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The Brittle King's Tragedy

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She can’t quite explain the faint jab of relief that pierces through her once they’ve left the grand room and the Door behind, marching on in pursuit of the ghostly figure. The rooms all go by in a blur of dust and haze as Minerva pushes them forward through the halls; it’s a miracle she’s kept her tiger’s-eye lens up all this time to absentmindedly take note of the twisting and turning corners. She had wanted to record the glyphs the archaeologist had seen on one particular wall, but then the woman had kept moving, and so she had no choice but to trail after the group, taking point at the rear with her partner in case something comes up from behind the party.

They finally arrive at what appears to be a bathhouse, and Celestine takes the time spent taking in their surroundings to ascertain her partner’s thoughts on the matter at hand. “How are we doing,” she whispers to him through their comms, running light fingers across the wall by the doorway.

Anatase shrugs, all nonchalant ease, and really, why had she bothered asking again? "Was getting bored again ‘til we found the ghost."

Celestine rolls her eyes, but otherwise nods. “Can you follow Minerva, make sure at least one of us is with her at all times?” She needs not speak her worry for her partner to understand where this request is coming from. Everyone had observed what had happened in that room with the Door, and how the archaeologist and that other man had been drawn towards it, like moths to an irresistible flame. “We can take turns later. Don’t be a peeping Tom if she’s actually taking a bathroom break,” Celestine adds, arching an eyebrow, her lips twitching.

Anatase gives her a look of exaggerated offense. "How dare you. I'm a gentleman." Nevertheless, he trails after Minerva, keeping a comfortable distance between them. "Ma'am, I'm going with you in case any more monsters appear. It's a bad idea to wander around alone."

With that, Celestine pivots away and moves towards the structure that appears to be an altar, raising her eyebrows in mild confusion at the presence of feathers, the lingering scent of fragrance sweet and musty in the air. With an awakening hum, her gauntlets cast a welcoming beam of light, and she angles them to point down at the floors, trying to determine what sort of feathers are around and if possible, the sort of creature they could have been taken from.

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It seemed that the being in the tower of glass new next to nothing about the room, aside from the type of bird that the feather’s belonged to. A cruel yet magnificent looking thing, of blue and red, yet he was far from interested in such mundane information. It seemed to Azytzeen that he would have to find clues the old fashioned way. The room itself has all the hallmarks of a bath house, and quite the expensive looking one as well. He wondered if it was used for more than just bathing. Things in the tower were often more than what they appeared to be. Still, hopefully while he looked around he would at least find something to help them on their way. Not that his hopes were high to begin with. The first thing he did was move towards the altar, his mail-shod boots echoing off the floor with each step.

“How strange..”

Certainly the whole of the Ziggurat could be considered strange, unless one often explored such places. The altar, was untouched by time which did not give him any sense of relief, for not even the stone eating insects had managed to reach this room. Which meant one of two things, either they had merely missed this room, or something else had prevented them from getting this far. He hoped it was the former rather than the latter. Still it was an odd thing, slightly curved and elongated, longer than an ordinary human was tall. The only thing that came to mind was that it was for an elf or something larger. The most disturbing features were the shallow grooves which grew deeper the closer to the center the reached. 

That can’t be good.

Azytzeen has seen many altars in his time each one served a religious purpose, this one should not be any different. 

Knowing one thing, the grooves were not there for comfort, and he could only posit a guess that the altar served some nefarious intent. Sacrifice perhaps, this place as a whole did not engender a sense of comfort in him. Standing up with a grunt he looked around, the next thing to catch his eye was the pool. He could only hope he found something at least interesting.

As his hands touched the gossamer curtain he couldn’t help but remark at the fine make of it. Certainly the ones who built this place had money to spend. 

That thought faded away with the stink of the bloated corpse and foul water hit his senses. The corpse was taller than eve he was and could have been feminine you couldn’t tell with elves anyway, and the foul corpse was so bloated and ready to burst that he wasn’t too keen on fishing it out just to find what the cause of death was much less if it was female or male. He would hate to have the corpse burst, it's hard to get the smell of old waterlogged corpse out of his leather lining. Though he didn’t have extensive knowledge of corpses he had a feeling this corpse should have long been turned to bones, unless it was recent.

If it was recent then it certainly didn’t bode well for the group.


“You all might want to take a look at this.”
 

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