Turn 10
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"Good enough." Gwen smiles admiringly downwards, twines a tendril of Nadia's hair about her finger then looks up at the rather disconcerted Ari. She begins with some simple questions, pausing after each for an answer monitored by both cleric and mage:

There is a strange tension in the air.

"Do you, or have you ever, gone by the name of Arimansis?"

"Who, me?", Ari shrugs perplexed. With a broad grin, he admits - "Well, yeah, I guess that used to be my name, haven't heard it used in awhile."

The dust cloud glows bright cyan, clearly visible.

"Don't know how the writer found out my full name."

At this the cloud turns deep red and Ari jumps, momentarily stung. The mage speaks almost absently, "Sorry, forgot to mention that you get a mild sting when you lie."

Gwen snorts. "I think we need to ask how 'he' did find out."

There is a resounding thud - as of a heavy weight settling. There is a drift of dust wafting out from the middle doors. The doors at which Ari had been forcefully shoved.

Gwen glances to the door warily, "Is something banging on that damn thing?" Her eyes dart to Arimansis. "You better not be up to anything, you little creep."

The glow around Ari settles back into a baleful red glow slowly paling as Gwen asks her next question. "Have you ever referred to yourself as Lord of the Dead?"

"Of course, you think I prefer picking the pockets of the living? Don't take this the wrong way, but I really much prefer the safe job of hanging around battlefields after it's all over, than adventuring and doing traps and other things - can get you killed, you know..."

Now glowing a steady blue, almost benevolently. Looking up at the door, it seems as if the symbols are slightly askew. The middle spider-like symbol is definitely no longer aligned for some reason.

"Convenient answer. So you are Arimansis and you _are_ the Lord of the Dead. These are specific questions, Hobbit, and your prevarication isn't making any headway with me."

 "Do you consider yourself to be the master of this Dungeon?"

"I sure as hell am not responsible for this Dungeon! As if I could be bothered looking after this monstrosity! I have better things to do! Huh!"

The glow stays blue and actually intensifies as Ari speaks. There is an ominous crunching noise - as if sand were being ground under a very heavy weight.

"Can you wield magic?"

"No more than you! I can't believe you continue to insult me - "

Glow goes scarlet, shot through with a band of blue as Ari shifts uncomortably.

"I hate magic at least as much as you! Spoils many a skilled job of theft.."

The blue streak disappears momentarily before coming back more faintly.

From where Nadia half reclines against the log, she has remained quiet, at most nodding in agreement to the response indicated by the showy cloud. Or at least not disagreeing. The only other movement is an occasional glance up at the creaking doors, as if disquieted by something, something more than just the sounds of cracking. At this however, she chuckles slightly. Still with one arm locked somewhat protectively around the ranger's legs she half-twists, turning and looking upwards, she murmurs, "Appears our thief's a magic slinger too. Who'd a figured?"

The ranger nods in agreement, a new uneasiness apparent in her attitude. "So it seems. I reckon we need to be asking Arimansis if he is using magic at this moment and if he's responsible for the bloody door altering before our eyes"

"Well, he wields more then Gwen. How much that is remains to be seen.", Balron comments.

The elf seems not to notice the crunching noise.

The right hand side of the door teeters for a second, tilts slightly too far forward, and with a sudden whump of air, it falls to the ground - shattering into millions of pieces. Ari jumps - startled and frightened.

Gwen surges to her feet, regretably disturbing Nadia and reaches for her bow. "Right. I've had enough." One limb of the bow is quickly braced against her foot, she leans into the yew, watching the darkly stained wood flex and strings the powerful bow in one fluid movement. With the grip in her left hand, she reaches to her shoulder and draws forth a black and white four-fletched arrow and nocks it with its broadhead tip aligned in the man-killer position for puncturing horizontally lain ribs. She steps forward, glowering at Ari with fierce determination. The bow is not as yet drawn, but her strong tanned fingers have found the string.

The magic of the moment broken by the suddenness of the events. He turns around quickly and is very surprised to see that one half of the double doors no longer shows the 'damning evidence' . It's inch-thick slate covering having been jarred loose by the Ranger's earlier violence. Apart from large patches of what looks like desiccated resin, the revealed surface looks surprising like the first illusion.

Kaceubel does not react to the falling rock, maintaining his lotus position and keeping his eyes closed.

The cleric jumps excessively at this last, practically leaping into orbit from her sitting position. When nothing else happens for a moment, she relaxes and releases the death grip she had on Rusalka, looking around and down, consciously attempting to reduce the rate of her breathing.

Gwen boots stir a drift of curling, powdered dust. Her left hip is angled slightly towards the Hobbit. With her head held high and the superb bow resting like an old friend in her hands, she has never looked more calm or more deadly. She stares down upon Ari as if he has been transformed into something utterly repugnant. Distrust infuses her attitude.

"Balron, there's rope by my pack. Would you be so good as to tie it around our new magic user, aka 'Lord of the Dead', in such a fashion that he might remain useful to us whilst being, let us say, tethered. I have heard more than enough despite this amusing interruption - many truths which should have been spoken before we even set out. Arimansis here shall open this dungeon and will aid us as a 'thief' and guide should, considering that his life is now our insurance. Maybe, friend dwarf, you should also see that he is disarmed and Arimansis - should you attempt anything, I _will_ shoot you dead and since my arrows are crafted from rowan and sanctified by the Mother's Tears, I fear your sorcery will have little effect upon their flight. As for the rest of my questions, I believe I would like an answer too them too. The critical ones were left untested." Gwen draws a breath, her eyes never leaving Ari's hunched form, but her next words are addressed to Nadia. "No threats to you shall walk unfettered, my love. Do you trust me in this? I would not wish to do anything which may offend you."

Nadia has partially relaxed, her attention unavoidably drawn from the doors and the dungeon brooding beyond them to the crisis threatening to destroy the group's chances of success barely before they have begun. She has released the normally strong control she keeps on her expression and her distress is evident. She lays a hand, gently, upon the ranger's wrist, just short of where her hand grips the wood of the beautiful bow, putting only a little downward pressure upon it, encouraging, not forcing, never forcing, Gwen to lower the deadly shaft. The touch is easily light enough that if the ranger wished to fire, there would be no interference with the shaft.

For the moment, Gwen's rigid hand trembles faintly but remains resolute.

"Please beloved, relax. Ari will never willingly assist us if tied and short of some form of mental control, duress would work poorly. "

Ari nods vigorously in agreement.

"And I felt nothing from him to say he was any more aware of the door's collapsing than were we. I would trust him more if he had answered your questions more straightforwardly, but we have to believe there is a reason we are all here. Else this will not work at all." She has moved so she is standing mostly behind the ranger, their forms separated by millimetres, her voice dropping as she speaks, her arm sitting just outside the ranger's out towards the still targeting bow. "We are all on edge here, my heart is still pounding after the door's collapse. And my chair disappearing. But whatever waits, waits inside. Not, I think, out here." Her voice drops still further as she whispers one final thing into the ranger's ear and then steps back, removing her hand from the ranger's wrist, leaving her room to move, or fire as desired. Calm, collected.

Kaceubel, looks up and over at the door, doing a double take and shaking his head a little before returning his attention to Ari.

Gwen stares at Arimansis for a moment more, her eyes revealing nothing of how she feels about him, though one would be a fool not to see some promise in the way her strong fingers flex on the grip of the bow before she lowers it to her side. The ranger glances at Kaceubel, assessing his serene poise, then looks to Balron and finally at the doors. "Inside," the half-elf mutters to herself then plants the tip of her bow in the ground and leans on it's considerable length wearily. "So the granite facade of the doors has fallen off. Chance or cheap theatrics - I spose it doesn't matter much. Yes - we do need to get inside, but I admit I am not happy about leaving this matter with Ari as it stands now. He is an unredeemed liar."

"You all malign me, but I don't hold it against you."

The glow stays a steady blue.

Ari looks over the group, assessing the mood. "I DO NOT work for ANY 'God' - they are all presumptuous, arrogant, fickle, "

The cloud is bright blue with a broad streak of orange through it.

Gwen's cheeks flush dangerously -

"selfish beings - and I have no idea what this 'prophecy' of yours is. I'm here for treasure. Pure and simple." His thumbs loop into his belt as he puffs his chest out, standing up straight. "I ain't going to let this dungeon defeat me, even if I have to find another group of adventurers who aren't afraid of a door."

Orange becomes dominant before settling down to steady blue.

"Maybe you should just give up now, or something."

The ranger laughs at that and takes a step forward, levelling a finger at Ari's chest. "He has confessed to being a mage. He has been here before. His entire party perished. This stone fall probably stuffed Kaceubel's concentration and came conveniently before our little friend's outburst against the gods. Sweet Mother, I don't know how any of you can rest easy at this point. But fine. Stuff it. We won't trust him, but we'll go ahead. Right? Ok Ari - we're game, we'll enter your dungeon and we'll punch our way through to the treasure room or whatever, then we'll see what the Gods deliver into our hands - or in your case - you'll filch the jewel's outta some statues eyes and steal the dungeon master's silver whilst we witness the outcome of the prophecy. You may be a blight upon the dignity and nobility which this venture initially possessed - you may even corrupt the Mother's sweet voice in my ears - but I'll be damned if I shall allow you to define and distort the meaning and significance of these days! No get your stolen crud together and tell us how you intend to open these doors. I suggest we eat and rest, then get moving. Agreed?"

Kaceubel speaks again still staring at Ari. "This spell is not an easy one for me and I'm not sure when I would be capable of casting it again. Do you think you could ask your questions and get it over with. I don't particularly want to cast this one again. Also on the magic point, he has not confessed. As far as I can understand he believes that you, Gwen, have more magic than he does and that he is not without magic, I am unable to determine the extent of his abilities. Also we are being magically observed by something from within the Dungeon."

After a moment, Nadia pivots, sand grinding underneath the soles of her boots, looking away from the dungeon as well as towards it, one hand resting gently upon her sword's pommel, the other clutching the omnipresent bow-case, not longing paying sole attention to the thief, obviously trusting the others to protect her back should anything happen. The raising of one eyebrow implies she does still, however, hear his rather rash words. Her head is slightly tilted, as one often does when listening. Her acute vision peering into the corners and shadows formed by the rock formations and what little vegetation still survives in this place.

All is still and quiet. There is the dry smell of dust and resin in the air. Next to the closed door is an ancient inscription :- "Not door, vessel" Carved deeply in human lettering.

Kaceubel speaks again still staring at Ari. "This spell is not an easy one for me and I'm not sure when I would be capable of casting it again. Do you think you could ask your questions and get it over with. I don't particularly want to cast this one again."

"We still have some questions. Ari. And if, as seems apparent, Kaceubel has maintained his little spell, we may discover more from your foolish little rant than was meant. I would truly recommend you speak a little more carefully within your next group of answers. I mean, I wouldn't actually hurt you myself," pauses, her eyes flick sideways, "well probably, but I do not know how much I would mourn your death. Speak truth, and do not malign, well, anyone really."

"Also on the magic point, he has not confessed. As far as I can understand he believes that you, Gwen, have more magic than he does and that he is not without magic, I am unable to determine the extent of his abilities." says Kaceubel.

Gwen makes a face. "It's like talking to a city toll-taker's scribe," she mourns, "How much ridiculous 'ifs' and 'buts' and 'in comparisons to' must I wade through here? How about some bloody yes and no answers, eh?"

Nadia returns to the log against which she rested earlier, although her shifting does seem to indicate it is far less comfortable sitting on, as opposed to against, it. Apparently ignoring the new message upon the door, she returns her attention to our previous little altercation, quickly glancing at the concentrating mage, ensuring he is still ready for this.

"Gwen," rather peremptorily, although the glance toward the ranger is still soft, "I believe you had some further questions." Softly. "Please." Asking for more than just the questions, her eyes and body language beseeching Gwen's presence by her.

The ranger pauses a moment, her eyes shifting from newly revealed carvings to the cleric. It's apparent her gaze becomes immediately, hopelessly fixed upon the tall human woman. The half-elf smiles, the taughtness in her stance melting and with a deft twist, returns her bow to a horizontal position and carries it over to the log where she lithely finds a perch beside Nadia. The leather of her breeches stretches tantalisingly over her long legs as she straddles the log and tucks one knee under her chin. She raises a brow towards the cleric as if to say 'what next?'

"Thankyou. You have our attention, Ari. Now, play nice." A glare belying her earlier words. Maybe, just maybe, there is pain promised within the flat, pale gaze.

The promise within those eyes fades, or rather changes, the expression in her eyes shading to longing as her gaze returns to the ranger, after taking a short detour via that nearly too-tantalizing leather.

"Also we are being magically observed by something from within the Dungeon." Notes the mage.

A nod. No surprise. Perhaps even a little relief as someone else is confirming a fear.

"Great. Unexpected? Hardly. At least it seems there is _someone_ in there to peer out."

Balron stares at the doors, as if his gaze could penetrate the rock and see their foe. As Gwen asks her questions he stumps up to the door, his finger tracing the design, considering. He inspects the two others, gently caressing their surface, seeming to listen to the rock.

Gwen sighs. "Questions. Don't you guys have any to ask too? Well, here are some more from me. Ummm;

"Ari - Are you a mage?

"I am a grave robber. I steal magic items and treasures. I prefer taking things from the long dead than adventuring - It makes more sense to wait for more competent adventurer types to come by, and then for me to accompany them and help out in non-combat situations. I'm not a fighter."

The cloud around Ari glows a strong, steady blue.

"Have you cast spells without the aid of heretical magical artefacts?

"I don't find magical artefacts heretical at all! "

Gwen looks like she could briefly throttle the little evasive f**cking Hobbit then buries her head in the crook of her arm where it rests upon her knee. She refuses to look up for the rest of the Q&A.

Nadia gently rests one hand upon the ranger's shoulders. Comforting, empathising.

The cloud continues to glow blue. Kaceubel ventures a question of his own. "Have you cast spells without the necessity of aid from an artefact of some kind?"

"Are you intending to become an Avatar? "

"No, and I don't even know what one is."

No change in the glowing cloud.

"Are you here to hinder another from becoming Avatar? "

"You seem really obsessed with this avatar thing."

Glow becomes a brighter blue and steadies there.

"Has a God ever spoken to you?"

"Not that I know of, or care about."

Still blue.

"Did you kill any of your prior adventuring companions in this dungeon?"

 "No."

Glary blue, settling down to a paler steady blue.

"Do you have anything to do with the painting in Malkhut's common room? "

"No. What a weird question."

Still blue.

"Have you met the master of this dungeon? "

"Not that I know of."

Blue but now with a strong dash of Red. Kaceubel speaks again, interpreting the glow. "He has but he is not aware of it."

"Do you serve the master of this dungeon? "

"Yes. I do, sorry I'm going to have to kill you all now - the voices in my head said so. Sheesh."

Now strong red with a stronger dash of Blue fading to a steady red. "Fascinating and theoretically impossible." Kaceubel seems almost startled by Ari's statement.

Gwen peeks, her bright eyes hazed. "Ok - so he's a freak. Unusual readings, strangely enough, inspire my distrust to sink to new dismal levels." She buries her head again.

"Have you always been a Hobbit?"

 "Usually I'm a Half-Elf, I'm just feeling under the weather."

Steady red glow.

"When did you first learn about the prophecy? "

"When that pompous mage of yours spouted out about it in the Inn."

 Now Blue, strong and steady.

"Are you, to your knowledge, an agent for a god?"

 "I would never work for a sodding god."

Still blue, but brighter now.

"If so, which one? Balance? Good? Evil? Chaos? Mammon {etc}? "

"The sensible, logic, brainy one of course - shame that he hasn't been invented yet eh?"

Straight to a steady orange.

Gwen gives a muffled growl and mumbles something emphatic but incoherent into her arm.

Tense, pat the shoulders a touch.

"Aye, I have another. Was your last group here to fulfil this prophecy as well, Ari? And further, how closely does the interior of this place resemble this diagram?" He smiles at Gwen. "Practical questions lass. Dwarves are ever a practical people." He turns back to Ari. "Which door did your group enter by? Do they all open in the same place? How deeply did you penetrate the dungeon? Do you know where within the dungeon the master usually resides? Can you draw us a map of the interior that you remember? Where there many traps or did you face mostly live obstacles? Was there anything that required special circumstances to kill, for example silver weapons? Do you have any artefacts or items that you previously bought out of the dungeon? Do you know how this thing is watching us now?" He glances at the doors. "I think that's enough to go on with at this time."

Ari sighs at these further paranoid meanderings and wonders if he will ever see the interior. "No, somewhat, this one, not far, yes, probably, both, yes, I left without any treasures, what thing is watching us?"

Steady blue, no flickers at the last fading to orange.

"Actually, I don't feel as though I'm being watched - and I can't see any spy holes that thieves might employ... Why do you think we are being watched?"

Then back to steady blue. The mage stirs a little, "I think we are being watched because I can feel its regard and amusement. It does not bother to hide itself, it knows we are here and it knows that we know that it is watching us and is merely amused by it. At the moment I do not believe it poses an immediate threat, it waits for us to attack its puzzles so that it might gain more amusement. I do not care for it."

"Right. Time to get ready then." Balron sweeps his gaze across the group "Everyone remember to go before we leave." Picking up his axe he moves off into the trees, emerging again a little while later adjusting his weapon belt.

The mage makes a cutting gesture with his left hand and the glowing cloud around Ari collapses to the ground and winks out.

Gwen heaves a weary breath and lifts her head. Soft tendrils of pale hair weave gently across her cheeks in the morning air. She looks fed-up. With a pause to squeeze the cleric's knee, she rises from the log and begins tightly lacing up the front of her jacket. As she draws the left collar over to cover the potential point of vulnerability along the jacket's seal, she reveals a faded crest worked proudly into the old leather. A white stag stands brow to kingly brow with an ebon-black twin, their antlers locked like naked claws and deep chests almost touching below proudly arched necks. The symmetry is perfect, the detail lovingly worked. A royal coronet surmounts both animals like a corona of divinity, light dancing down from its curve even as it flitters from the eyes of the magnificent animals. As old as the representations are and as well-worn as the jacket is, the crest remains a lovely work. It curves over Gwendellheil's heart in a perfect, fitted embrace.

With a final careful tug, the half-elf secures the high, slightly reinforced collar about her throat and stoops gracefully to gather up her superb bow. The black and white fletching on her arrows now finds companion colour in her crest. The proud set of her shoulders seems to take on a whole new light of ingrained authority. Her amethyst eyes are hard. "I say we stop doing parlour tricks for the half-wit inside and get our act together. Sorry for the rough treatment Ari. I don't pretend to be a woman born in times of peace, but I do propose a new deal. Open the door, help us as far as you're able and to the best of your abilities within this dungeon and when we get out of here, you not only can have my dratted cut of any treasure found, but I'll write you a bill of debt for services rendered as a 'specialist guide.' Does 50 gold Sohlin sound fair, mercenary?" She asks, lifting a brow as she awaits an answer, her usual easy smile so far from her lovely lips that she looks to be something beyond patience and humour. There is not a glimmer upon her visage to hint that she is any way fazed by her offer of this obscene amount of ancient Gvaarwald luck-gold. In fact, she looks completely done with all facades. Her stance is as perfectly balanced as the crest over her heart. The black bow sits like an old friend in her hand.

The cleric's eyes go wide. And one eyebrow queries.

Kaceubel watches all this calmly before rising and stretching, in one smooth movement.

The elf carefully packs up his supplies and rises again shrugging his pack onto his shoulder. "Well I'm ready now. Don't expect anything spectacular for at least a couple of hours though."

[need to put in digest 17 here]

Gwen makes a face which suggests that the elf has missed her point then shrugs and shakes her head.

"I could toss spells around like there was no tomorrow, only if I did that then for me there wouldn't be a tomorrow because I would be sleeping through it. I pushed myself to the limit once, it almost killed me and laid me up in some dank cave with the smell of rotting wood for twelve years, not an experience I want to repeat. Still, it did give an appreciation for sunlight and open places."

Balron looks back at the elf. "Twelve years?" He considers the thin frame, the movements, and nods "Aye," he mutters to himself. "Power without stamina. You see it often." He turns back to his pack. "But not for long."

The half elf smirks.

Pausing he digs into a pouch and pulls out some wooden coins." The rest of you should be carrying magically tagged currency, it will mask us and to some degree protect us from magical effects." Kaceubel tosses a coin to Gwen, Nadia, Balron and Ari.

Balron goes to one knee to rearrange things in his pack, the coin sailing straight over his head. It rolls to a stop in the dust before him, leaving a closed spiral pattern. Balron stares at it intently and then nods. "Dwarves are not fond of magic. It tends to be unreliable for us." His mailed hand smears the pattern and he pushes to his feet, hefting his pack. "Keep your coin, mage, and your drink. I need to warm up." He walks into the clearing, some distance from the others and begins stretching.

Kaceubel continues. "Before we open the door and enter the dungeon there a few things we should discuss. Marching order, general tactics, code danger words and the like. In short we should have a plan. Also it would be nice if we could finish with the toasts and drink this wine before somebody kicks dirt into. It's been waiting for millennia, it would be a shame to waste it now."

"Marching order? I need room for my bow and my longsword. Nadia needs space for her weapon of choice. Balron, I reckon, can make a mess up close and personal, so I say him and Ari up the front - Ari to get traps and doors, our handsome fighter to take care of the stupid charging-type monsters who like to pop around corners.

Balron calls over his shoulder. "Aye lass. Unless we march backwards, I'll be at the front. But unless we're in a large room I will fight in a rank all by myself. There will not be room for more. Just make sure any I leave behind don't rise." His boot slides under his axe, flicking it into his hand. Sunlight sprays across the clearing as it sweeps a glittering arc before him. "Warn me if you need a clear field of fire or I'm liable to be amongst them."

Gwen eyes glint and one finger idly taps the silver stem of her pipe lodged presently behind her belt. "I have no doubt of that, my friend, but you'd be mistaken if you thought I was in need of a target any larger than one of Kaceubels' coins to pacify a foe. You won't be in my way. Keep your mind on your work and rest-assured I won't be interfering with demands for you to scoot a little to your left."

The axe suddenly sweeps up and around, forming into a glittering, screaming wall of steel in front of him and for several feet on each side. His body and legs are completely still, the axe guided only by the sweep of his arms and flicks of his powerful wrists.

"As for code words", Balron snorts. "I suggest if we see danger, we say, "danger" or "whoa" and if we see the bad guy, someone say "kill 'em." If you have time to sprout codes whilst in combat, mage, then you're not working hard or fast enough - is my thinking." Balron laughs as his axe stills held vertically before him. A sudden silence descends on the clearing as the sound of tortured air is momentarily stilled.  "How about," the axe starts to fall, weaving both behind and before him, a circle of steel it would be suicidal to enter, "Watch Out they're dead!" He laughs again.

"Accurate - especially for those walking skeletons," murmurs the pale haired woman ironically.

Gwen steps close and places the coin on the make-shift table beside the goblet meant for her. "As for coins cloaking us - I haven't heard so much crap since my grandfather tried to tell me my mother was a eddy-life slut. You can keep your money and your drink. I have fought mages before, K, and rest-assured, whether they've known I was coming or not, they've always died." Her lips twist into a harsh smile. "No offense."

The pressure of the Mother's Breath, however, suggests we enter before the sun reaches the meridian. So hurry the hell up."

The wall of steel slows and stops. Balron rests his axe on his shoulder and turns. "I'm ready," he says, not even breathing hard,

Gwen, who has begun pressing limia-steeped tobacco into her pipe, nods appreciatively. She glances occassionally towards the tree line where Nadia vanished a few minutes ago, her gaze searching, then shoulders her bow and produces a flint and draws a dagger to light the pipe. It's an involoved process, but one with which she seems familiar, and soon the white smoke is making its sweet, beckoning presence felt. The ranger audibly sighs and begins to hum as she digs in her pack one last time. Obviously her preparation lies partly in the drug and partly in the practical experience accumulated over the days spent on the trail - not to mention the decades before that. She has the definite air of an old campaigner about her. From out of the pack comes a leather wrapped wodge of pale wax which she begins rubbing into the length of the taught bowstring. This is re-wapped and stowed after only a few minutes. Next comes a silver mirror. Gwen makes a wide-eyed fool's face at her reflection before tucking a loosened braid behind her delicate ear and stowing the gleaming tool in a jacket pocket. Some brass knuckles are drawn out, considered with amusement before disappearing back in the pack. She tucks some extra pouches in the larger purse at her belt then, puffing happily, draws out a rumpled forest-green scarf of coarse silk. Setting this across her knees, Gwen lifts her hands and splitting her many long braids, wraps them in different directions about her skull. The scarf follows then, securely binding and covering her hair elegantly in tight, ritual order. No longer does it offer a hand-hold to foes or a risk of entanglement with bow or companion. With the tail of the scarf ends wound deftly about her lean throat, she looks for an exoctic moment, like one of the nomads from the south, but the war-camouflage of the elves is unmistakable. Another tug and nothing but her eyes would be uncovered.

Gwen seems unconcerned with such extremes, however, and begins to re-tie her pack into a compact roll, the smoke cloud drifting from her weaving dream figures in the morning air. Before heading over to examine Ari's drawings and the doors more closely, she pulls a cord from within the collar of her jacket and with a jerk, produces a blaze of gold which immediately distracts the Hobbit. Smiling, Gwen lifts the cord over her head. The heavy gold glow proves to be a substantial ring which the ranger cups in a hand then raises to her lips. She closes her eyes a moment, as if offering a prayer, then cuts the cord and slides the heavy signet onto her right index finger. It seems to fit snuggly. Satisfied, the half-elf shoulders her belongings and moves to the Hobbit then to the doors. She pauses, then touches the centre-most one.

"Vessel. Not door. Hmmmm. Great. So we have 'Derisnospewn' and Ari's mate - 'Wenisadore'. So when is a door, not a door? When it's a vessel? When it's a window? When it's fire-wood? Anyone here actually like riddles? Most of the time I hear riddles and decide to find a pub where folk are drunk enough to actaully be some fun. Riddles! Next we'll have morris dancing. How do we get in, Ari?"