“Well, the seasonal theme of the whole thing is painfully obvious”, Alexander says, pointing out the correlation with the named gods on the scales. “So, I guess there is a certain order to do something with the statues.”
Oslando nods. “Yes, I had the same idea. If we’re right, they are currently standing in the order of spring, winter, summer and autumn. So, we start with the first one, then the third, the fourth and finally the second.” They all look at the different stages the scales represent.
(Intelligence 16)
Merodius walks up to the scale representing spring, barely able to see what it displays due to his lack of height. The scale has some soil on it with a small seed in the middle. “We need to make this seed grow, just as it would happen during spring. Does anyone have a flask?”
Lyssa grabs hers with much enthusiasm. “Of course, sorcerer! For what do we need the wine?”
He shakes his head and bids her to put hers away, her face showing disappointment. “We need water to make the seed grow. Can someone try that?”
After taking a quick sip she trades her flask for a smaller one, maybe one-fifth the size of the one holding her liquid happiness, and opens it. “What?”, she asks as her companions note the obvious difference in size. “I have little need for water. I prefer my drinks pure, not watered-down. I think I can miss it for the rest of our journey.”
As the water splashes on the earth, the seed bursts open and a small brown tree starts to grow rapidly. Small branches turn upwards and tiny green leaves appear. When the growth stops a few seconds later, it looks exactly like the miniature tree from the statue with “Pelor” written on it.
“Well, this seems to work”, Bruq says confidently. “Does anyone have a tinderbox to give some warmth to the summer tree?” Before someone has the chance to search their backpack for anything that can create fire, Mero shoots out an orange bolt of heated energy. It bursts into tiny particles as it hits the scale. Everyone’s attention is drawn to the blooming of the summer tree as very small light blue blossoms appear between the bright green leaves. It's a beautiful sight to behold.
As Lyssa compliments Merodius about his bright idea, Bruq already stands near the Sehanine scale, picking of the slightly brittle leaves of the skinny branches.
“What are you doing?”, Alexander asks with an obviously raised eyebrow.
“When the summer shifts to autumn, leaves start to fall. I am making them fall.” He continues plucking and releasing them, resulting in them fluttering towards the dry soil. Before they kiss the dark earth, their colour shifts from green to orange to light brown and they shrink in size, as if they dried up within a heartbeat.
“Well, it works. If someone now fixes a wintery atmosphere, we can continue.” Everyone looks at the sorcerer, waiting for him to cast his spell.
“What? Ah, yes! One ray of frost coming right up!” No sooner said than done. He fires the same beam of cold energy as he did in combat. The tree shrivels, the ground turns white and all that is left after the decay, is a bursted, frozen seed. A few seconds later, all four scales are set ablaze.
A loud noise echoes around them, making them jump up and immediately draw their weapons again.
“Son of a witch”, Lyssa swears as Alexander says something far less family-friendly. The scratching metal sound seems to come from behind them. When they turn around, they see the golden altar slowly moving away from them, revealing an open space in the floor.
(Perception 7)
“Nothing but darkness”, Bruq says, staring down the hole. A narrow stairway leads a grim way deep into the earth, way deeper than he can see. “I can light a torch.”
Oslando agrees and walks up to him. “Good plan, but we need to hurry. Who knows what they are doing down there? Also, they know we’re coming. Now they’re prepared.” The half-elf tightens his grip on his new sword. “Are you going to go first, Bruq? I’ll follow you.”
(Wisdom 15)
“Sure. Can you hold the torch? I want a spare hand to feel where I’m going and check if they put up traps.”
Oslando takes the burning piece of wood, surrounded by a tingling and soft crackling, and walks down with the satyr. The others follow without questioning, although everyone feels like they’re walking straight into the belly of the beast.
As they descend further and further, the blackness swallows them whole as they reach a straight corridor at the end of the stairs. They hold their breath, shoulders elevated with an eerie tension, as they see a dark red light before them. The unholy radiance shines their way, reflected by an imposing magical mirror.
