Ootah was the first to wake, his hardy constitution hauling him out of unconsciousness as best it could. His eyes remained stubbornly gummed shut, however, and he was reduced to straining his ears to try and establish his whereabouts. All he could hear was a regular creaking, and he felt the bed beneath him gently shift and sway. Eventually, his eyes opened a sliver. After a few minutes careful blinking, his vision resolved itself enough to take in the ceiling above him. Curved wooden boards supported a low ceiling. Tilting his head, he could make out figures in the bunk beds next to him. It looked like his colleagues, so he tried to sit up to better see-
-and promptly lapsed back into unconsciousness as nausea and pain washed over him. By the time he woke up again, the others were beginning to stir as well. This time, he sat up cautiously, and, fighting the nausea, looked around warily. Portholes in the walls revealed blue skies and white clouds. A boy was scrubbing the floor by the door.
“Ho-“ he started, but his voice came out in a croak. The boy looked up, startled, before leaping up and running out the door. Ootah collapsed back to his pillow.
Some minutes later, there was a knock, and a man stooped through the door. Tall and with what Ootah immediately recognised as a military bearing, his most striking feature besides his stark white hair was the fact that his left arm and a fair chunk of his torso was entirely missing. A throbbing blue webbing held his all-too-visible organs in.
“Good morning, my friends! A little bird told me you were waking up. I am glad to see that you are all right.”
Several croaking voices began to ask questions, but the man silenced them with a wave. “Please, save your strength. My name is Darian, and I am a friend. I know you all have a lot of questions, but we have plenty of time to answer them. For now, please concentrate on waking up and rehydrating yourselves.” The boy entered the room behind him, carrying a brace of water skins.
The recovery was slow and uncomfortable, and several days were spent trying to get weak legs working again. During this time, Darian explained what had happened. He was a Knight Hospitalier (“It’s not as peaceful or as medical as it sounds”), in the employ of a local potentate called the Marquesa dell’Afforenza.
Some four weeks had passed. The group were indeed fully resurrected – they had all died in the desert. This signal honour had been provided to the travellers at incredible expense to the Marquesa, and no little danger to his men, for two reasons. Firstly, at the express request of Faroud himself. Faroud felt deeply indebted to the group for their exceptional valour during the evacuation – he had little doubt that the entire caravan, and thus, the greater part of his family, would have been wiped out without their assistance. “Faroud is not the most powerful man in the region, nor is he the wealthiest. But he is well-liked, well-respected, and has the ear of the Marquesa himself. He very rarely asks for favours, and the Marquesa is disinclined to refuse them when he does, especially with such a tale of selflessness attached,” Darian explained.
Perhaps more pertinent, however, were the reports from the escaping caravans about hearing a great voice through the fog. An ancient dragon would be no more likely to talk to people like them (“No offense…” offered Darian, apologetically) before killing them than they would be to talk to an ant as they stood on it. If it did speak, that would be a truly extraordinary occurrence, and whatever it said could be of incredible importance in establishing why this creature had suddenly appeared in Sarlona. The dragon had been sighted several times since, but never with any reports of it speaking.
“So, is it true? Did it really speak to you?” asked Darian.
When told what the dragon said, however, he professed to be baffled. “I’m not sure what I was expecting you to tell me that it said, but it wasn’t that. Still, it’s not for me to divine the meaning from this. I’ll need to debrief the Marquesa’s specialists as soon as we land.”
After piecing together the chronology, it seemed that the caravan attack was the very first sighting of the dragon. Thereafter, it devastated several outposts on the outskirts of the Restless Desert, although those attacks usually only become obvious after contact was lost with them. Darian received his terrible injury in one such attack – while trying to arrange the evacuation of a small market town, he was partially caught in a pass of the dragon’s icy breath. He was left with the unenviable choice of staying and dying, or retreating and leaving his arm and shoulder behind. He chose the latter. The blue webbing was an emergency battle dressing. “It’s a long way from the worst injury I’ve had. I’ll get all healed up in time, but I don’t have the resources or the time right now – there’s simply too much to do, and the process will leave me out of it for a couple of days. Once we’re landed and debriefed, I’ll be right as rain in no time. In truth, I’m more upset about the loss of my glove – they were exceptionally fine leather from a tailor in Xen’Drik. I’ll never get a pair as good here…”
Their destination was The Rise – Faroud was already there, having arrived there some two weeks ago. He was greatly looking forwards to seeing them again. Indeed, he personally dispatched his oldest remaining son, Alizad, to conduct the search for their remains – without which the resurrection would have been impossible. Ootah had asked why he had not resurrected his own sons as well – Darian had simply shrugged. “As I understand it, the dragon left none of their remains intact. Besides, his family has some cultural or religious objection to resurrection. Really, you’ll have to ask him about it.”
Eventually all six were fit enough to walk the decks. They stood, staring, over the port bow, at the mighty plains passing beneath them. “Ah, I may have forgotten to mention…” said Darian with a sly grin, “we’re on an air ship.”
***
The next two weeks passed uneventfully, as the group slowly healed to their former strength. Each was eventually fit enough to make themselves useful on board, and earned a little money – as they were entirely without possessions, even a little gold could be very useful. By the time they reached their destination, they had grown used to the simple sailors’ uniforms which had been provided.
And so one morning Darian woke them up earlier than usual. “I thought you might like to see this.” He took them out onto deck, and as the clouds parted, they saw The Rise for the first time.
Built on the edge of a massive canyon, The Rise looked like a town slipping over the edge of a cliff. With serious stone and mortar buildings perched on the very edge of the cliff, the settlement continuous over the edge and down with a series of increasingly ramshackle wooden scaffolds, shacks, and supports. The entire edifice was obviously designed to accommodate airships as a port, two of which were moored to the wooden structures. “It’s an old refuelling and maintenance base for airships left over from the War,” Darian explained. “Used as part of the trade routes now. It’s miles from anywhere by land, and airship is the only long-range way out of here really – so there’s not much overland trade. It’s a bit of a dive from up close – but it’s a helluva view from distance…”
As they tied up at a mooring, Darian bid them goodbye. “I have to debrief as quickly as possible – your information may be vital. Then I’m off to get my arm back, so I won’t be in The Rise for a while. I’ll send word to the garrison, however – I’ll see if I can’t persuade the quartermaster to part with some of his cheap gear so you’re not completely helpless out there. I’d pop in and see Faroud soon as well – I’m sure he wants to thank you personally. Otherwise, maybe I’ll see you around the rise in a couple of weeks. Drop in – I’ll make sure they know who you are at the barracks. Other than that, though, you’re free to do what you like. The only stipulation is that we’d ideally like you to stick around and stick together – we may need to talk to you again about all this at short notice, and we’d like to be able to find you easily. If you travel as a group, it’s that much easier. Besides, I could always use, ah, an extra pair of hands.” He winks, and jumps off the boat, over the enormous drop onto the rickety scaffold. “And it helps if you don’t look down!” he yelled back, before he strides off.
The group managed to extract some very basic clothes, armour and equipment from the quartermaster when he woke up later that day. Calli quickly established that the further back from the cliff edge you go, the more salubrious The Rise gets. Administrative and military buildings lay furthest back, followed by the nicer merchant’s areas and accommodation. Finally, there were the maintenance and supply shops, lower-quality accommodation, and peasant dwellings, all dangling off the cliff face in interlocked scaffolds.
After bribing a street urchin called Ali with a valueless bauble (combined with a skilfully-told lie), the group got directions to Faroud’s office, in one of the less pleasant merchant sections of town. He was poring over his books when they entered, and the office was step down from what he must have been used to: clearly, he lost a great deal of money with his caravan. Nonetheless, be beamed with genuine delight when he saw the group. He embraced them all fondly, and at some length, before finding makeshift seats for them all and sending a nephew off for some tea.
“I am truly happy to see you well, my friends. After what you did for my family that day – I am forever in your debt. I am afraid I am perhaps not quite as able to repay that debt as I once was,” – he gestured around his cheap office – “but I am already working hard to ensure I can suitably repay you one day. In the mean time, petitioning the Marquesa for your resurrection was the least I could do.”
When asked about the resurrection of his family, he confirmed what Darian had hinted at: even if the remains had survived, he would not have asked for the resurrection. “My people have never accepted resurrection – (he gestures to a religious icon on his desk) although Kol Korran does not expressly forbid it, as a people, we have traditions that go beyond religion. It is to abandon the cycle of life, death, and rebirth. We are a nomadic peoples – and my sons have started a new migration that I would never dream of diverting them from. In fact, perhaps you can help me in this regard…”
Faroud went on to explain that the journey his sons were embarked on had been jeopardised by the lack of remains found for Haroun and Mukesh. Certain rites were expected to be performed to ensure that their souls could travel safely to their next destination, but they all required at least some physical remnant of the body. Alizad, Faroud's now-eldest son, had looked for such remains, but found nothing. There was an alternative rite that could be performed where no remains are available, but this required a more complicated ritual – the major components of which could only be found at the ancestral home of Faroud’s tribe.
“It is a cliff-town, called Anasazi. That is also the name of my people. Both suffered terribly in the war, however – for a while it was used as an arsenal by one side, then the other side attacked it and it was badly damaged. Shortly thereafter it was abandoned, but sadly bandits and other undesirables have since been sighted living there as it is easily defensible. We have never felt the need to take it back, to be honest – as nomads, we have little attachment to any specific building or location. But think of Anasazi as an elephant’s graveyard – it is where we inter our dead, and keep the rituals and artefacts needed to bless their passing, so that all Anasazi know where they can find them. The books of ritual and the cerements are all there, and it those which we need to truly lay Haroun and Mukesh to their deserved rest. Please – will you help me retrieve these items? Again, I will reward you more than fairly. At the moment, I am not sure how, but I am confident that by the time you return, I will have consolidated enough of my assets to arrange something. You are also free to keep anything of value you find there, apart from the cerements, of course.”
The group readily agreed, once Ootah had been sufficiently reassured that fair recompense would be forthcoming. Faroud offered Alizad as a guide, and showed them an old painting he had of the town. He also explained that he had understandably ordered Alizad not to place himself in any danger during the expedition: he was to stay with the canoes, which were the easiest way to reach Anasazi. The group decided to leave at dawn the next day.
It took six days to reach Anasazi, which was situated at a fork in the canyon. After a hard climb from the canyon floor, they found a rickety rope bridge stretching away in front of them, with some rotten floorboards hanging worryingly loose. The path continued on the other side, and circled away round the corner of the fork to the town proper. Marach observed it warily. “This doesn’t make any sense,” he said. “There is no way you’d have a bridge like this as the only way into town – if it fell down, you’d be trapped. There must be another way in. We should probably look for it – we may maintain the element of surprise that way.”
"_MG_5005" bymarkbyzewskiis licensed under CC BY 2.0
“Oh, come on old man!” called back Ootah, as he strode across the bridge confidently. “Pick up your skirts and get over here – we can do our sightseeing later!” His colleagues on the bank could only wave and gesticulate at him as the two crossbow bolts lodged firmly in his back. Marach could be heard muttering darkly as he followed the already-charging Half-Orc across the bridge.
The battle that followed was short, but bloody. A pair of unseen snipers lay in deep cover in the undergrowth on the other side of the bridge, and they were determined to stop the interlopers. When they realised they weren’t going to be simply scared off, the remaining one made a dash for the town to warn his comrades. Corbin sliced him down before he could make it more than a few yards, however. Inspecting the body, she turned to her comrades. “Kobolds. Nasty little things. Not too dangerous unless they’re in numbers – or have bigger friends…”
“Well, let’s find out,” grumbled Ootah, trying in vain to reach around and pull out the arrow in his shoulder blade. “Fine,” replied Nevitash, pulling it out (perhaps only a little unsympathetically) and applying a brief healing chant. “But why don’t we let the Halfling go first this time? She makes less noise.” Calli smiled over at Corbin – “That’s not saying much…” she whispered, before scampering off.
The town was built into a sizable indentation about two-thirds up the side of the enormous cliff, with small uneven streets and a mish-mash of stone huts seemingly arrayed at random. It was also occupied by kobolds – and more besides. Kobold soldiers milled around, while a couple more snipers were garrisoned on the roofs of the remaining buildings. There were also two very large lizards, noticeably less humanoid, prowling along the cliff edge. Calli poked her head round the cliff and reported back. “C’mon. We’ve got uninvited guests.” Slinking between the ruins and a long empty grain-pit, she snuck up behind the larger of the two lizards. She could see her allies straining to watch her from the corner of the path. Drawing her wicked little dagger, she reached up to the creature’s throat.
It gave out a terrible cry as blood poured out of the grievous wound. Calli bounded back towards safety as the rest gave out a shout and poured into the small cliff town. Ootah and Nevitash took on a handful of the Kobold soldiers while Corbin and Marach concentrated on the uninjured lizard. The fight looked all but over when Ootah noticed a shimmering figure outlined against the rock. He shouted out a warning to the bard just as the camouflaged figure raised its dagger for a cruel blow to the bard’s unprotected back. Its skin shifted and changed colour against the rocks as it swore and turned its attention to the fighter. At the same moment, a large Kobold appeared at the top of the tallest tower and started barking orders to its remaining troops. With deadly accuracy it rained down ammunition from its sling on everyone, leaving the bard exposed between the sniper fire and the chameleon-like creature. “Hang on, hang on,” muttered Cohen, from the far side of town. “You call that ranged fire? I’ll show you ranged bloody fire…” The orb in his hands glowed briefly as he muttered. The Kobold had time to look confused before the air around him glowed a dark red, erupting in a fierce explosion of ember and flame. The side of the tower collapsed, taking the incinerated Kobold down with it. The chameleon barely had time to register its shock before Ootah brought the flat of his sword down on his head, knocking it unconscious. Nevitash started to tie it up while they waited for it to be in a fit state for questioning.
A subsequent search of the town found a beautiful bejewelled scimitar, which Corbin ruefully declared to be too soft to be of any use as a weapon. On the body of the chief Kobold was found a finely constructed crossbow that seemed best suited to the bard. It also revealed a trap door hidden at the bottom of the empty grain pit. “What do you reckon? Back door?” asked Corbin. “Indeed,” said Marach. “Could well be a safer way in.” Behind them, the chameleon started to stir. “I’ll go first again,” volunteered Calli, lowering a rope. Corbin followed down behind her. The chameleon suddenly shucked its bonds, and started to scurry towards the rope bridge. Nevitash shouldered his new crossbow and shot it cleanly between its shoulder blades, the bolt passing straight through its squamous body. He looked at the crossbow approvingly. “Hmm. Nice action.”
Calli carefully opened the trapdoor as her friends joined her in the bottom of the pit. “Well?” “Zombies,” she mouthed in return, holding up four fingers. “Ready? On three…”
The decrepit guards never stood a chance – dropping through the trapdoor in unison, the decaying bodies were subjected to a barrage of cold steel and furious arcana. Finally Calli dropped in, and sliced clean through the two left standing. They hadn’t even got a hit in. The group surveyed the damage with no little satisfaction. Around them was an array of weapon racks with mundane weapons – and one holding a single brutal-looking dual-edged blade, on a rack etched with symbols. “Trapped?” asked Nevitash. “Something like that,” answered Cohen. “It’s definitely arcane, both the rack and the weapon. Probably a defence mechanism, to protect against theft.” Before they could stop him, Ootah reached over to try and pick it up, only for his hand to slide harmlessly away. Before he could try again, a voice chimed out from the rack itself. “I am the ship of our people. I am a proud vessel; I have carried your burden for generations across the singing seas, yet I have no sails, no oars, no rudder, and little need of water.”
“Let me guess – a riddle. No answer, no blade?” asked Calli. “Aye,” said Marach. “Common enough, especially in places like this. We probably need to think in terms of the Anasazi.” “Wait a second – did it say ‘our’ people, but ‘your’ burden?” asked Corbin. “Aye, I believe so young lady. Why?” asked Marach. “I am a camel,” intoned Corbin – and instantly, the shimmering runes around the weapon melted away. Her comrades quietly cheered and congratulated her. “Yes, of course, a camel. Obvious really,” said Marach. “Well, I’d say you’ve earned it, my dear.” “No, it’s too big for me – I prefer a little more finesse. I’d say the Half-orc should have it.” Ootah grunted with satisfaction, and picked it up. “Hrm, an interesting weapon. See: if I hold it like this, then I may thrust and parry as with a sword. But see: a small shift, like so, and I can bring it down like an axe.” He swung it experimentally. “Still, it seems like precious little reward for so much work.” The rest of the group, who had found nothing of any worth to them, ignored him.
Cohen meanwhile was inspecting the rest of the room. “There’s still something fishy about this place. There’s still a faint whiff of arcana around.” He paced off to the opposite side of the room and looked around. “What the…” He paced back again carefully, with his hand held in front of his face. “Aaaah. Very clever. Friends – stand over there and look back here.” He had found a one-way illusion – half of the room was concealed behind a fake wall, behind which the zombies had lurked. Anyone coming into the room via the door would think the room empty, until four large angry zombies burst out of thin air at them. Through the trapdoor, they could see the light going as the sun set. “I believe this would be an excellent spot for a rest. The Kobolds are clearly unaware of this room, and from behind this wall we can see them coming, but they can’t see us. It may be wise to draw our breath while we can – I can still hear some noises out there,” Marach said. In agreement, the group huddled together uncomfortably in the small room, and prepared for the day ahead.
***
The next morning, the six rose stiff but refreshed. Gathering themselves together quickly, they opened the door cautiously. The room ahead was empty but for two statues, which Marach recognised as Anasazi bowmen. Looking back at the door, they realised that this too was a one-way illusion, designed to look like ordinary wall from the other side; the room they found the sword in was doubly hidden. No wonder they hadn’t been disturbed, despite continued sounds from within the tomb. “I’d reckon we’re in the main crypt. The cerements have got to be around here somewhere,” offered Cohen.
“Right,” said Calli. “But I really don’t like the look of those statues.” “Indeed,” said Marach. “A classic trap. We should be cautious.” But try as they might, no sign of any triggering mechanism could be detected on the statues, no matter how closely they investigated them. “Hm. Seems safe after all. Must just be an empty threat,” offered Calli, as she started down the corridor behind them. Before she had gone more than five feet, however, she disappeared, as the floor beneath her instantly gave away and plummeted into the darkness beneath. With extraordinary quickness, she twisted in midair and managed to grab onto the ledge in front of her. Ootah and Corbin dashed over to help her up. “Er, guys, get a move on - I think something’s moving down here!” Calli started, as hundreds of foot-long, glistening, many-legged bodies swarmed up over her, covering her utterly. A muffled scream could be heard as her body was enveloped by a hundreds of the giant centipedes. Ootah and Corbin tried in vain to swat them away, but for every dozen they killed, more took their place. Calli managed to climb over to the far side of the pit, but the centipedes continued to swarm towards her, their poison slowing her movements blurring her vision. “This isn’t working!” bellowed Ootah. “We need fire!” Cohen was already way ahead of him, however, the orb glowing in his hands. “Fire, I can do,” he said, before he unleashed the terrible explosion. Corbin leapt at him - “NO! You’ll hit Calli!” But too late - as charred and broken flesh showered around them, the group could only shake themselves off, trying to wave the smoke away from their faces and stop the ringing in their ears. “You idiot!” Corbin screamed, rounding on the wizard furiously with her swords drawn. But from the smoke and insect parts a coughing could be heard. “I’m OK!” shouted Calli. “In fact, I’m absolutely fine.” She patted herself down as the smoke cleared. “How the hell did you do that? I felt it go off right next to me!” Cohen grinned as Corbin stared at Calli in disbelief. “Well, as I say – fire, I can do.”
In the next room, however, there was little to reward them. A pair of large stone doors blocked their path, with a two runes at their centres. One bore a slightly shimmering sigil of Kol Korran – the other, a sword crossed against a crescent moon, which no one recognised. All attempts to pick, smash, or enchant their way through were fruitless. They knew the cerements must be close. Eventually Marach said, “I think we may be going about this the wrong way.” He turned to Calli. “We have already found one set of fake walls in this place – do you think you could check this corridor for more of the same young lady?” Sure enough, the eastern wall contained a false wall – behind which lay a crypt lined with sarcophagi. At the far end lay an altar, faintly bathed in light from a hole in the ceiling, and adorned with the symbols of Kol Korran, the god of trade. On the altar sat a single cup. “I don’t like this, but I’m not sure what else we can do but push on, carefully,” said Marach. Barely before he had finished his sentence, however, had the doors slammed shut around them. With a terrible concussive blast, the covers of the sarcophagi blew off, revealing writhing skeletons within. Slowly, they began to crawl out of their coffins. At the front, the steel of Ootah, Calli and Corbin began to slice through them as they tried to stand up. At the rear, arcane blasts from Nevitash, Marach and Cohen were wreaking similar damage. Shards of bone rained down around them. But no sooner had they cut down the first wave than the altar glowed and throbbed – and in each sarcophagus appeared a fresh skeleton, clawing to stand up and attack the interlopers. And again the altar glowed – summoning a third round of skeletons. The six were becoming dangerously outnumbered. “The altar!” shouted Calli. “Someone has to get up there!” “I’ve got it!” yelled Cohen, as he fired off a carefully aimed bolt of magic straight at the altar. It bounced off harmlessly. “I don’t got it!” he yelled again, disappearing under a pile of skeletons. “Calli – I’ll clear, you run. GO!” shouted Ootah – and lifted his new weapon aloft, cleaving a path through the skeletons. Calli weaved her way through, her enemies always seeming to aim at where she had just been until only a moment ago. Darting down and along, the Halfling reached the altar just as the wall of enemies closed up around Ootah again. She shouted out the inscription on the altar as she read it. “It says ‘All I ask is fitting tribute.’! What should I give it?” But her friends were all busy trying to hold back the tide of skeletons. She fished in her pockets and found some half-chewed rations, which she put in the bowl. Nothing happened.
“He’s the bloody god of trade! Coins! Give him coins!” shouted Marach. Calli was already fishing in her pockets however, and managed to produce a handful of coppers and silvers which she threw in the bowl. For a moment, she thought it hadn’t worked. Her companions began to collapse under the weight of foes bearing down on them. Finally the altar throbbed, once – and every skeleton in the room fell to dust. Catching their breath, they brushed themselves off. Cautiously, they inspected the sarcophagi – but they were resolutely empty. Besides the altar was a door. Satisfied that they were in one piece, they prepared to enter. Their goal had to be close.
Inside was a library, of sorts – dimly lit by torches sat eight lecterns, each bearing a single book. Standing over the furthest book, and studying it carefully, stood a creature. Human-like in appearance, he had no legs, but a single, long, massively muscled tail – even slightly stooped over, he stood at some eight feet. Thick tentacles on his head were adorned with gems and precious metals, and intricately braided into dreadlocks down his back,. His torso was covered in a thick, hide armour, covered with strange sigils – and twin bandoliers crossed his chest, containing any number of cruel-looking knives, blades, and vials of liquid. Hearing the door open, he spun round. He looked at them curiously. “Now who…” he asked, tensing his tail, “are you?”
Cohen did not hesitate. A mighty voice boomed out, its forceful tones seemingly coming from everywhere at once. “I AM YOUR GOD! LEAVE THIS PLACE AT ONCE, AND BEGONE!”
The creature grinned, wider. “Oh, good – a wizard. Those are always fun.” Then it shot across the floor with incredible quickness, deftly sliding past Ootah’s outstretched shield, and slammed into Cohen, knives in each hand slicing at him. With his back exposed, Corbin raised her longsword and scimitar, and brought them slicing together in a terrible blow, each one cutting deep into her flesh. Such a wound would have felled almost any creature in a single blow, but instead he simply dropped the wizard to the ground, and turned on her instead. Grabbing her in his arms, it started to crush her with incredible strength. Seeing the damage he was inflicting, Marach poured his energy into healing Corbin. To his horror, however, the healing words intended for Corbin flowed into the creature instead, the terrible gashes in his back closing up before his very eyes.
The dreadlocked creature laughed even as blows continued to rain down on it. Cohen poured missile after missile at it, while Ootah landed a single, terrible blow – again, enough to destroy any lesser creature in a single hit. Instead, he simply recoiled back away from the group. “Well now,” he said, sliding backwards, “this has actually been fun. I confess, I had not expected that. Please, stay well so that we might finish this when I am less busy.” With that, he shimmered and disappeared, reappearing halfway up the light-well above the altar. He quickly slithered away where the group could not follow.
“Does anyone know what that thing was?” asked Nevitash. “I confess, I have no idea,” said Marach. “Our braided friend was most unusual – but he did leave something behind.” He pointed - on the lectern next to the book it had been studying was a letter bearing some sort of seal. Sadly, as soon as Corbin picked it up, it simply dissolved into dust. She cursed. “It bore some form of sigil – a cross-barred rune of some sort. I’m sorry, that’s all I caught.” “Not to worry, dear – I suspect we may meet him again. Perhaps we can ask him what it was then!” said Marach.
After applying a little healing, their attention turned to the books on the lecterns. “Are these the cerements?” asked Ootah. “I’m afraid not – the cerements will be some form of shroud, or sheet. Perhaps they will allow us passage through the barred door, however,” said Marach. Each book bore a different rune on the cover from spiralled disks, to doors, keys, and eyes. One bore a symbol they had seen before – a sword crossed against a crescent moon. “I can detect enchantments on every book except that one – it’s the only one for sure I can say is safe,” said Cohen. Nonetheless, they opened it cautiously – and within, they found detailed instructions for the rituals required for interment of the dead. Sure enough, on such ritual was the opening of the door to obtain the cerements. “Well, we could leave it at that – but the rest of these books may have some value,” said Marach. “Is it worth the risk?” “Let’s find out,” said Cohen, lifting one aloft. Sure enough, it promptly exploded in his face, destroying the book utterly and wounding the wizard. Marach and Nevitash brought him round, and Cohen resolved to be more careful with the next one. Combining his skills with those of the Halfling, they succeeded in disarming the remaining lecterns. Inspecting their prize, they realised that had found six valuable books of ritual, of use to both Nevitash and Cohen. They must have been highly prized by the Anasazi, but were worthless without the required reagents – that would have to wait until their return to The Rise.
Back at the double doors, Corbin held the book and carefully spoke the words of the ritual. “Two have passed, and their remains are lost to us.” From the door itself came the booming reply: “Speak the names of the fallen.” After a moment of difficulty trying to correctly pronounce their names, eventually the group correctly recited – “Haroun and Mukesh.” In response, a great grinding sound was heard, and the crypt shook around them. Finally the doors opened, to reveal a pair of low slabs, upon each of which lay a white sheet. Each sheet lay proud of the slab, as though a body lay underneath. Yet when the sheets were (cautiously) removed, the group found two strange things – firstly, that there was nothing but thin air beneath the cerements. Secondly, each sheet was unnaturally heavy – each as hard to carry as a wrapped corpse would have been. To the group, however, this was simply ample evidence that they had found the genuine cerements they were looking for. With Ootah insisting on carrying one sheet himself, and the other shared between the rogue and the ranger, the group made their way back to the canoes, and a worried Alizad.
"The Shroud" by giovencatois licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0
He delightedly confirmed what the group already suspected – that they had indeed succeeded. He demanded that they recount every detail of their mission as they made their slow way back to The Rise.
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