721. Cold Welcome (Patreon)

The spiral staircase led them to a small room, little more than ten by ten feet. It was scarcely seven feet in height; if Martel raised his staff just a little, it struck the ceiling. To be expected, considering they were underground; no one wanted to dig out more space than necessary. As for contents, they saw none. Martel increased the light in his ruby, seeing as there was no danger of attracting unwanted attention. The increase did not reveal anything as such; the room remained bare.

However, the walls were not blank. As Eleanor had guessed, they were covered in writing. "There we are," she remarked with satisfaction.

Martel pulled out his lightstone and tossed it to her, allowing her to hold it up close to the stonework and examine all the carvings. As she looked at one wall, he walked over to the opposite and investigated as well.

He recognised the letters, all of the Archean alphabet. Unfortunately, it did not help him much. He understood words here and there, but his vocabulary proved too lacklustre. And among the words he knew, he could not string together coherent sentences. He could guess they provided some kind of explanation or instruction, but he could not determine anything further.

Beyond that, the room itself confused him. He walked along the different walls, but he saw no break in the stonework that might indicate a door. Could they have missed another entrance to the underground level on the ground floor? But if this room did not grant passage, what was its purpose? He supposed he knew too little of the Archean wizards to determine that. Maybe this was a room where they threw down disobedient apprentices to punish them, and all the writing on the wall were random scribbles made by those temporarily imprisoned.

"Any luck?" Martel asked, knowing Eleanor's knowledge of the Archean surpassed his.

"Some. I see various warnings, but they are frustratingly vague on what. Maybe the masters wrote it to tell apprentices they have no business here without bothering to explain why."

"That does sound plausible." A different theory than Martel's, but it sounded like how wizards acted. "Should we split up? You can stay here and try figuring out more, while I go back upstairs to look for any other entrances."

"Wait. What is that?" Eleanor pointed at the floor.

Looking down, Martel stepped back to properly reveal what lay underneath their feet. In the middle of the room, three circles had been engraved, lined up. Each was at least a foot across and contained a carved figure. Bending down, both of them held their lights close to examine the rings on the ground.

"This one looks like a warrior," Eleanor said, pointing at the circle to the right. An armoured figure holding sword and shield could be seen.

"This fellow looks like a wizard," Martel added, pointing at the one to the left containing a bearded man in a robe with a staff.

"In a place like this, everything is related to wizards."

"I was just pointing it out. What about the last one?"

They both leaned forward to examine the circle in the middle.

"A thief?" Eleanor suggested. A cowled figure crouched down, holding a blade in each hand.

"He – or she, perhaps – does look like a rogue of some sort."

"Of course! The Stone of Archen!" Eleanor looked up at him.

It took Martel a moment to catch up. He stretched his memory back to his early days at the Lyceum when they had gone on a small expedition with Master Fenrick. He had taken them to see the Stone of Archen, lying in a ruined complex much like this. The moonlight against the obelisk, when touched, had revealed their birth star. But in the chamber beyond, three sigils similar to this had been placed on the ground.

However, the mechanism in the compound outside Morcaster had required the full moon to activate. That was why Martel had not thought about the similarities; this chamber differed greatly, being closed off. Still, the presence of three circles, each corresponding to one of the Triumvirate, had to be the explanation for how to proceed. Martel's elation at finding the solution was immediately replaced by disappointment; this required three people, and they were only two.

Eleanor had reached the same conclusion. "We cannot open it."

"Well, I guess that's the end of that adventure." Martel stood up, as did she. "Wait, the alchemist back in the village! There's our third man!"

"He mentioned being born under Glund, like you," Eleanor reminded him. "We need Perel."

Another pang of disappointment. "Oh. Right." He looked at her. "You remember my star?"

"Of course I do. We should go up to the first floor. Even if there is nothing of value for us, there may be more undead we should deal with. Just to keep the locals safe."

"Fine by me." The creatures posed little danger. As they ascended the stairs, Martel thought back on his first encounter with necromancy. One of the restless dead that wandered the catacombs below Morcaster. Martel had been scared out of his wits, taken a few nasty gashes before his wall of fire allowed him to escape.

Though, in his own defence, those had clearly been different types of undead. Those in this tower were slow and sluggish, whereas the skeleton in the catacombs had moved with speed and clear malevolence. Perhaps because in one place, reanimation was accidental, whereas in the burial site, the dead served as guardians against looters. Trying not to feel like the latter, Martel followed Eleanor.

***

The destruction was terrible on the first floor. The entire ceiling was gone, and the ground had plenty of holes as well, forcing them to weave their way forward. Each of them used their weapon to strike before they put their foot down, in case the old timber and stonework crumbled further.

They found themselves in a corridor with three doorways. Living quarters of the masters of the tower, as Martel recalled. All the doors were gone – two lying on the floor, the third hurled through a hole to the dining hall below – which gave them vision of the rooms beyond. Everything looked more or less smashed to pieces. Undeterred, Eleanor made her way through the precarious path to enter the room on the left, and Martel followed. They found themselves in the remains of a bedchamber marked by white. The walls, the scraps of bedlinen still clinging to the broken furniture, and most clearly, a half torn portrait of a mage clad in white, lying on the ground.

"This must be the sage," Martel remarked. "Whichever master of the tower held the power of Glund."

"This could have been you," Eleanor remarked with a thin smile. They looked around the room, turning over the debris. A large chest contained only fabric; a few copper coins of Aquilan denomination lay in a drawer.

They continued, returning to the hallway to enter the room opposite the staircase. Here, everything was red. The portrait was more or less destroyed, but they could make out the legs wearing greaves and boots with a red cloak billowing behind. "This would have been yours then," Martel told her.

"Not too far from your bedroom to mine. Practical." They did as before, looking through what remained, and this time, their search proved fruitful. As Eleanor opened a drawer, she found a leather bound book. Eagerly, she unclasped it to look inside.

"What is it?" Martel asked. He was curious to examine the tome himself, but he knew it made more sense to let Eleanor look first, given her superior knowledge of the Archean language.

"A journal, as far as I can tell. Most of the pages begin with a date. With a little luck, this details the writer’s experiments in magic rather than what he had for breakfast," Eleanor suggested, "but it is difficult to read. The words look strange."

"That's pretty much always my experience with Archean."

"Well, it will take a while to make sense of it. We might as well return to the village. Perhaps asking your new friend from the ranks of the undead for help," Eleanor suggested.

"No need to be shy, I'm sure he'd be happy to be described as your friend as well." They left the room, and Martel looked at the final one. "Should we finish our investigation? Just to be thorough."

Eleanor shrugged. "Sure. A few moments will not make a difference." They moved across a hole in the floor to enter the blue room, furnished like the others. Same furniture, a torn portrait of a rogue flung onto the ground, and everything made in blue.

In an absent-minded manner, Martel opened the chest; the only piece of furniture that had survived mostly intact. He grabbed the bed linen and clothing within, pulling it out to let it fall on the floor. "Just more of the same." He barely had time to finish his sentence before the sound of something heavy striking the floorboards could be heard. Curious, Martel bent down and picked up the object, extracting it from the fabric. It was a figurine, about the size of his lower arm, and surprisingly heavy. It almost slipped out of his fingers, and he had to use a touch of empowering magic to strengthen his grip.

Strangely, while it was clearly modelled after the human body, with shallow carvings shaping arms and legs and a head, it was nearly otherwise smooth. A crude face had been engraved as well, with one eye closed as if winking, the other socket empty. Given the sophistication of the Archean wizards, this seemed oddly primitive. He wondered if it was made from any special kind of stone; his friend Henry the earthmage would probably know. Turning it over in his hand, he noticed something underneath the base of the figurine, reflecting the light from his staff.

"What is it?" Eleanor asked.

"Really ugly art, I guess." Martel shivered. He felt the wind move through him. The trouble with having the roof of one's room caved in; it offered little protection against the elements. Perhaps he should increase his light in his ruby to provide heat in addition.

"Martel."

He recognised that tone immediately. All his instincts flared up, and he gripped his staff tight as his head whipped around, looking for danger, as did his sense of magic.

Next to him, Eleanor moved to the centre of the room, her sword raised. He followed her line of sight to discover that the opposite wall looked blurry, like viewing it in the reflection of water.

A moment later he realised his mistake; nothing was happening to the wall. Instead, a shape appeared, becoming more solid. It had human form, and a face, which looked with a furious expression at them. Spreading out arms and hands like claws, the apparition attacked.

~~

Martel's character sheet (no change).