Beltak came over to Tradden and assisted the young fighter in firstly sitting up, and then retiring over to sit against the nearest wall.

Tradden congratulated the cleric as he treated his wounds. ‘Fine work, Beltak. Good to have you with us!’ smiled the fighter, weakly.

Before too long, however, Beltak had used a combination of divine powers and more practical first aid and the young lad was on his feet again, albeit battered and bruised. He was a sight — his body was bloodied, cut and punctured, and his armour was just the same. He still wobbled a little bit, and shook his head to try and clear it, despite the pain it caused which stemmed from the fast-expanding bump above one blackened eye.

Suddenly, with frightening quietness, the shadows next to Tradden suddenly produced Zero. The rogue was looking around, likely trying to spot something shiny, thought Tradden.

‘Quite the fight, eh? Takes it out of one!’ said the rogue, sloping off towards the northeast of the cavern, presumably having seen something to investigate. Looking at his friend, his long, un-tattered cloak flowing, his fine clothes looking like they had just been bought and not a hair on his head out of place, Tradden found that for one of only a few times in his entire life, he was speechless.

Khalin took a number of deep breaths and then laid his hammer down carefully. He staunched the flow of blood across his chest, relieved that the cut looked a lot worse than it actually was. A good rest would be good enough for it to heal.

Kneeling down next to the goblin the dwarf pushed back some of the shredded clothes it wore to get a better look at the mail. The mail was ill-fitting for the goblin, but was still fine workmanship.

Kireth moved across the chamber swiftly, pushing aside limbs and debris in his way with a swift stroke of his staff. His target was the wyrmpriest, prostrate near one of the cavern walls.

The kobold's body was not in good shape — Kireth's energy bolts had crushed its ribcage. A wry smile crossed the wizard's lips; a job well done.

Zero skipped effortlessly across to the far northeastern corner of the chamber, intrigued by the mound of items stacked up.

Tradden felt a bit lost.

All the others had objectives to achieve. Khalin was straight onto the body of the large goblin, and gasps and outbursts about “dwarven armour”, and things being “incredible” echoed around the cave.

Kireth moved straight to the mangled body of the kobold magic user, but the mage quickly angered at not finding anything of use.

Zero had indeed seen some shiny things, and was currently looking intently at a box he had found, staring at it as if to dare it to be trapped in some deadly fashion.

Beltak was, perhaps predictably, already in prayer to Pelor. And why not? The god had smiled on them today, if not beamed on them.

All Tradden could do was limp around the rest of the cavern looking for anything else that might be of interest. He also checked over the bodies of the other creatures, making sure he took a second to give a hefty boot to the body of the slinger.

When he had finished he shuffled over to Khalin, and asked him his thoughts on what intelligence they could report back to the Council. After a quick deliberation the dwarf and man concluded that it was likely that they had just disposed of the core force; any others would be stragglers, or not joined to this group. That seemed a sound conclusion, judging by the type of creatures here and both the size and space of the cave. Also, with the exception of the large goblin, it was notable that the the kobolds had been better armed and prepared. It also seemed that much of the weapons and armour now could be reclaimed by the town, but there was nothing significant about anything other than the armour that Khalin now guarded.

Khalin was very much of the view that if the town acted quickly, there was the potential to fortify this cave. If it was left for long, it may be reclaimed by dark forces once again.

With the debrief over, Khalin clapped an arm round Tradden's back (he could barely reach the lanky youth's shoulders). ‘Cheer up, my friend, we weren't at our best this day, granted, but we prevailed nevertheless.’

Tradden shrugged as the dwarf continued. ‘You'll be better for a few ales when we get back to the town,’ he gave his friend a knowing smile, ‘and I'm sure Caldring will be pleased to see you back,’ he added, hoping to raise the lad's spirits.

As the warlord mentioned Caldring's name he turned back to survey the mysterious, apparently brand new, armour, and a disturbing thought scudded unbidden through his mind. The dwarf was careful that his comrade didn't see the troubled look that passed briefly across his visage.

Khalin carefully unstrapped the mail from the goblin, taking care over the leather fittings, but less care over the goblin's corpse. The cuts and thrusts of combat and the bolts of energy from Kireth's staff had ravaged the body, but the mail looked unharmed.

Khalin brightened up instantly. He'd had his eye on the armour from the moment the goblin appeared, but this was an unexpected bonus, particularly given the fact he'd already got through two sets of scale in their relatively short time on the mainland.

‘Ah, Zero!’ joshed Khalin as he drew alongside the rogue. ‘Er, you did take part in that battle, didn't you?’ he added, noticing the rogue's perfectly clean garments with barely a hair out of place.

The bloodied and battered dwarf didn't quite look sure whether he was joking or not.

The rogue didn't look up at the dwarf, he was far too busy squatting down next the chest and examining the lock. He deftly ran his fingers across the bronze banding and then reached into his pack to withdraw his treasured toolset.

With a carefully selected tool he inspected the lock and the hinges, barely touching the surface of the chest.

Nodding to himself, Zero began to hum a small tune, picking up different tools from his selection. With two small rods he spent some time inspecting the inside of the lock before twisting them sharply.

With a satisfying click the lid hinged open and Zero beamed with pride. The whole show had been no longer than five minutes!

‘Mildly enchanted,’ stated Kireth blandly. ‘Why someone would waste their time pouring their time and effort into such crude weapons is beyond me, but this one seems to have properties of restraint, as do the bolts.’

‘Well, there&paos;s no-one around to use it now, so I guess I'll, erm, hold on to them for a bit, eh?’ said Zero.

Kireth turned away from the pair, smirking as he did so.

He rolled the little key between his finger and thumb before dropping it into his pocket. Had Zero failed to open the lock he would, of course, have handed it over to the thief but he liked to keep those working around him on their toes. You can never practice your skills enough.

His attention then switched to the scroll case which he opened reverently and withdrew the parchment within. His first reaction was a scowl, the writings thereon were non-magical, just a letter. However, as his eyes scanned the text his eyebrows rose.

‘Ahem,’ he coughed, drawing everyone's attention. ‘It looks like we have found a message. It is addressed to one “Irontooth” — I suggest that is the large goblin. Interestingly it is written in Common.’

‘“My spy in Blackengorge suggests we keep an eye out for visitors at either the burial site or the keep. It probably does not matter. In a few more days, I'll completely open the rift. Then Blackengorge's people will serve as food for those our Lord sends to do my bidding. Keep this weapon for my spy, I'm sure it may need it close by.”’

Kireth paused, the contents of the letter sinking in. ‘It is signed by a “Skauril”,’ he concluded, the letter in his hand dropping to his side.

Tired and bruised, this news only caused Tradden to put his hand to his forehead. He pinched the bridge of his nose as if to clear a headache.

‘Great,’ was all the usually ebullient youth could muster.

Khalin chuckled at Tradden's groan. ‘Haha! The game's afoot!’ he laughed. The day was getting better: gold, magic armour, new weaponry, and the prospect of an ale or three to come.

Despite his injuries the upturn in events made him savour the deepening mystery with something approaching glee.