Brenley wrinkles his nose and leans over the edge of the plateau to get a look at the area of the basin beneath it but spots nothing worth mentioning. The junior knight seems unnerved but otherwise calm and defers to Karikhan. Kittix and Oshro likewise follow the leads of their companions.
John doesn’t spot anyone hiding amid the basin. There is naught but scrub and dirt for an enemy to conceal himself with. Whoever did this has either left the basin through the valley or gone into the tunnel.
From his current vantage point he is unable to detect anything. A more thorough search would require him to descend into the basin itself.
Karikhan is ready to forfeit such a search given the lack of evidence of animal life in the area but spots something when he shades his eyes with his hand and turns his gaze skyward. There is some predatory or scavenging bird circling high above the basin, its species impossible to make out from so far. Karikhan could attempt to communicate with it but he would have to call out to beckon it down.
Karikhan stows his spear, and opens his pack of supplies. There is not much inside as he travels lightly, but Khan removes some of the food and lays in on the ground before him. He steps back from his tribute offer and spreads his arms wide as he looks up to the carrion bird.
Suddenly, a mighty squawk escapes from Karikhan’s mouth. It’s followed by several more similar loud cries indistinguishable from the soud of the carrion bird himself. It appears that Khan is actually attempting to speak to the animal.
Great Watcher, I offer this tribute to your wisdom. In death, my people offer their bodies and blood to you. I humbly ask only for knowledge, to learn what you know of my brothers’ fate so I may avenge them.
The bird circles a few more times and seems to decline the offer as it glides away from the area but before long it wheels around and makes a slow descent to the mountain. It drops from the air once it’s about fifteen or so yards above the plateau, landing lightly on its feet atop the food offering. It is a massive condor with a 10ft wingspan, covered in oily black feathers everywhere but its head which is ugly and pink like a turkey’s. It eats some of the offered food, its hungry eyes lingering on the human remains. It is probably waiting for the party to leave so that it may feast on the corpse unmolested.
It grunts and hisses at Kharikan, its voice shrill and loud. After a few moments of this it spreads its large wings and lifts off from the ground, flapping its way to an outcropping along the basin wall, where it sits in silence, watching the group.
Kittix, Brenley and Oshra are all rather unnerved by the experience. Jikhal keeps his distance but seems unsurprised.
“Goblins,” Karikhan sneers. He starts the descent into the basin, toward the entrance to the ruins. “It is as I expected,” he mutters.
What he does not say is that he is grateful the horde of goblins has entered the ruins, and is not hunting his tribe. Maybe the People of the Voice will have a respite from the greenskin attacks, at least for now.
Dur’dan keeps his weapon stowed and works his way down the path after the rest of the party. He’ll draw his axe when he has a reason to. He will also be keeping a close eye on his nephew, to make sure he doesn’t do anything foolish.
Directed at his nephew: “keep your wits about you lad, don’t do anything this Longbeard wouldn’t do!” He yells at him laughing as he bounds down the path.
“There goes my appetite,” Hob whines after seeing the charred human remains.
After Kharikhan chats with the condor (something Hob watches intently) and the party starts to scrabble down the path, Hob goes up to the barbarian and attempts chit-chatting again:
“Neat trick you got there, talking with animals. I can see how it would come in handy, what with living in the wilds and all.”
Hob is temporarily silenced at the profundity of the savage’s reply. A younger Hob would have been intimidated by this situation and then probably continued to blather on about the Voice and all the adventures it would have helped him on when he was younger. Instead, he pauses and replies thusly:
“True as that may be, we hin have a few tricks up our sleeves no beast I’ve met has yet to match.” Here he reaches into his pocket and pulls out an intricately carved pipe made out of what appears to be mahogany and amber.
“Fancy a smoke?” he says, offering the pipe to Karikhan. “Finest pipe-weed in the hincamp.”
At first, Karikhan is confused by the sheer silliness of the offer. Surely the halfling is not offering him pipe weed here, at the scene of a gruesome murder! He looks toward the entrance to the lost delve, and back toward the rest of the group, lagging behind by a few minutes. The urge to test the hin’s claim of superior quality is strong.
“Thank you,” Khan says, a rare smile washing over his face. “I accept.”
“Ah, splendid!” Hin says and hands over the pipe. “Granted, when compared to the amazing home-grown varieties you can find in my home village, it’s not quite up to snuff, no pun intended, but I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised none-the-less.”
Brenley chastises the halfling as the party makes to descend into the basin, “Keep your wits about you! You can drown yourself in smoke when the job is done.”
One-by-one, the group makes their way down the narrow stair carved into the stone. Karikhan is first and he scales the rock face with ease. Next comes Arrow, Kittix and Jikhal, each of whom fare just as well. John Fredrickson and Jonathan Brenley are next; they make the climb without too much difficulty. Then the Ironbeards, who struggle a bit (especially going over the lip of the plateau). Finally there’s Hob, who is worst of all and nearly tumbles into the basin but is caught with a saving grab from Dur’dan.
Once in the basin the party gathers near the entrance of the cave and the foul campsite. Burnt strips of cloth and leather are scattered around the old bonfire and Fredrickson, crouching at the site to investigate briefly, unearths a pair of human teeth among the scrap. Nothing else is found at the site save for bone splinters and blood. The condor stares ominously at the party as it nears the entrance to the ruin.
The cave itself opens like a snarling mouth. The tunnel winding away into the mountain is about seven feet tall (Karikhan doesn’t have to stoop to make it through but it’s close) and twelve feet wide. The Ironbeards and Arrow’s lizardfolk companion need no light to see by but the others do. Brenley takes the lead of the group, carrying a torch aloft in his left hand, his right steady on the hilt of his sword. The party steels itself and enters the cave, which twists down into the mountain for nearly a quarter mile, before Arrow stops the party: He can hear chatter from ahead. After a few moments of straining ears the others can make out some of it, too. Karikhan and Jikhal, the Ironbeards and Hob know it immediately for what it is: Greenskin. Unfortunately none understand the foul tongue.
Goblins, dwarves and lizardfolk can all see in the dark. The rest of the party, even the half-elf and hin, is incapable of seeing in pitch darkness. The light of a nearby torch will be obvious, even around several corners. The party needs to decide what to do.
Oshro Ironbeard says something to Dur’dan in dwarven, his voice a hoarse whisper.
“Do goblins eat lizardfolk?” Asks Kittix of Arrow.
Hob responds light-heartedly to Brentley, but an undertone of irritation can be detected in his voice: “T’was just a quick puff to calm the nerves, that’s all.”
After Dur’dan catches him: “Thank you kind dwarf. I owe you one.”
At the entrance of the cave, after the party recommends sending in a dwarf, Hob speaks out to the party: “The more well-to-do Hin may prefer to live in smials, but even we can’t see in the dark. Dur’dan, do you feel up for it?”