The Story

Borda quickly steps out of the doorway, off to one side. He surveys the room, giving his eyes a second to adjust to the light. He's medium height, thin-ish. His shoulders aren't overly broad, but they're broad enough to imply Borda is habitually short a couple meals. His face sports a couple of scars and his clothes look as if the only wash they've had is the rain. He slides into one of the chairs and looks around the table. Normally unwilling to speak first, but the nagging familiarity of the faces from the dream pushes him, "Borda".

A tall, strong woman enters the tavern not long after Borda. She wears well-worn leather armor, with a backpack on her back, a shield strapped to her left arm, and a meancing club resting on her other shoulder. She has dirty blond hair, straight and fine, but stringy from sweat and road dust, and pale skin, burned red from the sun. Her left temple features a nasty scar where no hair can grow. Instead, irridescent green scales extend from the area in small patches for an inch or two. Her hands and neck feature subtle hints of similar scaling, though not as noticeably.

She looks around the place, sniffs, and makes a sour face. Seeing some familiar faces, her brows knit in focus and intensity as she approaches the table. She sits in a chair by throwing one leg over the back of it and leans forward onto the table, resting her elbows on the edge. She gestures at the gathered people and says, "I've seen you lot. In ... in a dream. And no, that ain't a pick up line, so don't try it."

"But he did look like a chicken..."

A sour-faced man who looks older than he is enters the tavern, grumbling to himself, but it is his unpleasant smell that announces his entrance to the room. Those closest to the door involuntarily step back as he moves further inside. His eyes immediately go to the flames in the fireplace and the first smile of the day appears on his face. He begins to walk towards it when the man behind the bar interrupts his thoughts with food.

"Have a seat, I’ll bring you a bowl of porridge."

The smelly hermit stops in place and nods his head at the man before looking over the tables for a chair. He does a double take as he sees one table that is slowly filing with people he is sure he saw in that dream. It was warm, inviting, everything this day had not been. Maybe this is what his dream was leading him to.

As Borda introduces himself, the man replies: "Keftar." He then starts to look around the room again and back to the fire when he hears the tall woman talk about a dream.

"Dreams or omens? Who dragged us out of our holes to come here? I am following this stinkin' dream to find out who put it there!"

Wemut sits at the wooden table, her unnervingly clean appearance a stark contrast to the filthy tavern surrounding her. Her pale skin seems to glow with an unnatural luminescence, and delicate mushrooms sprout from her short, silvery hair. Her fingers—too long, too thin—caress a human skull placed prominently before her on the table. Her lips occasionally move in silent conversation with the grinning remains as she periodically pours drops of iridescent liquid from a small vial into the skull's eye socket.

A towering warrior woman, approaches the table.

"I've seen you lot. In... in a dream. And no, that ain't a pick up line, so don't try it."

Wemut tilts her head at an uncomfortable angle, pressing her ear to the skull's mouth. Her eyes widen as she listens to something no one else can hear.

"Oh my! Isn't that a shame. The prince says he finds you quite... appealing." Wemut giggles, then suddenly scowls at the skull. "Shut up! She's not even that pretty. Look at those muscles. Where's her femininity? Not like me... I'm delicate... beautiful..." She strokes her own face possessively before returning to petting the skull with renewed tenderness.

Keftar, and elderly man whose stench precedes him by several feet, also comes to the table, "Dreams or omens? Who dragged us out of our holes to come here? I am following this stinkin' dream to find out who put it there!"

Wemut's nose wrinkles as she fans the air dramatically.

"Speaking of 'stinking,' old man, I believe your dreams aren't the only foul thing at this table." She produces a small perfume bottle from her tattered sleeve and sprays it liberally in Keftar's direction. The liquid sizzles slightly where it lands on the table.

A scary looking man, approaches and introduces himself as Borda.

Wemut makes a peevish nod in his direction.

"I am Lady Wemut, Master of Herbs," She turns to the others."I also had a dream. In MY dream, you were all there too. But you served ME. Fetching ingredients, testing my newest concoctions..." Her eyes glaze over with pleasure at the memory. She points to the big woman "Your muscles were quite useful for grinding bones. And you," she points to Keftar "your stench masked the smell of the rotting things I needed." She turns to Borda and pauses, with a doubtful expression. Then shrugs. "You had your uses."

She smiles widely—too widely—as she raises her mug in a toast.

"To dreams coming true!"

Another woman enters the bar. The heavy armor she wears creaks and groans with each movement, concealing her slim body almost completely. A spiked flail hangs at her belt. Her hair is red, wild, and stringy, and her wild eyes glint in the light. Her face is twisted in a rictus grin. Some might say she has resting maniac face.

This impression isn’t helped when she bursts out into a fit of giggles. "Yes, yes, yes, the omens were true. They lead me here, and here you are! Together we will spit in the eyes of the Two-Headed Basilisks! Give them a nasty infection while we’re at it."

She sits heavily at the table and snorts. "Merkari," she says by way of introduction.

"Who made you the boss?"

The rumbling is concerning though so Keftar kicks his chair to a door or window to add to the barricade and tries to grab a fiery log for good measure. He quickly looks around for the owner to see if he's going to stop him again from approaching the fire.

Borda stands quickly and starts circling around the crowd as they move towards the door. He tries to stay out of the way while trying to spot the owner.

Merkari cackles as chaos grips the tavern. "They're coming to take me away. Ha ha! They're coming to take me away! Ha ha!" she sings as she stands and readies her flail, swinging it in lazy circles at her side.

Jotna stands up when the others begin to mobilize. She nods with a grunt and grabs the table and begins to drag it toward the door. While doing so, she glances around to see what others are doing and asks a nearby bar patron who looks like a local, saying, "Hey. Who's coming?"

Wemut gasps dramatically when she hears the commotion, both hands flying to her cheeks in exaggerated alarm. When Karg barks his orders, she looks at him with undisguised disdain, then at her own pale, delicate fingers.

"These hands create the most exquisite concoctions in all of Galgenbeck. They are NOT for moving furniture," she announces to no one in particular.

As Jotna begins dragging the table, Wemut shrieks and lunges forward to snatch the prince's skull before it can tumble off.

"YOU BRUTE! Watch what you're doing!" she cradles the skull protectively against her chest, whispering soothing sounds to it. "There, there, my love. The nasty woman didn't mean to jostle you."

When Merkari begins her deranged singing, Wemut turns her attention to the cackling warrior, narrowing her eyes.

"If they ARE coming for you specifically, perhaps you could simply go outside and surrender yourself? That way the rest of us might finish our... porridge... in peace." She glances distastefully at the meager bowl, then strokes the skull's smooth crown. "The prince and I prefer our meals without the accompaniment of siege warfare."

Jotna nods a thank you to the woman who answered. She goes about helping barricade things, moving from one of her fellow dreamers to another, whispering, "the barkeep escaped through the kitchen. We might wanna follow suit once combat starts … I got no beef with the military…"

"No reason to wait," Borda whispers. He moves quietly towards the kitchen.

Wemut's face contorts into an expression of pure indignation as Karg refers to her as "dollface." She raises her chin haughtily while continuing to cradle the prince's skull.

"Dollface? I'll have you know this face has been compared to goddesses, you uncultured thug. My features were sculpted by moonlight and mushroom spores, not some toy maker's clumsy hands."

When Jotna whispers about the barkeep's escape route, Wemut leans closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Well, well... you're not as dim-witted as you look, are you?" She tilts her head suddenly, as if listening to the skull in her arms. "What do you mean 'she doesn't look dim-witted at all'? Haven’t we talked about this already? Stop looking at her. Stop looking at other women." She glares at the skull, then strokes its cranium apologetically.

Raising her voice dramatically, she addresses Karg and his crew with an exaggerated flourish.

"Brave defenders! Take my chair for your noble barricade! I shall contribute to our collective salvation!" She kicks her chair toward them with delicate precision, ensuring it slides across the floor without requiring her to actually carry it.

She glances meaningfully toward the kitchen entrance, nodding subtly at Jotna. When Borda suggests they shouldn't wait, Wemut sidles closer to Jotna.

"The sneaky one might be right," she murmurs. "By the time the real fighting starts, this place will be surrounded tighter than a noblewoman's corset. The prince and I prefer not to be caught in crossfires. Bad for the complexion, you understand."

Jotna nods subtly to her fellow dreamers, trying not to draw the attention of the others. "As long as we can do it without them noticing."

Satisfied no one is watching, Keftar picks up a nice log with embers glowing at the end. He gives another unsettling smile at it and whispers back to Jotna: "I know a way to keep them looking the other way..."

He waves the log around a little, but his stomach full of porridge has satiated him enough to not immediately throw the log at the nice dry wood waiting to be lit.

Merkari nods to the others and starts moving towards the kitchen as quietly as her heavy armor allows her. She sings quietly to herself: "Don't be suspicious, don't be suspicious..."

Jotna tries to sneak away...

Agility Check

"Argh! That tickles!" Merkari says with a giggle, thrashing in their grasp.

Borda picks up the pace a bit but still tries to keep un-noticed.

As his tablemates begin to sneak away, Keftar hefts the burning log onto his shoulder and follows them. He sneaks a glance back when he hears about a cannoneer.

,

Borda will grab the biggest knife he see's and move quickly to the door. Raising the knife, he checks to see if his new companions are ready to open the door. When they're ready, he'll open it. "Ready?, he says quietly.

Jotna enters the kirchen area and looks around, trying to determine where the owner has gone. Seeing the door to a pantry, she heads there and preapres to open it. As she does so, she realizes that Borda has grabbed a knife and is ready. She nods and pulls the door open, stepping back as she does so.

Keftar positions himself in front of the only exit out (the way they came in) in case something darts past Borda and Jotna.

"Innocent?" asks Wemut. "My dear misguided captor, I believe there might be a substantial misunderstanding here. The bounty on my head would likely buy you a small fortress. Perhaps two."

She tilts her head curiously toward Merkari, studying the warrior with clinical detachment.

"And I sincerely doubt my fellow 'innocent' here has hands any cleaner than mine. Though mine are literally cleaner, of course." She wiggles her immaculate fingers demonstratively.

Leaning forward slightly, her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper that somehow still carries across the room.

"You know, Princey," she murmurs to the skull on her hands, "I think our new friend Karg may have accidentally kidnapped someone more dangerous than himself. Wouldn't that be deliciously ironic?" She pauses as if listening to the skull's response before nodding seriously.

"The Prince says I shouldn't have told you that," she says to Karg. "And that I am a..." She pauses and scowls at the skull. "Oh, really? If you were so smart, you'd still be alive!" She watches Karg with an outraged expression. "Can you believe it? You'd imagine a Prince would be better mannered."

Merkari just laughs maniacally as she looks at the thugs surrounding her. "You idiots. You think I’m trapped in here with you. But you’re all trapped in here. With me..."

She favors Karg with an unnerving grin. "Last chance to let us go..."

The rotten smell is nothing to the rotten smelling hermit, used to days when he didn't want to leave his cavern and the smell built up something awful. That might be what led to his chronic athlete's foot. Still, he does feel a bit queasy about what he may have just eaten.

The rumbling sounds are louder now. He pokes his head out the curtain and tries to signal their other tablemates to follow to the back. They need to either find a way out or better cover!

The smell hits Jotna like a punch. Her human soul is repulsed, but her monstrous reptilian soul stirs, almost eager to find the pungent source of the smell. She holds her nose and attempts to enter, looking down into the pit toilet.

It’s no use, however. She bends over and retches, her most recent meal ending up all over the floor.

As Karg's men release their grip on her, Wemut brushes off her sleeves with exaggerated disgust, as if their touch had left visible stains.

"My, my... That was quite intimidating," she whispers to Merkari, genuine admiration in her voice. "I'm almost scared myself. The prince is impressed too."

She strokes the skull lovingly before tucking it securely against her chest. Her eyes dart toward the kitchen where the others disappeared.

"Shall we join our fellow dreamers through the back? I find military types tend to be terribly unappreciative of my particular talents."

Without waiting for a response, she begins drifting toward the kitchen.

"Huh, hiding in the shitter. Tried that a time or ..." Despite past experience in the same predicament, the smell combined with the recent porridge and Jotna's vomit is too much, Borda joins her in covering the floor with gut wrenching, well gut wrenching.

Merkari nods to Wemut. "Aye, let's go."

She heads into the kitchen and breathes in deeply, seemingly unfazed by the horrid stench. "Ah. Smells like my parents' home cooking!" she giggles.

Presence roll

"The Tavern keep wouldn't have gone down the shitter unless it's a way out." Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he spits and starts climbing down the hole.

Well, this wasn't the worst thing he experienced today, but coming pretty close. Keftar steps away from the curtain as Wemut and Merkari make their way through. The loud cracking and cries makes it very clear that running away is the better choice. He tries to keep his recent meal down as he holds his nose and wiggles down the hole, holding onto the burning log all the while. That's sure to make this whole mess smell better...

Jotna wipes her chin as the building starts to come apart around her. She decides to brute force it, simply throwing herself down the hole as hard as she can!

Wemut releases a high-pitched shriek as she darts toward the kitchen, her elegant composure temporarily abandoned. She clutches the prince's skull protectively against her chest as the sound of destruction erupts behind her.

"Not the hair! Not the hair!" she cries.

As she reaches the other side, a wave of putrid stench assaults her nostrils. Her body convulses in a violent retch, but she manages to swallow back the rising bile, pressing one delicate hand against her mouth.

"By the sacred mushrooms..." She composes herself with remarkable speed, straightening her posture, as she looks at her companions. "You're lucky I spend my days inhaling the vapors of rotting nightshade and fermented toad secretions, or I'd be adding to this... magnificent bouquet."

Presence Roll

"Well, this is a shitty plan," Merkari remarks. She shrugs, giggles, and then does her best to clamber down the latrine after the others.

Going last, Keftar really should have just left the unwieldy burning log at the inn. Won't it go out with all that water down there after all?

Agility Check

As Keftar splashes in the liquid below, hoping this is really just water, he swings around his log to check on it.

Sadly, the activity and the descent and the liquid combined end up putting out the smoldering embers of the log. He frowns and spurts a few curses at the loss of his fiery friend and lack of light, but he will keep the log regardless. At least the smoky smell gives him some sort of comfort.

"Alive in a hole, seems to by my lot." Turning his head around from side to side, as if he can see anything. "Anyone pack for a cave, even a candle maybe?"

"We all end up in holes eventually. Unfortunately, anything that could cause a fire was taken away from me..."

The hermit answers the voice in the darkness and hefts the smoking log onto his shoulder. He yelps a little as something moves against his foot, but perhaps it was just refuse that fell down with them?

He is used to darkness and smells so this is not really unfamiliar territory. He slowly attempts to walk towards where they saw this cavern opening towards, keeping one ear cocked and holds a hand out, feeling for fresh air or wind.

"Well, no one died and we can see and this cave only has one way to go. Would you care to lead, Jotna? Having the torch and all." Borda makes sure he's all together, knife in hand and he's ready to follow Jotna.

Jotna nods at the suggestion. Torch in one hand and shield in the other, she moves away from the hole and toward the darkness of the cave.

Wemut delicately covers her nose and mouth with an embroidered handkerchief. She lifts her skirt just enough to avoid the filthy water, her expression a mix of disgust and haughty disdain. When Jotna remarks, "Better down here than up there. Oof, some of y’all gonna need a shower after this," Wemut’s lips curl into a sly, mocking smile.

"Darling, most of you were already in dire need of a bath *before* this little excursion. I can only imagine the state of you after. Truly, it’s a miracle I haven’t fainted from the collective stench."

As she speaks, something brushes against her ankle beneath the murky water. Her elegant composure shatters in an instant. With a piercing shriek, she leaps onto Merkari’s back, clinging to the warrior like a terrified cat. "What in the name of the Basilisk was THAT?!" she screeches, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and outrage. "If anything in this cesspool touches me again, I’ll dissolve it—and possibly all of you—into a puddle of acid!"

"Fear not! I will piggyback you to salvation!" Merkari says to Wemut. "But invoke the name of the Basilisks again in my presence and I will dump you right back into the filth!"

She looses her flail as she stalks forward behind Jotna.

Keftar looks quite silly when revealed in Jotna's torchlight, head cocked to the side as his free hand waves wildly in front of him. He stops and blinks a couple of times before putting his hand down.

"Ah, my reliable friend, fire."

He looks at his smoking log, but decides to wait on asking for a light until later. He follows along behind the rest. Best to be downwind of people, he has learned.

Jotna gestures toward the dry path and says, "Water flows downward, deeper into the earth. I wanna get out of the muck, not deeper into it. Let’s go this way." she heads that way, but moves slowly and quietly until she knows who it is that is speaking ahead.

Borda was thinking the same thing, but sometimes listening is safer. He turns to follow Jotna up and away from the river. I mean, the last time he went down to the river, well... Nope, up is better.

"Who made you the boss?"

Keftar protests half-heartedly as even he is getting tired of wading through filth. He follows along after the others, staying towards the back still.

"Well," he grumbles, "hope the voices are not from the people that knocked over that building we were just in."

Still holding onto Merkari's back, Wemut blows a strand of her red hair out of her mouth, her expression a mix of annoyance and determination.

"Fine, the Basilisk can go to the eighth hell, but don't you dare let us fall into this filthy water, crazy one."

As the idea of taking the dry path, from which voices can be heard, is proposed, Wemut nods in agreement, her eyes gleaming with a calculating look.

"The Prince and I agree, but let's send someone stealthy ahead to ensure there's no danger lurking. Let's avoid any unpleasant surprises."

"Aha! I have stones taken from Thel Emas' lost temple. They will tell us if danger lies ahead," Merkari says. She reaches into a belt pouch and draws forth a handful of rune-inscribed stones. She tosses them on the dry path and looks to see their pattern.

Borda motions for Jotna to stop. He doesn't want the torch to give them away. He eases forward.

Jotna stops and nods to Borda to go ahead. She lowers the torch to limit its light.

Keftar paces impatiently as Borda sneaks down the passage and Jotna lowers the torch to dim the light a little. He sees a particular large pile of feces and wonders if it worth poking with his log or asking Jotna about setting it on fire while they wait.

Eh, Keftar had already been through some...well...what else was there to do now anyway? He digs his smoky log into the feces and looks for something good. If the log isn't doing a thorough enough job, he will set it to the side as he digs through. After all, he will not be accused of being a choosy beggar. Plus, he was getting bored.

Jotna looks over and sees Keftar rooting in the feces. She grimaces and says, "By the goddess, man… do you need to borrow some money?"

Borda watches them squeeze through the gap in the cavern and takes a step back towards the others. He waves to Jotna and signals them to come ahead. As they get closer, he whispers, "The barkeep hired some girl to lead him out of here. It's just the two of them for now, I think we can follow them out of here."

Jotna nods and says, "Hired to lead him out? Maybe she worked in the kitchen, or maybe she's his wife. Or sister. Or cousin. Or... well, you get the idea." She shrugs, puts her club up on her shoulder, and adds, "Well, I guess let's go then."

"Or his whore," Wemut suggested, complementing Jotna's assumptions, and immediately blushed. She lifted the prince's skull with one hand while still clinging to Merkari's back with the other.

"That's what SHE was thinking. I don't have impure thoughts of any kind."

She turned her face with an offended expression and gave Merkari a few taps on the thighs with her ankles, as if spurring a horse.

"Giddy up, crazy warrior, let's get out of this shithole."

Keftar tests his new dagger, slicing it through the air a few times. If it smells still, it's hard to tell in this sewer. Satisfied this is much better than what he had, he puts it in his belt and follows after the others. If he cannot squeeze through the space with the log, he will leave it behind.

Jotna tries to step lightly..., but she has never been known to be graceful on her feet.

Keftar, happy to be moving again, throws his log through the hole before thinking how loud that could be. He shrugs his shoulders and squeezes through the narrow passage to the other side. Maybe some of the sludge is sloughed off on the way through?

Borda walks quietly out of habit as much as anything. He's not 'trying' to stay un-noticed as he's not concerned about the folks their following.

Jotna holds up a hand as if to say, Hold up, an replies, "No. We were just travelers. They tried to use us as hostages, but we followed the inkeeep down the privy hole."

Keftar retrieves his log and squints at the woman, was she really a part of his dream? He decides to scowl instead of thinking further.

"I don't remember seeing you up there. How do we even know you really know the way out? We would have found this way without you."

There's a seed of doubt in the back of his mind, but he stays recalcitrant.

Jotna looks down at the scrawny woman and snorts. She replies, "What was that, toothpick? I think it's you who should pay me to keep you safe, don't you think?"

She smiles--an ugly sight, given her rotting teeth--and scratches absentmindedly at the spot where the arrow that killed her had pierced her skull.

Borda chuckles at Jotna's offer. "No shit, we can just stand here and wait until ya leave and follow ya, or we can do what we was thinkin' and find our way out. Not that we'd risk loose ends danglin' ahind us. Now, we be here 'cause of some dream where we know each other. Borda addresses the woman directly. "Ya was in the dream, but I can't 'call if ya were helpin' or in the way."

Jotna chuckles and nods. I like this girl, even if she is too skinny.

She says, "Respect for your hustle. OK, I'll give ya 2 silver and I promise not to hit you on the head with this heavy club here. How's that?"

Wemut peers over Merkari's shoulder.

"I'll pay you 6 silver coins, old woman, if you get the prince and me out of here. We're not paupers, and we don’t haggle."

He looks at the woman with a hint of curiosity.

"Haven’t I seen you somewhere before? Perhaps among the servants in the Royal Palace?"

Keftar makes a face, quite offended despite what the innkeeper says.

"Hey, just 'cuz I dress in rags doesn't mean I can't pay my own way!"

If the man could only keep his mouth shut and think more, perhaps he could have gotten away with paying less. However....

He moves forward and drops four silver into the woman's hand.

"All right, show us your stuff. I'll go where these so-called dreamers went. A mansion sounds like a better place to sleep tonight."

As he leans on the log waiting for the others to decide, dirty side down on the ground, he thinks aloud, "So what do you got that keeps the monsters away? Anything we could use? Or buy I guess as sewer survival seems to be your trade."

Jotna walks up to the edge and shrugs, tosses in three silver coins, and attempts to cross. She slips! But luckily, at the last moment, she grabs a hold of the rope and pulls herself back on, and makes her way across.

Glad I didn't bother giving any to the guide, muses Borda. He tosses a coin of each side of the bridge for balance and heads across.

Grinning maniacally, Merkari hurts some coins off the bridge before striding foreward.

"Hey, shouldn't those coins of mine count for me too?"

Keftar waits to cross, debating whether he should send some sacrifices too. He really doesn't want to end up like the owner of this dagger he found though...

He takes out two coins like Borda and drops one on each side before crossing, using the log like a balancing pole of a tightrope walker.

Wemut tosses a coin carelessly and prepares to cross the bridge.

Shocked, Jotna tries to grab her hand while bracing herself in place, like an anchor.

"Why'd you pay to go across if you were just going to jump in anyway?" Keftar shouts unhelpfully as Jotna reaches out for the woman. He peeks over the edge to see if the roiling mass reacts differently to this attempted sacrifice.

Jotna pulls the woman back up and catches her. She looks her in the eye and says, "No. Don’t. Come with us instead."

Interesting, we all have burdens enough, but she chose another one. Borda muses to himself.

"Yeah, sure, come along. Aren’t you curious where those other dreamers went and why we all met once upon a dream, you included?"

As Keftar sees the black mass reaching out for Elma, he steps back towards the tunnel.

"Uh, Jotna, maybe you want to pick up our crazy new friend and we can talk it out more where it’s safer. Looks like that thing is wondering where its meal went."

Jotna nods in response to Keftar's wisdom and lifts the skinny woman bodily away from the ravine, setting her down a short distance away. She looks at her and says, "Yeah, it's like Keftar says. You dream the dream too, so you have a role here. Join us, at least for a time. You might find treasure, or purpose, or friendship... or a better death than that, at least."

"Well, we's in a cave, so up is out?" Borda offers as a first vote.

Jotna nods and says, "Makes sense. That, or the middle path, simply because it seems like a natural cave. The path up smells of decay, which ain't always good. Rotting hay might mean a nest or something..."

Keftar takes a sniff of each of the tunnels and shrugs his shoulders.

"Up sounds logical, but we better be prepared to find some of those dreamers that didn't make it from the smell."

Elma appears hesitant as she follows at the back of the group with the barkeep. As the group debates over where to go, Keftar observes their new additions. The barkeep looks even more slovenly without his apron and the crazy woman seems rather sad now that her grand plan seems to have been for nought.

"Hey, cheer up, now you get to check out an area you haven't seen before. And you, barkeep, what's your name anyway? Where were you escaping to?"

Wemut peeks out from behind Merkari.

"Let her kill herself if she wants to." she says to Jotna, referring to the strange woman. "There are too many women here and the Prince doesn't like that."

She looks at the skull with a furrowed brow.

"I say you don't like it and that's that."

She observes the three possible exit paths and points to the middle one (number 2).

"Let's go that way. It might have interesting mushrooms for my potions."

"My magic stones are drained for the day, so one path is as good as any other. Forward!" Merkari declares, striding boldly down the middle path.

Jotna shrugs and says, "Works for me. Smells better too." She follows after her.

Keftar follows the others down tunnel number two. As they continue on, he turns to Turo.

"Whose bad side did you get on that they’d tear down your place without a second thought?"

Without waiting for an answer, he taps his chin in thought.

"So what did you grab on your way out? Anything useful like a compass?"