Part 5: Return to the Moathouse Ruins

"Oh the upper level is quite safe. There were the bandits. And the rats. And then there was the snake. Oh, that got me good, that one. And the lizard of course…" she goes quiet for a moment.

"Yes. The lizard. And now slimes and zombies."

Eltrezar spurs the group to the east, trying to roughly maintain the same formation. They had been caught one too many times spread out. He observes how the zombies respond to Maloria's presence, and encourages the group to check every crevice in this chamber.

Gilly shuffles behind, glad to be led. Last time, it was chaos in the dark.

"If we check this room, perhaps we’ll find some lanterns on the wall that we might be able to light. We could go room by room lighting up the place as we go!"

Norris takes the comments and actions as his que. Yet, while he seems ready and willing to search the area for precious torches (at Gilly's suggestion) or the crevices for useful items (at the mage's suggestion), he appeared a tad hesitant, "Either someone with a lantern is going to follow me or this isn't going to happen. I'm not diving into these shadows alone" he pointed out.

His apprehension seemed born more of caution and less of cowardice; something about him revealed he was not one fond of risk- much less, needless risk.

Hrmph! "Don't worry about going alone. There has been far too much danger lurking in the shadows for that. We will stay together, and I will do my best to provide lighting. But perhaps our short-statured friend is right, let us check this room before continuing on."

Norris nods agreeably, and once the lantern begins to follow him, he will do his best to conduct a proper search of the area, including any nooks and crannies that the spellcasting curmudgeon points out.

Mal keeps her head on a swivel with her hammer at the ready as she leads the group over toward the locked door.

Observing the stubborn portal, the rogue steps over to it, kneels, and peers at the locking mechanism. He tilts his head one way, then the next. He leans forward then back, then gently taps it, listening to the faint sounds emanating from within it; almost as if the lock contained a secret it was dying to reveal to the first person who would hear it.

Quietly muttering to himself, Norris mumbles standoffishly "So that's how it's going to be, hm...?". Cautiously and deliberately, he takes out a small leather roll, bound together with a thin cord. Placing it on ground, he undoes the knot and unrolls the pouch. Inside are a series of picks and narrow metal tools, each ending with a unique head; some shaped like a small shovel, a few tipped by a hook or bill, a couple with heads like fine-tipped chisels and even a few that resemble tiny little pikes. The specialist gazes at his instrument arsenal, selects two of them- one with a chisel at its edge, the other like a tiny harpoon- and gets to work on the lock.

"I make no promises..." he comments absentmindedly.

"Well when finesse fails, strength succeeds." Once the way is clear, Bors takes a mighty kick at the door.