2: Return to the Monastery of the Iron God

With more voices urging to continue on, the party moves forward towards the ruins. Upon arrival, at the end of the day, they can just barely make out the glow of a small fire from behind a rocky outcropping, likely some travelers that had happened upon the site and decided to stop for the evening. Wardhall seems skeptical of investigating, suggesting instead that you camp on the far side of the ruins; he is clearly shaken from the fight.

---

Medwyn and Theophroneus, you had met each other in a tavern some weeks north, and had heard the rumors of this destroyed monastery. It took you some time to make your way here, and along that road did your companions meet their ends. You now sit here by your fire, eating some of the last of your rations, hoping that a new plan comes along. For you recognize it is far too dangerous to explore within with such a small party. If only some adventurers would fall into your laps.

Theophroneus (despite his mouthful of a name) is a taciturn, mostly-white-haired gentleman in his 50's. His armor and his skin are both leathery, and his worn backpack full of adventuring gear leans up against the log on which he sits. He is idly inspecting his shield and battle-axe for any signs of wear, tending to them in the firelight.

Taking a break to look around at the empty wilderness in the gathering dusk, he says to Medwyn "I guess we're a bit early for the party." The hint of a smile creeps across his deeply-lined face, as he goes back to fussing over his gear.

"Poor form, indeed. I am always fashionably late if I can help it. I should hope our gracious hosts will not be too put out."

Medwyn runs a hand through meticulously coifed curls as he reclines against a tree trunk. He's maybe half Theophroneus' age, and his clothes are a touch too fine for traveling. An open wine bottle rests on a flat stone at his right, and a book bound in rich dyed purple leather and embossed in silver rests on his lap. He's using it as a writing surface to scratch out notes in strange characters on a blank parchment, seeming to puzzle over them.

Wilric looks at the camp site, "Far to poorly hidden that camp fire to be the bandits, we might need to do our civic duty and warn them." The Halfling says with a half smile before attempting to vanish into the dark and sneak up upon the campsite.

While he certainly isn't silent, Wilric is confident in the shadows he lurks within. Some snapping of small twigs beneath his feet later, he finds himself looking at a campfire with an impeccably groomed man in robes and a warrior of no weak heart sitting beside. They discuss a party that they were possibly invited to, or had missed? It's hard to tell, and confusing to think about.

---

Both Medwyn and Theophroneus hear some twigs snap nearby, too loud to be caused by a small woodland animal, but when they look around there is nothing to be seen.

Wilric’s ears prick up at the offer of wine, "One can not be too safe now, can one? And one who offers a fine wine is always a safe option." The Halfling give his best winning smile as he comes out of the shadows.

Theophroneus looks up, raises an eyebrow, and shifts his pack over to make room for the newcomers. He gives the impression that he either knew there would be more coming, or that he's just used to random adventurers showing up outside of ruins with bad reputations.

"See? Told you. We were just a bit early, that's all."

He looks appraisingly at Wilric, and nods "Always good to have one of the little-folk in dark, dangerous places." He goes back to checking his gear.

The night passes with little issue, after the newly-combined parties spend some time talking. In a bizarre coincidence, both are here primarily for the same reason... to get rich, or die trying. All except Horace, of course. And so they rest through the night, dreaming of the riches to come.

The morning comes, and along with it some breakfast and stretching. Once they make their way back into the ruins, they follow the same path and check any doors they had closed behind them. Eventually they find themselves once more in the room where they had found some treasure previously, after the fight with the goblins. A door awaits to the south, but there had also been the eastern door from the tapestry room.

Theophroneus lights up his lantern as soon as they enter a space requiring extra light for himself and the rest of the humans. He looks around the room, casually surveying the carnage of their previous battle while listening for any sounds.

"Right, then. Medwyn, would you mind holding this so I can have my shield at the ready?" He goes to hand his lantern to the wizard, so he can move to examine the southern door.

Wilric raises an eyebrow as the warrior heads towards the door and coughs, "Theo, May I call you Theo?" he pauses ensuring that he has the warrior’s attention. "You look like you will handle an Orc, but traps and locked door are another thing completely. Please leave such things to Czespecem and myself."

Wilric give a short bow and heads to the door to check for traps, then if all is safe if the door is locked.

Theophroneus chuckles quietly. "Theo's fine, Wilric." He gets out of the way, so Wilric can play his trade.

As the halfling checks for traps, the questing dwarf puts his ear to the door to hear what might be on the other side. He hears nothing, and tells the party as such; Wilric also finds nothing of note. Behind the door, a hallway stretches from east to west. It goes twenty feet to the east before turning north, as well as fifty feet west before ending in a door.

"Never let it be said I won't get my hands dirty,"
Medwyn says as he takes the lantern with a gloved hand.