Scoundrel's Answer

Progress through the dark tunnels of Pinroot was slower after their break, largely because of an increased danger. More than once, Garthur called a halt to progress, only to send Alan forth to evaluate the corridor before them. In this section, far from any of the known exits to the surface, danger was a constant companion. There was no completely safe route through these dark halls.

The walls themselves hardly looked different, save that where masonry was missing, there was now just packed clay or raw hewn stone. No longer did blackened roots descend like tendrils of shadow from above, they were deeper than any tree in the overhead forests would reach.

While the earlier tunnels and chambers had been constructed for storage during the keep's heyday, these deeper passages were constructed during its decline, as the need to house local populations away from the ravages of marauding bands had grown. Once, this had been almost a small city under the ground, built along the old escape tunnel that lead past the bounds of Pinwood and to the grassy plains beyond. That tunnel still existed, and was what they were aiming for.

Amidst those ancient halls was also the dark influence of the Lost Queen, the demon spawn who had been bricked away alive. In their youth, the original Reavers had stumbled upon old murals along some of the corridors which depicted the tale, as well as statuary and symbols that betrayed the presence of a subterranean church that was no longer accessible. Only an archway remained, long covered over by sturdy masonry, denying any attempt to break into the sealed chambers beyond.

That very corridor was where they were headed, however, for one of the most valuable caches they had ever hidden in their explorations was placed there in decades past. It had been after a particularly brutal battle, at least by their skill at that time, and although Vick and the others had emerged victorious, their wounds were many, and they had to leave behind much of the heaviest loot. This included an enchanted set of plate armor. Although useful for little more than quick cash at the time, it would be invaluable for an unarmored Vick.

A few times, as Alan checked those crumbling stone corridors, he uncovered deadly traps. Pit traps were amongst the easiest to bypass, as they usually had a narrow ledge around either side to scoot over. A dead fall they came across required some debris wedged into the gaps of the stone block above. A crude spring loaded spike trap some long ago inhabitant had erected behind an arch passage was simply triggered by a thrown rock from afar. It was all very routine for Alan, who had been working around such things for most of his life.

They weren't alone in those tunnels either. That much became clear after around an hour more of progress. Footsteps echoed over the cold stone walls, always behind them but never in sight. Windhawk opted not to track down whatever it was that was shadowing them, if only for time concerns. Getting bogged down in an unnecessary fight was something which none of them wanted.

Daphne stayed by Alan's side, and when he did glance across to the elven vampire, her feral features were softened with concern. When he perked a brow in askance, she just leaned in against his side, and whispered to him.

"I was hoping you'd get more rest than you did. You looked like you'd seen a ghost when you woke up, and it hasn't improved much since."

Alan sighed, "I'm fine, I just had a nightmare." Although, recalling his dreams, he wasn't so sure anymore. The idea that Miena, who had been with them all through those youthful escapades, might still be alive was shocking to say the least. The fact it looked increasingly likely she was behind all of this was terrifying. He didn't want to believe it.

As focused as Alan was on his own thoughts, he didn't notice Daphne leaning in, until her cool, soft lips grazed his temple. He blinked in surprise, then turned to regard the elven woman, hesitating in his tracks. A gentle smile met his eyes.

"I worry about you, Alan Tinsley. With Elizabeth gone you've turned from that confident, dashing rogue we all love to an uncertain, hesitant wreck. As much as I wish you'd think of me like you think of her, seeing you like this is... distressing."

Alan frowned at her words, "I'm not that bad, am I?" His mind cast back over the events of the past few days. He knew he was off his game, certainly, but had it really been that noticeable?

"Almost as bad as Vick, and gods know we don't need two of him," Although her words were serious, a teasing smirk tugged at her lips.

Garthur had taken the lead, and glanced back over his shoulder to where Alan and Daphne spoke in those hushed tones. His bearded lips parted, the dwarf was clearly about to comment, when a figure swept out from around the corner not a pace before him.

"Garthur!" Windhawk's cry alerted them all, just in time for the stout cleric to duck without turning to see what was swinging at him.

It was fortuitous, for the mass of a spiked morning star whistled through the space Garthur's head had occupied mere moments before. It struck sparks as the sharp steel spikes impacted the wall. More dark furred creatures skidded into place behind the first.

Five of the brutes stood in staggered ranks, blocking the group's progress, while three more slipped out from a side tunnel thirty feet to their rear, amidst the furthest edge of their torchlight. Big creatures, they stood fully seven feet even with their stooped posture, with long, loping arms and a muscular build. Low brows and jagged, toothy maws gave them a primitive look, while tapered and pointed ears, large and light sensitive eyes, and the whole cast of their features were reminiscent of goblins.

Their skin ranged from a deep yellow to a yellow brown, and a light coating of dark brown hair ran along their scalps and backs, down their arms and along their legs. They wore mismatched sets of leather, riddled with metal studs, and carried a motley collection of crude weaponry. Blades that looked more like large cleavers than swords, rough wooden clubs with spikes hammered through to make crude morning stars, long spears topped with serrated metal heads, and jagged axes.

As dangerous as they looked, and as many of them as there were, the creatures were nothing strange to anyone in the group. Bugbears had been a scourge on the land for generations. They worked with smaller goblin tribes, with bandits, with less scrupulous mercenary bands, generally anyone who could promise them coin or booty. Opportunists, they were common no matter where one turned.

With no more hesitation, the savage brutes rushed upon the group. The ones before them broke upon Garthur as an ocean wave smashing into unyielding rock. Sparks flew as sword blades glanced off of his mail, and the dwarf braced one foot behind himself to prevent them from pushing him backward. Beside Garthur, Windhawk deftly dodged a spear thrust toward her midsection.

The three that had come in behind the group dashed forward, with axes and swords raised. Alan cursed and focused upon the two who rushed him. His own blade was swept out of its scabbard and upward, deflecting one of the swords, while he neatly sidestepped an axe's descent. Up close, the things smelled vaguely of wet, filthy dogs.

Beside Alan, Daphne grunted as one of the swords impacted her chest. It pierced her leathers and then her flesh beneath. The blade clearly bore no enchantment, however, for no sooner did it withdraw than the smooth flesh beneath knitted back together. As the bugbear stared in shock, Daphne reached forth without bothering to draw her own weapon. She raked her sharp nails across its chest with an inhuman force, leaving jagged gashes within its hide. A visible withering spread out from where she'd touched, and a look of abject terror was the last thing to cross the bugbear's face, before his eyes grew dim.

Alan, faced with two of the beasts, pressed his own attacks. He fenced with each of them, sweeping his blade back and forth, trying to create an opening. Finally, after a quick parry, he thrust his own blade forth to stab one of the creatures. The bugbear howled in pain, but it simply seemed to grow more angry at the wound. Moments after Alan's blade found flesh, however, a larger blade of blackened metal streaked over Alan's shoulder. Vick's Black Blade stabbed the second bugbear threatening Alan right through the throat. The great sword twisted as it came back, removing that beast's head with a quick flick, and the lifeless form dropped to the ground. He swept it toward the wall, and Alan ducked to allow it to pass over his shoulders. The quick swipe ended the last of the bugbears threatening them from behind, leaving three bodies in a growing pool of blood.

At the fore of the group, things weren't going so well. Garthur drew his hammer back to try to strike one of the beasts, but a quick cuff of the haft of an axe sent it dropping from the dwarf's grasp. With a curse, he stooped to retrieve it, and raised one mailed arm to deflect further attacks. With the monsters in as close as they were, Windhawk's bow was little help. She shifted it to her left hand, and smacked that spear that had nearly got her to one side. The lithe elven woman drew her own sword, and in the same movement as she drew it, slashed it heavily across the chest of the bugbear before her. Even such a quick strike proved fatal to the humanoid, and it toppled back into its fellows. She was a ranger after all, trained to deal with such creatures, and knew exactly where and how to strike them to count.

In the midst of it all, Faringalia darted her head back and forth. She was surrounded by tall people on all sides, and it offered little chance for her to contribute. The gnome quickly scrambled to pick up a sharp stone from amongst the debris of the hallway, and chucked it in an attempt to throw it over Garthur's head. It just skittered off the wall and into the darkness beyond the bugbears.

Shaken by the loss of half of their number in the space of a minute, the remaining bugbears looked uncertainly to one another. For one tense moment, it looked like they would break and run. But then, with a growl from one of the larger beasts, they pressed forward against Garthur and Windhawk, with blade and axe. Immediately Garthur and Windhawk shoved them back, intercepting arms and weapons to limit their effectiveness.

Windhawk's blade slashed forward, but the beast she struggled with parried her blade aside. Garthur's hammer, however, shattered a skull under its forward swing, and the creature dropped with a gurgling growl. Daphne erupted into a cloud of bats, which fluttered overhead, along the ceiling of the corridor. The bats flowed back down into her usual slender frame, forming behind the three remaining bugbears. Although her weapons were not drawn, her long nails and bared fangs were as threatening as any blade.

Alan and Vick dashed to close the distance, but Alan stumbled over Faringalia. He caught himself before hitting the ground, and the gnome woman squeaked out an apology, rolling aside as she did. This left only Vick charging forth again, moving with a speed that seemed mismatched with his bulky frame. Once more he thrust that long blade of his forward, gripped in two hands. The black metal point plunged violently between Windhawk and Garthur, and impaled one of the sickly skinned goblinoids. With a shower of blood, the fat warrior yanked the blade out again, letting the bulk of the brute slump to the ground.

Panicked now, the two remaining hairy figures turned to try to lope away. As soon as they exposed their backs, however, Windhawk, Garthur, and Vick all set their weapons into motion. Gathur's hammer and Windhawk's sword struck the same bugbear, which crumpled under the force of their blows with a gurgle. Vick stepped up against the side of the corridor, and thrust his own blade forth again, this time between the dwarf lord and the cold stone wall. It caught furry flesh readily, and with a howl of agony, the lone remaining bugbear yanked itself off of the blade. The beast stumbled forward a few steps, then collapsed.

The flurry of activity had taken barely two minutes, and as the echoes of the last bugbear's howl faded, the group was left to catch their breath. Only the faint gurgling of the dying beasts broke the silence, at least until Alan asked in a breathless tone, "Is everyone alright?"

Garthur and Vick nodded, while Daphne smiled and pushed forward, advancing through the lines toward Alan. She lifted two sharp nailed fingers to play over the slit leather where the one blade had passed, exposing the smooth skin and subtle curve of one breast beneath.

"I think one got me, kiss it better, Alan?"

Her teasing tone earned a scowl and a swat from Windhawk, who was still within arm's reach. The two elven woman glared at one another for a long moment, but then the ranger just shook her head.

"Let's get on our way, before more of the beasts show up."

Alan cast a quick glance about the others. They were already moving to get into place, all except for Faringalia, who was looking over the bodies of the brutes. She had a few pouches in one hand, likely little more than pocket change taken from their bodies. Still, she didn't exactly have her own estate to live off of, so the old rogue saw no harm in allowing her to take what prizes she could. He just focused on calming himself down to concentrate on the task before them.

The violence of the event, however brief it had been, however readily they had dealt with it, was a reminder of the danger which surrounded them. From that point forth, the party proceeded with the utmost caution, regularly stopping to listen for movement, intentionally detouring whenever there was the slightest suspicion that something was following them. Fortunately, it was not much further until the last cache they wanted to check. They were all aware, however, that they still needed to get out.

At one cross hall, chunks of a long destroyed statue lay scattered across the stone floor, and the sight of it brought a chuckle from Alan. Garthur visibly relaxed upon spotting the ruined statue, which earned a questioning look from Daphne and Faringalia both.

"We're here," Vick pronounced. When he caught the two women's expressions, however, he laughed softly. "That statue was once animate. It was one of the toughest battles we ever had down here back in the day. Chased us all in a big loop around these corridors while we kept engaging and breaking off. When we finally destroyed it, we left the pieces here. Every time we came by, the major chunks of it were still left here, so it became a sort of landmark."

"So in all the decades it's been since you broke it, no one's picked it up?" Faringalia's eyes widened, before she looked down to the scattered chunks of carved stone.

"Yeah, Miena figured that the enchantments that once animated it would scare off the more beastly denizens down here, and keep the elements from messing with it too much." The large warrior stepped forth into the cross corridor with confidence. He turned his gaze down all of the intersecting halls, but then beckoned Faringalia and the torch forward.

As the gnome scurried toward him, Vick's expression grew serious. It was making Alan antsy.

"What's wrong? Has the cache been disturbed?" Vick should be able to see the marker from where he was at, and if it was all for naught, Alan was afraid they'd wasted their time.

"No, no. it looks like it's still there. But," At this, the warrior trailed off a moment.

"Where does that archway lead?" Faringalia's innocent question made Alan's blood run cold.

Immediately, Alan, Garthur, and Windhawk rushed forward as one, and stared down the hall before them. The regular masonry gave way to murals painted with scenes of processions and rituals, of abject cruelty and a winged woman being bound about in chains. There, toward the edge of the torchlight, was the empty niche where once the guardian statue had stood. To either side were the inert statues that were its match, including the one behind which they'd created that cache so long ago.

Across the hall, however, was a lone archway set between two pillars decorated with the holy seal of the church of the Ascendant. The stones that had sealed it for untold aeons lay scattered upon the ground, and in the dim light, the polished marble of a hall beyond could be made out. It was still in almost pristine condition.

Immediately, the four old timers drew their weapons, though nothing but silence greeted their stares. Behind them, Daphne fidgeted a bit, then finally drew her own daggers uncertainly. She glanced to Faringalia, as if the diminutive illusionist could offer some insight.

"She can't still be in there, right? I mean ... it would have been centuries," Alan's voice quieted as his heart pounded.

"You know as well as any that we've faced dark things that lay much longer in the ground, boy." Garthur's words were gruff. "Still, if the seal's been broken for some time, even if she still lives, she may have got out by now."

"Who would be fool enough to try to get into there?" Vick's words were met by skeptical looks from the dwarf and the elf beside him. Alan himself seemed to recall a young Vick Varonne trying to pry the masonry loose long ago.

They remained in silence for a long moment, before Daphne spoke. "Look, we're here, let's inspect the cache, get what we can, and get out," tension strained her voice, but it was a logical plan.

"Afraid it's not that simple. If this demon-blooded queen yet exists, we have to make sure she hasn't got out."

While Garthur's sentiments were certainly noble, only Faringalia and Windhawk nodded in agreement.

"Even if she does, it's not our fight," Vick hissed.

"Indeed. Our main goal is to get through here and go get my wife."

Garthur scoffed at Vick and Alan's concerns. "If this bitch is half as bad as those murals make her out to be," The dwarf nodded at the walls, "Then we owe it to ourselves to check, if no one else. You don't wanna go fetch your wife, return to your city, only to find the whole place taken over by some ancient terror with an axe to grind."

Such exchanges were not an unusual thing for the Reavers. Since the earliest days, such difference of opinion had long defined their individual actions, and might have contributed to how they split up after their best days were behind them. But, as ever, the priest's steely words had a certain degree of merit.

Daphne's voice cut the silence, "So what's the plan then?"

"Simple. We go open the cache, find what we can that's of use, then one or two of us goes into the temple area there for a look around."

Windhawk nodded at Garthur's suggestion, before asking, "So which of us goes in?"

"All of us." This time it was Vick who stepped up to the task, even as he began to stride down that hall, his Black Blade in hand.

"All of us isn't just one or two," Alan was still uncertain, but crept along after the big man. The rest followed, eyes all locked on that dark archway.

"Better than getting picked off one by one. We all stand together. If it's nothing, it's no harm. If there's something in there, we've got a better shot as a team than singly."

"And if we all die?" Alan stared at the back of Count Varonne's head.

"Then we all die together."

Never had Alan been so tempted to shove his blade into his old friend's back. Well, almost never. There had been a few times over the years when only the grace of timing had prevented him from doing just that. "And Lizzy? Who'll save her when we're all gone?"

"If she was taken just to get to you, then whoever did it won't have a reason to keep her when you're gone. Besides, you'll be too dead to care. If that bothers you," Vick turned a look over his broad shoulder, "then you best not let us all die."