Chapter 2.20: The Enochian Tower

“Well, let’s see if this works.” Bruq stands impatiently in front of the silver wall, searching the text above a hook that reads Way of Treasure.
“But what treasure?” He thinks about what kind of treasure would suit him. “A different glaive? Arrows? Probably a trinket.” As Oslando and Dargothoth hang up the Enochian Mirror, he hopes entering one of the Ways isn’t only for once. He is visibly relieved when the glass surface ripples, creating a doorway with a slurping, metallic sound.
“Friends”, Mero says somewhat cheerful, “do you think Hadriel will grow impatient if we take another rest? Not only for myself, but also for Oslando. That creature nearly took us all down with one spell. I mean, look at us.” He walks up to Bruq and points at his face. “He’s bleeding out of his nose and his eyes are all watery. We all need to rest.” It sounds very reasonable.
“You keep surprising me, small one”, Dargothoth hisses with a deep draconic voice. “You are wise from time to time…”
“Thank you.”
“But most of the time you speak like a child. Curious.”
Mero’s mask shows he doesn’t really know how to react. He doesn’t know whether this is still a compliment or an insult.
“Hadriel won’t get what he wants if we die”, Oslando says loudly, still brushing off the black soot on his armor. The metal has lost its shining glamour of when it was new. It is damaged all over and has seen many battles, but the amount it has seen in these last encounters is substantially more than it is used to. It shows.
“Celestial beings are immortal, aren't they. What is one or two extra days of waiting on a life that goes on eternally?” They all agree with Oslando.
“Let’s not wear ourselves down more than we have to”, Lyssa says with a smile and she looks at all of them, her gaze eventually resting on her goat-like companion. “What’s the matter?”
His hoof keeps tapping impatiently on the stone floor. “I want my treasure! Can we go already?”

“I don’t really know what it does, but if I’m honest, I don’t really care.” They all look at the right pedestal. A quiver made of green metal floats above it, slowly rotating clockwise to show off its shiny flawlessness.
“I could buy one similar. I don’t want this exact one, per se. But this…”
Bruq walks over to the other marble podium and he observes the curious object with his mouth open, struck with wonder.
(Investigation 18)
Within the glass jar, filled with a clear yellow liquid, floats a black eye with a long and slit-shaped pupil. The pupil glows with a deep and intense orange light. The eye is around six inches in diameter and it follows Bruq as he walks around to take it in completely.
“According to the size, I believe it is the eye of a cyclops. It doesn’t look like it belonged to a regular one, though. I’ve seen cyclopes before, but none of their eyes had a colouring like this. It must have magical properties, I don’t doubt that, but I don’t know what.” As the eyeball turns around in the syrupy fluid, the others observe the dark pink tissue connected to its backside.
“It looks alive”, Mero says, fascinated, “and even without its host, it remains functional. It must be magical.”
“But do you have a practical use for it?” Oslando's question makes Bruq stand up from his crouched position. “You have that miscellany, that collection of trivialities. What are you going to do with it?”
The raised eyebrows of the half-elf displease the satyr, even though the half-elf is just teasing him a little. “I have these things to remind me of former losses and victories”, he says in a serious tone, not blinking as he stares him straight in the eyes. “I don’t need - how many do you have now - five blades to still be standing at the end of a fight.”
Oslando becomes agitated.
“Well, maybe you wouldn’t need memorabilia of your losses if you had the quiver to enchant your arrows or whatever it does.”
The satyr walks up to him and pushes his index finger on his chest.
“Don’t you talk to me about losses, half-elf. You haven’t done me wrong and I respect you, but the ice is thinning and I don’t like to swim.”
Oslando doesn’t know what to say.
“I take these things as trophies”, Bruq continues, “I always do. It’s a hobby and if that makes me a hoarder, I really don’t give a ghoul’s ass.”
Bruq walks back to the pedestal and grabs the jar with the eye inside.
“Well”, Oslando says with a haughty tone, one that would be more fitting for a high elf, “why didn’t you take something of the shaman then? Or wasn’t that a victory?”
He turns around and stares at him again, eyes wide spread and curse words rolling off his tongue.
(Dexterity 6) (Nature 18)
“Catch”.
Still struck by the last remark, Bruq tries to catch whatever is thrown at him, but reacts way too late. The object bumps into his chest and falls on the ground. It looks peculiar. A small bird’s skull is bound with a thin rope to a piece of broken antler. It’s around 4 inches long and engraved wooden beads hang from across the twine.
“A shaman’s totem”, he says to himself as he picks it up. “You took it, because I forgot to take it?”
Oslando nods.
“It probably has some use or magical properties which we can figure out later, but for now you can use it as your trophy. You seem like the one who doesn’t lose his stuff. In your own words, you are a hoarder.”
Bruq smiles faintly, his emotions all over the place since he found the crystal.
“Thanks. I’ll keep it safe.” His friend walks past him and taps him twice on the shoulder as he passes by.
“I know you will.”