Death's End IC

[esorscher]

Arran thinks about mentioning smashing the door down, but one look at Tarvas silences him.

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Ben, Calia, Lirian: The images carved into the stone seem to be somewhat recognizable, mostly depicting imperial victories. There are numerous scenes of singular, masked figures laying waste to armies with waves of frozen fire. Surrounding the frame, you can see twelve shining stars that obviously signify the presence of the gods. Both Lirian and Seychelles spend their time examining the scripts, and after a moment the abjurer turns to look at the sorceress.
"Well? This doesn't look like anything I've come across before. The script definitely isn't common, and as far as I can tell it isn't any sort of Justinian dialect. More to the point, it looks as though this door is locked. Ben, I assume you're good at getting past such obstacles?"

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So I'll need an Open Lock check from Ben in order to open the door, and a Knowledge:History check from Lirian in order to try and figure out exactly what kind of script it is before deciphering it (I'll let you keep your initial DS check).

Soryn: Your patchwork healing seems to have done the trick, as you've stopped the blood from flowing. A semblance of color returns to Ambrose, the rosy gleam of flesh caught in the light of the late afternoon. The passage you enter is not very long, stopping at what at first appears to be a dead end. However, you can see a short ladder embedded into the dirt wall and a trapdoor above you. Given your earlier position, it would seem as though it leads back up to the surface.

[OhMyGodImOnFire]

Soryn sets Ambrose on the ground, and climbs the ladder. At the top, he pushes against the trap door to see if it will open above him.

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Strength check to see if the trap door opens: (1d20+3)[13]

The door relents, and swings out on its hinges, landing with a thud. Sighing in relief, Soryn descends once again to pick up Ambrose, but as soon as he does, the elf realizes that he would most likely not make the climb this way. Instead, he sets the alchemist against a wall, and strips off much of his gear. Pack, weapons, mithral shirt and cloak fall to the ground, leaving him in just his regular clothes. Let's get this over with, he thinks bitterly, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. Hoisting the man once again, Soryn begins to climb.

It's rough going at first, but eventually Soryn makes it to the top of the ladder, and leaves the body beside it. He then returns to the base of the ladder, strapping on his equipment while stuffing his mithral shirt in his backpack. Once he makes the climb, he sits beside Ambrose, properly donning his armor while he takes note of his surroundings.

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Spot and Listen made OOC.

[gallagher]

Ben studies the door prior to attempting to open it. The door is old, and the lock could be brittle with age. After studying what he can observe from the outside, Ben begins attempting to open the lock while muttering a jaunty tune under his breath.

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I have a song stuck in my head, so my character does too.
OL: (1d20+11)[13]

[Ajadea]

Calia traces the runes with one finger, silently mouthing something. Her brow is furrowed. After a few seconds, she stops to retrieve a small book from her bag. She flips through the pages, searching. Though she soon finds what she's looking for, it does nothing to ease the look of confusion on her face. "I - I think this is Okremath," she says, surprised. "But - no one speaks that. No one. Threescore diviners back in Onyx couldn't figure out a couple hundred characters of this stuff. And this looks like a lot more than what they had. But this... they... the stoneworker who did this, he'd have to be fluent in the language to stick this much of it on the door..."

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Ben, Calia, Lirian: The archaic door mechanism refuses to budge at first, but after a few tries from the resident gnome thief it grinds open to reveal an airy chamber. All three visible walls have been sculpted by the hands of a master, depicting three contrasting bas-reliefs. The first is that of a grand hunt or a journey, a score of figures that look like adventurers seem to run out of the stone by the whims of a whirling god at the heart of a great tree. The second tableau that strikes out at you is a battle between two massive figures in the skies, both wearing full plate. They seem to be almost reflections of each other, the first surrounded by illumination while the other is shrouded in a miasma of cloudy darkness. The day is their battlefield. The final wall carving is different from the first two: where the others depicted action frozen in time, this last image seems eternal, inevitable, and bereft of life. A solitary hooded figure hovers above the ground, watching the universe crumble around him. While the chamber looks to have been built for the carvings, there is also a large altar present.
"A priory. Lord Valgus and his servants would come here to pray, pray to the Twelve. By the looks of this place, Tarvas would say that the gods chose not to answer those prayers." Tarvas chuckles softly to himself, walking around the altar once before taking a closer look. Laying on the stone is a bag or a sack, the cloth having largely frayed away. You can see glimmers of golden light inside.

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Those of you with any ranks in Knowledge:History or Knowledge:Religion would recognize these images as Phanine's Hunt, the Twilit Duel, and the Final Judgment. Bonus points for guessing the gods depicted in the last two tableaus.

Soryn: By the looks of things, you have emerged back into the woods somewhere. The trapdoor was hidden beneath a thin layer of dirt and brush, and you can't see the ravine or the trail back to the main road from where you are. However, several feet away you do notice the gaping hole in the ground that guided you out of the tunnels. The forest is largely quiet, but you can hear the tapping of hooves as a deer trots through the brambles nearby. The evening wind is cool on your brow, making the pines ache with its passing. Meanwhile, your prisoner remains blissfully unconscious.

[gallagher]

Gold, Gold, Glorious Gold! Ben thinks. He should pay tribute to his god's image, but first he can indulge his curiosity. He walks up to the glittering bag slowly and searches for any trap. This may be a tribute, but caution pays just as much as greed.

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search (1d20+8)[26]

[Sen isSaqqara]

Lirian looks around cautiously. Her interest is perked by the carvings, but first she takes time to check cautiously for any suspicious holes or recesses that could hide traps. Dropping to a crouch, she stays back by the door and scans the room for obvious arrowslits or spike-holes.

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She's hardly a rogue, so she'll miss anything too good, but it's worth a shot. I'm not moving up to a nice carving just to have it spit spiky death at me because someone lifted a bag off of a very cunningly disguised pressure plate.
Search: (1d20+3)[14]

[OhMyGodImOnFire]

Soryn takes a few deep breaths, relishing in the fresh air. Taking a moment to make sure all of his equipment has been secured, he orients himself in the direction of the entrance to the cavern which he had used. He hoists Ambrose's body over his body, and sets off in that direction.

Once he arrives at the cave entrance, he retraces his steps back to his horse. Not long now, he thinks to himself encouragingly. As he walks, he looks around to see if he can find any vines to use to bind the alchemist, and keeps his ears open for any approaching sounds that may be threatening to him.

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Spot: (1d20+11)[19]
Listen: (1d20+11)[14]
Knowledge (Nature) for vines in case I find any: (1d20+3)[14]

[esorscher]

Arran doesn't feel at all bad about taking the gold left on the altar. In his experience gods were worthless and false gods doubly so. He stands back and lets the "thief-types" do their work, his fingers tracing a figure-eight around the hilt of his sword.

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Ben, Calia, Lirian: Try as you might, your collective search reveals nothing in terms of traps. The wall carvings and the altars appear to serve their normal functions, nothing more. Tarvas continues to stare at the stone, as if looking for something within it. He is quiet. Meanwhile, you've noticed that whatever is in the bag is indeed glowing under its own power, for the light fluctuates slightly from moment to moment.

Soryn: There don't seem to be that many vines in the coniferous forest, although you do find some roots and brambles that might do just as well. Your walk through the woods is otherwise unimpeded. When you finally reach where you left your horse, you happily find your mount awaiting you patiently. It gnaws on some grass from the hilltop, pausing only to whinny softly at your approach.

[gallagher]

Oh, this is indeed curious... Ben takes the scissors out of his bag and cuts away the cloth to reveal the source of this glow. To think, I borrowed these things to cut poisons... good thing this sack is worn well. I'll have to remember to grab a dagger next chance I get...

Ben uses the scissors gently, so as to try and not disturb the glowing mass.

[OhMyGodImOnFire]

Setting Ambrose on the ground beside his horse, Soryn pulls his kukri out and cuts lengthy pieces of root and bramble, quickly shaving off any thorns that might be on them. With one piece he binds the alchemists wrists, and with another his ankles. With one last particularly long piece of root, he ties Ambrose to the saddle.

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Use Rope to bind Ambrose, then tie him to the horse: [roll]1d20+5[roll]

That'll do, he thinks, tightening the knots. Making sure all of his equipment is secure, he climbs onto the horse, urging it around and back toward the road. Once he breaks through the trees and feels the hard-packed earth, he nudges it into a trot, and soon into a gallop, making a bee-line for the town. He rides with one hand on the reins, the other grasping Ambrose's shirt, just in case the roots and brambles that held the man to the horse fails.

[Ajadea]

Once the more keen-eyed members of the group have declared the room safe, Calia approaches the wall carvings, face a perfect picture of reverence. "And though the brothers fought day and night, never ceasing, neither could gain the upper hand, so perfectly were they matched..." The words have the feel of a quote, and yet she makes them her own. "Sirramar and Typhos, for honor and law, Necrovian's justice, and Phanine as protection against what may rove outside these walls." She lowers her hand and turns to Ben. "Do you have any idea what that is?"

[Sen isSaqqara]

Lirian takes in the carvings, committing them to memory as well as possible. Loathe as she is to distract herself from such works of art, she manages to keep a subtle eye on Tarvas.
A slight vibration manifests itself in her backpack. Hush, you. It's not that funny. she thinks to herself, trying to project her nagging worry to her rather amused companion.

[gallagher]

What is what is? Ben asks, not paying close attention, his eyes widening at the shiny in front of him

[esorscher]

"Careful, Ben," Arran says. "Could be cursed."

[Ajadea]

"That," Calia says, taking a step closer. "The glowing thing on the altar. I hope it wasn't meant to be an offering..."

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Ben, Calia, Lirian: As Ben cuts the remainder of the pouch open, you can all get a glimpse inside. Within the pocket lie four tiny golden beads. Thin veins of light shine through infinitesimal cracks in each bead, spilling out into the musty dark of the priory. Seychelles nudges past Ben, examining the beads on the altar.
"At a guess, I would say that those are Daylight Pellets. Just throw them for a little flash, should drive away most evil creatures. Useful in a place like this anyhow." She peers around the space with an air of distaste once more before exiting in a prompt fashion. You can see Seychelles waiting in the hallway, eyes darting from shadow to shadow. Tarvas, on the other hand, is not nearly so hasty. The archaeologist traces figures in the dust between the cracks and ripples of the stone around him, paying none of you any mind.

Soryn: You successfully bind Ambrose in front of you, the alchemist's unconscious form settled into an uncomfortable slouch. The horse sets off at a trot through the trees once more, headed back to the main road. Indeed, it only takes about fifteen minutes for you to recognize the rock and gravel that marks the regional road. The birdsong is gone. You can hear the evening chorus of the cicadas in its place, a soothing melody to your elven ears. The road itself is just about empty now, although there appears to be a cloaked figure walking in the direction of Fiorne ahead of you. Whoever they are, their stature is sizeable and their gait wide. If they have heard or seen you, they take no notice as they continue to march towards their destination.

[Sen isSaqqara]

Lirian finishes examining the carvings and walks over to where Tarvas is standing.
"Find anything, old man?"
Then she notices his dust-drawings.
"You can't by any chance read this, can you?"

[gallagher]

Ben picks up the glowing stones and remarks to Sey, you shouldn't approach the area until I am satisfied that it is trap free. Unless you prefer only havin one hand.

Ben then goes to the carving depicting Necrovian. He takes a gold coin out of his bag and lays it at the foot of the carving, and takes a moment to say a silent prayer.

[OhMyGodImOnFire]

His curiosity piqued, Soryn slows slightly as he approaches the figure. He remains cautious though, and urges his horse so that he passes the figure with a little distance. As big as he is, Soryn thinks, one sudden grab from him and I could have quite the hard fall. Before he passes, Soryn looks around in the surrounding area, wary of any ambushes. Once he does, he turns in his saddle, doing his best to spot the face under the hood. He also takes note of everything the figure is wearing.

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Spot for anomalies in the forest, then for figure's face: (1d20+11)[28]

If you want me to make rolls for the two spots separately, I can roll the other one OOC.

Even if I don't see his face though, please give me a physical description - I'd like to know how he's dressed, what weapons he's holding, anything interesting that he might be wearing, or anything interesting about him.

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Ben, Calia, Lirian: "Me, able to read this? Of course not, what would give you such an idea?" The archaeologist lets out a bark of laughter, raspy and dry. He looks around the room once more, taking note of Ben kneeling at the shrine of Necrovian. Tarvas takes in the portrait of the Final Judgment as coolly as he did the others, perhaps more so. Something flickers over his face, lights it up and then is gone.
"I wonder... where are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, you cannot say or guess, for you know only a heap of broken images." He does not speak again, but instead traces the resolved contours of Necrovian's hood once more before moving out into the hallway to join Seychelles.

Soryn: The figure seems to be walking with no hurry and turns only as you and your mount approach. You cannot even distinguish their gender, as nearly every inch of their skin is covered in burns and cuts. There is little to be said for any other features of note - the traveler wears worn clothing, really akin to rags. The cloak is too big, which is what seemed to have given you the impression of them being bigger than they are. Long strands of colorless hair frame wide, bloodshot eyes. A pair of broken lips opens, but no sound comes out. As your horse continues to trot past it, the figure reaches out with one arm towards you.

[Sen isSaqqara]

Lirian follows the old man back into the hallway, tearing herself from the beautiful carvings.
"We can come back to look at these again later. I suggest we get moving. Shall we check the rest of this floor before moving downward?"

[OhMyGodImOnFire]

Soryn slows to a canter, leading his horse to a distance from the traveler, still wary of his intentions. Some small part of the caring that his parents had taught him all those years ago rose to the surface, however. Sighing, Soryn reaches into his pack, pulling out some trail rations. He also unhitches his waterskin from his pack. "I'm sorry," he calls to the man, and tosses the food and water onto the ground near him. I can help later, but now is not the time. Kicking his horse back into gallop, he speeds down the road once again, Fiorne now not so far away.

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-1 Trail Rations, -1 Waterskin. If you'll allow automatic buying, assume I buy a waterskin as soon as I am able.

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Ben, Calia, Lirian: Out in the hallway, Tarvas turns around to look back at the catfolk sorceress. His eyes are blank, there is no recognition in them. After a moment Seychelles taps him on the shoulder gently, as if to remind him of where they are headed. Blinking twice, the old man looks down at the stairs.
"Well if Tarvas' instincts (and knowledge of imperial architecture) are right, then down here should just be a guard room of sorts. It's that hallway that will lead to where we want to go, yes it will."

Soryn: As you ride away, you can't hear the figure make any kind of noise behind you. You're soon rid of him, however, and after some time you find yourself within sight of the gates of Fiorne once more. The guards on the battlements are beginning the next watch, lighting the lamps to ward off the Valerian night. Your horse slows to a trot, and you can feel the breeze rising through the tall grasses that grow outside the gate. You get the sense you're being watched, and as you turn to look you can see the outlines of a faint figure painted in the air. She smiles and waves, her flowing blonde hair set afire by the setting sun. When you look again she is gone.

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Happy birthday Nick!

[gallagher]

Leaving the room laste, Ben leaves a gold piece at the foot of the carving of Necrovian. In Case. Ben whispers.

Ben walks towards the guard door, and with a Stand Back he lifts his mask, looks around the door-frame, checks the locks and looks all about for traps and locks.

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Search: (1d20+8)[14] If you post the results in the OoC, I'll roll disable device or open lock in the OoC and edit my posts based on the results

[esorscher]

"Just a quick peek," Arran says. "Never leave a room unchecked at your back, unless you're trying to get ambushed." He looks around and his eyes rest on Tarvas. "I hope nobody is trying to get ambushed."

[Ajadea]

Calia obediently gives Ben a wide berth. "I agree with Arran. If it is really just a guardroom, searching it shouldn't delay us more than a few minutes. And we don't need something coming up behind our backs when we've found something important."

[gallagher]

Search it, loot it, whatever. It's a guard room, they are bound to have supplies, maybe some form of a map, maybe a desk with hidden drawers and nifty things. At least a dagger. Ben says almost absent mindedly. Though he is focusing on his task, he is a notorious multitasker