"He's important to th'elves. Only right we bring 'im back to his people. Wrap th'body in cloth, we won't be 'round it fer more than a day."

"We are not going to leave him here I will carry him if necessary " says Thurston while moving the bodies to the pile of wood for burn them "And he is covered by my cape " he says to Grundir, " That would suffice I think until we reach the elves town " 

Jex crinkles his forehead. 

"Put him on the roof if you must. There isn't much space inside anyway. " 

Val turns away from the burning pyre and looks for some smaller lengths of wood to create a litter that could be dragged behind the wagon. If need be, she will use the axe and chop some lengths from another tower or the palisade. "We are definitely not burning this man with those foul beasts. He deserves better and more respect. I do not know the funeral rites of elves and this might be an affront. I will make a litter while you are gone getting your wagon. We were asked to return him to his people and that is what we aim to do. I only fear that perhaps our delay before entering the cavern caused his death... Wait... Where is Archibolde?! We never found him!"

"The litter is a good... Thor's beard!! you are right! where's he?!" 

A brief search of the caves turns up Archie's pack and weapons stashed in a corner of the rear chamber with the cauldron and the obscure tapestries. The gnome himself is nowhere to be seen.

Thurston will move the tapestries and the cauldron looking for any track of Archie.

Bründir picks through the ruins of the encampment and explores various scenic views. After the endeavour through the tunnels, Bründir was loath to return to their depths. This taste of adventure and success was refreshing, and though part of him wished to return home, he couldn't shake a nagging desire to explore more. This was the life his mother filled his head with in the tavern of Sheercleft. Her stories were minor distractions for the locals, but to the young dwarf, they held a greater importance than just simple stories.

Among the collected haul and pilfered equipment, a shield stood out to the dwarf. Since that first taste of danger on the road from Sheercleft, he desired something greater than his sturdy coat of scales. This simple treasure was round, of sturdy wood, and braced around the edge and in a cross over its face with bands of iron. The boss at the center showed considerable age and use, but the metal held strong.

Trying the shield on, everything felt right except a small detail: handling a crossbow would prove to be very tricky. He couldn't rightly think of a way to reload with a shield, so he spent an hour practicing shooting posts in the pallisade with his shield raised. The act seemed feasible, but proved to be no more than tactical subterfuge as his accuracy was severely handicapped past about 40'. Still, in practicing, he found that tucking the weapon behind his shield, deploying it over the top, then discarding the spent weapon in place of his sword was an effective transition.

After practicing for a while, he sat on the pallisade staring out where Jex left, daydreaming of a dwarf army deploying crossbows within their front ranks and felling an enemy army at the climax of their charge. The scene made the dwarf smile like a child after his mother's stories again.

The cauldron still simmers gently with red fluid, slowly evaporating into the caves. Eventually, it will empty entirely. There is no further trace of Archie.

Fearing the worst Thurston will use a big spoon or saucepan or whatever they use to remove the red liquid and will look into it.

The liquid is thin and Thurston quickly clanks against something solid in the bottom with a ladle. He hooks it out and finds a small bird's skull.

Worry tears at Valaith's inside as she and Thurston scour the interior of the cave once more, searching for any sign of their small companion. "Archie!" She shouts several times and when they find his abandoned gear, she feels something lurch somewhere inside of her torso. She watches Thurston anxiously as he empties the contents of the cauldron and she cannot help but to think back to the night she found her entire tribe dead. Dreadful thoughts drift in her mind as Thurston begins lifting something out of the cauldron. "Thurston, what is it?"

Vark follows Val and Thurston in searching the cave, also concerned for Archie. Upon finding his items, he begins stammering. "O-oh ok uh- maybe he just- y-ya know he's so sneaky m-maybe he slipped out during the fi-" a thought clearly flashes across his face. "Oh no... what if that dragonborn woman took him!" he turns, looking for a reaction from his friends, and the sight of Thurston fishing something out of the liquid elicits a queasy groan from him.

Dorno sticks with the majority of the group, not knowing what else to do and still hoping to help find their friend despite his fear of the cave.  After finding Archie's gear a few tears appear atop the firbolg's already worried face.  "Did the bad men hurt our tiny friend?  Was he too loud?"  He sniffles a bit.

By the time they are out of the cave again, Dorno's mood has turned to a grumpy one.  He mumbles something about "no more friends get hurt" and, seemingly referring to himself, "not a good friend if I can't protect these tiny friends like big friends protect me".  The now angry firbolg walks around the former bandit camp collecting any dry wood and pulling any particularly good, dry bits of off of some of the shacks and throwing it all in a pile.  He goes out beyond the walls into the fields and to the edge of the wood and comes back with a large armful of long grasses, nettle, dandelions, thistle, and any shrubbery he can find.  He tosses it all on the ground and then slumps down with a thud, sitting cross legged.  Still with a furrowed brow, Dorno builds a fire and lights it with small spell.  He seems to use magic to manipulate the flames for a while to get it good and hot and start to develop some good coals in the bottom over time, sometime even using his large hand to almost scoop up flames and move them around.  Eventually, after adding wood for at least thirty minutes, he seems satisfied and starts throwing grass on top, creating quite a bit of white smoke.  With some of the more distinct plants the druid waves his hand over them and mumbles something in Sylvan, making any buds on them actually bloom into bright flowers.  At that he picks them up in fistfuls, smells them and then makes a face and throws them into the fire like a pouting child.  The flowers burn and the smoke increases and the druid starts mumbling more, sometimes in common and sometimes in Sylvan at random.  Anyone nearby can hear angry tones and mentions of "friends" and "spirits" and "Oak Father" and the like.  Several times familiar white silhouettes of animals appear just beyond the fire from Dorno, twice each between a bear and a unicorn, and each time Dorno yells at them and shoos them away with a wave of his hand.  Names including Hugo, George, Willow and Rory can be heard amidst the shouting.  Each time the once majestic spirit eventually puts its head down, turns, and begins to walk away as it disappears into nothingness.  All of this goes on for hours as the group awaits the return of their new friend with the wagon, even long after Dorno's fire has died down and the smoke is minimal.

Eventually Dorno stands and kicks at the fire for a bit to put it out, still seeming grumpy.  He goes outside of the gates and sits in the grass just watching their surroundings and waiting after that.

As fires burned, Bründir sat upon the walls, counting out coins and gems. Numbers were never his strong suit, but he knew enough from helping the mine foreman with wages. A certain weight in hand turned to a stack on the pallisade catwalk. The stack multiplies until coins are arranged in lines and files. Is this how kings see their armies?, he thought when they were all laid forth, nothin' but stacks o'coins marchin' of to some captain's sack? He picked up a stack of copper coins, by far the most numerous, "Poor sod, farmer, tailor....miner...called to fight another man's war." When all copper coins are accounted and returned, the silver is shuffled off, "Men-at-arms. Fat an' happy, set to dance fer a lord, an' ne'er meant to do more'n eat, shit, an' fight." The silver coins dropped bit by bit, but they ran out all too soon compared to the copper. Last came the gold, "An'ere we 'ave lords, princes, an' kings! So few lead so many, an' each of'em worth more'n a village of me an' mine," he rested anan affectionate hand on the sack of copper coins, "I'll ne'er let these shiny bastards throw ye to th' dirt, lads. There's more of ye, heavier too," he pokes a stubby finger at the largest coin sack, then to the smallest, "They give ye trouble, ye tell me straight away, an' I'll piss'em all away on drinks for a whole town like us." With his conversation apparently finished, and his new friends reassured, Bründir tied the sacks and set down a third empty bottle of wine pilfered from a nearby lodging.

Thurston just throws the content of the cauldron and the cauldron itself the floor.

"I cannot see any trace of Archie... perhaps the theory that he has been taken hostage is right..."

Vark stares into the slick of greasy red and black. The sorcerer looks distant as he goes over the events that just unfolded. The fiendish presence, the red mist, the infernal spirits, the sacrifices. After a while he pipes up to Val and Thurston. "Aureanous told me a story once... a greedy lord turning to baleful magic for power... he tried to bind an angel against their will... I- I don't know. Maybe this isn't like that... but... it has all the same parts. Except... well this looks like it involved more fiends than celestials."

" You mean that they were trying to bind a fiend to do their bidding? Then let's thank Thor for had led us here to stop this madness. As soon as we recover and leave the elves at their home, we should look for the dragonborn, stop her and free Archie."

Bründir meanders out of the encampment gate, eyes fuzzy with a bit too much early drinking. Outside the pallisade, he finds a familiar mass skulking in the grass. Plopping down next to Dorno, Bründir just watches the horizon with the firbolg. After a minute, the silence is too much, "Ye know, my ma used to say if ye stare at it fer long, it'll surprise ye." His smile retreated as it fell on deaf or apathetic ears. "My whole life, I look out there, but could'na leave th'mines. Not that I was scared, just it's my home. Seems we both started chasin' where stone meets sky, an' this is where it leads. Ye know ev'ry blade o' grass has a story, like I know every rock spins a tale. No matter where roads lead, know ye did something great these past days, an' let ev'ry bush an' boulder know it."

"Well uh... I mean... I'm not sure. It's possible." he says to Thurston. "But... yes. I agree." Eventually finding a moment of awkward silence, Vark will slip from the cave, mumbling about going to see if the others need help with anything. Finding Dorno seemingly in some sort of spirit communion, and Brundir focused on training, the boy wanders the camp for a bit, realizing it could be quite a while before Jex returns. Smoke from the fires drifts, heavy above him, and he finds himself a little homesick. Well not homesick exactly, more so missing the familiarity of the mountain trail. What had been so treacherous for some gave him solace, a protective blanket of snow and fog and mist. Vark could almost picture it, looking out across the valley. Except now he was staring absentmindedly, a wind whipping around him, and the picturesque little cloud about to wash across the mountainside of his imagination was right there, right above the wall of the camp. Excitedly Vark flutters up to it on a burst of swirling cloud, creating a little indent as he enters the fog and perches on the wall. To anyone witnessing this, they would see the faintest silhouette, but not the grin on his face as the cool water vapor condensed on his skin and clothes. Vark exists in this blissful state for awhile, until a nagging itch at the back of his head reminds him of the lump in his pocket. This fog is perfect for inspecting the trinket, so he pulls out the crimson gem and stares at it again, wondering what it could possibly be. Was it truly the fiendish presence Thurston had detected on him?