Nindis and Rindallaen returned to their camp. They told their find to their friends and kindred. There were whispers of puzzle and questions in the forest. The elves wondered what this cauldron would be and what this cave could hold. Rindallaen and Nindis sat in a corner, still picturing and explaining what they had seen. More scouts were sent to the area but not to delve inside the cave.
After this night, the elves gathered a larger group of swordmasters and hunters, those that can track and read signs. Also with them Lindariel, an older elf who had learning of uncommon materials and was known to make poisons and potions. Lindariel had joined this company to taste the waters and study the herbs and plants on their way. She would not know that her path would lead her to this mission.
Nindis, Rindallaen, Lindariel and two swordmasters along with five hunters were ready to go back to the cave. They left the camp before the morning dew was dry. They were carrying lamps, ropes, bottles and phials to gather the vile liquid in. They arrived at the entrance of the cave around noon. The cut ivies were still hanging on the entrance, that is how Rindallaen and Nindis had entered the cave.
The company passed through the cut ivy curtains one by one. Each disappearing into the darkness of the cave. At last there were no elves left outside. Inside the cave, Nindis lit her lamp and in the faint light, the elves were looking around with piercing eyes, curious, alert and exploring. Rindallaen and Nindis walked in front, Lindariel behind them with the swordmasters at her sides and finally the hunters following.
One could not tell that this cave was much different than other caves. Mossy rock, stuffed air, water dripping. It would be utterly dark inside without Nindis’ lamp. The company walked on. Now the wells, stones and dripping, flowing water looked different in the light of the elvenlamp rather than the torch the two elves had the day before. As the company walked on, that same stench began to make itself felt in the air. It was coming from the cauldron deeper in the cave. As the elves walked on, this smell got slowly stronger. Yet they walked on.
In the meanwhile…
- Come now, get this right!
-Shut your mouth up, you sluggard! I know how to mix her soup.
-You don’t know a thing.
Apgurkh and Dirgrat, two goblins enthralled to prepare the daily soup in the huge cauldron were quarreling and swearing as usual. The soup was not for them or any goblin at any rate. The soup in the cauldron was for a vile creature, much viler than the goblins. She was very large, capricious and with a terrible temper. Men would call her a wrym. A dragging remnant from the ancient days. Much lesser offspring of an ancient drake of legend. Even though she had such legendary ancestry, she was justa wyrm; nothing more, nothing less. Not larger than an elephant, without wings but teeth once sharp, threatening and glorious. These days very few of those teeth are left, the days of her glory is gone. Yet her mind and whispering evil is enough to enslave a clan of goblins into her service. She summoned them and while the poor creatures beheld her in fear and awe, she cast her spell of thralldom into their minds. Since then, generations of this goblin clan has been serving her.
