Valeria’s wet hair clung to her face and she looked very unhappy about it. It was cold in the caves behind the waterfall and the curtain of vines. Distantly the wild hum of giant insects and flying snakes could be heard. Her frown only deepened.
Almost equally unhappy was the sorceress Nyneve. She too was wet and cold from having to swim beneath the waterfall to these caves of uncertain security. They could not have outrun the horde that had been set upon them – that much was clear. They needed to hide. And they needed to escape.
Janaar thought about the ship and the crew remaining on it as he wrung out his soggy loincloth, mindless of anybody looking or what they might think. It was his dream to captain a ship and suddenly he felt too far from it. He hoped Rowan had a plan but the elf was hard to read.
Grim shook off the wet and cold like a wet dog. He gave the impression that he had experience swimming to lost and forgotten exits, and of being outside long hours in the cold. He was already exploring the space in which the group now found itself.
Ryparin was fussing over his equipment. Swamp slime now coated every part of his armour and wetness, left unchecked, leads to rust. He didn’t like rust. And something about this place upset his nerves. He preferred to let Grim poke around first.
Zymaan too was concerned about his gear. He had foolishly brought the spell book he had taken from the alchemist’s laboratory and grave. Thankfully the magic of the book kept it safe from mundane water damage. He checked his pocket and he still had the Philosopher’s Stone too.
Rowan produces what looks like a stick of pepperoni from his pocket and lights it on fire. It ignites quickly and robustly like a full campfire. “Come,” he says. “Warm and dry yourselves by the fire. We must discuss what to do next.”
By now Valeria is looking ravishing and beautiful again, with makeup and blown out hair. Her clothes are dry and she looks and feels fabulous. Prestidigitation is a woman’s best friend.
The group gathers around the fire and chattering teeth slowly become speaking lips.
“We can wait here until things outside die down, and then go overland back to the ship,” Rowan offers, falling naturally into his role as a Royal Pathfinder, “or we can go through this place.” It is clear he dislikes the second option relative to the first.
“What is this place?” Ryparin asks, concerned that the uneasy feeling he is having relates to the nearby presence of undead.
“It is a Troglodyte temple,” Rowan answers simply before observing blank faces and proceeding to say more. “They are a breed of lizardfolk. They emit a powerful stink, like a skunk. I don’t think even other lizardfolk like them.”
“Shouldn’t they be at the lizardfolk jamboree?” Zymaan inquires.
“Maybe,” Rowan shrugs. “They may not have been invited. I can’t emphasize enough how much they stink. It can knock you flat.”
Valeria and Nyneve exchange looks of disappointment and ‘do we have to?’
Janaar sees their stress and grabs his square jaw with his meaty fist to consider their options. “How long should we wait?,” he asks, also preferring the overland option.
“And where does this temple exit?” Grim wonders.
“Temple to what?” Nyneve asks.
“Have you explored this place?” Ryparin thinks to ask.
Just then a very loud roar echoes not far from the cave entrance. You think you can hear a dragon sniffing the air.
“I vote we got that way,” Rowan says, indicating the path deeper into the cave.
“Time to go,” Janaar declares.
Their rest done, the group gears up and moves out.