Ptolus: Midwood - "The Dark Waters of Moss Pond"

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Emus, looking into the sarcophagus, peering down at the rest of the stacked stone boxes inside.

Tosh clambers over the edge, his legs hanging limply in the air as he examines the next box for traps. He grunts once, having confirmed that the boxes all seem to have the same locking mechanism and reaches for his tools.

Hazel peers past the gnome, trying to get a better look at the boxes.

"How many are there?" She looks around at the statues, noting the mirrored mask over one's face. "You think each statue has its own matching box? There's that one with the smooth face, and the mirror y'all hauled out. And the statue with the screaming mask ... that thing we fought was definitely screaming."

Tosh grunts noncommittally, gesturing for Emus and Tucker to help lift the remaining boxes out of the sarcophagus.

Meanwhile, Bufer examines the mirror Emmerson holds erect. The back portrays more of the robed and hooded men, with their owl-headed guardians. The men appear to be weaving mighty spells, all centering on a large frame much like the mirror's frame. Later images portray the hooded men standing within the frames, the owl-headed men standing guard.

"Hmm," Bufer says, stroking his chin as he examines the back of the mirror. "I'm not gonna pretend I know exactly what this means, but if I had to guess, I'd say Kem's guess about these bein' used for some kinda magic was right on the money."

Bufer frowns as he peers more closely at the depictions of the robed figures standing inside the frame. A sudden thought strikes him, and he carefully walks around Emmerson to closely examine the glass.

"It's a bit awkward, but I can get this one out by myself," Tucker says, wrestling the next slab out of the sarcophagus. "Probably going to need some help with the rest, though."

Emus puts his club down and climbs into the sarcophagus to help lift the stone slabs out. The four closed stone cases appear more or less identical to the opened one that had the mirror in it. The carved scenes vary slightly, but are functionally the same.

As each emerges, Tock opens the case, and Emus and Tucker pull out the mirror from inside. Five stone slab boxes, five ornate mirrors.

Bufer ponders his reflection in the first mirror.

"Huh," Bufer says to no one in particular. "I am a handsome, handsome gnome."

Bufer reaches out to touch the surface of the glass, to see if it feels any different from that of your average, garden-variety mirror, but it is resolutely glassy and reflective.

Shaking out his sore fingers, Tucker surveys the line of mirrors.

"There's no way we're going to be able to get all of these out here in one trip. Even if we load the rest of you down with the swords and armor, Emmerson and I will only be able to carry one of these back to town, maybe two if we stack them carefully, but the whole lot? That's a recipe for broken glass. Failing any way to float these things behind us, can one of you clever types tell if any of the mirrors is more vital than the rest?"

"Why, if I didn't know better, I'd think you was tryin' to make me cry!" Emus flexes his biceps in the classic bicep-flexing pose. "Look at these! Look at these guns! These are my guns! Why, I could carry any of them mirrors faster than you could carry just one!"

Emus lets his arms drop, and then suddenly brings them back up to flex them again.

"BANG!"

Bufer cocks an eyebrow at Emus' reflection in the mirror.

"Bang, indeed." He snorts in frustration as he finally removes his hand from the mirror. "Well, so much for that idea. When I saw the robed figures inside the frames on the back of this thing, I thought maybe it meant they used 'em as ... I dunno, magical doors, or something? To other places, like Kem said? But it's just a mirror."

Bufer shakes his head at his own perplexed reflection.

"I don't understand," he says. "Everything else in this place has zapped us, laughed at us, or let loose evil beasties that tried to kill us, but the mirror it's all protecting is just a mirror? It don't add to a proper sum, if you ask me."

Still shaking his head, Bufer moves from mirror to mirror, examining each from back to front as he did the first, making note of any significant differences amongst them. Each is essentially the same, however: Robed men attended by owl-headed men, casting spells on objects that resemble the frames of the mirrors, at least one image per frame of a robed man standing inside a frame.

Likewise, the boxes are much the same, although they do not depict the mirrors, but rather show the robed men and owl-headed men in combat -- the robed men using spells, the owl-headed men using large curved swords -- against featureless humanoids.

Bufer pauses in his examination of a mirror as a sudden thought strikes him.

"A recipe for broken glass," he mutters, repeating Tucker's words from moments before, then looks up at the others. "What do you think might happen if we did break one?"

"Yes," Renraw agrees. "The broken mirror, from earlier. Could that have housed the shadow creature we just faced? I don't suggest smashing these until we're a little more certain. In fact, I don't suggest smashing them at all. If they do contain more of those tormented spirits, we'll only be releasing them into our world. And if they don't, we'll have smashed some perfectly fine seeing glass. No, better to bring them to some authority for answers."

Kem thinks about what he's just said and amends his statement.

"Or sell them to the highest bidder."

Ragglus frowns in confusion.

"But th' broken mirror pieces was down'err," he says, thumbing over his shoulder toward the entrance. "Why was th'beastie up'ere wi'the other ones? Missed bein' trapped?"

"The only broken mirror earlier was smashed statue's eyes. Wait, eyes?" Tucker pauses. "Why did the guardian statues just have mirrored eyes, while the one in here is covering its entire face? Is that symbolic? And I'm not entirely sure the bird was ever in the box. Remember when Everpuffy slipped his bone to Renraw and they lit it up? The shadows were moving around us in a most peculiar way. Though it only seems apparent in retrospect, it's possible that thing was following us since we got in here, and only attacked when we got to what it was guarding."

"Could the mirrors by themselves be nothing, but assembled in a certain way be made to 'work?'" Emmerson ponders. "Perhaps they are meant to be hung or held by the statues?"

"Be nice if these bird folks had left some instructions," Hazel snaps. "Any luck deciphering those illustrations, Bufer? I don't think we should be breaking anything, or setting them up in a circle and waiting for their owners to step out, until we know what they really do. Why don't we take one back with us and get an expert opinion before we unleash a host of flying shadows?"

"Don't forget, there may be a non-hibernating bear wandering around these halls, now," Tucker says. "We'll need to be careful as we leave."

Renraw sits on the floor, leaning his back against the statue with the screaming mask, obviously still in pain but also deep in thought.

"I expect we'll have no luck bringing these to that charlatan Leach," the wizard wheezes. "No offense meant, of course, Chandler. The boy was asked to leave university."

Tock nods.

"So if we've no other recourse, I do know of a man who may be able to help. An instructor at St. Feldin's. Actually, he's a dean there and the, ah, the chair of the disciplinary committee. We've had some contact. Nothing like Leach's situation, I assure you. The dean is specialized in anti-thaumaturgy, but keeps an extensive personal library on planar magic. Just a hobby of his. He also enjoys vexillology, I understand."

Renraw pauses, painfully aware of everyone staring at him.

"Ahem, at any rate, should we be unable to scare up anyone local with the requisite knowledge to tell us just what the devil these things are, I believe chances are quite good that the dean would take personal interest in our tale were we to write him. Provided the group could come together on the cost for the post, I would be more than happy to draft an appeal. It would be necessary to store the mirrors at a central location while we waited for an answer, of course. Kem House is bar none the most secure, for what it's worth. I realize I'm a little ahead of myself. It's the chills. I'm not able to think straight. You all have my apologies."

Tosh clears his throat softly.

"We have a lot of options here, you know. We can try to experiment with the mirrors in the area. I'm curious about the five statues and five mirrors coincidence, combined with the fact that each of the statues seems to be intentionally averting their gaze. Well, all except for yellow eyes, there. Then there's the interesting fact that the last room had five walls. You know, the room with the water basin." Tosh scratches his chin and considers it a bit more. "You know, there might be some configuration we could set them up in to get a response, either in this room or the other. And heck, we haven't even done a thorough examination of the occupied room, either. Bear or no, we might find a clue there, as well."

He stalks back and forth, thinking aloud.

"And of course there is then also the more practical choice: Take what we can now and come back for more later. We could put the mirrors back in their cases and I could lock them back up. Indeed, if we were to transport them in some way, I'd suggest using the cases as protection. I'd take the cases along as well, because if we do decide to market them at the max, it occurs to me that the best market would be in the collectors' arena, and collectors tend to like the idea of having the complete package.

"But I'm wandering on again. Personally, I think we should exhaust all possibilities of the mirrors here first, which may include evicting yon beastie from its lair. Then lock the mirrors up and come back for them."

He looks cautiously from one to another of the group in turn.

"That is, assuming we can trust each other enough that we can expect them to be here when we get back ..."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

"It would be clever," Emmerson says, lowering the mirror to the ground, "To store the mirrors away from the 'activation' place, if that's what it is. Makes you wonder how safe it would be reassemble them.

"But I am concerned. I do not like the battle scenes depicted in the mirror frames and I certainly do not like that a statue that predates the ascension of Lothian still holds power to attack. Nor do I like that owl-thing.

"Knowledge is power, friends. We need to know what those symbols mean, because if we fiddle with those items the way a child would with a siege weapon, I'm certain we will not live to see Maidensbridge again. We need someone to interpret the symbols accurately."

Hazel nods in agreement.

"Yeah, those battle scenes don't inspire trust in the owl-folk or their magical friends." She stoops down to pull another torch out of her pack. "But if someone wants to hold onto a second torch, I'll head over to the water room with Tosh and see if those walls hold any clues for the mirrors."

Tosh and Hazel head down the stairs and towards the room with the pool. Unnoticed by them, the air coming from the entrance to the south is colder, and a wind may be picking up.

In the other room, there don't appear to be any obvious ways the mirrors could be used here -- there are no holes on the wall, no spots where they could be mounted on shelves and no obvious marks on the floor where they might have once rested.

Tosh pulls out his waterskin and takes a long pull, then empties on the floor. He then proceeds to fill it up with water from the basin.

"Let's rejoin the others, Hazel. I see nothing of importance here."

"It's the images of the robed figures standing inside the frames that have got me bugged," Bufer says to the others, as Tosh and Hazel return. "What does that mean?"

Bufer glances up at Tosh and Hazel as they approach the rest of the party, and raises an eyebrow in askance. Tosh simply shakes his head.

"It is in my learn-ed opinion," offers Renraw, now almost flat on the floor with head resting on the base of the statue, "That whoever these robed figures were used these mirrors for planar travel. Whether the five of them connect with each other, or with other mirrors in other locales, I cannot guess. But at any rate, we're not going to crack the case milling about in here. If the room with the bear provides no further clues, we'll need to get these mirrors out of here and back home so we can seek the aid of experts."

Tosh uncorks the waterskin and pours the water on the face of one of the silver mirrors. The water rinses the mirror clean of the dust of ages, but although it restores it to a sparkling clean, it seems to have no other effect.

"All right then," Bufer says, "I guess it's on to the room with the bear-thing in it, right? Hazel, are you still resolutely against fighting it? Because if that beastie's at all territorial, it's liable to come down to that if we all go tromping in there."

"Whatever it takes to get us moving again!" Renraw dramatically thrusts his finger into the air, still lying quite flat. "Would anyone mind carrying me?"

"I think it's foolish to rouse a sleeping bear, and cruel to kill it when we're the ones invading its home." Hazel's voice is quiet, but resolute. "And I can't even be certain it's a bear at all -- it could be something I've never seen before."

She rubs her free hand over the head of her axe.

"But if you're asking will I let it kill y'all if I could stop it ... no. If you truly believe we'll learn something in the last room that we haven't already learned from these two rooms, then let's go. But might I suggest that if we sense no specific evil from the creature, we leave it be. Run, rather than fight, I mean. And do our best to move quietly and avoid disturbing it at all."

"Well, quiet is what I do best," Tosh grins, "So I suggest we just go over to the top of the stairs, enough to shed some light and allow me to scout on ahead into the tunnel and see what indeed we face. Perhaps Emus would care to follow me part way and watch my back. He has good enough eyes to make out if I were to get mauled."

Tosh turns and heads toward the last stairwell, the one with the excavation, once again.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

"If it's just a normal bear that's made this place its home, then we're gonna leave it be," Emus says. "But with all of these skeletons and shadow birdies running around, you also gotta be prepared for the possibility that it ain't right in the head. If that's the way it is, we really don't want it runnin' around these woods makin' this place even more dangerous."

Hazel gives Emus a tight smile and a nod, then follows the gnome and dwarf toward the final chamber.

The trio troop quietly through the cold corridors.

Hazel lags behind a bit at the stairs to keep the light from reaching the bear's tunnel, and listens intently for any sign that the creature is waking.

In the previous room, Renraw's head is now flat on the hard stone floor.

"So, the rest of us are going to stay in this room, is that right? And wait for the three of them to be killed by the bear and for our exit to be blocked? So we can all be ripped to bits and digested like so much carrion? Do I have that correct, then? Just checking."

He rubs his temples with his thumb and forefinger.

"But if we DO decide -- for whatever reason -- that ISN'T what we want to do, shouldn't we do as we did with the skeleton swords and helmets and move the mirrors downstairs? Anyone want to get started on that? I can't help this time. Pity. And if I could get a hand getting myself down the stairs, that would be great. Any takers? We should probably get moving."

Seeing no one leaping forward with absolute enthusiasm to aid Renraw, Ragglus sighs, slings his shield onto his back, and gently yanks the wizard up by the collar.

"B'ready t'be dropped like a bag o'dung at th'first sign a'trouble."

"Oh, sure. Now that the 'bang, bang' fellow has gone, now we move the mirrors," Emmerson sighs. "Need a hand here, to carry the other end."

"No point moving 'em downstairs just yet," Bufer says, as Ragglus hoists Renraw up on his shoulder. "After all, if we do find some clue to their use in that room, and we decide we want to test it out, we'd just have to haul 'em back up again, right?"

Bufer glances in the direction in which Tosh and the others departed.

"Besides," he says, "I do believe I feel a very stupid plan coming on."

"All I mean to say is," Renraw begins, before scrunching up his face and giggling in fits, "Good God, Chaplin, is that your armpit making that odor? I mean, thank you for helping me up, but come on!

"We can leave the mirrors here. I have no problem with that notion. Would it have killed you, Ragglus, to sprinkle on some talc or something? We can always come back for the silver if need be. But right now, the group of us in this room, we're just human jerky waiting to happen. Think of it, the bear creature tears through the three of them up the other stairs, and then comes for us up here and blocks the exit. We need to, ugh, the stench! We need to find ourselves in BETWEEN bear and exit. Someone else see reason, here, please! And find me a nose plug when you do."

Ragglus lets go, dropping Renraw to the ground.

"Oops."

Bufer winces in spite of himself as Renraw hits the ground, then shakes his head and addresses the others.

"Kem's got a point: we're cornered if we stay here. But this is where Tosh, Emus and Hazel are expecting us to be when they return. And I'm pretty sure Tosh can move quietly enough not to attract attention, as long as the others keep quiet. I reckon we ought to stay, at least 'til they get back."

Bufer walks over to the fallen Renraw, and gets down on one knee to speak to him.

"Kem," he says quietly, "Forget about the 'sir' stuff. Just promise me you'll think before you act, all right? If I heal you now, I can't heal anyone else later if something you do, something you touch, brings ruination down on the group. And that could mean somebody dies. I don't want anyone's death on my conscience, and I'm sure you don't either. So can you do that for me?"

Renraw vigorously tries to rub the newly acquired pain out of his tailbone. The jolt from the drop has snapped him out of whatever bizarre state of euphoria he was in. Or perhaps its because he's been released from Ragglus' musk. His face is a mask of frustration.

"I see what this is. You tried before to strong-arm me before, but I didn't oblige. And now it's time to talk to me as you would a child. This despite the fact that I'm the only one in this hole with the sense to fully appreciate our situation. That bear could come up those stairs at any second, and yet you would sit here with your miniature thumb up your miniature arse. Before today's events, I would have left the decision to heal me to your best judgment. But now I know what a grave error that would be." Renraw wills himself to his shaky feet. "Save your healing for someone who needs it, gnome. We'd better get downstairs. And, oh, I see you've decided to listen to me about the mirrors, as well. Wise decision."

Renraw makes his way with the group down into the room with the columns, using the wall for support the whole way.

"Think for a moment, people, difficult as it may be," Tock snaps. "Moving the mirrors to the room with the columns makes sense. We can put them in any of the rooms at that point."

Bufer shrugs.

"All right, good point. Let's shut the mirrors up inside their cases first, though, so nothing gets broken."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Tosh, Emus and Hazel mount the northwest stairs. Tosh motions for Hazel to stay where she is.

"Emus, when we get to the excavation, stop and let me go ahead of you," he whispers urgently. "If it appears that I will go around a turn and you lose sight of me, move up quietly until you can see me again. Hazel, when you can no longer see Emus, move up to the excavation but no farther."

Tosh and Emus begin moving again. With a hand gesture, Tosh indicates Emus' watch post. With a nervous sigh, the gnome slips into the tunnel, moving painfully slowly to remain as quiet as possible, carefully picking his way around the loose debris on the tunnel floor. Every dozen feet or so, he pauses, getting a good look at what's ahead of him.

The tunnel is narrow, only about five feet wide, but not shaped for humanoids to walk through comfortably. Old and dry root tips poke out of the dirt sides. The tunnel veers in a westerly direction at first and then bends north. Standing at the turn, Tosh can see it turns again, northwest, almost immediately. The sound of whatever is in the den ahead is louder here, and the smell much more pungent. The creature beyond groans, low and loud, its breathing slow and steady. Tosh turns and waves to Emus, pointing to the floor at his position. Then he moves quietly up to the next turn.

It's less than 10 feet after the turn northwest that the tunnel turns north. But from here, Tosh can see into the den. It's a larger room than the tunnel might indicate, probably a cave carved out by a long-gone trickle of water ages before whatever creature found its way into this cairn and clawed that particular wall. Irregularly shaped, it is approximately 25 feet wide for 25 feet, then gets five feet wider to the west and wider still around a steep corner to the east. The north wall is roughly angled toward the northeast.

In the northeast corner of the room, amidst feathers and fur and thick musk, something sleeps in its nest. It appears to be a bear -- and not a small one -- but its face and paws are not visible, as it's curled up into a ball, possibly for the winter. But perhaps it's not a bear: A fringe of what look like feathers are visible along one edge of the sleeping form.

In the northeast corner, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, Tosh recognizes the mauled and half-eaten form of three adventurers, two human, one dwarf. They are long dead, probably killed shortly after the first frost of the winter. But there is the unmistakable gleam of coin in a split leather sack near one corpse's feet, 30 or 40 feet away from where Tosh now stands.

Tosh quietly turns and meets Emus and indicates that they should rejoin Hazel. They make their way back down to the center room where it appears that the rest of the group has finished up re-crating and stacking the mirrors next to the columns. He then recounts in best detail the scene he's taken in.

"Whatever that thing is, one thing is for certain: It's a man-eater. Therefore it's a menace to the locality. I'm sorry, Hazel, but you know I'm telling the truth. I'm not sure we'll get as lucky as with the last thing. It'll be a major risk, for sure. Me? I can go either way. I'd just as soon it not be here the next time I, er, we come back, though."

"The beast dies," Emmerson says in a soft but forceful voice.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

"Right, then," Tock says. "Those of us good at killing nasty things should sneak up on the thing and slay it while it sleeps. No need to risk incurring further harm to the rest of us."

"That's what I like ta hear, Tock!" Emus grins. "Maybe you kin put another arrow through this beastie's eye, too!"

"It didn't sound like those tunnels made for easy traveling for you talk folk," Bufer says, glancing from one member of the party to the other. "Not a lot of room to move in there, either: Y'all might just wind up getting in each other's way. Might be easier to lure it out of there and ambush it once it's out in the open."

"There is that brute approach, yes," Tock says, "Or Tosh and our barbaric friend could try to sneak up on it, bash it apart, and, if it lives, lead it out to our carefully-laid ambush."

"I betcha it's hibernating," Emus says. "If it eats men, and it hasn't come after us after all the racket Renraw keeps makin', then it's obviously got somethin' else on its mind."

"The battleaxe," Renraw interjects. "The strongest here should creep up on the thing and bring the girl's axe down on its head while it sleeps."

"I take it you've never been hunting, Seed-counter," Tucker drawl. "I've seen animals go for an hour or more, even with a sure killing wound on 'em. We send someone in there, they'll need speed and fortitude more than strength, or else they'll be snack food for a birdbear with an axe in its forehead. Bufer, your plan sounds good to me. Seed, you still have your butter? We can still lay your grease trap if things get too rough."

"I don't care where you've been hunting," Renraw snaps back. "There is no creature that will continue fighting with a severed spinal column. There may be some minor death spasms, maybe even a slim chance of one last deadly flail, but no beheaded animal will fight. Tell me the shot would be too difficult, tell me there's not enough leverage the way the beast lies, tell me there's no way to be certain where to make the cut, but do not try to tell me an axe cannot kill a sleeping bear with one blow."

Hazel, who has been listening with a pained expression, finally speaks up.

"If we lure it out here, it's got four options to dodge past us, and one of those leads it outside. We have no idea how fast it moves or how sharp its claws are," she says. "And despite Renraw's simplistic notions about combat, if we could simply end its life with one blow, that would be for the best.

"Since we can't, however, we either need to lure it to the chamber at the top of the stairs, or move silently into its den. The den itself is wide enough for the job; it's just the tunnel that we don't want to be trapped in."

Renraw rounds on Haze, stabbing toward her with an outstretched finger.

"And you, woman, do not get to tell me what's simplistic! You, who has been whining since the start about letting the thing live. Disagree if you must, provide an alternate strategy if you can, but you will not condescend. You haven't the right, you whom the gnome healed, no questions asked. No 'why didn't you dodge better, Hazel? You're so foolish!' No 'you're endangering the party by being a woman, Hazel!' Just 'oh, I see someone is hurt, I shall use my healing gifts to restore them in the name of my god. Simply because it is the right thing to do.'"

Renraw's imitation of Bufer is poor but clearly recognizable.

"Boy, if the beast comes out here goin' on about account balancing or something, or whether it's better cast an acid spell or use a club, then we'd all be happy to hear yer expertise," Emus snarls. "Until then, I think it's high time you shut the hell up. I'm tired'a listening to yer whining."

"Renraw, do not forget that the condition you are in was the result of your own foolishness," Emmerson says. "Twice you meddled with things you did not comprehend and one of them swatted you like we would a bug.

"The feud you and Ebuferpaly have going on is both tiresome and dangerous. I cannot force him to heal you more than I can force you to recognize your mistake and be healed. I see his point about our limited healing resources and that we cannot squander that talent. But what I'd like you to understand is that if the creature wakes and somehow gets past us, it will need to do nothing harder than breathe down your neck to kill you. Mourned you will be, and -- if we're lucky -- I will carry your corpse back to town to give burial."

"Fine, ya great bloody nitwit! The thing's sleeping curled up in a ball, not with its neck stretched out on a chopping block," Tucker joins in on Renraw. "Most people wouldn't need that spelled out for them, but while we're at it, grass is green and fire is hot! Oh, and after you breathe out, don't forget to breathe back in again. Anything else you need us to hold your hand and walk you through? Or maybe they were going to cover all that in your second year of schooling."

"You doltish oaf!" Renraw explodes. "You've not been in the den with the bear, you don't know how its neck is oriented, and you haven't the slightest clue whether or not the chop is possible. Your first answer was that it couldn't be done. Now, upon me reminding you that, yes, it could be done, you've tried to make it sound as though that isn't what you said.

"I don't mind if the group doesn't want to use my plan, if you believe it to be too difficult, or if you believe the dwarf hasn't the fortitude. But don't tell me it's not possible when clearly it is. I don't know what magical woodland creatures you all spend your time hunting, but I've studied anatomy. And I've killed enough small animals to know. When you separate a thing's brain from its body -- unless it's a chicken -- you don't get 'thrashing,' you get a couple of minor, easily avoidable spasms. I'd do it if I had the propensity for axe-swinging that some of you have, or if the gnome, the, er, sneaky one, told us how its head was oriented.

"Now, I get the idea that the group is starting to become irritated with me," he says, suddenly taking on a pious air, "And Lothian knows I'm not one to rub people the wrong way, so I just have one request before I still myself. Please choose your words more carefully before you dismiss what I have to say."

Hazel has been flipping her axe in the air and catching it by the handle over and over as Renraw has gone on and on. Now that he's wound down, she flips the battleaxe around in her hand and offers him the haft.

"Perhaps you'd like to strike the killing blow, then? It's apparently quite simple: Just sneak up on the sleeping animal, determine where its spine is, and sever it with one strike. Then leap back to avoid any unpleasant disemboweling as it thrashes itself to death."

"All right, all right," Bufer says loudly enough to be heard over the din. He puts one hand on the outstretched haft of Hazel's axe, and shakes his head softly at her before the wizard has a chance to reply. "Kem's cast his vote, as is his right: he wants to beard the animal in its den as it sleeps, along with Tock and Hazel, and Emus I believe. Tucker and I lean more towards luring it out into the open and ambushing it. Anyone else want to speak up?"

"Yes, I've something to say, now that I think about it." Renraw is clearly still angry. "Your plan, gnome, is not a bad one. And I've no problem using the ingenious grease trap I devised as a back-up, if the need arises. Lothian knows that I am not one to hold a grudge. I can and will let go of all the various wrongs done me today. So I just want the group to know that if the birdbear kills one or more of us because we didn't use my plan, I will still mourn them just the same as if we had made the correct decision instead."

The group stares at Renraw in silence and, feeling awkward, the wizard busies himself brushing his clothes clean.

"Well said, Kem," Bufer says, with a raised eyebrow, before turning to the others "Ahem. Now, does anyone else -- anyone who isn't a squirrel-molesting bookkeeper -- have anything to add? Rags? Emmerson? Tosh? You lot haven't weighed in on the options before us, yet."

"I have no problem with the luring idea," Tosh says softly. "Indeed, I think I could easily hide in the den and wait for it to get into the tunnel, thereby having an ample opportunity at its exposed hindquarters.

"Of course, that leaves me a bit separated from the rest. Not an optimal situation in my condition, but still good for a decent amount of carnage on my part. I suggest if we try this particular tactic that we wait until it reaches the non-excavated area. Footing for our people will be better there and we'll be able to put more on attack, and keeping it in a more confined area.

"Yes, yes, I think the idea is sound. I suggest that Bufer provides the illusion, as I may compromise my hiding if I were to do it. What I can do is wake it with a rock, and then quickly hide. The rest will be up to you in the luring, as I'll be cowering in the deepest of shadow. I only hope it can't smell fear."

Ragglus yawns, switching from his flail to his longsword, then turns and spits.

"Bring it out here n' kill it."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

"We'd best make sure our lure is a damned good one," Hazel says. "Last thing we need is the creature to go snuffling around its den and find a snack while the rest of us are still waiting in the other room."

Tock begins tuning his banjo.

"I remember a good song. 'In Fairer Times With Thee (And Fairer Still with She).' When the bear arrives I'll play the breakdown to accompany the beat down."

"I agree with luring the creature out," Emmerson says, preparing his sword and shield. "I am uncomfortable with doing battle against a sleeping creature. If we need a lure, look no further."

"Hmm," Bufer says, stroking his chin. "My illusion will have shape, and make sounds, but it won't have a smell. If this beastie we're dealin' with tends to follow its nose -- or beak, as the case may be -- our lure may not prove terribly effective."

He looks over at Tosh.

"It's a risk, lad, but it's mainly your risk. Still think it's worth trying?"

"Yes, I do, especially having live bait in the form of our redoubtable paladin standing in plain sight at the mouth of the cave. If it takes the bait, you lure him in, if he doesn't and comes for me ... well, let's just say I'm not the most cooperative meal it could wish for and I dare say I could stave off his advances till help arrives." Tosh nods his head. "Yep, that's the way I see it. In fact, I'd be more worried about Emmerson trying to take the heat off in a rescue attempt were he by himself."

"All righty then, sounds like we got ourselves the makings of a stupid plan," Bufer nods. "Unless anyone has any objections or fine-tuning, I suggest Tosh here shows us where he reckons the ambush should be set up."

"Aye, strap it on, let's do this." Tosh leads the way up the northwest stair waiting for the torch so everyone can see before whispering more instructions. "Should we light another torch? Or conjure more light? Emmerson might need to illuminate himself, and I'd hate the group be left in darkness."

He then indicates the far wall, with its crude cave.

"I suggest the warriors arrange themselves in an arc about the entrance. You may not all have room to fight, but there it is. Just be sure to give Emmerson an escape route. Plenty of room for the wizard, cleric and the bard to ply their trades in the middle of the room." Tosh nods at Emmerson. "When everyone is ready, I'll lead the bait to the end of the tunnel and situate myself and hide. You'll know when all hell breaks loose."

"The light will make more of an inviting target," Emmerson says. "I also plan to scream a couple of verses in Celestial. Who knows, perhaps the beast is a believer."

"Emmerson, if yer fancy song don't work, try using this." Emus hands the young paladin a rock.

"We're all going to die and I'm never going to find out how much those mirrors are worth," Renraw moans quietly.

"Don' piss yer nethers jus' yet," Ragglus says with a sneer, taking his position near the wall. "Hope y'brought 'nuff talc f'yer britches."

"Right enough, lads," Deputy Tucker Gallaway says, a military swagger to his step as he inspects everyone getting into position. "Let's get Renraw and the rest of the delicate flowers over by the door for a quick retreat, if need be. Those of us who can take a hit will keep our backs to the corner. With any luck, we'll all walk out of here under our own power."

Tucker begins to ad-lib, calling upon a similar speech once given by Sheriff Thoric Glangirn.

"Remember, we fight to defend the village. As Lothian teaches us, to defend one's home is to defend the empire, so today we will serve our glorious empire well. For years we've all lived in the Emperor's favor and in Lothian's; together, they've given us everything we need. Today is the day we give back!

"Fight now, fight!" He raps the handle of his mace against his shield as he takes his position, confident that if the bear hasn't woken up yet, this isn't going to be what does it. "Fight for fortune and the brilliant dawn!"

Hazel ignores Tucker as she silently prays an urgent prayer that Estanna will see the entire group safely back to hearth and home. She settles her axe in her hand and takes up a position on the left of the heavy fighters to wait for the creature to appear.

"While I've no quarrel with Lothian himself," Bufer says, his hands raised to summon the illusory figure to draw out the beast, "His church and the empire can suck it."

He glances quickly up at Emmerson.

"No offense."

The gnome closes his eyes and concentrates on generating a shimmering, humanoid-shaped mass of light, which sounds like a small party of hunters none too concerned about moving quietly. As an afterthought, he uses a last bit of magic to make his illusion smell like Tucker.

"Well said, gnome," Tock says. "In the future, perhaps we should leave the speeches to people with more than three score words in their vocabulary."

Emmerson drops the rock Emus gave him and takes a few steps into the tunnel, surveying his route. Satisfied on what he saw, he returns to the group.

"I need someone to carry the torch and stand behind me. After that, I am ready for the attack, friend Tosh."

Hazel hands off the most-used torch to Bufer. Tosh quickly and quietly moves into the rough tunnel, with the paladin close behind and the other gnome and his luminescent creation tagging closely in the rear.

"Here," whispers Tosh, pointing at the widening entrance. He slips to the left and finds a suitably dark niche in the irregular wall, about halfway down toward the nest, and silently draws his blade. Whispering a silent benediction to whichever of the 24 Gods of the Hours governs the current moment, he readies himself for the tricky part. "Oh well, I never wanted to live forever ..."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

In the darkness, Tosh weighs a rock he's picked up from the loose stone and earth of the tunnel. He raises it, preparing to throw and hopes he's right about this plan. And he throws.

The stone hits hard owlbear skull with a heavy thunk and Emmerson takes that as his cue, belting out a hymn in Celestial, "The Path of the Illuminated Warrior."

"Guide, oh Lothian, our hands and swords and in our fight, let us see Light" he sings. The young paladin is many things -- devout, kind, tender-hearted -- but a good singer is not one of them.

Bufer winces at the badly off-key Emmerson in the flickering torchlight.

"Don't quit your day job," he mutters under his breath. Turning his attention back to the task at hand, Bufer positions the vaguely man-shaped projection directly in front of the creature, causing it to dance wildly in time to Emmerson's singing.

"C'mon, c'mon," he mutters to himself. "Take the bait, you great ugly lummox."

The den echoes with the sound of the rock bouncing off the beast's skull, and for a moment, it seems like nothing is happening, other than a tin-eared paladin singing in an archaic language.

And then the creature shudders, releasing another blast of flatulence as it shudders and awakens. With a start, it seems to realize that it's not alone and begins to quickly shake off the haze of hibernation. Its head snaps around suddenly, golden eyes with black slit pupils gleaming in the light of the magical figure shimmering in its den.

The beast stands and stands and stands, rising up hugely before Bufer's magical creation.

The beast, as big and as broad as a bear, roars with anger, attempting to frighten off this intruder, the roar tearing free of its beak, its mixture of feathers near its face and shoulders and fur quiver as muscles that have remained still for most of the winter rippling with rage, shaking dirt and dust free as it does. Then it drops forward into a half-crouch and swings a set of massive talons at Bufer's evocation.

As if his singing weren't an act of war on its own, Emmerson bangs his sword against his shield, to further call the attention of the beast.

"And lo, and behold, a sword is worth more than gold!"

"Gotcha!" Bufer hisses as the beast swipes its massive paw at his glimmering illusion. He waves frantically at Emmerson to get his attention, then jerks a thumb over his shoulder towards the tunnel, indicating that they should begin making their way towards the ambush point. Moving as quickly as possible without making undue noise, Bufer begins moving into the tunnel, drawing his brilliant capering figure after him a few feet at a time, attempting to lure the creature out of its lair.

The owlbear's talons rake through the figure harmlessly, and it snorts in frustration, lumbering quickly after it as it recedes before him, towards the tunnel.

Bufer and Emmerson pick up the pace as they make their way through the tunnel in the flickering light of the torch, Emmerson singing at the top of his lungs all the while. Bufer continues to draw the projection along, well behind them, at a speed even with their own.

The enraged beast follows into the tunnel, still roaring in frustration and making ineffectual swipes at the luminescent figure. Tosh figures this is about as good as it gets, and detaches himself from the shadows of the cave wall, following at a discreet distance.

As he goes, he allows a suppressed shudder to rip through his body after having silently breathed in a massive amount of owlbear flatulence.

"Phew."

He wrinkles his nose in disgust and wonders what crawled up inside the owlbear's ass and died...

Moving their feet carefully to avoid roots and loose soil, Emmerson and Buffer move backwards, inching closer and closer to the ambush point. Emmerson finishes his first hymn and now frantically tries to remember the words to "In Your Light We Shine," earning himself a sharp look from Bufer.

"'Light' this, 'light' that. Remind me to teach you some proper hymns when we get out of this," he says. "At least 'The Pantsing of Mithra' has a proper pie fight in it."

The owlbear lumbers on all fours through the tunnel, the path clearly having been formed by years of him using this lair, shaped by his massive shoulders, the ground marked by his wicked talons.

Half-running, half stumbling, Bufer and Emmerson burst from the mouth of the tunnel into the room beyond as though shot from a cannon, each dodging to the opposite side of the opening.

Still singing as loudly as he can, Emmerson skids to a halt directly to the left, and turns to face the oncoming beast, sword and shield at the ready.

Bufer breaks right and sprints several yards towards Renraw, the smoke and flame from the torch trailing behind him as he positions himself between the frostbitten young wizard and the mouth of the tunnel, then spins round to face it.

"C'mon, c'mon," Bufer mutters as he watches the dark tunnel, mentally reeling in his trailing projection.

For a few tense moments, there is no sign of it, or the horrible beast chasing it, and Bufer begins to worry that, in his haste, he actually got too far ahead, and caused it to wink out. Fearing for Tosh, he begins to inch ever slightly towards the mouth of the tunnel, ice water running in his veins ...

... and then there is a flicker of blue light visible just beyond the first turn, and suddenly the shimmering humanoid figure comes running into view. And just beyond it, barely audible over Emmerson's warbling, is the sound of a very large and frustrated animal advancing very, very quickly.

The party tenses. The projection emerges from the tunnel. Bufer holds one hand out in front of him and brings it to a halt. Then, with a twinkle in his eye, he commands it to bend over and drop its illuminated drawers.

"HA!" he shouts, his voice echoing sharply. "KISS THIS, YA GREAT FEATHERED DUNGHEAP!"

The owlbear bursts through the glowing figure, its roars echoing even louder off the hard stone of this room, its rear talons shrieking as they claw at the floor below it as it attempts to stop itself.

Now partway through the figure, the owlbear locks eyes with Emmerson to his left and lashes out with one heavy paw, long talons gleaming in the torchlight. The talons connect, sinking through the gaps in the scale mail and, to judge from the small pieces of metal bouncing off the statues and floor, creating a few more. Emmerson groans loudly as the bloody talons sweep back out, spattering the ground with red drops.

Tock plays "In Fairer Times With Thee (And Fairer Still with She)" loudly, but the owlbear does not even seem to notice.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" Emus bursts forward, swinging his big club, but it bounces off the owlbear's heavily muscled feathered shoulders harmlessly.

Hazel's battleaxe connects, though, biting into fur.

From behind the owlbear, Ragglus' stabs forward with his longsword, sinking it into the rump of the beast.

Beside him, the deputy constable swings his flail, striking the beast on the hip.

Near the statues, Renraw shoots out one finger, pointing it at the owlbear, and a pale blue ray of ice and frost instantly traces its way between man and beast.

Spitting out a mouthful of blood and his eyes burning with holy zeal, Emmerson swings his short sword at the monster's face, but the blade glances off the creature's beak.

Tosh disengages himself from the shadows at the tunnel's mouth, launching a sneak attack with the needle-like gnomish rapier in his hand. But it's no good, and he's unable to find a way in through the matted fur and feathers.

A red fog of pain clouds Emmerson's eyes. His instincts scream for him to flee, to escape and save life and limb. He blinks slowly as he watches his companions strike at the beast.

He blinks away his surprise. His pain. His doubts. His fear. His anger.

If this is his day to die, so be it., just as long as the beast takes no one else with him.

The fight suddenly accelerates back to normal speed and Emmerson grips the short sword harder, trying to find an opening in the beast's defense, so he can bury the sword up to the hilt.

Renraw's mouth gapes just a bit when he sees what the creature's done to Emmerson, momentarily forgetting all the lecturing the paladin does and focussing on the very real danger before him. He prepares to cast another spell.

Bufer hisses through his teeth as he's spattered with Emmerson's blood. Concentrating on his projection, he backs it up a few feet and has it begin to dance wildly directly in front of the great beast's face, in an attempt to distract and disorient it.

At The Cat & The Fiddle the day before, Emus saw the youngsters get all bright-eyed and excited at the chance of exploring the unknown. Not heeding his own words of caution, Emus took it upon himself to go with them, and to protect them, if necessary. Seeing the owlbear rake Emmerson's side, he realizes just how close he is to losing one of these kids.

Angry at himself, angry at the owlbear, and even angry at these kids, Emus loses the conditioning that he's worked so hard to build up, and instead looses the rage that he constantly keeps in check.

No more tactics, no more battle cries, just violence.

The owlbear hits Emmerson with a massive paw once more, and this time, there is a wet crunch. The paladin slams against the wall and when he collapses to the floor, he leaves a red streak along the stones before laying still.

With the singing knight down, the owlbear snarls and turns to its right, lashing out at Hazel, her battleaxe dripping with the owlbear's blood. Its talon connects, a spray of blood from her midsection spattering the statue beside her. The owlbear's attempt to bite her misses, though, as Hazel staggers back a half-step from the blow.

Renraw roars something unintelligible, and his spell takes form: A shimmering dart flies from his outstretched hand without being thrown, arcing towards the owlbear, twisting through the air to avoid the wizard's comrades and stabbing the beast in the ribs.

Emus' eyes burning with an almost incomprehensible rage, the dwarf berserker swings his massive club with two knotty fists. The club hits solidly, and there's a cracking noise as he breaks at least two of the owlbear's ribs.

Ragglus stabs again with his sword, aiming for the wet gash he previously created in the beast's flank.

Tock's banjo clattering to the floor, his bow and arrow are already in his hands, and an arrow twangs forth, but it goes wide, striking the wall above the fallen paladin's head.

Her lips dripping blood and a touch of vomit, Hazel slashes her battleaxe at the owlbear's golden eyes.

Tosh stabs forward with his rapier once more, and this time, it sinks into the beast's flesh.

With a strangled cry, Tucker brings his flail down on the owlbear's back, and the creature's muscles spasm in pain.

The world seems to stop a moment, and later, Hazel will swear she saw the beast's black slit pupils turn a shimmery gray a moment, and she can see her own distorted reflection in the creature's eyes before they close, and the owlbear collapses to the floor beside Emmerson, their blood mingling together on the ancient stone floor.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

As the owlbear falls, so does Emus' greatclub. Emus leaps over to Emmerson and eases him gently into a lying position on the floor. The combined effects of the adrenaline wearing off and fear make his shout raw with emotion: "BUFER!"

Hazel drops to her knees, her axe clattering to the stone beside her. The torch flickers in her shaking hands before it, too, is released.

She blanches at the remnants of Emmerson's mail, and she moans quietly through clenched teeth. Fearing her healing skills won't be up to the task, she tries anyway, pressing her hands to the paladin's chest to staunch the blood.

"Bufer!" Her voice seems overly loud to her own ears. "He's out of it! A little healing wouldn't go amiss!"

She leans harder on the gaping holes in the armor, watching wide-eyed as the blood wells out around her fingers, soaking her knees and the dwarf's leggings.

Ragglus drives an extra blow into the owlbear, partially to make sure it's dead, partially in outrage that the paladin has fallen. If this is the kind of protection you provide, Lothian, the fighter curses inwardly, I'm thankful I failed your precious trials.

"Help'im, dammit," Ragglus barks to no one in particular, suddenly feeling quite useless.

Tosh rushes to the paladin and presses his hands in a compress near Hazel's try to staunch the flow.

"Had to make yerself the best target, didn't you?" he hisses.

Bufer drops the torch behind him, and he rushes forward and elbows his way through the crowd surrounding the fallen paladin until he can lay a hand on Emmerson's shoulder. Grasping the symbol dangling around his neck with his other hand, he hurriedly whispers a prayer to the god of gnomes, channeling positive energy through the fetish and into Emmerson's wounds.

The paladin's wounds close, although he remains coated in the blood shed so far. Although his eyes do not reopen, his breathing, which had been ragged and shallow, returns to normal.

"Good work, Bufer," says Tucker, stowing his mace and shield. "And everyone else, as well. Dry and brittle skeletons are one thing, but this was quite another."

He stoops to examine Emmerson, but since his medical knowledge doesn't go much beyond pulling a splinter or resting a strained muscle, he doesn't bother pretending he knows any more.

"Is it safe to move him? It won't be an easy walk, but I can likely carry him back to town -- but that means the mirrors will be staying here until we can make another trip."

Hazel pulls her bloodied hands back from the unconscious paladin, grateful for the cleric's quick intervention. A twinge from her abdomen as she moves reminds her of the owlbear's talon, and she probes the slice in her leather armor with her fingers.

"Err, Bufer?" She looks up with a wry half-smile. "Could you slap a bandage on me before we get moving?"

"Hang on, hang on," Bufer says absently, still concentrating on the unconscious paladin. "One patient at a time, please. Nobody's carryin' anyone outta here, just yet."

Still clutching his ersatz gold nugget, the young gnome closes his eyes and murmurs a second prayer to Garl Glittergold, once again channeling his faith through his holy symbol and into Emmerson's prone form.

A bit more color returns to the paladin's cheeks, and his eyelids flutter as he begins to wake up.

Bufer smiles and lets out a heavy sigh of relief as the fallen paladin begins to wake. He releases his hold on Emmerson's shoulder and his holy symbol, and brings both hands up to his face, finally allowing himself to process his fear of what almost happened. He breathes in and out a few times to get a hold of himself, then drops his hands to his sides and looks down at Hazel's wounded abdomen.

"Tch," he mutters, and reaches for his healer's kit. "All right, listen up, the lot of you. As far as divine healing is concerned, as my aunt's niece's step-mother was fond of saying: The muffin shop is now closed. You're all gonna have to settle for the more rudimentary kind from here on out. Bandages, needle and thread is about all I got left. Understand? Anyone who doesn't want to be stitched up by 'Doc Asshigh' better watch themselves."

With that, Bufer sets about winding bandages round and round Hazel's injured midriff.

Emmerson's eyes blink open for a second, then they shut close. He wets his lips and forms a question in a raspy voice.

"We got him?"

"Damn straight," Emus smiles.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

"Right, then, fantastic," Tock says, clapping his hands together. "Let's go see what untold treasure the beast slept with. Shall we?"

"A few silver, I'd wager. But yes, I think a quick look-see is in order," Tosh says. He glances at Bufer and catches the cleric's disapproving look. "There wasn't anything else in there, Bufer. I'd have seen it. Besides, it might be a good idea to see if that tunnel leads out. After we finish that up, we can check this room for the riddle of the mirrors. I believe we still have plenty of torchlight left; it's only been a hour or so."

He looks at the rest of the party.

"I hope we weren't considering taking those mirrors back to Maidensbridge by hand. We can get a wagon or cart and come back for them. I'd say just leave them in the center room where they lay.

"On the other hand, we shouldn't have any trouble carrying out the weapons and what not we gathered from the bones. What d'ya think?"

Emmerson slowly stands up, his mind half-refusing to accept that he's still alive despite the extensive damage his scale mail suffered. He moves one hand over the broken area, slowly feeling what minutes before was a deadly wound.

"I thank you for the ministering received. I would not be alive now if it wasn't for you. And for that, I am deeply in your debt," the paladin says, wetting his dry lips. "I think we are not in shape for another sortie. Renraw and I are incapable of sustaining another blow and I doubt Bufer has more healing spells left. That said, I agree with Tosh. We can do some light exploration to see what else was there in the areas we know are safe and then return to Maidensbridge to rest, heal and recover."

Bufer chews his bottom lip, considering Tosh's argument. He glances from his fellow gnome to the others, then sighs and nods reluctantly.

"All right," he says, shaking his head. "But let's make it quick, yes? I'd like to start the journey back to town while the sun's still relatively high in the sky. Gettin' set upon by wolves and such in the dark on the walk home is the last thing we need."

Bufer turns around and bends over to scoop the torch he'd been carrying up off the floor.

"Listen, while you lot ransack that thing's cave, I'm gonna head back and take a closer look at those corpses. I don't think the beast had anything to do with those odd-lookin' cysts I saw, after all, and I'd like to be sure we're not bringin' a plague back with us to Maidensbridge. Anybody got a knife or a dagger I can borrow?"

"Here you go." Tosh hands Bufer a dagger, sheath and all. "Might be a good idea for someone hale to go with him. Just, you know, to keep an eye on his back."

Hazel stiffly rises to her feet.

"Thanks for the patch job, Bufer. I see anymore creatures, and I'm jumpin' outta the way." She stows her axe and grabs her torch. "I'm up for taking a look at the owlbear's den, though."

Bufer, Emus and Tucker head back downstairs to examine the slain kobolds.

Tosh looks off into the darkened tunnel.

"Let's get this out of the way, shall we?" He motions for the others to follow and heads off into the tunnel.

Hazel examines the size of the animal's teeth, paws and claws to help her recognize an owlbear in case she ever runs across signs of another one, then follows Tosh's group.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Tock bursts out into song, strumming his banjo as he follows, high-stepping like an imperial soldier on parade.

"Off we go a looting,
No more growl-hooting,
For the owl-bear has been slain
By men without a brain
And a wizard frozen cold
And a fair bard, he was so bold.
So we'll take the dead thing's stuff,
Because we're so very tough,
And I'll leave this crappy town
All the ladies will surely frown
Their eye a winking brown
Will get no more good pounds
From their beloved Tock.
They'll settle for an asshigh Doc
His arm will do just fine
Garl's gold shoved in their mines.
But that's not here nor there
Let's just all prepare
To take our deserved crap
After the deadly scrap."

Hazel gives the bard a look as though she's going to smack him, but rolls her eyes and says nothing.

The contingent heading for the owlbear den stops ate the mouth of the enlarged area and looks around for any signs of movement. Satisfied that it's pretty clear, they head toward the obvious focal point: The dead bodies.

"Their scent is even worse than the dwarf's," Tock gags. "My gods."

Tosh kneels beside them and does a quick visual search without touching them.

"What do you think? Roll 'em over and check 'em out? I mean, I know it'd be poor form to just loot 'em and leave 'em, but I'm figuring we probably don't have a lot of options for doing the proper thing for them in our situation. Maybe we could make a point of getting them back to town after we bring a wagon back?" Tosh looks over to the glint of coin. "And it seems a waste to just let that lay there."

"Can anyone recognize them?" Emmerson asks, "Because if they are Bridgers, I'd like to give their silver back to their families"

Tosh looks at the wounded paladin with a pained expression.

"Ah, but you see, dear Emmerson, we can't be sure that this bag actually belonged to these poor folk. We cannot even be sure these poor folk knew each other. In which case, who's to say who the bag belonged to begin with? Indeed, if we were to take the bodies back, and found no one to recognize them, I assure you that the constabulary would be happy to charge us for dropping them in their laps." Tosh begins searching in earnest now. "It may be for the best, considering the deplorable condition of the remains, to try to find some sort of identification that may be recognizable, and inter the bodies ourselves when we come back. You could even send them off with a few words from Lothian, if you would, Emmerson."

The bodies are in bad condition indeed. Whenever this trio encountered the owlbear, it was not recently, and it went very poorly for them.

The first, probably male, wore a now rotten robe. Beside him is a quarterstaff with a leather hood cinched around one end, a leather tie around the hood, keeping the hood on, but able to be whisked off easily when needed.

The second, probably female, wore now moldy and much-chewed leather armor. Still clutched in one hand is a longsword still in its scabbard.

The third body is not human and is shorter and somewhat frailer than a dwarf, but larger and stockier than a gnome. Whatever color its skin once was cannot be discerned, as rot has turned it mostly gray. An ankle sheath and a dagger stick through the rotting woolen trousers on its remaining leg.

Each also has various small pouches at their waists, and three identical metal flasks. The sack nearby is almost entirely split open along one seam, and there is the glint of gold and a little bit of platinum within.

Tosh reaches for one of the flasks, intent on examining it for any conspicuous markings.

"Emmerson, on second thought, it might be as well to just give them their rites on the spot. I'm not sure moving them would be such a great idea. But then again, I'm not real big on religious formalities, you know."

Hazel kneels beside the bodies and tries to carefully shift the rotting clothes aside to check for any cyst-like formations in the bodies, figuring Bufer would want to know.

"I think Tosh is right, Emmerson. Perhaps you could say a prayer for them here, and lay them out nicely?" She glances around the cavern. "I suppose we could create a small cairn to keep vermin off the bodies, but they don't seem to be in any shape to move easily."

Tosh inspects the flask -- which has a thin wax seal covering a cork stopper, fat enough to be jerked out easily and a metal toad engraved on the bottom of flask -- as Hazel gives the bodies a once-over. Not only are the wounds different from those on the body of the kobolds, there do not appear to be any cysts in these three.

Tosh hands the flask to the bard.

"Anything familiar to you?"

Tosh takes the longsword, staff and dagger and places them apart from the bodies. He removes the belt pouches one at a time and examines the contents.

"Poor souls," Emmerson sighs. "If they were Bridgers and we wanted to sell or repair their gear, Therurt would likely recognize it and that would raise a lot of questions."

He gets down to one knee, grabs his short sword and places his forehead against the handle and crosspiece, as he recites a prayer for the dead.

"Great Lothian, hallowed Saint Daris, you are the warriors, you have ridden alongside my friends here into battle, you have also felt their love and caring when you were wounded or lonely; ride alongside of them, for now they are in this the hardest battle for their life, the battle for inner peace. Now is the time for you to care for them. Great Lothian, from your heart all spirits have come; when they return to you, cradle them gently in your arms and allow them to join their friends in the skies. If they want to hurry themselves to you, tell them you are not ready; and they must wait, for now they can pass on peace to others." He sheathes his sword and stands. "There, I pray souls are at peace."

Tosh holds up the pouches. All three of the dead have various personal effects in some of their pouches -- a lucky rabbit's foot, a plug of long-ruined chewing tobacco, a copper coin stamped with an obscene image instead of the emperor's face -- but one belt pouch from the robe-wearing man contained what were likely once spell components, including various spices, small pinches of sulfur, bits of fur and the like. A belt pouch off the shorter person contains a rusted-to-uselessness lockpick.

"And here we have possible means of identification," Tosh says. "Not that I'm optimistic that a rabbits foot or lewd money is a great identifier."

He holds up the spell components.

"Renraw? This may be up your alley." With that, he tosses the pouch to the mage. He then takes the other two flasks and hands those to the bard. "Those look the same?"

"Yes, the toad on the bottom, see?" Tock says. "The flasks may have come from the House of the Transformed Toad, over in Middleborough."

Tosh goes to the owlbear nest and looks around in it. He gently picks up the remains and dislodges the tube from the hand. He walks over and places the hand with the robed figure and the tube with the small pile at their feet. He takes an empty sack from his backpack and tosses it to Ragglus.

"I don't think that old sack will be much use in the carrying of the coins."

Renraw picks up the spell component pouch from where it dropped when the wizard was unable to catch it. He examines the contents very superficially and mindlessly stuffs them in his own bag.

"I divine nothing from these spell components. Worthless, worthless. But judging by those queer vials, I do believe these fools knew more than we. They were here with purpose beyond increasing their personal wealth. Perhaps the liquid within the vials has to do with the fouled kobolds downstairs. The cause of -- or cure for -- their pestilence, perhaps?

"On the other hand, it could to do with the mirrors and the shadow creature, as well, or perchance both. Let us quickly get what can be gotten from here and return to the outer room and the mystery of the mirrors."

Ragglus kneels and begins filling the sack with coins, grinning.

"Next round at The Cat & The Fiddle's on them, eh?" He laughs a bit.

"Their folly is our jolly," Tock says grinning at Ragglus. "You want to go steal from an owl culture, you best be able to at least kill an owlbear. They didn't have a bard."

While the rest of his party search the area around the dead, Emmerson goes to the other side of the lair, intending to use his shield to dig a makeshift grave for the corpses.

"If those three were not Maidensbridge citizens, but a party of adventurers from another city, I wonder how they heard about Tulgey Barrow. Are there songs about it?" He selected a spot, sifted the dry dirt with his hands. "We all came here, without the guarantee of treasure because it's close to Maidensbridge, barely a walk from our everyday lives. But what made those three come here from greater distance? What were they seeking? Were they certain there was treasure to be found? Were they after knowledge of great import? And I also wonder if they were killed somewhere else and dragged here, or were they surprised by the owlbear and killed here.
If they were killed here, what is the importance of this dug-up den?"

He sees the looks on the other party members.

"I know. I talk a lot. Brother Kenan said I tried the patience of the order too much."