"Let's take a different approach this time," Dorn decided, "instead of the secret stairway down to Level Three. Unless you have a better idea by way of long association?" he asked, glancing at Cabe Eveda, Pact-Sworn to The Whispering Beast.
"I can't say I do," Cabe answered. The surface ruins of Arden Vul near the descent into "The Basement" were a grim testament to the city’s shattered grandeur. The air here was often heavy with the scent of ancient dust and damp rot, a stark contrast to the Blood Scent or Heart Thrum which Cabe might pick up in more populated sections of the ruins.The air near the massive, cliff-side ruins carried a faint whiff of ozone.
Dorn's hand rested on the pommel of Swift, his chainmail armor gleaming under the pale sun.
Cabe stood at Dorn's side, his Heart Thrum already pulsing as he scanned for the hidden heartbeats of whatever lurked just past the threshold.
Aele stood just behind them, the metallic dust for his rituals partially consumed, though he had plenty for the next few days. These two are scrapping for a fight; I, however, hunger to uncover the secrets of the Progenitors.
"You're sure this is the right spot?" Dorn asks Cabe. Vedecab Dorn reminds himself. I am Thrangir, the wizard-priest is Zorael, and our new friend is Vedecab Eeii. The false identities were, in Dorn's mind, absolutely essential, given the price on his head put there by The Blackfists.
Cabe looks at the ancient stone of the decrepit administrative building. "It's the only structure with a chimney within view and which is near to the pyramid," He answered, indicating the nearby great pyramid of Thoth. To their left, the roar of the Long Falls was a constant, white-noise rumble.
Aele feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up when Dorn draws Swift, his magical longsword. This was the first soul-bound weapon the priest had ever encountered. His Thothian sight saw much that others missed, and Aele had quickly realized that the spirit of their slain former companion — Exodore, Dorn's lover — had invested the blade, choosing it as her eternal home; or, if not eternal, probably at least for the remainder of Dorn's life. Let's hope that isn't unfortunately brief.
Dorn had been quietly pleased to see that his blade had developed an enchantment. Here in the afternoon sunlight, it was still apparent that Swift gave off a pale blue luminance. Down below, that illumination was better than that provided by a torch. It could not be blown out by a breeze, extinguished with water, or become spent like a torch. Nevertheless, Aele carried a bullseye lantern in his off-hand, right hand gripping his (sadly) non-magical but nevertheless trusty mace.
Dorn felt a warm, comforting weight on his mind, now that Swift was in his hand. He liked to think it was Exodore, watching over him. He was more correct than he knew. He gains 1 (1d4) temporary hit point: 35/34; AC
"What do you see?" Dorn asked Cabe. The Pact-Sworn sighed. "As I've explained, I don't see what is ahead, not unless I am able to see through the eyes of some creature I have wounded. What I am doing right now is sensing the thrumming of beating hearts. Yes, there are living creatures below, but we are yet too distant for me to discern anything more specific."
The area surrounding the stairs is a jagged landscape of collapsed masonry and choked courtyards. Once-mighty obsidian and granite pillars lie toppled like the ribcage of a dead giant. Many are carved with fading bas-reliefs of the Archons, though moss and lichen have claimed most of the detail.
As Aele brushes away centuries of grime and thick, grey moss from the stone lintel above the stairs, several distinct markers become visible. These aren't just decorative; they serve as a warning and a map for those who know how to interpret them. An engraved eye is surrounded by three concentric rings. Dorn looks a question at the wizard-priest and Aele says, "A ward, but no longer active. For centuries, though, it would have permitted the priests of Thoth to survey those entering and leaving this stairwell."
Our three heroes begin their descent. Where the surface ruins are weathered and airy, the stairs downward consist of tighter, more utilitarian stonework. The transition is sharp; the wind whistles through the broken archways above, but it dies into a heavy, stagnant silence the moment Aele has passed the fourth or fifth riser. I'm not afraid. I've survived a beastman ambush. We're too close to the surface to encounter anything substantial Aele decides.
The three come out into a chamber. The smell of lichen and algae and something else registers. Cabe signals quietly toward a collapsed wall of masonry to the north. Something alive there. Dorn nods, his grip tightening on Swift. The magical blade pulses with a steady, pale light, casting long, dancing shadows against the damp masonry.
The rubble to the north consists of massive limestone blocks that once formed a grand archway, now a jagged heap of stone and dust. Dorn shifts his buckler forward, sword raised, and advances to the north. Cabe extends his senses forward. The heartbeat to the north isn't the rapid, fluttering beat of a bird or a small animal; it’s slow, heavy, and resonant. It sounds like something of significant size—or something very calm.
As they reach the edge of the rubble, the light from Swift and Aele’s lantern spills over the top of the debris, revealing the chamber beyond — the remains of an old scriptorium. Rotting wooden desks are overturned, and the floor is carpeted in a thick layer of pulpy, decomposed parchment.
Crouched in the far corner, partially obscured by a heavy stone table, is a singular, massive figure. It stands nearly seven feet tall, covered in matted, grey-white fur. It has the muscular build of a man but the elongated snout and sharp canines of a baboon. It is hunched over a pile of what looks like scavenged metal, its eyes reflecting the lantern light with a dull, silver glint.
The trio freezes at the edge of the light. Aele raises a hand, signaling for Dorn and Cabe to hold their steel. He recognizes the creature—one of the "White Ones," an ancient lineage of baboons that have inhabited these ruins since the time of the Progenitors.
Aele closes his eyes, focusing his will to bridge the gap between human intellect and the primal, sacred mind of the beast.
The creature remains hunched over its scavenged metal, its back to the party. It is preoccupied, perhaps picking through the debris for something specific. It is completely unaware of the three adventurers standing in the pool of lantern light. Still, Dorn is surprised that the combined illumination of the lantern and longsword haven't broken the massive creature out of its preoccupation.
Aele steps forward, keeping his movements fluid and non-threatening. He doesn't speak aloud; instead, he projects a sense of calm, reverence, and purpose. He invokes the "Scholar’s Peace," a mental signature recognizable to those creatures that have lived in the shadow of Thoth for millennia.
The creature’s ears twitch. It slowly stops its picking and turns its massive, silver-maned head. It sees the armored warrior and the blood-scented stalker, but its gaze settles on Aele.
It lets out a low, vibrating huff—not a bark of aggression, but a sound of deep uncertainty. It rises to its full height, knuckles resting on the stone floor, its silver eyes searching Aele’s face for the mark of the temple.
Dorn stands braced and ready. If that "huff" turns into a roar, he is positioned to take the charge.
Cabe's Blood Scent picks up the smell of old copper and ozone coming from the metal the baboon is holding. His Heart Thrum confirms this is the only oversized heartbeat in the room, though there are tiny, skittering beats (likely rats) in the walls.
Aele’s movements are agonizingly slow, designed to avoid any sudden shifts that might trigger the creature’s predatory instincts. As the holy symbol—a stylized ibis on a moon disk—swings into the dim light of the lantern, it catches the glow of Dorn’s magical blade.
The baboon’s nostrils flare. It recognizes the geometry of the symbol.
Since Aele’s hands are full, he cannot perform the complex manual mudras of the Thothian liturgy. Instead, he performs the "Scholar’s Bow": he keeps his hands exactly where they are—lantern and mace held wide and low to show he is not bracing for a strike—and slowly tilts his head at a 45-degree angle, exposing his neck slightly while keeping his gaze respectful but firm.
Reaction Roll (Modified by Aele’s Charisma 14 and Holy Symbol):
The creature’s posture shifts. The tension in its massive shoulders ripples and then subsides. It lets out a shorter, softer huff and retreats two steps toward the side, clearing the direct path to the northern door.
It crouches back down, but its eyes remain fixed on Aele. It is no longer a guard, but it is an observer. It seems to be "granting passage" to the Priest, though its gaze toward Dorn and Cabe remains suspicious.
As the creature moves, the "scavenged metal" it was huddled over is revealed. It isn't just scrap; it appears to be a broken bronze gears and a fractured lens from some ancient astronomical device.
Cabe’s Blood Scent confirms the ozone smell is coming from the lens—it still holds a faint, static charge of ancient energy.
The northern door is now accessible. It is heavy wood reinforced with iron bands, likely leading to the "Administrative Loop" of The Basement.
The huge white baboon has adopted a neutral posture. Aele offers a silent prayer for his companions: grant them the wisdom not to touch or approach the guardian's treasure...
Cabe senses that the heartbeat of the baboon has slowed to a steady, calm rhythm. However, he now hears a faint, metallic clinking sound coming from the other side of the northern door. That circular component with the crack in it: I am certain I sense some energy contained within...
Without taking his eyes off the baboon, Dorn slowly moves closer to the door to the north, then listens with his ear pressed against it. Aele silently applauds. He slowly puts his mace back through a loop on his belt, then carefully and slowly rummages within a belt pouch and produces an apple. This he sets on an overturned nearby pillar, then glances at the baboon, noting its keen attention.
As Aele places the apple on the fallen limestone pillar, the White One follows the movement with its large, silver eyes. Once Aele retreats a few steps, the baboon lopes forward with a silent, knuckle-walking gait, snatches the fruit, and retreats back to its bronze "treasure." It doesn't eat it immediately; it sniffs it deeply, then lets out a low, satisfied grunt.
Pressing his ear to the cold iron bands of the northern door, Dorn holds his breath. He hears a rhythmic, mechanical clink-clink-clink followed by a heavy, sliding sound—like stone dragging over stone. It sounds repetitive, suggesting a trap, a machine, or something pacing a very specific route.
Cabe closes his eyes and filters out the baboon’s calm pulse. Beyond the door, he detects nothing. No heartbeat. No blood pumping. No warmth. He draws a deep breath. There is no scent of sweat, musk, or decay. Instead, the air leaking through the door-frame smells of old oil, cold iron, and scorched copper. Whatever is making that noise behind the door is not alive. When Dorn looks to him in silent question, Cabe points to his own chest, then makes a negating motion with his head. Dorn nods once, understanding.
Aele slowly eases toward the door, intent on searching for any inscriptions. Even as the White One investigates the apple, its sheer muscularity is intimidating; a single swipe of those silver-furred arms could indeed end a scholar’s career. Dorn shifts his weight, his heavy chainmail clinking softly as he steps into the line of sight, a human wall of steel and muscle protecting the priest.
Aele holds the lantern high, letting its warm light wash over the door's surface. He ignores the rusted iron and focuses on the wood and the stone frame.
The Inscription: Faded but still legible in the lintel above the door is a line of Middle Thothian script. It reads: "Maintenance and Logistics – Authorized Custodians Only. Silence is the Handmaid of Precision."
Aele notices a small, circular indentation near the handle—not a keyhole, but a receptacle for a signet ring or a specific amulet. However, the wood around the latch is splintered, suggesting that over the centuries, the locking mechanism has been bypassed or forced.
While Aele reads, the sounds from within grow more distinct. Without the distraction of the baboon's breathing, the trio can identify the clink-clink-clink as the sound of metal articulating against metal. Cabe, still watchful of the baboon, draws close to his companions and says in a soft voice, "The coppery smell is getting stronger, but the noises are regular. They don't vary."
Aele nods. "Could be an ancient automaton or golem, still doing the same thing it was doing millenia ago. Look here at the latch. It's busted and the door isn't latched. See that hole?" He holds the lantern close while first Cabe, and then Dorn, take turns having a peek. "Probably made for a signet ring or amulet to act as a key," the wizard-priest surmises.
Dorn says, quietly but distinctly, "All right. This door is our only way forward, unless we want to return to the surface. Cabe, see if you can find any hinges. I have oil in my pack. Do what you can with it, then see if you and Aele can get a peek at whatever is on the other side. I'll keep our overmuscled friend here company while he contemplates his apple."
Cabe moves with the predatory grace of the Beast-kin. He takes the vial and approaches the heavy door. His Blood Scent is overwhelmed by the metallic tang from within, but his focus remains sharp.
Cabe locates the three massive iron hinges. They are caked in centuries of dust and orange rust. He carefully tips the vial, letting the oil seep into the dry joints. He waits a moment for it to penetrate, then places his hand on the wood to feel for vibrations.
The Peek: With Dorn acting as the anchor, Cabe and Aele lean in. Cabe applies pressure with a single finger, easing the door open a mere half-inch. Aele holds his lantern light up to the narrow aperture and strains to discern what lies beyond. He freezes, and his mouth goes slack...
