“Hmmm… more here than I would have thought,” said Hasan, who walked forward and listened at each door.
Now that the others had left them to it, it was almost peaceful. As he was scanning the now familiar texts in his well thumbed book of arcania he could understand the pressure to move on. Then again just a uneducated glance at the pale dwarf proved there was no swift exit from here. Indeed they were fortunate to suffer the ire of the guardian twice, and live. All they could rely on was the overconfidence of their enemy.
The priest continued his rites and prayers. This didn’t make him deaf though and he mused at Miklos’s words. Maruc was aware that indeed it was possible the commune with souls of long dead people and the sect that he and his friends had embroiled themselves with seemed well versed in the necromantic tradition. The chances were that the elves were right and that their time was short. Especially as the Siswa have not been released from their charm and it seemed that twisted members of their own cult had subverted them somehow. Perhaps even with the power of the Black Opal Eye? But that beggared the question why stay here?
In a fortress teaming with slave-guards and protected by the guardian…
‘Oh Halav’, he prayed, ‘bless us with arrogant foes that they may be too self obsessed to see their weaknesses.’
Colour began to return to the dwarf. “Blessed be the healing Hand of Halav Incarnate.” he entoned and continued his ministrations.
Feldard could feel warmth returning to his limbs and felt the cold chill of death retreat. Yes.. blessed indeed was the healing hand of Halav. Maruc certainly was most devote. He almost had the dwarf a convert.. almost.
“You hear anything, Hasan?” Saeth asked. Addressing the Elf by name came much quicker to her than it had for the other companions. Waiting for a response, she drew a dagger, ready to throw it at anything that came through the doors.
Neither of the elves’ keen senses detected anything beyond the doors.