Concerned of the possibility of other hidden adversaries, the adventuring party very cautiously takes stock of the situation. Sartan used his sword to nudge the coins in the bottom of the fountain. They appear to be real, and no ill results seem to come of their having been disturbed. He wades into the ankle-deep water and gathers a collection of mostly copper pieces, but also some silver and gold coins, seemingly offered ages ago by some nameless visitor of generous means. Most of the coins are not of the typical Provincial currency in common use. They appear very old and bear no marks of any regional, contemporary mint. Two of the gold coins bear the royal mark of Tethyr, and bear the graven image of the present-day Queen, an anomaly among the collection of antique coins gathered from the fountain.
The group decides to descend the ancient cracked and twisted stairs to see what lies below the fountain. Mishok leads the way, followed by the others, except for Davros, who remains topside to guard against unwanted visitors. Water has flowed down the stairs from the breached fountain. The group passes through a rusted iron door that hangs ajar, to find a small, stone utility room, awash with water. Wading in, they discover a central stone column fitted with four tarnished but sturdy brass crank mechanism, one on each side of the column.
Testing one out, Cycek gives it a few cranks. He hollers up to Davros, “What’s happening up there!?”
Davros reports that water has begun trickling from the gargoyle’s mouth again.
Mishok, Sartan, Cycek, and Wicklow all grab a crank and turn, and the fountain gargoyle spits a correspondingly voluminous flow of water.
While cranking, Mishok notices words crudely scratched into the column above the crank. He reads an odd bit of rhyming verse:
Down in basement where it’s cold and dank
We sit and sing and turn the crank
So the boss does not get pissed
And turn us back to shapeless mist
At the mention of this, his cohorts examine the stone surfaces by the other cranks. They find the following verses, as read by Sartan and Cycek.
We’ve been summoned here to work
And our jobs we shall not shirk
We just sit here on our rumps
And turn the cranks that run the pumps
It is not to much to ask
To execute this simple task
Yes it’s boring and it’s dull
But we got to keep the fountain full
Wicklow finds lettering as well, but with some chagrin reports that he cannot read it. The others come around to see. All the lettering thus far has been written in common, and as they examine Wicklow’s verse, they see that it is in common as well. Wicklow, again with some embarrassment, reports that he has never learned to read. “It’s a small town. Not many of us know how to read.” The others translate for him:
It’s a privilege, not a curse
If we don’t comply it will be worse
We’re Grover Elmo Ernie Bert
And we turn the cranks until it hurts
The four wonder about who the “boss” is and why these creatures were tasked with filling this fountain, but can see no apparent answer. They feel uneasy about being down here. Before leaving, Cycek takes another careful look around and finds bobbing in the water a small metal pocket-sized flask. It is engraved with simple icons depicting the figure of a swimming man, among a number of fish. He uncaps it, examining the fluid within. It smells vaguely of sea water, with a bit of sweetness, and a slight sting of alcohol. It appears perfectly clear, and shimmers slightly. The group surmises that is very likely a potion of some kind. Davros is dimly aware of a substance known as gillyweed which, upon consumption, yields the ability to breathe underwater. He speculates that the potion, based upon the iconography, may deliver a similar effect. Cycek pockets the flask, and the group proceeds on their journey.
Though a bit banged up from their encounter at the fountain, they travel through the day. They cover substantial ground without incident. They camp for the night, patching their wounds, and preparing for the coming day, which by Cycek’s reckoning should bring them within reach of the Stone Tooth.
Cycek’s expert guidance through the woods does indeed bring them near their destination by late afternoon of the following day, They have traveled through dense woods, but following Cycek’s unerring guidance, they have made good time, and have remained under cover from any potential prying eyes. They have also seen no sign of others having recently traversed these lands. They only tracks they have seen have been those of the local fauna. They emerge from the woods near the shore of a lake. Its dark waters reflect the clouds and a sun that is begining to descend toward the mountains to the west. Across from the lake, silhouetted by the lowering sun, stands the Stone Tooth, reaching upward like a fang. To their southwest, the group spies a column of smoke emerging from a smaller stone outcropping. They decide that this is the place to begin their investigation.
Although the effort consumes some of their precious remaining daylight, they climb this jutting peak of stone and make some noteworthy observations.
Mishok has a deep knowledge of stone: both the working of it and its origins. Considering that smoke is billowing from a fissure in the stone, the natural query has arisen, “Is this a volcanic area?” He reports that, no, this is not volcanic rock. Upon reflection he realizes that this outcropping is quartzite, a sedimentary rock believed to be formed by untold eons of pressure upon ancient sands. This may be one of the oldest stone features in this world, shaped, moved, shoved upward, broken and eroded after immense measures of time.
Cycek also notices that the smoke, smells like wood smoke. “Why would there be wood smoke coming up from a hole in the stone?”
Cycek figures that he could fit down the crevice to investigate, but amid debate, the idea is dismissed by the team. From their elevated vantage point, they can see what appears to be a trail, cut through the woods, and winding up the flank of the Stone Tooth. They decide that exploring the path before the sun goes down would be a safer course of action.
They descend the hill and head west, moving quietly through the woods, emerging onto a well-crafted trail. It appears to have been here for quite some time, but also recently maintained: trees show the signs of recent cutting, brush has been cleared, and furthermore, their are clear signs of recent foot traffic. Cycek notices booted humanoid footprints headed in both directions along this path. The most recent appear to be three days old and they lead down-slope, away from the Stone Tooth.
The group, in the waning rays of sun, climb the trail, following cutbacks, as it climbs its way steeper and steeper. They find themselves on a bare shoulder of rock, with the stone flank of the pinnacle rising on their right, and a sheer drop to the forest floor on their immediate left. Their attention is suddenly caught by the sound of voices. Huddling against rock wall, and hiding in the shadows the best they can, they try to discern what, or who, is ahead. They can see the trail climbing steeply ahead, and then cutting back to the right and out of view behind a fold in the rock face. Standing at that juncture are two large humanoids. They wear armor, bear shields slung across their backs, and carry long swords at their belts. They speak in a coarse language unfamiliar to most. But Davros understands. These are hobgoblins. Davros whispers a rough translation of what they are saying. The two hobgoblins are complaining about being on guard duty. They complain about some ranking authority figure named Ulfe. The two guards, Wark and Thark, would rather be out on a raiding party. Thark argues that Ulfe is foolish to have them sitting under this pile of rocks. “How does waiting here help the war? We should be moving east!”
Eager to explore further, the party wants to neutralize these guards and move forward up the path. Mishok pulls out one of his clockwork spiders and sends it stealthily up the trail. It approaches Wark unnoticed, and bites his ankle, injecting venom into the wound. The startled hobgoblin shouts in pain and looks down. Seeing a strange brass spider, he stomps an iron boot upon it. Spings, wires, and gears burst out of the smashed spider and the injured Wark shouts, “What the hell was that!?” Alarmed, they look around, realizing something is afoot. Wark runs down the trail towards the party, and Thark runs the other way, rounding the bend and out of sight. As he disappears around the corner, he lets out a yell.
Davros reports, “Guys, he’s sounding the alarm.”
Cycek sidles back down the trail, staying close to the wall, and seeks a place the rest of the team can tuck themselves into. He finds a small cleft in the stone wall, and ushers his companions into the shadows, hoping to stay hidden from the approaching hobgoblin. He then moves into position, staying hidden, and hoping to ambush the oncoming foe. Soon, Wark runs by and Cycek springs out. He makes an acrobatic move, kicking out at Wark’s legs, and sends the hobgoblin sprawling with a shout of surprise. Sartan immediately rushes forth from this hiding place and runs the hapless guard through with his sword. Wicklow follows, flailing tentatively at the dead or dying adversary. Sartan looks at the inexperienced commoner with exasperated disdain.
Now, with a slain hobgoblin at their feet, and another one having shouted a warning to who knows how many allies, the team debates what do do next. They consider disguising Sartan as a hobgoblin guard and using him to gain entry to the hobgoblin’s lair through deception. Alternately, they consider simply stripping the guard of his chainmail and shield, to better equip the vulnerable Wicklow. With no conclusion having been reached, they team realizes the imperative of deciding quickly, lest they find themselves confronted with another situation before they are ready.