Chapter 3 - The Missing Delegation

THE Feathergale Spire? Of Legend? That's great news! We should head there as soon as possible! Dazzle rubs his hands together in anticipation.

Sorgrimm, Mhorva, are we done here?

Mhorva turns back to shrinking the makeshift cairn. Yeh're right not t' trust me yet, Master Dwarf. Trust is earned by deed and hard work, not just by the wagging o' tongues. Her eyes glance briefly to Dazzle. If'n it makes yeh rest easier, I'm not planning on sticking somethin' sharp 'twixt yer ribs an' raisin' yer corpse t' feast on. She sighs.

And no, Dazzle, we're not done - we've naught begun yet. Mhorva huffs, slightly miffed at his misunderstanding. 'T won't take long, though.

Back to Sorgrimm: We Druids of the Spores are no necromancers, she adds, head down while she her strong hands grip rock after rock. Everyone suspects, but almost no one understands. Just as it seems she could go on, she stops: Mhorva looks into the now-uncovered shallow pit, eyes bright and curious.

Balak wants to examine the stone armor (using stone cunning)

Grimm, this design is exquisite. May I keep this, or at least borrow some paper and a quill from someone to sketch this design down?

As he peeks over at the bodies, Dazzle tries to remember if he's heard any stories about anyone wearing strange stony armor or a white robe with black feathers at the shoulders.

The druid's expression is one of quiet fascination, and as Balak examines the stony armour next to her, Mhorva delicately prods, rubs and scrutinizes the wounds of the fallen. Her investigation takes her from body to body, occasionally opening the deads' mouths and sniffing the stale air within, and peeling back the rends in their flesh to examine the cold tissue. This will perhaps appear gruesome and even disrespectful to some, but Mhorva is careful and methodical in her work.

How long ago did these people pass from the world?

Sorgrimm takes at a look at the poor dead souls.

@Dazzle: You don't recall any such manner of armor or dress.

@Sorgrimm: Which 'knight' was that? But otherwise, you get the same info as Mhorva.

Looks t' me like they've been here for 'bout two tendays, Mhorva reports. All died from wounds - their flesh is either rent from arrows or crushed by something heavy. She thinks on this a moment, then looks up to the group. An ambush? Attacked from afar, then finished wi' blows? An' either some o' the defending party survived and took the time t' bury their dead, or the attackers finished the job an' took to doing the burying themselves. The druid's eyebrows wrinkle. Curious, that.

Her investigation finished, Mhorva reaches into a little pouch cinched to her waist cord and begins to sprinkle a fine powder-like substance across each of the bodies, taking her time in the act. She offers no explanation.

Balak would have procured paper and pen from someone and began sketching the armor. He wants to create something of this like, but in dwarven style.

Placing a hand cautiously on the handle of his warhammer, Sorgrimm asks, So, what’s that you are spreading across the corpses?

The druid speaks without looking up. They be spores, Master Dwarf. These people will slowly decay into this rocky hilltop with time - a waste. The stones cannot drink in their essence, an' the birds cannot reach them 'neath their cairns. But fungus, aye, fungus can make use of their vitality. Hardy lifeforms, they be. They will thrive in the dark an' wet, sheltered from the wind.

She finishes sprinkling, sits back in a kneel, and looks up to Sorgrimm for the first time. These shells can still be of use t' this world. Out of death, there can be life. She almost intones the last words.