.  "And somebody ought to take a closer look at these, there's definitely some sort of magic," she notes, pulling out the flask and the scroll case.  "I suppose that somebody could be me, 'least for a little better idea," she adds, concentrating on them.  "The dagger's nice, but no aura to it," she adds.

Erista starts pulling stuff back out for further study, and Colwyn realises that she seems to be actually starting to claim stuff for herself.  The rogue grabs at the dagger, "If she's pickin' what she's likin', then I's wantin' this little pig sticker fer me."

From up above, Corian's laughter echoes down into the crypt, and when it subsides he calls down, "Ah, had we but known sooner... with a little more knowledge the staff could have protected us from Eralion's grim shade."

The crypt itself is decidedly less chilly now, and the shadows around the other coffins against the walls seem somehow less... shadowy.  While not exactly bright and cheerful, the chamber is not as foreboding as it had been...

Eilieen, up above making sure Oswald isn't dying, frowns at Corian.  "Explain, sir, what you mean.  The staff?  How might that have saved us from the foulness down below."

She pauses a moment, considering how others currently down below might take the words.  Clarification seems in order.  "Eralion's foulness," the priestess notes.

"Eralion, while not as gifted as he imagined, was still a mage of great power." Corian explains, glancing up from the tome, briefly.  "Here, in his journal, are notes on the crafting of the staff.  In the hands of a mage a staff is not merely a stick for walking, but a tool for use in the casting of spells.  Eralion recounts, here, how he had bound certain magics into the staff.  Spells beyond my own meagre ability."

A smile, "If I had had time to study this tome before your precipitous descent into Eralion's stronghold, it is possible that I could have discovered the secret of these magics."

"Eralion, you must understand, was not always the creature of darkness he later became.  In his youth, he was more benign.  There is, perhaps, a spell bound to the staff that could have helped defeat the shade.  I must study further after we are safely returned to Fairhill with the crucible."

Aarnr's shoulders slump. "Which one's the froggin crucible ?" he asks Fergus and Erista resignedly, hoping it's not the sarcoph ... sarky ... big stone boxes.

As if they didn't have enough to carry already, what with all the plunder and the fancy drinking cup !  At least they brought the cart, though it was going to be a pig of a job to turn the oxen around in that mudpit.

With sacks filled with loot, and a brief reassurance from Erista that the crucible is, in fact, the fancy drinking cup found in the chapel.  The tomb raiders start back up the rope to join the others in the upper chamber.  Ozzy and Aarnr still seem a little weary, but beyond that nobody seems to badly injured at the moment.

At least there are no fresh wounds from their encounter with Eralion, though Aarnr, Eilieen and Fergus still bear the marks of previous conflicts.

Corian is, perhaps unsurprisingly, in a fairly chipper mood.  After all, he has exactly what he came here for, and is still alive.  The only thing which seems to sour his demeanour is the thought of climbing the rope all the way back to ground level.

He claps each of his companions on the back as the sacks are brought up from the crypt, "Congratulations, my friends, on your new found wealth.  We should depart for Fairhill as soon as we can.  We can spend tonight there and enjoy the fruits of our conquest... good food, fine drink, and a place in the finest inn the village has to offer.  We will, in all likelihood gain the gratitude of the priestess of Freya when we return the crucible to the temple.  Perhaps she has the means to heal the injuries of those who have them."

While Aarnr disapproves of civilisation in general, he's willing to make an exception for an Inn !  Of course, no self-respecting Fen-dweller would ever keep all their treasured ale in once place, but generations of invading hordes are only too happy to take advantage of such short-sightedness in others.

But ... his friendship with Fergus demands the priest set aside his own wants.  "We goin' hunting froggin' Owlbears again ?" he grunts to the big farmer as he hauls himself up the rope, naturally assuming Fergus remains reluctant to venture near the village.  "There's still that tardy-gaited, hell-born horn-beast out there !"  An added enticement.

Likewise Corian's friendly greeting would demand a sturdy response back home, but Aarnr contains his enthusiasm and keeps his sword sheathed.  "May Bowbe take His portion from that pribblin' puttock's share," he snarls at Colwyn.  The rogue seems happy enough with his dagger, be it too damned pretty for the priest's tastes.

Aramil is unusually quiet and seems to had dropped out of the conversation if not the group. With the foe gone he stands to one side busy with his own thoughts. Occasionally he says a phrase or comment but otherwise is aloof yet doing as he is told when asked by the group.

Then when they seem to be heading off Aramil turns to Aarnr and says "Shadowrender is a good name. I shall use it with gusto if not skill. It should be noted that the little lass remembered that it might be usefull, so credit must be given to her skillful assessment of the situation."

Fergus is happy to assist with the hauling and lifting, making the trip back up from the crypt somewhat faster than it would otherwise have been.  He's not so happy to be heading back to Fairhill, but he accepts it as necessary and he refuses to let the prospect spoil his good mood.

"I can't Aarnr, as much as I'd like to nearly get killed again.  I've got to take the cup back to Shandril.  It's important.  And I've got to talk to her about Freya.  I've got to have a think about things."

Fergus clearly finds the idea of a serious talk about religion somewhat daunting, but he seems determined.

The priest isn't at all put out by Fergus' decision, though he notes his friend's trepidation.  That this Shandril should so daunt the big farmer where undead and aberrations of nature did not causes Aarnr to spontaneously offer.  "Fear not - I'll be at thy side."  Religious discussion doesn't worry the priest at all, as he knows for a certainty that his own views are the correct ones, be this priestess be terrifying or no.

<despite his surety, as he ponders this Aarnr's eyes flick to Eilieen for some reason>

Aramil's generosity does not go unnoticed. "Fear not, minstrel !" Aarnr reassures him, "there will be plenty of glory to share when the boasting starts.  Aye, even for the little ones ... eh, brother ?" he hails Ozzie.

Ozzy beams proudly at the mention of 'brother', puffing up his little chest and jutting his chin forward. " Sure! ....like when I stood face to face with the specter of the dead wizard Eralion! That hell-borne shade tried to freeze my very soul! We took care of him right quick!" he says, already taking partial credit though he had never raised anything more than his voice against the abomination. " It was all I could do simply to distract him long enough for Aarnr to get in the killing blow."