Perhaps the hunger demon thought the group would more seriously consider its offer, as it had failed to bring all of its followers to the fore to protect it. These profane, as they had been called, were encountered by the group almost immediately after moving on from the current room and into more stony corridors. They cut through these as they had the others, leaving a trail of dust and loose stone behind them. The halls eventually began to constrict slightly, narrowing in width as if they were inside a throat in the midst of being choked, trying to capture them inside.
Just as it seemed it would choke off into a dead end there was a sharp ninety degree turn into a winding staircase to led them upwards for the first time in a while. They ascended several floors worth until it ended, opening up into a large square chamber, the centerpiece of which was four strudy stone pillars wrapped in red lyrium twisting and constricting up their lengths. "I think..." Varric mused, taking a look around. Ethereal light shined through cracks in the wall on the far side. "this might be a vault of some kind." He took a few more paces in, the group behind him. "Which means that somewhere around here, the ancient dwarves may have stored their..."
He trailed off when a large pile of rocks against the right wall began to rearrange themselves, rolling on top of one another, stacking into legs and arms, the final product a hulking, ten foot monster of rock, apparently none too happy with their tresspassing judging by the stance it immediately presented towards Varric. "...valuables," Varric finished, slowing bringing Bianca in line with its head. "This should be good."
What followed was a lengthy struggle between man and earth during which Lucien did his best to maintain the creature's ire, while the two hunters and the dwarf pelted it from afar with arrows and bolts, Nostariel and Rilien and Sparrow filling supporting roles. Needless to say, it was a very tired group of adventurers that stepped over the rock guardian's crumbled form, across the threshold of what was indeed, as Varric had predicted, a vault.
"The rock wraiths are supposed to be dwarven legends," the younger Tethras brother complained, "They're not even supposed to be real!" He was halted when a golden vase of some kind flew towards him, and he caught it, spying the Dalish elf up ahead, standing at the base of a literal pile of treasure. Gold littered the floor in every direction, chests of it overflowing to spill onto the ground around them, relics the likes of which the world had never seen. "I suppose the rock wraiths don't really matter now, do they?" Varric said to himself, momentarily stunned by the bounty.
Lucien, a little worse for the wear having been essentially battered with rocks for the better part of what was almost an hour now, all told, had raised a speculative brow upon hearing the dwarf's skepticism. "We're in the middle of an abandoned, supposedly forever-lost Thaig, having just slain a dragon and refused a bargain with a demon that possessed no flesh, and you're incredulous about the stone construct?" The question itself was light, though perhaps not as much so as it would have been if his ribcage weren't still smarting from whatever strange energy attack the thing had used. He'd caught it full in the chest the first time, and though Nostariel's intervention was timely as always, it would probably take him a while to recover the lingering damage.
At that point, though, he was able to temporarily forget the residual pain when he walked up behind the dwarf, whistling a low note at the hoard. "There's a lesson in here somewhere for Bartrand," he said with a chuckle. The Empress's treasury would be hard-pressed to match some of the things in here, though it was doubtful they'd be able to carry it all, having just themselves and whatever their arms could manage. No need to be greedy, though; he'd live quite a while on even the smallest portion of such hard-won gains.
"Heh. Demons, darkspawn, and rock monsters, oh my," Ashton said between hunched pants. For all of the dancing and dodging the archer did, he didn't come away from the fighting without his share of wounds. He was nursing a wicked looking black eye, blood dribbled from one gash along the bridge of his nose, and he was favoring his right leg more than was necessarily healthy. However, he was alive, and his enemies dead. He'd count that as a victory in his book any day. "Lucien has a point. It's talk like that that summons up a flock of feral griffins to attack us," he joked, though he did venture a cautious glance up to the ceiling.
What grievances Ashton felt was soon melted away at the sight of the gleaming pile. Perched above the stocky dwarf, he leaned forward, using the top of the dwarf's head as a rail and peered into the mound of gold. "Right. Best investment ever. Clearly. Looks like I'm not going to lose my shop, so that loan shark can eat it. Here, hold this darling," He finished by handing his bow and quiver (of which a scant few arrows remained) to Nostariel and darted around the dwarf. There, he let gravity do its job and fell into the pile of gold.
While riches were riches, gold was still hard and it stung all of his hidden bruises when he collapsed. But really, he didn't care. Treasure was a hell of a pain killer. Once he was situated in the mound, he began to move his arms and legs, making what he would call: "Look Sparrow! A gold angel! The best of angels."
She, too, whistled low in her throat, though it tapered off into a soft hum that barely left her lips. Had she escaped the forgotten, restless thaig without any injuries, then her guilt, already gnawing at her insides like an incessant rat, would've been multiplied. The Maker â if he, or she, even existed â would have none of that, spattering large gashes across her exposed shoulder blades, where pieces of her armor had been crushed and thrown aside. She'd need a new set if she were ever to find herself wandering down in the Deep Roads again. Worse yet, there was something within her that had spoiled the grandeur of their discovery, of their very adventure, even managing to muddy the mystifying find of so many valuable objects piled atop one another, spilling over into riches she could have never imagined. She'd been one of the reasons why they had so many bruises, so many wounds. Her contribution to their pain was conclusively real, rubbing her raw. Lucien's conversation with Varric seemed to glide past her twitching ears, past her shoulders, belonging to someone else. She blinked once, then twice, watching as Ashton plopped his weapons into the dwarf's open arms, ambling around him so that he could fall unceremoniously into the hoard of treasure, bruises and all.
If she could cut that thing out of her, she would've in a heartbeat. Sparrow meandered a few paces to their right, crouching down so that she could snatch up a handful of coins, allowing them to spill through her fingers. Her eyes focused on their ridges. She wanted to deny her cowardice, bury it somewhere deeper, darker, but it was still difficult to look them in the eyes and play the part of the flighty little bird, unaware of what she'd done to them. Of what she'd continue doing to them if she kept silent. Were secrets that important? Would they forgive her if she were honest? It seemed an unfamiliar concept. She was a liar, or a skimmer of truths. The only one she'd ever been truly, fundamentally honest to was Amalia, and even then, she'd managed to ruin their friendship by running away. As if pretending to look at her reflection in a nearby goblet, trailing the nasty gash running down her left cheekbone, Sparrow twisted and turned it in her hands, occasionally watching her companions in its hazy, warped reflection. If she wanted to, with her share of this unforeseen bounty, she could finally move away from Rilien, distance herself from her friends, and stuff herself away like some kind of hermit. A short bark of laughter bubbled out, sorely bitter. She plopped down on her butt, and rested her elbows on her knees.
Finally, she could pay all of her dues.
Nostariel managed a weary chuckle upon observation of the archer's antics, though she might have winced at his actual impact, more from sympathy than anything. Though she'd stayed away from the melee, she'd still managed to catch a few bruises and scrapes from flying stones, and her left eyebrow was presently diagonally slashed by a cut that leaked blood at a slow, but steady rate. Fortunately, this largely went around her eye rather than into it, but the sticky feeling was uncomfortable now that she was able to notice it at all. She'd have cast a spell to heal it and a few for her companions besides, but she was simply all out of mana for the moment, so it would have to wait. The large piles of treasure were of some cursory interest, but more for the interesting pieces than the shiny ones. Among the bits of wealth strewn about the place lay a staff, the knotted wood of it seemingly interlaced with some kind of stonework, perhaps intended to reinforce the structure. The blade at the end was as yet new-looking, though surely it must have been ancient.
Seeing as her last had snapped under the weight of a crushing stone not ten minutes prior, Nostariel was willing to consider it a good stroke of luck, and crouched to pick up the new one, faintly surprised at the fine make of it despite the odd appearance. It should do quite nicely. As for the rest, well... she would take a portion for her service, but it was not as though any amount of coin or luck would save her from her fate; Grey Wardens had precious little need of such things, in the end.
Rilien, perhaps true to form was standing mildly off to one side, observing the assorted shenanigans with no visible reaction at all. Ashton's act, silly as it was, hardly surprised him, but neither did it produce any kind of scorn. The man was as he was, and Rilien did not mind. Lucien was beginning to remind him more of the man beside whom he'd trekked over more miles than he cared to remember, less solemn than he'd been since the night before Denerim. Hardly noticeable, was the change, and yet the Tranquil noticed all the same.
Sparrow... concerned him, as seemed to be the case too often recently. The thought had occurred to him that she would now be financially independent of his care, but he had not considered that an ill possibility until the demon proved that it could sieze control. It was not that he desired to be near it, merely that he thought things better arranged if he could at least maintain a watchful eye on her. He was... inclined towards her staying. Surely, the demon was the only reason. It was the only one that made any sense, anyway. "It would be prudent to gather what we can and make for the surface," he advised, "That journey will be some time yet, and what food we have will not last so many time enough to tarry overlong."
Nostariel nodded. "Rilien speaks truly. I think that door might put us out into a passage, and if so, I should be able to navigate us out from there, but I for one am eager to be free of these blighted places."
"Should be about a week back to the surface, if we're unlucky," Varric guessed as he perused some of the finer artifacts among the treasure trove. "If we're lucky, we'll stumble over Bartrand's corpse on the way."
Just as it seemed it would choke off into a dead end there was a sharp ninety degree turn into a winding staircase to led them upwards for the first time in a while. They ascended several floors worth until it ended, opening up into a large square chamber, the centerpiece of which was four strudy stone pillars wrapped in red lyrium twisting and constricting up their lengths. "I think..." Varric mused, taking a look around. Ethereal light shined through cracks in the wall on the far side. "this might be a vault of some kind." He took a few more paces in, the group behind him. "Which means that somewhere around here, the ancient dwarves may have stored their..."
He trailed off when a large pile of rocks against the right wall began to rearrange themselves, rolling on top of one another, stacking into legs and arms, the final product a hulking, ten foot monster of rock, apparently none too happy with their tresspassing judging by the stance it immediately presented towards Varric. "...valuables," Varric finished, slowing bringing Bianca in line with its head. "This should be good."
What followed was a lengthy struggle between man and earth during which Lucien did his best to maintain the creature's ire, while the two hunters and the dwarf pelted it from afar with arrows and bolts, Nostariel and Rilien and Sparrow filling supporting roles. Needless to say, it was a very tired group of adventurers that stepped over the rock guardian's crumbled form, across the threshold of what was indeed, as Varric had predicted, a vault.
"The rock wraiths are supposed to be dwarven legends," the younger Tethras brother complained, "They're not even supposed to be real!" He was halted when a golden vase of some kind flew towards him, and he caught it, spying the Dalish elf up ahead, standing at the base of a literal pile of treasure. Gold littered the floor in every direction, chests of it overflowing to spill onto the ground around them, relics the likes of which the world had never seen. "I suppose the rock wraiths don't really matter now, do they?" Varric said to himself, momentarily stunned by the bounty.
Lucien, a little worse for the wear having been essentially battered with rocks for the better part of what was almost an hour now, all told, had raised a speculative brow upon hearing the dwarf's skepticism. "We're in the middle of an abandoned, supposedly forever-lost Thaig, having just slain a dragon and refused a bargain with a demon that possessed no flesh, and you're incredulous about the stone construct?" The question itself was light, though perhaps not as much so as it would have been if his ribcage weren't still smarting from whatever strange energy attack the thing had used. He'd caught it full in the chest the first time, and though Nostariel's intervention was timely as always, it would probably take him a while to recover the lingering damage.
At that point, though, he was able to temporarily forget the residual pain when he walked up behind the dwarf, whistling a low note at the hoard. "There's a lesson in here somewhere for Bartrand," he said with a chuckle. The Empress's treasury would be hard-pressed to match some of the things in here, though it was doubtful they'd be able to carry it all, having just themselves and whatever their arms could manage. No need to be greedy, though; he'd live quite a while on even the smallest portion of such hard-won gains.
"Heh. Demons, darkspawn, and rock monsters, oh my," Ashton said between hunched pants. For all of the dancing and dodging the archer did, he didn't come away from the fighting without his share of wounds. He was nursing a wicked looking black eye, blood dribbled from one gash along the bridge of his nose, and he was favoring his right leg more than was necessarily healthy. However, he was alive, and his enemies dead. He'd count that as a victory in his book any day. "Lucien has a point. It's talk like that that summons up a flock of feral griffins to attack us," he joked, though he did venture a cautious glance up to the ceiling.
What grievances Ashton felt was soon melted away at the sight of the gleaming pile. Perched above the stocky dwarf, he leaned forward, using the top of the dwarf's head as a rail and peered into the mound of gold. "Right. Best investment ever. Clearly. Looks like I'm not going to lose my shop, so that loan shark can eat it. Here, hold this darling," He finished by handing his bow and quiver (of which a scant few arrows remained) to Nostariel and darted around the dwarf. There, he let gravity do its job and fell into the pile of gold.
While riches were riches, gold was still hard and it stung all of his hidden bruises when he collapsed. But really, he didn't care. Treasure was a hell of a pain killer. Once he was situated in the mound, he began to move his arms and legs, making what he would call: "Look Sparrow! A gold angel! The best of angels."
She, too, whistled low in her throat, though it tapered off into a soft hum that barely left her lips. Had she escaped the forgotten, restless thaig without any injuries, then her guilt, already gnawing at her insides like an incessant rat, would've been multiplied. The Maker â if he, or she, even existed â would have none of that, spattering large gashes across her exposed shoulder blades, where pieces of her armor had been crushed and thrown aside. She'd need a new set if she were ever to find herself wandering down in the Deep Roads again. Worse yet, there was something within her that had spoiled the grandeur of their discovery, of their very adventure, even managing to muddy the mystifying find of so many valuable objects piled atop one another, spilling over into riches she could have never imagined. She'd been one of the reasons why they had so many bruises, so many wounds. Her contribution to their pain was conclusively real, rubbing her raw. Lucien's conversation with Varric seemed to glide past her twitching ears, past her shoulders, belonging to someone else. She blinked once, then twice, watching as Ashton plopped his weapons into the dwarf's open arms, ambling around him so that he could fall unceremoniously into the hoard of treasure, bruises and all.
If she could cut that thing out of her, she would've in a heartbeat. Sparrow meandered a few paces to their right, crouching down so that she could snatch up a handful of coins, allowing them to spill through her fingers. Her eyes focused on their ridges. She wanted to deny her cowardice, bury it somewhere deeper, darker, but it was still difficult to look them in the eyes and play the part of the flighty little bird, unaware of what she'd done to them. Of what she'd continue doing to them if she kept silent. Were secrets that important? Would they forgive her if she were honest? It seemed an unfamiliar concept. She was a liar, or a skimmer of truths. The only one she'd ever been truly, fundamentally honest to was Amalia, and even then, she'd managed to ruin their friendship by running away. As if pretending to look at her reflection in a nearby goblet, trailing the nasty gash running down her left cheekbone, Sparrow twisted and turned it in her hands, occasionally watching her companions in its hazy, warped reflection. If she wanted to, with her share of this unforeseen bounty, she could finally move away from Rilien, distance herself from her friends, and stuff herself away like some kind of hermit. A short bark of laughter bubbled out, sorely bitter. She plopped down on her butt, and rested her elbows on her knees.
Finally, she could pay all of her dues.
Nostariel managed a weary chuckle upon observation of the archer's antics, though she might have winced at his actual impact, more from sympathy than anything. Though she'd stayed away from the melee, she'd still managed to catch a few bruises and scrapes from flying stones, and her left eyebrow was presently diagonally slashed by a cut that leaked blood at a slow, but steady rate. Fortunately, this largely went around her eye rather than into it, but the sticky feeling was uncomfortable now that she was able to notice it at all. She'd have cast a spell to heal it and a few for her companions besides, but she was simply all out of mana for the moment, so it would have to wait. The large piles of treasure were of some cursory interest, but more for the interesting pieces than the shiny ones. Among the bits of wealth strewn about the place lay a staff, the knotted wood of it seemingly interlaced with some kind of stonework, perhaps intended to reinforce the structure. The blade at the end was as yet new-looking, though surely it must have been ancient.
Seeing as her last had snapped under the weight of a crushing stone not ten minutes prior, Nostariel was willing to consider it a good stroke of luck, and crouched to pick up the new one, faintly surprised at the fine make of it despite the odd appearance. It should do quite nicely. As for the rest, well... she would take a portion for her service, but it was not as though any amount of coin or luck would save her from her fate; Grey Wardens had precious little need of such things, in the end.
Rilien, perhaps true to form was standing mildly off to one side, observing the assorted shenanigans with no visible reaction at all. Ashton's act, silly as it was, hardly surprised him, but neither did it produce any kind of scorn. The man was as he was, and Rilien did not mind. Lucien was beginning to remind him more of the man beside whom he'd trekked over more miles than he cared to remember, less solemn than he'd been since the night before Denerim. Hardly noticeable, was the change, and yet the Tranquil noticed all the same.
Sparrow... concerned him, as seemed to be the case too often recently. The thought had occurred to him that she would now be financially independent of his care, but he had not considered that an ill possibility until the demon proved that it could sieze control. It was not that he desired to be near it, merely that he thought things better arranged if he could at least maintain a watchful eye on her. He was... inclined towards her staying. Surely, the demon was the only reason. It was the only one that made any sense, anyway. "It would be prudent to gather what we can and make for the surface," he advised, "That journey will be some time yet, and what food we have will not last so many time enough to tarry overlong."
Nostariel nodded. "Rilien speaks truly. I think that door might put us out into a passage, and if so, I should be able to navigate us out from there, but I for one am eager to be free of these blighted places."
"Should be about a week back to the surface, if we're unlucky," Varric guessed as he perused some of the finer artifacts among the treasure trove. "If we're lucky, we'll stumble over Bartrand's corpse on the way."
The Chanter's Board has been updated. The Deep Roads Expedition has been completed.
Act One has been completed.
Act One has been completed.