"…stuff of raw magic," Malachi said, ducking a carelessly tossed length of chain, "see how its gathering in strands along the walls? There’s an attractive principle at work here. That’s what happened to our gear as well, I’m sure."
"Uh-huh," Poer muttered distractedly. He gathered more lengths of chain and threw them in the same general direction as the first one. Malachi ducked again and stepped between the growing piles of sorted objects.
"Say, did you notice that there was order in the pile? These last few items all bear the same pattern…" Malachi intercepted a horn that came sailing his way, "…looks a bit familiar actually…"
There was a final clattering noise and then silence, Poer had stopped rooting through the items. He was slowly lifting the tattered remnants of his cloak. He flinched as a final seam gave way and a piece of fabric fell, leaving only the collar in his hands.
"This was my father’s cloak," Poer murmured. "Werewolves got him in the jungles to the south but he lived long enough to give it to me. It was my great-grandmother’s before that, until a slaver’s poison arrow ended her life. She took it from uncle when…" as he was talking Poer carefully collected all the scraps of the cloak and carried them to the stack of objects near Malachi. He slowly packed them into a haversack, "…the weapons and gear of generation after generation of the Family were in the cloak. It was living history," his voice broke, "and now it is mere cloth and metal and wood." Not looking at Malachi, he got up and headed to the unsorted central pile, taking the horn back in passing. Malachi saw him put a few more items in the haversack, "it was supposed to be my legacy as well…" Poer added, before continuing in silence.
"Malachi! Poer!" Udoros’ voice boomed from beyond the cave opening. "The gate is about to give way, get over here!"
Malachi found he would much rather face the undead than stay where he was, he hurried out of the cave. Glumly, Poer shouldered the haversack and followed.