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?"