A Terra Tale: A Trip to the Mohrg

Chapter Two: Help Wanted

A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is brave five minutes longer.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Well," Heidigger complained as he packed his pipe. "This is a fine mess we find ourselves in, 'innit?"

"Not the time, Baldy..." Fen groaned, a strip of cloth tied over his face. His hands, thin gloves covering withered fingers, were steady as he stitched Miro's scapula up. The paladin had removed his armor and padding and was bent over the remnants of the nobleman's ruined coffin. Fen looked up as he pulled a length of thread back, cutting it with a snap of his teeth. "There. That'll keep you closed until I can rest and get some energy back."

"Whatever..." Miro grumbled, standing up and pushing past Fen, stalking over the scattered bones towards Alma. "Find anything, mutt?"

Alma was on her knees, a jeweler's loupe over one eye as she used a pair of slim tools to poke behind a cracked section of brick. "A trap, one set to go off if I mess up, so do us all a favor and shut up."

Miro scowled, turning to look over at Fizz and Clicky. The bloody skeleton was picking through the skulls of all the former undead. "Anything of use? Any signs of the cultists?"

Clicky waved his slender phalanges back as he leaned over, his other hand turning a skull over for him to peer in through the broken palate. He hissed in his people's tongue, a series of chitinous clicks and whistles. Fizz, standing close by, leaning on his greatsword with a bored expression on his gourd-like head, translated.

"Same as the last batch, crude animation runes. Not anyone skilled, or who cared about trying to control the risen dead. Just left here as a trap, most likely." He droned before yawning. "Father Bartleby won't like that..."

"No," Miro sighed, running a bloody hand over his brow. "No, I imagine he won't like that at all."

"Relax, lad..." Heidigger said, puffing on his pipe. "The good Father will be sure to have somewhere else we can hit try to shake down some cultists. And we still have the lead out of the Sound of War."

Fen sighed, shaking his head. "I swear, I would kill for a drink right now..."

"Could you whine for booze later and concentrate?" Miro asked, glowering over his shoulder. "Please? Kind of don't want a bigger scar than I'm already liable to get."

"Oh please, like you scar after Sol's aid." Fen rolled his eyes, leaning back in. "Almost done anyway, just fishing out some junk that was on the bones of the skeletons. Don't want an infection, right?"

"Ugh..." Alma shuddered. "I can't even think what diseases you could get from reanimated bones... From a place like this... how much would that suck?"

Fen hummed. "Well, mindless undead rarely carry anything worse than Black Pox or Marrowrot, but dwarven bodies get this foul mold on them, uncertain why... that stuff on a reanimated skeleton, even just a dusting of spores? That could lea—"

"Again, not trying to be a pain, but can we talk about this after you've cleaned and treated my wound? Please?" Miro sighed, head downcast.

Heidigger snorted, looking back at Alma. "Well?"

The half-elf gave a half-hearted shrug. "Cut an attached wire back behind the loose brick there, so we should be safe. There could be a glyph or something back there. Freya priestesses, for all their smiling faces and kind words, can be right ruthless bitches with runic defenses."

"You thinking they did that here?" Heidigger asked, squatting to look at the brick. Alma had chiseled away at the seam to reveal the worn track the brick could slide in and out on.