The night passes peacefully.  It seems that, as some had surmised the previous evening, the presence of orcs and an ogre in the decrepit fortress have encouraged other potential troublemakers to give it a wide berth, and knowledge of their demise has not yet spread.

Fergus survives the night, and though his sleep is fitful, he does not awaken.  His face is pale, and he sweats continuously, even if the room is not overly warm.  Still, he does not appear to be losing blood any longer, but given the pallor of his skin, that could simply mean that he doesn't have any more to lose.  In any case, he is still breathing as the first faint light of dawn washes over the crumbling stonework of what is, presumably, Eralion's keep.

Aarnr and Eilieen also live still, in spite of the terrible injuries both have suffered.  And now the dawn of a new day brings new hope, for it means that the clerics will be able to beseech their respective gods for aid, each in their own way.

The dawn also brings a chill in the air, along with morning mist shrouding the forest.

The trapdoor has remained firmly closed throughout the night.  If there are vermin, or worse, beneath the floor, they have not attempted to break into the chamber where the party have rested.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:07, Sun 07 Apr 2013.

Eilieen spends much of the night sleeping.  The rest?  Checking Fergus each time the pain of her wound wakes her is the top of the list, followed by a more cursory check on Aarnr.  Not that she balks at examining the other priest, but he's in far better condition than the former farmer.  Fergus worries her greatly; she doesn't like his fever, and his inability to regain consciousness is a terrible sign.  In this place, in these conditions, there's only so long she and Aarnr can keep him alive with mundane means, no matter her intensive training in such things.

But with morning comes hope.

Having prayed to the rising of the sun, Eilieen feels the heat within her spirit echoing the warmth of the burning orb upon the horizon.  The air is cool and damp, but she feels it not at all, for Zadastha's power stands with her once again.  Drawing the tattered remains of her cloak and gown about her, she steps through the refuse to kneel beside the broken warrior.

"Ah, Fergus.  Return to us now."  One hand brushes the hair back from his glistening forehead, and her voice rises.  "Zadastha - lend your grace to this one, fallen in the defense of his friends!  Grant him the strength to step back from the door between this life and the next, to resist death's tidal draw!"

OOC - The only difference between Eilieen's spells this morning is she's taking 'mending' twice instead of 'detect magic' and 'create water'.  Also, she actually has 3 level 1 spells, so she'll take 'Divine Favour' as well.

Also, Cure Light Wounds on Fergus!  :)

Edit: The dice roller hates me.  A whopping 4 hp.  :(  Or maybe I should be using Aarnr's method...
This message was last edited by the player at 13:09, Mon 08 Apr 2013.

Having happily committed the lives of himself, Eilieen and Fergus to the care of Bowbe, Aarnr passes a quite blissfully unworried and comfortable night.  Of course, it helps that any ticks or lice which try to bite him would be lucky to live to tell the tale.  Indeed, the only time he stirs and them momentarily  is when he wakes himself up with his own snoring thence glares at anyone unlucky enough to be breathing heavily at that moment.

Like Eilieen, Aarnr spends some time in conversation with his god, though predictably this is an occasion of loud name-calling and ranting as the priest puts forth his demands for the day.  Honour eventually satisfied, Aarnr returns to the tower only to stand shaking his head as he sees Eilieen already up and about and trying to sneak in some healing when he wasn't looking, though truth be told it's not less than he expected.

With Bowbe's attention not yet wandered far, his priest elects to insist on his favour quickly with the usual lashings of invective.

"Would thou have me shamed before froggin' Zadastha's doxy, thou currish, half-faced, plume-plucked, swag-bellied, full-gorged, spleeny minnow ?!!!  If thou want thy harvest, then thou will gleepin' well tend to our wounds, thou frothy guts-gripin', priblin' dewberry !!"

OOC: CLWs all round ... and I think from this we can certainly see who Bowbe's favourite is ! ;>

21:56, Today: Aarnr Foultongue rolled 5 using 1d8+2. CLW on Eilieen.
21:56, Today: Aarnr Foultongue rolled 6 using 1d8+2. CLW on Fergus.
21:56, Today: Aarnr Foultongue rolled 7 using 1d8+2. CLW on Aarnr.

"One more gleepin' matter," Aarnr's habitual glare softens somewhat as he regards the dishevelled priestess. "If thou can scare up a bowl or somesuch, I'll have Bowbe gift thee with clean and sparkling water ...

OOC: Create Water, 4 gallons ... if there's anything to catch it in. :>
This message was last edited by the player at 14:19, Mon 08 Apr 2013.

"Zad..."  Eilieen's eyes fairly pop from her skull.  "Zadathsa's doxy?"  There's a limit, here.  "You..."  Steaming, she grinds her teeth as Aarnr begins his run of healing, tapping her foot.  The burning pain of her wound fair vanishes under the other priest's ministrations, and his placement of palms puts the pallor in Fergus into retreat, but it only mitigates her anger somewhat.

"You listen," she snaps, prodding his chest with a finger she'll have to wash afterward.  "I am well-content to hear you speak ill of your own god, should that be your choice.  Or myself, if it comes to that!  But speak no ill of the Lady!"

Breathing heavily, the tiny woman glares up into Aarnr's visage for a long moment.  Then Eilieen straightens, brushing down her clothing.  "As for your offer, it is a kindly one, Aarnr, and far more suited to your noble heart."  Her scowl fades into a small smile.  "I will take you up on that, and thank you again for your kind healing; I need only find a proper vessel to wash.  But first...are you yet injured, Aarnr?  Do you, yourself, require divine ministrations?"

One eyebrow arches.  "Of the healing sort?" she clarifies.

Colwyn suppresses a chuckle at Eilieen's outburst, and concentrates instead on the pile of loot.  Finally, as the healing is finished, and Fergus is actually sitting up and looking about, the rogue announces, "I's reckonin' them there orcs was bein' too poor.  Bowbe wasn't even touchin' their stuff in the night, on account of it was bein' too cheap fer 'im.  's'all still bein' there."

Aarnr's generous offer actually brings a smile from the rogue.  "There was bein' a bucket at the well.  Ozzy was usin' it fer a bit." he suggests.  It's not a bowl exactly, but it might serve to hold water while Eilieen cleans up.

OOC: Just so that everybody knows...

Characters' Apparent Health

Aarnr Foultongue: Hurt
Aramil:           Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Hurt
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Critical
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

In a corner, in a ruin, exasperating for a while, dwelt a geezer, quite a sneezer, who was spewing bitter bile.

"Oh my spell book, oh my spell book, oh my spell book once so fine, you are lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry, spell book mine."

Dark he was and a bit lairy, and his beard were crooked too;  flying wildly, put it mildly, it was quite a ballyhoo.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:06, Mon 08 Apr 2013.

Corian moves a little closer to Ozzy, and a little further from Bilfro.  Keeping his voice pitched low, he opines, "You know, I do believe our new friend has been driven insane by the loss of his spell book.  He speaks of it as if it were a lost love."

Aarnr's brow furrows as he tries to determine exactly what Eilieen's complaint is.  'Doxy' was in fact one of the politer words the slave taught him, though his keen sense of self-preservation suggests that the priestess most certainly does not want to hear any of the available alternatives.

Sometimes the priest despairs of ever understanding the tortuous paths of civility !  Give him an enraged pheasant any day ...

Still, Eilieen's anger seems to pass swiftly - and perhaps just as well, for in Aarnr's simple way of looking at things, 'divine ministrations' entails hacking the foe into small pieces, and the priestess has certainly proved herself more than capable.  But even so, "just a few gleepin' scratches," he assures her. "Should scar nicely."

"All ours then," Aarnr turns to Colwyn with relief.  "Reckon the gorbellied rutters," frog it, that was another one, "lewdsters," still no ... ah, "gudgeons !" he belatedly but triumphantly corrects himself, "didn't put up a good enough show."

The rogue's suggestion is, however, a good one and the priest hurriedly retrieves the bucket from the well.  His demands upon Bowbe are most certainly neither clean nor sparkling, but the fresh water that fills the pail succeeds on both counts. "There thou go !" Aarnr holds out the bucket to Eilieen as a peace offering.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:33, Tue 09 Apr 2013.

Erista, sitting near Ozzy, looks up at Corian and nods.  "That's why I don't use 'em," she says.  "Reading's fine in its place, but you can't let it control you.  So, Ozzy, I found this mail shirt upstairs, would be about your size if you're interested.  Not magic, but it looks awfully nice.  Or at least, it could, with a little polish.  Also, a fair sized bag of coins, but it was getting a bit late for counting."

Fergus finally wakes and sits up slowly, with a groan.  He blinks several times, bleary-eyed, before any semblance of awareness finally dawns.

"Freya's grace, you're alive, you're all alive."

"I had the worst dream," Fergus explains, "There were orcs everywhere.  We tried to fight but there were too many, and always that ogre.  You all died." Fergus seems very upset, on the verge of tears.  He looks around again until his eyes light on Erista.

"I'm sorry, sis, I tried to get you out of there, but I wasn't fast enough."

OOC: Oh wait, no, that was a different game :P

Ozzy grins, then smiles, then outright blushes as Erista offers him the chain woven shirt. " A gift? For me? I'm so sorry, I didn't get you anything. What's the occasion?" He stands, trying on the shirt and adjusting for comfort with a few shrugs of his little shoulders. " And money too? Well, it's never to early for counting your blessings, shall we?" he adds, looking as hungrily at the coin purse as he would a morning meal. Speaking of which, who was making breakfast? Anyone? His stomach growls for an answer, already protesting the added work of carrying the bulk of a chain shirt. Seeing Fergus coming around is the only thing that snaps him from his eyeful of greed, and he walks over with his chest puffed out, buffing the front with one sleeve as he boasts, " Good morning Fergus! Look what Erista got me, don't I like formidable now?"

The mail shirt is a good fit for Ozzy.  Perhaps a little on the large side, but then halflings tend to like a bit of space to fill out.  In any case, once it's cleaned up a little, it should make him look quite dashing.

The orcish armour and weapons seem cheap and shoddy, and poorly maintained, so probably not worth taking.  The coin, on the other hand...  A quick count reveals that, between the orcs, and Erista's little find in the ogre's chamber, there are some 270 gold pieces, plus a handful of silver and copper.

Corian seems disappointed with the haul.

"Was there naught else up there?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:49, Wed 10 Apr 2013.

Eilieen sighs heavily at the mention of her wound scarring.  But then, perhaps a sufficiently large scar might keep the other priests at bay should she ever return to the temple...well, no.  Probably cause her no end of problems.  She cocks an eyebrow, one corner of her mouth twitching as Aarnr attempts to mends his vocabulary, then breaks into a sunny smile as he retrieves a bucket and fills it with bright, sparkling water.  "Oh, Aarnr!"  The priestess had neglected that divine magic herself, from a need to heal and help the others.  "That's so kind of you - such a gentleman!"  Bowbe's bellowing blasphemer receives a pat on the cheek for his trouble, then Eilieen closes her eyes and whispers.

"Zadastha, repay this kindness with your own; seal away the last of his wounds that he might enjoy this bright new day."

Light flares about her palm as Fergus awakes.  Sweeping the bucket from Aarnr, Eilieen plunks it down beside the injured farmer.  "Ah, poor Fergus.  We live, all of us."  Though the Nameless One does not...and his sister?  What of that?  Perhaps a reason this man travels with them.  "Fear not - I hold something for the pain of your body, with the hopes it helps relieve the wounds in your heart."  Another touch, this one to the once-farmer, and her hands again shine.  "Zadastha, touch this one with your love and care; sooth his hurts that he might step further into the light."

Power flares once more, and the farmer finds his injuries much improved.

"And yet, my work is not finished.  Hold steady, Fergus.  Breakfast comes soon."  Gathering up her bucket, Eilieen quick-steps over to the bawling Bilfro, gently reaching out to touch his much-maligned manuel.  "Bilfro...I know not if this will suffice, but I shall make an attempt.  Zadastha," she prays.  "Mend this wizard's tome, that he may weave spells to bring hope to this world."

A flare of light and power; what it brings, she cannot say.

"And now, perhaps," she states with a weary smile, "I might avail myself of Colwyn's cleverness and Aarnr's altruism.  In private."

OOC - Healing Aarnr, 7 points.  Healing Fergus, 11 points.  :)
Casting 'Mending' on the spellbook.  I have no idea what it'll do - shouldn't explode, or anything, but I don't know if it'll work.  Still, worth a try!

Gentleman ?  Aarnr seems somewhat surprised that Eilieen would resort to such language, though it is so much at odds with the welcome change in her demeanour that he assumes he must have misheard.

Her healing touch is ... different to the makeshift and make-do healing that Bowbe grants ... gentler somehow.  But for all of that it seems no less efficatious and the priest finds his breathing much easier thereafter.

He smiles and nods, figuring some acknowledgment of the priestesses gratitude over the bucket of water and his own thanks for the healing is in order.

But it is the sudden recovery of Fergus that cheers Aarnr most. "Thou live !" he informs his friend.  "A good fight, was it not ?!!  Are thou feeling up to springing yon trapdoor that the minstrel found for us and seeing what horn-swaggling beasts lurk beneath ?  Mayhap thy lich-mage set them to ward his treasures," he suggests to Corian, thinking to cheer the puttock up, though the priest cannot conceal that he is more intent on finding monsters to slay than what they might be guarding.  Talking of the halfling ... "an' thou would be fobbin' keen to put thy new metal skin to the test, eh ?"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:13, Wed 10 Apr 2013.

Watching with eyes sadder than a sad puppy with sad eyes, Bilfro regards Elieen's attempt to help.

"I am most beholden to you, fair maiden, for your compassionate attempt to restore that which was lost, but I fear it cannot be, as the very nature of it is such that is cannot be mended.  There is naught to do but to persevere and once more undertake the journey of how to put one foot in front of another without losing ones equilibrium.  It is merely a loss I need to grieve, but given time I shall recover, and eventually surpass this most unfortunate and personal departure of something far more worthful to me than its mere monetary value.  Even if that too was substantial."

He sighs and wipes his eyes, straightens his beard out, adjusts it slightly and then stands to tuck the book away into his pack.

"What is found will always be lost, but it is the time there between that matters," says he solemnly and bows his head.

The next moment he abruptly and unceremoniously tosses the pack into the corner and grabs his staff and stomps out through the door.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:43, Fri 12 Apr 2013.

"Very nice, Ozzy.  What does formidbull mean?"

To Eileen, Fergus adds, "Thank you, Miss.  I'm glad you're all okay."  He waits in polite silence while Eileen prays before bursting out, "Wow, Miss, thanks!  I feel much better."  Fergus doesn't follow most of the rest of what Eileen says.  What was Aarnr's altruism and how did one avail oneself of something?  And why did it have to be in private?

Fortunately, Aarne interrupts that (rather derailed) train of thought.  Fergus finds his remarks just as bewildering, though for a different reason.  Fergus couldn't see how nearly dying was good, unless one compared it to actually dying, he supposed.  But Fergus is beginning to become accustomed to such things from Aarnr.

"I guess so, Aarnr.  I'm feeling about as good as I did yesterday, so I guess I'll manage.  If there's another ogre, though, I think I'll let Ozzy face it, seeing as how he's formid'ble." Fergus grinned up at the halfling, or nearly level anyway since he was sitting down.

"It's the fobbin' onions," Aarnr reassures Fergus, nodding at Ozzy, blithely adding to the general air of misunderstanding, misaprehensions and just plain no-idea-either-but-I'm-too-damn-proud/manly/heroic-to-admit-it-fullness. "After breakfast then. Don't know about thou, but I'm gleepin' well not going to die on an empty stomach !"

While Eilieen continues calling on the generosity of Zadastha to heal both her companions and some of their possessions, with varying degrees of success (or otherwise), Colwyn decides to examine the trap door.

Bilfro, meanwhile heads out of the tower, declaring Eilieen's attempt to repair his book a failure.

After but a few moments, Colwyn looks up, his face a mask of bitter disappointment, almost as intense as Bilfro's.

"Gah!" he exclaims dejectedly, as soon as there is a break in the etymological discussion which appears to have erupted while he was distracted, "It's lookin' bloody 'eavy an' solid, but it's 'avin' no bleedin' lock or anythin', far as I's seein'."

Corian sighs, and refrains from pointing out that, if recent performance is anything to go by, then Colwyn probably still won't be able open it anyway...

OOC: People are looking better.

Characters' Apparent Health

Aarnr Foultongue: Good
Aramil:           Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Hurt
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Hurt
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

The opportunity to smash something serves to prise the priest away from the thought of food.  Taking up the axe that he recovered from the rubble, he approaches the trapdoor.  "Out of the fobbin' way !" Aarnr instructs Colwyn, resting the axe head on the ground for a moment as he spits on his hands before taking the weapon up and having at the recalcitrant portal with much enthusiasm.

The axe swings down, splitting the trap door in twain, and ripping the pieces out of the opening as Aarnr raises the weapon to strike again.

Colwyn nods, clearly impressed, before commenting, "Not bad... I were jus' goin' ter slide that there bolt over an' pull on' the 'andle so as ter be liftin' the 'atch.  But your way was workin' as well."  He smiles encouragingly at the priest, while brushing some errant splinters from the front of his jerkin.

The rogue peers into the 'ole hole, "'s bein' bleedin' dark down there, so some lights's 'andy.  An' we'll be needin' a bit of rope.  There ain't bein' no ladder nor nothin'.  Still, I's not 'earin' any of them bloody great big spiders lollygaggin' 'round down there.  So that's bein' a good sign, I reckons."

"Aye... bloody good sign."  Somehow his "bloody good sign" does not seem to fill his voice with confidence.

Ozzy is quick to retrieve his pack as Colwyn lists off a few necessary items. He stops by Colwyn and pulls out a coil of hemp rope. Then he pulls out his bullseye lantern, checks the oil and lights the wick. He stands quietly smiling, holding up the lantern for a better view into the dark hole where the trap door used to be. " Rope, light, ...anything else Colwyn?" he asks with a quiet whisper so as not to disturb whatever waited for them below.

"Goodness," Eilieen murmurs as Bilfro storms out.  "I quite understand...poor man."  But she brightens as Fergus appears considerably more lively.  "The smile on your face is a reward, Fergus!  Glad am I that you feel the better today - we had grave concerns over your health."  Pleased, she sweeps up the bucket of water with great zest and strides up into the only place where she can find some privacy, with only a small pause for a curious glance at Aarnr (going on about 'onions').  "Don't go too far, anyone - I'll just be a moment!"

Lies, of course.

Once in the ogre's nasty, smelly abode, Eilieen picks out a relatively clean section of floor and, using the bucket of clean water, does as much work as she possibly can to cleanse herself.  Finished that task, she turns to her clothing.  A simple prayer to Zadastha follows, and what was old and torn is made...well, less-so.

Pleased with her progress, Eilieen navigates the stairs back down to where the others attend.  There had been sundry loud noises that floated up the staircase, and now she sees why.  "Ah...you've affected an entrance?" she inquires, studying the demolished door with eyebrows raised.

OOC - Mending Spell on clothing.  :)
This message was last edited by the player at 14:49, Mon 15 Apr 2013.

Aarnr glares at Colwyn but the rogue is saved the myriad curses known to the priest by the return of Eilieen.  "Effected it froggin' good n' proper !" he assures her proudly, as he slips the axe through the belt at his waist.

"No elfin' rats either," he adds, with a tinge of disappointment, "least not unless they've learned to hold their festerin' tongues."

"Should we lower one of the rancid hedge-pigs down there and see what froggin' bites ?" Aarnr suggests, nodding towards one of the orc corpses.

"Not before breakfast!" the half-elf's voice floats out. He had been busy getting some food ready using the fire from last night. It took a while to get the fire back to anything usable and so had only half an ear on the going on around him. Now that they were ready to start the day again, well to Aarnr's descriptions, he felt the need for sustenance was required. Not many of them would cope without, especially those hurt from yesterday.

" YEAH! WHAT HE SAID..." Ozzy chimes in as Aramil mentions breakfast, Ozzy then leans in close enough to add to Aramil, " So, uh... what're we having?"

Colwyn takes the lantern from the distracted halfling, and lets the light shine down into the basement.  It's about ten feet deep, and seems to be strewn with broken wood, torn and shredded cloth, chunks of stone, and other refuse of indeterminate origin.

The light plays about the chamber as the rogue sticks his head down the hole.  A moment later he pulls it back out.  "Cellar's lookin' 'bout like this."  He gestures to indicate the room they're in, "Round, an' 'bout the same size.  Weren't seein' no doors though.  There's bein' tons of rubbish down there, but the floor straight under the 'ole is clear, an there's bein' another trapdoor, see?"

The lantern's beam picks out the wooden trapdoor, sitting in the centre of a cleared area in the middle of the basement floor.  Two planks have been laid across the door, and where they, cross in the centre, a symbol has been burned into the wood.

"The same as last night" Aramil replies to the halfings comment. Getting ready to serve up the half-elf serves the ladies first, against the usual convention, then Fergus and the rest whoever comes over.

"If there's any plague rats down there they must've been froggin' frisky," Aarnr suggests as he notes the reinforcement ? wards ? upon the second trapdoor.

It's a close call between breakfast and being fast to break open the newly uncovered barrier with his trusty axe ... but the priest's stomach prevails.  "Got to keep our fobbin' strength up !"

"Goddess," Eilieen murmurs, shaking her head.  She'll wait forever for one of these people to set to breakfast themselves, so she sets to work on making breakfast.  "Everyone hand in some of your food," she calls.  "We'll need enough, and Zadastha isn't gifting it to people today."

And nobody has even commented on her mended dress.  What cheek...

Corian leaves a portion of his own provisions close to the fire - some cheese that should be edible with a minimum of scraping, a little bread, and small, carefully folded paper packet containing the last of his tea - and wanders across to stare into the abyss.

After a few moments, his expression transforms into a puzzled frown.  He shift his position so that he can look at the chamber below from a different angle, then tilts his head to one side, to change the angle further.

"By the gods!"

He sways, momentarily, on the brink as he blindly fumbles with his belt pouch...  Then he steadies himself and pulls something from the pouch.  An amulet, which he holds up, for all to see, beaming like a demented moon-calf.

"There, on the trap door.  Do you see it?  'tis the self same sigil that appears on old Eralion's amulet.  Crudely crafted, and definitely distorted, but recognisable, all the same."

"Food."

Bilfro has reappeared in the room at some point and rummages through his pack.

"Gone."

He shrugs apologetically and then looks at Eilieen with an appreciative expression.

"Nice dress, m'lady," he bows and then somehow, with a speed belying his fragile frame, ends up behind Corian, looking over his shoulder, "Old Eralion, says you?  Interesting."

As Ozzy patiently awaits his serving of breakfast, his interest is once again piqued by the strange old man. He asks, " So Bilfro, where you from originally? I mean, before all... this. Any living relatives?" He pulls out his notebook, ready to add more to this particular characters backstory. " I mean, you weren't ALWAYS here, ...right?"

Seeing Eilieen's much improved appearance, Aarnr wipes his dirty hands on his less-than clean leather skirt, though he knows not why he does so.

"I'd thought to go huntin', but we got a bit froggin' busy," Aarnr explains to the priestess why it's all the orcs fault anyway that he has naught to contribute to the meal save being keenly invested in the consumption of whatever can be scraped together.  "Me an' Fergus could go out now, though ?" he suggests enthusiastically, always keen to embrace a solution that involves violence.  "See what we can catch nappin' ?"

Corian's excitement does, however, require the priest's immediate attention.  "Hold the fobbin' trinket still, thou demented moon-calf !" Aarnr demands (yup, he can see the likeness).  Staring down into the poorly lit hole to squint at the the second trapdoor, he looks long and hard before offering a scornful, "Froggin' nothin' like it, thou jolt-headed mammet !"

Having satisfied everyone that the sturdy planks bear no resemblance whatsoever to a small pendant, he adds, belligerently, "What's a gleepin' sigil anyway ?  Some sort of fobbin' seabird isn't it ?!!"

"What?" Corian starts as Bilfro's voice sounds at his ear.  "Oh, ah, yes.... Old Eralion.  He was... ah... my uncle, yes that's it, my long lost uncle.  The whole family wondered what had happened to him.  That's why I was searching for him.  He was a famous... er... painter.  Knew absolutely nothing about magic.  Definitely not a mage."

And then Aarnr comes to assist in the identification of the mark, and the apprentice mage's stomach drops into the depths of the Abyss.  Aarnr will have heard the whole brilliant deception.  Unfortunately, Aarnr probably thinks subterfuge is a kind of berry used for stuffing wild boar.  Probably before killing the unfortunate beast.

"A sigil is a sign.  A mark, you see."  Corian indicates the symbol on the medallion.  Then, mostly for Bilfro's benefit, he adds, "Some of them are magical, but not necessarily all of them."

"It's alright Miss, I think Aramil's already got breakfast started."

Fergus, being a farmboy at heart and not at all educated in the way of women, failed to notice the marked improvement in Eilieen's clothing.  Besides, he had been trying very hard not to notice the holes in her clothing before and having finally got the knack, it would be a shame to break the habit.

"I don't think going hunting'd be a good idea, Aarnr.  We haven't looked in all the places up here yet.  We might be needed while we're out.  An' I reckon breakfast'll be up soon anyway and it'd be a shame to let it go cold."

Fergus tries to follow the conversation about the trapdoor and the sigil, but without much enthusiasm.  He'd much rather take the chalice back to Shandril and then be off to Rappan Athuk.  Since it's unlikely that idea will win much support he stays quiet, taking the chance to rest before he's required to face plague rats and who knows what else in the darkness below the ground.

Erista looks at Ozzy approvingly.  The shirt looks good on him, she decides, and would definitely have been too small for Fergus anyway.

Coming over to the trapdoor, she gives Corian a doubtful look.  "Um, you know, when my uncle - Uncle Lannet, an actual Uncle of mine, you could meet him someday - sat me on his knee and taught me how to lie, one of the first things he said was, `And Risty?' - he called me Risty - `When you think of a good one, you just say it.  Don't tell yourself how good it is, and for Brandobaris' sake, don't tell everybody.  Them little phrases like `Yeah, that's the one' or `of course that's where I was', those're a dead giveaway'."

She pats Corian on the shoulder.  "Don't feel bad.  I hear nobody ever tells folk this stuff where you come from.  Just try it again.  Say it with me."  She clears her throat.  "Old Eralion, indeed.  My long lost uncle; you might have heard of him, actually, for his painting.  The whole family worried so, that's why I set out to search for him."  She looks at Corian encouragingly.  "And then you stop there, see?  Nobody ever said he was a mage, so no point in saying he wasn't yet.  Leave off the painter thing, too, actually, unless he was a painter as well as a mage.  It's good to give a lie a nice shine of truth."

"Indubitably."

Bilfro says but one word to Corian in response to his tale of his uncle and the lack of magic involved.  He gives Erista a telling look before turning his attention completely to Oswald.

"Ah, I have forgotten whence I hail primitively, being noticeably young upon childbirth, lacking my beard and all," says he a strokes the beard absently, "but I have spent most of my life in Bard's Gate.  Perchance you have heard thereof?  It is to the east of here, along the road.  Quite a adorable venue, if I may say so myself.  Agreeable folk too, apart from the proprietor of The Drunken Flute, being as odd as the name of his establishment, mark my words!  And he snores.  Loudly."

He nods sagely and takes a deep breath to continue.

"Relatives, now there is an interesting epic to be related!  I did, at one point, have those, at least the usual mother and father like most who had a natal day, but at some juncture we diverged and have since then not chanced upon one another, if indeed any of them are still alive.  I might claim an uncle or two," a passing glance at Corian, "but where they be and whether they live and breathe, only they can tell.  Or anyone who knows them.  Unless they are dead.  My uncles that is.  Or those who might know them, indeed.  Come to think of it, death may not stop anyone from talking either, and I don't necessarily speak of necromancy either.  Ghosts and such still linger, to point out one possibility.  Mind you, muteness may hamper any effort to partake information, either way.  I think I had a sister too, but it might have been an effeminate younger brother.  It is with him or her as per my uncles, if they do exist and so forth, only he or she really knows.  Well, presumably my mother as well, wherever she might be, if she still lives..."

He takes another deep breath, evidently preparing to continue his tale.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:18, Sun 21 Apr 2013.

"I'm afraid the only lesson I ever had concerning lying taught me that it is wrong to do so." Corian replies to Erista, somewhat tartly.  He does, however, refrain from mentioning that his lack of education in the subject of falsehood is, in all likelihood, entirely due to his not being less than three feet tall.  This tactful omission is probably on account of Ozzy's proximity, diminutive stature and suddenly martial appearance.

The mage tries to ignore Bilfro's rambling explanation to Ozzy.  Even so, he can feel his eyes glazing over before the man takes his first pause for breath.  He casts about for a distraction, and spots Colwyn watching him.

"What, pray tell, are you smirking at?"

The rogue's smirk broadens into a grin, and he shakes his head, "I were always thinkin' as 'ow wizards's serposed ter be clever as owls.  I's not seein' much edivence of it."

Corian turns about, and stalks away from the trapdoor, leaving Colwyn to ask Erista, "So them's teachin' kids ter tell porkies good'n'proper where you's comin' from?  That's bein' better an the lessons what I were 'avin'."

Somewhat disappointed that nobody but Bilfro notices her cleaned up and mended clothing, a disgruntled Eilieen nods agreement to Fergus' clarification.  "Well, if Aarnr has the breakfast going -" horrid thought, that "- I shall not usurp his territory."  Mentally preparing herself to go with cold food from her pack this morning, she moves to examine the sigil the mages have discovered.

Sadly, it's all Orc to her.

She listens in to the others chatting - or rambling, in some cases - maintaining her own silence.  There really isn't much to add at the moment...

Aarnr listens with growing incomprehension, finally turning his back on the conversationalists lest he be overcome with the urge to smite them, and moves over to where Eilieen and Fergus are standing.  "Aramil's doing the fobbin' cooking," he assures the priestess.  "'An I think the old mage ... the other old mage, not that flap-mouthed sheep-botherer ... is related to both the pumpion an' the flower-girl.  Somethin' about owlbears too."

"Can thou see a mark on it ?" he peers down into the hole once more.  "Those scratchin's ?"

Colwyn looks about, then stoops to pick up a broken board, which he lays over the hole, before searching for more.  "I's thinkin' we should be coverin' that up while we's 'avin' a spot of brekkie.  That'd be makin' it 'arder fer some bugger ter be comin' out of the 'ole an' surprisin' us, on account of 'ow it'll be makin' a bloody noise shiftin' the planks."

Two more boards are positioned over the hole.  Then, in a moment of inspiration, some of the orcish weapons are laid across them to add a little weight and the potential for even more noise to alert the explorers.

A loud growl suddenly fills the room, and the rogue clutches at his stomach, "My belly's thinkin' my gullet's bein' slitted." he observes cheerfully, and glances towards Aramil and the fire.

"Grub's smellin' good 'nough ter eat." he quips.

Erista looks hurt when Corian brushes off her attempt at advice, kicking at a small rock and muttering, "It is wrong, the way you do it."

Colwyn's interest brightens her up some, though.  "Well, sure.  I mean, what if the real story is boring?" she points out, helping move stuff over the whole.  "Or, if `where you were' when something got stolen was, say, taking a nap up in the rafters where nobody saw you.  You could just say that, sure, and spend the rest of the afternoon watching guards dig through your things while the thief gets away, or you could give a just as likely answer that'll get you let alone and get them on with their job.  Preferably involving someone like Lannet who'll know to back you up without all the winks and nods, 'cause tallfolk guards are slow but they're not blind."

Oh, so it's Aramil making the breakfast, not Aarnr?  "Ah, thank you, Aarnr," she replies, nodding politely, glad her mended clothing will cover the sudden weakness in her knees.  Relief is a strong emotion, to be sure.  "Interesting.  Perhaps Corian will be able to wrack his brain for some answers to this mystery."

Looking down, she studies the marks on the trapdoor before Colwyn covers it over.  "There's something there, to be sure.  Sadly, sigils of magic are not my area of experties."  A sad smile follows.  "Only religious doctrine and healing, to be truthful.  Wise decision, Colwyn.  It certainly might help us get ready, to avoid surprise."

Surprise: that deadly slayer of adventurers everywhere, it comes in so many guises...

"Thou are best avoiding such earth-vexing rubbish," Aarnr approves of Eilieen's deliberate ignorance of matters of magic.

The priest briefly considers hacking the door from its hinges, but before he can heft his axe, Colwyn has well progressed the whole hole-covering situation.  Aarnr does drag a couple of orc corpses (by now well past their use-by-date) and add them to the growing pile of wood and metal.

"Any swag-bellied horn-beasts will feed on the ripe-reeling hedge-pigs first," he suggests, practically.

"Now !  Breakfast !"  Issued in as commanding a tone as ever used by a leader of men urging his forces forward into the face of the foe, brooking no possibility of other choices.

Breakfast, a conglomeration of whatever everybody had to add, is prepared, and served with a choice of tea or water.  Not the finest meal ever eaten, but it's edible, and the tea is, at least, warm and wet.

All in all, Aramil has done a fine job with the meagre supplies available to him.

Corian says little during the course of breakfast, save to thank Aramil for his efforts, and to answer any direct questions.  Colwyn spends the entire meal talking to Erista, comparing notes on the fine art of embellishing truth with other, slightly different, truths.  Truths which are, nonetheless, just as true from a particular perspective.

The barricade atop the trap door remains undisturbed while the group eats...

Surprisingly Aarnr likes tea ... or at least the creation of an infusion by pouring boiling water over dried herbs is by no means unfamiliar to the barbarian priest, matter not the embellishments and rituals that civilisation requires.  And since anything you can keep down best out of three constitutes a good meal, Aarnr is more than happy to pronounce the meal "gleepin' good !" and proffer his brusque gratitude to the cook, "thou elf-skinned apple-john !"

Indeed, the priest's only disappointment is that the makeshift cover on the trapdoor remains undisturbed ...

With what meagre picking the half-elf manages to acquire he is quite pleased with the result. Drinking the last of his tea, no-one Aramil knows actually drinks water, he scraps the dregs onto the fire and hopes there is still a little water left to wash with.

Looking at the makeshift cover for the hole made by the trapdoor, Aramil is not ready for any gallant adventures with foes unknown. Yet with Aarnr in the party he realises that some if not all the party will head into the darkness regardless of personal safety. Having listened to the comments about the burnt symbols he offers his thought, better late than never.

"I am reluctant to move the planks if the symbols are of magical origin, but I do have some skill in deciphering languages other than Common and Elvish. I could have a look and see if these are actual words and what they say?" he offers thinking it might help them decide whether to move the planks or not, or rather stop Aarnr moving them.

"Indeed, Aramil!" Eilieen exclaims.  "My thanks for both your fine breakfast and the forthcoming attempt - one hopes it will bear fruit."  Ignoring any food-related followups, she moves to the crudely covered hatch and crouches in cogitation.  "Should you be unable to decipher the sigils," the priestess continues, "perhaps we might attempt a mystic sounding - a detection spell upon it to discern its dangers."

Erista finishes licking her fingers, and stands up.  "Thank you, Aramil.  That was delicious."  She grins, and adds, "And that's not a lie at all."  Those eavesdropping on her conversation with Colwyn will have learned that her technique at deception does indeed have a remarkable amount of thought into it - clearly not just her own theories, but indeed, generations of active practice.  But they may be glad to overhear that it does come with a number of almost unthought-about limits when it comes to, for example, lying to friends, which it seems should really only be done when the real story is just boring.  (And she certainly hopes that nobody expects Ozzy to write down just what's actually happened so far!)

Eilieen's suggestion brings her back over to the hatch, though.  "Oh, that's easy," she agrees.  "偵查 魔法!" 

After a moment, as she gazes down past the impromptu pile, she asks absently, "Where'd you get a new dress out here?"

For a man who spent an uncomfortable night recovering from a nearly fatal wound, Fergus makes a fair fist of breakfast.  He polishes off everything that is set before him and his tea as well.

That done, he does his best to help with clearing up while others work out the best way to proceed through the trapdoor.  Fergus takes it for granted that the group will, at some point, do just that for all that the trapdoor seems to be barred and warded.  Fergus supposes that such behaviour demonstrates curiosity and bravery that will stand them all in good stead when they reach Rappan Athuk but he hopes (when Aarnr's not looking) that they're not just making trouble.

The trapdoor is cleared again, and Ozzy's lanterm illuminates the chamber below.  It's still empty, save for the barred hatch in the centre of the floor and all the broken furniture.  Erista casts a spell, and peers into the basement. 

Colwyn drives an iron piton into the floor, attaches the rope to it, and drops the other end into the opening.  The rope is far too long, and a considerable portion of of it lays in a heap atop the barred trap door.

Corian shows the amulet, with its symbol matching that in the chamber below, to Eilieen, "I believe it is simply Eralion's mark.  His sigature, as it where, used to indicate his property or his presence.  Much as a mage might write his name on something, or leave an item known to be associated with him to mark that he has been in that place.  Eralion's letter bore a wax seal with the same sign." 

With the rope in place, Colwyn looks about, "Right then, who's wantin' ter be goin' down there first?"

"Zadastha provided," Eilieen answers Erista's query.  Then she bobs her head with a smile.  "Provided the means to mend the dress, in any case; it's merely my old one, put back into some semblance of cleanliness and function."  She's not terribly impressed by the results, having hoped for the gown to be back to 'as new', but certainly it's far and away better than how it looked the night before.  "So there is no magical impediment upon the trap door?" she inquires of the diminutive wizard.

She purses her lips at Corian's explanation.  "I do not recall such as being a religious mark, either or otherwise.  Your thoughts seem logical, Corian."  A glance to Fergus follows, the priestess smiling at the young farmer's renewed energy.  Then she bobs her head to Colwyn.

"While my divine favour is depleted for the day, I can still hold a torch and a spear.  If you tie a rope about me and lower me, I can arrive and scout, and have an easy egress should danger arise."

While Eilieen is bravely volunteering, Aarnr has already started down the hole, taking Colwyn's words as an invitation to the swiftest, not a question.

When his feet touch something solid, the priest will draw his two-handed blade and look about him, pretending a wariness that might entice some loathsome beast out of the shadows.  If that fails, he'll try to conjure a light in the hope it reveals something worth going after, though those of tender sensibilities may prefer to block their ears as he makes his demands of Bowbe.

Leaning in over Corian's shoulder, almost appearing from out of nowhere, Bilfro goes "A-ha!"  He then nods sagely and clicks his tongue knowingly.  "I have one of those things.  Or had.  Have not fully taken complete inventory of my assorted unsorted effects quite yet, I have.  Not.  Yet."

He ducks around to the other shoulder of Corian.

"Did you know that the quality of resin determines much of the characteristic of the wax?  You can also ascertain its actual origin, to some degree, by tasting the wax, although I recommend not doing that with hot wax.  Quite painful...  Er, so I am told."

Corian looks about, shocked to find that Bilfro is, once again standing directly behind him as he speaks of Eralion.  At that moment he resolves to always stand with his back to a wall whenever Bilfro is in the same room.  Possibly even the same town.  The strange looking wizard is unbelievably stealthy.

Perhaps it's one of his less horrible spells at work?

"Sorry Eilieen, but yer man Aarnr were too fast fer yer.  Yer'll 'ave ter be no-belly sacrificin' yerself next time."  Colwyn watches as Aarnr descends the rope, and doesn't get eaten by anything.  The rogue gives a smile of relief as the bigger man looks around the cellar.  Then Aarnr starts a tirade of curses and insults, and Colwyn draws his knife - clearly there is something down there after all!  Not that he intends to leap down to Aarnr's aid, it's just that it'll be quicker to cut the rope than untie the knot.

The chamber floods with light and reveals... that it really is empty.  Whatever was there was clearly scared off by Aarnr's foul language.

Colwyn slips down the rope, steps aside, then crouches to examine the sealed trap door.  One by one the rest of the group climb down and look about the room, finding only broken wood, torn cloth, and other assorted refuse.

The rogue stands up, "The boards's bein' nailed in place."  He points at the heads of twenty or so bright metal nails studding the planks, "An' some silly bugger's been stuffin' silver all 'roun' the sides of the 'atch."

The crack around the edges of the trap door has, indeed, had numerous silver coins wedged into it.

Shaking his head, Colwyn asks, "Why'd somebody waste good silver makin' nails ter board up an 'atch like that, then jam more silver all 'roun' it?"

"Maybe somebody keeping in one of those things that doesn't like silver?" Erista suggests.  "A werewolf or somesuch."  Her attention, though, has turned towards Eilieen's clothing, which she looks at with a critical eye.

"Zadastha does good work," she allows, finally.  "Can't even find where the holes were.  Think next time you could ask her about mine, too?" she asks, hopefully.  "I never had much hand for it."

Aarnr's eyes widen as he looks up from the trapdoor.

"Bat-fowling, mold-festering undead !" he shouts enthusiastically, raising his sword.

Since the discovery of a silvered seal, Ozzy has done his best to slowly inch further and further from the trap door. He hears Erista speculating on Things That Dont Like Silver - a prodigious list to be sure - his mind goes another way. Whatever Doesn't Like Silver is Bad/Deadly/To Be Avoided. He is certainly not going to be the First to jump down the hole and rush headlong to his death. " Undead hate religion as much as they hate silver." he comments five feet away from the portal. " Send in a priest, ...ess."
This message was last edited by the player at 09:19, Sun 05 May 2013.

Colwyn winces and sticks a finger in his ear - the one closest to Aarnr - and waggles the digit about a bit.

Corian takes a moment to check Bilfro's proximity before comparing the mark seared into the trap door with the one on Eralion's amulet.  They do match, though the one on the amulet is not so crudely executed.

The silver is a concern, and the mage swallows nervously and takes a sip from his waterskin.  He turns slowly on the spot, taking in the details of the chamber, before his gaze comes back to trap door.

"Should you be doing that?"

Colwyn starts guiltily and glances up from where he's using his knife to pry out one of the coins.  "Doin' what?"  He looks down at the knife, "Oh, this.  Sorry, I di'n't notice I were doin' it.  It's bein' one o' them things... yer knows, like what make ducks fly... wherever they's flyin' in the winter, an' all that."

Climbing down Aramil looks around the cramped area, keeping away from Aarnr's swinging range For many of the group it is hard to notice the silver, and for some hard to resist. The talk of werewolves and undead makes the half-elf's blood run cold. Thinking back over the chronicles he has learned Aramil tried to find more friendly reasons for the use of silver.

"Aarnr!  You dolt!" Eilieen cries, dancing about the edge of the hole.  Fuming, she turns away and crosses her arms.  With a sigh, she nods to Erista.  "I would be most pleased to inquire of Zadastha when next I can partake of her divine power.  It would be my honor...."  Her brows draw together as Colwyn makes a note of the expensive caulking for the trap door.

Silver.  Silver around a trap door?

Gears turn in the priestess' head, and her eyes widen.  "Oh no!"  Spinning around, she faces the trap door, ready to shout a warning, when -

"Bat-fowling, mold-festering undead !"

Yes, that's usually the case when one finds silvered wards.

"Indeed, Oswald," she agrees, abandoning the discussion of clothing for bolting to the trapdoor.  Grabbing the rope, Eilieen clambers to the lip of the opening then pushes off.  It's going to hurt, she knows - rope burns, a terrible yank at her shoulder - but she needs to get down there to assist Aarnr.

...no doubt he'll want to hit the undead with his sword, rather than doing the sensible thing.

"Thou are keen," the aforementioned dolt compliments Eilieen, pausing in his general sword waving to watch the priestess hurry down the rope faster than he would have thought.  "we haven't froggin' opened it yet !"

"Why have ye stopped, thou beslubberin' puttock ?" the priest inquires censoriously of Colwyn.  "The silver keeps the bone-baileys at bay ... we'll never fobbin' get them out if thou don't get an elfin' move on !"

Silver wards are one of those things that any self-respecting (not to say god-fearing and superstitious) farm boy knows to leave well alone.  Fergus couldn't tell you why exactly, but Erista and Aarnr seem happy to suggest alternatives.

Fergus isn't quite sure whether it's a sign of growing maturity or foolhardy bravado that the thought of breaking the seal doesn't send him fleeing for the door.  Instead, he approaches the top trapdoor.  Peering down he asks, "Is everyone okay down there?  Is there room for me to come down?"

"Yeah, lotsa room down 'ere, Fergus, mate.  Even fer a big strappin' lad like yerself.  The more the merrier."

Colwyn leans back and looks up at Aarnr, then raises a hand to point at Corian, "'cause 'e's  bein' the boss fer now, since 'e were 'irin' me, an' 'e went an' asked me if'n I should be takin' the silver out from the 'atch.  From what I's knowin', when yer boss is askin' yer somethin' like that, it's near as dammit always bein' a bloody trick question, see?  What 'e's really meanin' is 'Stop doin' that, now, or I's 'avin' ter stab yer.'"

The rogue stands up and brushes his hands across his knees.

"An' 'e were sayin' that this Eralion bloke were tryin' ter make 'imself inter one of them there lich thingies.  If'n that's bein' 'is mark on the door, then maybe 'e's bein' down there, an' some bugger were sealin' the door ter make sure that were where 'e were stayin'."

Corian bows his head and covers his eyes with one hand, as he realises that Bilfro will have heard this entire explanation.  Then he straightens up, apparently seeing little point in trying to conceal their purpose here any longer.

"Yes, I believe Colwyn has provided a succinct explanation of the situation.  I think that the items I seek may be below, so we shall need to open the trap door, but we should consider carefully how we proceed to do so."

"Lich?  I never did understand that horridly misguided desire.  I rather stay forever young, myself, much more appealing goal, yes, much so indeed."

Bilfro shudders and shakes his head simultaneously, or possibly the other way around.  There be a lot of vibrating either way.

"What could possibly make it worthwhile to venture in the nest of one, beside putting the unfortunate critter to its much overdue rest?  Paintings?" asks Bilfro of no one, although he does glance at Corian towards the end.  "Those things have an awfully bad disposition and seem quite alarmingly much to enjoy sucking the life out of those who are still fortunate to have such."

"You haven't?  There aren't?"  Eilieen deflates somewhat.  "Oh.  Well, then.  Never mind."  Somewhat embarassed, she shuffles around in place as the others join.  The discussion of lichdom comes up, and the priestess shuffles even more nervously.  The idea of facing such a creature turns her stomach; the tales are rife with descriptions of their power, and Eilieen knows her little group isn't nearly capable of dealing with that kind of foe.

It's a little beyond an ogre.

"Right," she states, brightening as Corian elaborates.  "Merely putting such beasts out of existence is enough, Bilfro.  Undead, that is, not specifically a lich.  It's a trifle much for us at the moment...however, more mundane undead?"  Her eyebrows rise.  "I realize such creatures can be terrifying, but we have a pair of priests here, ready to engage them with divine power.  The situation is not as grim as one might think."

Perhaps a touch overconfident, but one needs to start somewhere.

"I vote we proceed here, but with caution."

Somewhere during Colwyn's explanation, Aarnr's gaze wanders speculatively over to Corian, as if just daring the pumpion to try ordering him about !

But before the priest can put his point more forcefully to the rogue, he finds himself shuffling around to make room around the trapdoor for Fergus, and subject to another tirade from Bilfro ... but thankfully Eilieen comes to the rescue.

"Divine power, froggin' right !" Aarnr agrees wholeheartedly and with dangerous enthusiasm. "We'll give the toad-suckin' mold-warp a froggin' taste of religion !  We'll fobbin' well caution the dry-boned maggot-pie !"

"Excellent." Corian says, beaming, "I certainly have no objection to descending into the depths to... er... put the lich to rest, should the vile abomination prove to be down there, in spite of all information to the contrary.  My concern was merely that we should be adequately prepared before opening the portal to its lair."

The mage looks about at those present, then back at Colwyn.  "If we are all aware of what we may be about to face, then by all means, proceed." he says, magnanimously.

Colwyn sighs, apparently relieved, and goes back to prizing out silver coins wedged around the perimeter of the trap door.

"Aarnr, mate...  When the coins is bein' all out, I's reckonin' we'll be needin' somebody as can break them there boards ter be gettin' the 'atch open." he says casually, "Does yer reckon yer's knowin' any bugger as can be doin' it?"

Aarnr casually waves away all mentions of 'misinformation' or 'adequate preparation'. Such foppish trappings of civilisation are not for the warrior bold !

Colwyn's question elicits terrifying grin as the priest sheathes his great sword and takes up his ork-axe once more, nodding his readiness to lay into the trapdoor.

"They say," Aarnr muses with the low and gleeful tones of one attempting to scare small children, "that these death-kissed, worm-riddled rot-bellies keep their souls locked up in a box so they can't be killed !  Froggin' lookin' forward to testin' that !"

Listening to the tirade of comments the half-elf sighs believing that there is nothing pleasant down the hole waiting for them. If some are about to descend then they all should. "If there is anything down there it won't be ale and a good sing along. But this situation does remond me of the great epic poem of Thorjo the Mighty who went down through the crypt of the old King Cakim.

"Thorjo the Mighty, eh?" Corian muses, "I am... unfamiliar with that tale, and the gentleman in question.  Did the venture end well for him?"

Colwyn continues removing the coins, and proves his dedication to their quest by selflessly using his own purse to store them in.  "I's wagerin' that ol' Thorjo was endin' up dead as Bilfro's beard." he opines, then add's, "But I isn't sayin' as I wouldn't be bein' glad ter be telled I's wrong 'bout it, mind."

The rogue runs his blade around the edge of the trap door, before sliding back a couple of feet away from it, still on his knees.  Then, after a brief spell of consideration, he slides back an extra distance at least equal to the first.  "Right then Aarnr, yer can be 'avin' a go at the 'atch, if'n yer likes.  An' I's tellin' yer now, ol' Corian there's bein' the boss an' all, but I rockon as if we's runnin' inter one of them there liches down there, yer can 'as first go at the bloody thing."

Fergus slides down the rope into the basement.  Finding that Colwyn is correct, Fergus takes advantage of the space available to move aside, allowing others better access to the second trapdoor.  He listens while the merits of their proposed action are discussed, but finds it hard to follow the conversation.

"I don't understand.  How would keeping your soul in a box stop you being killed?"

"Just goes to show that these grave-ghouls are a bunch of nut-hooks, not to mention froggin' insane !" the priest reassures Fergus.

"Ready ?" Aarnr warns Colwyn as he immediately starts chopping away. "That'll do," he encourages Aramil between strokes, "the bloodier the tale the better."

Aarnr starts work on the sealed trap door which, very sensibly, surrenders with minimal resistance.  After only a handful of blows it gives way and tumbles into the space below, releasing a gust of cold, foul smelling air, reminiscent of a charnel house.

A check with the lantern reveals that the newly discovered room is circular, just like the current one, with a trap door at the centre of the floor, and no ladder.

There, though, the resemblance ends.  There is a door in the eastern wall of the lower chamber, and four tables around the room supporting bizarre arrays of glassware, lengths of copper tube, candles, sets of scales, and other paraphenalia, all thickly layered with dust.  A fifth table lays broken and collapsed, the equipment from it scattered on the floor.  There are also six statues, man-sized, of knights in mail and full-face helms, arranged equidistantly around the chamber.

Above one of the tables hangs a stuffed crocodile, perhaps four feet long, which has clearly seen better days.

Somehow the light from the lantern seems dimmer when directed into the lower room.

"Goodness," Eilieen breathes, staring down into the next room.  "What a curious kitchen."  She glances up over her shoulder at Fergus.  "It's an undead thing, I suppose.  Undead are...unpleasant.  I expect this particular magic makes it difficult to kill the Lich: not alive already, without a soul to lose?"  She shrugs.  The whole idea of liches makes her skin crawl.

"Interesting statues," she murmurs dubiously.  "Perhaps they'll come to life when we enter?  I DO hope not.  They look...rather well-armored."

Studying the stuffed croc askance, she decides her earlier deduction to be incorrect; if this is a kitchen, it is of no kind Eilieen has seen before.  "Very well!"  Standing, she holds out her arms.  "The rope - I shall slide down and Aarnrwhowillbestayinghere -" horrible glare "- can use his mighty strength alongside that of Fergus to haul me out if danger threatens.  A plan?"

"A kitchen?" Colwyn asks, curiously, and looks down into the newly revealed chamber, "It's lookin' more like one of them there creepy rooms what wizards's usin' fer all that creepy stuff what they's doin' at night.  I's jus' kiddin', Corian.  But this 'ere Eralion's soundin' a lot like one of them there creepy wizards we's all 'eard tell of.  Traffickin' with demons an' plannin' ter live fer ever, an' all that nonsense."

The rogue checks the rope, still securely attached to the piton above, but with more than enough to reach the floor below, by his estimate.  Then he sizes up Eilieen and offers an alternate plan, with a lop-sided grin.

"We could be tyin' it roun' yer, then Aarnr an' Fergus can jus' be lowerin' yer down, slow an' gentle like, like bait on a fishin' line.  Yer likely bein' light enough that Ozzy could be doin' it in a pinch, but Aarnr an' Fergus can like as not be pullin' yer up afore yer frock's gettin' dirty again."
This message was last edited by the player at 14:02, Sat 18 May 2013.

"Froggin' stupid plan," Aarnr informs Eilieen bluntly.  "Those gleepin' statues come to life," he glares down the hole to let the silent sentinels know just how unnatural and offensive he would regard such happenstance, "then we need to bash the toad-mongers till they're dead again."

"Me n' Fergus'll go down first," the priest formulates the new plan. "Then the rest of ye can follow us.  Gettin' back out can take care of itself."

Erista looks up at Fergus as the others discuss how to handle possibly animate statuary.  "I expect it's a lot like putting a favorite cup in a box," she suggests.  "Keep a cup in a box, and it's harder to break.  Could be the same thing with souls, couldn't it?"

"As I understand it, and to be honest, I am by no means an expert on the subject." Corian interjects, "The sealing of the life force into a phylactery... the box... is a necessary part of creating a lich.  The protection it affords is entirely secondary."

He closes his eyes for a moment, frowning, then opens them again, "I believe that's how it was explained to me.  I should, however, note that my master, Dasidar, said very little to me regarding liches and other, similarly dark aspects of magic.  Said that there would be time for me to learn of those things when I was wise enough not to dabble in them."

He peers down into the hole then, "It certainly does appear to be some form of workshop.  Do you need more light before you go down there Aarnr?  The lantern seems a little subdued."

Peeved at the fact that her plan garners little to no support - and is, in fact, ignored by everyone but Colwyn - Eilieen turns away.  "Fine.  You want to go down first, be my guest.  Charging in heedlessly has done us so well thus far, what with all of our divine powers still exhausted from yesterday."  Reaching out, she pats Colwyn on the shoulder.  "Thank you for the concern and wise addition, Colwyn, but it seem as though we'll be going with Aarnr's idea."

Aarnr nods happily as Eilieen bows to the wisdom of his words (identification of sarcasm not being one of his strong points), but thinks better of thanking her after his last attempt (the 'Strumpet Incident') was met so brusquely.  Besides he's already eyeing those statues for signs one might viciously animate and require his immediate castigation.

"Aye, thou have the right of it, thou puttock ... more light indeed," the priest agrees in turn with Corian's suggestion.  "The minstrels needs be able to see Fergus and I that they can froggin' swear the truth of their praises !"

Once sufficient illumination has been provided for those taking notes, Aarnr slides down the rope, careful to avoid the lower trapdoor for now, be it cursed or simply in so poor repair as the rest of the architecture, drawing his sword once he reaches the ground the better to bring dire retribution upon any wayward statue.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 05:08, Fri 24 May 2013.

Fergus' question garners more answers than he had expected ranging from the pragmatic (insanity, safe-keeping) to the mysterious (undead, phylacta-what-now?).  Fergus simply nods and accepts all of the answers, which, happily, brings him fairly close to the truth of the matter.

Fergus was also pleased that Aarnr overruled Eilieen's plan, though he'd have struggled to explain that to Eilieen.  Somehow, the idea of dangling her on the end of a rope felt too much like fishing.  If anybody was going to put themselves in harms way, Fergus it would much rather it be him and Aarnr.  Aarnr, in particular, was beginning to acquire an aura of invulnerability in Fergus' eyes.  If charging headlong into battle was going to kill Aarnr, he'd be dead already.  Since he clearly wasn't dead yet, he should be fine to keep doing it.

Fergus didn't have any comforting logic for his own part and he wasn't really happy about the idea of statues coming to life but if the worst happened it would just be a case of breaking things and Fergus had been doing that all his life; so far it had always been much easier than people claimed, maybe that would continue?

Fergus went hand over hand down the rope and joined Aarnr in the room below.

Digging through his belongings Bilfro pays litte heed to anything, apart from the occasional glance towards the gathered group.  He mumbles and mutter to himself, taking a few items out of the pack and puttin gother back in before continuing to rummage.

"Not to be found.  Perhaps they ate it.  If they did I hope they felt it coming out."

Evidently the seach is at an end as he tucks his pack aside and grabs his staff to join the others where the decent into madness begins.  Once more he hovers near Corian's shoulder.

"At least we will soon find out if he painted anything," he says cheerfully.

Erista steps up behind Eilieen and reaches up to pat her hand.  "They just worry about you, that's all," she says softly.

Not really ready for a fight so soon after breakfast, Ozzy does his best to avoid climbing down into the hole. He listens from above for awhile, but as the words become quieter and less clear, he realizes he'll never get the story down accurately if he isn't there to actually witness the battle. With a heavy sigh, the little Halfling swallows his fear and descends into the hole to watch and listen a little clearer to it all. Somehow the conversation has ramped up from simple undead of zombie or ghoul to the scarier, higher intelligence undead - like a lich. Why must they always bring up the worst case scenario?

As Aarnr and Fergus ready themselves for their descent into the pit, Corian steps around Bilfro, favouring the man with a sullen glare, before looking about the floor and finally picking up a broken chair leg.  A few muttered words, "Bydded goleuni.  Gadewch i'r tywyllwch cael eu halltudio.", and a pass of his free hand over the piece, and the wood starts to glow brightly.  Then he simply tosses it into the opening, where it bounces and rolls and causes shadows to dance briefly across the walls like living things...

Aarnr and Fergus descend the rope.  The only things that move now, apart from the two men, are the new shadows they introduce to the room.

Corian shakes his head and leans forward to look down at the two intrepid explorers.  "It still doesn't seem right down there.  Not bright enough."

To Aarnr and Fergus, the circular chamber appears much as it had from above.  A closed door in eastern wall, and another trapdoor (this one without any associated silver accoutrements) in the centre of the floor.  Six statues of armoured warriors, their faces hidden by their helms, are arrayed around the walls, and wooden tables filled with glassware in a wide variety of odd shapes stand in the spaces between the statues.  A fifth table at the western end of the room has collapsed, and broken glass is spread across the floor.

Everything is covered with a layer of dust, and there are no footprints, apart from those the two men produce.

"Yer bein' right.  Somethin' down there's bein' wrong." Colwyn agrees as he unslings his bow and nocks an arrow.  Clearly he doesn't want to go down into the lower room if he can help it, but that doesn't mean he can't join in if a fight breaks out.

"It's bein' a wizard's room, see, an' my ol' dad were alway's sayin' as yer shouldn't be messin' 'roun' with a wizard's stuff."  He raises the bow and draws it, prepared to unleash death, should it be required.

"Leastways, my mam were sayin' as 'e were sayin' it once.  I weren't never seein' the ol' sod."

Aarnr looks around, rather contemptuous of Corian's efforts with his spell of illumination and more than somewhat surprised to find yet another trapdoor.  "Do ye know," he remarks to Fergus, "reminds me of a story the slave told me, about a king who wanted his chief builder to explain the tall tower in the courtyard of his castle ... turned out the pribblin' varlets had the plans for the well upside down !"

The priest takes another look at the trapdoor, then the door to the east before suggesting, "Frog it.  Let's knock these spleeny statues over and be done with it - see if we can't fobbin' well wake 'em up !"

Eilieen snorts.  "That, and they're stubborn as mules."  With a sigh, she gives Erista's hand a squeeze.  "Yes, they mean well...I suppose.  But this is far more dangerous, and what would happen if they became trapped down there?  Both of our warriors?  Who would charge to their aid in a lightning display of tactical acumen?  Or at least prowess?"

A sigh.  "With my divine power gone, I am of little use here.  One hopes you will be able to give assistance, Erista.  One trusts so," she murmurs, worried.  Then the priestess kneels at the trap door, just in time to catch Aarnr's words.

"Oh, gods, Aarnr!  Don't break things that might be trapped!"  Shaking her head, Eilieen waves her hand through the hole, trying to capture his attention.  "It's one thing to want to fight, it's another to risk yourself and Fergus to the sad and ignoble death of poison!"

Aarnr takes a look around the room, shards of glass crushing beneath his feet.  Neither the trap door nor the door at the eastern end of the room seem particularly extraordinary.

The statues still display no proclivity for springing to life and attacking anybody. 

Colwyn watches from above, and finally demands, "Is yers findin' ought?  Only some of us's gettin' a mite restless up 'ere."  He shakes his head, "Someone what knows what they's doin' shoulda went down first.  Quick check roun' all the normal places, an' we could all be standin' down there now."

Erista nods.  "That's a good idea, Colwyn!" she agrees.  "We'll join you in a minute, then?"

"Yes, good idea, Colwyn," Bilfro says after Erista.  "Yes, we will join you shortly..."

He peers down and then up, then down again.  Then he sighs and adjusts his pointed hat.

"Yeah, well, only there's bein' no point now, ain't there?  On account of Aarnr's went'n jumped down there an 'e's bein' draggin' is bloody great feet all roun' an' 'bout."

Colwyn gestures with the bow, "Like there, see.  That bit of glass what he jus' now trodded on.  That coulda been bein' any one of a 'undred traps, an' 'alf of 'em woulda like as not been killin' us up 'ere as well."

"I try, Colwyn."  Eilieen sighs.  "I keep trying.  I'm probably very trying, to some."  For a moment, her teeth grind.  "We shall all end up like our poor comrade above -" the Nameless One "- if we do not start using some elementary caution."

Her eyes flick to the rogue.  "That being you," Eilieen clarifies.  "We need to approach these things properly.  Is there obvious danger?  By all means, have the warriors step in.  Is there not?  Perhaps it is the time for wit, sharp eyes, and cunning skill."

"It's froggin' dead !" Aarnr exclaims, affronted, as he watches the maggot worm its way out of the statue's helm.  "I'm goin' to pull the scut's froggin' head off !"

But either Eilieen's words or the memory of a frank discussion with Fergus in the aftermath of the fight with the Owlbear prevent thought from immediately becoming deed.

"May I ?" the priest asks, through gritted teeth, eyeballing the alleged statue.

"Too bleedin' right we needs ter be bein' a bit more precautious." Colwyn nods his agreement with Eilieen's concerns.  "If'n Aarnr's steppin' on a trap an' gettin' us all killed, I's not goin' ter be 'appy with 'im.  Whatever afterlife I en's up in, I's seriously thinkin' it's not goin' ter be bleedin' comfy."

Corian shakes his head and gives an exasperated sigh, "Aarnr, it's a statue!  Of course it's dead!"

It just goes to show how wrong people can be sometimes.

With a sudden disturbance of the dust that covers it, the statue stretches out it's arms towards Aarnr.  It's five companions also come alive, shuffling slowly towards the two men, surrounded by clouds of dust, and eerily silent...

OOC: Initiative checks, and all that good stuff please.  :)

"Huh," Erista sniffs.  "Predictable, wasn't it?"  Peering over the edge of the trapdoor, she points a finger down towards one.  "破壞 幽靄," she mutters.  When nothing happens for a moment, she frowns, looking down at her hand, and tries again.  "破壞 幽靈?"  This time a ray of white light shines out briefly into her face.  Unlike a flashlight-under-the-chin, it doesn't make her look frightening; indeed, in the soft white glow, she looks even more child-like than usual, her blue eyes shining with bright innocence, her hair looking like she's resting in the sunlight - even the rather wilted flowers she'd braided into it in the morning look fresh.  After only a moment, though, the light fades, and the effect is gone.

"Blast," she swears.  "I meant 靈 the first time!"

In light of all the 'oh-do-be-careful-you-don't-break-somethings' he's had to suffer in the last few minutes, Aarnr is almost delighted when the statue or undead or whatever it is suddenly lunges at him, not only feeling properly vindicated, but also glad of the opportunity to hack something to pieces.

"Froggin' dust-brained mold-warp !" he greets it enthusiastically as he brings his great sword to bear, finally allowed to give full rein to his naturally violent tendencies ....

Upon seeing the sudden - albeit expected - movement of the statuary, Ozzy can only think to sing. Better to encourage the others in their battle than to directly become involved with his own meager pebble-tosser, so he sings loudly and clearly hoping to inspire something greater in the two men facing their inevitable death. The lyrics may be meaningless to most, but the song holds a driving rhythm which contains violent undertones...

On the corner
 The jury's sleepless
 We found your weakness
 And it's right outside our door
 Now testify

 Now testify
 It's right outside our door
 Now testify
 Yes testify
 It's right outside our door...

INSPIRE COURAGE (+1)
  A bard with 3 or more ranks in a Perform skill can use song or poetics
  to inspire courage in his allies (including himself), bolstering them
  against fear and improving their combat abilities.

03:26, Sun 02 June 2013: Oswald Osbourne rolled 20 using 1d20+7 ((13)).

Colwyn is already mostly prepared for this eventuality.  In one smooth motion he raises the bow, aims, and shoots.  The arrow hurtles directly towards the statue which is attacking Aarnr...

Corian is a little less ready.  It takes him a moment or two to select a target, but once he does he stretches out his hand and intones, "Taflegryn yn y tywyllwch!".  A scintillating orb of energy springs forth, whirling towards one of the moving statues which menaces Fergus, on the principle that the most dangerous horror in the lower room is probably Aarnr, so he is unlikely to need assistance.

"Intriguing!"

Bilfro's excitement over the statues is evident, even as he pulls a rabbit out of his hat in the form of a small crossbow, if not from his hat but his robes.  Next flies the little bolt, hopefully unlike anything ever coming out of a rabbit, down towards the statue near the farmboy below.

Having descended safely to the room below, and not being confronted with any immediate threat, Fergus wanders about.  He doesn't have any purpose in mind but he stays clear of the trapdoor and the tables.  The tables in particular make him feel uncomfortable.  They remind him of campfire tales of mad wizards' unnatural experiments.  More generally, they're covered in things Fergus has been brought up to recognise as fragile and not to be touched.

The thread of the conversation largely passes Fergus by.  He doesn't particularly see why they need to topple the statues or why anyone would put traps on them.  In truth, he'd rather they weren't statues.  His leathers were starting to look, and feel, rather broken and he would be happy to take any of the statues' armour that would fit.  As for the broken glass that Aarnr just stood on, well that was just glass surely?  Nevertheless, Fergus adopts an attitude of diligent caution, prodding things gingerly with the end of his scythe to make sure they're safe.

Fergus doesn't understand Aarnr's comment about the statues being dead, so is caught almost entirely unawares when they start moving.  Startled, Fergus (who had been about to "test" the stuffed crocodile) swings hastily and is just as surprised to find the end of his scythe connecting with something that wasn't there a moment ago.

Initiative: 2, Attack: 22, Damage: 9, I've included the bonuses from Inspire Courage because Fergus is well and truly after Ossie.  On the off chance that's enough to drop a statue, Fergus will attempt to Cleave any eligible target (enemy).

(NPCd)

Stuck, as he is, in the room above where Aarnr and Fergus are fighting, Aramil quickly realises that his best hope for aiding his comrades lays in his bow.  In one quick, fluid motion he nocks an arrow and sends it winging towards one of the statues...

(NPCd)

Eilieen hesitates.  Her friends are in danger, and she is in the wrong place.  A brief vision of the Nameless Monk's fall, and subsequent death, flashes before her eyes, preventing her from leaping down into the chamber below.  Indecision grips her in icy, paralysing fingers for moments which seem to stretch into eternity.

But desperate times call for desperate acts, so she shakes off her hesitation and does the only thing that makes sense to her in that moment.  Teetering on the brink of toppling into the lower chamber, she hurls her spear...

The statues come to life, and dust spills from them in billowing clouds, adding to the gloom of the chamber, and revealing grimy mail beneath.

Ozzy is first to react, and the halfling bard begins a song to inspire his fellows.  His words echo around the basement, and in the hearts and minds of his companions.

From above, Colwyn sends an arrow punching through the mail covering the shoulder of the statue which attacks Aarnr.  Nobody is more surprised than the rogue when the shaft sinks deep into what he had thought to be wood or stone.  An instant later there is an answer to the puzzle, as Aarnr's blade splits the thing's helm in two, and cleaves the head beneath as well - a head of flesh and bone which looks to have been dead for considerably longer than the mere heartbeat that Aarnr's blow would suggest.

In any case, the creature falls truly lifeless now...

Alongside Colwyn, Aramil tries to emulate his friend's success, but in his haste he sends his own arrow hurtling into the wall next to the head of his target.

Bilfro, too, decides to join the party, and uses his crossbow to send another missile raining down into the lower chamber, this one aimed at the "living statue" which is nearest to Fergus.  The quarrel strikes hard, sinking flights-deep in the thing's chest, just about where a man's spleen would be.  If the creature even notices, it has sufficient willpower not to show it.

A crackling bolt of energy springs forth from Corian's hand, looping and gyrating into the lower room, and sending flickering shadows scurrying willy-nilly across the walls and floor.  It hits one of the mailed figures, which staggers, but does not fall.

Erista achieves a similar result, though in her case it is the sorceress herself, rather than her target who is struck by the power of the spell.  She blinks her eyes confusedly for a moment, but doesn't seem to be seriously hurt.  Except for her pride, perhaps...

Of the five remaining guardians of the tower, two make for Aarnr, and three for Fergus, their choice of target apparently being a simple matter of proximity.  Mailed fists flail at the two warriors, and while they dodge, block and parry as best they can, still a few blows connect with their flesh...  But still they fight on! 

Lashing out with his scythe, Fergus lops the head of one of his assailants and sends the freshly detached appendage flying across the chamber, narrowly missing Aarnr.  The momentum of the heavy blade, driven as it is by Fergus' not inconsiderable musculature, drives it deep into the torso of another attacker, which topples to the floor in two separate locations.

Eilieen throws her spear at the creature which presents her with the clearest target, one of those attacking Fergus.  The weapon strikes true, impaling the thing just above one hip, and twisting under its own weight until the end contacts the floor.  It still continues to attack Fergus, but its efforts may be hindered by the butt end of the spear dragging as it moves.

OOC: What's better than a zombie?  A dusty zombie, of course, in armour!  :)  Three zombies left.  One is attacking Fergus, while Aarnr has the other two to play with.

Combatant            Init
Oswald Osbourne        20
Colwyn Akbar           18
Aarnr Foultongue       18
Aramil                 17
Bilfro Gabbins         14
Corian Barade          12
Erista                 10
Zombies                 9    AC=17
Fergus Andarson         2
Eilieen                 2

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue:    Hurt
Aramil:              Good
Bilfro Gabbins:      Good
Colwyn Akbar:        Good
Corian Barade:       Good
Eilieen:             Hurt
Erista:              Good
Fergus Andarson:     Severe
Oswald Osbourne:     Good

Enough!  No more hesitation.  With a cry to her goddess, Eilieen leaps after her spear, hoping to assist.

She does use the rope, though.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:28, Thu 06 June 2013.

With half of the grave-gudgeons already sliced back to their graves, Aarnr grins confidently ... too confidently as it happens, for he pays the price of over enthusiasm as his swing is far from the mark.

"Froggin' fen-sucked maggot-pie !" he yells angrily, his spittle at least hitting the target.

A cold chill causes the hairs on the back of Aarnr's particularly hirsute neck to stand on end as he realises the danger he's in ... after that spear-cast, Eilieen could well slay more of the crook-pated death-tokens than he !

With the proper intonation now ready on the tip of her tongue, Erista points back down.  "破壞 幽靈!" she says clearly, loosing another lance of white light down at the zombie attempting to claw her dear friend Fergus.

Ozzy continues to sing, stomping on the downbeat as he reaches for the ineffective sling at his belt,

With precision you feed me
 My witness I'm hungry
 Your temple it calms me
 So I can carry on
 My slaving sweating the skin right off my bones
 On a bed of fire I'm choking on the smoke that fills my home
 The wrecking ball rushing
 Witness your blushing
 The pipeline is gushing
 While here we lie in tombs
 While on the corner
 The jury's sleepless

 We found your weakness
 And it's right outside your door
 Now testify!

 Yeah testify
 It's right outside our door...

Continuing to inspire courage in comrades.

Colwyn's face splits into a broad grin as the realisation sinks in that these are not statues, and they can be hurt.  He readies another arrow and sends it into the room below, and gives a cry of triumph as he strikes the zombie closest to Fergus.

"Isn't so bleedin' tough now, is yer?" he taunts the undead creature.

"Taflegryn yn y tywyllwch!"

Pronouncing the tongue-twisting, throat-scouring words of magic once more, Corian sends another orb of mystical energy weaving and looping into the midst of the battle below.  The missile swoops around the room in a broad arc, before finally darting forward to strike one of Aarnr's assailants with a crackling burst of energy.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees a flash of white, and turns his head in time to see Eilieen start to slide down the rope, and a look of horror crosses his features...

We cannot afford to lose both of our priests!

Bilfro struggles valiantly with pulling back the string, wrothy of an Epic on and in itself.  Finally he manages to place another bolt onto the small crossbow and aims downwards.

Noting the descending priestess he hesitates a little and moves a step to get a better angle and takes aim again.

Heaving from the struggle with the string he does all he can to steady the shot as he presses the trigger mechanism.  The bolt hurtles off in the direction of the battle below.  So far so good.

(NPCd)

Learning from his first miss, Aramil is a little more careful.  he doesn't hurry himself, but works at a steady pace.  The result is worth the effort he puts into keeping calm, as the arrow flies true and strikes the final foe facing Fergus...

The horrific nature of the undead starts to sink in for those who watch the fight from above.  Aarnr and Fergus are outnumbered, three to two.  Any normal opponent, taking one look at Aarnr's mighty-thewed form, and having seen Fergus hack down two of their allies in a single blow, would be considering a mere three to two very poor odds indeed.  The zombies, however, don't even seem to notice.  They keep fighting...

Ozzy's voice continues to weave its magic, bringing courage and luck to those who hear his words.  Even if the words are unfamiliar, the manner in which the bard sings them carries strength to the listener's soul...

Of course, what the listener does with that strength is entirely up to him.  Aarnr's swing lacks in accuracy what it almost makes up for in enthusiasm, and strikes sparks from the wall behind one of the armoured zombies.  It's probably lucky that the creature wears a full-face helm - a smirk on a face composed of dried and rotted flesh would be truly horrendous!

A pair of arrows, fired by Colwyn and Aramil, hurtle down from the room above, slamming into Fergus' last remaining assailant at the exact same instant, causing it to stagger back a little, which perhaps explains why Bilfro's crossbow bolt  narrowly misses it.

Corian, meanwhile, comes to Aarnr's aid, sending a charge of magical energy burning into one of the priest's attackers.  Sadly, the magic has little effect, other than to produce  a faint (and not altogether pleasant) odour of burning century-old flesh...

The monster which challenges Fergus staggers forward, raising its mailed hands to strike at the man, and a ray of white light from Erista's hand strikes it in the centre of the chest.  There is a sudden eruption of swirling dust, and fragments of dessicated flesh and crumbling bone, accompanied by a bone-chilling wail, and the empty armour collapses to the floor. 

Fergus shakes his head to clear the dust from his eyes, and steps past Eilieen, who is suddenly (and unaccountably) in the room with him, moving to where Aarnr frantically fends off a rain of blows from the two remaining zombies.  The farmer's scythe swings at the priest's second opponent, but he has no more luck than his friend.

Standing in the centre of the chamber, behind Aarnr and Fergus, Eilieen raises her symbol of Zadastha above her head and calls out a prayer to the goddess.  The zombies stagger backwards, and cower against the wall in front of the two men.  One of the foul undead things starts to crawl under a table full of glassware...

OOC: Things seem to be going better, but not for my poor zombies.  :( 

Combatant            Init
Oswald Osbourne        20
Colwyn Akbar           18
Aarnr Foultongue       18
Aramil                 17
Bilfro Gabbins         14
Corian Barade          12
Erista                 10
Zombies                 9    AC=17 (turned)
Fergus Andarson         2
Eilieen                 2

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue:    Hurt
Aramil:              Good
Bilfro Gabbins:      Good
Colwyn Akbar:        Good
Corian Barade:       Good
Eilieen:             Hurt
Erista:              Good
Fergus Andarson:     Severe
Oswald Osbourne:     Good

Fergus presses forwards as the undead things retreat.  The creatures blow had stung, but Fergus was not badly wounded and he felt greatly encouraged by his success in felling two of the creatures.  Unfortunately, his earlier good fortune seems to have deserted him and in trying to strike the zombie crawling under the table, he succeeds only in slamming his scythe down upon the table itself, breaking a lot of glass in the process.

OOC: Attack = 11 on d20+9.  Hmm.

"Now is the time - press them hard, but only attack one until it...well, is dead again!" Eilieen cries.  She can only hold the zombies so long as they are not attacked - if they are forced to defend themselves, they will.  If the group can concentrate on one of them, bringing it down, then the next, they can make an easier show of this.

"Back!  Back, I say!" she cries.  To the zombies.  No cracking of whips, though; even in the Temple, she eschewed such things.

Uncharacteristically, Aarnr follows Eilieen's advice and attacks one of the zombies.  Or that could just be because he can't attack two at the same time with just his Greatsword to hand.  In any event, the blow that the priest unleashes is powerful indeed, though as like to do as much or more harm to the already much abused glassware and table as to the cowering zombie !

"... worm-tongued, rot-brained, festerin' ..."

Almost leaning in the hole, Aramil sees very little of the two remaining zombies and decides to go down the rope. After putting away his bow Aramil climbs down the rope showing his elven background with a seemingly careless swing and an almost perfect landing on his feet. Taking out his sword he moves towards the cowering figures ready to lend a hand to the harmed individuals fighting the zombies.

    Ozzy blinks away the remnants of zombie dust still floating around the room as the tune fades and the words die out. Not a devoutly religious man himself, Ozzy was always impressed when the miracle workers did their tricks, ...like reminding the dead they were dead. He had expected a few more exploding skulls and not a simpering and cowering corpse under the table, but he imagined that had to do with the strength of ones faith rather than a lack of conviction in wording. The little bard draws out a javelin, expecting a cornered zombie to be as tempermental as any cornered animal would be.

Shuffling around the hole on his knees, Colwyn takes up position next to Ozzy.  From there he can look down into the lower room and see the remaining two zombies.

He aims for one of them, and launches an arrow.  Unfortunately, 'twixt the creature's hiding under the table and his own mindfulness of his companions, the shot is less than accurate, and skitters off the tabletop in a flurry of broken glassware.  "Nadgers!"

The rogue reaches for another arrow, grumbling about poor light and worse luck...

Corian's master, Dasidar, once told the apprentice, "Grasshopper*, there's no sense in saving a spell until after you're pushing up the daisies.  Magic should be used, not hoarded."  He was, however, also a great believer in cuffing students around the ear if he caught them using magic frivolously.

With that in mind, Corian considers, and decides that this is a situation that warrants the use of a further spell, but he carefully weighs up the balance between the disparate lessons.  Perhaps inspired by Erista, he chants, "Marwolaeth wrth y meirw byw!"

A ray of pale light springs forth from his outstretched finger, narrowly misses Aarnr's shoulder, and strikes the zombie...

*Dasidar was well known, at least in the hamlet north of Reme where he plied his trade, for his hatred of insects.  Particulary members of the order Orthoptera, which he considered indecently cheerful and carefree, with their constant chirping all through the day and night.  Thus "grasshopper" was, to his mind, a terrible insult, likening his student to a wastrel and ne'er-do-well.

Gallivanting about up above the combatants the bearded terror of things searches for a chance to shoot someone who is not one of the members of the merry troop that saved him for a fate of smelly suffering.

As he sees a shot he takes it.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:55, Wed 12 June 2013.

(NPCd)

With all the commotion going on, Erista calmly pulls out her sling and picks up a nice looking stone that she had noticed laying nearby, taking a brief moment to marvel at it's perfect symmetry.  She drops it into the cup, and as she whirls the sling about her eyes take on a focussed look, one that the late Nameless Monk would doubtless have had a strange, alien-sounding word for, probably something with three letters and a "z" for the first one...

In that instant it feels as if the entire universe permeates her.  She is herself.  She is the sling.  She is the stone.  She is the zombie.  Frighteningly enough, she is also Aarnr...

Almost without concious thought, the stone is released and, to the halfing's eyes at least, it seems to float gently towards its target.  The sound it makes as it hits is out of all proportion to its slow, graceful flight.

Ozzy's song fades into silence, and the halfling bard steps forward, ready to use his javelin, should it prove necessary.

In the room below, Aarnr swings his heavy blade and crushes the chest of one of the remaining zombies, which nevertheless refuses to die like any decent foe.  Nearby, glassware scatters from the table as an arrow ploughs across the surface.

Eilieen yells encouragement to the warriors, and behind her Aramil drops lightly to the floor and draws his own blade, ready to join the fray if need be. 

A crossbow bolt whirs down into the room, fired from Bilfro's crossbow, and barely avoids emulating Colwyn's shot, instead striking the undead thing cowering under the table.  The creature starts to crawl out from its hiding place.

Corian's beam of white light is as successful as Erista's (her second one, at least).  It strikes Aarnr's foe, and the zombie crumbles to dust before the priest's eyes...

And, once again, Erista demonstrates that she is as adept with a sling as with the thaumaturgist's arts.  Her sling stone slams into the crawling sombie's helm, causing it to snap sideways, ringing like a bell.  The zombie falls flat, causing Fergus to miss it with a swing of his scythe, but it doesn't move again.

The room falls silent, save for the sounds of laboured breathing, and the crunch of broken glass underfoot...

Erista waves down to Fergus.  "You're welcome!" she says, cheerfully.

Aarnr eyes the zombie menace, glass crunching under his boots as he circles the chamber, not lowering his guard until he's satisfied that they've no more fight in them.

"Froggin' well done, thou puttocks !" he roundly congratulates all combatants, grinning fiercely at those who braved the chamber below, but sparing a nod of acknowledgement for those who contributed from the safety of the floor above.  At least where undead are concerned, Bowbe's priest is surprisingly unconcerned as to how they are put back in their graves, having nothing but contempt for the evil bone-bags.

"Clear !" he announces at last, calling up to Colwyn, as more glass shatters underfoot.  "Thou can come down now and check for gleepin' traps !"
This message was last edited by the player at 13:45, Mon 17 June 2013.

*splat*

"Oh, well done!" Eilieen cries as Erista's sling-stone drops the final zombie.  "Well done indeed!"  She didn't even have to enter battle with the putrid, pustulent beings.

"And you!"  Now she turns to Aarnr.  "The time for checking for traps is BEFORE.  Had a spiked pit opened beneath you, t'would have been an inglorious death...and Colwyn would have put down more of these mindless wretches than you."  Logic has failed.  Time to appeal to vanity.  It worked in the temple, after all.  "If you fall victim to a trap, Aarnr," she continues, breathing heavily, "then all here will soon pass your numbers of beasties slain.  Easily."

*Prod prod* against his chest with a finger.  "Something to consider," she snaps before striding off to find her spear.  Pausing, she spares Fergus a warning, pointed finger before flouncing away to tear her spear from its resting place.

Ugh.  More ichor.  And rot.

Eilieen catches Aarnr still nodding, but the smile on the priest's face turns to puzzlement as she weaves a tortuous tapestry of disapproval.  Aarnr opens his mouth at one point to correct the priestess of Zadastha (it's not the number of foe dispatched, but the courage with which one fights), but thinks better of it - though but an uncivilised lout, he's not that stupid.

That prodding finger does take him aback somewhat though, and might even deter a lesser man given the stories that abound about Zadasthrites and their rituals - could the stru ... Eilieen be flirting with him ?!!

"Sorry," the priest mutters into his beard, not really understanding why, but sure it is expected.  He shares a bewildered shrug and raised brow of commiseration with Fergus as the priestess thankfully turns her attention elsewhere.

"Froggin' rot-measle !" this in surprisingly low tones, most definitely directed at the remains of the zombie at his feet, as is the kick that follows, letting the undead know in no uncertain terms who he blames for his telling-off.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:43, Sat 15 June 2013.

Colwyn moves easily down the rope, but not quite so easily that he lands too heavily.  He takes a moment to slap Aarnr and Fergus on their respective shoulders, "Bloody good job!  If'n yers 'adn't been comin' down 'ere like that, somebody else'd've been comin' down first, an' they might've been gettin' 'urt."  Grinning, he starts retrieving his arrows.  The grin falters as he picks up the arrow that had danced across the table and finds the shaft cracked and bent.  Then he starts to look around the room, carefully avoiding the trap door in the floor, save to give it enough of an inspection to notice that it isn't sealed or locked in any way.

The rogue moves about, poking at things on the table tops with the damaged arrow.  His eyes though, are constantly drawn to the closed door at the eastern end of the room.  And something else is bothering him...

"Is any of yers noticin' as 'ow it's bein' a bit chilly down 'ere?"

The chamber is, indeed, noticeably cooler than the one above.

The priest glances toward Eilieen then back to the rogue, nodding glumly.  ;P

"Uh, thanks?" Fergus replies, though whether to Erista or Aarnr is not entirely clear.

Eilieen seems to have a different view of the matter and Fergus flinches back from her reproving finger, putting on an expression of wounded innocence for good measure.  He takes some comfort, though, that Aarnr is similarly bewildered, and from Colwyn's congratulations.

With Aarnr's reassurance that the room is secure and Colwyn now looking for traps, Fergus relaxes his guard.  Casting an eye over each of the fallen undead he chooses the biggest one that did not suffer a wound to the body and starts to strip it of its chainmail.  It's not a pleasant task and Fergus goes about it with a certain grim determination.  As he works, he answers Colwyn, "Yep, but I figured it was cause we were down low an out of the sun?"

"Yes but I'm assuming it was due to the undead. The ballads usually include lines of cold with the creatures that should have been left in peace." the half-elf adds to Colwyn's comment. Looking around he takes in a closer look at the chamber.

Colwyn finally succumbs to the allure of a closed door and moves to the east end of the room, leaving Aramil poking around the tables.  His interest soon turns to contempt.  "It ain't even 'avin' a lock." he snarls, turning away from the door, "Nor yonder 'atch."

"No lock's prob'ly meanin' nothin' worth takin'... "

He stops as he notices Fergus stripping the armour of one of the zombies, "Tell me as you ain't bein' plannin ter wear that.  It's likely bein' filled with rot an' pus an' worms an' stuff."

Corian, Bilfro, Ozzy, and Erista start their own descents into the chilly chamber with its smell of decayed flesh.

Aramil, meanwhile, picks up several sheets of parchment from one of the tables.

Busily looking at the table Aramil doesn't even look up as he responds to Colwyn. "True my friend, but somethimes the best place to hide something valuble is in ..." but his voice drifts off as the half-elf becomes involved with something on the table. Anyone looking at him will notice Aramil reading some parchment.

"Plain sight" he suddenly says finishing off his previous sentence. "Whoever was down here had a very violent imagination and didn't like Shandril very much either. I'd even has he/she hated Shandril judging from the comments here. Also what would you use scorpions venom for?"

"I could froggin' kick it down anyway ?" Aarnr suggests to Colwyn as he moves over to the offending closed door ... though it is to Eilieen he finds himself looking, somewhat perplexedly, for permission.

Eilieen sniffs a semi-satisfied reply to Aarnr's apology, mentally taking note of it on her list of 'Satisfying Firsts' (right beneath 'Beating a High Priest over the head with a bedstand candleholder').  Fergus, also, appears suitably cowed.  But she hazards a (wise) guess that it won't stop either of them from future mischief...and steadfastly ignores Aarnr's comment on the drop in temperature.

"Interesting," she murmurs, heading over to join Aramil at the papers and peering over his shoulder.  "Scorpion's venom?  Sounds...painful.  Probably for dealing with someone you hate.  Like Shandril."

Her gaze flicks up as Aarnr throws a question into the air.  "If Colwyn finds neither trap nor curious sound, I see no reason why - with properly prepared support, such as Fergus and Colwyn - you cannot boot down the offending portal."

Who knows, miracles might come to pass!

OOC - Taking a gander at the papers, myself!
This message was last edited by the player at 14:42, Wed 19 June 2013.

Colwyn grins at Aarnr and shakes his head, "They's not big on whotsit where yer's comin' from, is they, mate?  What's bein' that word?"  The rogue glances around the chamber, then asks aloud, "What's bein' the word?  Yer knows... when yer isn't screamin' bloody murder as yer's jumpin' out ter stab some poor bugger in the kidneys.  Yer's keepin everythin' all 'ush-'ush, like, so's yer's gettin' a good chance ter stick 'im."

"Or when yer's sayin' summat clever an smarmy, instead of jus' tellin' some bleeder as 'ow yer's 'atin' 'is guts, an' yer's plannin' ter 'ave yer mates be kickin' 'im all the way down Market Street."

Then, just to make sure that Aarnr understands there's nothing intrinsically wrong with his lack of... whatever the word is... he adds, "Jus' be givin' us a bit ter be checkin' it over.  After that, yer can be bloody eatin' yer way through it fer what I cares.  See, yer's not wantin' some trap ter make a big ball of fire, an' be killin' any monster's what might be waitin' behind the door afore yer can be pullin' them's guts out, is yer?"

He moves across and starts to give the door a more thorough examination...

Ears perking up, one would assume, Bilfro maunders until he is near Colwyn.

"Diaphaneity?  Gossameriness?  Subtley?  Perspicacity?  Acumen?  Sagacity?"

He almost carries on onto discernment, through common sense and towards brains but manages to avoid it case the lack of such would cause an incident.

"Oh.  Traps."  It dawns on him what the subject acutally was and he freezes on the spot, barely moving his head.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:55, Sat 22 June 2013.

Colwyn might as well be speaking some foreign tongue... while Bilfro's contribution merely serves to add to Aarnr's confusion.

"Didn't froggin' come up," the priest mutters, recalling with distaste the long and painful¹ sessions spent with the slave charged with teaching him the speech of the civilised lands.

The word 'trap' seems certainly on the minds of everyone, so in the interests of not getting yelled at (in any language, known or not), Aarnr waits with undisguised impatience for the necessary ritual of checking to be over and done with.

¹ certainly for the unfortunate slave who bore the blame for his reluctant student's difficulties in understanding the lesson.

After what probably, to everybody except Aarnr, seems like an indecently short time, Colwyn backs away from the door and pronounces, "It's lookin' clear."  Then he quickly moves aside, and gestures for Aarnr to have at it.

"Yer can be 'avin' a go with yer axe now, if'n yer likes.  Else yer can jus' be liftin' the latch, if'n yer likes.  Yer's 'avin' a choice, see?"

"No, I don't believe he does see that he has a choice." Corian mutters, as Aarnr steps into the void created by the rogue's expeditious vacating of the area before the door.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:22, Sun 23 June 2013.

"Thou are froggin' ready," Aarnr informs Colwyn, thereby officially designating the rogue as 'properly prepared backup' to meet the final caveat imposed by Eilieen, as he proceeds to give the door a good kicking.

Aarnr kicks the door.  Then again.  And again.  The latch finally gives up, and allows the portal to swing open, revealing a well-appointed, if somewhat dusty chamber.

The room contains a bed, an iron brazier, long since cold, a table and chair (the former covered with vials of ink, several decrepit pens, and numerous sheets of parchment, vellum and paper).  A nightstand next to the bed has three books resting atop it, and some green blocks, about the size of a child's fist (or a halfling's).

An empty coffin stands upright and open in one corner, but holds nothing more than a few shards of ancient bone and a quantity of dust.

"But I thought..." Fergus trails off.  What he actually thought was that the critters couldn't be that rotten or they'd have collapsed: being so cold probably helped.  And if the armour was a bit mucky it could be cleaned.  Heck, being metal you could probably just throw it in a fire.  It might not come out clean but it wouldn't be slimy or rotten.  Why would you waste something as valuable as chainmail?

Of course, it's somewhat beyod Fergus' means to explain these things to Colwyn, so he abandons the exercise and joins the others waiting for Colwyn and Aarnr to attend to their respective duties.  After all, if whoever was down here meant to hurt Shandril, then Fergus wanted to have words with them.  And those words might include "froggin'".

"Ben gökyüzü boyalı zaman, uyku güney yığıldı!"

Solemn pronunciation in a booming voice followed by pretty much nothing but lack of anything.

Bilfro looks around and waits a few moments.  He checks the back of his robe.  Under his feet.

"No?  Was it boya?  Let me see..."

Rummaging through his pack he produces his by now cluttered book and begin to flip through it.

"Where is it?  I read it just before.  A-ha!  No, wait, that's chicken with pork rind and beetroot, hmph..."
This message was last edited by the player at 08:34, Mon 24 June 2013.

"Someone," Eilieen notes, finishing her perusal of the book, "has issues.  We should keep our eyes out for anything red and black, I suspect, given his emphasis on choosing the black."

A quick check back in the book follows.  "The red, apologies."

Once the kicking starts, she snags her spear and hurries over to provide her own backup at the door.  The portal, so rudely opened, jumps back from its bang against the wall, and with her spear-tip she gently prods it back, fully ajar.  "Well," Eilieen notes, "this might be a better place to spend the night."

Then she sees the coffin and her expression sours.  "Or not," the Priestess admits.

"It's a bit cold," Erista points out.  "Here, let me take a quick peek... 偵查 魔法."  She moves over to stand next to Aarnr, looking through the doorway.

"Traps?"

Bilfro looks up from his book and peers into the room past the others, his gaze drawn towards the bed.

Still standing next to the table in the first room Aramil peers through the mass of bodies to see very little. Letting the others deal with the threat, that might just be boredom as indicated by the comments the half-elf keeps looking back up the first entrance they used hoping they don't get trapped in a totally different way then the rest of the party is discussing.

Glaring first at the now revealed chamber for not harbouring the lich-mage he's aiming to split, then at Erista as she yells something suspicious at his, well let's say knee, given the relative height difference,  Aarnr decides to leave one and all to their undoubtedly interesting investigations, and goes and waves up to Aramil before turning his attentions to the latest in the series of trapdoors.

Just looking, mind.  Definitely not smashing it open just yet, though the priest does sheathe his sword and get his axe ready, just in case he needs to start chopping and hewing in a hurry.

"Nothing down here yet !" he loudly informs Aramil up above, unable to keep the note of disappointment out of his voice.  "Unless you fobbin' count those reekin' mold-festered mammets !"

The investigation of the newly revealed chamber shows that it contains nothing in the way of traps.  At least nothing that anybody actually walks into.  Yet...

That could change in an instant, of course, as Corian pushes his way into the room.  "Eralion's chamber!" he declares, in hushed tones, "At last we have discovered the necromancer's lair!"

Colwyn sniffs, "Yer'd think as 'ow a powerful black wizzerd'd be 'avin' nice things in 'is room."

"No, no, Eralion was not as interested in material wealth as he was in knowledge.  Yonder volumes would be of more interest to him than mere gold."

The rogue's eyes narrow dangerously, "So yer's sayin' as there might not be bein' no bleedin' shinies 'ere fer us?"

Just in time, Corian realises that he might be on dangerous ground, "Ah... I see.  Well, I'm sure there are... ah... shinies about.  Perhaps there is a treasure vault below the next trap door.  I am merely pointing out that while Eralion would doubtless see the value of... shinies... as tools to be used in order to achieve his goals, he would likely not consider mere baubles and trinkets worthy of a place of honour in his bed chamber."

"I hold scriven compendiums in highest esteem."

Yet not quite high enough to venture forth precipitiously.

"...traps...?"

Since it appears that Eralion is not home to receive the due consequences of his villainy, and the room doesn't contain anything as interesting as a stuffed crocodile, Fergus steps away from the door and resumes his inspection of the laboratory.

He discovers that Erista's spell, cast earlier during the fight with the undead 'statues', effectively reduced the creature she struck to dust.  Its armour needs little more than a vigorous shake to be clean.  Fergus obliges, with a loud rattle, and is soon unbuckling his leather armour to try on the mail for fit.

"I've found the lackspittle's froggin' larder !"  Aarnr announces excitedly as he examines the trapdoor.  "Colder than a ... froggin' cold down ther !," he avoids more robust comparisons, so as to escape further telling-offs.

In a similar vein, he waits for Fergus to strap on his armour before doing anything precipitous.  There was something else, though, something that went against the grain.

Traps !  That was it !  "Colwyn ! Get thy hairy backside over here, thou hedge-pig !"   An unholy obsession with 'avoiding unnecessary risks', these people, his friends, but what could he do ...

Corian moves, almost on tip-toe, towards the nightstand.  Long before he reaches it he is stretching out a hand towards the topmost book.  "These books!  Do they hold the secrets he sought?  Did we travel all this way from Reme for these tomes?  Who can say what value they hold?"

The apprentice stops in his tracks, with his fingertips mere inches from the volume.  "Colwyn?  Will you check these books for traps?  Eralion may have chosen to protect them in some way.  Colwyn?"  He turns around, and discovers no sign of the rogue.  "Colwyn?"

The rogue is, in fact outside, in the antechamber where Aarnr regards the latest trap door with ill-disguised contempt.  Colwyn decides to try to educate the savage priest as he, himself, joins the man in examining the hatch.  "See this 'ere 'atch, Aarnr mate.  It ain't bein' locked or aught.  No key'ole, see?  An' it ain't bein' nailed shut, like what that other one up there were bein'."  he draws his knife and runs it around the edges of the door.

"What I's sayin', see, is 'ow yer can be openin' it, jus' by grabbin' 'old of this 'ere iron ring, an' liftin' it," his voice drops, "Gentle as a Zadasthan liftin' the 'em of 'er favouritest skirt, see?  Blimey, that bugger's bein' cold!"  He pulls his hand away from the ring and blows on his fingers.  "Any'ows, what I's sayin' is as yer doesn't 'as ter always be usin' an axe ter open every bloody door."

"Sometimes it's bein' good ter keep the door in one piece, like."  Inspiration strikes, "Say yer's findin' lots of slaves 'idin' in a room.  It's sometimes bein' good ter 'ave a place ter lock 'em up so as they can't be buggerin' off while yer's sortin' out with yer mates which of yers is gettin' ter keep 'em all.  See?  Yer ain't never knowin' what yer's goin' ter find, so it's bein' good if yer's leavin' the door in one piece, in case yer's needin' ter shut it again after."

He pats his hand on the door and grins at the barbarian, "No traps, so far as I's seein'."

"Mavi eşek maymun muz yeşil kabuğu yankıları pişirin!"

Still standing in the doorway to the hopefully late mage's living quarters, Bilfro puts both his hands up to his eyes, cupped around them with the thumbs plugging his nose.

Thus he peers into the room with scrunched eyes.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:54, Fri 28 June 2013.

Fergus, after adjusting some straps and breaking a couple of chain links to loosen the neck, finds that the mail fits.  Not well, but it does fit, and he can move in it without cutting off the blood supply to anything that seems as if it might be vital.  A bit of polishing, and a little work from a half decent armourer should make it good as new, and a perfect fit.

Bilfro breathes through his mouth as he studies the room through his cupped hands, which perhaps serve to focus his gaze upon the object of his scrutiny.  Corian notices the other mage looking in his direction, and quickly steps out of the way, not wishing to be the target of some... less-than-sanitary magic.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:08, Sun 30 June 2013.

Eilieen casually boots Colwyn on the back of the calf in return for his comment about her priesthood - true or not about the majority, it doesn't apply to her in the same way.  She then heads into the room to briefly examine the incense cubes, nodding at their pretty colour, before returning to listen to the others discussing their options.

"Wise, Aarnr, having Colwyn check for traps," she congratulates him, calling back over her shoulder. I knew you had it in you.  "Speaking of which...Colwyn, you can make up for that comment regarding Zadasthans by taking a peek at these blocks of incense.  They look sanitary, but who can say?  Perhaps they, as well, have been trapped."

One never knows with necromancers.  Vile creatures.

Aarnr smiles and nods to hide his confusion over the 'stones that make thee angry' until Eilieen turns away, then his brow furrows once more as he goes back to the herculean task of following Colwyn's line of thought.  "If the bladders run, then they froggin' die," he informs the rogue.  "Either thou does for them thyself or the giglets perish in the fens.  If the varlots are that stupid then thou doesn't want them anyway !"

Bilfro's activities are ... disturbing, but Aarnr doesn't duck away (unlike Corian who earns a sneering "pribblin' puttock" for his cowardice).  Indeed, the priest belligerently stares down the wizard, just looking for an excuse ...

"Domuzcuk, domuzcuk, domuzcuk, domuzcuk...."

Words are uttered as the gaze sweeps the room again and again. potentially causing more running from some individuals.

"Looks clear."

Bilfro steps over the threshold but continues to peer in his own peculiar fashion.  The gaze is drawn towards the nightstand.

"Domuzcuk, domuzcuk, domuzcuk, domuzcuk...."

Erista pads in next to Corian, looking at the books.  "Those're magic for sure," she says.  "Lots of it, but mostly death magics.  I suppose that's not too surprising, is it?"

Still preoccupied with the trapdoor to freedom the half-elf seems to be ignoring the group as they survey the area, only the smile on his face shows he has been listening. Poor Aarnr. he thinks of priest. He has no idea what they are talking about sometimes. The cost of travelling into foreign parts.

Colwyn pushes himself to his feet with a sigh.  He had thought himself to be making progress with Aarnr - the big man had seemed to be getting a grasp on the concept, but then it had flown out of his grip like a sword liberally coated with goose grease.

He briefly considers another attempt at explanation, but realises that would mean that Eilieen would be kept waiting, and would probably treat him to a sermon on the evils of tardiness and the virtues of bodily cleanliness.  The latter would, of course, be ridiculous - everybody knows that a layer of grime keeps a body warm, and acts as a sort of armour against disease.

So he follows the priestess into the other room instead, stepping carefully around Bilfro, who is acting... precisely as strangely as usual, to be honest.  Corian and Erista are close to the nighstand, but seem to have no interest in the coloured blocks.  The rogue edges around Corian and uses both of his knives, the steel and the silver, as forceps to push aside one of the blocks.

Nothing seems to happen.

"Safe 'nough, I's reckonin', 'lessin' some silly sod's decidin' ter be eatin' it.  Then 'e's likely ter spend the rest of the day squattin' in a ditch, wishin' as it would've been killin' 'im, quick an' proper." he pronounces.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:36, Wed 03 July 2013.

"Yetersiz veri, böl ve yönet lütfen."

The voice sounded different, softer, and Bilfro removes the hands and looks around in a state of bewilderment.  Then realisation seem to strike him and he scurries over towards the table and quickly - unless stopped - spreads the books out next to one another.  Then the nose is plugged and the eyes framed as before.

"Çalışmayı sürdürme, sizin işbirliği için teşekkür ederiz."  Once more the different voice spoke, from his mouth, but this time Bilfro does not seem confused but instead smiles in a dorky and cheerful sort of way.

"How very pleasant," Eilieen murmurs at Colwyn's explanation.  "I shall have to remember not to consume my incense in the future."  There follows an appraising look at Aarnr before she removes a small cloth from her sack.  With it, she carefully wraps the incense and places it safely within her small bit of baggage.  "There," the woman triumphantly states, before expression again turns speculative.

"One hopes it's a decent aroma and not, for example, Memories of Putrescence," she mutters.  "But my thanks, Colwyn.  You've done me a favour indeed, here."

Now glancing up, she notes the presences gathered near the next portal.  Fergus seems to have discovered some kind of armor, about which Eilieen heartily approves (even if it seems a touch uncomfortable).  She opens her mouth to question, but is interrupted by Bilfro's exposition.

Whatever it means.

An eyebrow goes up.  "Bilfro," Eilieen carefully begins.  "Whatever are you saying?"

"Something about seizing the old iceberg, I think?" Erista translates.  "It's probably a metaphor."  She watches him work with the books.  "Maybe these are the spellbooks he's been looking for?" she suggests.  "But if these are Eralion's spellbooks, then that would sort of make him Eralion, wouldn't it?  How would that fit with your plans?" she asks, looking up^* at Corian.


^{*- She does so have other options, although many of them would require a Climbing roll first.}

Aarnr ignores everybody else as he turns his attention back to the trapdoor, squatting down beside it and holding his hand out experimentally.

"Gettin' gleepin' colder," he mutters, standing up again. The axe goes back into his belt and he takes up his greatsword once more.  "Froggin' sure sign that there's more of the rot-crusted bone-bags around," the priest warns his friends gleefully, eyes on the latch that Colwyn was so enamoured of.  If the device allows an easy way in, then of a surety it also allows an easy way out ...

Busy watching while the others go about their business the half-elf shivers. Then as he opens his mouth Aarnr comments about the cold, which is what Aramil was about to say. He does actually continue but with some other words than he was going to use. "Yes Aarnr it is getting colder, and that is unlikely to be a good sign of us being left in peace. Though I'm sure you would like something hit hit with your sword again."

"I don't believe he is Eralion." Corian responds to Erista and Eilieen, a little absently, as he watches Bilfro doing... something, "According to my research, Eralion is reputed to have been... well, 'plump' would be the politest way to phrase it, and about a head shorter than me.  Bilfro is, as can be readily ascertained, a little taller, and somewhat less than full-figured.  Eralion was also, as described in certain tomes of historical lore, entirely bald, and lacked a beard, though he did have a moustache."

"He also would have died many years ago and, for all that his appearance is a little odd, our companion does not seem to be any manner of eldritch undead horror."

Colwyn, meanwhile, his work with the incense block done, sniffs at the blade of the steel knife and informs Eilieen, "Smells like the liniment what my ol' guild boss were puttin' on 'is knees ter stop 'em from achin' in damp weather.  Silly ol' bugger.  No matter 'ow quiet 'e were bein', evey sod knowed 'e were around on account of the stink.  An' it were worse if'n 'e were usin' the liniment."

"Reckon's I's goin' ter check on my mate, Aarnr.  Wouldn't be wantin' ter see 'im in trouble."

The rogue heads back into the other room, to rejoin Aarnr in his vigil at the trap door.

"Saying?  Ah, me?  Spoken?  Did I?  Perchance, not completely indubitably or not, inconceivably.... or not."

The ragged man gives Eileen a faraway answer.  He lowers his hands and points at one of the three books whereupon he carefully prods the book aside with a single finger, inch by inch.

"Ew."

The book safely aside, as much as the bedside table concedes, a shudder runs through the thin body.  "Egregious and opprobrious, mark my very words!"

Aarnr was rather less perturbed than everyone else at Bilfro's strange utterance, but only because the priest doesn't understand much of what comes out of the old hedge-pig's mouth anyway.  The possibility that Bilfro is undead of just about the worst kind is of but momentary interest as Corian pours cold water on the idea and thus prevents what might have been a nasty accident.

"P'raps Eralion is down there ?" Aarnr suggests to Colwyn, nodding at the trapdoor at his feet, and grinning up at Aramil as he shifts his position to make room for the rogue.  "Hope thou has a good view !" he yells up to the Half-Elf as he stands, poised and posed with his blade at the ready.

"Yer might be bein' right at that." Colwyn agrees, giving the trap door a suspicious glare.  "Bloody dead wizards's never stayin' dead.  'eard tell of one over in Varagost what came back from the grave, all sprightly like, an' were killin' the 'ole Watch with magic, an' then were burnin' 'alf the city down afore 'e were bein' stopped by a band of 'venturer coves."

"Even then the 'survivors wasn't certain as they got 'im, permanent an sure.  Were stickin' the body in a crypt 'neath a temple, with all kinds of charms an' spells an' 'oly relics ter make sure as 'e wouldn't be comin' out again.  Wrapped 'im in chains of silver, as the story's goin'.  Links as big as yer fist... well, big as my fist anyways."  The light of avarice gleams in his eye as he holds a clenched fist up to demonstrate.

"Silver!  I's reckonin' as it might be goin' on bein' a ton of it.  Maybes two, all dependin' on 'ow scared them people in Varagost was bein'."

In the bedchamber, Corian watches, puzzled, as Bilfro does whatever he's doing.  "I can honestly say that I still have no idea what he's doing, even after he offers an explanation." 

"Shall we be openin' it?  Jus' ter see if the bugger's bein' down there with a couple of tons of silver."  Colwyn looks at Aarnr and Aramil in turn, flexing his fingers as if his hands are itching.  Really badly...

Carefully, carefully, as if lifting the hem of the favourite dress of a Zadastha priestess handling delicate goods Bilfro opens up one of the two books that he did not shun.

As the cover taps the desk he jumps back, holds his breath for a moment and then roars at the book, "NERDESIN, ARALIK ACIL INDÜKSIYON BAGLANTI NOKTASI IÇIN KAYGAN EGIMLI!"

Then he starts whispering to it, possible repeating the first word or part of it, while leaning over the book daintily, as if where it his lover.

"I see," Eilieen responds to Erista's explanation doubtful.  When Bilfro mumbles to her, she nods along with him, eyebrows raised, then leans around his back to garner Erista's attention again, mouthing a single, dual-syllable word while circling her finger near her temple.

Her meaning seems rather obvious.

"No, not an eldritch horror," she confirms.  "Certainly he reacted not at all when I called upon Zadastha to drive off the undead...though I am no High Priestess, in truth!"  A pause for thought.  "Probably a good thing," the Zadasthan mutters.  Raising her fingers, she sniffs at them delicately.  "This?  Small wonder you knew he was around.  Did your guildmaster ever privately dress up in...non-standard clothing for his position?"

She saw some of that in the Temple as well.

About to answer Corian, Eilieen jumps a good six inches into the air when Bilfro bellows; beleaguered and buffeted, the priestess bolts for the door to join Colwyn, Aarnr, and Aramil.  "Enough!  I leave him to your tender mercies...good luck."

The priest listens to Colwyn's story, finding it somewhat familiar - chambers beneath a temple, undead creature bound beneath with silver seals ... very promising indeed !

Aarnr runs through Eilieen's instructions in his head.  Trapdoor checked for traps ... backup at the ready ... even the priestess herself seems to have heard the rogue's suggestion and is keen to be in on it.

With a horrible grin and nod of approval, Aarnr raises his sword and gives the rogue the go ahead, "Aye, thou mammet ! Froggin throw it open and let's have at the spell-sacked rotbag !"

"That's bein' the spirit!" Colwyn replies with a grin to match Aarnr's own.  Drawing his silvered knife he hooks the blade through the loop on the trap door.  And lifts.  The door comes up slowly, with an eerie groan, the hinges stiff with corrosion and age.

A chill white mist floods out, drawn upwards by the movement of the door.  Cold as the grave it is, and ripe with the damp stench of the crypt.  It rolls across the floor, making the room colder still.

Colwyn releases the trap door, and it slams against the floor with a sharp bang which turns heads.  Below the opening can be seen more mist, swirling in the air currents from the newly opened hatch.

As the mist clears, it can be seen that in the chamber below are six simple stone sarcophagi, arranged at regular intervals arounfd the walls of the circular room.  In the centre, directly below the opening is a more ornate coffin, inscribed with hieroglyphs and runes, and resting atop a dais of black stone.

A skeletal corpse lays on top of the ornate coffin, one arm hanging over the edge, grasping a staff.

Shards of a broken flask and several sheets of paper lay on the dirt floor next to the coffin...

"Ye gods an' blue arsed monkeys." murmurs Colwyn.

Watching as the rogue and priest discuss opening the trapdoor Aramil smiles at their successful persuasive techniques, which of course is easier when the person you are trying to persuade also agreed with you. When the door opens and the mist and cold eerily streams across the floor and over the people gathered around a shudder racks the half-elf's body, though for whether it is the physical cold or something else Armail is not sure. With the self imposed watch he took forgotten the half-elf walks over to the opening and looks in. The eery crypt is just what he imagined and Aramil is certain that none of his companions are successfully going to get him down that hole.

Corian is startled by the loud bang from the outer chamber, but even that fails to distract him from his fascination (some might say "morbid fascination") with what Bilfro is doing.  The scrawny newcomer baffles the apprentice.  His every action seems bizarre and nonsensical, yet he appears to get results by dint of those bizarre and nonsensical actions.

Has the man been touched by Bacchus-Dionysus, god of wine and madness?  Even Feriblan the Mad, acknowledged by all to be insane, had not been as... strange... as Bilfro.  Or could the man's pondering over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore have left him broken?  That thought produces a shiver of dread and a nervous laugh from the young mage.  Will this be his fate too?  Is madness and decrepitude the fate of all who practice the arcane arts?

Memories flow through Corian's mind - recollections of the various wizards that he had met along with his master, Dasidar.  Now that he thinks of them in light of Bilfro's odd behaviour he starts to realise that all of them had shown signs of eccentricity - ranging from Aronden's insistence on wearing two robes at all time to Zurak the Younger's assertion that hemlock tea was good for the digestion (oddly Zurak had died, at the age of 83, crushed beneath the wheels of a runaway cart).

Curiosity finally wins out over dread, and he steps closer to the other man, "What is it Bilfro?  What have you discovered?"

"What have I discovered?"

Bilfro whispers an echo of the question, a finger now flying over the pages and flicking them at seemingly random intervals, completely and utterly engrossed.

"Oh ho hoo, oh, I have disc..."  He looks up at Corian and screams, "OOOOAAAAAAAAAAH!!", holding up an arm to protect himself.

Erista jumps back, and then laughs.  "Oh!  I get it!  I think."

She steps up to Bilfro, reaching up to rest a hand on his elbow.  "It's alright," she says, comfortingly.  "You're like me, aren't you?  Magic's in you - we just have to learn how to let it out.  It's OK."

"Oh, it is you...  Er, Corian, was it?  I thought that..."

The ramblings thoughts are distracted by Erista's approach.  Bilfro looks down at her and ponders deeply for a moment, absorbing what she is saying.  Then he brightens and takes her hand to shake it vigorously.

"Yes!  I am like you!  A halfling!  Although, my mother was a giant, yet not even that could not stop the love between them.  Frobo Proudfoot, and not without reason, and Dainty Landslide, ah, they were quite the couple, I am told.  He vanished on the wedding night, however, no one knows where or how.  But not before I was conceived, and later on born!  I did not have a beard then, however.  I never did know my father, you know?  What with him being gone and all.  Then, later, I started to study to become a wizard!  Or was the beard first?  No, wizardry came first, yes!  And we all have magic in us, do we not?  And beauty, yes, great beauty too.  Some also have a lot of gas.  Oh my.  I even knew a man once who had a khopesh in his ear!"

He nods gravely.

"Oh, right, yes, I wrote down some spells I remembered last night, then committed them to my vast intellect, so now I can use those!  And thereby I found these!"  A finger pokes the book over and over.  "No dark arts here, I cannot abide those!  Gives me indigestion, it does, along with spike-plates."


___
^{Pesky typos, it's that dark magic I tell you!}
This message was last edited by the player at 09:54, Wed 10 July 2013.

Colwyn peers into the hole, and looks at the trailing end of the rope, still attached in the tower above them.  "I's reckonin' as the rope's bein' a bit short ter be reachin' the floor, but it should be gettin' ter the top of the stone with the bones on it, no trouble.  Unlessin' he wakes up, of course.  Then there might be bein' all manner of bleedin' trouble."

"Is yer thinkin' as that stick's bein the one as ol' Corian's searchin' after?"

The rogue glances around at those in the chamber with him, "So which of yers is wantin' ter be cimbin' down there first?"

Corian, meanwhile, nods at Erista's explanation of Bilfro's behaviour.  "Of course!  That would make perfect sense."

Which is more than can be said for Bilfro's own explanation of his ancestry.  Corian's eyes glaze over, as they tend to whenever Bilfro speaks.  Finally he manages to ask a question though, "Are those spell books?"

"Me!" Eilieen cries, grabbing the rope and giving Aarnr a triumphant look.  "There.  Now we can try to do this my way."

Brimming with pride, she edges up to the hole.  Suddenly it looks a lot further down...  Never you mind, Eilieen.  Get down there.  And I don't care what you smell this time.  "All right.  I'll go down slowly.  Now, if something starts snarling, hissing, or otherwise threatening, I'll call out and you can drag me back up.  THEN we can work out some kind of strategy for dealing with it from the safety of up here."

Glancing around, she chooses the least beefy of the men around her.  "Colwyn, if you can be a dear and hold this?"  The spear follows, haft-first.  Then Eilieen gingerly seats herself on the edge of the hole before slowly shifting herself through it.

Aarnr has his own way of letting magic out of a body, but is distracted from the attempt as Eilieen pushes past him, snatching the rope from under his nose.

"Gleeping bad idea thou ... frog it  !"  Quickly he thrusts his sword into Colwyn's hands, as the rogue seems to be in the business of looking after the weapons, then straddles one corner of the opening, his huge fists tightly gripping the rope, ready to haul the priestess out, at not much more than the slightest provocation.

Fergus stands by the trap door as Aarnr and Colwyn discuss such disparate topics as temperature, slave ownership and silver chains.  He's still trying to come to terms with the idea that both Aarnr and Colwyn seem to have no objection to slavery when he's startled by Bilfro's exclamation.  Whirling to face the bedroom door, Fergus scans for the cause of the unintelligible outburst but finds none (although Eilieen seems eager to leave).

Puzzled, Fergus returns his attention to the trapdoor.  He takes odd comfort from the notion that however strange Aarnr's and Colwyn's conversation may be, it is positively mundane compared to whatever the mages are discussing, which seems certain to be amongst those things that man is not supposed to know.

As the trapdoor is opened, Fergus stands gawping, sucking in his breath against the sudden cold.  He's still peering through the rising mist when Eilieen seizes the chance to make the first descent.  After the last occasion, Fergus realises that Eilieen will brook no argument to her plan, though he accepts it in bad grace.  He considers assisting Aarnr on the rope but settles for keeping a close watch, standing near the edge of the trapdoor and fidgeting with anxiety to such an extent it's a wonder he doesn't fall.

All told, it seems Eilieen's as likely to be injured cracking her head on the ceiling as Aarnr hauls her up, or being knocked around as Fergus jumps down, as she is threatened by any danger down below.

Erista just grins.  "S'always a pleasure to meet a fellow halfling," she responds, although with a bit more vibrato than usual, possibly due to the vigor with which he shakes her hand.  "There's a Tomkins Proudfoot back home, he's actually a cousin of mine, by way of Oleander.  Could be we're related!"  After a short pause, she asks, "Frobo was the halfling, right?  Well."  She pats his hand as he disengages.  "Either way, my magic doesn't come from my beard, but whatever works for you."

She nods to Corian.  "Spellbooks, yes, I think so."  She picks one up - not the one Bilfro set aside - and flips it open to a random page.

In one corner, Ozzy stands quietly observing it all, unnoticed and observant, metally recording it all for later transcription. He is startled by Bilfros outburst, taking a few steps further away from the madman. He found him both endearing and untrustworthy at the same time and the conflicting emotions toward the old man confused him. He rubs at his temples, doing his best to remain emotionally detached enough to recall it all in detail later. Remaining silent, he studies his friends curiously with wide eyes.

Eilieen, observed by her friends in the chamber above, descends the rope with only minimal difficulty and, as Colwyn had suspected, ends up standing atop the stone plinth, astride the coffin with its gruesome burden.  It's cold down there, like a clear, bright winter's day, albeit somewhat less less pleasant in other respects.  The light is poor, and mist still swirls about, added to by the priestess' own exhalation.

The six stone coffins, all closed, stand upright around the edges of the room, like ancient sentinels standing watch over the corpse which lays between her feet.  From here Eilieen can see that all of them, as well as the one that she stands over, are carved with arcane symbols and phrases in an unrecognisable script. 

She moves to scramble down to the floor, three feet below her current position, and the skeletal remains, held together by dessicated skin and leathery sinew, shift position, the outstretched hand with the staff swinging a little lower, and the skull, with its eyeless sockets, turning to regard her...  then lays still again.


In the bedchamber, Corian steps quickly towards Bilfro and Erista and lays his hands on the books, "The agreement was that Eralion's grimoires, and his staff, would come to me.  Everything else we find here belongs to the rest of you, to do with as you will, but these are mine."

Trying to watch Eileen's decent seems to be getting hard as the number of people looking down the trapdoor increases. Taking a step back the half-elf remembers his original idea of guarding the entrance so returns to that job, but from where he stands ready to give aid if needed,

Colwyn, struggling a little to maintain his hold on a spear and a sword which seems to weight about as much as he does, steps back from the opening lest he lose his grip and drop a lot of sharp metal on the priestess.

Not so far that he can't see what's happening though.  "Don't be touchin' nothin'." he calls down to Eilieen, his voice tinged with concern, "Nor steppin' on nothin' neither."

Then, by way of explanation to those still in the upper chamber, he adds, "Dead folks isn't 'avin' ter be worryin' 'bout traps an' stuff on account as they's not likely ter be walkin' 'bout much. an' poison isn't goin' ter be killin' 'em anyways.  So the rich ones... they's payin' some bugger what's bein' as cunnin' as a 'en ter be fillin' them's tombs with poison darts an' bottomless pits, an' giant stone balls ter be crushin' grave robbers an' 'onest thiefs what jus' wanders in ter be takin' a bit of shelter, an' jus' so 'appens ter find a few gold coins."

"An' the flax-wench thinks me fobbin' reckless !"  Aarnr complains to Fergus.  The priest is finding it difficult to resist leaping down into the chamber below.

"Careful with that, thou clotpole !" he glares at Colwyn as the rogue struggles with his sword and lists all sorts of reasons why Eileen shouldn't be down there on her own.

"Oops."

Eilieen pauses, studying the skeletal remains.  "Best be more careful next time."  With a nod, she continues...then freezes where she stands.  "Erm."  A sickly smile grows on her features and, reaching up, she snags the end of the rope.  "No, I'm sorry," the priestess states to the dark, dank room.  "I'm not Feriblan.  Perhaps you might show yourself and we can discuss him.  Her.  It."

Very, very carefully she pushes herself back up on the coffin for a better grip on the rope.  Her face is pale as she looks up, but the priestess makes a calming motion with her free hand.

Bilfro takes a very deep breath, and then inhales for another moment.  "Oh yes, he was most definitely a halfing, at least until the day he vanished.  Cousin, you say?  Could be, could be!  How old is this Tomkins?  Due to the nature of this union it was a while ago, you see, and the family may indeed have spread, via any other relatives!  I think I have a brother somewhere, did I mention that?  Or at least half a one, I am certain!  But fear not, if I do my brother is whole, merely half through blood.  Might even have more, should my father have turned up somewhere the last few decades or so!  And no, no, my magic comes not from my beard, thought it is magnificent, is it not?"  He adjusts it a bit and inhales again.  "It comes from my books!  Yes, they are books with magic and various notes of other matters, as could be expected.  That one I set aside is most wile, however, and I recommend burning it instantly.  So, you said something about your magic not coming from your beard?  That is good, it is, seeing as you have none, at least not on you at the moment!  I would lend you mine but it has little to no magic in it, so it would not really do much in the way of helping now, would it?  No, it would not.  But where then do you get your magic, if not from books?"

He finds himself at the doorway, having left room for Corian at the bedside table, talking to Erista even as he moved.

"Now what the bloody hells is she bein' up ter.  She's bein' speakin' ter somebody there.  'lessin' she's bein' talkin' ter 'erself."  Colwyn comments, before raising his voice, "What's yer bein' sayin' there?  Yer's needin' ter be speakin' louder.  We ain't hearin' yer proper."

With Bilfro moving away from the books, Corian is feeling more confident.  He's certain that, if it comes down to fisticuffs, he could likely beat Erista in a fight.  Moderately certain, at least.  He does, after all, have the advantage of size on his side, and knows a lot about brawling.  Which is to say that he's seen it done.  Once.  But how difficult can it be?

"The books are mine." he reiterates, "I'll thank you to leave them alone.  Bilfro has renounced his claim on them, or why else would he move away?"

"I am no thief," Eilieen declares, somewhat snobbishly.  "Not that...I have anything against thieves," she backpedals, suddenly recalling poor Colwyn's feelings.  Of course, from the shouted questions, he can't actually hear her.  "No, I am not Horvain.  I am a priestess of Zadastha," she proudly states.

Her fingers curled firmly about the rope, she peers into the shadows.  "It's all right," she shouts up through the hole.  "I'm just speaking with...well, someone."  The priestess leans forward a touch, her eyes struggling to pierce the gloom.  "And you, sir?  Who might you be?"

"Froggin' speakin with someone' ?!!" Aarnr looks to Colwyn in disbelief at Eilieen's response to the rogue's request.  "Someone that's been gleepin' stuck down here for fobbin' ages ?!!"

Speaking with someone? Aramil thinks. This is not good, who is this someone of whom she is conversing? he continues to wonder then aloud he says"I think one of us should be down there with Eileen. Its not safe if she is with someone we don't know." Then thinking is through the half-elf pales hopes he isn't chosen for the task. To help remove him from being chosen he pulls out his bow and gets an arrow ready to fire to the aid of the priestess if need be.

Ozzy steps forward, one small hand raised as he looks down through the hole and says quietly, " I'll go." Without waiting for any encouragement or discouragement, he takes the rope in hand and attempts to rappel down for a better look. His sweaty palms don't make the task any easier but he needs to be able to retell the story first hand.

00:52, Fri 19 July 2013: Oswald Osbourne rolled 10 using 1d20+3 ((7)). Climb skill.

The priest raises his brow in surprise as the Halfling not only takes up Aramil's suggestion, but that deed closely follows word.  Much as he himself wants to be down there, Aarnr is not unmindful that his presence would make the likelihood of violence breaking out almost a certainty.

"Thou might be little, but thou has the heart of a warrior, thou pumpion !" he praises Ozzie, shifting his feet as he pulls the rope closer to the edge of the hole so that the minstrel can reach it.

"Hold my fobbin' sword ready !" Aarnr cautions Colwyn.

"I isn't seein' nobody else.  Nor 'earin' nobody neither." Colwyn says, shaking his head, "She's bein' on 'er own far's I's knowin'.  'lessin' yer's countin' Ozzy in a bit."  he smiles encouragement at the halfling as he starts his descent...

Ozzy slides down the rope, but finds his way blocked by Eilieen, who is still holding on to it.  He is forced to drop the last few feet to the floor, where he crouches for a moment, his breath adding to the thin mist which roils around the cold chamber.



"I's still only seein' Eilieen an' Ozzy."

Corian lifts Erista's hand, gently, away from the tome and closes it. "I will not be taking Bilfro's suggestion and burning any of these." he states, "I have travelled a not-inconsiderable distance, with no little discomfort, to obtain the nooks and the staff.  I believe these volumes can teach me much."

He laughs quietly, "Oh, fear not... I have no intention of making a bid for lichdom.  I am young still, with virtually my whole life ahead of me, and I am not foolish enough to believe I have achieved that much power.  But these grimoires will doubtless contain other snippets of information which will be useful for a young, up and coming mage.  I intend to learn all that they can teach."

The young, up and coming mage looks towards Bilfro, standing in the doorway, and frowns.  "What in the Nine Hells... " he asks, "... is happening out there?"
This message was last edited by the player at 17:26, Fri 19 July 2013.

Ozzy cringes after reaching the bottom of the line, stepping cautiously back from the hiss of noise that is forming words in the darkness ahead of him. Looking slightly offended by the remark he is quick to defend himself, " I am no rogue sir. I am Oswald Osbourne, troubadour and poet, storyteller and myth-builder. I seek only a good story and good conversation, I am here to take nothing but the memory of our words when I leave." To emphasize his point, he is quick to produce his paper and charcoal stick, already jotting down notes on the smell, the décor and the conversation. " Who sir, are you? ....for the sake of posterity?"

Colwyn shakes his head in bewilderment, "Now Ozzy's bein' talkin' ter no bugger as well.  Maybes there's bein' somethin' down there as makes a body mad as a weasel.  P'r'aps all that there fog's bein' poisoned."

He wisely does not add, Yer should've been goin' down first, Aarnr, on account of as yer already bein' mad as a weasel.

The rogue cocks his head to one side, and does add, "Wait.  I reckons as I's seein' something now."

Alongside one of the upright coffins against the wall the shadows seem to move - blackness stirring amidst blackness.  Indistinct and uncertain, like the first bubbling of boiling milk before, an instant later, it's pouring down the outside of the pot and into the fire...

"That aren't lookin' good... "

A dark form, man sized and no lighter than the shadows in the corner, surrounded by thin swirls of cold mist, moves out into the open.


OOC: Might be time for some Initiative rolls and stuff...

Aarnr needs little urging, though it is Colwyn's sharp eyes and quick tongue that finally spur the priest into action, on top of the growing horror of the madness gripping Eilieen and Ozzy.

Releasing his grip on the rope and snatching his sword from the rogue's hands, Aarnr does not waste time climbing, instead leaping forward, into the hole before him.

"Frog it !!  Thou rancid, sheep-baitin' corpse-lovin' ..."

Ozzy quickly steps back, drawing out a javelin and striking a defensive pose in the process. " Eternity? No, no, no... I have other engagements to attend." Ozzy hisses back at the raspy voice, his small eyes having yet to actually see the talking cadaver. " I plan on leaving, we simply cannot stay that long."

14:55, Sun 21 July 2013: Oswald Osbourne rolled 24 using 1d20+7 ((17)). Initiative.

Standing, waiting with his arrow at the ready Aramil is still surprised to see that out of the mist steps the shadow of a man. The half-elf's surprise manifests itself in inaction so most of his fellow travellers will react before him.

OOC: ready and waiting and I roll a 4. Sigh!
08:51, Today: Aramil rolled 6 using 1d20+2. Initiative.

"Ozzy, no!" Eilieen hisses.  Somewhat tardily.  "Well, there goes the escape plan," she mutters as the...creature...whispers its final decision and makes itself known, sliding forward.  Fumbling for her holy symbol, Eilieen begins counting under her breath.

"Three...two...one...and..."

There comes a roar from above, and Aarnr enters the room like a sweaty avalanche.

"I think not," Eilieen firmly states in reply to the shadowy thing's assertions.  "This place is definitely starting to remind me of the temple..."  Finally locating the accurs, erm, blessed holy symbol, Eilieen raises it between herself and the advancing creature.  It's all she has, being somewhat lacking in a spear at the moment.  "Avaunt, unnatural foulness!  Remove your vile self from our presence, in the name of Zadastha!"

It's as close as she can come to 'frogging'.

OOC -

Initiative roll, unsurprisingly, a 2, for a total of 3.
Turn Undead roll, a surprising 17 + 3 = 20.  Hah. Eilieen turns up to level 6 undead.  If this beastie is higher, the Dungeon Master is definitely trying for a TPK.
Turn Undead Result, 6 + 6 (Charisma + Level), and 12 levels of undead are affected.

Now, I just hope this...thing...is undead.

Whatever Erista is saying to Corian is lost in Aarnr's roar - the first few words actually drowned out, and the rest lost as she forgets what she was saying, turning to look back.  "Maybe we should see what that's all about."

She doesn't sound completely convinced herself, but, nevertheless, leaves Corian to the books that might, arguably, be his, and hurries over to look down the trapdoor.  As she comes over and spots Aramil, she whispers, "What's going on?"

OOC: Oh - Initiative 15
This message was last edited by the player at 14:34, Mon 22 July 2013.

Fergus watches intently from above.  At first he is puzzled by the conversation.  How could there be someone else in the tomb?  Perhaps there was another way in that they hadn't found yet?  Gradually, though, Fergus begins to understand that all is not well.  It appears that Eilieen, and now Ozzy, are speaking with a ghost.

The prospect is alarming.  To Fergus, ghosts were a thing of fable, inhabitants of the spookier campfire stories.  Fergus, who had never had much cause to fear a physical confrontation, found them all the more frightening because they were immune to his strength.

As the ghost manifests, Fergus recoils momentarily.  He recovers quickly, if only from embarrassment that Aarnr has beaten him to the drop.  He briefly considers following before deciding that those below will need him more up here.  He shoves his scythe at Corian and takes up the rope that Aarnr dropped, ready to pull up whoever has the good sense to grab hold.

OOC: Initiative = 4

Standing there and watching the others react Aramil just waits and then turns to Erista "There is something down there. I don't want to say someone since I'm not sure that it is alive in the traditional sense."

"What what?"

Bilfro interrupts his own monologue in confusion as a most rumpus din ensues with skydiving barbarians and halflings descending upon fair maidens into dark and moist places.  Not that he actually notices all that as he remains where he is in the doorway and looks between Erista and Corian.

"Was it something I said?"

Colwyn, realising that his role as a weapon rack might, just possibly, hinder his effectiveness as a killer, drops Eilieen's spear next to the opening and reaches for his crossbow.  At the last instant he changes his mind, drawing his sword and the silver bladed dagger instead.

He makes no move to descend though, deeming it better to ensure that the unnatural creature does not have a clear avenue of escape should it choose to do so...

He does, however, offer useful advice to those already below...

"Look out!"

Doing his best to ignore Bilfro, who usually makes him feel as if an ogre is stamping on his head, Corian shoves the books into his pack (all of the books), then hurries across to see what is happening.

He catches the tail of Aramil's explanation and replies, obviously concerned, "Oh, dear me.  I do hope it isn't Eralion.  I only have mad old Feriblan's word for it that his old friend did not have the magical might to become a lich." before pushing forward towards the trap door.

In the gloomy, mist shrouded pit, Ozzy steps back out of the way as the umbral form speaks to him.  That halflings have some sort of supernatual ability to detect danger is confirmed a moment later, as Aarnr lands heavily on the exact spot where the little bard had been standing, and staggers into the plinth, disturbing the coffin, and causing the staff to fall from the skeleton's grasp to clatter on the floor.

The shadowy form, still hard to see in the dim light, hisses again as Colwyn's shouted warning follows the savage priest down from above.

Bilfro, meanwhile, for all his confusion, seems alert and fully prepared to... do something.

Aarnr pushes himself back from the plinth and completes his desecration of the crypt by knocking the skeleton to the floor, where it lays, broken and pathetic, in its once-fine robes.  He turns to face the dark figure, which now appears to address Eilieen, in a whispering voice, which seems to lower the temperature in the room even further, "Who are these people?  Friends of yours, huh?  Now this really pisses me off to no end!"*

Aramil quickly ensures that Erista and Corian know what is happening.  The area around the trapdoor is considerably less congested now, with Aarnr having plummeted into the depths, so the three move a little closer, and Corian suddenly finds himself awkwardly holding Fergus' scythe...

The dark figure spreads its arms, if vaguely defined tendrils of shadow can be termed such, and advances towards Eilieen.  The priestess, in response, raises her holy symbol and invokes the will of Zadastha, and the foulness recoils with a shriek, cowering before her, and hiding... the place where its face should be with the previously mentioned tendrils of shadow.

And then... it laughs a bone-chilling sibilant laugh as it rises up again to its full height and beyond, floating up into the air a little.

"Foolish mortal!" it spits, "Do you think that that harlot, Zadastha, can protect you here?  In the place where I am at my strongest?  I am Eralion, and this is my crypt.  I rule here!"

"Mənim əlaqə sümük siz dondurmaq edəcək."

A pale blue glow appears where the shadowy mage's hands should be...


OOC: Oh... this doesn't look good.  Well, for you lot, obviously.  I have to say it's looking perfectly fine for Team Bad Guy.  :)

*Entirely gratuitous "Big Trouble in Little China" reference.

Combatant         Init
Oswald Osbourne    24
Colwyn Akbar       20
Bilfro Gabbins     17
Aarnr Foultongue   16
Erista             15
Corian Barade      14
Aramil              6
Eralion             5
Fergus Andarson     4
Eilieen             3

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Hurt
Aramil:           Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Hurt
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

"Oh goodness!  Did I not say to not pursue this?  Did I?  Yes, I think so.  Out loud?  Yes.  I think.  Foul, foul magic, it is!  Good for naught but the naughty!  Great Scotty, I feel like a weasel in a hen-plucking contraption, I do!  Folly, 'tis, like throwing yourself in front of a runaway cart with your britches around your ankles!  The only good confrontation is a tryst!  Or so I am told."

Boldly taking charge Bilfro runs around in  a little circle in the room, away from the trapdoor, delivering a devastating monologue to the night table who is certain to suffer a fatal blow to its life force, had it any.

It is evident he has grasped the situation thoroughly.

Having tastefully rearranged all the furniture and accoutrements in his less-than-elegant entrance, Aarnr turns his furious attention to the dark figure that approaches Eilieen, teeth baring in a predatory grin as the creature voices its complaint.

"Yeah, I get that a lot." *

"Where have thou hid thy soul-box, thou ripe-reelin', hell-hated, earth-vexin' bum-bailey ?!!" he demands.  "In that froggin' staff ?"

"An' this is from Bowbe, thou small-codded toad-knockin' pud !"

With that, (and having thoughtfully cleared most of the obstacles out of the way beforehand) the priest swings his greatsword at is-it-Eralion's head ...


* equally gratuitous Aliens reference in response:

Distephano: I thought you were dead
Ripley: Yeah, I get that a lot.

Eilieen finds herself with neither sufficient magic remaining for a spell, nor a weapon.  Her best attempt has failed.  Back she scrambles.  "Someone throw down my spear!" she shouts, struggling for the volume to be heard over Aarnr's challenge.

A small pause.  "Point up!"

OOC - I guess Eilieen will back off as best she can while holding her action in the hope someone drops down her spear...

Erista grabs Eilieen's spear - it's only three times taller than she is, afterall - and slides it over the edge, letting it drop down, point-up, near the priestess.

" Hey! How about a little entertainment?" Ozzy shouts at the specter threatening the priestess. Waving his arms and doing an odd little jig, Ozzy begins to sing loud and clear, hoping the ghost will enjoy the song enough to be fascinated by the performance...

" I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go
Walkin' with a dead man over my shoulder

Waiting for an invitation to arrive
Goin' to a party where no one's still alive

CHORUS
I was struck by lighting
Walkin' down the street
I was hit by something last night in my sleep
It's a dead man's party
Who could ask for more
Everybody's comin', leave your body at the door
Leave your body and soul at the door...
(Don't run away it's only me)..."

---

15:55, Wed 24 July 2013: Oswald Osbourne rolled 25 using 1d20+6 ((19)). Perform to Fascinate.

"Eralion!" breathes Corian, the colour draining from his face.

"Eralion!" he declares again, almost a challenge now, as his voice finds strength from somewhere.  He props Fergus' scythe against his shoulder and begins to chant the words of a spell.

"Marwolaeth wrth y meirw byw!"

And a beam of pale light reaches down into the dimness of the lower chamber to touch the dark form...

"Eralion?  Bugger!  Wasn't yer tellin' us as 'e were bein' dead?"  Colwyn questions Corian, even as he raises his crossbow, "See.  I's 'stinctly 'memberin' as yer was sayin' as 'ow Eralion weren't bein' strong enough ter be livin' after death as one of them there lich fellers."

He squeezes the trigger, and sends the quarrel hurtling towards the shadowy figure, only to see it miss by a hairs-breath...

"Bugger!"

He starts to reload again...

(NPCd)

Aramil takes his time.  He isn't sure what that thing is down there, other than a man-sized figure, seemingly composed of darkness.  Finally, when he is sure of his aim, he releases the arrow, which flies straight and true, directly at the dark thing's head...

(NPCd)

Fergus holds his ground, and the rope, while he watches the conflict unfolding in the room below.  He does think it's a bit odd that nobody is trying to escape the eldritch horror which stalks them.  He's heard a lot of stories about ghosts and, in those tales, running away always seems to be the best idea.

Though, to be honest, he isn't surprised to see Aarnr attacking the thing...

Ozzy starts to sing, a strange song with odd words, and the shadowy form turns away from Eileen and seems to watch the bard, drifting slowly back to the floor...  It doesn't even seem to notice as Colwyn's crossbow bolt whirs past, close to where a living man's ear would be.  Or as the bluish light that it had cast fades away. 

Upstairs, Bilfro retreats back to the bedchamber, where he occupies himself with... doing things.  Doubtless important things, vital to the success of the quest...

In the dimly lit crypt, Aarnr sees his chance and seizes it by the throat (metaphorically speaking).  The priest of Bowbe, a litany of curses on his grinning lips, swings his greatsword at the self-proclaimed ghost of Eralion.  The blade bites deep into the thing's neck, and doesn't stop.  Aarnr, surprised by the lack of resistance, spins through a complete circle.

Eralion seems not to have noticed the blow, and still seems gazes at Ozzy, apparently with rapt attention...

Erista carefully lowers Eilieen's spear down into the lower room.  It's a stretch, but she tinks she can put the weapon safely into the priestesses hands. 

A beam of pale light reaches from Corian's outstretched hand and pierces the dark creature's chest, eliciting a hiss of outrage, and drawing its gaze upwards towards the mage.  Just in time for Aramil to put an arrow through its face, to no more effect than Aarnr's sword.

From his vantage point, Fergus watches as weapons pass straight through the figure without harming it, while a simple beam of light seems to burn its ghostly form, and cause it pain.

Eilieen, shaken by the ease with which the creature had shrugged off the light of Zadastha's power, and the way it had even mocked it, retrieves her spear from Erista and turns to face her foe, just in time to see it lunge towards Ozzy...  An insubstantial arm reaches out towards the halfling bard, and he staggers backwards, swaying as if he is suddenly extremely tired... 

OOC: Things aren't going well...

Combatant         Init
Oswald Osbourne    24
Colwyn Akbar       20
Bilfro Gabbins     17
Aarnr Foultongue   16
Erista             15
Corian Barade      14
Aramil              6
Eralion             5
Fergus Andarson     4
Eilieen             3

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Hurt
Aramil:           Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Hurt
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

This message was last edited by the GM at 19:25, Sun 28 July 2013.

Aramil watchs with increasing horror as the weapons of the party pass through the misty body as if they didn't exist. The fact that Eileen's call to Zadastha seems not to hurt the thing was the worst but it was good to see the bolt of light seem to harm it. But not enough! he thinks and the half-elf feels he has nothing to contribute. Standing and staring for what seems an eternity Aramil hears a call in his head, a call to keep going. "Tell another story Aramil! Cheer the people up. They need to have something to focus on." Voices from his past, asking, pleading for his reassurance when times got hard and tough. Lastly he hears his mother's voice. "One more story, that is what they need to hear my clever little boy"

Grabbing the first thing that enters his head the half-elf starts to tell about the great battle of Bard's Gate, with the scared heros standing facing the enemy with strong hearts and a firm will.

OOC: inspire courage +1

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Bilfro conveys his thoughts and peeks out from the door towards the trapdoor.

"I have a bad feeling about this!" he says, having the need to express his feelings and does that, more or less.

"It could be worse!" says he, feeling courage snaking its way in.  A most unusual feeling.  It does not last.

"Venture surceased, fellow, venture surceased!"

He ducks back into the bed chamber.  Perchance there is something there that can save the day.

Fergus is well aware that he's not the brightest spark, not the sharpest tool in the shed, all those sorts of things.  Fergus being who he is, he would probably admit it before anyone else had the opportunity to bring it up.  But there is such a thing as common sense.  Fighting ghosts with weapons wasn't sensible.  Neither was fighting a ghost on ground it claimed made it stronger.

"It says it's strong down there.  Get out!" Fergus yells down the hole, before quickly adding.  "Aarnr, grab its staff.  It might have some magic that can hurt it."

Fergus waits to see if anyone will follow his advice.

OOC: Using the usual RPG protocol to squeeze in more than 6 seconds of speech :P.  Fergus will hold his action until after Eilieen has acted.  If any of those below grab hold of the rope he will haul them up.  He will Rage to increase his strength if either Eilieen or Aarnr (or both) grab on.

Weakened by the touch of the ghost, Ozzy's voice loses some of the timbre, becoming listless and uninspired. He cannot help but continue singing as appropriate as it is at the moment, stumbling backwards and away from the clutching grasp of the long dead wizard...

" All dressed up with nowhere to go.
Walkin' with a dead man
Waitin' for an invitation to arrive
With a dead man . . . Dead Man . . .

Got my best suit and my tie
Shiny silver dollar on either eye
I hear the chauffeur comin' to the door
Says there's room for maybe just one more..."

Clutching at the javelin, he struggles to hold it up defensively to fend off any further attack on his heart and soul.

Eilieen pauses as Fergus' words sink in.  Of course!  Battling this thing in its crypt wasn't the brightest choice she has ever made.  They need to get out of here, consider a different plan.  And then Oswald suffers the creature's attentions...

"Oswald!  No!"

Spear forgotten, Eilieen lets it fall as she lunges for the bard.  Wrapping an arm around his waist (she has to bent quite far, admittedly), she drags him back and grabs for the rope with her free hand.  "Aarnr!  We must flee this crypt!  PLEASE!"  She can only pray the priest listens to her for once.

There's no need to die; they all might yet win free.

Satisfied that he has found a weapon which will serve against the insubstantial horror, Corian repeats the spell, "Marwolaeth wrth y meirw byw!"  Once more the ray of light springs forth and burns Eralions ectoplasmic form.

Corian's only real concern is that he will drain all of his magic before the decades-dead wizard finally falls.  "Magic harms it!" he announces in a loud voice, in the hopes that Erista, and even Bilfro will join the assault.

Aarnr is still confused that his mighty blow merely passed through Eralion as if the thing that he has become were not there.  And while his native tongue does indeed allow for such phrases as "running away" * being undead is definitely cheating, and if both Fergus and Eilieen are in accord, then the priest will, however reluctantly, acquiese.

Sheathing his sword, Aarnr stoops to pick up the discarded staff, gripping it belligerently in both hands, tip pointed towards the foulsome creature.  "Thou get the folly-fallen minstrel away," he tells the priestess, "I'll be right behind thee ..."

* most generally followed hard by "get after them !"

Erista pulls her head up to look at Corian when he makes his announcement.  "Was looking for something as might be this.. soul box," she says.  "We sure it's not a lich?  Hey!"  She blinks suddenly, turning her head slightly to focus on Aramil.  "Your sword!  It's got magic on it.  Aramil, you should get down there!" she exhorts.  Then, her knowledge of the elf asserting itself, she amends, "Or let Aarnr borrow your sword."

Pointing her finger down, she adds, almost absently, "破壞 幽靈."  A beam of light shoots from her own finger, passing over Aarnr's hair and giving him almost a halo for a moment, before striking the skeletal figure square in what's left of the face.

"Bilfro!  Shift yer bleedin' arse!  We's needin' another wizard in 'ere!" Colwyn yells over his shoulder, towards the doorway.  The rogue elects not to waste another crossbow bolt.  He has, after all, witnessed Aarnr's sword cutting through the dark shadowy creature with no more effect than slicing air.

He drops the useless crossbow and draws his silver bladed dagger.  At least that might work.  He's been told that silver works at least half the time against nine out of ten ghosts.

But then the man who told him that also tried to tell him that a duck is a type of feathered fish...
This message was last edited by the player at 08:02, Fri 02 Aug 2013.

Strangely tired, Ozzy backs away from the shadowy haunt, circling around the plinth with the coffin atop it  And still he keeps singing, though his voice does falter a little as the dark form passes straight through the stone block, coffin and all, as if it weren't there...

Colwyn realises the futility of hurling more projectiles at a creature which seems likely to ignore them anyway.  Instead he calls on Bilfro to bring his own thaumaturgic might to the fray.  The subject of that desperate summons is still busy searching the bedchamber, with occasional pauses to express his opinions on the progress of the battle.  Or possibly on any number of unrelated topics.  It's hard to be entirely sure. 

Ozzy shrieks involuntarily, as he is suddenly grabbed from behind, and Eilieen starts to drag him towards the rope.  The ghostly figure follows still...

Fergus realises what is happening, puts two and two together and has an idea.  A shouted instruction, and Aarnr grabs the staff from where it lays on the floor and challenges the shade.  Which has the immediate effect of distracting Eralion-that-was away from Ozzy.  "That is mine, cur!"  He veers towards the priest, tiny pinpricks of red light burning where his eyes should be.  "Mən sehrli raket da qaranlıq tökm... aaieee!"

Whatever spell the creature is casting ends in a hiss of pain, as Corian and Erista strike at it near simultaneously with magical forces, and twin beams of light lance down from above the hatch, burning into the umbral horror.  Ragged wisps of shadow boil away from the incorporeal surface of the thing, and it lurches sideways, as if staggering...

Aramil starts to sing, and the gloom of the pit lifts its grip on the hearts and minds of his companions.  In that moment of fresh found clarity Erista reminds the bard of the enchanted blade from the farmouse, which still hangs at his hip.

A tendril of shadow reaches towards Aarnr and brushes against his arm.    The priest stumbles, shaking his head as if attempting to clear it of sleep... 

Eilieen and Ozzy take advantage of Eralion's distracted state, and reach the rope.  They grab hold of it, and Fergus starts to haul them up.  The big farmer clearly doesn't know his own strength.  Ozzy, in his weakened state, almost loses his grip on the lifeline, and only Eilieen's hold on him prevents the halfling tumbling back to the ground... 

OOC: Oooh!  Excitement, combat, daring rescues, and Indiana Jones-esque escapes!  Oh, and Bilfro!(!!)

Figure that Ozzy and Eilieen will get to safety (ie: solid ground) at the end of the next round.

Combatant         Init
Oswald Osbourne    24
Colwyn Akbar       20
Bilfro Gabbins     17
Aarnr Foultongue   16
Erista             15
Corian Barade      14
Aramil              6
Eralion             5
Fergus Andarson     4
Eilieen             3

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Hurt
Aramil:           Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Hurt
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

This message was last edited by the GM at 15:52, Fri 02 Aug 2013.

While still reciting his prose the half-elf hears the little halfling's comment and looks down at the sword on his hip. Not sure who would be best using the item he stops a moment and then notices the priest still down with the mist. Drawing it form his hilt he adds a line to the story hoping the priest will hear it as he drops the sword down towards Aarnr, trying to miss the swinging figures of Ozzy and Eileen coming back up. "So the strong and mighty warrior of Bouwe reaches for the magic sword that has appeared at his side. His god has predicted the tirade of abuse that would soon reach his ears about the cruel cheating for such foul creatures to be immune to the blades of the worthy, so has provided a worthy sword to fight the evil being into submission or death, a long and final death." If Aarnr doesn't pick up the sword then the half-elf will yell "Aarnr you froggin' coward pick up the sword and hit the foul enemy of Bouwe!"

Aarnr staggers back as Eralion's touch saps his strength ... but then rears up, face contorted with an anger that lies beyond reason, lashing out at the foul creature's head with the heavy staff ...

... which at some point in the manoevre becomes detached from the priest's grip and goes flying to the far quarters of the chamber.

Colwyn briefly considers throwing the silver blade at the dark creature, but dismisses that idea - if he misses, he will have wasted the only weapon he has that might harm the thing, plus he has an aversion to throwing away perfectly good silver.  Instead he decides to wait for the thing to come to him.

This plan has the advantage that he will only be fighting if he has no other choice, always the best option as far as the rogue is concerned.

Meanwhile, there are other things he can do to assist in the battle...

"Bilfro!  'urry up mate!"

Unfortunately there are no secrets to be found in the chamber, not even a hatch with no discernible way to actually open it.  Once, nay, twice, doth the call ring forth, beckoning Bilfro the Unconfrontational to confrontation.

"Nazzle drazzle naughty necromancer," mutters he neath his breath, which he hopes to keep, as he muddles towards the shindig that no doubt will do naught by harm to him and others.

"Whaaaaaa?" he cantankerously clamour upon arrival near the Trapdoor That Should Not Have Been Opened But Oh No Of Course We Have To Open The Foreboding Bloody Thing And Awaken Whatever Horror No Doubt Resides Therein, or TTTSNHBOBONOCWHTOTFBTAAWHNDRT for short.

"Marwolaeth wrth y meirw byw!"

And again the shaft of light springs forth from Corian's finger.  This time though, the dark shadow shifts aside, and the beam strikes the floor of the crypt, where it doesn't even disturb the dust...

Corian gives a strangled cry, then, "He threw the staff!  He threw it!"

With Eilieen and Ozzy both clinging to the rope (though clinging might be a little optimistic in Ozzy's case), Fergus continues to haul them up.  The load is not particularly heavy, really, but speed is of the essence and Fergus is putting his back into it, using brute force to drag the rope hand over hand.  The sooner they're safe, the sooner he can help Aarnr.

"Well, now," Erista says calmly, "He threw a staff.  No sense getting all worked up about it before we know for sure which staff it was.  破壞 幽靈," she adds, helpfully, sending another lance of light down at the spirit, although somewhat less brightly than last time.

The encounter with the top of the hole almost proves lethal for Eileen, thanks in part to Fergus' enthusiasm; with a squeak, she snatches her head out of the way of the lip and only suffers a grazed shoulder.  "Up and out, Oswald!" she cries, struggling to boost the halfling to the edge so she can scramble out herself.

With that solved - only a modicum of panicked movement and shoving - she rolls away from the hole and scrabbles around to crawl back, this time to stick her head through in search of her friends.  "Gods!  Aarnr!  The rope!  Drop it down again, Fergus!"

Likely an unnecessary request, but while she avoided excess back at the temple, it seems a perfect time for it now.

OOC - Apologies, but I had a long weekend.  :(

Once out of the hole, Ozzy simply rolls off to one side until something solid blocks any further distance from the chaos and screaming. He lays there catching his breath, blinking slowly and thinking how the darkness, the cool floor, it all seems like a terrible place to take a nap. He struggles to stand, leaning on the wall for support as he does so. The urge to sing has all but left his small heart. Maybe later, when they can see the sky again. Right now, he's just too weak and tired.

They say that no plan survives first contact with the enemy.  It is, then, perhaps a good thing that anybody who had descended into the crypt had done so with no plan...

Ozzy and Eilieen are hauled upwards with what, to them, probably seems like painful slowness...  Fergus' powerful arms work tirelessly to bring them to safety.

Aramil continues to recite his poem of heroism and bravery and victory over the forces of darkness.  His enthusiastic oratory fills the hearts and minds of his listeners with hope, and inspires them to greater effort.

In Colwyn's case, this greater effort is expended, for the most part, in ordering Bilfro around...  Bilfro, himself, arrives at the trap door, and peers into the aperture to see what all the fuss is about. 

Down in the crypt, Aarnr, in his frothing rage, clearly mistakes the staff for some sort of poorly designed spear and hurls it at his dark foe.  The staff flies from his hand and clatters, uselessly, against one of the coffins arrayed against the wall.

And two more beams of light pierce the gloom.  One, cast by Corian, the spectral Eralion avoids easily.  The second, from Erista, brings a cry of rage and pain as it once again scorches the incorporeal figure.  Erista takes a moment to remind Aramil that he has a magical blade, taken from the farmhouse, strapped to his hip...

Aramil alters the words of his poem slightly, as he draws the shortsword and drops it down to Aarnr.  It lays on the floor, the blade gleaming more brightly than the dim light in the crypt would seem to permit...

Eralion drifts towards Aarnr again, ghostly hands reaching for the man, "I will feed on your might, and you will become my servant, fool!"  But Aarnr knows better now, he throws himself aside, scrabbling across the floor, and avoids the freezing touch of the creature.  And there, just within reach of his hand, lays a sword (though to Aarnr's mind it's not a real sword, it's more like a small knife for peeling fruit), the edges glowing with a soft white radiance.

Barely breaking a sweat in the chill air, Fergus brings Ozzy and Eilieen to the opening.  Ozzy is dragged and pushed through to the upper room, to be joined a moment later by Eilieen, who has a new tear in the shoulder of her recently-mended dress.

Perhaps this is the reason so many Zadasthans seem to favour tight black leather clothing?  Hard wearing, less likely to snag on things, and doesn't show dirt so easily...

The rope is dropped down again...

OOC: Ozzy and Eilieen now safely out of the hole.

Combatant         Init
Oswald Osbourne    24
Colwyn Akbar       20
Bilfro Gabbins     17
Aarnr Foultongue   16
Erista             15
Corian Barade      14
Aramil              6
Eralion             5  AC=15  (13 touch)
Fergus Andarson     4
Eilieen             3

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Hurt
Aramil:           Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Hurt
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

"Froggin' raaaaarhhhh !"  Aarnr's frustration is thankfully most unintelligible as the red mist proves an impediment to really coherent swearing.

Having felt the fell touch of the lich once, even someone as fearless as he prefers to avoid those clutching fingers, and the priest dives aside, fate (or perhaps just Aramil's excellent aim) placing a glowing blade within his grasp ...

Scrambling to his feet, Aarnr grips the short sword's haft in both hands and swings it recklessly at Eralion, spitting his defiance in the creature's face ...

Bilfro strikes a pose at the top of the hatch like a hero coming to the rescue.

"Never fear, Bilfro is here!" he calls out, the quickly stoops down to grab a rock near his feet.  Straightening up he strikes the pose once more and holds the rock high in triumph.

"Ben gökyüzü boya zaman, uyku güney yığıldı!"

The rock sputters, starts to flicker and then, with a resounding puff of black smoke, starts to glow, at first rather ghostly.  Bilfro pulls back his arm as if to hurl it with all his might (...) down into the trap door opening.  He then carefully brings his hand over the opening and drops the rock straight down.  AS it falls its glow begins to switch into a brighter light.  By the time it will land it will no doubt be very much brighter.

"Aarnr, don't go into the light!" calls he down into the crypt.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:54, Wed 07 Aug 2013.

As soon as both Eilieen and Ozzy are clear of the trapdoor, Fergus tosses the rope back down for Aarnr.  Fergus is all but hopping from foot to foot in restless anxiety and he can barely restrain himself from jumping into the fray, much as Aarnr had done.

OOC: If Aarnr looks in serious trouble (most likely if Eralion touches him again), Fergus will jump/slide down the rope and try to get his hands on Aramil's sword.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:33, Thu 08 Aug 2013.

Glad that the Priest managed to retrieve the sword the half-elf renews the ode with gutso.

Corian realises that his options are narrowing rapidly.  There is no sense in holding back the last of his power if he doesn't live long enough to use it...

"Taflegryn yn y tywyllwch!" he intones, and a small sphere of crackling energy springs from his fingertips and circles the room once before darting down through the trap door to strike Eralion's shade with a pulse of bluish light and a small shower of sparks...

Staring at the trap door, not the down one, but the up one, Colwyn is also assessing his options.

The overhang on each level means that the only way out of this deathtrap is the rope.  And the rope will not support all of them at once, or if it will, he has no way to be sure that the ring he tied it too won't pull out of the wall with that much weight on it.

That many people would make it difficult to climb anyway.  And he has a feeling that the ghost can probably fly faster than he can climb an erratically swaying rope.

And somehow, with every passing heartbeat, the distance up to ground level seems to double.

So Colwyn's trapped down here, at the bottom of the world, with the ghost of a dead wizard, who doesn't seem the sort to let a group of intruders escape his lair.  The only appropriate thing to say seems to be, "Bugger!"  The rogue sidles quietly towards the bedchamber.  Perhaps there's a hidden door or something that Bilfro missed?

Ozzy and Eilieen sprawl on the floor of the chamber, panting and gasping for breath (though not for the reason that most Zadasthans usually find themselves in this position).    Aramil stands nearby, still reciting his poem to inspire courage in his companions...

Moving away from the trap door, where he can do nothing but get in the way anyway, Colwyn heads for the bedchamber and starts searching the room...

A quick assessment of the situation apparently leads Bilfro to the conclusion that the crypt is too dark.  He picks up a pebble which, with much posturing, gesturing and chanting, starts to shine like a torch.  Then he drops it...  The light brightens, then dims (but not entirely) as it falls into the pit.

Eralion whirls about as the new source of illumination lands nearby, "You dare?".  And Aarnr seizes the opportunity to swing Aramil's enchanted blade at the ghostly creature. 

Eralion screams... and tattered shreds of shadow are pulled from the creature to boil off the edges of the weapon.  And an instant later a bolt of energy, launched by Corian, strikes the foul thing, an provokes another shriek.

Erista laughs as the savage priest manages to harm the undead mage at last, and she sends another beam of light burning into the dark form.  The effect this time is somewhat different.  Eralion stops where he is, and seems to... unravel...  Dark streamers flow from the shadow thing, fading into nothingness as they spread further...

And from his vantage point, where he watches to see if Aarnr needs assistance, Fergus sees Eralion fade away into nothingness, and hears a voice whisper, "Freed, at last... "

In the sudden stillness all light grows brighter, and the mist and shadows in the crypt are driven back...

At the words of the dark figure below, "You dare?", Bilfro bravely retorts with an emphatic "Eek!" and scrambles back from the trap door.  He stops about halfway between the trap door and the chamber, where he looks about wildly.

"Fighting bad, fighting bad!  People get hurt, usually me!"

He starts to run in a small circle, muttering to himself, oblivious about any changes in light or noise.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:37, Sun 11 Aug 2013.

"Farewell, Eralion." Corian murmurs, "You were not so mighty as you imagined."

Then louder, "He's gone!  Aarnr, is the staff intact?"

Fergus straightens slowly, bunched muscles in his arms and shoulders visibly relaxing as his grip on the rope eases and the tension bleeds away.  Looking around at his colleagues and friends, Fergus smiles broadly and declares, "We did a good thing."

Leaning back to the trapdoor, Fergus calls down, "Are you right down there, Aarnr?  I'll be down in just a...soon."

Reassured that the most dangerous thing in the crypt is almost certainly Aarnr, Fergus goes to help Eilieen and Ozzy back to their feet.

"Oh," Eilieen gasps, brushing hair from her face as she watches Eralion fade away.  "Oh, oh, well done!"  Gripping Fergus' hand, she allows herself to be hauled to her feet.  "Indeed, Fergus, a great thing!"  A quick hug for the farmer, then another for Ozzy.  She'd hug Aarnr, despite the smell, but he's down below.

Peering down again, she notes the change in the crypt's atmosphere.  "I'll warrent it's safe enough for us to enter as well.  There is some strength left to me for healing - I should assist Aarnr."

There comes a brief pause.  "And my plan appears to have worked," the priestess smugly states.

Aarnr takes the opportunity to scream triumphantly as the shadow-lich unravels before him, shaking the blade at Eralion for good measure.  Whirling, the priest looks around the darkened chamber for the next foe ...

... then his shoulders slump and Aarnr looks as tired and sore as you've ever known him as the red-mist of battle fades away.  But despite this and the questions flung his way by Fergus and Corian, there is one more thing he must do.

"Minstr ... Aramil !  Thou are a froggin' clever pumpion !" it seems meant as a compliment.  "Have thou named this gleepin' pigsticker ?"

He holds up the short sword.  "If not ... in Bowbe's name I call thee Shadowrender !"  Aarnr's eyes rise once more to the Half-Elf.  "Thou should bear the blade proudly."

"Though the kill is thine, thou fearful-chantin' runt," he reluctantly congratulates Erista whose spell was the end of Eralion.

"I am ... but weary," the priest reassures Fergus, so weary in fact that he has but little energy to swear as inventively as is his wont.  "Give this to Aramil."  He reverses his grip, clutching the blade near the point so that his friend can grab the pommel.

And finally he gets around to Corian's question ... though in truth any word that has 'tact' in it gets short shrift around the barbarian.  "How do I froggin' know ?!!  Froggin' useless stick !"

With ill grace Aarnr tiredly casts about the chamber looking for the staff, passing it up to their patron whether it be in once piece or many, hoping at the least to shut the puttuck up.

Corian takes the staff, and lifts it gently out of the pit.  "Not broken!" he exclaims triumphantly, "It's not broken!  Eralion's staff and journals are mine!"  He looks around him, beaming,"My thanks to all of you.  I have what I came here for.  All else of value in this place is yours, to apportion as you will among yourselves."

Colwyn steps through the door from the bedchamber.  "Was somebody sayin' as there's bein' summat ter divvy up?"  He takes a quick look down into the hole and grins, "Aarnr, mate, yer's still bein' on yer feet.!  I were fair certain as that lich bugger, or whatever it were bein', would do fer yer, good an' proper.  I's glad I were bein' wrong, jus' fer once."

"I's not supposin' yer's found any scratch down there, 'as yer?"

No, seems having the staff won't shut the puttock up, but at least he's a man of his word.

"I claim this froggin' dump in the name of my father, Orgothan the Swift !" Aarnr proclaims in light of Corian's gift.  "Thou will ensure the maps are amended ..."

Colwyn's question almost catches the priest out, but he stops himself just in time to avoid another telling off from Eilieen.  "Thou needs check all for traps, thou toad-wart !!" he reminds the rogue, nodding with smug satisfaction to the priestess, "Get thy paunchy breeched rear down here !"

"Where is the other gleepin' minstrel ?" he demands, looking up through the trapdoor for Ozzie. "Do thou yet live ?  We two survived the Lich's fell touch and are brothers of the blood now !"

"Well-said, Aarnr," Eilieen agrees, sliding down the rope to the floor.  "Colwyn shall seek out any traps, and we shall then find what remains, thanks to the heroics of all those involved!"  Not really her - she accomplished somewhere between zero and nothing during the last battle, and knows it.  But what does it matter?  "Congratulations, Corian - it is good to see you well-satisfied!  One hopes there is sufficient for the rest of us, as well!"

Coin means comfort, coin means better clothing, and coin, yes, means helping more people.  Eilieen won't turn it aside, to be sure.

She smothers a giggle at the idea of Ozzy and Aarnr being brothers, and wonders how the small minstrel will take the idea.  Certainly Aarnr isn't going to let go of it.

"Frogging right it is, you oversized badger-haired lout!" Erista exults, when Aarnr, however reluctantly, acknowledges that she almost single-handedly - indeed, single-fingeredly - defeated the undead wizard.

Then she claps a hand over her own mouth and looks up through the top trapdoor.  "Sorry, mum."

Climbing down the rope, she walks up to Aarnr and looks up at the minor giant.  "And we're supposed to share the loot," she points out.  "If all it turns out to be is the pile of rubble, then your dad can't have all of it.  If we find other stuff, though, 'salright with me if that's your claim."

"Is it gone?  Is it no more?  Is it finished?  Is it?  Is it?" ask Bilfro with dignified near panic in his voice.  In case it is not the case he plucks up another pebble and clenches it until one would expect stone-juice to seep from it.  Not really, since he lacks the strength; he barely have enough strength to break a sweat, let alone a rock.

"Is it no more?"

"Yeah, it is." Fergus replies simply.

Having accepted a hug from Eilieen and Shadowrender from Aarnr (and passed the latter on to Aramil), Fergus finds himself back at the trapdoor.

He had intended to climb down to check on Aarnr but the big cleric seems hearty enough, if a little tired, and the crypt below is rapidly becoming crowded with other curious types.  So Fergus remains above, in case anyone else needs a lift out.

He is rather more relaxed about the prospect now, though.  Rather than hovering anxiously, rope in hand, Fergus sits next to the rope with his legs dangling through the trap.

Colwyn descends the rope and comes to rest atop the plinth, and astride the ornate coffin which rests there.  His choice of location is a simple matter of logic.  The plinth, and the coffin, have already been jostled by others, and Eilieen herself had stood where he is now.

Any traps would have been long-since triggered.

Even so, he is careful not to disturb the ornate sarcophagus as he drops to the floor, though it does draw a comment from him, "I knowed wizards was all weird.  Fancy bone box like that, an' 'e were leavin' 'is corpse ter rot on top of the thing."  A shrug, and a shake of the head, "Suppose 'e wasn't wantin' ter use it an' filthy it up, on account of 'ow 'e weren't plannin' ter stay in it.  Or maybe that were what 'e were wantin' people ter think, an it's bein' full of traps."

The rogue spends a few minutes studying the coffin, walking around the plinth and examining the designs carved on both it and the coffin, all while muttering under his breath, "Three pronged circle, twice..."  "Two birds flyin'..."  "Some weird lookin' fish..."  "Sorry mate." (this latter as he treads on Eralion's ribs and crushes them to powder under his heel).

Finally, just as Aarnr looks as though he might be losing patience... er... losing more patience, Colwyn steps back, "Coffin's lookin' safe."  And he turns away, to look around the rest of the room.

In the chamber above, Corian is cradling the staff in his arms, gently and with a certain amount of obvious trepidation, like a young man about to kiss his first girl, and worried that her father might enter the room at any instant...

Ozzy sits shivering with his back to the wall and his knees pulled up to his chest. He runs at his shoulder, which feels frostbitten, and looks up when the loud barbarian talks. " B-b-b-brothers?" he chatters unquestioningly, unsure if he had heard right. Regardless, this modicum of respect from the big man warmed his heart. " Brothers! Sh-sh-sh-sure! That'd be g-g-g-great!" he says, grinning happily through the freezing pain in his shoulder.

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...