[Official NPC]

Priest Nikandros Phadra has been dissolved from his silken cocoon with only minor injuries and a newfound respect for scouts and those suffering from arachnophobia. After informing Vilfredo Faust in no uncertain terms that he was hired to protect the priest and will not be paid if he fails to do his duty, he thanks the rest of the group by offering up pieces of now-dried cocoon. "I'm not sure how much use it will have, but perhaps a weaver will offer you something for it." [See Rewards after the plot is finished.]

The rest of the day is spent cleaning out the kumos' nest, as the priest would "really rather not have to traipse through spider parts every time we enter and exit". Over the camp fire that night, significant glances are passed between Faust and his men while the rest of the group share camp-fire stories and try to guess at what treasure they'll find.

The next morning, bright and early, the group enters the temple once more - this time led by Faust's Gang "just in case". Hallways diverge from the main cavern, some locked up by thick, ornate doors while others are cut off by cave-ins or open to long, dark tunnels. At these, Nikandros pauses, indecisive for as long as it takes him to put his trust in mythology and history. "No," he says, again and again. "I'm quite sure the throne room is further along this way." He may be right - but the group must first find a way through the rubble that now blocks the entrance to the northern tunnels which, the priest is convinced, lead to the main rooms.



A cave-in blocks the group's path to the temple's main section. The treasure hunters must dig their way through or try to find another way in - perhaps via the locked doors and dark tunnels they've already passed? (There are two of each.) Nikandros is convinced that the only way to the throne room is via the blocked hallway, but he has also confessed that there may be treasure in other parts of the temple as well.

Since only a couple of people can get to the blockage at any one time, and since using any sort of power might bring the whole thing down on top of the diggers, the priest has decided to divide the work into shifts and has handed out shovels (courtesy of Old Bessie). Those not digging are advised to team up to explore other areas of the temple, so this thread splits. One group gets this thread, while the other must start a new one. You can choose who your characters team up with (in groups of 3-4) by replying to the appropriate thread. ONPC will post prompts for treasure and rooms found.


This plot is open, which means you can join at any time now that it's begun. However, you must register before posting.

This thread ends on the 4th of February. In character, digging through the rubble enough to access the next part of the hallway safely will take about two days, which is more than enough to explore each of the open tunnels and try to break down or unpick the locked doors as well.

You may post threads separate from the main exploration threads but be aware that Nikandros will not tolerate laziness (except for after dark). The temple is likely filled with unpleasant squatters and is crumbling in places (though the majority of the temple was carved out of the mountain and the rock is mostly sturdy).

Participants are expected to post at least once a week, with all their participating characters, to keep the plot moving. If a character misses a week, we will assume they have gone back to camp. If this happens during combat scenarios, we will assume that they've fled the melee and hidden somewhere to avoid the danger. However, this could negatively impact their relations with the other characters from then on.


Treasure Hunter's Manifest:

Priest Nikandros Phadra ... Priesthood of Xanth
Vilfredo Faust ................... Faust's Gang
Erasmos Eugene ................. Faust's Gang
Kiel Taskel .......................... Hired Bodyguard
Aella Karakinos .................. Bodyguard
Maaike Sullivan ................... Hired Tracker& Bodyguard
Mortimer Jericho ................. Investor
Neal Jean .......................... Faust's Gang
Jason Underwood ............... Faust's Gang

It is winter in the north and the mountains are cold. Camp remains in a leeward, sheltered groove in the mountainside. Expect snow and freezing winds.

Pets, mounts and personal NPCs are allowed, but you are responsible for them and any supplies necessary for them.

[Erasmos]

Erasmos felt rather proud of the way he had made due with what he had. However, he also knew that it was his folly. With no more potions, he would not be able to conjure enough wind himself to use any powers. Compared to Aella, he felt weak and feeble, crippled even. But at the head of the group as one of Fausts gang, but pretending he wasn't, he felt rather important, and had time to gloat in his victories. "Diggers. Camp. Explorers. Stay. Men, let's go get shovels.", Faust instructed the group, pointing to each direction accordingly. Whether or not he was commanding all men, or only his men, was left for the mind to wonder. Erasmos considered both options carefully. If he explored, he felt he would be useless. Or rather, perhaps he would have a use : as a meat-shield with the ring he'd shown off. But, they'd cleared out the creepy-crawlies already, hadn't they? His decision was split between digging to help his pride of being a man, and on exploring and possibly finding something good. Even if he dug, he would not be of much use, because Aella's muscles were even bigger than his. His puny sidhe body was not meant for digging ditches, but rather, hustling instead. He plastered himself against the wall to allow Fausts men to slowly pass by, heading the way they'd come. Frozen in this state, he decided that it would be his decision. For now, he felt that he would lay low and let someone else take the lead. Perhaps Aella or the woman Maaike whose name he didn't know. A view of a woman's rear end was much better than that of rubble and dirt, anyways.

[Maaike]

OOC// Ayads can use the air around them as a source.

Maaike had tagged along with this expedition to keep an eye on Faust's men but, when she really thought about it, she couldn't imagine them showing their hand until after the treasure was located so she decided to indulge her curiosity. Like most Faeth, she had been raised to believe in Xanth as the loving Creator, and she had grown up on stories of ancient wonders built in Her name. Though much of that childish awe had faded under the bitterness that came from her marriage to that abusive vlareon of a husband, she was still honoured to be one of the first people seeing something that had been so significant in Elysia's history and yet lost to time.

She was only marginally aware of being followed as she wandered off down one of the tunnels, morphing into her wolf form so she could use the animal's senses in the dark. The small wolf's claws clicked on the hard rock surface, champagne-coloured tail wagging as she sniffed her way along what appeared to be a naturally formed tunnel. She felt more like a spelunker than a treasure hunter, wending her way around a cluster of stalagmites, her ears twitching at the occasional drip of water splashing down from the small stalactites that hung from the ceiling. The whole place gave off a mystical aura somehow, as if Xanth herself had carved the temple from the rocks even though Maaike thought it was probably more likely that the original priests had just appropriated caverns that had already existed.

[Jericho]

Jericho had no patience for lock-picking, so, leaving Rusty and Nin with the diggers (and already planning how he would excuse himself from future shifts), he followed the blonde Sidhe and the woman down a tunnel. He came prepared, an old-fashioned torch (made from a sturdy hunk of dead tree that he'd found outside) clutched above his head so that he might see where he was putting his feet.

More and more, he was regretting purchasing new boots for this trip. His feet hurt like a hydra's head.

The tunnel was eerie. Jericho was not the religious type and had always been more or less oblivious to the more mysterious ways of the world. Misha liked to tease him that Xanth could land on his doorstep and he'd try to sell her healing potions. Jericho hadn't denied it. But here, there was a sort of hush over the ruins, like the soundlessness of a wraith-infested mist. The silence was almost pregnant with expectation, as if the very walls of the rocky temple were waiting to be rediscovered and reclaimed.

It spooked the Hel out of him.

[Official NPC]

The dim glow from Jericho's torch casts shadows that elongate and stretch, drawing vague scenes across dripping stalagmites and effervescent lichen. At first, the shadows are interesting enough in themselves to obscure what lies beneath, but as the rocky spears and jagged fingers shorten and give way to smooth, polished walls, the patterns became more obvious: Murals. There are murals on the walls.

Most of the art is primitive, stick men and a stylised butterfly that probably represents Xanth. There are stories here, a history that would have Nikandros fainting with excitement — and they get more colourful the further down the tunnel the explorers go. Then, as the tunnel opens into a small cave, the pictures change. There are still stick men, but the stylised butterfly is replaced by a red triangle with lilac wings and what might be flames spearing from its tip. The murals now have these stick men leaving offerings in this small cave for the little dragon to thrill over. The final image, before setting foot in the cave itself, is of a simplistic red dragon seated above a pile of gold-leafed treasure, with tiny gems embedded into the wall as well.

The cave itself, however, appears empty, save for a small stash in the far corner hidden under a rotting tarp.

[Maaike]

Maaike was neither historian nor priest, but even she could see the significance of the murals on the walls. They were so primitive they must have pre-dated Elysian history, probably making them a nod to the Ancestors. Human ancestors. And, though Maaike was not particularly against humans, she wasn't particularly for them, either.

But the dragon - if that was what the red triangle with the breath of flame actually referred to, and not some ancient elemental - did interest her. Or, rather, her wolfish gaze settled on the gold-leafed images being offered up to it. She couldn't fathom how a full-grown dragon would get in here, the tunnel was way too small, but the gold leafing had been applied with almost loving care and were fancier than the images of the butterflies that no doubt represented Xanth. A dragon had been elevated above the Creator.

“Well, that's unexpected.” She had heard the stories, of course, of a dragon that accompanied Xanth wherever she went; had been lulled to sleep by bedtime tales of a miniscule creature - red with lilac wings - that left havoc and empty wallets in its wake. Some of the members of her clan had said in hushed voices that the dragon was the chaos that went hand in hand with creation; Maaike had simply been entertained by tales of the dragon's adventures. How could a child not be fascinated by the idea of a tiny dragon with more bravado than thought, or the trouble he found?

But to think the dragon had once been worshipped to the extent of making regular offerings, which these murals seemed to suggest, would be preposterous to modern society. A dragon made god? Then again, hadn't the dragons once reigned on Earth, anyway?

But this was all too much for the Maaike-wolf, and her thoughts turned to what treasure may have been left behind when the temple was abandoned. If offerings had been made here to Xanth's dragon; if it had nested here, then surely something must remain? And, while she was not here for the money, she did have bills to pay. Greenview was her only asset and it was tied up in the business, so it wouldn't hurt to come out of this with a tidy profit, surely?

[Erasmos]

Standing there absent mindedly gradually evolved into him moving in discomfort which became idle footsteps in his sandals. Open-toes was hardly the thing to wear for an expedition, but it was all he had. He became aware of Jerico behind him, mostly because of his torch lighting the walls. "So, you're one of Faust's vendors. Did Faust tell you about Plan ...", his voice droned off as colorful lichens caught his attention. He poked one. It was soft and spongy. He tried to pick one up and put it in his bag. Perhaps the half-sentient plant-creatures would be useful. For example, maybe their inside-liquids would be adequate as a flammable liquid. He didn't know.

Like a child in a candy store, his attention was now stolen by colorful paintings on the wall. His fingers traced the outlines, following the progression of events depicted with crude pictures. "Oh. Ooooh. Oh, I see.", he mumbled to himself in a know-it-all tone. "So, cave people lived here, worshiped red triangles, and then found a baby dragon, stuffed it in here, and worshiped it as it got older. Apparently, it was their god, and they kept it happy by bringing it gold. Dragons like gold. So, there's a blind, mad dragon in here who's starving because it hasn't been fed any gold in quite some time. ", he turned his nose to the ceiling and sniffed for any smell of the sulfur, fire-byproduct, that marked a dragon's presence.

Flitting away, he spotted a tarp in the corner. "Oh, goodie, look at that. Since my other one is ruined, I suppose this one would do to keep the rain off.", he picked it up and held it towards Jerico's torchlight. Full of holes, and barely consisting of threads, it looked more like a spider web. As dust continued to drift from the ancient thing, there was soon only the corners left. "Aww.", he opened his hands, and disintegrated particles drifted lazily towards the floor. So much for that.

Not spotting what had laid beneath, his footsteps carried him back to the murals. If there was a dragon in here, he needed to know all he could.

[Jericho]

Jericho eyed the Sidhe with a fair amount of disbelief, and even paused to peer at the blonde over the rim of his sunglasses. Doing so revealed the bright blue of his eyes and his slitted pupils, drawing attention to himself as a Peteulanus that was normally both unwanted and unnecessary. This time, however, as the Sidhe's conversation continued, Jericho could only think that a reminder was completely warranted.

It wasn't bad enough that the empty-headed Nymph had begun to discuss what ought to be secret business dealings while within earshot of a woman Jericho knew to be on the side of the law; now he was picking on dragons - Jericho's ancestors! - too?

“So, cave people lived here, worshiped red triangles, and then found a baby dragon, stuffed it in here, and worshiped it as it got older.”

“Don't be ridiculous. As old as this temple is, the dragon would be long dead.” He supposed that, to a simple-minded and short-lived species like the Nymphs, dragons were far more mysterious than they ought to be. Still, the Sidhe spoke as if he'd never encountered dragons in his life before, and Jericho, as a Dracovarian, couldn't fathom it. Surely he'd at least heard of them, seen them in the taxi ranks in Alexandria, seen summoners flying overhead on dragonback? The idea that he was in a dark tunnel - in a ruined temple that had already tried to kill them - with such a sheltered man worried him.

“Besides.” He left the thought unfinished because the blonde had already tottered away, distracted by something in the far corner of the small cave. Jericho, meanwhile, toed his way to the gold-leafing on the walls (making sure to keep his distance from the wolf's fangs) and held up the torch so they could both get a better look. “Hmm. That thing reminds me of something...” Long forgotten stories, perhaps.

“Anyway,” he mused as he took a knife from his pocket and levered it under one of the tiny gems that refracted his torch-light, “this place is too small for a real dragon.” He jerked his head toward the cave, seeing even from the entrance that even the smaller wyverns would never fit. “A baby, perhaps,” he admitted, “but it would quickly outgrow this place. Definitely wouldn't be here long enough for them to start drawing on the walls, I shouldn't think.” He was no priest, but he did know dragons. The murals were hard to decipher, though, as old and as stylistic as they were. “Maybe an imp dragon? But, then, imps usually come by the dozen and wouldn't need a nest of this size.”

[Maaike]

The Maaike-wolf continued further into the small cave, sniffing out the rotting tarp and dropping to her haunches beside it. Canine eyes glittered in the torch-light and her ears twitched in an effort to hone in on what the two were saying. She felt as if she'd missed something vital, and studied the pair with no small amount of suspicion. They didn't appear to be friendly, but that didn't mean anything. Aside from his goons, Mortimer Jericho seemed unfriendly to everyone, and the Sidhe had seemed more concerned with keeping his belly full than in making friends.

Not that Maaike would have been the best target for him in that case, anyway. This only became clearer when the blonde switched up the tarp and flicked it out, only for it to dissolve in his hands — and missed what was beneath! Maaike growled, a sound very much filled with frustration, and decided it was probably better to just do it herself after all. If the stash, which was glittering purple like xanthium, was booby-trapped, then she was likely more agile and capable of escaping than either of these two.

Once back on her feet as a biped, and adjusting the fit of her clothes (they never transitioned quite right), Maaike dropped to her haunches. “Freaking blind is what they are,” she muttered as she reached out to poke the previously-tarped pile gingerly. She half expected the ground to open up and swallow her, or for the roof to crash in on top of her, and then realised that she was letting Kiel's overzealous camp-fire wraith stories (eerie noises and puppetteering added for extra effect) get to her.