DCC DotSK: Act 1-3

Having no time to thank Lloré for his warning, Dufgal scampers for cover.

As Dufgal slips around the east side of the tomb entrance, trying to find some cover, several arrows whistle towards him. One splashes in the water, but two others strike and stick into the mound proper! He's safe for the moment... but now what!?

When the light of his torch plays over the regal bones, Tyravasiel's eyes widen to glades of grass. Then his lips twist-- smugly perhaps, or to rue the missteps that have led him at last to this place.

That wolf-spear tempts him forward, but the elf hesitates to approach. Instead, he darts his gaze-- and the light of his torch-- around the chamber, looking for any passages, tunnels or holes besides the one through which he entered. After all, that field of snakeskin below must have come from something. He scans also for figures hiding in the texture of the walls, or brush that might conceal a hidden recess.

"Oh greatest of clever squirrels," Ty intones as he searches, "forgive my intrusion, but the need of your flyspeck descendants is great. For the spirit wolf has returned, and for some reason I have opposed myself to it on their behalf."

Dufgal casts a harsh warning whisper hoping the sound will travel down the hall to the elf’s ears. He was told that elves listen as well as rabbits and that is why they have such big ears. He didn’t think Ty had grossly exaggerated ears, but perhaps it was the stories that were.
"Pssst… Oi! … elf! … arrows came a-whizzin as soon as I’se came out. Best stay put for a minute."
After his duty was fulfilled, the thief surveyed his potential escape routes.

INSIDE THE TOMB OF THE ULFHEONAR (TY)

The tomb is largely unremarkable save for the carvings that adorn every wall, and the grim figure who sits at center stage. Believing he knows what to look for now, Ty inspects the place more carefully and doesn't find another passage out, a hidden door, or any strange construction that looks like it's concealing anything else.

Neither is there any answer prompted by the elf's words, and after considering both the spear and the drinking horn carefully, Ty hefts each of them and is not impaled, crushed, poisoned, or sliced in twain. Both items reek of power once they are in Tyravasiel-Llir's hands, and he knows, somehow, that the tests have been passed.

That the prices... have been paid.

OUTSIDE THE TOMB OF THE ULFHEONAR (DUFGAL)

Dufgal's cover is decent, but affords him no chance of actually escaping given that he'd need to make it into the woods for that. That would require bolting across the water and into the woods, and would risk inviting more feathered shafts coming his way.

Roughly calculating the angle of the arrows, Dufgal hopes that if he stays close enough to the eastern edge of the tomb’s mound he will be able to reach the northern forest and disappear. He moves speedily, but stealthily resisting the urge to look over his shoulder every few steps. He knows that is what would cause him to trip and make a ruckus.

Having lifted the spear and the drinking horn, Ty apprehensively watches the ancient king. He half expects the old bones to rouse from their seat and clutch after the relics of Ulfheonar's rule.

But the elf's theft is answered by stillness and silence. So he exhales, shoulders the drinking horn by its strap, and carries the great wolf spear back to the shaft through which he entered.

"You'll excuse the discourtesy, my lord, but I have only so many hands," Ty murmurs. And so saying, he drops Ulfheonar's spear through the hole, into the passage below.

Standing now at the verge, Ty hesitates. He squints at the skeleton, still seated in its eternal rest. Then he limps back, snatches the wolf pelt, and carries that away as well. Over his shoulder it goes, and down the shaft goes the elf, with the torch in one hand and climbing with the other.

Once at the bottom, Tyravasiel stuffs the pelt into his pack. He shoves the pack ahead of him, out and down into the chamber of snake skins, with the shafts of spear and javelin in one fist and his torch in the other. After dropping down from the crawlspace, Ty shoulders the pack, re-shoulders the drinking horn, and makes his way to the catacomb with the fallen wall. He thinks it safer to make his exit there, rather than trying to navigate the pit with his new burdens.

OUTSIDE THE TOMB OF THE ULFHEONAR (DUFGAL & TY)

Ty snuffs out his torch as he makes his exit of the deadly Tomb of Ulfheonar. A few stones need to be kicked out of the way in the half-collapsed burial chamber where Dufgal found the bronze shield, but it does not take long for the elf to emerge from the mound. He finds himself faced with the slow moving stream on the east size of the tomb, and sees that the skies are darkening. The sun will be down in less than an hour.

And as he takes a moment to get his bearings... it's impossible to ignore than there is no sign of Dufgal...

Dufgal, after reaching the treeline, stood for a moment gazing down at the tomb’s mound, the final resting place of both Aldric and Anora. The sigh that came from the depths of his diaphragm was heavy with loss. He wouldn’t let it go for awhile.

He briefly imagined the flickering torches of Hirot barely holding back the encroaching night and the cries of the desperate villagers echoing through the narrow streets as they scrambled to get indoors and make their inventory of loved ones. Yet these were no longer his concern. Without Anora to lead, without Aldric’s quirky wisdom to guide him, the town was just another place that had tried and failed to be his home.

His last thought fell to the elf. In his wildest childish imagination, he never placed himself at the side of such a myth-come-to-life. He admits that he was a good bit intimidated by him. He hoped that he was able to fight off the snake or flee. Part of him, when he stopped at the treeline had hoped luck would reunite them. But the other, sensible part of him knows that luck is a fickle mistress like Perlagia, or whatever her name was.

He adjusted the straps on his pack, feeling the weight of his choices settle in with the familiar press of leather and steel. He had made friends, lost them, fought for things that once seemed important, and learned just how little the world truly cared. But he had survived.

The woods called to him now, whispering of paths untaken, of stories yet to be written. There was no destiny waiting for him in the trees—just the life he chose to carve out for himself. With a final glance over his shoulder, Dufgal turned his back on Hirot and stepped into the shadows of the wild, leaving behind the dying embers of a town he could not save.

When Ty works his way free of the half-collapsed catacomb wall and down to the stream's edge, he sees no sign of Dufgal. Ty reasonably assumes that the thief has fled back to Dolsten and Llore, who have been waiting for the adventurers on a ridge above the barrow.

The elf struggles with his prizes across the stream to the east. He spends as little time as possible in the bright, clear water, well remembering the spirit snake that inhabits it-- or is, perhaps, embodied by it. Once he's on the far shore, Ty circles south through the trees, back to where he judges Dolsten and Dufgal to be.