Bright Eye, Winter Night 2, 354 AC
“This room was once lined with dwarven runes,” Chai pointed out. “and there had once been altar. Presumably that rubble had been an altar to Reorx. Possibly smashed when all the true Clerics left just before the Cataclysm. This room is now sacred to no one.”
“That was over three hundred years ago, what does that mean for us now?” Gharad asked.
“I don’t know,” Chai pulled himself away from the wall and walked over to examine the dead choker. “Could be something. Could be nothing.” The creature had long tentacle like limbs, designed for choking. He could see more clearly previous wounds on it that had healed and some that had started to heal. Some were obvious axe wounds from hobgoblins, but others look different, and yet familiar.
Chai noted the wounds and walked over to the deceased hobgoblins. They had been dead for less than a day, and wore the same tattered Red Dragonarmy uniforms and scale mail as he had seen on every other Hobgoblin he had encountered so far. Their eyes were bulging and their necks bruised.
With nothing else of interest in sight Chai completed his examination of the bodies and led the way back to the lift, easily avoiding the razor trip wire. He listened for a moment and strained his ears to find some sign of what lay at the bottom of this excavated tomb. The dark cleric could hear the echo of scrapings, and low chanting below though the words were too distorted to make out. He listened until Gharad and Odren were both on the lift and signaled for his warrior companion to lower them down.
With a nod and a grunt Gharad once more manipulated the mechanism and the trio made their descent. The echoes Chai had heard before only intensified as the lift settled on the stone floor.
The torches had hanging in their sconces crackled and were fresh. Chai could see sturdy-looking walls, a relatively debris-free floor, and evidence of the dwarves that once inhabited this place. However he also noticed a new layer of mold growth coated most everything.
Chai could feel his throat swell as he hacked and spit up fresh phlegm. With every cough he expelled a red dust, similar to the mold on the walls and floors. The cleric of Chemosh grabbed his water skin and took a deep gulp and let the coughs subside before pressing onward. Chai rummaged through the pockets of his looted winter coat as he noticed the mold growing thicker the further he progressed. He mumbled a prayer to Chemosh as he found a scarf and wrapped it around his mouth and nose. It was stuffy and hot but he could breathe without fear of the mold.
“You think there be demons in here?” Odren asked as he poked one end of his club into the mold.
“Stop that dwarf,” Gharad hissed.
“Did dwarves of old bury demons in tombs?” Chai replied.
“Oh this tweren’t no tomb,” Odren said, “Twas a guard post. Least down hear was a guard post.”
Chai furrowed his brow.