The Owlbear and The Trap

Maormo lead the group slowly up the stair case, sword at the ready. Despite the smell of rotting vegetation beneath them, a stronger odor begin to descend down the stairs. It was like a mixture of offal and rotting flesh, and each step they took, the smell got stronger. About halfway up, Maormo noticed a shattered skeleton at his feet, ribs badly smashed, skull cracked, and limbs scattered on the stairs. Despite its condition, the tell tale orcish features and rusted battleaxe were visible and very familiar.

Maormo gently nudged Poeas behind him. “Looks like we found an old friend.”

Poeas looked down at the battered bones. “But just one, stay alert.”

Maormo continued up the stairs until it opened into a worked chamber. Nearly fifteen foot square, the chamber resembled much of the other rooms in the mine, braced by large wooden beams and covered in a fine purple soot. Across from the stairs a small path lead to a natural chamber, filled with a pool of water. The smell here was almost unbearable and its source was scattered about the room, large bloody feathers and animal waste covered the floor and in one corner stood the creature that owned both.

It stood nearly six feet tall and was half as wide, standing on two massive hind legs with forearms ending in large yellow claws. It had the shape of a bear, but it was covered in large feathers and its head was that of an owl. It was an owlbear, a creature born of magical experimentation in ages long past that had spread throughout the wilds. This one was not fully mature and was covered in painful bloody sores, each sprouting a large purple crystal. It looked at Maormo and Poeas at the top of the stairs and let out a screeching roar as it charged them.

Maormo moved forward to meet him, and Poeas moved into the opposite corner of the room.

“Owlbear,” He shouted to the others down the stairs and Brenton and Cydd, upon hearing this, quickened their pace.

The creature swatted at Maormo with it's deadly claws and he barely raised his shield to deflect the blow. The sickening sound of the nails digging into the shield's steel was grating and the force of the impact slide Maormo back several inches. The fighter held his ground, however, and retaliated, bringing his sword across the owlbear's chest. The blade cut deep, causing the beast to howl in pain and reel backwards. Just then Poeas loosed and arrow, however the owlbear's flinching from the wound Maormo gave it caused the arrow to narrowly miss its mark.

Brenton and Cydd topped the stairs as the wounded animal screeched in rage. Brenton charged forwards, moving beside Maormo, mace held high. The creature's attentions were solely focused on the warrior and it again swiped at Maormo, this time knocking his shield from his grip and sending in a few feet to his right. Brenton quickly brought his mace down into the owlbear's arm, but the enraged creature barely seemed to notice. It swing again at Maormo and he ducked, razor sharp talons just sailing over his head. He quickly readjusted his sword, gripping it in two hands and driving it into the owlbear's stomach. With all his might he drove the blade upward, hearing the crack of bone before the blade finally became lodged in the beast's sternum. The owlbear howled, as warm thick blood dripped down the blade and coated Maormo's hands. Brenton drove his shoulder into the creature, knocking it back and off of Maormo's sword. It fell onto it's back, letting out a few ragged breaths as it bled out before finally falling silent.

“Are you okay?” Brenton asked.

“Fine, not even a scratch,” Maormo said, wiping blood off his blade.

Poeas quickly moved towards the fallen owlbear, kneeling next to it. His finger lightly traced one of the crystals growing from the creature's body. He quickly began scribbling notes on his parchment. He reached for one of the crystals, trying to pull it off. With but the slightest pressure the crystal broke, a brief flash of purple light came from its center before it turned into a fine powdery soot.

“Something is up with these crystals,” he said, mostly to himself.

“Obviously,” Cydd said, “and now we know what took care of our skeleton friend.”

Maormo walked over to his shield, picking it up. He frowned, examining the long scratches now marring its surface.

“The question is, where is the other one?” Brenton asked as he walked over toward Poeas, the elf was carefully cutting away the flesh around another crystal that grew out of the owlbear. Brenton watched as Poeas pulled the fragile crystal away from the beast's body, so light and thin it seemed like it wasn't even real. Poeas carefully wrapped the crystal and placed it in a pocket on his backpack.

“Maybe that thing ate it” Cydd said as he slowly walked around the room, examining the waste on the ground. He saw a peculiar bone sticking out of one pile closest to the water filled cavern. It was larger then the rest, like the rib bone of a creature twice the size of a man, but it was the glint of reflective light that drew his attention. No sooner had he begun to approach it, however, then did he see the second skeleton, slowly coming out of the water, drawn by the noise of battle.

“Guys, I think I found him!” Cydd said, taking a step back. He reached for one of his daggers, but, thinking on how ineffective the small blade would be on animated bones, he opted to step back behind Maormo. The warrior had already taken his fighting stance, shield at the ready, waiting for the undead bones to come to him. Brenton and Poeas quickly got to their feet, the elf backed himself up with Cydd, while the cleric moved forward, hand reaching for his holy symbol.

Maormo looked at Breton. “No need for your holy speeches this time, I've got him.”

The skeleton silently moved forward, raising his battleaxe over his head. Maormo took a half step forward, lowering his shoulder into his shield and thrusting it forward. It caught the skeleton square in the head and chest. The ancient bones cracked under the pressure, ribs snapping and splintering, its bottom job snapping off and clattering to the floor. The skeleton continued its attack, unmoved, bringing its axe down. Maormo raised his shield and the rusted weapon smashed against it, the impact did little damage to the shield, but rattled the already battered skeleton, causing its arm to snap off at the shoulder and fall to the ground. Brenton raised his mace, ready to strike, when from behind a large rock hit the skeleton right between the eye sockets, knocking the skull clean off. The bones crumbled to the ground.

“Well that worked better then arrows,” Poeas said with a grin, tossing another rock in the air and catching it.

“That was my kill, but I suppose I can let the elf have it,” Maormo winked at Poeas, sheathing his sword.

“Let's leave the elf alone and help me check out this next chamber,” Brenton said, “Both your lantern and sword arm could be useful.”

Brenton moved towards the chamber where the skeleton emerged, Maormo behind him. Cydd, meanwhile, went back to retrieve the bone he saw earlier, carefully reaching for the end sticking out of the owlbear's waste so not to get any one his hands. It was indeed a large rib bone, nearly a foot and a half long. On one end was a small blue gem, tied securely with a thing strip of leather.

“Poeas, what do you make of this?” Cydd asked, holding up his find.

Poeas stepped forward, looking carefully at the rib. “Looks like a wand of some sort, might I hold it?”

Cydd handed it to Poeas who immediately felt the magic resonating from it. “It is indeed a wand.”

“A wand of what?” Cydd asked.

“Well, I don't know, I've not the magical training to figure that out, not without trying to use it.”

“Then try to use it.”

“No! We have no idea what it could do, it could summon a dragon or light the wielder on fire.”

“So we're just going to bury it our packs somewhere and never know?”

“Of course not, I am quite tempted to try it out, just not now, in time.”

“As long as you let me know when, so I'm no where near you.”

Poeas smiled and tucked the wand away into his backpack. Maormo and Brenton returned from the cavern, wet up to their knees.

“Nothing there but water,” Maormo reported.

“Well that, and we saw where to floor gave way in the room above. This is where that pit trap would have its victims end up it seems.”

“So, dead end, I guess we'll have to figure out that door after all.” Cydd said.

“There has to be some way to get this open,” Brenton said, standing in front of the door. They were back in the room with the mushrooms, having made no forward progress in the room above.

“There is, you just have to stick your hand in there,” Poeas said, studying the walls around the stairway, “I think.”

“That's very reassuring.”

Poeas spotted something then in the wall, a similar gap in the stonework like the hidden door in the rooms above him. Once again, someone had attempted to disguise a passageway behind false stonework, but imperfections caught by elven eyes gave it away.

Poeas slide the false wall to one side, revealing a chamber coated in dust. The air was thick and musty, as if no one had disturbed it in many years. It was not covered in any of the soot they had seen elsewhere and seemed to be much more exactly measured then any of the other mining chambers. It was almost perfectly rectangular in shape, about fifteen feet long and twenty feet wide, a small alcove was cut against the far wall and in it stood a wooden table. Atop the table were two silver coffers, each resplendent in a variety of runes and reliefs.

“Maybe we won't have to stick our hands in there after all,” Poeas called out, getting the rest of the companions attention. They gathered around him in front of the room as he cautiously stepped inside. Maormo unsheathed his sword and followed behind him, kicking up dust which each step. As Poeas approached the table, he could see the coffers in more detail. Each one had several runes on them that appeared identical to the ones on the menhirs outside. Each had a dwarven face relief around its keyhole, similar to the door they had seen.

Poeas took a step in front of the table, and the floor beneath shifted slightly with a low click.

“Run!” Cydd called out, hearing the pressure plate. Maormo turned and headed back through the doorway, but Poeas, caught off guard by the warning hesitated. In front of him a small portcullis slammed down in front of the table and as he turned towards the doorway he saw another descend, cutting off his escape. The group heard a slow groaning coming from somewhere behind the walls, like some ancient beast coming to life. The walls one either side of Poeas shook, dust falling off them and kicking up as clouds all around him. Slowly they began to move inward, creeping towards him.

“We have to get him out of there,” Brenton called out in alarm.

Poeas ran back towards the table, trying to find a way to shut off the insidious trap. The bars blocking it were barely spaced enough to get his arms through and he tried to feel underneath the tabletop for a switch, but his search was in vain.

“Brenton, give me a hand” Maormo quickly sheathed his sword and grasped the portcullis in the doorway at its base. Brenton stood beside him, grabbing onto the thick iron bars as well, “Ready? Lift!”

They each pulled up with all their might, groaning in effort. The two strained, bodies shaking, the muscles in their arms screaming in protest. But soon the portcullis began to raise and with one last push they managed to lift it above their heads.

“Poeas, get out of there, now!” Brenton called out.

Poeas turned, seeing the two straining to keep the portcullis up. “But, the coffers! We may lose them.”

“This isn't the time to argue elf!” Maormo grunted, “Move!”

Poeas looked back at the coffers one more time, then at the walls, still closing in. He paused for a moment, then turned and ran towards the doorway. He squeezed between Breton and Maormo and the two were about to release the portcullis when they say Cydd dart between and back into the room.

“Cydd what are you doing?” Poeas yelled.

“You're right, we can't let these coffers go to waste,” Cydd said running towards the pressure plate. He pulled several small tools out of one of his belt pouches as he slid to his knees in front of it. Brenton buckled slightly under the weight, nearly losing his grip, he wedged his shoulder under the portcullis with a groan.

“We can't hold this open forever, get out of there,” Brenton shouted.

“Neshti be with me,” Cydd murmured to himself. He began working at the pressure plate with his tools, trying to wedge them underneath it and lift it back into place. The walls loomed closer as Cydd worked, growing frustrated at his lack of progress, “I need more time!”

“The door!” Poeas called out, running back towards the silver door. He examined the plates inside the dwarf's mouth and saw that one had shifted to one side. Without hesitation he reached into the mouth, pushing the plate back to its original position. The mouth did not come crushing down on his hand, nor did the walls stop moving, he silently cursed Ireth's name. The door did, however, expel a coating of fine brown fungus into Poeas's face. The elf retched, coughing loudly as the fungus seared his mouth, nose, and lungs.

“Cydd, now, you have no more time!” Brenton yelled as the walls reached the edges of the doorway. Cydd punched the ground with frustration and ran back for the door, having to turn his body sideways to squeeze through. With a sigh of relief, Brenton and Maormo released the portcullis and it slammed to the ground with a reverberating thud. Both men leaned against the walls, taking deep breaths.

“Damnit!” Cydd cried out as the walls inside the chamber slammed together. Behind him, Poaes was doubled over, coughing loudly. He stood upright, wiping some spittle from his mouth.

“It seems Myna was not with us here,” Brenton said, “But we are all still alive, so there is blessing in that.”

“Yeah, well blessings don't get us whatever were in those coffers.” Cydd said, pushing his way past the group. He returned to the door, studying the plates once more.

“I wouldn't suggest touching them without a plan,” Poeas said, “It doesn't seem to like that.”

“Well we can't stand around in this room all day waiting for something to happen,” Cydd said, agitated. Behind the group, they once again heard the sound of low rumbling and, slowly turning around, they watched as the walls began to retract to their original position.

“Looks like we can,” Maormo smiled.

Once the walls fully retracted the portcullis on both sides of the room slowly pulled themselves back into the ceiling.

“You two can go this time,” Maormo said to Brenton and Cydd.

The two made their way into the room. “See, have faith in all things,” Brenton told Cydd. Cydd walked toward the table, stopping before he stepped on the pressure plate, seeing that it had moved back into place.

“Now how do we get those without setting off the trap again?” Cydd asked, “maybe we can set up a small pulley system, run it from the ceiling to pull the coffers off. Or we could make something to lay across the ground without setting it off, if I had some wood I could...”

Brenton leaned over the plate, grabbing one of the coffers and dragging it off the table. He set it behind him and did the same to the second.

“Or, we could do that,” Cydd commented as he grabbed one of the coffers, following Brenton back out of the room. They returned to the others and Cydd immediately began work on opening both coffers, manipulating the tumblers inside with a variety of small tools. After a few minutes of work, Cydd heard a satisfying click as the lock opened, he set it aside and began work on the second one.

Poeas took the first chest and opened it carefully. Inside rested a single handed warhammer, two large pearls, and some gold bars. Both the hammer and the gold bars had runes carved into them, similar to the ones they had seen elsewhere in the mine. Poeas lifted the hammer and could feel the soft warmth of magic flowing in it.

“Brenton, you could probably make good use of this,” Poeas held out the hammer. Brenton took the hammer in his hand, swinging it in short arcs.

“Its very well balanced and light,” He said, running his hand over the runes carved into its head.

“And there's a hint of magic to it, it will come in handy.”

“Then I will put it to good use.”

“Have anything in there for me?” Maormo asked.

“Yeah, you can hold onto the heavy stuff,” Poeas handed the coffer to him. Maormo retrieved the gold bars and pearls and, after studying them for a moment, began to stuff them into his pack. He casually tossed the coffer onto the ground.

“What are you doing?” Poeas called out, “the coffer itself would be priceless to a collector of dwarven culture.”

“If it's not worth anything then why do you want it?”

Poeas sighed and retrieved the coffer, brushing off some rotting vegetation and putting it in his pack.

“I can't get this one open,” Cydd said, still working with his lockpicks, “Might have to resort to an old trick.”

Cydd retrieved a crowbar from his backpack and wedged it between the top and base of the coffer. “Maormo, care to do the honors?”

“Gladly,” Maormo stepped forward and gripped the crowbar. Cydd held the coffer firm on the ground as Maormo wrenched back on it. The lid of the coffer began to curl back, but the lock resisted at first, until, with a scream of protest, the lock snapped. Poeas flinched as the marred lid swung open. Inside the second coffer rested a fine cloak, spun of a soft purple thread with gold trim. Along the trim, in silvery thread, matching runes were sewn down the sides. As Cydd lifted the cloak, a large emerald feel from one of the folds, which he caught in his hand. Beneath the cloak a hauberk of chainmail rested, as Cydd pulled it out of the coffer he could see the telltale runes they had grown accustomed to adorning the bottom of the suit. Beneath the suit rested an ornate wooden box, no thicker then Cydd's index finger, it too had a variety of curved runes across the top and was hinged, but not locked. Opening it, Cydd found five crossbow bolt heads resting on velvet. He carefully shut the case and tucked it away in his pack.

“These are magical too,” Poeas said, holding both the cloak and mail, “But they may be small for us.” Holding the mail out at arm's length, the companions could see it was made for someone smaller then they were. It was about half their size, cut for someone with a broad chest and shoulders.

“Probably dwarven,” Brenton said, “If both the size and everything around us is any clue.”

“Doesn't mean we can't try it,” Cydd snatched the robe from Poeas and put it on. Though loose around the shoulders and only coming to his midback, it still fit and he immediately could feel a reassuring warmth emanating from the cloak.

“Suppose it can't hurt,” Poeas said, undoing the straps that held his spintmail cuirass in place. He awkwardly stuffed the cuirass into his backpack and then pulled the chainmail hauberk over his head. It sat loose on his thin frame and like Cydd's cloak, came to an end near the middle of his stomach.

“That doesn't seem very safe,” Cydd suggested.

“I like it,” Maormo said, grinning, “though I would be worried about being gutted.”

Poeas looked down at the mail, “but, it's magic.”

“Well keep it on then, just, watch your stomach.” Cydd said.

“Don't worry, I certainly will be watching,” Maormo added.

Poeas frowned slightly at that suggestion and retrieved the second coffer. His frown deepened when he saw the broken lock and peeled lid. He carefully added it to his rapidly filling pack.

“Now can we get this door open?” Brenton returned the group's attention to the silver door, “I think I have an idea on how it works.”

Brenton carefully placed his hand inside the carved mouth and began manipulating the plates. Some slide upwards, others to the side, some back. Finally, after the last plate locked, he took a step back. Nothing happened. Brenton pushed on the door, it didn't budge.

“That was thrilling,” Cydd said.

“Let me give it a try,” Poeas said as Brenton moved out of his way. He began resetting the plates and moving them in another pattern, listening carefully to the sounds each plate made as it clicked into place. Finally satisfied with his choices he pushed on the door, it still didn't move.

“I've got it,” Maormo stepped forward and Poeas and Brenton looked at him skeptically. He reached into the mouth and began moving each plate, biting his bottom lip with concentration. After he pushed the last plate back, they heard the sound of gears moving and a loud click from within the door.
Maormo stood up, pushing the door and it swung open freely into a large corridor.

“Don't see what all the trouble was about,” Maormo said.

“That was pure dumb luck,” Cydd said, smiling, “but it worked.”

Brenton held his newly acquired hammer at the ready, “whatever the reason, let's see where it leads.”