At the Keep

"We must bind their spell-weaver!" the elf said, as he gasped for air. He pointed weakly at the spot where the troglodyte shaman had collapsed. Fortunately, despite having been engulfed by the acidic, poisonous air, Caelymbor remained standing. The oppressive burning sensation in his lungs, however, endured.

"Master Leothorn, would you assist me in securing their Shaman?", the elf asked, as he began making his way towards where the shaman had fallen. The elf will try to bind the fallen spell-weaver, and also disarm and deprive it of its belongings. Once he is secured, he'll try to drag him into the larger cave, so we can decide what to do with it.

Leothorn scampers toward the elf and helps him restrain the spellslinger. "Oh gods, the smell is of these Trogs is atrocious! I ... don't want to be cold blooded, but hes going to wake up soon. Probably the biggest mercy we can do is just kill him in his sleep."

"Indeed," Caelymbor stated coldly, as he continued tying knots, not looking at Leothorn, "a dead Shaman won't be revealing much to us, though. I'm unsure we can converse with it, but if we can, he might be worth saving" he added, still focused on binding the prisoner, with particular attention to impeding somatic gestures in spell-casting. Then, standing up and swiping his hands on his elegant robes, he finished his train of thought. "And if he proves, uncooperative, we'll give him that mercy..."

The conversation snaps Ovesk out of his focus on the statue, instead curious about his shaman. He squats beside the others to examine their captive. "Quick thinking, friends." He squints at the shaman, taking in clothing, jewelry, markings - anything that might give a clue as to who they are and what they were doing. On the off chance that the creature speaks Draconic, he tries it - "Attacking us may have been less than wise."

"Indeed, quite unwise" the elf added, equally in draconic.

"If we have ten minutes, I can make sure I understand what it says, but I have no means of making it speak, or conveying our own meaning to it," Caelymbor explained, looking down at the bound troglodyte. "In any case, I wouldn't mind a bit of a rest... those noxious fumes really knocked the wind out of me."

Ovesk nods, keeping an eye on the shaman, and taking note of whether there's any hint of understanding. "As you would. Take your time." He closes his eyes for a second, and breathes deep before opening them again. He coughs as he exhales - the fumes still having a hold on him. "If we need to keep moving, the spirits can speed your recovery." Seeing no understanding of common in the shaman, he tries Orc: "Tell us who you are, shaman.". He shrugs and smiles at the rest of the group. "Worth a try, at least."

"That your tribe?", the elf asked nodding at the fallen troglodytes nearby to suggest what he is speaking of. "They're dead. You don't need to be."

"CAE-LYM-BOR", the elf stated, right hand touching his own chest, as if designating the object of the word; he spoke in as clear a pronunciation as he could. A few moments later, he asked "Dwar, what is this?", pointing at the roughly sculpted figure of a man that was an obvious landmark of this chamber.

"You understand him, Caelymbor?" Ovesk waits for confirmation, and then turns his attention back to the statue and the outcropping. He mumbles a prayer to the spirits of earth, stone, the depths, and whichever others might be listening, asking for insight - and any hint they might have of desecration or consecration. Is the statue new, old, holy, unholy, desecrated?

"No. Not my god," the elf responded, shaking his head deliberately for emphasis. To Ovesk, he responded swiftly too. "I understand when he speaks, don't think he understands me, though."

Pointing to the crude altar and its grim decorations, Caelymbor tried to keep on the same topic, using words he hoped the troglodyte would be able to recall after repetition. "Your god?", pointing from altar to shaman. "Big lizard?" he tried to point out the idol, among the different objects on the altar.

"Laogzed? Your god? Where is your tribe?", he asks motioning to the dead troglodytes around and the pointing to the unexplored corridors, hoping to suggest that he is wondering if there are more of them about.