The day dawns unseasonably cold and windy. Nothing seems to be disturbed around the campsite from the previous night. The cold gusts help to dissipate the fetid smell coming from the cave opening. Everyone feels refreshed and somehow stronger than yesterday.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:36, Mon 13 Mar 2017.

Morg is woken by the sun, and after starting a fire and setting some water to boil, looks around for any tracks by Verthel leading away from cave.

Bram had the last watch before daybreak, during which he undertook the laborious process of donning his chainmail armor.  With that done he spent a time in quiet meditation, mentally studying and cataloguing the many novel experiences of the previous day.  He was satisfied that his works were in keeping with the duties of a Glyphscribe, and that his command of Deneir's blessings had improved.

Just as the sun started to peek over the horizon Bram recalled that Mayon had handed him something the previous night.  It was a 'cut of the loot' from the chests that the halfling, Dweeble, had wanted him to have.  He'd been distracted at that moment, and so had thanked him and tucked it away in a pocket without a second thought.  He reached in that pocket to retrieve the small object and held it out on a palm.  A pebble?  He frowned, adjusted his spectacles and peered closer at it while muttering, "Hmm... igneous origination for certain, coloration suggests basalt with some iron content...  Oh, minute crystalline formations!  Interesting..."  With a slight grin, Bramwell balanced the pebble upon his knee and set to sketching it in his travel journal with accompanying geological observations.

He was still at it by the time the others began to rouse.  The group was fortunate that no dangers showed themselves during Bram's watch, because he'd never have seen them coming.

Mayon is awake before too much longer, sitting up and rubbing his eyes tiredly. While it wasn't quite the same dream he was used to, his patron's whispers still left him a bit unnerved and restless.

Dweeble awoke with a start, her heart hammering in her chest at the moment her mind registered others nearby.  She quickly reached for her swords at the belt on her waist, having slept with the entirety of her gear on, before stopping with sudden realization.  "Others...  Right.  Dweeble isn't alone right now."  She took a deep breath as she sat up, her hands fidgeting at her belt as she itched for a chance to use the traps and contraptions at her waist.  The sudden need for something to do struck her as odd.  Usually she was satisfied with enjoying the quiet and simple moments, yet for some reason this morning she needed more.

As the others began to stir and begin their morning preparations, Dweeble opened her backpack and pulled free a wax paper package of smashed biscuits and a string of leather that she quickly moistened with her water skin.  She shoved part of her breakfast into her mouth and began to chew with the vigor and purpose of a starving, wild animal.  Even as she did she pulled a dagger free and began sharpening the blade on the tight band of leather she now held carefully from boot to hand.  As she worked, she hummed a simple tune that was occasionally ruined by either her filled mouth poorly butchering a note or what might've been a grunt of anger or outrage, though she seemed oddly at peace.

Jak slept well though lightly, as he usually did, always trying to be perceptive to danger as he'd learned the hard way during his childhood. He woke up with a yawn and a full-body stretch, followed by a grin. "Wha's fer breakfast?" He chuckled and scratched himself. A mouse scurried around him and chittered before disappearing in to his pocket once more.

"We eat an' then we go back in, yeah? Everyone feelin' rested an' healed up?"

"I have some chicken livers and tea left." Morg says to Jak, holding out a cured liver.

"I don't think we should attack the necromancer from the same tunnel we used last time - traps could've been reset, and climbing down would make us easy targets. We could feint, actually attacking via the eastern tunnel. Or should we go investigate what's north from the sacrificial cave first?"

"On the other hand, a frontal assault may be the last things he's expecting," Asano grins.
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 01:25, Wed 15 Mar 2017.

"I think checking to the North first would be best. Make sure he doesn't have anything hiding over there that could corner us from the other side should he be in that Eastern tunnel." Mayon comments.

Bram cooked himself up a simple cup of boiled oats for breakfast, and even seemed to enjoy them.  To the discussion on courses of action, he offered some reasoning followed by a suggestion, "We do not yet know which tunnel leads to this self-styled lord's court, so any choice entails some uncertainty.  We do know for a certainty that one path is trapped, so I'd consider it unwise to revisit it.  It is unlikely that so perilous a tunnel could be the sole entrance, so I agree with Mayon that we ought to attempt the Northern tunnel first and see where it takes us."

"Aye, north sounds good. If that's the source of the dead bodies, then clearing it out means less chance of reinforced attacks by the newly animated from behind us if we make a final push south."
This message was last edited by the player at 10:09, Thu 16 Mar 2017.

As the chill wind blows through the vale, the group packs up their small camp and heads back into the gloom of the caves. No motion catches their eyes as they retrace their steps. Turning to the northern passage, they advance single file to the threshold of a dank cave.

Motionless humanoid figures dressed in dirty clothes or scraps of armor are propped against the walls. Some are little more than skeletons with wisps of hair and skin stretched tightly over their bones. Others are fresher. A few old shortswords lie on the dusty floor. The smell is overwhelming, and foul.

---

Map updated.

Bram nearly bumped into Asano when the procession suddenly came to a halt.  Before he could ask word traveled back of what lay in the chamber ahead: corpses in various states of decay, unmoving as of yet.  He asked ahead in an urgent whisper, "Begging your pardon, friends, if you'd allow me through?  I must inspect these corpses.  If any are undead lying in ambush, I will know."  The large half-elf did his best to squeeze down the corridor, murmuring apologies for every awkward bump as he passed each of his comrades in turn.  Once he finally arrived at the other end he closed his eyes and turned his focus toward the detection of necromantic energies capable of animating these dormant corpses.

OOC: Moving to BF51 and using Divine Sense to detect any undead within 60 feet that isn't behind total cover.

Bram senses three undead beings in the cave.

---

Map updated.

Bram opened his eyes, looking somewhat taken aback.  Not two steps away stood an undead, yet still it did not move!  He whispered, "Only three are undead.  The rest are truly dead."  He then pointed out the three individuals and carefully unstrapped his battleaxe.  "We'd best not leave them be, lest they awaken and come for us later..."