Brugar glances behind him as he follows Yetta down the stairs. He glares at the dark mass following them but doesn’t hesitate to follow the party down the narrow passage between the sarcophagi. His axe and shield are held ready to greet any foe that seeks to slow the party.

Your footsteps echo on the stone as you race down the long hall towards the far opening, lungs burning in the foul air, the cold, ancient stone uncaring as to your fate.

Hamin leads the way, Calanor's blade held before him, the weapon unfamiliar but his grip sure.  Close behind him come Brugar and Yetta, the Dwarf ready to fight, the young woman frustrated in her efforts to heal him.  Last follows Alasha'an, her own dark pitted blade in hand.

You slow as you reach the opening to the east, allowing Yetta the chance to use her wand once more to heal Brugar.  Beyond lies another chamber, smaller than those before, a tall urn in each corner, an opening onto stone stairs in the north wall and a pool in the centre, perhaps ten feet across.

Behind you, at the far end of the sarcophagus-lined hall the roiling mass of corruption gathers, engulfing the west end of the room in darkness ...

OOC: Map of the proceedings updated ...

Brugar eyes the pool of water in the centre of the room suspiciously as he makes his way around the western side of the room toward the next set of stairs.

Hardly pausing, Hamin skirts the water, and heads straight on down ....

As you continue your headlong flight, ever deeper into the ancient crypt, the roiling mass of corruption follows inexorably after you, the Ages old dust stirred up by its passage being absorbed into its constantly shifting form as it seemingly looms larger, feeding ...

... heedless of your footing, you skirt the central pool and take to the stairs, Yetta, with Alasha'an on her heels, pausing in her attempt to heal Brugar as the Dwarf's stolid stature provides him at least with some stability as you descend the steps, sometimes two at once, teetering on the edge of your feet losing what little grip the crumbling stone affords.

It is Hamin who is first to reach the level below, holding up Calanor's blade to bid you halt.

Before you is yet another wide hall, running east to west, perhaps thirty feet long by eighty wide.  To either end is a small side chamber - to the east you glimpse but more of the stone sarcophagi, while to the west you see a floating globe, perhaps ten feet in diameter, spinning slowly as the light within pulses urgently if erratically, as if yearning for release.

But directly opposite you, standing in the centre of the hallway is a woman cloaked in a dark shroud, her form within also shifting before your eyes, betwixt that of a crone, bent and grim with hair white and thin, next a middle-aged woman, stern and forbidding, hair grey and tied back, last a young woman, starkly beautiful with raven tresses, the dully glinting metal links of armour just visible beneath the folds of cloth draped about her form ... and smiling expectantly, inclining her head in greeting, a sword held casually in her blood-soaked hand, the twin of the dark blade that Alas'ahan bears, crimson drops pooling on the stone flags beneath the lowered point ...

OOC: Map of the proceedings updated ...
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:25, Fri 22 Mar.

"Ah, well, this is it then," Brugar murmurs to himself as he takes in the scene of the wide hallway at the foot of the stairs.

He pauses just a moment to gaze around at his companions, then walks forward into the hall. He angles slightly to the left, though, so he ends up halfway between the woman and the entry to the smaller western chamber, then halts and faces her with shield and axe in hand.

"It would appear so." Hamin concurs, as he follows Brugar into the chamber to stand with dwarf between himself and the battle crow.  Calanor's sword is heavy in his hands, but starting to fell more comfortable now that he has been carrying it for a while.

The prophecy spoke of 'The Sword', and their best guess had been Calanor's sword -  but to fight against the Mórrígan or to burst the bubble ...

"The blade of a dead man," the crone speaks, turning over the sword in her hand until she holds it level, her piercing eyes following your approach though she offers no other acknowledgement than her words themselves.

"Soaked in the blood of a god," says the middle aged woman, grimly, angling her bloodied palm towards you.

"Wielded by one who has turned his back on the gods," finishes the warrior maiden, somewhat petulantly as she lowers the sword once more, her eyes moving to the sword that Hamin grasps, though at the last she laughs, the sound like the tolling of a bell and the clashing of metal, a smile creasing her thin lips.

"And still the struggle manages to surprise me !" she licks her ruby red lips.

The warrior maiden looks back to her own blade and then suddenly throws it from her, though it vanishes before it has flown more than a few feet though the air.

"And you are here, the last portal broken, to free the last of my captives and claim your victory."  It is posed as a question, but though the words she speaks sound more like a statement, still she pauses, a small smile on her lips, as she awaits your reply.

"Not quite right." Hamin responds grimly.  "It is wrong to say that I have turned my back on the gods.  While I won't get down on a knee and worship any god, there are those I quite like and those I don't.  In my youth, I practised the arts that sent many people to their doom, through war and conflicts, that should have pleased you.  Since my return from the greyness, I have continued to fight in a great war, something that should please you.  During that time, I have helped free gods from imprisonment and, indeed, spoken directly to gods.  Something that few mortals have ever managed.  I have never turned my back on any god.  Even now, I fight a battle.  Something that should bring pleasure to you, even though I battle against you and your plans.  I find that I prefer the world to have sunlight and flowers, birds singing freely and people who do not live permanently in fear of  undead monsters or creatures from the darkness.  Therefore, I do what I know.  What, I assume, pleased you in the past.  I fight, and I fight whatever is in front of me - be it orc, demon, shade or even a god.  Moreover, I take pleasure from that battle and, eventually, I will take pleasure from my victory. " Hamin is resolute, as he bares his soul to the mistress of battle and the slain.

"However, on my travels, I have learned mercy, and I am prepared to use that, as well as the sword, to win my battles.  Even now, I offer you the opportunity to cede to us, as you know that we will succeed in our objective.  You have known for many years that we would come here to complete the task of freeing the captive gods. That success will mean many more battles - wars between nations trying to recover their land and humanity, battles with humanoids and barbarians from the wild lands, fights between gangs and individuals for control.  More battles and more death to feed you.  You
only really win, when we succeed."  Hamin looks implacably at The Morrigan, almost challenging her to gainsay his words.

Brugar stands beside Hamin, his shield and axe held ready to defend them both, if required. He listens to Hamin's words, watches the woman, but still spares a portion of his attention to watch for a surprise attack as well.

Where did that accursed sword of hers vanish to, he wonders, and will it just as suddenly reappear?

The warrior-maiden listens patiently to Hamin's words.  "You are wise for a mortal," she allows, smiling, though all trace of laughter has vanished now and she seems deadly serious like the cutting edge of a blade.

"You have indeed served me well.  All of you," her gaze sweeps over Brugar, Yetta and Alasha'an.

"I am the goddess of war.  I delight in conflict for that bares the souls of those who fight, bringing out their best and the worst.  Without that struggle there would be no progress only decadence and decay."

"Gods of Darkness and Gods of Light ... your mortal battles mirror ours, and ours yours in turn."

"I think perhaps you are the first to realise the truth," she inclines her head to stare levelly at Hamin.

"I am the goddess of war," she repeats.  "Not the goddess of victory nor of triumph.  The last war was over long ago and the pickings since have been thin indeed."

"I am not here to stop you."

"I am here to ensure that you succeed, that the wheel turns full circle and the cycle begins anew."

"I think that, of all the mortals there are, you four will appreciate that wars are never truly won, that all victories are but fleeting ... and that that those who still stand at the final battle are ever changed by the struggle."

The Morrigan inclines her head to you all.

"But though my concern is only with the fight itself, still every war must have one who wins and one who loses, and this victory is yours ..."

So saying, the Dark Mistress of War stands aside to allow you past.

"So take that blade and break open the final prison and thus fulfil the Prophecy and claim your victory. Though I do not think you will enjoy your spoils ...

"Ma'am." Hamin says, nodding his respects to Mórrígan, as he walks towards the orb.  While he does not worship any deity, he does not deny them, nor their place in the world.

"I hope your last thought is wrong, if only for a while ..." he adds, as he touches the blade to the orb.

Brugar bows his head to Morrigan too, then chuckles as he walks with Hamin to stand alongside him before the orb.

"Every breath Ah take now be one more'n Ah thought Ah would, anyway. Ah shall enjoy each an' every one of 'em while Ah can."

He casually raises his shield in front of them both as Hamin reaches forward with Calanor's sword.

The warrior-maiden acknowledges and returns your nods and watches on, eyes glittering, as you enter the side chamber, but it is the mother who banishes the roiling mass of corruption with a flick of one hand ... and at the last, when Hamin raises Calanor's blade, the crone who pulls her dark shroud about her as she steps sideways and vanishes between one moment and the next.

Brugar holds up his shard-warded shield before himself and Hamin, at the fore, as the one-eyed warrior lowers the blade until it touches the globe of swirling verdant light ...

... which cracks at that slightest touch, with a sound like the breaking of the world, then shatters into a million pieces that are drawn upwards like the tail of a comet as the light within bursts forth driving upwards, stone and earth liquifying at its passage, molten drops cascading like a waterfall in its wake, driving you backwards, even as the light from the top of the shaft hundreds and hundreds of feet above you touches stone that has never seen daylight before.

And then it is over, the rushing noise dying away to nothing.

The final seal is broken.

The Urthe Mother is freed from Her captivity.

The rule of the Dark Gods is ended.

The Prophecy is fulfilled.

"That seemed to go a lot better than we might have hoped," Alasha'an suggests, somewhat cynically, risking a look up the shaft, though with blade still in hand for she is not yet prepared to sheathe it.

"If we can hang on till that cools, we might even be able to make our way back to the surface without having to say any goodbyes on our way out!"

"It was not what I expected." Hamin agrees as he recovers his composure.  With the earth mother freed, his thoughts turn to one of her daughters.  "It is a shame that Saffaris was not here to see that …  But perhaps she will rest more peacefully now."

Once the initial surprise has passed, his thoughts return to the present.  "You are right, of course.  I don't really fancy a return journey back through that city of Orcs and Drow, although I think we should probably keep a good watch on our back route, while we wait for it to cool."

Then he turns to his daughter, his brow furrowed "I wonder if Kalibar has been returned to this world?  In some ways I hope so, it would be good to return 'home', even if only for a short while -  and we don't yet know what sort of world they would find.  In some ways, the greyness might be preferable to the wars that The Morigan foresees.  BUT, as Alsha'an points out, we need to get out of here in one piece first ..."

Brugar looks up the shaft too and looks thoughtful.

"Aye, Ah'd rather not 'ave to fight me way back out through all them orcs an' orogs an' their mates. Too damned slow that way. We might be able to climb out, if luck be with us. Ah've got some rope, grapplin' 'ook an' 'alf a dozen pitons as well as me magic rope of climbin' an' our bag of 'oldin'. Lass, ye still got them boots of levity what lets ye fly up a wall without so much as touchin' it?" he asks Alasha'an.

Even as Hamin ponders past and future and you all seek swift release from this deep tomb, the light at the top of the shaft swiftly fades.  In light of the Morrigan's last words to you, perhaps it is an omen.

For a moment you fear that something is amiss, that despite the Warrior-Maiden's words the fulfillment of the Prophecy is yet to be realised ... but then a loud rumbling reaches your ears and water begins to pour down the shaft, dragging loose earth and stone with it as it swiftly becomes a torrent.  The smell of brine reaches you, stronger even than the decay of this dank chamber ... and you realise that the shaft has opened out on the sea above !

When he realises what is coming, Brugar curses mildly.

”Bugger. Ah ‘aven’t ‘ad no bath since the Third Age. This’ll mess that up completely!”

However, he quickly gets serious.

”Better get movin’, folks. Maybe we can seal the portal behind us if we can get there afore it’s flooded.”

"Run ...."  Hamin shouts as he starts moving back the way they came, as quickly as he can.

This new threat may perhaps be considered mundane, yet it is belike the one challenge against which sharp blades, skill and courage can not prevail.  And so, with the waters rapidly rising, you quickly decide that your only chance is retreat.

The roiling mass is gone from the stairs, banished by Morrigan, yet the waters that follow in your wake as you start up them, fast as you can, are more implacable than the churning corruption, ever at your heels as you climb.

A burst of effort ... and Brugar wields his axe, reversed in his grip, to bat away the spikes he'd set, as Hamin hauls one of the freed doors open for Yetta and Alasha'an to move past him, following after the pair as the Dwarf delays just long enough to pull it closed behind him, hoping to slow the waters' advance.

At last you gain the temple proper, the black marble slick beneath your sodden boots, but with a short respite as the waters gather below you.  Opposite the stairs is one of the temple entrances, the other in the larger chamber to the west where lie the bodies of the fallen before the black well, and that of Ayas by the secret way that leads to the roof of the building.

OOC: Map of the proceedings updated ...

As he runs and climbs, Hamin hangs Calanor's sword on his back, and spends a moment to grab his polearm.

Back in the temple, he pauses, somewhat out of breath from the long climb.  "Back the way we came, or shall we try the main doors?" cocking his head he listens briefly for the sound of fighting outside.  "What ever we do, we should sling one of those sets of doors open, so that threses levels soak up some of the water."  Then trying to catch his breath, he adds, "perhaps we should open the doors anyway?   And hope the drow city takes the brunt of the flood?  Getting rid of those bastards would be a bonus ..."

"Main door and hope we can get through the gate," Yetta suggests, taking the opportunity to use her healing wand upon Brugar for good measure.

"It's a long way round down those tunnels and back through that dark cavern full of ghouls.. and for all that effort, it'll only lead us back to the city on the other side of the gate anyway."

"Maybe we can convince the guards that it's a good time to seek higher ground! Though, if not then we've another fight on our hands."

Shrugging, she closes her eyes to concentrate, and assumes the form of one of the dead Drow priestesses. "This might help."

"Or get you killed by orcs ..." Hamin responds dryly.

Brugar unceremoniously stuffs Ayas's body into his bag of holding while the others make their own preparations.

"The guards on this side o' the gates'll be seein' that massive waterfall plungin' straight down outa the cavern roof into the temple already. Won't take much for Yetta to persuade 'em to open the gates an' clear a path for them as don't wanna drown," he suggests.