I nominate Arnie - he used to spend all his time up to his knees in shit, before he decided he had some holier business to attend to.

There is a world of difference between the smell of shi- the smell of excrement and the smell of death, my diminutive companion.  And clearly the hole calls for someone more, shall we say, diminutive than I?  Worry not, I can ensure that the might of Gorhan protects you as you venture forth.

"It's in here, you bloody fools, it's in here," the Prince of Swords shouts back. "The devil take you if you want to plunge into that pit. And he will..h-"

He reverts to muttering to himself about fate's cruel jest.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:42, Wed 12 Mar 2014.

''A secret entry under the flagstone?! Did we not search the place for exactly such things when we were here before? And another secret door above in the Knight's room, leading to his masters' whereabouts? What did we do here all the time?!'' Zar is nearly frothing.

Sidd pats him on a shoulder. ''Alas, yes, it might just be we forgot about it. We certainly did not look under the flagstone. Though I remember that I intended to look for secret doors, I actually think I forgot about it and then we were out in the march.'' He shrugs his shoulders.
''Anyway, Felix, excellent thinking!''

''I am pretty sure that are not excrements down there, but a multitude of corpses. Our predecessors in this plane perhaps? I will check. Do we have a rope?''
Sidd proceeds to saturate a piece of cloth with strong booze and bind it around mouth and nose. Anything is better than the smell wafting up from below.

If there's a rope, it will be fastened to the iron bars of the marsh gate, and then down he goes.

Arnie is pretty much one to stick to his word, so while Sidd prepares for his descent, the cleric puts a hand on his shoulder and speaks a quiet prayer.  An angelic crown appears over Sidd's head, and he feels more confident in the awful task he is about to undertake.

Josh rolled 18 using 1d20+1. casting Bless.
Effect: Sidd receives a +1 bonus to all attack, damage, save, skill, and spell rolls for 1 turn

Someone produces a pile of rope which is tied to the least rusted bar on the low gate and then attached to Sid with fabulous feats of ligature.

The narrow descent yields to a crag-walled crevice cut into the rock beneath the manor. Hundreds – no, thousands—of black flies crawl along the walls, creeping in and out of cracks spider-webbing the wall, the drone of their wings filling the air.

The stink of rotting meat is nearly overwhelming. Water is pooled on the floor, rising nearly to Sid's calves. Sid can spy broken swords and the occasional spear half-submerged in the inky waters.

There can be no logical explanation for this.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:43, Fri 14 Mar 2014.

Omm calls down, "So, what you see down there?"

Meanwhile, he was still wondering how they missed another exit from the Throne Room and why the Captain had been so dodgy about previously relinquishing that information.

''Uh... crevice... lots of flies... broken weapons... more flies...'' Sidd's voice is muffled from the cloth before his mouth, but even so the stench is just barely bearable.
Cautiously he searches for a way through the pool without stepping into a broken blade, deeper into the crevice. He brought the group's lantern and lights into the cracks to see what's in there beside flies. Are some of them even large enough to enter?

This time spent with befouled water saturating one's boots, with pink strands wending their way between one's toes -- What! Are they crawling, worming, swimming? Propelled by tiny hooks? -- is not good time.

Good or bad time, definitely bad, Sid spends enough of it to espy a passage, lit by the one or two lantern beams that can penetrate the cloud of flies, an egress from his current position. It's at a point where the walls don't completely meet, the juncture not completely formed. Filling the gaps before his eyes (too close for comfort really) are thousands of black flies, their buzzing filling his ears (again too close for comfort).

''Er... guys? This feels real bad... might be a bad idea...''
Sidd returns aghast to the others, because he certainly will not continue alone into that mess. He shivers, and tells what he has seen in detail.

''So, uh, do we want to head into this?''

''We might learn something vital... but I really dunno...''

Omm glances down the shaft once more an studies the inky darkness. "Perhaps we should have the Captain lead us to the Scribe first," he says with a gesture of his head, indicating to head back to the throne room.

"That hole isn't going anywhere. We can always come back."

''Er, yes. I think we will have to go down there sooner or later, but for now let's make it later. Perhaps we can learn a thing or two about it before.''

Zar leads the others back up the stair to the drunken Knight.

''So! Sir Knight! Tell us. What's that fly-crawling stench-ridden bloody hole below? What the hell is down there?''

You return to the throne room (and the demi-throne room) to find the Captain Kaschei engaged in one of his daily rituals, The Oiling, having completed the first one in a ruined corner of room given over to a crumble of mossy stone.

A woven rug covers the floor of the throne room, depicting a party of mounted warriors pursuing an enormous serpent, upon which he now sprawls. Jars of thick brown and black oil are at hand, along with rags, both gauzy and thick. Already off are his knee-high hunting boots to receive the black. Conscientiously, he has covered an area of the rug with papers to prevent staining.

He looks up at Zar's intrusion, irritated.

"Fly-crawling stench-ridden bloody hole? You let me know. The sooner the better."

"Where is the scribe?" Omm bluntly asks the Captain. Assuming the Captain does not cooperate, or readily offer us the scribe's location, Omm will begin by lifting up the rug to look for a possible concealed trap door. If that doesn't work, he will begin tapping various walls in search of a hollow space, which might indicate a secret door.

This, he will do in the presence of the Captain, assuming no assistance is given.

Zar glares at the polishing Knight. '''The devil take you if you want to plunge into that pit. And he will...' That has been your exact words. So don't play dumb now! What is down there?''

Arnie stands near Zar and Sidd but does not say anything yet.  Felix will assist Omm in searching for secret doors, tunnels, etc, if things go that way.

In one of life's small miracles, the corner of rug that Omm pulls back reveals

a rectangular capstone, some 6’ in diameter, set flush with the floor. Chiseled into the capstone is the crude image of a decapitated, three-headed dragon. The capstone is locked in place with three rotating stones, set with keyholes. The keyholes are set with plates – iron, copper and gold.

without disrupting his daily ablutions of leather.

Omm stabs his finger toward the trapdoor and turns to address his companions, "Hey, I think we found a home for those keys the dames gave us!"

Omm retrieves his iron key and holds it aloft with pride. "Who had the copper and gold ones?"

Once the keys have been retrieved, Omm will insert each into their respective receptacle to presumably, open the trapdoor.

Omm slides his key into the corresponding slot. Holding his hand back he says, "Alright, let me have the others..."

Sidd hesitates and stalls. ''Uhm. Uhm. Should we really be doing that? Unlocking things does not automatically mean you are able to lock them again afterwards.''
''I would rather speak with that yellow wizard first? He seemed a bit more amendable than the blue scribe? His mantis-priest wanted to celebrate a black mass and everything.''

Omm sets his jaw, tilts his head downward and motions with his hand once more for the keys to be produced.

"Are we Men, are we mice?" he asks aloud. "This here is the first solid, anything, we have stumbled across since arriving, and now we are going to leave it to go talk to another person who will give us the run around?" he asks incredulously.

''Er...'' Sidd, being cowed and bulldozed over by the big warrior, hesitantly hands over his copper key. Oh, memories of sweet Nyx!

Omm nods and gives Sidd a warm smile, "You're doing the right thing," he says. There was really no way to say whether that was indeed true, but Omm did not think in those terms. Here was lock. They had the keys. It was a no brainer situation to his way of thinking.

"Next..." he says when the two keys have been placed into the lock.

''What if...'' Zar suddenly says, ''what if there is also a set of three locks at the wizard's gate? Perhaps we can only set free one of the three. And that one wins... whatever is at stake here. And we are handing victory to the one of them who is thouroughly evil?''
''I say no. We don't open that lock. And take our keys back. We do not know enough about what's happening here yet.''

Omm sighs with disappointment and awaits others' input. Whatever the case be, they needed to accomplish something, anything, whether for ill or good. This running around in circles thing was getting old.

If one of the wizards' servants called for a black mass, then surely he must be the most evil of the lot.  And just how evil can a "scribe" really be anyway?  What's he going to do, write some dirty words into a bible?

In case he hasn't made his point sufficiently, Arnie proceeds to take out his key and put it into the lock himself.