"Ye should've seen the last bunch we cleared out..." Bründir had little joy in the comparison. That cultist den was a haunting place.

Vark follows the dwarves inside, curious about the contents. With every mention of a magical item that Hurrig points out his eyes glimmer with intrigue. At the books, he starts excitedly “Oh! I-I recognize it! It’s gnomish... I think. Oh! Uhm let me see,” he says as he begins digging through his satchel. Eventually he produces the scroll of comprehend languages. “T-this should work, right? Should I... should I skim through these books while the others drain the basilisk?” 

Valaith and Dorno work together to string up the dead basilisk by the tail as the blood begins to pool towards the head of the beast... Val grits her teeth as she strains to heft it up. Dorno looks uncomfortable for a moment as he looks at the blade in his hand. “You alright, Dorno?” 

“Dorno doesn’t like bloody work.” 

Val nods and smiles at her Druidic friend. “Big lady doesn’t mind if you need help?”

  Dorno shakes his head as he thinks back to all the elves and the nice Elf Lady... he takes the razor sharp blade and slices it across the throat of the basilisk. Val immediately begins holding the vials beneath as it rolls down the scales and into the glass. One by one, they two tallest members of the group slowly bleed out nearly every drop of blood. Dorno points to a few spots where the blood seems to be pooling in the limbs... as Dorno cuts through the scales, Val uses her muscles to wring out the liquid. Once done, Val’s forearms are coated in blood up to her elbows but she has a big smile on her face.

Dorno notices the smile. ”Big Lady like bloody work?”

”Just reminded me of home for a moment. Like my brother was alive again. Thanks Dorno.”

Dorno just smiles as he shakes blood from his knife blade. “I like when Big Lady smiles.” 

As Dorno and Val finish up draining the basilisk, Hurrig makes his way behind the shed. "Look at tha two of ya. You two made quick work of that, and looks like ya collected a lot! We found a lot of loot inside." He walks over to inspect the dead basilisk. "Think if we take it's head or eyes, we can petrify things using them? Maybe I could fashion a couple of necklaces for the eyes to sit in? And maybe we should take some to cure and make some food for the night?" He attempts to butcher the animal when they are finished, leaving the head in tact covered under a towel or rag for now.

As everybody else works, Jex paces the cabin and the outside, keeping an eye out for interruptions at first. But then his attention starts to wane, a like a bored child he begins to fiddle with things. Picking up tools, or loose planks to mess with, etching crude symbols into the walls of the cabin with his dagger, before turning it over in his fingers and flinging it repeatedly into the wood. Eventually bored of his own game he heads inside. Looking over the loot, occasionally picking something up and throwing it on the air and catching it, or putting on an item of clothing and seeing what ridiculous combinations he can find. Eventually his eyes settle on the castle. He picks it up and looks over it.

"Odd, this is a perfect model of that castle over in the east."

Still wearing the hat, and a ridiculous long coat and a makeshift necklace made from straw and mud he heads outside to where the work on the basilisk is still underway. He paces up and down wondering if they will look up and notice him, but Val and Dorno are wholly focused on their work. He chuckles to himself and heads back inside. 

"Hey you lot. This castle is a perfect model of one up in the mountains there. You can see it from the watch tower. I can just imagine how somebody going completely out of their mind with boredom up there would sit and make it when they come down. Reckon it was the one I stabbed up there, or scar smile here? Maybe one eye there?" He gestures at the guards still lying just outside the door. 

Val and Dorno's work to drain the basilisk of its blood takes a good hour, and after fifteen minutes or so anybody watching the cabin's surroundings notices a basilisk drag itself up out of one of the western caves to lay itself sleepily in the the morning sun. A few minutes later, another arrives from a cave to the south. It sniffs at the blood-spattered grass where the battle was fought, before moving on and watching the cabin from a distance. At no point do either of them attempt to cross the fences or approach cabin any further.

As Jex looks closer at the castle miniature he notices that it is, in fact, ceramic. Such detail would take significant skill and no small effort to reproduce. Hardly the work of an idle watchman. Looking around inside the cabin, he also recognises the contents of the barrel that was foreign Hurrig - a significant quantity of rare and valuable cosmetics.

In the meantime, Vark gathers the books, fishes the scroll of comprehend languages out of his backpack and settles down at the dining table to do some reading.

The gnomish book, bound in rabbit fur, is scrawled in thin scratchy handwriting that makes the usually chunky dwarven letters appear almost spidery. It contains a set of notes and acquired experiences and knowledge of the behaviour and biology of basilisks. How they respond to one another, or to outsiders. The details of their reproductive cycle, egg hatching and the rearing of hatchlings. How best to treat their meat and the most efficient methods to be used when rendering their corpses into component parts. Everything that this person learned of basilisks, they detailed in this book. A name has been written in small letters inside the front cover. Caroline Swiftstep.

The second book, bound in feathers, is written in a flowing script of broad extravagant strokes. It reads as somebody's journal of their ancestor's fight against oppression and their own, personal bid for power.

My grand-sire was chained within these very walls. He spoke a sharper tongue than I, but his heart was filled with the same venom. Taken from his home, the alliance tried to bend him to their will. To break the unbreakable spirit of a dragon warrior.

They failed. Every insult hardened his resolve. Every lash of their whips sharpened his claws. Every chain they shackled upon him only added to his strength. He gathered his siblings, and he sang a warrior's song into their hearts. Together, they took this prison from the very scum who had wrapped them in chains.

When the other tribes heard such a warrior's song, they shrank back in fear. They looked upon the venom in my grand-sire's heart, and they thought him poisoned. They bid him to forget his anger, to forget the alliance's transgressions.

My grand-sire saw this for the foolishness it was. He had become Rhogar-daar, the war chief of a new clan. He reclaimed the tools of those who oppressed them. He reclaimed their prison to be his fortress, their weapons to be his strength, their armour to be his protection. And so our clan was born anew, wielding the very chains that once confined us. 

For too long we fought with only our brethren alongside us. Warriors of merit, yes, but few in number. Our power was limited, our scope miniscule; forced to crawl along the shadows like insects. We had degraded to become nothing more than bandits. A hindrance, nothing more.

My sisters and I saw the wisdom in change. To grow our numbers, to grow our influence, we needed allies. We allowed the scaleless into our ranks, inviting them to add their strength to ours. And so our might grew, like a mighty storm, like a crashing wave.

But many clouded eyes looked out among our ranks. They questioned our leadership, blinded as they were by the old ways. They cried out in angry voices, rising louder and louder. We looked upon them calmly, for the Morrigan has taught us that change always leads to chaos, just as chaos leads to blood.

And so the gauntlet was born. Any who questioned our decision would have their chance to test the combat prowess of our scaleless allies. And the very few who were able to succeed in such a challenge? They would face us. After all, it was our orders that they were questioning, our strength.

Like the Morrigan before us, we became both destroyer and creator, slaughtering those who questioned and strengthening all who followed.

It is not often that someone escapes us. There is loyalty and there is death. So when someone manages to slip from our grasp, we tend not to forget. He calls himself Lúthedir now, but we knew him as Kriv. Once he was a brother, a warrior. Now he hides away in the trees. Why he chose to return to Hyarantar, we do not know. But we will make sure that he regrets such a decision, most adamantly.

We had planned to force him to fight within the gauntlet. I relished in the idea of seeing him die before us, battered and broken. But when our scouts told us that his companion was seen lurking about our fortress, I knew what must be done.

Though watching Kriv die a slow, agonising death would be satisfying, I feel that he and this elf must share a bond. So first, I will kill his heart. I will watch as the misery wells up within his eyes, knowing that he caused the death of one who obviously cares so deeply for him.

Death can come later. For now, I will offer Kriv a choice. Only then can our revenge be complete.

The goliath-firbolg team does excellent work and the duo manage to fill sixteen of the twenty glass vials provided to them by Peldirion. By the time they are finished it is getting on for mid morning and Thurston feels Thor's mark fading from the dragonborn. She's about three miles from the warrens, still moving steadily eastwards.

This time counts as a short rest and Val and Dorno may spend hit dice to recover their lost vigour if they wish.

During that time Thurston aids those who may need but seeing that everything is under control he goes up the watch tower and keeps watch in case that dragonborn comes back with help. 

It's very windy atop the watchtower, and a little cold. As Thurston looks about, far away, several miles away to the east, he can make out the mountainside fortress that Jex described. It's edges are blurred due to the distance and the soft morning light.

Frandal, please roll a perception check.

Seeing the sun reflecting in something at the belt of the decesead guard, Thurston leans towards it and produces a spyglass from the body. 

He had heard of them but never had the chance to use one.

Curious, he opens it and point it towards the distant fortress. After a few seconds staring at it he takes the spyglass out of his face and looks at it. 

" I don't get it... " he says to himself in loud voice " This makes things look smaller... " 

As Hurrig finishes the identification of goods, Bründir steps to the edge of the trap door. "Oi! Can ye 'ear me down there, or did the big mama fin'lly eat ye?"

Bründir's question is met only with eery silence.

Hurrig looks at the group, “If none of ya are opposed ta it, I could certainly benefit from this here shield.” Hurrig picks up the shield and inspects the shape and size.

”Seems like ya gnome friend isn’t very talkative right now, should we go down and investigate?”

Dorno is cleaning himself up after the good work he and Val did when Hurrig and Brundir start addressing the trap door.  "You want to go down THERE?  With the bas-lisks?"  Dorno looks scared.  "What for?  Friends came to help nice elves and then go help dwarf village, right?"  Dorno sticks his tongue out to the side while thinking and pointing his finger around the room silently, counting his companions.  He raises a thick finger on his other hand to account for each of them and then finishes with one finger on the other hand.  His tongue retracts.  The sharp firbolg then reports "all friends are here and ok."  "We can get away from bas-lisks with good sneaking."

Jex nods in agreement with Dorno. 

"We really have nothing to gain from going down there. Send the vials to the elves. Give them the message to find it, then we should spoil what we can't carry and get out of here with what's left."

As the others begin to gather around the cabin, Vark can be seen pouring over the second book, mouth agape. "Ah- Ahhh- AHHHHH! G-guys! This book it... EVERYTHING! It's all here! Megren and the Morrigan t-the dragonborn and-and Luthedir!" Once he is able to calm down a bit, he explains his findings more thoroughly to the group. "S-so this plague... it's a punishment because Luthedir returned to Hyarantar? And this fortress.. d-do you think it could be that castle?" he says, pointing to the model Jex holds in his hands. "O-oh uhm also.. that other book is all about basilisks."

Hurrig looks at his tall friend, almost completely forgetting Sheercleft with all this talk of basilisks lately. He then looks down in shame as if he let them down, “You are right friend, we need to get back to Sheercleft. We know where this is now and can always return if we need.” Hurrig leaves the cabin for some fresh air, now worried about his home and if they have held up alright. 

Val looks between the miniature castle and the fortress off to the east. "I would absolutely assume this is the same place mentioned in the journal. Likely it is the home of those dragonborn *****es." She looks at its size and the size of their group. "We are not enough to assault that place yet. We will need an army I think. Let us send the blood to Hyantar and warn them about Luthedir." At the mention of his name, Val's face twists into an angry snarl. "Twice now we have brought nothing but peril to the elves. We must make sure they are taken care of fully and warned before we return to Sheercleft." She stands and removes the scroll of telescription from her back, tears off a portion and hands it to Jex. "I think you are the most learned. Please tell them how many vials of blood to expect and tell them of Luthedir. He should be found and captured I think. And ask them if they need more blood, if so to send back the vials..." Her hands tremble as she hands over the scroll section and quietly walks outside. Jex notices that the paper is coated in a thin layer of frost and is extremely cold to the touch...

"M-maybe... maybe we should send the journal to them as well? They might know... something about this Rhogar-daar, or the prison."

Thurston, with the spyglass on his belt, goes down and listen to all. 

"Be sure that they do not need more blood, there were a lot of people who need the antidote. " he looks significally to Hurrig to remember him that they need a vial of the antidote too for Jex. 

" We should send word to them of the bandit camp and all that we have learned about all of this. They must be stopped but the elves need to be warned about this. This is no a simple bandit threat and now I regret not to have storm the campment and end them for good. " he seems to think for a  moment " We must help Sheercleft but then we should come back and end this threat." 

After all the conversation is done and the decisions are made he turns to Vark. " So... did they eat stones or not?" he says refering to the basilisk and the book containing all that information.

Jex nods and takes some ink and a pen and sits to write the message. His penmanship is beautiful, every letter perfectly formed and evenly weighted. He writes as Val requested, to expect 16 vials and return empty ones if it is not enough. 

He looks up for a moment at the end.

"Should I tell them to expect the books then?"

His pen hovers over the page as he waits for a response.