Asmodeus

It would seem she was not called here to do battle.

Ignoring the others for a moment, she looked over the graveyard, noting the entrance just further away, and the lack of anything else in it. Why did she think she was called here to do battle again? Asmodeus was called here to do something, but she had no idea what it was. Perhaps it was to kill these other people that came here? If so, then why did they get the call as well? The two that came later seemed very talkative as well. One even patted her shoulder, which, judging from the way he was acting, seemed to be the norm for him.

"My name is Asmodeus. I seek the Voice that Calls for answers."

Her voice sounded distorted and louder from under the helm, like the low grumbling of thunder. Whether it was the shape or the construction of the helm, she did not know, but it was something new for her; Asmodeus had never really spoken — or remembered speaking — to anyone with her helm on, much less without it.

Now that she was actually paying attention, those two certainly looked strange. They were... things she had never seen before. The rugged looking stout looking fellow towering over even her was curious, but the other one was smooth and slinky, attracting her attention more. The way he stood, the shape of his body, the texture of his skin. He looked...

Well, he looked soft and chewy. Her stomach rumbled as it reminded her she did not eat anything since morning.

The armored one had not replied to him. He didn't take it personally. Some people tended to overlook him, for some reason. He never did quite figured out why. Still, he was glad to be at the right place, judging by this one patiently waiting alongside him. He couldn't help but feel an ominous presence within the graveyard that swiftly took over the majority of his attention. Perhaps that was what the other was focused on.

He suddenly went rigid as he raised his head toward the footsteps that were now audible. It was very much like a guard dog at the ready, pointed ears even perked somewhat and poking out of his thick head of hair. Calanon relaxed visibly, his face going from grim to curious at the blink of an eye. "A Goron? And a Zora?" He asked himself, aloud for the other to hear. They came up and greeted Calanon and the other with a jovial enthusiasm. It caused a smile to spread across the young Hylian warrior's face.

"Hello," he replied, giving them a formal bow. He awaited to hear the first stranger's name before he revealed his own. "You heard the voice as well?" He asked. "It's good to know I didn't run into the wrong place. I don't exactly know what occurs in graveyards, at least for the living," he said lightly. "I'm Calanon. I'm honored to meet you three."

“Anybody carrying water?”

From the safety of her little perch the skullkid had watched Archer lose his temper over his pants on the skeleton, she shook her head but kept her eyes on the skeleton. The funny thing about the undead is they had a terrible habit of standing back up when your back was turned. Though without a head or spine... Well it was debatable. Now the remaining skeleton was in pieces, little flames still hopping across the bones clinging desperately. She squinted at what was left of the fire and decided that the first chuchu did a great job at smothering the skeleton, the second time would surely just be for safety's sake. It also occurred to Jillian that Archer needed something to take his mind off his pants woe, hit two birds with one stone.

While Archer was examining his pants Jillian took the opportunity to summon one last chuchu. Similarly to the first green chuchu it appeared out of the dark purple summoning portal beside where Felicia had slipped. It chittered at Archer, with unnatural flexibility it stared up at Jillian. "Well go on then, smother the fire."

The chuchu hopped forward, it's gibberish sounded like excitement to the skullkid. It loomed over the remains of the skeleton then belly flopped on top of the pile of smouldering bones. A fresh wave of green slime splashed in all directions effectively removing the fire. Archer however, would not be spared the same treatment as the fire.

Archer was bereft of the energy to kick up a fuss about it, however. He felt heavy, as though he were wearing weights about the shoulders and ankles. Anger made his blood feel hotter, and an inability to adequately express it - no faces to pulverise, no bruises to sober him- made it feel thick, and sluggish. As though every vessel was squeezed at an angle, and the flow was choked. Only coming through when enough force pushed it. He made a mental note to yell about this later, however, because this was his favourite jacket, too. And he didn't doubt he'd feel chuchu jelly 'neath his nails and follicles for weeks to come, if he ever left this temple at all.
Archer exhaled again, but the breath rattled. Adrenaline laced and wasted. He leaned forwards to tear at the lengths of his jeans that stretched down beneath the knee, until he was wearing (and the thought sickened him): jorts.
He raised a heavy hand, and addressed Jillian with a pointed finger, "You're lucky I... ah, forget it."

Out of breath, Felicia managed to pull herself up from the chu jelly puddle using the bars of the jail cell. She grimaced as she moved, reassured her hip and elbow were going to be several different shades of purple by the time she got a chance to change clothes. Fixing her hat, she watched as Archer ripped the ruined portion of his pants. She opened her mouth to suggest she might be able to salvage them, but hesitated for far too long. Oh well. He probably wouldn't trust some random woman he barely knew with patching up his clothes anyway.

She clutched the sword to her chest with both hands as she focused on trying to calm down instead. Her heart was still beating wildly and, though it was now silent, she feared something might jump out at them at any second. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before scratching her shoulder and turning to face Jillian. No. Panicking now wouldn't do her any good.

"U-uh," she swallowed hard and wiped some chu jelly from her cheek with a clean portion of her hand, "Th-the chu jelly was a good idea actually. I-it should clean out of clothes. Doesn't stain too bad...." She glanced at Archer reassuringly before looking back to Jillian with an attempted smile, "Are-- are you okay?"

Archer was tired and burnt, red skin showing beneath tattered pant-legs. A few bruises of his own, too, albeit self inflicted. His eyes were heavy and glassed as he came down from the adrenaline. When Felicia threw him a glance, he offered only an unenthusiastic thumbs up. Less of a 'good job, team!' and more of a 'that sure happened, and now I need a drink.'

Jillian drummed her fingers across the bars, then nodded at Felicia, "I'm okay."

Tentatively she climbed down from the bars, removing her mask and holding it to her chest she began rather uncharacteristically bashful, "Thanks for fighting the skeletons I guess. If you guys hadn't I would've been toast, so... thanks." Staring at her shoes she kicked at a bone. "I've come back from nasty stuff before but I've never seen a skullkid bounce back from being a pile of ash."

Feeling she said her piece, she replaced the mask, "Those wallmasters huh?" She dug out her book again flipping knowingly to a page about them. "My book basically calls 'em useless to summon if you don't have a place to put whoever you're tryin' to catch. Otherwise they just take whoever and plops them wherever they want. Stupid things."

She held up her book for them to see. A crudely inked picture of a wallmaster on one page and notes in hylian on the other. "We're still in the temple, obviously but we need to get outta here."

Archer squinted at the page, sceptical of its contents, and mouthed the words under his breath. Slowly. Very slowly.
"Yeah, it sure does... say that..." he muttered, noncommittally, a different sort of red in the face. He put his hands into his pockets awkwardly, and then looked away, out through the bars of their cell.

"You're right, though. Even I'm not cocky enough to think I can melt the bars, though," he said, half-truthfully. He wasn't cocky enough to think he could do it right now, because he was physically and magically spent for this moment. But with a little rest, he was certain this level of arrogance, too, could be achieved.

"You think you could somehow slink through 'em? Mayb--", dawning realisation.
"Wait. If you're here, and I'm here... who's annoyin' my brother?!"

"Lethe I guess, I saw 'em make it across the bridge before I got snatched." Jillian shrugged. "Did you guys find the keystone yet?"

"We got attacked by keese, boulderbrains Hogswash rolled off, we figured out some stupid puzzles, mostly me, some weird mirrory scythes showed some spooky and hilarious reflections. Then Zephyrus poked himself with an arrow and so did Naviela. Then the wallmasters showed up and that was pretty scary." Jillian carried on in her nearly useless explanations, talking without much of a pause. When she did pause she looked between Archer and Felicia. "We didn't find the keystone though."

"We made it through literally one corridor before that hooded asshole started bein' all... hooded. And an asshole. I'm not sure how this is his fault, but it is and that's the hill I'm willin' to die on," Archer scratched his cheek, a thoughtless little gesture, "Also there was a Poe, I guess. Not our one, though."

Felicia listened quietly until it seemed appropriate for her to speak up. "We didn't find the keystone, either," she said simply. She ran her thumbs over the ornate pommel of her sword, thinking on Jillian's book and remembering how she'd summoned the ChuChus But what sort of monster could safely break the bars without potentially injuring someone? She slid her sword back into the scabbard at her hip as she turned to look outside the cell.

A single torch and a long hallway, leading off into pitch black darkness.

"Maybe there are some keys somewhere," she suggested, the end of her sentence tapering off into a whisper. What a stupid suggestion-- of course there were keys. There was a lock. There were keys. But where? "If-- if we could see further down that hallway..."

"Did you say that book can summon monsters? What're the odds you can just, have one'a those handsy freaks drop us off on the other side of the bars?" Archer asked, not quite grasping the extent to which Jillian was able to work her metaphorical mojo. Magic to him had always been very straight forwards. Get mad; break stuff.

Jillian scratched at some hair under her hat, "Are you deaf or somethin'? I just said they're useless, they'll just stick us right back into this cell. We'd have better luck trying to make a lockpick-! OH! I can do that! I can make a lockpick." She said slamming the book shut and diving her hands in deep to the slime to pull some bones free. Shaking the boney fingers free of slime she said, "Bones make great toothpicks too."

Toothpicks? Felicia didn't want to ask how Jillian knew that. She stepped aside and waited, quietly hoping Jillian's idea would work.

"I thought you said they were useless if you didn't have anywhere to dump what they catch. We have somewhere - outside of the cell. Why can't one you summon just... ah, screw it, just. Pick the lock. 'More I try to understand magic, the more I start to understand why Zeph is as boring as he is. Too much maths."

Jillian pulled apart the knuckles on the skeleton's hand separating the fingers. "Anyone wanna lend me a knife or something? I need to whittle this down a bit."

"I have a line cutter..." Felicia said hesitantly, snapping open her small tackle box for the second time that day. It was a very small pocket knife, but should she really be giving it to a child? Er... someone that seemed so childlike? She held it out to Jillian half heartedly-- a worried frown creasing her features.

Jillian hardly glanced at Felicia, spinning the knife in her hand then setting to work on the bone. "Bone is weird, the drier it is in the more brittle it gets. The opposite of wood ya'know..." Jillian paused finishing shaving down past a knuckle then shot Felicia a look seeing her worry, "Who d'you think made those puppets? I've been makin' puppets and other stuff for over a hundred years. I'm really good at it. Makin' a lockpick is nothin'."

Jillian turned back to the boney fingers, deftly gliding the small knife with her thumb. Flicking the excess shavings of bone as they curled. She whittled it down to a thick but fine point, then went to work on another finger, expertly following the natural curve of the bone to create a small hook. When she was done she held them up, smoothed down and ready to be used.

"I'm no good with locks, I usually break somethin' before trying to pick somethin' open."

Archer cleared his throat, and raised his hand: "Not to implicate myself in anythin', being an honest, upstanding citizen and all, but if you've got the pick, I've got the dexterity. Zeph doesn't let me carry lockpicks on me, but bein' a...", he coughed, "Magician has made me pretty nimble. Picked my first lock with another kid's hairclip when I was still real small."

Jillian stared at him, "Yeah yeah, if you're askin' me to make you lockpicks on the regular then whatever. Get us outta here and I'll make you 'em." She grabbed his hands then put the lockpicks into his sticky digits. She passed the knife back to Felicia, handle first. "Thanks, you good at fishing or something with carrying around a tacklebox?"

Still pondering the implications of Archer's 'dexterity', Felicia was surprised by Jillian's question. "Uh. You could say that I guess," she half shrugged, returning the knife to her tacklebox, "It puts food on the table anyway...." Her eyes followed Archer as he set to work.

"Can I look through your box?" She asked, her curiosity taking precedent.

Felicia turned her attention back to the undead child, pausing before she snapped the latch shut. Her box? She hesitated, running through the contents of the tackle box in her mind as she tried to assess what might happen if she handed it over to the childlike creature. Several lures, three old bobbers, some sinkers, some plastic worms, needle nose pliers, extra line, and a small matchbox filled with extra hooks. Then, of course, there was the first aid kit and knife. And a small jar of homemade sunscreen. Perhaps it would be fine. She had just handed Jillian her knife, hadn't she?

"M-mind the hooks," she muttered, holding out the box, "They're sharp."

Archer was already at work and a few tumblers deep, tinkering with mechanisms he couldn't even see. At one point this had been second-nature to him, when he'd been out on the streets, competing for his evening meal against performers whose pockets jangled when they walked. What was a couple incidents of lighthearted burglary between rivals?
Now, however, he found himself straining to raise each new weight. These older locks employed heavier levers, kept in place by rust and grime. His lock picking set, discarded now but once a valued tool of his trade, had been shaped from the shredded parts of an old saw. In a lock like this, the picks would easily have broken - but the bone, gross as it was, was at least not too brittle.

Archer thought to ask for quiet, but he knew that in old mechanisms such as these it was just as much luck as it was focus. Instead he narrowed his eyes, and stuck his tongue out to the side, concentrating - a rarity in his otherwise reckless lifestyle. Employing some semblance of the discipline Zephyrus had wished to instill in him, albeit in a less than desirable way, by his standards.
"Almost got it, I think. Just... a couple more..."

Jillian perked at Felicia's permission, surprised that she'd let her poke through her stuff. Slowly reaching out to the box keeping her eyes locked on the Hylian, in one quick movement and jangle of the box's contents Jillian had grabbed it quickly stepping out of reach. Giggling at Felicia's expression.

She sat down, similarly to Archer her tongue poked out when she lifted the lid rifling through all it's contents. In one hand she held up a lure and in the other a hook, catching the light then setting them outside the box. LIfting up the separator to reveal the bottom, and more to inspect. Quickly amassing a pile of everything that she found. Holding up the matchbox full of hooks shaking them as if she needed a clue as to what was inside. She emptied the matchbox of hooks onto the pile. Moving onto the sunscreen she took a long whiff of the jar, pressing a gob of it between her fingers - it was pretty thick. Recognizing the knife she put it onto the pile, carefully teetering it until it balanced. With the tackle box emptied of it's contents she lifted it upside down shaking it around, not finding any secrets as her hand patted along the sides. All the while she rattled off questions about everything she found, not really pausing to hear the answers. What sort of fish did Felicia expect to catch? Wouldn't the fish be the food on the table? Why did some of the worms look shiny while the bobbers were dull?

"You got a lotta junk in here," Holding up the tackle box again for Felicia to take it. Pausing she laughed, "Oh right, should probably put the stuff back huh." Scooping up the pile and moving the separator out of the way, in a few handfuls she carelessly dumped everything back into the bottom of it. The line tangled, hooks and lures tossed together and the only item to placed carefully was the jar of sunscreen on top. When she was done, she could barely close the lid with how things were piled back into it. Her hands were marked and sliced from the hooks, visibly moss already grew out of the cuts filling the new space.

"Oops." Opening and closing her hands slowly watching the moss grow over.

Felicia got the distinct feeling she'd made a terrible mistake as soon as Jillian stepped out of reach. Her intuition proved correct as she watched in silent horror as the skullkid unceremoniously dissected her tackle box. Almost robotically, Felicia took the empty box and stared as Jillian scooped up her belongings and dumped them back inside-- paying absolutely no mind to the hooks.

It being her only request, Felicia found this detail even more worrisome than the state of her tackle box. She watched the moss cuts on the girl's fingers, brows furrowed. There was an old sort of flame here-- angry frustration. Something familiar. More like a spark-- a memory. Why didn't she listen? Why didn't she ever listen?

Dejected, Felicia sighed, leaving the skullchild without any sort of reprimand as she did her best to prod the mess of fishing equipment into submission-- finally settling on leaving the jar of sunscreen in her pocket so she could close it. The tangled line and everything else could be dealt with later. It wasn't like she would be doing any fishing anytime soon anyway.

Click!

"Hah! Not gonna lie, that was... fifty percent guesswork."

And the other fifty percent was prayer.

@GreenGoat@POOHEAD189@jasonwolf

Kuma was overjoyed to see that another adventurer had entered the graveyard this making the group grow to four for all he knew there might be more already in there, the latest one had silky smooth looking skin, opposite of his rough and rocky exterior. It must be the creatures that come from the water, much better at swimming that he was. Whenever Kuma went into the water he would sink into the bottom no matter how hard he tried to do what humans would call swimming, his kind were not gifted with such a talent.

"Calanon, Asmodeus and smooth skinned man it is a pleasure to meet you all, I shall hope that I remember these names and one day can call you my brothers!" He said as he could not help but smile at their good fortune of finding each other in this manner.

He then heard the rumble from the armoured one, Asmodeus, "Ah, this one must be hungry, unfortunately human I do not eat your soft messy food, I do have these if you prefer the delicious taste of rocks though!" He said as he pulled some from his pack and placed his hand out offering her some, they were an assortment of rocks, large and small that he had brought with him. He even took one and tossed it into his mouth. "It's so good! There's nothing else like it!" He said while chewing the rock, then made a large gulp.

Suddenly the presence of something dark and sad from the opening in the graveyard waved over him, stronger than before and he looked over to the opening again, his tone changed and he became serious for a moment again.

"Do you guys feel that, the earth that we stand on is quite sad, as if something is infecting it. I wonder if there are others already in there, should we go in?" He asked the others forgetting that his hand was still out, holding his rocks.

Left Tunnel Group

Noi was mostly oblivious to the first few feet of the fall, but the final impact was far more perplexing. The ground warped downward around him slowing the fall. The counter force even overcame Noi throwing him back upwards slightly. He managed to keep hold of his hammer, but the chest was lost to him thrown further across the strange platform. The audio perhaps was the most bizarre. A single loud but clear note.

Noi got to his feet and scraped his fingers along the ground to find a quiet rumble to it as he pressed on it. A punch at the material made a louder noise.

“A drum? What sort of behemoth could use this?” Noi tried to recall anything of this scale in his memories, but nothing came close.

Noi gazed around, and instantly noticed the metal around him. It appeared to be gold, an atrocious choice for armor making, though it was used for more technical applications. Perhaps a few pieces should be procured for repairs later? Noi couldn't see the harm in recycling. Anything else could be used to afford the mortals some actual equipment.

Lev floated down the hole Noi had plumeted through and was pleased to see that the robot was more or less fine. As far as unexpected falls went, it was an outcome that was better than the alternative. What Lev didn't appreciate, however, was what his lantern illuminated; a pair of giant disembodied hands and a collossal flower-like head that superficially resembled an eye, all of which were rapidly forming after Noi sprung the ghoul's trap. The Poe's mind raced, trying to search his aging memory if he'd ever read of something like what he was witnessing. Whatever it was, it was not immediately coming to him.

Instead, his immediate thought was to float back the way he came and pretend that this thing didn't exist.

"Uh, guys... I'm not a fan of Noi's new friend."

Mufasa hit the drumskin behind them both, and promptly exploded, each bone making a new, hollow sound as it bounced against the ground, and away from his form. His skull rolled forwards a few feet, until it was peering right up at the menacing spectre manifesting before them. Staring up into its haunting, floral eye awoke in him strange, primal memories of fear and chaos.

"Maybe it's friendly,", he suggested, tone hopeful but not particularly convincing.

Then it began to strike the drumskin - Mufasa's bones bounced up and about again, before he pulled himself together mid-air, "I reserve my right to not make judgements based on this!"

"I do not make friends with monsters!" Noi yelled as he was thrown around.

It was an extremely bizarre set of inputs. He was not used to this sort of motion. He could hop to some degree, but he was being bounced around by the vibrations. It was like walking on a rockslide. Sometimes his footing would fall away and other times it would push up against him. Noi tried to gather his force and direct it down ward. The next time the drum pushed upward he jumped and threw his weight back down to ruin the rhythm. Maybe a gap in the drummer's tune could give an opening to the others.

"And here I thought were were starting to get along." Lev remarked, his hand igniting a ball of fire. "If it goes to grab anyone, I'll try to burn the offending limb and try to keep you guys from getting snatched. I already lost one friend today, I am not in a hurry to lose more." He said, oddly subdued and his tone far more serious than usual. This place was one of evil, and it was hard to keep morale high when there was shit like this happening. "I'm open to ideas! Mufasa, what the heck is this thing?"

Jeige and Veitaru were left fumbling for their footsteps and ways to help. Veitaru's childhood education had not included bouncy castles and trampolines, and neither had Jeige's. Jeige had gotten the idea that his shield would probably not assist against the raw blunt trauma of something that size's attacks, and made to throw it, but with constantly falling over or slip in sliding, he didn't trust his aim, and he only had one shield to throw.

Veitaru on the other hand, in a moment where she had stable-ish footing, jumped up, and during the hang time threw one of her deku nuts at the creature's eye. Something that big in a place this dark had to be pretty sensitive to light, right?

Although he knew not this creature's face, its single eye bored into his skull, and filled Mufasa with dread. A primal dread, an inherent fear of that which stalked the peripheries of firelight. When Lev called on him, Mufasa didn't know what this thing was, but , somehow, he knew its name, and found himself reaching without thinking for a sword that was no longer there.
"Bongo Bongo! It's a demon, is what it is! And here I am, unarmed!"

Noi smashed his body against the drumskin on the next offbeat throwing all of his power behind the hit and making a loud drumstrike as loud if not louder than bongo bongo's.

"Lo, the drums of war monsters!" Noi roared still trying to get it to pay attention to him.

@GreenGoat@POOHEAD189@Kessir Tarkin



“Well this all seems great. A veritable band of adventurers all out on a very vague quest. Just like the old days.” Kean sighed delightedly as he reminisced.

“But where are my manners? I am…” Kean paused to take off his backpack.

Then Kean’s hand snapped to his waist and he pulled both of his boomerangs from their sheaths throwing them up into the air. Holding his hands out to the sides tiny tornados formed to catch the boomerangs and keep them hovering about a foot over his hands.

“Kean, The Tempest!” he announced followed by a big grin that you’d swear sparkled when he first opened his mouth.

He paused for applause, even if there would be none, before sheathing his weapons.

“Well uhm… eh ehm… tough crowd.” Kean trailed off realizing the ranger was probably too young to have every heard of him, he’d never performed for the gorons, and had no clue what the knight thought.

“Then again probably looked a bit stiff. Didn’t wear armor for my previous performances.” Kean noted pulling off his armored shirt and throwing it on his bag.

This revealed a well-toned and smooth scaled body.

“Hope you don’t mind. Been wearing all the time while traveling, and it’s gotten too warm for me.” Kean said but didn’t really care what they thought.

His people didn’t really wear clothes, even the armor that his wife made for him wasn’t expected to be worn all the time.

Kean dug into his backpack and grabbed the other honey cake. As much as he wanted it he had heard the knight’s stomach growl after they introduced themself, and offered it up.

“No use questing on an empty stomach.”

Asmodeus

---

Calanon, a small person, like her but unlike her.

Kuma, that large rocky looking creature.

And Kean, the delectable smooth skinned person. Without a doubt he was one that attracted her attention most. If she was to describe it, it was akin to seeing a lot of skinny brown desert lizard and seeing a lone fat green lizard sitting nonchalantly among them. Perhaps it was due to him exposing a lot more of his flesh, or his flashy introduction.

Before she could do much —or even start to answer Calanon's question— her grumbling stomach had attracted the attention of both the large rugged Kuma, and the slimmer sleeker Kean, with both offering her food, or what seemed to be food. Odd, she wasn't sure rocks can be eaten, but she certainly haven't tried. Perhaps there were certain kinds of rocks that was edible? The one Kean offered was unlike anything she had ever seen before as well, and without anyone telling her what it was, she could put no name to the object offered.

Asmodeus took the smallest pebble from the Goron's hand first, pushing her helm up slightly to pop it into her mouth. Amplified and distorted through the helm's construct, the sound of stone crunching under immense force was disconcerting, as she chewed it effortlessly by virtue of her immense strength. If she was unsure before, she was very sure by now.

Stones weren't good eating, no matter what strange giant beasts might say.

Having already been once offered strange 'food' that wasn't actually food, she was understandably wary of accepting another strange thing. Regardless, she accepted a piece from the slick man, raising her helm slightly higher to bite on the piece. It was, to put it simply, unlike anything she had ever tasted. Sweet and soft. It was tasty, but she preferred something she could really sink her teeth in. Something she could tear apart and hear crunch under her teeth.

"You have my gratitude for the food, though I will admit, the taste of rocks does not suit my palate." Readjusting her helm, she continued. "I see naught here save for yon entrance. Perhaps we were meant to enter it, or perhaps to wait for something to exit."

The Graveyard

The voice filled the minds of the tardy party, its tone patient and gentle, but still retaining the same sense of urgency as before. As they neared the steps leading to the entrance of the ominous Shadow Temple, a slim figure emerged quickly from the opening.



As the figure stopped at the head of the stairs, it became immediately evident that it was a shiekah. Donning standard black and blue shiekah armor, unremarkable yet practical, a long signal orange scarf wrapped around their head and pinned at the shoulders spilled behind them almost like a tail. Bandages engulfed the stranger’s forearms and hands and a pair of intricate twin blades, one noticeably larger than the other, peaked out from behind their back.

Beneath the scarf, bandages could also be seen wrapped around the forehead and crossing over the right eye. The left eye, bright red with long lashes, stared down at the group in mild surprise. A black mask completely covered the rest of the strangers face from the bridge of their nose down. The Eye of Truth in red marked their leather breastplate. It was nigh impossible to determine whether the shiekah was male or female. Their frame was very lean and muscular with legs that seemed to better resemble bamboo poles than human appendages. From what little skin could be seen, they seemed almost sickly fair. Nonetheless, the shiekah seemed to demonstrate strength as they stood there openly, rigid as a tombstone with head held high.

They stood there for only but a moment before leaping over steps and people alike, racing out of the graveyard without a single word of acknowledgement to anyone.

Upon ascending the steps and making their way past the entrance shrouded by a cold curtain of darkness, the group would find themselves inside a large room filled with many torches. Each torch flickered with a mysterious blue flame. At the head of the room, rubble from a once large and ornate door lay at the foot of the opening which led to a long hallway with an endless ceiling. No further instructions came by way of the voice. The way was clear.

Left Tunnel Group

Though the mighty beast had no mouth with which to scream, its hand recoiled in pain as a ball of fire was hurled into its open palm before it could grasp the Poe. The deku nut thrown by Veitaru didn't quite reach Bongo Bongo's eye, but it did cause the petal like flaps surrounding it to close momentarily. Then, its torso and eye completely vanished from view. Only the shining golden armor remained visible.

Nonetheless, the drumming continued. That is, until Noi threw off the beat. Landing beside Noi at the same moment he forced his weight into the drum, the extra tension launched Veitaru much higher than usual. The drumming paused as the other hand balled itself into a fist and launched towards Noi before his body could hit the drum a second time. It punched him clear off the platform while Veitaru landed atop the gleaming gold plates that protected the knuckles, presenting her with the chance to grab hold or else face the same fate as the hulking robot.

The burnt hand hovered in place, fingers arched as it recovered from the Poe's fiery blast. The shallow scorch marks were healing before Lev's eyes.

Alyce tried to be angry at Griz, truly she did. It was a cruel, foolish thing for her- them?- to have done. A betrayal of what they had come here to do, the Goddess’ own people. For all Griz had known, they had left the rest of them to their deaths: and this had been true, for one irritating clot of pompous shadow at least. Yet, Alyce’s irritation was tainted by worry. Griz was a capable warrior (frankly, she suspected, more capable than her and Graham, given their combined talents included a finite number of seeds and a rather heavy tome), but now they were alone, somewhere in the bowels of this ancient and terrible place. Plus, Alyce couldn’t help but appreciate the irony, it was almost straight out of one of her books: where better for one Sheikah to betray another, than here, the darkest mecca of their history?

She might have laughed if she wasn’t so miserable. But she had no time to meditate on it: she had to press on. Literally, she had to. Graham was already several feet ahead, skipping and cheering at his own brilliance. So she hastily followed suit, clutching her papers to her chest. Wherever Griz was, Alyce made a note to give them a stern talking to when next they crossed paths. If Griz didn’t get themselves killed, first.

She found her centre again, as the pair made their way through a shorter corridor, dark but not quite so foreboding as the one that had preceded it. Bookish though she may have been, Alyce was no coward – she was a Sheikah, after all. Graham was making big talk, which is how she had come to describe his “small talk”, given he yelled most everything he said.
"MY POINT IS THAT BEANS GET A BAD RAP."
“Mhmm,” she replied, not truly paying attention. She had her eyes to the walls, inscribed with small markings she scarcely recognised.
"I MEAN. DID YOU SEE WHAT I DID TO THAT GHOST?"
“Mm.”
"HE GOT WRECKED, I WRECKED HIM."
“How long do those beans actually last?”
"Oh I came down about half an hour ago."
“oh.”

Then they passed the threshold, and she saw it – and it filled her with wonder.
She shoved past Graham, who stumbled back into the corridor, and emerged into a new room: a veritable treasure trove of lost history. She kicked up dust beneath her feet, and squeezed her papers tightly. What was this great jewel that they had found?

The walls of this room were made of dark, grey brick: a heavy sort of stone that seemed always to have a dull, wet sheen to it. Although, when she reached out to touch them (”Why did I just do that?”) they were dry, and rough as sandpaper is. Ancient, clearly, older perhaps than even some other parts of the temple, this stone seemed to be bound into place not only by ancient concrete, but by a thick red moss, equally sodden to the eye and dark as dried blood. She touched that, too. That was wet.

“Ugh.”

But it wasn’t the room itself that had amazed her (although its seemed age did spark all sorts of theories) so much as its contents. The stones across which she had run her fingers were not plain, but instead inset with deep, chiseled words. Writing that was strange and abstract, at least to the uneducated eye: twisted, eldritch lettering in a bold print. Not Hylian by any stretch of the imagination, certainly Alyce couldn’t picture this sort of writing gracing the face of a sign (as much as that pained her, in a way).

And it was so strange because it was ancient Sheikah, something she knew only from fervent study. The older dialect, from about the time this temple was likely built. It was thought that precious little of it had survived the bloody history of their people, but it was all about this room. Not only on the walls, but on artifacts scattered about the floor, and leaning on the walls. Shields that bore red eyes sans their tears, lengths of cloth not unlike the one that other Sheikah had been wearing, in the entrance hall. Polearms, small blades, broken pieces of armour. Small coins (whatever could these have been used for?) scattered about around Alyce’s feet, alongside savaged books with torn pages but discernible symbols. Everything here bore the old word. But the thing that drew her eye more than anything else was on the other side of the room. A long, velvety wall hanging, a deep night blue and embroidered with silver thread. It depicted the Eye of Truth, flanked by a familiar looking crescent shape, and something about the design peered into her very heart. Spoke to her on some primitive level. And as she approached, she noted writing in that same, familiar script, orbiting the eye in a perfect circle.
She walked lightly, and without a sound. Graham thundered behind her.

She looked up, awestruck, as she met the banner’s bottom.
“By the Goddess.”
"What is this?"
“It’s… it’s history! It’s a beautiful, perfectly preserved moment in the shadowy past of The Sheikah! Do you understand how big this?!”
”Literally no. What’s it say?”
“Mm. Well, I can’t read it perfectly – I’ve always said there’s no such thing as being fluent in the old tongue, but… let’s see here…”, Alyce squinted up.

Oh. Oh this was big. This was really, really big.
“Goddess’ grace. It’s…”
”Whatsit? Lemme see,” Graham stepped forwards to peer over Alyce’s shoulder, and felt his foot sink suddenly. There was the sound of grating stone.
”Oh. That’s. Probably fine.”
And then the sound of creaking metal.
”probably still fine, though.”

The pole that was suspending the banner Alyce was lost in reading was suddenly ejected from the wall above, and began to plummet. It was a heavy, rusty cylinder of (presumably) iron, and Graham barely had time to jump back before he realised that Alyce was still in the line of fire.
”Alyce—”
Clang! Thump.
”A-AAAA THAT’S PROBABLY FINE.”
Then, the red moss that looked to join the wall together began to peel away, seemingly by its own volition, tearing itself from the cracks like scabs and dropping to the floor. In the moments following, green light began to seep from the open wounds they left behind: and through them squeezed small, hovering shapes, which then inflated themselves into ominous spheres of green, and then burst into verdant fires. From seemingly nowhere within, their cores burst into splintered white, and then formed the ominous, universal face of death: a skull. Green bubbles, several of them. He counted, and once he had reached the number “nope”, he turned, and without another thought he ran.

Alyce, barely conscious on the floor, and listening to the retreat of his footsteps, was beginning to notice a trend today.

Calanon unsheathed his sword, and used it to salute Kuma. The Goron seemed very brotherly, and had offered food. Calanon took it as a fine honor, knowing how hard food was to come by. Though of course, rocks weren't exactly uncommon. Perhaps they were where Goron's lived? He declined his and Keane's offer, though gave them both his thanks, and sheathed his sword in a flourish. Long years of practicing with the blade let him slip it into his sheath without so much as looking at it.

The comments from Kuma over the ground being ill confused him, but as he often felt a closeness to nature himself, he halted his next words and tried to 'feel' what the Goron meant. Until the words that had echoed in his mind earlier spoke out once more, calling his name and beckoning him inside the Tomb. Calanon did not need to be told twice. However, he was halted when the Shiekah showed herself, causing Calanon to turn and give an incredulous look. "???" was all that could really be discerned from his grunt of surprise when the lanky newcomer leaped over them and sped off faster than they could pursue or question.

Unsheathing his sword once more, he held his shield aloft and headed into the opening of the Tomb warily. To be honest, he was quite glad for the dangerous air about the place as he descended the stairs to reach the room within. Not because he lived for danger. But he had just given his greetings to his new companions, and he never knew how to continue conversations.

Asmodeus

As if by a switch, she turned from stoic, slightly oblivious woman contemplating that sleek succulent back, to an intensely focused warrior as soon as she noticed the unknown person appear.

The voice mentioned something about entering that hole there, what she assumed to be the entrance of the Temple, but that was not as important as what she perceived as a immediate threat. There was nothing but her and that person in her mind now, as Asmodeus focused solely on that person. Her breathing slowed as she started to regulate her breathing, and unsheathed her sword.

But, instead of attacking them, the figure simply jumped over them and ran away.

She stared after it for a moment, before going into the entrance as well.

"Stand back, Sir Cal. It would be prudent to let those with better armaments go first, lest ye be struck down by an unseen blade."

Pushing past him without waiting for his response, she held out her sword in front of her, walking slowly as she looked about warily for any sort of ambush.

Kuma saluted the man back as he felt it was a showing of acknowledgement, then heard the voices enter his mind and beckoned to enter the cave.

"I believe that you have all heard the voice as well wanting us to enter the cave. We should do so now." He said to the others, he then noticed that a figure had appeared in front of them but had jumped over them and ran away. He thought that it may have been a hero that couldn't handle what was in the cave and chose to run rather than fight. His focus was now on the cave and it seemed the same for the others, two of them, Calanon and Asmodeus both chose to take the leads.

"I will cover our backs then, little silk man, please follow the others and I will be behind you. I do not fear much coming at us from behind, my body is as hard as rock if you want to see feel these muscles." He gloated as he began to flex his arms just asking to be touched.