Chapter 3 - The Old Road

            The sun was brutal as they walked down the Old Road that Matron Hucrele had indicated led to the ruins in the ravine. Having left the loxo in town, more small animals crossed their path, no longer forewarned by the tremble of the earth. Flushed from the road - more a trail, really - by Nominis' reaching shadows, they distracted the party enough that the savory smell of cooking reached the group before they saw the stranger by the wayside, in the shade of a lone tree.
            Nala sniffed the air. “Someone’s cooking up ahead,” she noted. The crested a small hill and saw the man sitting at a fire beneath a tree. The small gnome took in the stump-legged half-orc. And he seemed to be expecting them.
            A healthy fire crackled beneath a suspended pot, adding to the swelter of the day, but the enticing aroma that crawled forth promised to outweigh the price of the flame. A sizable figure held hands extended toward the heat, flexing fingers in appreciative waves, as if the temperatures were a quarter of what they actually were.
            A gear-laden burro stood tethered to a nearby branch and twitched its ears when the party of travelers stepped into view. A furtive mewl and grinding of teeth preceded the animal trying to back away as it stamped through a chaotic spray of its own urine.
            The humanoid levered up its bulk on a length of seasoned wood that appeared designed for the purpose. A jutting stump served as a handhold at mid-length and a darkened juncture crowned the top, smoothed by a lifetime of service in an unforgiving armpit.
            As the figure turned from the shadow toward the light, what materialized was a robust half-Orc male covered in hide and iron. He walked toward the group with a pronounced limp, supporting some of his weight on the oddly shaped quarterstaff. He patted the donkey on its neck and muttered some encouragement as he passed.
            The damaged left arm and leg of the half-Orc were amplified by the charcoal colored scar tissue on any exposed skin, in direct contrast to his lighter gray mottling elsewhere. Scars wrinkled the left side of his balding head as well with only a puckered hole remaining where an ear should have been. His left eye was covered by a black patch, and a propensity of teeth emerged from the right side of his mouth. The visible pale green eye roved quickly about, searching out the approaching travelers.
            As he drew up at conversational distance, he said, “You’re late.” He glanced up and down the road, seeking something, before adding, “And you’re light.” He waved his good arm first dismissively into the ensuing silence and then toward the campfire as he said, “No matter. Come on and have some stew. Still plenty hot.”
            And he turned to start his rhythmic gate back toward the flames.
            "Friend of yours?" Dal asked sotte voce of both Vol and Nala, since Nominis was keeping some distance away or ahead. His expression and slight shrug made clear whomever the half-orc was waiting for, Dal had no knowledge of it.
            "I'm certain I would've remembered meeting before, sir, or if we had business arranged. Are you certain we are whom you expected?" Dal held his ground, and eyed the foliage warily. He'd heard of ambushes laid against unwary travelers.
            Orklar drew up a few steps away as Dalian spoked, and the half-Orc heaved a sigh that was easily enough read. ‘Pleasantries,’ it said. He half-turned with a calculated shuffle.
            “Yar, you’re the ones sure enough,” he said. “Though I was expectin’ about a hunnert stone of elephant to announce your appr--”
            The sunlight dims as Nominis appears from the side bush. Sweltering heat doesn't diminish, but at least the sun is no longer burning everything. He looks at the scarred man, looks at himself then up again. He is no longer most scarred guy around. "Good" - Nominis thinks - "Maybe others will react with less mistrust now." He nods at the man, but remains silent.
            Orklar fell silent and gaped. He was facing Nominis as the dark man emerged and the brutish half-Orc looked positively dumbstruck. Then after a few moments, he erupted into almost maniacal laughter.
            “HAAAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Orklar roared, but not at Nominis, and with absolute, unbridled mirth. He clasped his quarterstaff with both hands and shook it earthward with both delight and a display of physical aptitude that belied his disfigurement.
            “See?! Myrkul you whoreson!” he shouted at the ground. “Tell Yurtrus and Velsharoon and those other harlots I’m not the only one they can’t have! Haha!” And he slammed the butt of his quarterstaff into the ground and gazed upon Nominis again.
            “Outstanding. You and I, my friend,” Orklar said to Nominis, “will have much to discuss.” Then the riled up half-Orc seemed to remember the events at hand, and he settled a bit. “In time, though, in time. Come, come.” And after waving everyone over once more, he resumed his trek to the camp fire. Orklar patted the donkey again as he passed, and muttered, “Easy there, your majesty. It’s alright now.”
            As the man turns away Nominis shakes his head at Dalian as an answer to the question. After a moment he follows the man to the fire, but doesn't sit down. "We're traveling to the ruins some way from here. We hope to get there before night falls. And we have nothing to offer to you, we're not rich nor heavy with supplies."
            “Yes, yes, I know about the ruins,” Orklar said. “Not your kit. I asked around the Ferry and expected I’d find you along this stretch, albeit a bit sooner than now. Still, there’s time enough for a meal, especially one that’s already been cooked. And we should share some words before we descend into the dark. That’s all the payment I require for feeding you.”
            The half-Orc had been fiddling at some packs that hung off his beast of burden, and he sloshed some liquid from a tapped keg on the animal’s back into two battered but practical metal cups. He fired one down with a slurp and filled it again, turning back to those that had gathered at the fire.
            He offered one cup to Nominis, offering an amused chuckle at their similarities, and extended the other cup to whoever was so inclined. “Two’s all I’ve got,” he said. “So you’ll have to sure. Dip the stew as you like, and tell me, where’s the rest of your crew?”
            The tall, pale elf smiled at the strange half-orc and shook his head. "Hot stew isn't something I'm craving on a hot morning like this." He nodded on down the trail in the direction of the ruins. "And we'll be on our way, I think. Enjoy your meal, though."
            Dal, having observed the exchange with interest thus far, didn't yet proceed. The half-orc didn't seem threatening or malicious. Dal wasn't certain what all this was about, and the back of his mind remained alert to tales of caution about ill fates befalling the unwary, but a few minutes to hear him out wouldn't be untenable.
            The others seemed very suspicious. “Um, we’re not letting this good stew go to waste, are we?” Nala asked.
            “Bleee!” Roger bleated.
            Orklar snorted in good humor and leaned his head around the rudimentary tripod to lay his eye upon Vol. The orb assessed quickly. “Already ate, but fair enough, longshanks. Safe journey to you and yours,” the half-Orc said, then added more to himself and with no small degree of delight. “No sense letting good grub go to waste though.”
            He drained the cup in his darkened left hand and set the one in his right down beside him. He seemed entirely non-plussed by the misgivings of strangers, as if he had experienced such treatment on countless occasions.
            Leaning forward, he scooped the empty vessel through the gurgling stew and brought it to his lips to blow upon it. He raked one finger through the contents and flung a bit of meat over his shoulder, then set to consuming the rest in rapid fashion. He sipped lightly from the cup on his right, and then repeated the entire process with rhythmic progression, seeming perfectly content to plow through the entire pot at his leisure.
            Dal grimaced, any thought of accepting some stew out of good manners now fled along much the same arc as the piece of fished-out and discarded entrail.
            Nominis looks at the strange creature, but he is intrigued by a title "friend" and easy familiarity with which Orklar addressed him. "I agree the food shouldn't be wasted, you never know when you'll get another meal. Maybe we can talk quickly as we eat? You expected us. Why? What business do you have with us?" He motions at the heavy soup "Not really light meal for an afternoon of walking, not to mention the heat of the day."
            "Come on, Fey Blade, we can make a traveler happy(er) and not waste such a...errr...filling gruel. And we may find something out." Sitting and grabbing some soup for himself, Nominis looks at the cripple. "So, what can you tell us about missing adventurers. Or yourself. Or who sent you to wait for us."
            Dal nodded as Nominis basically summed up his own thoughts. The young man adopted a casual standing position roughly in the ring of the makeshift camp, the butt of his quarterstaff planted forward enough for him to fold both hands at its top and comfortably rest some of his weight upon it as he listened.
            “Gruel,” Orklar snorted in that good-humored fashion he manifested. His eye bounced across the party, assessing their intent to actually stay. When it seemed as though the majority were willing to hear him out, he nodded once and paused in his consumption allowing others to partake as they would.
            “Shouldn’t be a light meal where you’re headed,” the half-Orc said. “Cold below. Cold and unkind.” He glanced at Nominis next to him. “You’re no stranger to the dark,” he said, then turned toward the others. “But what of the rest of you? Have you ever been below ground?” He grunted. “And I don’t mean to your mama’s potato cellar. I mean down where the shadows and stone want to smother you. Where you hear voices and the dark has eyes that follow and fingers that scrape at your mind.”
            Orklar groaned with memory and sat back, crossing his hands on his belly. “I go where my bones tell me,” he said. “And when I caught wind in town of the ruins nearby and your intent to find those missing adventurers, I knew where I was needed. Yessir, I’ve heard tale of what awaits you at the bottom of that ravine, and you’re going to need my help.”
            “Orklar the Forgotten, soothsayer to the lost and the fallen, at your service,” he said with a polite nod of the head. “And I’m here to make sure you don’t perish in the belly of the citadel.”
            "Confluence," Dal observed quietly, with a smile. He was hardly one to object, having just recently fallen into the company, himself. "By now, they're all three wondering if we'll number twenty or more by the time we reach the ruins. I certainly wouldn't object, if we did; what with goblins and overdue adventurers, and all, ahead."
            "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Orklar. My name is Dalian; you're welcome to shorten that to 'Dal,' as you like, sir. To your inquiry, no, thus far I've never been far from sight of the sky."
            “Well met, Dalian,” Orklar responded with a nod. “Your honesty’ll serve you well in the dark, remember that.”
            Orklar's phrasing prompted a further thought from the young man, "I don't gather you'd be adverse to helping find the adventurers, if we can, but from your choice of words, you're hinting you expect they're beyond recovery. Is that experienced intuition, or do you know more of the ruins and their fate?"
            The half-Orc stood with his rickety grace and filled a cup from the barrel again, draining some of it before speaking once more. “Oh, I intend to find them, that missing bunch,” he said. “Whether your band chooses to help or not. But I don’t like their chances. Paladins are a tricky lot. All or nothing. Double-edged. That they’ve been gone this long puts them on the sharp edge of that blade, not the shiny one.”
            “But we shall see,” he continued. “One thing I do know for certain, is that the place is rife with the walking dead. Cursed it is… until the curse is broken.”

            Nominis looks at the strange man "If they are dead there is no need to hurry. Why do you think the place contains walking dead? We heard about the goblins. They are not known for their undead loving ways. Maybe there are isolated places where undead roam from the time when the ruin became the ruin, but I don't think the undead would be main threat."
            He studies him some more. "You seemed to recognize me and mentioned some names. Can you elaborate? Only names I recognized were some gods."
            The stranger seemed to know about the ruins where they were headed. “There’s undead in there?” Nala asked with a frown. “Well, that’s not good!”
            Digging out her own kit, Nala grabbed some of the stew. She fed a bit to Roger before eating herself. “Do we have things to deal with undead? Do we need some holy water?”
            Vol shrugged, with a small smile on his lips, seeming unconcerned. Though that was how he responded to most things. "I'm sure we can take care of it once we're in there."
            Orklar turned with a smiling snort as the fiery gnome made her presence known. He watched the exchange between Nala and the goat for a moment before continuing his ruminations. First he addressed Nominis.
            “Don’t know who you are, darkling, not specifically,” he said. “But I know where you’ve been, at least in part. Sure I plucked enough of a name from the kind folk at the Ferry to tag you, but what struck me peculiar was the fact that you’re gravetouched, like me. Aren’t many that walk that path for overlong, let alone walk it with the likes of Longshanks, Skin-n-Bones, and the Little Volcano here.” Orklar snorted in good humor again, clearly indicating the named as Vol, Dalian, and Nala in sequence.
            Nala ate her stew. She tipped her head when the orc called her “Little Volcano,” thinking for a moment. With a shrug, she just grinned and went back to her stew.
            Roger nibbled at the grass.
            "'Dal,'" Dalian corrected after mulling all that was said, with just a little indignance. While Orklar seemed a cordial sort, Dal wasn't certain if the nickname was meant in affinity or mockery, and it didn't sit well with him. The conversation had turned a little challenging and adversarial to his ear, for a moment, but it had passed.
            Orklar chuckled a laugh. “You will be skin and bones if you don’t eat!”
            “But as to the business at hand,” the half-Orc continued, beginning to round up his ad-hoc camp. “Tales told and legends mostly, but clear signs that the buried citadel is the resting place of a broken bloodline. A curse cast by the last of the line, a Lord...” His eye wandered in searching thought. “…Karthamon? No. Karthonen, that was it. So this Lord Karthonen supposedly shed his own blood and that of many others which birthed the curse.” He drew a thumb in an ‘X’ over his good eye and spit to the side.
            “Blood magic,” he said. “Wicked stuff. Tainted the whole countryside, and nothing sleeps anymore in that cursed realm. So I hear.” Orklar cast his gaze toward Vol. “Still game, Longshanks?” he asked. “First group of four didn’t seem to fair so well, hmm?”
            "Let's hope we're more prepared. I'm still game," Dal answered, though the question hadn't been posed to him. "If there are undead, we should use the daylight, try to get there and survey what we can of the area, in case they roam at night. With the goblins."
            Nominis shrugs at the undead news. "It still sounds improbable. And darkness will give us advantage even against undead due to limited range of their vision. We can talk more once we see the truth of the matter."
            “If there’s undead, should we get some of that special water they don’t like?” Nala asked.

            At an easy pace to accommodate both the half-orc's limping progress, and the hammer of the sun beating down on them, they walked through hills lush with summer growth, pausing for the half-orc to catch up to them in what shade they could find. Oddly, the heat didn't appear to bother him much.
            By the evening, the sweating troop was happy to camp in the relatively cooler air, alongside the road. To the west, the Bandit Wastes stretched out to the horizon; to the southeast, the North Wall rose proudly against the sky.
            Sitting around the fire that night, Nala ate her meal, chatting amiably with Roger, petting between his horns and sharing a potato with him.
            As they ate their evening meal around the campfire, Vol noticed movement in the gloaming. Five of the strange papaya-twig creatures were stealthily creeping closer.
            The elf stood with a sigh, sounding more regretful than upset as he spoke. "More of those tree-things. I see five," he said as he nocked an arrow to his bow. "Light would help. No fumbling around in the dark, this time."
            “Wot?” Nala asked around a mouthful of potato. “Oh, heck!” She popped another slice of potato into her mouth and tossed the rest to Roger. “Stay by the fire, Roger,” she instructed the goat as she grabbed up her greataxe and slid her sling onto her finger.
            "Meeeeeh," Roger told her, gobbling up her discarded potatoes. If he had noticed the moving sapling-things, he gave no indication.
            Orklar had just finished grinding something between his fingers into his cup, stirring the contents with a follow-up finger, and then cleaning off the sauce covered digit in his mouth.
            “Tree-things?” he asked, rifling his tack through the sauce in his cup. He stuffed the large remainder into his mouth, set the cup down, and hefted his girth upward.
            “Wha tchree-fings?” he mumbled around a mouthful of food as he hobbled over to his pack mule. Pulling his shield to hand he glanced in the direction that Vol indicated.
            As the tree-things came on, Vol fired at the closest of them. His arrow struck deep into the twig-bundle's thin trunk, punching it backwards and extruding from its other side. The thing slowed to a stagger, while the other tumbled past it like tumbleweed.
            As the elf warns everyone of this new threat, Nominis looks around for the biggest concentration of the plant creatures and runs toward it looking at the best location to catch many of them. As he goes, he hums something for himself before releasing astounding roar that visibly ripples the air in front of him. As he roars, phantasmal head of a lion shows for just a moment issuing the roar instead of the bard. Twigs snapped and flew before the roar from the three bundles heading their way from the dark, but even the ghostly lion's head didn't deter them - they only tumbled around it, heading for Dalian.
            As Roger bleated in fear and one of her new companions, Nala felt that familiar rage coming on, welling from deep inside of her.
            “Stay calm, Roger! Stay behind me!” Then she gave a rather bestial scream for such a little thing. “Tempus!” she roared to her god and, like a lumberjack felling a tree, she swung her greataxe at one of her twig-like opponents. With a mighty shredding sound, she split the twig-creature that came at her from top to bottom, and its halves fell to the still-warm ground, lifeless once more.
            Then the broken and twisted saplings were on them, rushing the campsite as a group, like a pack of hyenas. They focused on Nala and Dalian, and while Nala fended two off easily, Dalian suffered a long, bleeding scratch from the claw-like branches of one of them, and a stab from the jagged branch of another. What was worse, he could feel the sticky sap from their broken "limbs" burning in his wounds, spreading in an alarming wash of pain.
            "Mah!" Roger announced in sudden alarm, backing away from the altercation, ready to bolt.
            Dal staggered backwards, his cry of alarm involuntarily echoing Roger's. He got ahold of himself as quickly as he could; he'd trained to focus in times of distraction; but /gods/ that hurt, and it was still hurting. Academically, Dal ruminated on all the reports of people fighting through all sorts of injuries without realizing they were injured until minutes later. That was garbage; he hurt, and he hurt /now/. His sudden grip upon his walking staff was turning his knuckles white.
            The closed circle of malevolent foliage gave no path for retreat. Three things happened near-simultaneously; Dal planted his feet in a bladed stance as his brow furrowed in concentration, the tip of his walking staff flared into glimmering flame, and he hurled his staff towards the nearest twig-creature with a full-torso throw that sent the staff's illumination forward in a looping streak to them return back to his hand.
            Slipping away from between the ring of plants, he was nevertheless too close as he used his magic to swing his staff; the one still near him took his moment of focus to attack him, but he dodged aside even as he expended his will to smash it into a pile of tinder. His staff smacked back into his hand with a satisfying slap.
            Vol took aim at one of the twig-bundles targeting Dalian, but his arrow tangled in its branches.
            The lion head dissipates into thin whisps of shadow that envelop the surrounding area attacking themselves to the plant creatures and pulling them down. Nominis moves toward creatures in melee trying to distract them for others to cut through
            The living shadows moved even through the light cast from Dalian's staff, clinging to the broken-papaya monsters, given substance and direction according to Nominis' will. Nala raced over to lop another one's branches off on one side, heedless of the oozing sap coating her axe - and with the one Vol had originally shot now slowly tumbling off, the last papaya standing had apparently had enough. Fluffing out its branches, it tumbled off into the dark.
            The sudden attack had lasted less than thirty seconds, leaving three of the papaya-things oozing their sap into the dirt, but Dalian's blood and ripped clothing proved that had they been mere travelers rather than adventurers, they might not have survived the assault.
            Orklar bobbed and weaved in front of his pack mule, shield in one hand, his quarterstaff in the other. Still chewing, he uttered a grunt of surprise as the tumbleweeds rolled into camp, slicing and slashing as they went.
            Just as quickly they were gone. Gone much faster than a crippled half-Orc would pursue, so Orklar turned his eye upon the wounded human lad.
            “Easy there, lad, hold o--” he started to say, but Dalian had retaliation on his mind, clearly not thinking his actions through. The magic slinging man bolted away from the lumbering half-Orc before Orklar could intercede on his behalf.
            These things could hurt or kill someone, and probably would; Dal couldn't let them just get away, not when he could help it.
            He was most equipped to address the one that was in full flight; Dal ran after it to partially close the gap, and sent his staff out to try to finish it in a cast, blazing thrum through the night air.
            The blow from the flying staff sent the tumbling twig-creature flying, some of its pieces flying in other directions. When it came to a halt, it remained still.
            “Humph,” Orklar grunted with a shrug. He swung his eyeball through the darkness as he turned in a full circle. He was no stranger to tactics, and he watched carefully for any second wave of the stick things trying to flank them.
            When it was clear no attack was forthcoming, he hooked one of the fallen things with the end of his staff and flipped it onto the fire, just to see what would happen.
            The creature slowly caught fire and burned, a smoky bit of kindling with an unpleasant smell.
            Vol drew an arrow from his quiver, took a breath, and fired as he let it out. The drunkenly weaving twig-thing swerved unexpectedly, and his arrow whipped past it into the darkness.
            Nominis runs after whichever creature survived the barrage. After full out run he strikes at the creature from behind.
            It wasn't clear to the others exactly what happened - for a moment, shadows seemed to crawl over Nominis' skin and strike out, and the next, they were gone, and the twig-creature lay still before him.
            Nala rushed to Dalian's prey, but found that the creature was already defeated. Letting her rage slip away, she turned in time to see her goat run bleating away from the camp.
            Nala panted as the rage faded away. She turned and saw Roger bolting. “Roger! Come back!” the tiny gnome cried, dragging herself after the goat. She managed to catch it before too long, caressing Roger’s neck to sooth him as they returned to the fire.
            "Hmf," Orklar mused as the stick thing burned. He watched it only a few moments longer before hobbling in the direction of the brief pursuit. He paused next to Dalian, glancing at the man's expertly wielded staff, then at his own gnarled length of quarterstaff, and then back to Dalian's again.
            "Hrmf," he grunted again with a half smile. Then his features turned somber as he noticed the man's wounds and obvious pain. "I can help with that," Orklar said. "If you don't mind me having a look."
            "Welcomed," Dal nodded, the reality of his wounds seeping in like the pain from the animated trees' sap. "Back at camp, just in case."
            "I take it those were the trees, or walking plant creatures, you all mentioned," Dal affirmed rhetorically as he took a seat back in camp, consenting to what ministrations Orklar may need to perform to tend to his wounds. "Why do the farmers all covet the seeds those things grow from, if they do?"
            “Still burning?” Orklar asked. “Hrm, that could be trouble. We’ll need to watch these cuts closely then.” He had leaned his quarterstaff in the crook of his left arm as he used his good hand to inspect the lacerations and punctures.
            “Some lingering sap by the looks of it. Nasty business,” he said, then called back to the others. “Mind your blades! This sap could be trouble.” Then he asked Dalian, “What’s with the fauna around here anyway?”
            Orklar switched the quarterstaff to his right hand followed by the shield, which now just dangled by a strap from his fingers. He reached his blackened left hand out and placed his fingertips between Dalian’s neck and right collarbone.
            “This is going to get a little cold,” he said by way of warning. Then he let the words of calling slip from his lips, heavy and guttural. The language, if that’s what it actually was, was unfamiliar to any within earshot.
            The half-Orc’s cool touch offered a brief respite from the heat, and the welcome chill that followed soothed most of the burning which enflamed the wounds. But the cold continued to increase and intensify, and the pleasantness soon turned to an ache, and Dalian envisioned having been plunged into icy winter waters. Numbness clouded the touch of Orklar’s fingers on his skin, and just when true concern began to leap into his mind, the half-Orc released him and stepped away.
            Shaking his dark arm and squeezing his hand into a fist several times in a manner that resembled encouraging circulation, Orklar eyed the lad’s injuries and made sure that the human was steady on his feet.
            Dal shivered once more, but tested his shoulder, and his mended flesh. He stood, shuddered, but nodded that all was well. "I broke my arm, once; the healer tended it... it didn't feel cold, that time. Was the cold necessary, for the types of injuries, or is it... well, is it just the nuance of the manifestation?"
            “Comes with the territory,” Orklar replied, giving the human a knowing smile without sharing any further detail. “Though you handled it better than most.” The note of appreciation in Orklar’s tone almost certainly conveyed that the human had stepped up a notch or two in the half-Orc’s estimation, likely both through the recent display of battle prowess and dealing with the ramifications in the aftermath.
            "Thank you," Dal acknowledged the compliment with a deferential, fleeting grin. He was young enough to appreciate such praise, earned as it was from one so traveled and experienced. In a tone of recitation, Dal volunteered, "'When it needs doing, you do it.'"
            Dal went to one of the fallen stick-creatures to examine it. He started with a simple spell of Detect Magic, and followed it up with a spell to detect poisons, curious if the sundered animate would yield either result. He then sought to test the bark and limbs and pulp; this was a fresh academic mystery. A means of reliably identifying the threatening trees hadn't yet been found, he guessed, and he wasn't even certain if the trees were inherently animate but idle, or if they came to life when some outside spell was cast and used the trees as foci. He ended his experiments with holding one of the trees' limbs upon the campfire to see how it reacted to flame.
            As with Orklar's experiment before him, the limb slowly caught fire, burning with an unpleasant smell and a lot of smoke.

            In the early morning, before the heat of the sun made walking a misery, they set out again on the trail known as the Old Road. By this time, every sapling they spotted was suspect, but nothing bothered them that day as they walked, stopping at noon to rest through the hot part of the day in the shade of a lone tree in the grassland, and eat some of Orklar's surprisingly good, if horribly hot, food. In the distance, a pride of lions watched them from the shade of another scrawny tree, but didn't approach. When the frying heat eased a little, the party set out again, making slow but steady progress south.
            Once, maybe twice, Dal paused to examine a suspect sapling a little more closely -- a cut from his belt knife upon the bark, a shaved piece of limb, a stick bent to breaking -- each time with one hand kept warily on his quarterstaff in a ready-to-strike stance. He learned little from his cautious experiments, however; perhaps the trees truly were entirely mundane until whatever fell magic imbued them at night and animated them.
            Again, in the dusk they were accosted by a few murderous twig-creatures, but beat them away easily enough. They posted a watch through the night, but in the darkness nothing approached them.
            Dal hung back in the first few moments of the fight, again using Detect Magic, and a Detect Poison spell, seeking to learn what he could of the creatures, and how they might vary from what he'd noted earlier from the sundered and mundane examples. The things didn't show any sign of magic that he could see, but its unpleasant-smelling sap was definitely poisonous. Having gained what he could, he then joined in with determined vigor to smash them to kindling.
            They were woken by the cackling cries of hyenas nearby, and hurried off to avoid the pack. Fortunately, the animals seemed preoccupied with the lions' kill somewhere close by, and didn't pursue. The day progressed peacefully enough, and they passed a crossroad with a trail leading toward the North Wall, but at dusk they were swarmed by more twiggies. They managed to drive them off, killing a good number of them in the process.
            Following one of the conflicts upon the road, Dal reported to all with some amazement, "The twig-creatures; there's no magic about them. Whatever they are, they are; they're not animated constructs. Hard to believe something like that might exist as a natural, native form. Have any of you actually /seen/ one of the papaya trees from one of the farms start moving and become a twig-creature? Remarkable."
            They were terribly close to the Bandit Wastes now, and the North Wall rose close to the east. In the dawn light, two more twig-monsters accosted them, but fled again when they proved well-armed. The road curved closer and closer to the mountains, finally rising up into them. In the afternoon, they found their goal: the trail passed close by a narrow ravine, and at the road's closest approach to the cleft, several broken pillars jutted from the earth where the ravine widened, opening into something more akin to a deep, but narrow, canyon. Two of the pillars stood straight, but most of them leaned against the sloped earth. Others were broken, and several had apparently fallen into the darkness-shrouded depths. A few similar pillars were visible on the opposite side of the ravine.
            "Meh," Roger announced, displaying his disgust at the lack of browsing available. After nosing about a bit, he went over to where a rope had been tied to one of the pillars, and began to gnaw on it.
            “End of the line,” Orklar stated. He loosely tied off the pack mule and hobbled over to the edge of the ravine, intent on gazing down into its depths. They’d likely spend one more night here at the edge of the drop, but to not look would have been an offense to some god somewhere.
            Forty feet across here, where it intersected the road, the ravine plunged deep into the earth near the pillars, much deeper than farther away - so deep that light did not touch upon the depths.
            After sating his initial curiosity, the bulky half-Orc set about getting a campsite orchestrated and underway.
            As they came upon the ravine, Nominis looked across noting the remains. With some hours of daylight left, he would prefer to finish an initial foray into the depths rather than risk unknown number of dangers come to them in the night.
            "We should make the camp to prepare for the night, but we should scout out tihs ravine before settling up. That way we will know which approaches to guard if something comes from the deep. I would actually prefer if we went down in the night, but you require too much light for that to be effective." He looks over the ropes and looks for the safe path down. "Maybe we could make camp down there instead up here?"
            Orklar paused in his camp orchestrations when Nominis spoke. The half-Orc’s hands were upon the barrel strapped to his pack mule, and to say that they were holding on to it in any fashion other than lovingly would have been an outright lie. Gods knew he had helped to lessen its contents over the last few combative nights. He released the barrel and limped over to join the others near the ravine again.
            “You’re going to make me make that climb more than once?” he asked with a chuckle. One hand rubbed across his face, wiping some crust from around his eye.
            “Well, as long as we’re back well before dusk,” he said. “Can’t imagine Roger and Knuckles will fare too well when the stick men come rolling through tonight. I’d prefer to deal with any of them that are local before we make any descent, but I appreciate the value of those that might yet be alive below as well.”
            “I’m game either way,” he said, turning once more and setting to removing the trappings from his pack animal.
            "We're here; this whole place is inherently unsafe. The less time here, the better; we should proceed, get started on what we came here to do." Though he was no expert at it, Dal went to crouch by the pillar with the rope tied about it that Roger was munching, and rubbed a finger across the rope, trying to gauge if he thought it a rope placed more than a few weeks ago, or more recently, by its weathering and maybe the state of the moss upon the stone it was bound around.
            The sturdy rope had been knotted around one of the leaning pillars, which Dal realized was carved all over, up to chest height, with Dethek runes. Despite the familiar runes, he could make no sense of their usage - it seemed to be a different language than Dethek. Looking around, it appeared that all the worn and broken pillars were so carved.
            Judging by its good condition, they thought the rope couldn't have been tied there any longer than two or three weeks ago.
            Dal thought himself moderately proficient at linguistics, and frowned when the runes revealed no pattern, syntax, or lexicon he could readily discern. Reaching within himself and his training, Dal hovered his palm over the runes and incanted several precise phrases of magic that could be heard but not remembered. The ring upon his outstretched hand glowed warmly, and his he began to pass his palm over the runes, the light reflected and hung against the pillars. Dal walked about the pillars with renewed interest, sharp eyes scrutinizing what was revealed of this place's history.
            As the light touched the runes, what Dalian saw was different from what had been before. The runes melted into understandable threats and warnings against trespassers, often misspelled, and some quite obscene.
            Nala put out some water for Roger as they paused at the pillars. “How many of these twig things are there?” she said with annoyance when Orklar mentioned them again. “We’re more than twenty leagues from the farms.” She added some dried fruit from her rations to the wooden bowl for Roger to eat and eyed the keg Orklar unloaded.
            “You ask as if I’d know,” Orklar replied. “I haven’t seen them before meeting with you all and hearing about that blasted fruit. I’m just sharp enough to realize that three nights in a row likely means there’ll be a fourth.”
            "The twig things have an ecology," Dal surmised. "Since they don't radiate magic, from our encounters so far. So the papaya trees might be some sort of nascent state. But if they grow as easily as trees, then there could be as many of them about as could be pollinated -- whatever it is that they might depend upon for that. Could be hundreds of them, at that." Dal stated it as a series of academic thoughts and a hypothesis, not fact, and without anxiety.
            “How empty is that keg?” Nala asked the orc. “With a bit of work, we could make it into a bucket and lower me down on a rope to scout ahead what’s below. How deep is it, do you think?” Picking up a stone, she dropped it over the edge.
            This close, Nala spotted old, weathered hand- and footholds carved directly into the cliff face, spaced close enough together for a gnome to navigate.
            “Ha! Not empty enough to saw in half!” Orklar barked. Then he mused with a thoughtful grin, “Though we could maybe set to changing that tonight.”
            Orklar had felt the vibe of the group. They intended to press on rather than rest in comfort above ground tonight. So he had set about establishing a rudimentary camp, but no more. He did make sure that Knuckles was completely unburdened though, and he left the beast untethered as well.
            “You run like hell if you have to,” he said to the old ass, scratching it behind one ear. Then grabbing that ear with a little customary authority, he pointed a finger in the animal’s face and added, “Just make sure it’s away from the ravine you dolt.” The order was followed by a deep chuckle and another comforting scratch to the beast’s head and a playful shove in a safer direction.
            Orklar gathered up his additional gear and then made his way to the edge of the ravine. He approached slowly, with gauging steps and a prodding with his quarterstaff that displayed a clear lack of depth perception.
            Once there, he unslung the coil of rope from his shoulder and began looping it between his hands. “So, who’s going first … and what will you do for light?” he asked, knowing full well his own vision would serve him better than most.
            As the party looked over the ravine, Nominis tested the rope, checked the handholds and started climbing down. "We don't have to climb down all at once or force you deeper into the night. I'll check that this is the only easy way up and we can set a guard for the night. I'll be back before you unpack"
            “Well, that answers that,” Orklar said. “Who’s next?”
            “Hey, Nominis! There’s hand- and footholds here,” Nala told the man as he prepared to go down the rope. But he was determined to rope it down.
            Using the rope made the climb easy enough, and Nominis descended into the dim light of the ravine, nearly vanishing from view of those above as the shadows cloaked him unnaturally quickly.
            Fifty feet below, Nominis released the rope to drop a few feet to a sandy ledge, which overlooked a subterranean gulf of darkness. Even with his superior vision in the dark, Nominis couldn't see the far wall of the ravine any longer, nor, when he walked to the edge of the wide, rough ledge, could he see the bottom of the ravine.
            Sand, rocky debris, and the cracked bones of small animals covered the outcropping. At one end of it, a roughly hewn stairwell zigged and zagged down the side of the ledge, descending into the darkness below. He could see that the uneven switchback stairs led down to a few more ledges, increasingly hard to see in the distant shadows.
            Above, Roger was finally shooed away from gnawing the rope, and trotted over to a dry bush to nibble at its branches, instead. "Meh," he said with injured dignity.
            Knuckles nosed at the gear Orklar had relieved him of, no doubt looking for his feed.
            Nominis looks around in the dark and returns back to the group describing what he saw. "It looks like it is safe enough to camp here. We could camp here and guard the access from below. It is much darker than it is here. You should carry some light even if we go in the morning."
            "Wow," Dal remarked, at Nominis' efficiency, impressed at the fast scout of the area immediately below, in the ravine.
            Orklar scoffs a chuckle at Nominis’ hasty return. “He’s got some monkey blood in him…or spider,” he said, cocking an eyebrow at the shadowy man.
            The big half-Orc scanned the party once more, noting only one among them that might have trouble seeing in the dark without blaring light, and that one wielded magic fortunately. He glanced at Dalian. “Summon light, can you?” he asked. Then opened the question to the rest, “Can any of you?”
            In illustrative response, Dal rapped his staff's butt against the ground; the head of it flared to light, roughly equivalent to a torch. Dal shook his staff as he might a piece of tinder and the flame extinguished.
            "Once I've lit it, that works if someone else carries it, too, or if it's freestanding, but I'd hesitate a bit to pass it out of hand."
            “I can summon light once a day,” Nala told the old orc. “Beyond that, I have good vision in low light.”
            Nominis was up again quickly, however, with his report from below, and Dalian showed he could summon light, as well.
            Once that question had been answered, Orklar stated his position once more, mostly to Dalian who had voiced interest in getting underway immediately. “The road’s been long,” he said. “We’d be wise to eat, drink, and rest as much as able this night. No telling when decent rest will come again once we descend.”
            “And,” he added. “If the citadel is rife with undead, I’d rather learn that up here come nightfall, than down there.”
            Dal spoke no objection to camping up here, based on what they'd scouted so far. As they'd be camping under relatively open sky, Dal set to establishing a makeshift shelter from a modest oilcloth tarp, rope, and stakes he produced from his backpack. His staff stood nearby, illuminating his work with the torchlight again. With his bedroll set out and his backpack safely under the tarp -- not that the tropical summer night promised rain just yet -- Dal stood and brushed off his hands.
            "I can help watch. Given the choice, I'd like first or last. I need some time in the morning to study; refresh my repertoire."
            Vol nodded amiably. "One more night out under the sky sounds good to me. Once we get down there I can make some lights that move around for us."
            Nala went to Roger and told him, “We’re making camp here, so let’s help settle in.” She started to sort out the gear they would need for the night and started to clear a space for the fire ring.

            For all that they were terribly exposed at the edge of the ravine, with their campfire plain to see, the night passed peacefully enough. The night calls of predators seemed distant here, where only the chirr of insects sounded in the easing heat. Fortunately, nothing dead rose from the dark to plague them. Even Knuckles and Roger slept peacefully, the latter tucked against Nala with no regard for personal space.
            In the dawn light, the ravine was even darker, with the humans unable to see the ledge below. The rope hung in mute invitation, offering them a ticket to the abyss.
            For his part, in the morning, Dal finished neatly bundling up his modest gear. Most of the weight he carried was for shelter and bedding; his other needs were relatively simple, save for the pair of books he carefully carried in protective sleeves. He'd spent an hour or so reviewing them, recommitting his hard-earned lessons to memory, and preparing a few magicks based on his best guesses of what they might face ahead.
            With a measure of eagerness and a spring in his step for the endeavor ahead, Dal looked to Nominis to be the first to descend. Based on how yesterday played out, he doubted there'd be either discussion or request for permission, and Nominis would just take it upon himself to descend at his own whim. Once he did, Dal was prepared to leverage both the rope and the handholds to do his best to descend afterwards. It'd be rather ignominious to plummet from the first climb down. Almost as an afterthought Dal lit his quarterstaff and added it -- inverted -- to the side bindings on his backpack. He'd want his hands free, and the light beside his waist so he could make out the holds better.
            Nominis makes no attempt to lower himself before everyone is ready. "We should leave animals free to roam. They will be able to flee if something happens. There is a kind of ledge at the bottom of this first part, we can lower the equipment down and setup kind of temporary camp down there."
            He prepares checks his weapons and shield and collects what little he has before readying for the climb down "I will go first and secure the bottom. You come as you can. It is day, there should be some light down there, but I doubt it sees sunlight except at noon."
            When the party indicates they are ready. Nominis goes down and immediately readies klar and one of his nets to defend the rope from any potential attackers.
            As the company prepared to descend, Orklar set to removing his hide armor and kitting a collection of equipment together; shield, armor, pack, quarterstaff, and any other sundries others wanted to add to the cluster. Orklar then lowered the bundle of gear nearby on his own length of rope, affording any climber a potential safeguard should the need arise.
            The tall, long haired elf murmured a quartet of pale blue light into existence as Nominis readied himself. The orbited his head slowly, like a halo of witchlight. As the other man climbed down, the elf gestured and the lights floated down to light the dark ravine.
            The witchlights sank, down and down, slowly revolving, floating past a steep switchback stair with several ledges, finally stopping before they reached the ravine floor, and passed beyond Vol's magical reach. Vol thought he could make out the bottom of the ravine at the edge of the light.
            As morning rose, Nala sat glumly with Roger. “I can’t take you down there, Rog,” she said. “You will have to stay up here with Knuckles until we get back. Be safe. There is plenty of food. Run away if there is danger.” She gave the goat a hug and kiss before turning to descend the rope.
            Before Nominis' feet even hit the ground, a rush of small creatures hurtled out from the rubble on the ledge, moving to surround him. Still, Nominis' razor-honed reflexes allowed him to get his dragonskull-klar ready before they could attack, and as he stepped away from the rope to allow the others to join him and keep the drop at his back to avoid being flanked, he drove the klar down at one of them - an enormous rat, easily the size of a small dog. It darted aside, and another took his distraction as a chance to scuttle along the edge of the ledge and try to sink its teeth into his leg. The other rats scrambled over each other to attack as well, forcing him perilously close to the edge of the ledge, but none could penetrate his armor. Still, there was some risk that he might fall if they all piled into him at once.
            Always ready to shoot, Vol's bow was in his hand in an instant and he was firing down at the rats mere moments after first seeing them. "It's crowded down there, but Nominis could probably use some help." Vol's arrow skipped off the rock inches from one of the rats - not bad aim, considering that the rats were all over Nominis, and at a very steep angle of attack, but Vol knew he could do better.
            As she looked down into the ravine, Nala saw the giant rats and grabbed the rope. “Tempus!” she cried, feeling the rush of battle come upon her as she began climbing down.
            The fracas below was out of ready reach of most of Dal's prepared spells, and he saw little gain for attempting to crowd the rope. He quickly moved off to the side of the rope, following the edge of the ravine, knelt down as he unshouldered his pack, and unstrapped and began to ready the light crossbow he carried.
            As the rodent welcoming party emerged, Orklar chuckled and said, “I know what’s for dinner tonight.”
            The big half-Orc started directing the gear-laden rope with some shifting effort, shuffling his feet. Fifty or so pounds of kit took a bit to get going in a pendulum, but once it was slicing back and forth a healthy swath of feet at a time, he called down to Nominis.
            “Grab a hold if it suits ya!”
            Orklar couldn’t do much to the rats directly from up here, but he might just be able to give Nominis an easy lift out, clearing the way for Vol’s aim in the process.
            Watching the rope as it goes by Nominis times his jump carefully. It wouldn't do to miss. And it would even worse to pull Orklar down, both because of his fall and Nominis fall among the rats.
            Orklar saw what was coming and nodded instinctively at the nimble man’s choice of angle. Nominis knew how to work the pendulum at the very least. Still, the solid half-Orc looped his forearm around the rope reflexively and dropped into a half-squat, anticipating the wicked strain he was about to absorb.
            With a practiced archer's calm, Vol doesn't get frustrated over his missed earlier shot. He instead draws smoothly, waits patiently for an opening- aided greatly by Nominis getting away from the rats- and fires again.
            Dalian joined him, firing at the animals scuttling along the edge of the ledge where Nominis had been with his crossbow. He missed, but this time, Vol's arrow skewered one of the rats. The others squeaked in alarm and scurried away down the stairs.
            Orklar carefully released the rope a little at a time, letting the gear, and Nominis, land on the ledge. Nominis was joined a moment later by Nala, who drew her axe, ready for action, only to find that the only rat in sight was lying still with Vol's arrow sticking through it.
            Nala huffed as she surveyed the dead rats. “You didn’t leave any for me?” she asked with annoyance, slipping her axe onto her back again. “Anyone find the nest?” she asked. “There might be some shinies there.” She searched around the ledge, looking for where the rats came from.
            Once Nala was off the rope, Vol went next, followed by Dalian.
            When the gear was unfastened and it was his turn to climb, Orklar coiled up his rope and slung it over one shoulder. Opening the feed sack for the ranging Knuckles and Roger to share in their absence, he wished both animals well and started his own descent down the knotted length of rope.
            He paused for only a moment to eye the hefty barrel in camp, which sat still mostly full of dwarven ale, before his sightline cleared the precipice.
            It was cooler down here, in the shade of the rocky cliff walls. At the edge of the ledge, the narrow stairs beckoned them down toward the witchlights.
            Nominis looks at Nala as she puta away her axe. " They ran away, Wee Fury. Only this one is killed. Two others are somewhere among the rocks there"
            Vol got his bow out again as soon as he was off the rope. He grinned at Nala. "Give it a few minutes, Nala. You'll have all the fun you want once we get inside."
            “I’ll take those few minutes,” Orklar said, dropping into a squat and unfastening the knots which held the gear bundle together. Once he had the items loose, he began the rhythmic process of donning his armor. His eye flicked into the dark on occasion as his meaty fingers worked clasps and ties hidden within the construction of the hide and iron layers.
            Nominis waits to see if Nala will hunt down the rats.
            Finally outfitted in his armor once more, Orklar took a few extra moments to retrieve the slain rat by grabbing the arrow shaft. He tied the rodent to his belt and offered whatever remained of the arrow to Vol, tossing away whatever the elf didn’t want.

            Nominis takes the point, disappearing into the shadows, motioning others to follow. He keeps outside of their light, shadows adhering to him like clothes.
            Dal spent a few moments after the descent to re-adjust gear. He kept his crossbow slung but out of hand; quick to grab if need be; and brought his carved and lit quarterstaff back to hand. If the going proved treacherous, having a third point of contact with the ground might be helpful.
            The steep, narrow, and treacherous switchback stairs ran down and down, towards the cold, blue light of Vol's witchfire; roughly every twenty feet down, there was a small landing, where they could pause and take stock of their progress.
            As they descended below the overhanging rock, a fortress emerged at the edge of sight. The subterranean citadel, though impressive, seemed long forgotten - at least, if the lightless windows, cracked crenellations, and leaning towers were any indication. All was quiet, though a cold breeze blew up from below - colder than many of them had ever felt before - bringing with it the scent of dust and a faint trace of rot.
            "/Wow/," Dal breathed, honestly awestruck at the reveal of the structure. He imagined what it must've looked like in its prime, above ground, grandiose and a center of security and trade for the surrounding lands. Just so, his mind just as quickly went to what sort of dramatic event it must've been to see the citadel swallowed whole and brought down well into the ground it was originally set upon. He tried to not let his rapid musings distract him overmuch from the present.
            The narrow stairs emptied into a small courtyard, apparently the top of what had once been a crenellated battlement. The buried citadel had sunk so far into the earth that the battlement was now level with the surrounding cavern floor, which stretched away to the left and right, apparently composed of a layer of treacherous, crumbled masonry, reaching to an unknown depth. There was a chill here, unfamiliar to most of them. The light clothing that was meant for the heat above did nothing to protect them from the discomfort of the cold down here.
            As the group descended into the chill, the big half-Orc chuckled at the reduction in temperature. “Feels like home,” he said.
            Ahead loomed the surviving structure of what must be the Sunless Citadel. A tower stood on the far side of the courtyard, a closed door leading within.
            “Well,” Nala said, craning her neck back to look up and up at the tower, “this certainly seems like the place.” She shivered slightly at the chill in the sunless depths of the cavern. “Whatever possessed that other group to go in here anyway?” she mused. Carefully Nala crept up to the door and listened.
            "Curiosity? A lost pet?" The tall, thin elf grinned and shook his head. "Maybe they heard a rumor about this place we didn't." Vol stayed back where he had a view of the courtyard but directed the witchlights to the door to give Nala some light.
            "Colder than I expected," Dal remarked, suppressing a shiver. He had his bedroll in his pack that he knew he could drape over his shoulders for extra warmth, but it'd be awkward. He decided to try to tough it out for a bit, see if their activity kept them warm. At least there wasn't much air movement down here to all-the-more-quickly wick away heat.
            Nala had only taken a few steps when the ground beneath her feet abruptly fell away. She crashed down painfully on a pile of goblin bones ten feet below, startling another huge rat that had been gnawing on a more freshly dead goblin. Looking up, she could see that her fall was no accident; this was a constructed stone pit, and the trapdoors that had hidden it still hung open.
            The others could see that a narrow strip of stone, like a catwalk but only a foot across, allowed access to the door on the far side of the pit.
            When the pit opened beneath Nala, and she crunched into a difficult spot, Orklar added, “Hmph. Sounds like home too.”
            Nominis moved a bit to the side to check the area before approaching the door. He would, if he had the chance, approach with more care, old castles are known for traps and secret passages. Just as the thought formed, Nala disappeared into the pit.
            He interrupted his stalking to run toward the pit, unslinging one of his nets from the belt.
            With Nominis helping Nala, Vol stayed where he was to keep a clear vantage point of the courtyard.
            “Ugh. Ouch…” Nala grunted, yanking a goblin rib bone from where it was poking her in the back. “What are you looking at?” she snarled at the rat, throwing the bone at it.
            The rat squeaked as it dodged the bone, skittering down from the dead goblin's chest - and straight toward Nala! She hopped away from it as she got to her feet, but it persisted in following her - she was better fare than a rotting goblin.
            Orklar did not move to aid the fallen gnome. He turned and directed his gaze behind them, hefting his mace and shield. He watched for any other rats that might come to call at the noise.
            “Save that rodent if you can,” he said over his shoulder. “Twice the eating.”
            Nominis lowered his net toward diminutive warrior. He braces himself at the edge of the pit. "Here, Wee Fury, catch!"
            The rat scampered over her foot and tried to bite her leg while she was distracted, but its teeth only mangled her boot leather. It scuttled away as she kicked at it, circling, ready to rush back.
            Their voices echoed in the rocky ravine, making the citadel seem all the more empty.
            Nala looked up, chagrined, as Nominis threw down a net. “I don’t need help,” she grumbled, though she did climb up the netting out of the pit trap.
            The rat jumped up to bite her again as she grabbed hold of the net, and actually dangled from one of her armor straps for a few seconds before falling back down. The size of a small dog, it was quite heavy for the gnome, but she hung onto the rope until it released her. It stood on its hind legs, whiskers twitching as its prey was hauled to safety.
            Satisfied that no other rodents were imminent, Orklar relaxed his stance and moved to the edge of the pit, between Nominis and Vol. He turned his eye on the former.
            “Handy bit of business, that,” he nodded at the man’s use of the net. Orklar offered a meaty hand to Nala as she reached the edge of the hole, helping the gnome clear if she so desired.
            Standing straight once more, Orklar cast his gaze upon Vol, noting the archer’s preference to withhold fire. “Fair enough,” he said. “Save your arrows, though we might cross paths with this bugger further down the line. Have a way of gettin’ about, vermin do.”
            Orklar returned his attention to the pit as the rodent gave clear indication it was trying to ascend. “Like so,” he chuckled. “Dinner’s come a calling.” Winding up, the big half-Orc lowered his stance and prepared to crush the rat with his mace if the rat made it to the lip of the pit.
            Careful about crowding too close to the pit with the others, Dal didn't harbor any threatened feelings or inadequacies -- the engagement was important, and dangerous, but in some ways academic. He knew there was little he could contribute were he to race forward. At seeing indications from all that the rat was intent upon pursuing Nala up the wall of the pit and continuing the conversation, he decided to ready himself to act.
            Dal let go of his staff; his staff remained upright on its own accord as he released it, and continued to provide supplemental illumination. He brought a simple cantrip to mind and prepared to conjure a small elemental orb of acid as a missile weapon once the rat crested the top of the pit.
            Nala grunted as she took Orklar’s hand to help her out of the pit. She brushed off her armor and stared back down at the giant rat in the hole. “Persistent wee bugger,” she muttered, drawing her greataxe.
            Foregoing net folding for the moment, Nominis pulls out a while and cracks it downward trying to hit the climbing menace.
            The rat was quickly dispatched by the gathered party, and the trapdoor closed with a scrape of stone a moment later, leaving an unbroken surface for them to walk on before the door.
            Orklar wasn’t swift enough to snatch the falling rat corpse before the trap doors swung shut once more. He frowned at the pit for a moment.
            “Fair bit of craft, for that to work after all this time,” he said, adding with a chuckle. “Well, we know where there’s more meat if we get really hungry, and if rats and traps are all that await, we’ll count ourselves lucky.”
            He turned and ran his one-eyeballed gaze over Nala for a moment, and seeing no injuries overly troubling her at the moment, he nodded once in recognition of the gnome’s efforts at the front of their line.
            Orklar then stowed his mace and set to uncoiling the rope over his shoulder, offering it to anyone who walked across the narrow stretch of the pit, either as a bit of a safety net or as a guide line should someone hold it taut on the other side. As he worked and the party crossed, he spoke of the citadel.
            “Mallorick Karthonen was an evil seed,” he said. “With evil seed, tales be believed. Last in a long line of landholders and herdsmen, furthering the family fortune off the sweat and toil of others. Nothing glorious or legendary about that story, just powerful men doing what they do.”
            The recounting was interrupted, with efforts crossing the pit. “Easy there, keep the rope taut and mind that last step.” Then he picked up the thread once more with ease.
            “The twist comes in Karthonen’s choice of bride.” A remorseful chuckle sounded from Orklar. “Woman named Latheria … something-or-other … don’t recall the family name. Point is, this woman was cloistered, or about to be, wanting to serve her god for all of her days. Well, an arrangement was reached, and Latheria wound up having to marry Mallorick. Many folk didn’t understand her resistance to the union, marrying up the way she was, but my guess is those same folk don’t really understand the true power of females.”
            Orklar began his own journey across the narrow pit ledge. Even the trap doors being shut didn’t hide the illusion of the depths from him, and he moved slowly, talking as he went to keep his mind on something else.
            “Lord Karthonen learned about that power the hard way,” he said. “Two daughters Latheria bore her husband in the first years of their marriage, healthy and beautiful both. Mallorick wasn’t a patient man though, and he wanted an heir sooner rather than later. He had several women on the side in the surrounding area, and well, if the stories be true, he put his pecker in just about anything that moved. Shepherds in his employ often prattled about the shocked looking flocks of sheep walking around.”
            "You exaggerate," Dal concluded, skeptically, though his attention didn't waver from the background tale.
            A snort and chuckle escaped the half-Orc as he coiled up his rope and slung it once more. Then his tone turned a sight more somber.
            “Latheria’s third birth was a son,” he said. “Stillborn. As was the fourth. They say she was fair mad by this point. Not fiery mad, mind you. Can’t even imagine the wickedness she endured throughout, but one thing became very clear. She didn’t keep that wickedness in. Not a bit of it. Out it poured, and the citadel soaked most of it in, when it wasn’t busy soaking up blood, that was.”
            “Mallorick kept sowing his seed wherever he could,” Orklar continued. “Latheria found those sprouts, every last one of them, and had them cut down without remorse. Tales say she also gave birth to a third and fourth girl and a host of other stillborn boys. And the worst of it always comes at the end of the story, doesn’t it?”
            Orkar took a breath and let it out in a long whoosh.
            “Latheria had tracked down and ensorcelled, though my guess is more likely just employed, a necromancer of some repute,” he said. “But however the means of his employ, that practitioner of the darkest arts worked the weave for Latheria, and by now I’m guessing you all can imagine how.”
            Orklar gave it a few moments of silence before he finished the retelling.
            “Every slaughtered child, every stillborn, and from hear tell, many of those responsible for their existence, were brought back by that black magic,” he said. “Brought back to forever haunt and harrow the man who stole her from the righteous path that she had wished to walk. Lord Karthonen stole one life from her, and Latheria in return, stole every life from him, even her own.”
            “Now that, is power,” Orklar finished with some respect as he stared at the dark stones awaiting them ahead.
            Dal's eyes were still a bit wider from Orklar's tie-in within the tale to such a use of necromancy. To think that the undead reportingly roaming down here; that that might be purposeful, and a bestowed curse, and not just a dramatic twist of a natural gathering of negative energies and events. Dal considered the repercussions, his eyes moving side to side alternately as one thought branched to others, conclusions considered, possibilities discarded.
            "Something like that; that persistent of a spell, that complex of a working; I'm not certain, but I suspect it must be anchored to something. Something discrete and tangible. Sure, it could be the whole castle itself," Dal gestured to the fallen subterranean citadel, "but I think it'd be something more localized, something more relevant to the intent and background of the spell, something acting as a focus for the negative energy and emotion of the events you've described. That focus might even be Latheria; she might still be down here, somewhere, binding this all through the vestiges of whatever trace of her being and will might still remain."
            "Conjecture, only."
            "We going to try going in through there?" he asked to all, pointing towards the dilapidated tower and its single closed door.
            “Stories?” Nala asked, raising an eyebrow at Orklar. “Hopefully it’s not true. Let’s find these missing adventurer’s.”
            Gingerly Nala made it along the walkway over the trap and up to the doors to study them, more careful this time.
            Orklar’s pensive consideration of Dalian’s conjecture quickly turned to hearty laughter at Nala’s decree. “Such simple clarity is refreshing,” he said. “Onward then! Let us see if the stories are true.”
            "Maybe you should let me go first, Wee Fury. I can see in the dark and you can come in and fight if there is anything to fight." Nominis offers as Nala starts toward the doors. "I'll go in without lights, I can darken whole place as needed and I know I survived in a harsh place. Just not what it was."
            Nominis frowns for the moment as memories almost emerge, but shakes it off "Anyhow, I'm probably better suited for scouting."
            Nala nodded to Nominis. She moved off to the side to give him room to work, her greataxe ready for danger. She started fingering the various little totems and protective voodoo dangling from her armor and axe, activating their magics, granting her the strength of the bull, the grace of the cat, the endurance of the bear.
            As the party worked toward the awaiting tower, Orklar said, “But you say true, Dalian. Such power is not conjured with ease, though they did have time for the working.”
            “Speaking of which,” he added. A few deep tones thrummed from his throat, and to the half-Orc’s eye, energy seeped from the shadows and coalesced before him, highlighting any particular focus of the weave that may be awaiting them in the vicinity.