The bodies are ready to pyre, and the curtain flutters closed behind Hiath. He holds in his hands a shallow, finely crafted mask of soft wood, the full face carved expertly as a haunting pale apparition.

Ruck listens to Hiath as he finishes up his work and lights the pyre. "Fire's up, people. Time to get off the stage!"

~SE++

Hiath takes out his flint and steel to provide some assistance. Afterwards, he leisurely takes his time to investigate the corpses to affirm that he is unable to race of the corpses, before climbing off the stage as the flames come too close to comfort, seemingly considerate about the newfound item.

"Sir, would this mask be of considerable interest, or shall it remain in my possession? I cannot very well infer its purpose, if any, but your skills might be more suitable for the task." He speaks openly to both of you, but it seems to be primarily directed at the mage.

"Finders keepers, I believe is the term," replies Ruck. "You seemed to have resisted the magic's enchantments, so perhaps it is best for it to remain in your care. I don't know a spell to discern more about the item, so unless I find myself in a library where I am able to research it, I won't be able to provide any further insights." He begins to head down the dark tunnels, allowing little ticks from Puck on his shoulder to guide him as the light of the pyre fades behind him. As curious as he is about the mask, it seems that the Swordsman is best to carry it, especially since he already wears clothing that deceives the eyes. Perhaps it's nothing, perhaps it's better in someone else's hands. Puck doesn't hold a lot of power himself, and he's no stranger to relying on others.

~SE++

Rabican frowns as Hiath stows the mask. "So you would burn the stage to be rid of it's evil yet artifacts found within are perfectly salvageable? I'd say toss it on the fire and be rid of this distraction. In any case we should be moving on - you could make out the light from your pyre miles away down here. No point waiting around to see who comes to investigate - or at the very least we shouldn't be standing here in the open when they arrive."

"The stage was burned because it was necessary for the pyre. Others could control the bodies with necromancy, and the stage was the source of their entrapment, so they needed to go. Whatever Hiath found, he can clearly handle without falling to its power, which means it's either non-magical and harmless, or a potential tool for us. Either of those things is perfectly fine, to me," Ruck replies as he begins to walk.

~SE++

You walk the winding path through the grand cavern, on the road you presume leads to Abbaethgar. The absence of heavenly bodies ensure marking the passage of time or direction unnervingly difficult, providing moments of vertigo as you walk the directionless dark. The road stretches on, your legs growing increasingly tired. The first moments of weakness are easily dismissed, but soon you can only conclude you've been walking for many hours.

As soreness begins to replace eagerness, you nearly call to rest, just as a new spectacle comes into view, previously eclipsed by some unseen wall of stone or shadow.

A far off cliff is illuminated by uniform torchlights, dotted across its periphery. Around the flickering braziers, you can make out crude holes that appear to serve as windows. This cliffside city or village stretches for many hundreds of feet in winding zigzags above. It may be Abbaethgar. On the outskirts below the habitation, a lone torch stands several hundred feet closer, revealing a small clay hut marked with wooden signage.

"Hiath, perhaps you should do what you're best at and watch from the shadows, just in case?" Ruck asks his short companion. "Rabican and I will most likely be able to handle whatever we find in the hut, but keeping you as backup may be our best scenario."

~SE++

Hiath cannot hide that he looks a little concerned about your statement, albeit being as accepting as always.
"I cannot assure your protection from anything that should reside within the hut. Regardless, I am sure that my presence brings discomfort, so I shall not press the issue."

Rabican can't help but raise an eyebrow at Hiath's statement. "Why would it be discomforting? You possess a staggering lack of faith in yourself my friend." Squinting into the darkness the paladin attempts to make out the writing on the signs adorning the hut, moving forward if more light is needed.

Stepping forward, you can see neatly etched undercommon in carved wooden plaques above the simple door. However, upon squinting a bit, you also notice one crudely painted word in undercommon, repeated in various handwritings and sizes, all across the door, smeared in a semiluminous green pigment, faded with different ages.

As you look over the writing, you notice in a few places a word written in the common tongue as well. Across the hut, the word "LIAR" is gratified hastily in several places, with a readable contempt in the very calligraphy.

"I can't say I understand your logic Hiath - you've more than proved your value so far. Still this probably isn't the best time to be discussing this. I'll respect your wishes for now but this isn't over." Rabican turns and begins heading down towards the hut, invoking his magic as he moves forwards, stopping just outside the entrance. "Anyone home in there?"

As soon as you speak, you hear a small commotion from inside, as a clanking of iron pots and pans, and a muffled voice.

"Come again to torment me, have you? Rotten children! I'll cut the bones from your flesh!"

"Wruz'roos, we're neither children nor here to torment you," Ruck calls out. "We're lost adventurers, and we could use your council."

~SE++

After a moment, the latch fumbles and the door creaks open. An elderly drow male stands before you, his pupils clouded with thick cataracts. He stands with half his body obscured by the door, hand ready to close it.

"What business do you have with me?"

Rabican instinctively gives a quick bow to the drow - though judging from the elf's eyes it may have been a wasted gesture. "Out business is information if you would be willing to spare some. As my friend mentioned we have found ourselves turned around down here. The city over yonder - would it by chance be Abbaethgar? And, if that is indeed the case, could you tell us anything of it."

"That and, why do they call you a Liar?" Ruck asks blatantly.

~SE++