Quest for the Gemgark

An unnoticed shadow stole across the roof of the Dragon’s Chest, a patch of black on the grey stone and dark pitch. An astute observer, of whom there weren’t any, might have noticed that they couldn’t see anything to cast that shadow, or in fact to look particularly hard at that patch of roof took considerable effort. To those well-versed in the world, that meant spitesprite, and spitesprites meant someone was going to die.

Not today, however. Today this spitesprite was listening in to a fascinating conversation between a confidence man clearly lacking in it, and his client, who had it all. Including diamonds, apparently, and a hot tip regarding mines and gems – and now Idealana had it too.

Any reasonable bounty hunter, especially a spitesprite, would have asked around, stocked up and taken off in a flash, not necessarily in that order – but vacation and the promising start to her quest had softened Idealana a little. Made the prospect of bed, food and rest attractive, if only by a tiny margin. On the other hand…

The landlord’s cold glare penetrated the crowd like a wizard’s fireball, landing squarely on her form silhouetted in the doorway.

“Spitesprite.” He spat on the bar, conspicuously close to the blackwood blackjack sitting next to him. “We don’t serve your kind here.”

It was just a goodly few days ago, when Festinger decided to wake up and walk away from the montonous realms of his university. To be honest, he had no idea how he managed to barely scrape by in classes considering his truant-like view on schoolwork in general. Regardless, he managed to get the hard-kept title of "occultist" (which seemed to take forever) and now armed with that supernatural knowledge, he shall go for the goal he always dreamed of completely (which he greatly insists on reminding others).

"Would'cha stop reminding me," the farmer grumbled.

Festinger immediately stopped. The occultist was usually a quiet man, but sometimes when he catches his attention around certain subjects, he would not just stop talking - at all. He pondered a few minutes and realized he had been blathering about that newfangled Gemgark to a large excess. Festinger reminded himself to at least have some modicum of self-control when holding conversation - especially since the farmer had half-heartedly threatened to ditch him on the side of the road.

"Well, here we are."

Lost in judging himself, Festinger nearly skipped the sight of Dragon's Chest and the sight was...less than what he expected. It was kind of typical and kind of ramshackle-y with slightly dirty windows and crumbly bricks - tiny details that gave this inn a slightly grimy, worse-for-wear look. Festinger should have expected this - considering the selling point of Dragon's Chest was its alarmingly low rates.

"Thanks," Festinger politely murmured, carefully sliding himself off of the cart.

"Are you sure you want to stay at Dragon's Chest?" the farmer yelled from the cart as he adjusted the harnesses of the mules. "Not like Phoenix Legacy or Four Elements? Dragon's Chest may be the cheapest, but it certainly isn't the most safest. I heard it attracts all sort of ruffians, some of them shady as their nasty motives."

"Nah," Festinger replied. "I'm fine."

"Eh," the farmer shrugged. "Suit yourself. Just try not to get yourself killed, alright?"

"Mhmm." And that was all he said as he carefully wiped the few strands of hay from his cloak. It took all his effort to trudge himself into the front of the door. General apathy attempted to dissuade him from his quest, almost convincing him that the door in front of him was probably the most uninteresting door in Granbatla ,and he should go to the side and take a nap. Fortunately, he inched his motivation forward and opened to the door. After all, his goal was very important and must never slip his mind.

Like a tavern rat, Festinger slipped in without notice. Despite his height and unusual clothes, he managed to pass by without much attention or raised eyes. The first thing that popped into his mind was to get a room. Yeah, I should get a room Festinger quietly murmured to himself as he wandered over to the counter and waited -almost as if he did notice the hunk of a dwarven school project in front of him.

Eventually, SLPBS1 turned away from the counter and began walking (giving a slight nod to the people behind him as he did so, taking special note of Idealana's presence-- he hadn't seen anything like her before). He immediately headed to the tavern part of the building and headed into a corner, shoving some people aside without realizing it.

SLPBS1 had learned, first from books and then from experience, that taverns were an excellent place to gather information. He had also learned, solely from experience, that a gigantic and poorly-constructed golem tends to look very out of place sitting at a table and not eating anything. Instead, he just sort of stood in the corner and stared off into space; most people quickly wrote him off as "some cheap-ass janitor thing" or "who cares, I'm trying to choke down this oatmeal, did they make it out of soap or something." And so he stood, impassive, taking in every little bit of information that might pass through an unthinking man's lips.

Guan Yi was soon put to work; the kitchens were... Okay, there was a lot of problems with the kitchens. The cook was a spoilt brat, and the pots and pans were beyond disgusting- some of them she consigned to being burnt via charcoals before she even bothered to attempt to clean them properly. "Ugh..."

But at least that was done quickly; an excellent thing, too, because now there were orders going out.

No one noticed the difference between one member of waitstaff and another, especially when they shared the same generic uniform. The only difference was that Guan Yi's apron was secured, carefully, with a pin.

A pin depicting a scorpion.

"So that's a bacon bacon bacon and maybe some lettuce and a single slice of tomato in a loaf of bread. Understood." Ooooh, look at her be all faaaaancy, writing things down like she's some kind of scribe or something.

And if there's more things she's writing down, there doesn't seem to be anyone who cares...

Two more had arrived. A tall, bored-looking guy in robes (almost certainly some sort of mage) and a Spitesprite - a very rare sight. Aureole had never actually encountered one before - she had only heard tales of their exploits, no doubt exaggerated folklore for the most part. Supposedly the lot of them were assassins, and good ones at that. The fact that this one wasn't even making an attempt to hide seemed strange. Then again, the landlord at the counter seemed well acquainted with the race. Perhaps they were simply more common in these lands - Aureole had crossed half the world just to reach the city of Klangsbor in the first place.

Whatever the case, here one stood, the apparent victim of (possibly deserved?) discrimination from the landlord. Aureole's inclination was to simply stay back and watch things unfold, but, then again, it could have been that the sprite was seeking the same treasure she was. What other reason was there to head to such a sleazy tavern in the middle of Klangsbor in the dead of the summertime? Perhaps, Aureole thought, it would be best to make herself known, to attempt to make some friends for the journey ahead. No normal adventurer would likely ever reach the Gemgark - either Aureole was completely crazy, or it would be the best idea for her to become acquainted with the unusual ones.

Maybe it was both.

Cloak drawn around her, Aureole sidled up to the bar and took a seat right next to the scowling landlord, whose hand was now resting atop his bludgeon. He seemed to take little notice of her, his attention locked elsewhere. Aureole ordered some cheap ale from the bartender, though she had very little inclination to actually drink the foul, urine-smelling beverage that so many patrons seemed to enjoy. She had never much liked alcohol.

"What are you, deaf? I said get out, sprite."

The landlord soon felt something sharp pressing against his stomach - a dagger held by a lower arm of the very-definitely-not-human woman seated next to him. "Let her in."

The landlord looked extremely taken aback. "What did you... You in league with it?"

"No. If she meant harm, she wouldn't be out in the open right now. Let her in."

"You say you're not in league, and you have a knife to my stomach."

Aureole waited for a moment, then sheathed the dagger. Without a moment's hesitation, the landlord grabbed his blackjack and took a swing at Aureole's head. Fortunately, as landlords at seedy taverns aren't especially known for their agility, Aureole dodged the blow entirely, just before a sudden gust of air knocked the baton from his hand. The weapon flew over the bar and smashed several bottles of various alcoholic drinks as the landlord gazed on in both anger and utter befuddlement.

"Let the Spitesprite in, and you'll get no more trouble."

"Fine. Okay. Sprite, don't try anything. I'm watching you." The landlord spat on the ground again, glaring alternatingly at Aureole and Idealana.

"Sorry about the mess," Aureole said to the bartender, leaving several gold pieces on the bar before getting up, her drink untouched.

Readjusting her highly concealing cloak, Aureole walked toward the Spitesprite, exuding an air of utter indifference. "Hello," she suddenly said to the sprite as she passed. "I don't suppose you're here looking for... a certain powerful artifact? I believe we may be able to arrange a deal..."

"Hello, sir? Sir?"

The receptionist was slightly confused by the young wizard next in line. He was kind of...standing there to say the least. If it were not for his very hard-to-hear breathing and his slight swaying, she could have sworn that he was a dead man walking - er - standing. She could not really see his eyes, but she had a very strong suspicion that they were zoned out in two different directions.

"Sir?" She decided to try a little louder. "SIR."

The words apparently jolted some life back into Festinger as he was taken by utmost surprise. Not that surprise was a thing he could expertly emulate. He looked like if a someone ran a pathetic current through him - noticeable effect, but incredibly underwhelming. After a few ponderous minutes (which were few too much for the people behind him), Festinger kind of stared at the receptionist.

"Yes?"

"Well do you want a room or accommodations or something?"

Festinger squinted a bit. It was too easy for him to zone out into space, but too hard for him to concentrate on things he did not feel a particular attachment to. It was pretty ridiculous that he was practically unaware of the little scuffle between a particular insectoid treasure hunter and a landlord over a hospitality of a certain Spitesprite assassin. However, that was honest to truth fact.

At least he managed to muster up some attention. "I guess."

The receptionist wrinkled her nose as she attempted to figure out if Festinger was actually possessed or not. Regardless, a customer is still a customer and she need to act accordingly.

"The rates are 10 coins per day. After selecting how long you will stay, please sign here to complete transaction."

Festinger did not bother to listen. He was too enamored in the fact that the papers that the receptionist gave reminded him a shape of soft pillow, a comfortable pillow. Festinger could feel his eyelids get a smidge heavy as he realized, yeah, he had not actually slept decently for days since his arrival.

Naturally, Festinger fell asleep on the counter.

There was certainly a motley congregation of folks that had chosen the Dragon's Chest as their lodging. The first visitor Sk'Karl noticed was the gaudy golem that appeared to have been formed by pushing a lump of clay off a cliff, where it may have just happened to land on an animation scroll in the middle of a junkyard. If he hadn't seen it pay for a room, the lizardman probably wouldn't believe it to be a guest. It was definitely suspicious.
Of course there were a few other suspicious individuals as well. Some kind of four armed buggy lady, the likes of which he'd never seen before. He didn't have any reason to trust the staff here, especially the kitchen staff.
He would need a real good reason to trust a member of kitchen staff again.
Then there was the Spitesprite. Yeah that certainly made him feel safe here. A being dedicated to a life of thievery and deception. The four armed lady seemed to be in with her for some reason. May have to double up on security spells tonight.

Currently, however, there was the manner of the pale guy asleep on the front desk. Deciding he was apparently finished with his transaction for the moment, Sk'Karl decided to butt in to get a room.

"I need a room for a few days."

"I see. Unfortunately, we're booked full."

"I see that you're trying to pull one on me, because Snoozer here was given no such notification upon attempting to book a room."

"That would be the last room. I'm sorry, sir, but he was trying to get a room before you."

Sk'Karl grumbled. There had to be some way to get himself a room, although he wasn't ready to go around asking all of the suspicious, probably dangerous individuals if they'd be willing to double up on a room.

...but what about the narcoleptic ones?

"Oh, oh well you see we're together here. We're part of the same adventuring party. If I can't get my own room, I'd gladly share with him."

The receptionist stared at the 'sleeping beauty' momentarily, and promptly decided she didn't care enough to deny the claim.

"It's an extra three gold for an extra guest."

Sk'Karl didn't really believe that, but whatever. It'd be easier to go with it anyways. He dropped thirty nine gold worth of a coins onto the table and gave the agreement form a once over before signing it. Standard non-liability. Whatever. He wasn't the type to sue even if something did happen. Just the type to fight back.

"Alright, come on, 'Snoozer', off to our room."

Festinger mumbled something incoherently, as the lizardman literally dragged the robed man off. This had better be worth it.

VISUAL ACCOMPANIMENT!

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Spoiler

The very best of spitesprites could fade away with a roomful of eyes on them, leaving no trace of their presence and vague, unsure memories of their passage. Idealana was not one of them. Long ago, she had accepted – though not without the resentment that defines the spitesprite species – that her natural ability to vanish from sight were average, if not below. Yet she had a measure of innovation that set her apart.

She pointed to the back of the bar, where three accidents of industrial, biological and spiritual nature were clustered. The pointing was critical, as was the “Over there!” – in the split second where the lizardly creature paused in its dragging of the dead-eyed wizard at the momentary onslaught of gazes, Idealana simply wove into the part of the world the mind disregarded as being unimportant. Only her strange savior tracked, with extra eyes, a sliver of odd shadow weave its way away and heard a cold, boyish voice dispersed thinly amongst the noise:

“You too seek the Gem with no Name? Follow me, eddst kerie, with the shadows.”

And the customers returned to their meals and ale, the entertainment concluded.

For a moment, Aureole paused and watched a ripple of averted eyes pass through the masses – then she turned back to face the landlord and fixed his intense stare with her own, punctuating it with the slightest ripple of fabric under her cloak. To her satisfaction, the landlord’s eyes immediately found better things to concern themselves with, namely customers.

The spitesprite waited like a wraith in the darkest corner of the tavern, where eyes could not see her even if she were not turning them away. But with a little effort and some definitely-not-human eyes, Aureole could make out a slender, black-clad figure nursing a flask from which little vapors could be seen emitting. A pale, pallid face smeared in black looked up as Aureole approached, and produced a tiny, warming smile that looked lost on the otherwise cold visage.

“Eddst kerie. Loosely translated from Middle Sprite, ‘a saving friend’.” The spitesprite’s eyes met those visible under the stranger’s hood. “We, the spitesprites, interpret it differently: ‘an ally who is owed a debt’.”

Aureole held up a hand to protest; the spitesprite’s came up to stop it. “As you wish.”

Idealana stared harder into the blackness under the stranger’s hood, still gripping that subtly-odd hand. “We take our debts seriously, as we do our contracts. If you know nothing about the spitesprites, let that be your first lesson.” A flicker of the smile returned. “My name is Idealana.”

The hooded head nodded. “And my name is Aureole. Shall we speak of gems?”

Meanwhile, from the upside, Sk'karl was annoyed at the seemingly uncooperativeness of the occultist. He was very obviously awake, but yet he still laid on the floor. This sloth-in-robes was doing a great job and the Lizardman would very much give him applause - in the form of a swift kick on the side.

"Oof."

The occultist managed to take the kick in stride. He just slightly curled up...and continued to lay there. He could ponder the reasons why this ochre lizardfellow did such a deed, but why should he bother. He needed to conserve his brain cells after all.

At this point, Sk'karl had the deepest suspicion that the wizard on the floor was on to something. Look at those mage-y robes; he must have some brains to wear those magical fashion-pieces. Clearly, the occultist was acting - or perhaps hiding something even. Perhaps, even information to Gemgark. Sk'karl did not know, but regardless, you could never trust wizards. Even beardless ones.

Suddenly, Festinger found himself dragged up by two scaly hands. The domed head of Sk'karl focused in his vision. He blinked a bit. He was not a man for surprises, but on the other hand, when is the last time a lizardman dragged you up a floor?

"Oh." Festinger found words spilling out of his mouth. "Who's you."

Sk'karl frowned. He knew the mage's name but he rather not share his own - just yet. "I could ask the same thing from you."

"What."

"I said I could ask the same thing from you."

"Huh."

"LOOK, same question to you."

"Oh." Festinger blinked. "Okay."

Sk'karl frowned a bit. Man, was this mage even half-deaf too. Perhaps, he could get some information from him? It might prove difficult considering like apparently his listening, he probably has half a personality too. "So, what are you here for?"

"Um. Wha."

"I say what are you here for."

"Wha."

"Look, you are here for a reason. What is it."

Festinger could feel the gears ticking in his head - and they are going very, very slow. After an uncomfortable span of time, the occultist decided that perhaps it was worth bothering to answer that reptilian stranger's questions. "Um." An irritating pause later. "Gemgark."

"Gemgark." Sk'karl repeated the word to himself. It was audible, but he knew Festinger could not care enough to listen. Gemgark. The one and only. The Most Legendary Treasure of all. Perhaps he could fish more information about this gem away from this wizard fellow.

Suddenly, there was scratching in the distance.

"What's that." Sk'karl hissed. His paranoia nearly loosening his grip on Festinger.

"Huh?"

Sk'karl did not bother to clarify (knowing from experience, of course). He was pretty sure there was something in this room - and the scratching continued, reminiscent of the grinding between a furniture and the floor. The lizardman was not afraid, but he felt a bit tense - especially when the noise grew louder and louder.

"BooooOoooooooooooooOOOooOOOOOOOOooooOOOOo."

Festinger blinked at the sound of such a disembodied voice. As much as he felt the null of apathy on every spectrum of his lifestyle, he was incredibly interested (passionate is probably too strong of a word for his soul-less state) in the study of the strange. Like a scientist who could not help but apply his knowledge to his surroundings, Festinger decided to indulge himself.

"Oh, it's a ghost," he pointed out the obvious in a mixture of irritating chipper and his typical monotone.

Sk'karl let out a slight groan. As if there was not enough problems already.

"What do you know of the Gemgark?"

"Very little. I was told no more than anyone else in this bar likely knows. And, that something related may be hidden in a nearby mine." Aureole caught a glimmer of a knowing smile from the spitesprite before it melted away.

"So you were watching. Clever. I suppose you realize that I can't let you out of my sight now." Whether this was a threat or a request for a traveling companion was ambiguous at best. The shadowy figure opposite her seemed to take it as the latter.

"A fair tradeoff. You seem to know far more than I do about the gem."

"You'd be wrong to think that. No one knows much of anything about the Gemgark, other than obscure folklore." Aureole dug through a bag underneath her cloak before drawing out a dusty, worn book and placing it on the table. "This is the one lead I have. The language isn't one I've seen anywhere else, but it seems to be some sort of journal. The illustrations are equally unhelpful."

Aureole flipped the book open to a page in the middle, depicting a large horde of grotesque monsters surrounding a peculiar smudge atop a ruined temple of some sort. The monsters seemed to be decimating a horde of people as they attempted to flee from the temple.

"Presumably, the Gemgark used to be depicted where the smudge is now. For some reason, someone who came into possession of this journal didn't want anyone to see it. This isn't the only peculiarity."

Aureole flipped to another page. Another part of an illustration was smudged out. Another. An entire page was missing, torn hastily and haphazardly from the journal.

"There isn't a single picture of the Gemgark in the entire journal. No one I have talked to has been able to translate the language inside, save for one passage."

Aureole turned to the final used page. There was no bloodstain or smearing of ink as one might have expected from such a book, but the writing was noticably different from the rest of the book. A different language, foreign to the spitesprite.

"To whoever finds this journal: Turn back. Do not attempt to locate the Artifact With No Name. Only death awaits. If you are foolish enough not to heed my warning, take note of this:

Alone, the task is impossible." Aureole shut the book and placed it in her bag.

"I'm not going to ask you where you found that, or how you know what it means. I doubt you would tell me. I do not doubt, however, that this is why you have come here. Is it?"

"Yes, it is. I'm not sure how many we'll need for this task. I don't think two will be enough. I believe, though, that we'll need at least four or five. Maybe even more."

"Normally, a spitesprite would work alone. Rarely do you see us working with others, especially in the quantity you suggest. But you are owed a debt, and there is reason in your words. I shall accept your offer." Idealana paused for a moment, eyes darting around the bar.

"Where do you suggest we find these others?"

"This tavern's as good a place as any. I believe you noticed a pair of adventurers heading for the rooms before we had this conversation. A lizardman and a mage. They might be no better than the novice adventurers this town is plagued with, but then again, they might be exactly what we're looking for."

Aureole immediately stood and walked to the front desk.

"I'm sorry, but we're out of rooms," the receptionist told her, glaring suspiciously.

"I'm not looking for a room. I believe you recently gave a room to a lizardman? He's a friend. Which room was it?"

The receptionist's eyes narrowed. "And why should I believe you?"

"You'd be foolish not to. I can make it worth your while." The receptionist caught a glimpse of something shiny in the hooded figure's hand.

"Maybe I could be persuaded after all..."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Apparently, there weren't enough problems already. Because in addition to the fact that there was apparently a ghost in the room, there was now a knock at the door.

"Who's there?" Sk'karl called, suspiciously. There was no answer. He shook his head and turned his attention back to being suspicious of the guy in the hood.

There was another knock. "Who is it?" he yelled, met again with no response. It wasn't until the third knock that Sk'karl decided to check for himself. Hand held over one of his daggers, he threw the door open to reveal...

Nothing.

"Oh. Hi," Festinger said halfheartedly, seemingly at no one in particular.

Sk'karl whipped around to find the insect woman from before sitting in the chair in the corner of the room. Her cloak was neatly folded on the bed, and her face was partially covered in a scarf. He promptly drew his dagger and pointed it at the intruder.

"What are you doing in my room?!" the lizardman shouted.

"Please, there's no reason to draw your weapon. You both seek the Gemgark, do you not?"

The fact that the door was shut and a spitesprite was standing in front of it didn't exactly help to calm Sk'karl down.

"Oh, that's Idealana. Don't worry, she's not here to hurt anyone. I'm Aureole. Pleasure to meet you."

Festinger would be pleased at the intruding visitors if he did have the metaphysical capacity to produce care. However, a lack of an apparent soul often hinders this process and so the occultist remained blissfully nihilistic, while the lizardman who was getting increasingly impatient at everything in general. Festinger would gawk at the spidery treasure hunter, the androgynous assassin, and the Most Definitely Here Ghost, but he had more important matters to attend to. Namely, sleep.

“No you don’t.” A familiar voice growled as Festinger received a couple of slaps into his pallid face. It was enough for Festinger to halfheartedly protest and ease his uncomfortable stature into the conversation. As a reader would see, Festinger was not a walking vegetable, but more like a family Labrador in terms of responding to external stimulus.

After dealing with the occultist, Sk’karl decided he had some questions to be answered. “Gemgark, eh,” he breathed through his teeth. “Why you seek it.”

“Oh, I could ask the same thing to you,” Aureole made a gesture to the lizardman.

“Okay, fine. You got me there,” Sk’karl backed down as he was not going to give his personal reasons, even if they were to be so generous to give theirs. “Fine, we all want Gemgark for something. So, what you want with me then.”

“Well,” the treasure hunter replied in turn. “I was wondering if you would accept a party invitation to search for the Artifact With No Name.”

“I guess the bigger question is why we should get together.”

“Because alone, the task is impossible.” From the folds of her cloak, she retrieved the ancient journal she used to bargain the Spitesprite with. With a deft sweep, Aureole flipped to the middle of the artifact, showing Sk’karl the glory of the macabre scene with the monsters, the fleeing people, and the suspicious smudge lovingly pictured in the manuscript.

Despite the graphic depiction of the chthonic beasts and the unusual amounts of blood in the archaeologically valuable illustration, Sk’karl was all but convinced under Aureole’s words. He understood the value of cooperation but suspicion was a difficult thing to shake off. “Well, Gemgark is a valuable, coveted thing. How could I trust we, including you, YOU.” He pointed at Aureole and Idealana respectively. “And er, him I guess.” Sk’karl kind of made a half-hearted jab at Festinger hovering creepily over the journal. “To form some successful sort of party and not backstab each other?”

Aureole closed her eyes. “Remember, although all our goals for the Artifact With No Name may or may not be savory, the party is based on goodwill and trust. Each of us have skills and weakness that other may not have. By cooperating, we can cover all our weaknesses and support each other strengths, giving us a net success in the end -- if we ever have a success that is. Plus --” Aureole opened her eyes. “I know one potential location...”

Sk’karl’s slitted pupils lit up at the notion of evidence related to Gemgark. Information about Gemgark was not only incredibly obscure, but also incredibly rare - which made even a rumor about this Nameless Jewel to worth their weight in gold. Perhaps by going along with this strange insect woman, he could get clues to this fabled treasure...and perhaps the whereabouts to his friend.

“Fine, you made your case. I accept your invitation. ” The lizardman sheathed his dagger. “But I am watching you guys.”

“Mhm,” Aureole acknowledged. “We might need one or two more people before we start this.”

“BooOoOOOOoooo.” A familiar ghostly voice interrupted.

Sk’karl sighed, “Oh did I mention, this room is also haunted by a ghost.”

“I can tell,” Aureole replied, as she stood up.

“Where is holy water when we need it,” the lizardman grumbled to himself as he walked out of the door. The wad of invisible ectoplasm was one of those minor problems that frustrated life and Sk’karl was determined not to lose any sleep over this transparent hindrance.

“I am going to get some. “ He declared as tromped loudly down the stairs. To be honest, the lizardman was not too sure if this town was sophisticated enough to carry vials of genuine holy water, but he was going to risk this. Ghosts were stupid and annoying, and the sooner that otherworldly squatter evacuates, the better.

Aureole heard the heavy steps of the lizardman fade into the noise of the crowd. The treasure hunter was never the person (well, not quite person) to let time escape from her grasp and she decided it would be a rather good idea to mill with the populace of the crowd to get more allies to minimize the dangers of the quest. Of course, she needed to make sure her belongings return safely into her bag. Gemgark material was valuable and Aureole did not want any opportunistic fellow to take advantage of small mistakes.

Aureole was mildly discomfited when she saw a certain mage taking full occupation of the journal in which she used to convince Sk’karl. Festinger was reading so closely that the manuscript was practically shoved into his face. It was an eerie and a commiserable sight, the treasure hunter acknowledged, but she did not want to risk damage and theft to anything about, related, and pertaining to Gemgark.

So she took it back.

“Hey,” Festinger, despite all the joy and care sucked from his very being, felt a vague sort of disappointment when the journal was spirited away by Aureole’s grasp. “I was reading that.”

“Yes, but it’s mine,” Aureole carefully packed the journal into her hidden bag and walked out of the entrance carelessly left open by Sk’karl. “I am going to leave for a bit.”

Without even a word, Idealana trailed behind Aureole like liquid night, leaving Festinger alone in the room(sort of). The occultist was left with something that felt like awkwardness and somewhere in the depths of his incredibly boring psyche, he really did not want to be left alone. Festinger was not a social person considering he had not a flippant care for companionship, but he did not want to be a social outcast with furniture and a ghost for friends. Plus, that spider lady owed him the rest of the book to read.

“Wait up.” Festinger frantically (as frantically as he could get) said as he picked up his robes and ran. Despite having the stamina of tissue paper, he was hoping to catch up to Aureole and Idealana.

In the corner of the tavern, SLPBS1 processed the various pieces of gossip floating around as fast as it could manage. Something about the mountains? Then something about desert caves. It seemed like no two people could manage to form a consensus on where, precisely, the Gemgark was. However, there was precisely one very broad piece of information that seemed to be consistent: wherever it was, it was kept carefully guarded. An old man claimed there were immortal knights patrolling the area, and that he used to be one but relinquished his position; a woman in glasses countered that everything she'd heard had mentioned gouts of flame and pits of spikes, and he hadn't said anything about those.

Danger considerable. Allies advisable. It scanned the room back and forth, but for the most part, it couldn't find anyone who looked like they'd be a good fit. Either they appeared inexperienced and weak, or they returned a scowl as soon as they realized it was looking at them, or they were already busy arguing amongst themselves. Then it caught sight of the group trailing down the stairs, one by one, noting the dubious looks most of the patrons sent Idealana's way. Group contains two unknown species. Appear lacking in bodyguards. Possible opportunity. It continued watching as the group (sans Sk'karl, who had headed out) sat down at a table.

Aureole began looking around the room as Idealana took the journal and began trying to decipher it. SLPBS1 noticed the journal and recalled seeing the pair gesture at it earlier, as well as seeing their mouths move; yet it was quite positive it hadn't heard them speaking. However, this didn't matter to it at the moment; what was more important was that the book appeared to be important, and the group might be able to use it. Slowly, it approached, extending its hand to Aureole. "SLPBS1. I am looking for allies. Can offer assistance with finding, accessing information. May I see the book?"

Idealana pored over the book. As much as she hated to admit it, she had the unfortunate propensity to overthink responses to situations - overthinking at all being a fairly fatal oversight in a spitesprite’s line of work. But she applied it to the task at hand now, trying to find patterns in the strange language. The illustrations helped more than a cursory examination might have revealed - through them she could see some common threads of etymology, descending through the twisting symbols. It was all strangely familiar...

Then she came to the torn page in the center, and turned the book the right way up.

About then, a hulking lump of clay with miscellaneous parts protruding from its bulky mass approached the table. Without sparing more than a glance, Idealana saw the engraving on its forehead, the solid construction, devoting a few second’s thought to how one could incapacitate such a badly-made golem should it turn violent before returning to the more primary task, which was looking around to see if anyone had noticed her inability to read upside down.

"SLPBS1. I am looking for allies. Can offer assistance with finding, accessing information. May I see the book?"

The spitesprite’s body tensed, long fingers tightening around the journal, eyes flickering back and forth along the ceiling, plotting an escape route along the eaves-

“Idealana.” Sweepingly, Aureole stepped in between the clay and the shadow. “S...LPBS1. What is your purpose here?”

Wordlessly, the golem indicated the nigh-indecipherable scrawl on its forehead.

“Yes, you wish to learn. But learning has a price, little golem. What can you offer us, in return for our knowledge?”

“My own. I have knowledge in many fields.” SLPBS1 gave its crude clay shoulders a shrug. “Perhaps protection, as well.”

“Ha!” the spitesprite spat then - “What use would you be as a protector?”

“I have knowledge in many forms of self-defense and martial art.” Yet the tone of the shadowy one did shake SLPBS1’s own confidence. It wondered, not for the first time, if the techniques so illustrated in the books and scrolls as being performed by slightly more flexible and lithe beings could really apply to itself. A little forlornly, its head tilted to affix its gaze on the ground.

“I know what makes a good bodyguard, clay man. They are the ones you take out when they are not on duty, so that the inept ones are assigned the bedchamber that night.”

In an instant the golem raised its head - so suddenly that Idealana’s hand reflexively moved.

“Then teach me. I will learn.” With infinite care, the golem snapped the handle off the knife in its shoulder and let it fall to the floor with a quiet thud.

The spitesprite stared, momentarily speechless, as a clay hand smoothed slightly softer clay over the blade now buried in its body. A grudging smile made its way across her pale face, thin lips never parting. “Okay. Okay, clay man. You are not weak, but you are unskilled. What we call...nalliyn.”

SLPBS1 searched its memory for the word... “Middle Sprite. ‘Potential?’”

Idealana laughed mirthlessly. “Spitesprites have long interpreted the language of our brethren...differently. It means to me exactly what I told you. But come - that is two things we are now giving you. What of the return?”

Festinger chose that moment to finally reach the table after an epic journey of fits and starts and many rests. He proceeded to take another one by flopping facefirst over the tabletop.

As Idealana and the golem continued to discuss (or, perhaps, argue about) the latter's possible usefulness to the team, Aureole stared at the lethargy wizard as he buried his face into the uneven, vaguely rotted wooden surface of the table. She could swear she heard mumbling, but the table prevented her from hearing any specific words. Maybe there weren't any.

"What are you doing? Get off of there," she commanded.

"Mmph, mrrh guh," he replied before shoving himself back onto the floor. It was hard to say if he actually understood the concept of chairs. Or any other concepts, for that matter.

Aureole raised an eyebrow, imperceptible under the cloak still drawn over her head.

"Good enough." She looked around for a few moments, exchanging a brief glance with the odd-looking waitress-in-training. Didn't look like she was from around her, but she was just a waitress. It wasn't like acquiring the Gemgark would require waiting tables or anything. Idealana still seemed mistrustful of the golem, but Aureole had seen enough potential in it to outweigh its inabilities.

"It doesn't look like we'll be recruiting anyone else into our little party. Mostly just a bunch of inexperienced kids who've never been on a more dangerous adventure than buying some milk at the market. Just need to wait until the lizardman gets back, and we'll set out. I don't want to stay here any longer than necessary. We're attracting a lot of attention."

As if on cue, a much more haggard Sk'Karl staggered in through the door, then slowly approached the table. He stopped in his tracks as the enormous clay... thing stepped forward to greet him.

"What the hell is that?!" he asked much more loudly than he probably should have.

"I am SLBPS1," the golem started. "Will be of assistance in finding Gemg-"

"Shut up. Someone else want to explain?"

"Welcome back. It's probably more useful than it looks, just so you know. It seems to have a lot of information stored on it, and it seems fairly difficult to destroy."

Idealana glanced at Aureole. "I remain unconvinced of the need for this golem, but perhaps you are correct."

"It's not like he'll use up supplies or anything. And in the event that you decide to double-cross us, SLPBS1... You may find your days of learning cut short. But I'm sure we won't have to worry about that."

"I would not attempt such an action. I have nothing to gain from betrayal."

Aureole glanced back at a still-irate Sk'Karl. "Don't worry yourself. You're much safer with us than you would be on your own... I don't think I got your name."

"Sk'Karl," the lizardman mumbled, alternating between eyeing the golem and the sprite behind it. "Is the ghost still around?"

"Nah," Festinger suddenly replied. Sk'karl hadn't even noticed him sitting on the floor. "It left."

"Wonderful." The lizardman held up the vial of holy water clutched in his hand and sighed. "Almost got killed by an irate minotaur just getting this stuff."

"There might be need for your holy water later on, Sk'karl." Aureole stood up, placing the tome back in her bag. "There's really nothing else for us to do here. Sk'Karl, Festinger, Idealana, SPLBS1..." Aureole paused for a moment, considering giving some kind of rallying speech to get spirits up for incredibly dangerous adventure. She chose instead to toss her cloak onto the bar, revealing herself to be extremely non-human to all of the bar patrons who hadn't picked up on it. She carefully removed a well-worn hat from the depths of her bag and placed it on her head.

"...We have an artifact to find."

"I really do not like this place," Sk'karl declared to no one in particular. Of course, no one listened but still he needed everyone to know how he felt at this situation. It was his way of maintaining his paranoia. After all, he could not be too paranoid for everything - especially for mines that had been abandoned for many years. "At all."

"But I like mines." It was clear Festinger was trying to chipper but he was failing. Failing so hard. "They are rather...miney."

Meanwhile, the lizardman did not quite appreciate the mage's comment. At all. "...would you kindly shut up?"

While the duo were bickering, Aureole had considered the possibility of shutting the two up - or silencing the two knuckleheads with brute force, but frankly that would be a waste of time - plus Sk'karl and Festinger were just starting.

In speaking of waste, she wondered if what Norbert told her was wasting her time. The entry in front of her (thus the party) was to the long-abandoned Carnelian Mines - so named because of its unusually blood-red insides. Geologist claimed the red came from the rich iron deposits, which was why the mine was opened. The Sard locals (from the nearby settlement of Carnelis) claimed the red came from quote-those of the fallen-unquote. Judging from the amount of dead rats and body parts scattered around, Aureole was hedging her bets on the latter.

Some warm welcome, Aureole kept that comment to herself and no one else.

And it was not just the suspicious number of carcasses, Aureole had heard rumors. Just rumors, but rumors about a sick sort of experimentation happening deep in the bowels of these mines. Of course, Carnelian Mines had a high concentration of magic in the air - but that happens to every mine if the people dig deep enough. Carnelian was special in the fact that mages of high prestige came down here and did...things. Terrible, terrible things. Of course, it might not be true. After all, that rumor was just a shot in the dark.

On the other hand, she was finding a magical artifact that may or may not have existed. She was willing to get any shots she can.

Aureole gazed to the red abyss, but the abyss did not gaze back. It glared back. An angry hot wind blew out and whipped at her hair - just giving her a pressure-induced warning of how harsh, how arid, and how dangerous this mines are going to be for the party she was unofficially leading. But, Aureole did not blink any of her six eyes. Of course, the party could get some refreshments at the Carnelis settlement, which is only a five-minute walk away. On the other hand, they could just dive right in.

The question was: what should they do?