Following the discovery of the track leading into the cliff face, it wasn’t long before the party was made whole again; each of them took their turn in examining the path, prints, and the yawning, rocky maw into which it all led. Ch’dau stood watch as the others took stock of the tracks, then, when the talks of strategy moving forward began, his ears were as keen on the conversations as his eyes were on the forest at their backs.

"Are we truly ready for this?" Gib asked quietly, stepping up next to Aranwen. "We'll need light... I'm not even sure what precautions we should take."

"There is a lot that is not known," Aranwen admitted, "Light in the darkness is a double sided blade, as one of my... rivals liked to say. She imagined herself something of a poet as well as a Bladesigner. But there is truth to it, light reveals the carrier, just as it reveals what is around them."

The kazari’s eyes turned to the battle-cleric and the bladesinger for an instant and, as the pair continued their conversation in lower tones, Ch’dau considered both Gib’s question and his Khatun’s reply in turn…

Were they truly ready?

The big cat had his own doubts in that regard, of course, but all of this had not begun this morning. It had started days ago, on the road to Crandel, and, in his mind, if they were to doubt themselves so much as to have abandoned this venture, that decision should have been made long before now. They had made enemies of these creatures and, likely, those who controlled them, as well, and abandoning pursuit of an enemy before having destroyed them was not a blemish he wished to have upon his honor.

He nodded, then, at the wisdom in Aranwen’s response and the notable lack thereof where the group’s readiness was concerned. The omission was testament enough that the bladesinger shared his own thoughts on the matter of retreating from this fight, now. His tail weaved a subtle pattern of satisfaction and pride in her decision.

…A short time later, following whatever private conversation Aranwen and Gib might have had, the Khatun gathered them all around and considered the facts. "We must be cautious," she resolved, "This is familiar ground to our adversaries, not to us. The more light we use, the bigger a target we may become; the less light we use, the more we hinder ourselves. A problematic paradox. Also of concern is the ground. Damp stone is trecherous, as many a child can attest to trying to run on such after a rain."

Those words sparked the flicker of a memory in the Silver Cat’s mind - the dark and damp of a Sendrian dungeon’s floor and walls, the abominations that slunk in its shadows, and the yellow-eyed witch who had controlled it all. The recollection prompted his eyes to turn in the direction of the cavemouth, his lips to curl away from his teeth, and the whisper of a growl to rumble in his throat. Stifling the snarl, he averted his eyes from the cave, too, and they fell on Kithran. He wondered if she, too, was suddenly finding any of this familiar.

 "I think we should continue much as we have been so far,” Aranwen continued before Ch’dau could truly gauge Kith’s expression, “Kithran and I will be the forward eyes, Ch'dau to watch behind and above, in case they try to circle around us through some unseen passageway. As for the light sources," She paused, "Is there any way we may be able to cover the light we bring?" She mused, "I've still a torch or two, but the open flame would be sure to dance on the walls around us, and only announce our presence. What other options do we have?" 

"I, too, have the ability to see some in the darkness,” Davena offered, “so I may be of some assistance there.  That said, when we encounter trouble, I would be better use behind the stout blades, not in front of them.  I am accustomed to Garn filling that role for me."

"I'm blind as a proverbial bat,” Midgepiped in, “so I'm fine keeping muscle between me and any enemies.  That said, I say we check the entrance carefully before we proceed - I know that any halfwit stout would have a bell or somesuch to alert him to unsuspecting visitors.  I can't imagine a cult looking for secrecy wouldn't have as much sense."  Looking very pleased with himself, the cidal continues.  "I should probably cast a magic detection spell too, just to be sure, don't you think?"

"Good call, Midge," Aranwen nodded, "We've been on the open road and forest for long enough, I hadn't thought of this cavern system properly, as a potentially fortified location," she paused, "That being the case, Kithran, we will definitely need your support in front," she observed, "I may not be as light on my feet as you or Ch'dau, but I will be with you. Then, if another of those damned giggling creatures attacks, get behind me quick as you can."

Looking back to Ch'dau, she gave an apologetic look, "I'd entrust the rear lookout to you, dear friend. Please see that we do not become the ones that are hunted."

“Of course, my Khatun,” Ch’dau replied with a faint nod of his shaggy head.

Beside him, Kithran shifted slightly, drawing his eyes to hers. “Think you can handle our rears,” she asked in a whisper.

The query evoked a soft, snorting chuckle from the kazari, his ears twitching in amusement, and he lifted a paw to rest it on her shoulder. “I have handled them well enough so far, Little Kitten,” he murmured in answer, “I do not see this cave changing things.”

"Caves are treacherous,” the words came from the taciturn Garn, “A misstep can put you down a deep drop, where you'd never be heard from again.  Stay close.  Wandering off can mean death."

Ch’dau’s gaze tracked to Gib, then, and found the man standing, with his eyes closed, as if giving due consideration to all he’d heard.  "If I may suggest,” the cleric of Therassor offered, his eyes coming open, “that Cedric take up a position just before Ch'dau, placing himself between Midge and the Lady Davena. I shall do the same at the front. This should place us both in a position to provide what support we can to the vanguard and the rear while keeping us in whatever light we can summon up. I have neither a torch nor a lantern..."

Cedric followed, offering up his own concerns and considerations, then, and Aranwen wove the cleric of Solanis’ suggestions into the tapestry of tactics that had already been proposed. It wasn’t long after that their strategy was solidified and their entry to the caves was imminent. As they all moved to take their assigned positions in the order, Kith takes a moment to stop and talk with the Cidal mage…

“Midge, I’m sure you can’t keep your spells up indefinitely, but as I will be touching a lot of things looking for non-arcane traps in there,” she said, “please make sure I don’t blow myself up on any unseen magical trap while you have it up.” She held out her left hand so he could see the old burn scar starting on the pad of her thumb, flaring out just past her wrist, and creeping halfway up her forearm, “Picking a mage's lockbox, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

((OOC: Midge’s reply))

“Thank you, friend,” the shadow-girl acknowledged, “I will do my best to keep you all in mostly one piece as well.” She turned, then, and before leaving Ch'dau's side and heading to the front of their party, she reiterated to him once more the Bladesinger’s words, “Like Aranwen said, Kh’ur Cat Beast, lookout for our rears, especially this ‘thieving rear.”

“Until the Hunt has us both, tiny shadow,” the kazari winked tilting his head forward to touch her forehead to his, “I shall always have your back.” She grinned up at him, seemingly contended in that reply, and made her way to the front of the procession. A few words were exchanged at the head of the party, then, and Kith led the way into the caves.

The trepidation amongst the group was even more palpable once underground. The chill of the air and the dead silence that pervaded the place only served to amplify the tension as the stone of the walls seemed to amplify every breath and footfall. Ch’dau was not immune to the effects of their new surroundings, either. While he performed his duties as rear-guard without his eyes or ears ever having become distracted, the press of the stone walls and the cool of the floor beneath his feet, once again, brought back visions of Undolithe’s dungeon… visions that became clearer and easier to recollect the deeper they went. By the time they had reached the dark, skull-embellished door, the kazari had almost begun to suspect that the yellow-eyed witch might very well be waiting beyond.

He watched as Kith made a cautious approach, at first, and a visual inspection. The roguish woman shook her head, indicating that, if there were and traps, she couldn’t find them.

Then, just ahead of him, Midge chanted an incantation, staring at things that the kazari could not see. "The doors are somehow enspelled," the cidal mage stated, “I cannot tell what the spell does, and it does not appear to be a strong aura - but there is something here.  Something dark."

"Were I in charge of some hidden keep," Aranwen reasoned, having listened to the reports from the rogue and the mage "It'd be in my interest to devise a way to keep others out, while letting my people access..."

The bladesinger paused as she gave it some thought, "How might they have made certain this door would respond to them?"

I would not be surprised if they f***ed it, Ch’dau mused, choosing not to speak the thought aloud.

"A wizard locked door might open to a password or such," Midge frowned his reply, "No telling what that might be, naturally.

Of course, the simplest thing would be a key to open a lock.   Perhaps some easily portable item might function the same with regards to a spell?  Just musing out loud."

In the wake of the little mage’s musing, Kithran looked beriefly at the pendant in her hand before returning the thing to her pocket and turning to face Davena. “Davena, Garn, in your torturings of those D’hurgen priests, when they mentioned this cave, did you happen to ask them of any obstacles we might face once we entered? Did any of them offer up a password or mention some sort of key?”

"The priests led us to believe that the undead would be present here, along with others of their order," the blonde woman replied, ”They gave no details of defenses, nor did they mention passwords or keys."  Her tone shifted ever so slightly towards ice as she continued.  "Had they done so, we certainly would not have failed to mention it."

“You failed to mention any of it when first we met,” Ch’dau chuffed flatly from his place at the back of the line, “Forgive us for verifying before we blindly trust.”

"I've no doubt of that," Aranwen spoke, in a more diplomatic tone than he had used, "Sometimes context is necessary for piecing together things we learn before, putting things in new light."

"In any case, if this door gives the same touch as those creatures, that means we do have one visible solution right now," Aranwen observed, "That being if I were to open it," She offered.

"A moment, khatun," Ch'dau rumbled, his gaze sliding past Garn, narrowing only slightly as it did, and, then, fell on Kithran. “That trinket you took off the priest, Little Kitten,” he asked, “does there seem to be any place on the door where it might fit? If so, I would test the door myself before I let you touch it.”

"The priests led us to believe that the undead would be present here, along with others of their order," the blonde woman replied, ”They gave no details of defenses, nor did they mention passwords or keys." Her tone shifted ever so slightly towards ice as she continued. "Had they done so, we certainly would not have failed to mention it."

“You failed to mention any of it when first we met,” Ch’dau chuffed flatly from his place at the back of the line, “Forgive us for verifying before we blindly trust.”

"We are quite close to Sendria, dear friend," Aranwen pointed out, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice at speaking the name of that cursed land, "Just as our experiences have led to us at times being wary of what we share openly, I know that the same is true of them," she observed, looking directly at Davena with softness about her eyes, "We are not enemies here."

If we were, what reason would they have to lend their aid? At least, that's what I hope at this point.

* * *

With no clear spot to place the amulet, Aranwen nodded dutifully and stepped forward, "Don't worry," She smiled, attempting to reassure Ch'dau, "and we've no visible alternatives anyway."

With that she moved forward and attempted to open the door.

"The priests led us to believe that the undead would be present here, along with others of their order," the blonde woman replied, ”They gave no details of defenses, nor did they mention passwords or keys."  Her tone shifted ever so slightly towards ice as she continued.  "Had they done so, we certainly would not have failed to mention it."

“You failed to mention any of it when first we met,” Ch’dau chuffed flatly from his place at the back of the line, “Forgive us for verifying before we blindly trust.”

Trying to salvage the situation, Aranwen interjects.  "We are quite close to Sendria, dear friend," Aranwen pointed out, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice at speaking the name of that cursed land, "Just as our experiences have led to us at times being wary of what we share openly, I know that the same is true of them," she observed, looking directly at Davena with softness about her eyes, "We are not enemies here."

The slight shift in Davena's tone grows far more pronounced as she responds to Ch'dau..  "Would you have blathered details of a death cult to strangers at an Inn?  Is that what you are honestly claiming that we should have done, cat man?"  Her eyes flash with fire that contrasts with the ice in her voice.  "Or perhaps we should have tarried when saving your lives to explain what brought us to this wood?  You would have survived, I think, had we taken the time to explain.  Perhaps the little mage, as well.  I believe you'd have lost companions had we chosen to talk instead of slay the undead, however."

She snorts derisively.  "I know not what passes for gratitude among your furred folk, but in human lands, this conduct is beyond rude.  We have answered every query you have levied.  We have shared information that you lacked.  And again, we saved your very lives when we had no obligation to do so.  Trust, indeed."

The awkward silence that follows is broken up by Kithran attempting to find some use for her skull medallion on the doors. However, there appears to be no way that the medallion can interface with either door.

After discussion, the Bladesinger takes a deep breath and grabs the door handle.

Much like Kithran experienced, a horrible cold radiates from the door and into Aranwen's body.  However, she bears more of it with her firm grasp than the rogue did with her glancing contact. 

As she grits her teeth and pulls the door hard, the grave reaches out to grab at Aranwen's very heart.  She feels the despair, feels the fear... but is able to push it aside, to resist the influence.  Soon, the feeling is gone.   After gathering for a moment, the Bladesinger leads the party into the gates of the death cult's temple.

A small, dark hallway gives way to an antechamber.  A pair of sconces sit on opposite walls; each sconce burns with a greenish flame.  The effect is weird, unnatural, otherworldly, and leaves deep shadows in the corners... however, there is enough light to see and move.

The antechabber itself is bare, with walls of stone and a floor to match.  A doorway in the north wall leads to a larger, more open chamber - which appears to have more of the green light within.  A wooden door sits closed at the northwest corner. 

Everything is quiet and empty.

“Forgive,” Ch'dau rumbled, not quite softly, “I spoke where I should not have and out of a place best left far from here.” His eyes lifted, again, and found Davena and Garn; “I am grateful for all you have done…”

Aranwen gave a gentle smile in return to the Kazari, giving a slight nod and inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. It was not wrong of Ch'dau to have his suspicions, nor voice them even, but the situation called for them to be allies in the here and now. It was past the time to voice suspicions, better to hold them ready for that situation were they to pass. She dearly prayed such a situation didn't come. She knew Davena, at least so she thought, based off of what she managed to glimpse of the woman. Yet, in the worst scenario where it did, there was one other reason why the bladesinger had opted to place Ch'dau behind Davena.

Turning to the door, Aranwen looked at her hands. Did she truly have the resilience Davena spoke of? Aranwen was fairly sure, between the stories she had heard, and her recent experiences, but this would be a far greater test, one taken where the results would be readily visible, and without battle waged around them. Steeling herself, she reached forward.

Aranwen gasped at the sudden chilling pain in her hands, but breathed deeply, gritting her teeth to endure. Even as she opened the doors, she could feel the doors trying to hold her in return. A cold, dark grasp. Without the distraction of an attacker to keep her from thinking of it, she remembered that feeling from some where, some time completely different.

I will not submit. I didn't before, and I won't do so now. 

Holding her blade of will close to her heart, Aranwen forced herself to keep moving, until the doors were wide open. Withdrawing her hands, she inspected them. No visible harm, but that was not unexpected with foul magic. Rubbing the feeling back into her fingers, she surveyed what she could see in the room beyond. 

"Empty," Aranwen whispered, "Better than the alternative, but by how much?" she mused to Kithran beside her, who certainly had more experience entering places uninvited than she did.

"Would you have blathered details of a death cult to strangers at an Inn?" Smallclothes retaliates as Kithran re-examines the door from a distance. The pendant seems to be nothing more than that, and she pockets the thing again, "I know not what passes for gratitude among your furred folk, but in human lands, this conduct is beyond rude." Kith spins on her heel and rips her daggers out at the woman's claim that Ch'dau would be anything less than honorable, but a glance from their leader staved her blades and she returned to her work, teeth grinding as she searched the door and making a mental note to come back to this after the world was saved.

Soon Aranwen is at her side, determined to test her Sylvari bloodline against the ghoul magic, and Kith steps back, drawing her bow and nocking an arrow, ready for whatever may linger behind the doors.

The Bladesinger grasps the door handles and for the first time in a long time, Kithran witnessed the creep of paralyzation attempt to overwhelm another. It was chilling, seeing that internal fight played so visibly on her comrade's face and she wanted to rip her away, but the doors were opening, and as quickly as that iciness took hold, their hearty leader was able to shake it off.

Kith stowed her bow and ran to Aranwen the moment she let go of the doors. Comfort was an awkward thing for her to offer anyone, but she rested her hand on the Bladesinger's shoulder, and relaxed at her nod, "That feeling is chilling, my friend, I am glad you are so much stronger than I." She dropped her hand and looked forward into the eerie quiet beyond.

"Empty," Aranwen whispers, "Better than the alternative, but by how much?"

Kithran shrugs, "Only one way to find out." And she creeps ahead, listening, searching, fear and adrenaline amplifing the caution she imbues every step, the well-being of her comrades driving her forward.

The young woman cooed to the bundle on her shoulder as she rocked in a chair.  A contented smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she comforted the babe. 

Prior to the latter stages of the pregnancy and the birth, she had been widely regarded as beautiful - even stunning.  She had possessed hair the color of honeyed straw, with piercing eyes of blue, a face that could draw an observer in for hours, and a body that caused more than one chaste priest to question his vows.  She had always been friendly and open, which only served to enhance that attractiveness.

These days, though, her skin had a pallor about it, her hair seemed brittle and dull. 

Ah, yes, she was still sore, and she was so very tired.  The birth itself had been unbelievably painful, but she had been mentally prepared for that.  Her mother had made it clear that forcing a melon-sized object through an orifice designed more for the diameter of a cucumber would result in a great deal of pain and aftermath; her grandmother had lightened the moment to suggest that she should be grateful for a cucumber, and hope to not have to settle for a lifetime with an okra instead.

The time after the birth, though... the baby was extraordinarily demanding.  He seemed determined to stay awake through every night, to only sleep in odd bouts.  And his appetite had been voracious,  seemingly never satisfied in a way that no one had even mentioned might be the case.  Still, the mother did not mind.  Every waking thought seemed to have to do with the babe, with providing for his every whim.  He deserved no less, after all.

Her bundle murmured, and she moved him to the crook of her arm, released a breast to provide his sustenance.  And yet... something was wrong.  He was listless, weak, refused to latch. 

She tickled his mouth, tweaked the bottoms of his feet, tried every trick she had seen her mother and sister use.  Did everything the midwife had taught her.  Trying to control the panic, she reached to the table, grabbed a knife, and winced in pain as she opened a shallow cut below her nipple.  Even the offer of fresh blood seemed to do no good; the babe remained limp, would barely swallow.  He would not even close his little fangs down if she placed her flesh into his mouth. 

---------------------------------------------

Sobbing, the mother begged the priest for any sort of assistance, but the older man merely shook his head.  "I can do nothing," he explained.  "No prayer, no spell seems to have any positive effect.  Things that should make him stronger only seem to make it worse.  I fear that he will not survive the night."

He turned to leave, seemingly immune to her wails as she knelt in the dirt, clutching the motionless gray form to her chest.

---------------------------------------------

Weeks had passed since the death of the baby.  A great deal of the young woman's beauty had returned; every day she seemed stronger, her color better.  This evening found her in the nicest dress that she owned, with her hair perfectly coiffed, and wearing the first smile she had made since the death. 

She threw the door open and strode inside, cocking her head just so.  The priest glanced up from where he knelt in the filthy straw beside a corpse, arched an eyebrow at her entrance. 

"I'm ready to try again," she stated flatly. 

He snorted in reply.  "I rather doubt that," he responded condescendingly.  "We've been over this already.  You cannot try again."

She shook her head, blonde locks floating in the flickering light.  Her eyes flashed with anger.  "No!  You will NOT take this from me.  I am willing.  I am READY." 

She gestured with her head at the pair of undead flanking the priest, causing them to giggle in response.  "Let them take me now!" she exclaimed. The young woman hitched up her skirts, revealing a complete lack of smallclothes.  "What can we can we hurt by trying?" she implored.

The tone of the ghouls' giggling shifted noticeably, and they took steps towards her, one with a tongue wiggling obscenely in perfectly clear intentions.  "STOP," the priest intoned, and the undead halted in their tracks.

"I said no," he continued, wiping his hands upon his robe.  "Has your moon blood returned?" he asked in a disinterested tone as he returned his focus to the corpse.

The young woman dropped her skirts in frustration and stamped her foot.  "Not yet!  But that does not mean anything!  It often takes time to return after... after a baby!  Everyone knows that!" she protested.

The priest shook his head as he stood, and his tone softened as he stepped towards the woman.  "As I have explained, yours will NOT return.  The process has left you barren.  Both I and the church appreciate your willingness, but this is no longer a thing you can do."

Suddenly, it was as if the air escaped the young woman, and tears began to flow in earnest.  "Is there nothing you can do for me, father?  No healing you can offer?" she implored. 

He shook his head.  "I am sorry, my child. It is beyond my ability to restore."

Heartbroken, she gave in to the sobs and collapsed into the holy man's arms.  "But I was to... to... to be the mother of a GOD!"

Absently, he stroked the young woman's beautiful hair.  "Yes, child.  I know, I know..." he murmured softly while the ghouls seemed to respectfully giggle barely any at all.

At first, Davena’s rebukes threatened to test the kazari’s patience, as evidenced by the low growl that played an accompaniment to her words. In the end, though, in part, due to Aranwen’s more diplomatic approach to the confrontations but, moreso because Ch’dau finally saw something more than cold detachment from the sorceress, he banked the embers of his temper. Besides, the woman had made some good points and, in truth, it hadn’t been Ch’dau’s place to call her out based on his suspicions, alone. His eyes danced between Aranwen and Davena for an instant; then, as his rumbling softened, he fixed the blonde woman with a less hardened gaze and bowed his head.

“Forgive,” he rumbled, not quite softly, “I spoke where I should not have and out of a place best left far from here.” His eyes lifted, again, and found Davena and Garn; “I am grateful for all you have done…” It was obvious that there was more on the cat’s mind but whatever it might have been, it went unspoken. Ch’dau said nothing more, he simply turned back to his duties as rear-guard, ensuring that nothing crept up on them from behind as Aranwen set about trying to open the door.

Behind him, he heard the bladesinger gasp in pain and, in response, flicked a glance over his shoulder just to reassure himself that the Syl woman was alright before he returned his attentions to the path behind them. As the sound of the doors being opened reached his ears, he took a couple of cautious steps backward, closing the space between himself and the remainder of the party.

"Empty," Aranwen’s whispered words carried through the air, "Better than the alternative, but by how much?" 

 "Only one way to find out," he heard Kith murmur in reply, the roguish woman’s near silent footsteps following soon after.

Again, Ch’dau risked a glance over his shoulder to watch Kithran disappear into the black beyond the now yawning doorway and, as the rest of the troupe moved to follow, the kazari let the sound of their step set the pace for his as he backpedaled into the room in their wake… Khr’a watch us, Keziri cradle us, and Rrowl give us strength, he prayed silently as he stalked beneath the doorframe.

"That feeling is chilling, my friend, I am glad you are so much stronger than I."

Aranwen shook her head to the half-Syl beside her, "It's not a matter of strength," She replied with a chuckle, "Just my heritage, it seems, nothing to do with who I am," she shrugged her shoulders, "Strength is what we each develop through our experiences."

She nodded at the open door, her golden eyes narrowing in distrust at the green light beyond, "I know not what manner of magic or substance is needed to tint those lights green, but I don't like it," Aranwen noted, looking to the others, "If you've a free hand to carry a torch and wish to do so, go ahead and light it. Whatever's here has seen fit to do away with darkness, so we need not be stingy about shedding light of our own," She reasoned

"Kithran, and everyone, please be mindful of the building around you, including the floor and the walls," Aranwen commented, "This is architecture we cannot be sure of. Though I don't believe they'd put something that'd hinder their own passage, there's things that won't hinder them but will harm us, as we've seen with the door. Aside that, we proceed as we have been."

(Aranwen will light a torch herself, and offers a spare if someone else wants one)

The party moves cautiously, quietly toward the far end of the antechamber.  The lit torches cast an orange light that strikes a noticeable contrast to the greenish glow of the wall sconces.  The warmer orange light does serve to dispel more of the shadows, it seems.

Moving as you do gives you a nice view through the doorway.  The next chamber is much larger, with what appears to be an altar of some sort upon a raised dais.  Wall sconces are set at regular intervals, with their greenish light ensuring that the large chamber is not dark - though shadow nestles throughout it.  It appears to be empty of any living (or unliving) creatures.

The wooden door is well worn, with an iron doorknob that appears smooth from many interactions over time.  Visible inspection reveals nothing of interest; no traps, no sigils, though it does appear to have a simple locking mechanism in place. 

Midge mutters under his breath as his fingers weave a pattern in the air, then turns his gaze upon the door.  "I feel no enchantments here," he states simply.  "He looks all around the antechanber and into the altar room.  "No more magic anywhere that I can perceive at the moment," he adds. 

Kithran knelt by the door, retrieved the tools of her trade, and went to work on the lock.  Press here, rotate there, hold like such...

Snick!  The faint little mechanical noise set the rogue's stomach to plummeting.  Surely she hadn't, it didn't...

But the sting in her fingertip was unmistakable - as was the tiny droplet of blood pooling on it.  Even as the edges of her vision began to darken, Kith railed internally.  Why would someone place a poison needle trap on such a simple door?  Why had she been so careless?  Why....

The rogue shook her head, clearing the nightmare that had popped up like a vision.  Of course there was no needle.  The lock gave way with a satifying click, and the door creaked open easily.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

The hallway beyond the wooden door stretched out into darkness.  Green light lay somewhere ahead, but the source was not close.  The stone hallway itself stank of death and decomposition; here and there, small piles of fleshy substances better not pondered too carefully lay in the shadows.  It would be accurate to state that the hall was, in fact, deathly silent.

Aranwen scowled at the state of the hallway, shining her torch beyond Kithran into the hall proper.

"Definitely a side passage," She mused, "Used primarily by their undead minions, perhaps."

With a soft sigh, Aranwen nodded to the others, "At the very least, we can hope this will continue to cover our approach, as opposed to walking in through the front hall," She offered quietly, "Line up single rank, that we won't block each other's movements. Stay alert."

I don't like that we haven't encountered anything yet, Aranwen thought to herself, Hard to predict an enemy you can't see in a place you don't know. Stay calm... Stay alert...

As they enter the more narrow hallway, the party adjusts the marching order a bit, moving into a staggered single file line. 

The hall (tunnel?) takes a noticeable slope down. The air is cool and dry, but the scent of death lingers heavy here.  Bits of cloth, bone, gristle, flesh, skin all litter the hallway from time to time.  You do not pass any more of the sconces, but the greenish glow somehow remains at a fixed distance - enough to illuminate the hallway somewhat, not enough to drive the shadows away. 

Every footstep echoes on the stone floor, though no one or nothing appears to challenge your egress.  Knowing that this place is surely the source of the undead can only build dread as you advance.  Surely, at some point, they will block your progress?

Finally, you hear it.  An insane giggle echoing up the hallway from below.  You see a ghoul, seemingly unafraid, ambling towards you, all the while wearing a twisted grin on its rotting features.  As it closes the gap, you another more giggling - from behind.  You are pinned in. 

The party follows Aranwen's instructions; Kithran falls back to allow the Bladesinger to take her place, supported by Garn.  In the back, Ch'dau prepares to face the flanker, with Gib stepping up to support him in turn. 

It is a good plan.  The strong warriors are on the outside, facing outward and the danger.  Kith and the vulnerable spellcasters are on the inside, able to support as needed.  Tactically, it is as good of a strategy as the party could have concocted against the undead. 

Unfortunately, the party does not face the undead only. 

Moments before the two ghouls, moving in concert from each side, reach melee distance, a voice chants out a few short syllables... and unyelding, unnatural darkness falls upon the group.  Those with infravision are every bit as blind as are those without.  This is utter, complete, total darkness of the variety where one literally cannot see their hand inches in front of their own face.  Aranwen can still feel the heat of the crackling torch, but the flame casts no light whatsoever in the face of this sorcery. 

An intsant later, the ghouls are upon you, crashing into the outermost warriors, giggling with glee as they lay about in the darkness. 

And then... there is a grating sound, and suddely, a third giggling voice joins the sounds of battle - BUT IT IS IN THE MIDST OF THE GROUP.  Davena screams in terror and agony, but the scream cuts off abruptly as you fight for your very lives.

The sight of the giggling ghoul normally would be a sight to be afraid. But here, now, Aranwen's fear faded away to certainty. The enemy was visible. She could do something about it. 

"Behind me, Kithran!" Aranwen called at the sight of the giggling ghoul, taking front and center while drawing her blade. 

Hearing Ch'dau behind them, she swore under her breath - cut off. Not ideal. 

And then darkness. Another giggle. A scream.

Aranwen gripped the hilt of her blade tighter, her knuckles white with anger. 

"Focus!" she called, "Recall the hall in your mind - feel the slope! Cedric, face down the slope and step to your right. Garn, turn up the slope and stay to your right - help Davena! Gib, Ch'dau, keep the back ghoul from us. Get ready to move."

Aranwen focused; she listened for the giggling specifically in front of her. Then she swung, giving voice to a wordless song that scaled higher and lower as she swung from left to right, right to left. She advanced forward as she swung, a step at a time. 

(( Aranwen will try to push the ghoul back with wide swings as she advances. If she's successful, she'll call the party to advance with her to push them out of the darkness)) 

Dutifully, Ch’dau kept his attentions tuned to watching for anything that might threaten the party from behind. The only time his eyes diverted was when, faint as the sound was, he heard Kith’s breath catch. The quick glance over his shoulder revealed the rogue giving an abrupt shake of her head just as the lock disengaged and the door creaked open. Whatever it had been that had caught her unawares, it seemed, was only fleeting, so the kazari returned to his vigil as Aranwen surveyed whatever was beyond the door… Based on the smell, alone, he stewed silently, it is nothing good.

"Definitely a side passage," he heard the Bladesinger say, "Used primarily by their undead minions, perhaps."

I am not surprised. He chuffed and snorted in a futile attempt to clear the stench from his nostrils as he awaited his khatun’s appraisal. Given the sigh which had escaped the Sylvari woman, the assessment was not long in coming, nor was it likely to be favorable.

"At the very least, we can hope this will continue to cover our approach, as opposed to walking in through the front hall," She offered quietly, "Line up single rank, that we won't block each other's movements. Stay alert."

“As you say, khatun,” the Silver Cat rumbled in response, already moving to comply.

The sloping hallway was mired in bits of flesh and bone and other gore that he preferred not to think on overmuch but, again, he couldn’t help be reminded of the dungeons of the Sendrian witch and, whether he gave conscious thought to it or not, it raised his hackles and set him on edge. The farther one ventures into a place like this, he remembered, trying to surpress the growling in his chest, the worse it is likely to get. Surely, it will not be long…

As if conjured by his own dark thoughts, an all too familiar cackling echoed from the hallway ahead. A lone ghoul, undaunted by the party’s numbers, ambled forward, the horrible giggling spilling forth from behind the needle-like teeth of it’s grin. Even as the party adjusted their ranks to place the fighters on the outside, another giggle issued from behind…

Surrounded, the kazari thought, no longer trying to keep his snarling in check, Not good!

As Gib stepped up in support of his position, Ch’dau readied his blades, prepared to take on the giggler approaching from the party’s back. Just as the thing got within range, though, a chant in a voice he didn’t recognize resounded through the corridor and a stygian darkness fell over everything. Even his eyes, accustomed to seeing in the dark, couldn’t pierce this blackness. “Bhak’chu’s balls,” he growled even as blindly he unleashed the stroke he had readied on the ghoul he hoped was still there. “Your shoulder to mine, Gib,” he rumbled (likely needlessly) to the war-priest, “Let us not lose sense of our own positions in this!”

Even as the words spilled from his mouth, a third giggle joined the chorus of the other two, and a scream – Davena’s scream – quickly followed. Ch’dau cursed, again, this time not bothering with Apanonese. He kicked out, hoping to catch the ghoul he could no longer see and drive it back, even if only for an instant.

Through the darkness, Aranwen’s voice shouted orders. “Focus! Recall the hall in your mind - feel the slope! Cedric, face down the slope and step to your right. Garn, turn up the slope and stay to your right - help Davena! Gib, Ch'dau, keep the back ghoul from us. Get ready to move.”

“As you say, khatun,” he barked in reply, keeping his ears keen for the giggler he was supposed to attend. Then, he called out to Midge; “If there is anything you might do to dispel this accursed darkness, little one, now is the time!”

((OOC: Ch’dau will proceed much the same as Aranwen, here, doing his best to keep the giggler at their back at bay if not slash and smash it to goo. Hopefully Gib will understand Ch’dau’s comment about keeping in contact, thus avoiding any friendly fire as much as possible and, I’m dearly hoping our Cidal mage has something in the way of ‘dispel magic’ that he might use to clear away the black.))

Finally, Kithran thinks as she pulls the stowed lockpicks from within her armor, that which I was created to do. She crouches before the door and works the lock as she had so many hundreds of times before. She wasn’t a gallant and graceful bladesinger, she wasn’t a formidable battle priest, powerful spellcaster, or a nearly impenetrable Kazari. She felt a favorable click and grinned to herself. This is who she was. Just a sticky-fingered little th--

Snick!

Kith sucks in a breath and draws her hands back. No. I . . .  she looks down at her stinging finger, a small droplet of blood beginning to pool and her vision begins to fade. No, why would they . . . I checked! I--

She closes her eyes, shaking her head almost violently, and when she opens them again it seems to have worked. The door is unlocked and her hand seems fine. She gives her head one more little shake and hops to her feet, bowing before the rest with a gesture to the passageway.

Standing upright the smell hits her and she is immediately taken back to the undead rot of a witch’s dungeon. Another of D’hurgen’s putrid horde, and the hesitation begins to take her once more.

Ara’s torch warms her back as she approaches for a better look down the decomposing hallway, "Definitely a side passage, used primarily by their undead minions, perhaps." She gave a soft sigh and nodded to the others, "At the very least, we can hope this will continue to cover our approach, as opposed to walking in through the front hall. Line up single rank, that we won't block each other's movements. Stay alert."

Kithran nodded, her faith in the bladesinger, and the bladesinger’s faith in her keeping her resolve in place as she steps in front of their group and leads the way into the dank hallway. She steps cautiously in here, doing all she can not to consider the various slick piles of . . . something . . . she passes through, signalling to the others of the impending goop as they go along. There is no getting away from the smell in here either. Though she brings an arm up to cover her face from as much as she can, it still feels as though it is seeping into her brain. If there is any grace in it at all, it is that in a very small way it distracts her from imagining what may lay in wait for her at the end of the tunnel.

The path is silent, save for the squelching made from trudging through the mangled body parts of I’m just not going to think about it, and while that means there are no ghouls upon them for now, it also feels more and more ominous as they go along. Her heart quickens at the simple thought of those things, and a shiver drips down her spine once more at the memory. The thought of that chilling giggle is so loud in her head that she almost doesn’t realize that it is making its way toward her. 

Kith is backing up even before Aranwen gives her commands, "Behind me, Kithran!" the bladesinger calls at the sight of the monster. Kith takes her place crouched behind their leader, ready to lend her support, and she can hear the others falling in line behind her. She also hears another of these creatures’ giggles racing up from behind and grinds her teeth at her inability to backup both of her friends, though the telltale sound of Gib’s armor as he takes his place beside Ch’dau offers as much relief as she is able to feel before the monstrosities are upon them.

As the creature before them just reaches the melee space of Aranwen’s blade, a chanting breaks up the haunted giggles and darkness fully envelopes them. It was heavy, the blinding emptiness that fell, and Kith could not remember a time her eyes were open and she was unable to see anything.

And then came Davena’s scream. Another had pierced their ranks from somewhere within this utter nothingness.

"Focus!" Aranwen called out and Kith came back to herself, "Recall the hall in your mind - feel the slope! Cedric, face down the slope and step to your right. Garn, turn up the slope and stay to your right - help Davena! Gib, Ch'dau, keep the back ghoul from us. Get ready to move."

“As you say, khatun,” Ch’dau sounded from behind them, then to their mage, “If there is anything you might do to dispel this accursed darkness, little one, now is the time!”

Kithran then heard Aranwen move, her song always moving in concert to her, and Kith leaped forward, “Swing high, Ara, I’ll trip them up from below.” Listening to the bladesinger’s song and steps in order to find her placement in the small tunnel, and imagining where the thing must have shambled to in the moments after the darkness befell them, Kith moves forward, staying low as to not hinder Aranwen’s blade. She strikes out from behind Ara, searching for a torso or a leg, anything to open the creature up for a well-placed hit from the warrior above her, hoping for the nightmare, or at least this darkness, to come to an end.