Empirical Gnollage: Installment 057 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment057.png]

There were a few dead bats on the floor of the room with the well, but the dusty haze of mold spores had settled out of the air. Still, the party held its breath and tried not to stir up the dust as they quickly made their way across the room and back to the entryway.

As they returned, they found Haunch acting nervous and watching the door to the outside. One of the doors shifted slightly inwards, bumping up against the rubble they'd piled against it to hold it shut. Al motioned for quiet and approached the doors as stealthily as he could. The other door shuddered for a moment, also blocked by the rubble. Al leaned closer and pressed an ear to the line where the two doors met. All was quiet but then, muffled by the nearly-perfectly-fitting crack between the thick stone doors, Al heard a faint chorus of high-pitched strained groans of effort, and felt both doors press briefly inward against his head. After a few seconds, the doors relaxed and a barely discernible sound like voices reached Al from the outside. He turned to describe what he'd just experienced and was startled to find Gruntle standing next to him, leaning over to press his own ears to the door.

"Goblins?" Wikwocket whispered down at his hip level, startling him again. Gruntle gave a quiet grunt of confirmation, his lips pulled back into an enthusiastic grin, and his hand rubbing idly at his collar.

"Doesn't look like they can get the doors open," Al quietly observed, "but they might try to find another way in. Hopefully there isn't one, but we should hurry."

Gruntle listened intently at the door, then huffed in annoyance.

"Moving away," he complained.

"Looks like there's only one other way open unless we can find a way to move the barrier out of the way," Al said, pointing into the dark hallway that Gruntle had earlier said smelled swampy. "Let me get a spare torch." He fished an extra torch out from his pack, and pocketed one of the remaining bottles of Notamimic Manor's healing potions just in case. After refilling Haunch's feed-bowl with more grain to try to keep in calm and happy, the party set off down the hallway.

It was only about ten paces in before they found steep stone steps heading downward, angling to make a sharp right turn, and then leading further down to the source of the swampy odor. The steps led down into a flooded corridor. The water was stagnant and murky, but clear enough to see the fine mud that had settled on at least the first few steps. Surprisingly for such a dark space underground, there were plants growing along the ceiling - two pale clusters of ferns dangled down. One seemed to be draped over a rusting steel plate in one wall partway along.

Al held his torch higher.

"How long is this hallway, anyway?" he asked, standing on the last step before the water and peering intently into the darkness.

"I believe I can see the end, perhaps a hundred and fifty paces through the water," Bote said as he looked.

"Yeah, I think there's a door," Wikwocket agreed, also staring down the hallway, absurdly pretending to shade her eyes from an imaginary sun with one hand.

"How deep is this water?" Al asked skeptically, holding the torch close to the surface. It stunk of rotted vegetation and sulfur. With nothing to disturb it, much of the turbidity seemed to have long since settled out and there was no sign of anything living in it, but there was enough cloudiness to keep Al from seeing the bottom. Gruntle simply went down the steps into the water, uncaring. Fine mud stirred from the bottom which didn't make it any easier to see through, but after a few steps down and in he seemed to reach the floor, with the water up to his lower ribs.

"Hey, wait for me!" Wikwocket called out. She re-seated BiteySue in its sheathe and stuck her shiny new dagger between her teeth. Then she went back up two steps slowly, and then ran back down to make a running leap from the last dry un-submerged step. Gruntle held still patiently as she landed near the top of Gruntle's chest and climbed up to stand on his shoulders behind his head.

"What are you doing? What about the rest of us?" Al said.

"Muh MO mfeff...," Wikwocket began, then paused to take the dagger out of her mouth. "You don't expect a delicate maiden such as myself to get her dainty feet wet, do you? And none of you brought a cloak big enough to gallantly cover this puddle with for me to walk on! What choice do I have?"

"Well, just for that, maybe you two can take a look around a little before I get my dainty feet wet, and Bote risks drowning himself going out there. Is that rusty metal there in the wall some kind of door?"

"It is true that I and my fellows are not the most buoyant of people, but that does not mean I am incapable of swimming," Bote offered. "Still, I find myself agreeing with Al."

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"Fine. I shall permit you poor peasants to admire me as I am bravely paraded before you. Onward, faithful steed!" she answered in her best imperious noble voice. Gruntle turned and began sloshing his way through the foul-smelling water. As he approached the rusted metal, the fern on the ceiling fell and landed on Wikwocket's head.

"Hey!" she yelled, reaching up to grab it to pull it off as the fronds of the fern curled around her head. "OW! HEY! Let go!"

Trying not to panic, Wikwocket carefully slid her new dagger up next to her face and tried to slash the ravenous plant away from her as its fronds began to turn a dark red where they touched her. The dagger easily sliced through stems, loosening the plant's grip somewhat but not dissuading it. That was left up to Gruntle, who quickly reached up and dug stubby claws into the flailing lump of fern-fronds, then yanked to tear it away. The torn fronds remaining dropped off of Wikwocket's face to land in the water, leaving patches of tiny pinprick wounds on her face and head. Wikwocket was very angry.

"You...you...violent salad!" she yelled, quickly scanning the ceiling for others. "Over there by the wall! There's another one!" She pointed at it threateningly with her dagger. Gruntle reached into the water and his hand came back up with his flail. He sloshed forward through the stagnant water towards the other plant and swung. The flail smashed through the reaching fronds, crushed the plant, and struck hard against the rusting steel behind it. The corroded metal crumbled and gave way, the water rushing into the revealed opening and washing a startled Gruntle and Wikwocket through with it. Their startled shouts faded away into the darkness and Al rushed down the steps into the rapidly-draining water after them. Bote followed. The water was only up to Al's knees by the time he got down to the muddy floor, and was down to just a few puddles by the time he reached the opening that the water had dragged his companions through. Wikwocket's shouts echoed in the deep cubical room beyond, perhaps ten to fifteen paces along each side, steep steps dropped from the opening down to the floor of the room. Wikwocket was treading the slowly swirling water in the room. Gruntle had gotten back onto the stairs and climbed up far enough to get out of the water and was trying to shake himself off.

Wikwocket stabbed her dagger angrily into the water. Al hurried down the steps to help, but she seemed more vindictive than endangered.

"Are you all right?" asked Al.

"No! I'm all wet now and my face hurts!"

"Why are you stabbing the water?"

"It's obviously in league with the plants, dragging us down here! It deserves to be punished!"

She splashed her way towards the stairs, but then stopped a few feet away, and stood up partway out of the water. From her movement, Al could tell she was stomping her feet, and a dull metallic sound reverberated through the water.

"There's something down here," she announced, now more curious than angry. She began to follow the edges of it with her feet to find out how big it was. "Seems to be a big metal box of some kind."

"Is it big enough for an adult elf to be lying in?" Al wondered aloud.

"Well, maybe if you kind of folded him up."

"That is probably not the resting place of the hero we seek, then" Bote suggested. "Though I am not an expert, I am given to believe that elves would not seek such a respectable depth for the resting place of their honored dead. Perhaps instead you have found something that is meant to be forgotten and undisturbed."

"You know, if my face didn't hurt right now, that would just make me want to see what's in it more."

"On the subject of your face, I think we should treat those injuries before the unclean water you are swimming in causes them to become infected. While the scarring should you survive would probably be impressive, I would not expect that is something you, personally, would desire," said Bote, bringing Wikwocket back to practical reality. She quickly splashed back into the water - making an effort to keep her head out of it - and swam to the steps. They climbed back up to the no-longer-flooded hallway so that Bote could perform their medical duties. Al held the torch close so Bote could examine Wikwocket's head and the patches of lightly bleeding pinprick wounds.

"We will need to clean these wounds thoroughly to prevent any miasma from entering your body from these unclean waters," Bote diagnosed. "I fear you will not like this process, but I promise you will prefer it to having your head covered with festering wounds."

Bote set his pack down and opened it, taking out a clean cloth, and a metal flask they'd been given in Turnipseed. Bote removed the stopper and sniffed gently at the fumes. "Yes, this should be quite effective," they said, eyes watering, and splashed a generous amount of the earthshine onto the cloth. "Now, please do not struggle, be brave."

Wikwocket seemed just slightly offended by this. "Hey, I'm not a child, I'm a full grown adult and I OW! OW! QUIT IT! OW! THAT HURTS!"