The blade-wielding contents of the third tank the party had opened (Ulor did not have much else in the way of references for her, and, having been looking another way during most of the latest battle, could not even say what she had struck down) had somehow seen the occasion as an opportunity to rebuke his mending methods. Ulor scowled, or rather half-scowled by contorting his face in a slightly concerning way, so that only the one side of it that was partly turned towards the girl was frowning. For all he was concerned, the spattered makeshift bandage was enough for the elf not to die from bleeding within the hour, and therefore all he needed to do there. Sanitary? For all he knew, this prisoner might have come from warrens churning with maggots and dipping with slime. He was quite certain he had once read of elves that lived in just such a place. Or was it goblins? Regardless-

[i][color=7FFFD4]It is astounding how many mortals see the food matter the wrong way around.[/color][/i]

"Food doesn't heal wounds, but drink does?" was all Ulor had the time to reply between the octopus's commentary and the feline calling out from further down the chamber. With a grunt, he rose from his crouch, propping himself up with his staff, and began to hobble towards the throne the fiend had been sitting on. While the prospect of a "tithe" had sparked his curiosity, seeing as these people were likely to toss all sorts of this under such a name, whether they belonged there or not, he could not but stop to throw a glance at the altar and the pillars surrounding it. What he saw was apparently notable enough for him to turn as he walked, approaching to peer at the constructions more closely, scratching and rapping on the stone. [i]The mouth of a god...[/i] There was an odd, unnatural tension in the air between the columns. For some odd trick of the magical weave, he could almost picture a thread running from the altar to its twin on the other side of the sewer channel. No, that one was the mouth. This was the hand that brought the meals to it. He could feel that the unholy maw hungered still, calling silently for the life of hundreds to be fed into it. And yet...

[i]No one has been sacrificed here yet.

[color=7FFFD4]Not that we can see, at least. There might have been others before.[/color][/i]

As satisfied as he could have been with his brief survey, Ulor put an end to the detour and joined the pair near the throne. Bending over the seat, he began to rather unceremoniously rustle through its contents. The gold would certainly be useful, if everyone in this city was as averse to haggling as that one man who sold... What was he trying to buy then? Well, not that it mattered any longer.

There were also scrolls inscribed with what seemed to be arcane symbols. He lifted them one by one, running a finger over the lines of the signs and muttering something that did not appear to belong to any language under the stars. As he set each parchment aside, he briefly turned up his head and called out in hollow tones: "There are an incantation of insight... One of elemental chaos... One of mire- No, of treacherous soil." He doubted anyone else in the group would have much use for the spells, or even understand what he was speaking of, but it was safer to inform them of his findings in the event he should forget them later. Indeed, maybe there already was something the scrolls would be needed for? All the better to announce them properly.

"That might become necessary for one of them" he added, without looking up, while the octopus pointed one of its tentacles at a glinting pearl held in the brawler's paw. Who knew, they might have been capable of [i]selling[/i] the things.

Last in the receptacle were two flasks, filled with unusual-looking fluids. One of them, red and glimmering, he recognised as similar to what had been forcibly administered to the unconscious elf. A drop of it on the tongue brought a fleeting, but potent sensation of vigour coursing through his body. [i]Well. Perhaps drink can heal after all. Not wounds, maybe, but...[/i] The other was dull and layered like a crystalline tower. Its taste was likewise one of strength, but of a far more focused sort, echoing through hands and feet.

"Life and power held in glass." Those were simpler, likely accessible to the rest, and he had little need of reinforcing his toes. Nonetheless, if none would take them - as he dimly hoped in choosing mystifying words - he would not pass the opportunity of performing some alchemical experiments. Small, of course, and perfectly manageable. As circumstances would allow.


[hider=Degustation]

A 19 on a Religion check gives some information about the altar, and with a 16 on Arcana Ulor identifies the scrolls.

[/hider]