There was a tremor of hesitation in the young man when Crypt spoke. Casting a glance at the strange Drykas, Wrenmae allowed Djed to creep into his eyes, his senses, seeking something of what the man had said, some residue of a greater presence.
Even to his basic sense, there was an overwhelming...something, around them. It was a power vast and infinitely patient, something slowly stirring in the bowels of the simple island. Wren hurriedly disabled his Auristics, the Djed diving back down into him and hiding within his body. He wanted nothing to do with something that felt so overwhelming, even his adventurous spirit was shaken by the idea of such a presence deeper in the tunnels.
Instead he embraced the familiar, the sickly sweet and rotten smell of a cadaver floating back to him from the tunnel he'd chosen. Water led them all on, but Wrenmae danced ahead of them, giving the horse and his master a wide berth. Some of him wanted to get away from that sickening feeling of the Balnag beneath them, but the rest wanted to press on, seek the guardian.
Of course, the smell was more than enough indication that he might not relish the discovery.
The path opened into a wide chamber, rock carved by time and water creating a sort of cavernous maw in which the guardian had made his home. The wall was set with shelves of books, some mildewed, others perfectly preserved. There was a collection of empty bottles in one corner, a desk with a simple wooden chair and a collection of papers, and finally, the guardian himself, a moldering corpse lying in the center of the room.
He had been down here some time, bones, yellowin, already pushing through skin that fell away like mud. Its face was thankfully turned away and in its right hand, a steel staff, gleaming without hint of scratch or mark, lay glinting in the lowlight of the cavern. From above, the water came from a hole in the ceiling, sliding down the wall where it continued onward through another hole that led further into the catacombs, further to the Balnag. The body was collapsed beside the hole and Wrenmae was the first to approach it, squatting down, peering at the rotting skin and fabric before gently pulling away the staff.
It thrummed in his grip for a moment, strangely warm despite the cool cave.
Turning back to the others as they entered the room, Wrenmae looked to the hole, to them, to the staff, to the guardian, and back.
"So..." he said nervously, "What now?"