There was a moment when he entered the ruins that he felt a shiver race down his spine. It wasn't quite like Mordremoth's call, that was more like an insufferable ache. Nor was it like the shiver that had followed him when he woke up after his death. It was almost like Raven himself was perched on his shoulder, cawing softly in his ear, leading him on to something.
"I—I'm going to check something over here, Brandubh." Dimly he heard the Agent respond to him in affirmation with the fake name he'd given them, they'd already cleared the surrounding area of enemies. Now it was just a matter of delving deeper within the ruins of Raven and keeping the Priory members from possibly causing a cave in.
In fact, if he tilted his head just so, he could hear Brandubh yelling after one of them now: "Aibhne!! Don't pull on that!!"
What followed was dim clatters and yells of alarm, but nothing that would demand his return. Honestly, he didn't want to give the Agent more time to figure out why his face was so familiar in the first place. The Order was a lifetime ago for him and he cared not to return nor to see what happened if one didn't find early retirement while being an active member. Eiriân snorted softly, earning a soft nosing to the palm of his hand from his small deer, Faith, no longer a fawn. "It's alright, dearheart, they'll yell if they need me."
Not that a blind Sylvari would be much good at helping figure out where to safely pull out items from whatever collapse had happened. So long as they could still leave when the time came. Leaving right now... It wasn't the forefront of Eiriân's thoughts, instead he shuffled his staff out in front of him, making sure there was ground in front of him as he walked. They learned early on in their explorations of similar ruins that walkways had collapsed as well, either by time and elements or the random mobs of enemies seeking shelter. But nothing impeded his path, nothing stopped him from following the gentle urging from the absent spirit on his shoulder.
The whisper to walk was soon replaced by the whisper to touch the wall with bare fingers, seeking something. An indent or a button, a carving maybe. It felt like an hour had passed with him shuffling further along the wall, trying to find this secret that the whispers were driving him towards, feeling more like an idiot than usual. "It would help if your whispers had eyes attached, Raven."
Faith grunted in an almost amused fashion but was also of no help to him; it wasn't much longer, however, before he found what his now roughened fingers were seeking. A impression in the wall in the shape of a hand, a hand much bigger than his own. Quite possibly carved once upon a time to fit the Havroun of this hall of Raven, but it still seemed to react to his own hand placed within the grooves. Was it Raven allowing him in or was it merely just a button with a default sort of form? The stone in front of him started to slowly—and loudly—roll itself out of the way. The opening was barely wide enough before Eiriân pushed himself forward, squeezing into the gap, immediately coughing at the dust he'd disturbed.
It didn't take long for it to settle again and he moved on unbothered by enemies or debris, not even holes in the floor. The whispers in the back of his head driving him deeper into the new chamber until he found an alcove with a chest just inside. The lock needed just a hard jerk in order to come free, the leather it held in place crumbling around his hand. The voice was almost thunderous in his head now as his hands grasped either side of the lid, the lock having clattered to the ground.
Almost he lifted it.
And then a large hand covered one of his own, freezing him in place, "Artaxiad, I don't think now is the time to stir up ancient spirits. Do you?" Buron's deep voice shattered the hold the mysterious voice had on him, but it was amused and worried more than it was angry, "Otter will forgive us if we let her sleep a little while longer." The Warmaster's other hand fell on Eiriân's shoulder and pulled him away from the chest, "Though I do believe Aibhne will be ecstatic over the find. You've left me to be pestered about stories of Otter at tonight's campfire, my friend."
There was just the slightest bit of sorrow in him at losing the voice, the pull. After all, it hadn't been a corrupt sort of whisper, nothing at all like Mordremoth or the rare whispers he'd heard of Jormag before his Fraenir was killed by the Commander and others. So it was a sorrowful sort of smile that Buron received as Eiriân looked up at the Norn, "You should know better than most that a Sylvari's curiosity is insatiable. Let alone a party filled with them." Buron's ringing laughter lingered in the hidden chamber and proceeded them back into the foyer where the others continued to clean the earlier chaos.
