"Far better than we've had in a while," Alasha'an avows, gladly taking a seat and tucking in. While the watered wine isn't her first choice, it'll do in a pinch!

"We might have had something to do with the drow's current unhappiness.. and Tizun's notes proved spot on, if sometimes a little cryptic," she thanks the current Master with an easy familiarity.

"But sadly this isn't a social call - our task isn't done yet. We need Calanor's blade, and a quick route to somewhere near Kalibar or whatever they're now calling the place it used to be, if you could point the Portal there?"

Hamin is quiet as he dines.  Thoughts of Kalibar, Calanor, and many others, including his wife, flood his mind - along with the grey hell that was his life for so long.

Brugar spends more time looking at the food and drink on offer than actually eating and drinking.

"Them accursed dark gods 'as got so much to answer for," he growls to himself.

"Don't s'pose any other clues 'as turned up to add to Tizun's notes, 'as they? Aught about what sword might be Morrigan's key'd be mighty 'elpful."

Diker shakes his head at Brugar's question.

"Being Master in these halls comes with ... certain privileges.  I find that I know things now of which before I had never an inkling."

"But I am not Tizun, and whatever allies and thralls he had do not answer to me.  I doubt many of them mourned his passing."

"Though yes, the sword is still here, and I will arrange for it to be brought to you," he offers kindly, a small smile of sympathy on his lips as recognises Hamin's silence and hopes thusly to spare you the sight of Calanar's corpse or what now remains of it.

"And ... I believe I can direct the Portal to the vicinity of Kalibar.  I had not thought to do so before, but it seems I can point it to any place I've been before, and while the city is no more, I have travelled the south road nearby.  The stone bridge over the Yernaduin should provide the required focus." 

"You are not staying long then ?  Can I offer you beds for the night at least ?"

"We can spare a night," Alasha'an suggests. "Three centuries and somewhat since the Dark Gods came to power, what's one more day?! Besides - I think Ayas is going to need some time to get his strength back before we can call on him to cast many more spells."

"We'd appreciate it.. on both counts," the elf thanks Diker.

Hamin nods his agreement. "A decent night's sleep would be very welcome.  Thank you." he  half smiles  at Diker as he agrees with Alasha'an.  "As has been this fine food that you have offered us.  Sometimes, I think this new version of the world sucks everything out of me.  I was never very talkative, but since I have been here, I am  even less so - I must get out and about more ..."  he smiles weakly, again, at his own poor joke  ...

"If we somehow both succeed in our task and survive, then there will be many grateful souls wishing to shake your hand," Ayas smiles, trying to ignore his nerves.

"Yes," he agrees with Alasha'an, "I'll need that time to recuperate.. and it has been some time too since I lay in a good bed. Sadly the accommodations in Habmor'Anto were not the best!"

"This meal is also most welcome. I am glad that my companions count you as a friend," he nods his gratitude to their host.

Brugar beams with happiness at Diker's thoughtfulness and assistance.

"Thank ye kindly, Master Diker! For the food, the bed ye mentioned, for the sword and for passage through that there magic portal. Say, if'n ye now know stuff what ye didn't afore, d'ye reckon ye could 'ave a look at this puzzling warhammer Ah got? Ah been lugging it around so long Ah don't rightly recall where Ah found it. It be magic, right enough, an' it lets ye keep on goin' longer'n be normal for ye, an' ye can use it to give yerself the endurance of a bear three times a day. But the puzzling bit is it be s'posed to be one of them covenant thingies where ye 'ave to do some special thing to kind of unlock some other abilities what it's got. D'ye know aught about what it might be or any idea as to 'ow Ah could find out?"

Diker shakes his head in apology to the Dwarf.

"What I now know relates only to these Halls - to learn the secrets of that hammer I'd venture you'd need to find either one who is still capable of making such a thing, else scour the records.  The Seekers  at least strive to preserve such things, perhaps their only virtue."

Though the meal is plain, it is far better fare than you have had for a while and all the more welcome for it.

When you are ready, Diker's servants show you to your chambers, and though they are not so fine as perhaps once they were, the beds therein are comfortable enough, and the with the Master's assurances that you are safe within the Halls, you enjoy a restful sleep.

Morning comes and the meal that greets you is much the same, but fills your bellies.

The sword has been found as Diker promised, and awaits you, secure in Calanor's scabbard and wrapped about in cloths.

Once you are done and re-provisioned as best as the Halls can provide, Diker conducts you to the tower, where the Portal now shows the stone bridge over the Yernaduin (black and turgid, unlike the clean flowing Elder River that once you knew).

"I can open the Portal at this spot at dawn and dusk each day," Diker suggests, "should you have need of it."

After a good night's sleep and a solid breakfast, Hamin prepares himself for the new journey.

Ayas will prevail upon his companion's friendship with Diker to try to source from him the components he lacks for some of his spells, along with some other more basic equipment that he lacks.

"If we are to enter this Drow stronghold, then best they don't get too close a look at me," the young man suggests. "Hamin and Brugar would pass as mercenaries, perhaps - no offence meant - while Yetta has proven her talent to assume other shapes at will.  I have a spell that will do the same, but can only use it on myself and for an hour and a half at most.. other than that I must trust to the concealment of a heavy cloak and hope anyone we encounter lacks curiosity!"

"Alasha'an, though.." he shrugs, hoping someone else, not least of which the lady herself, has some ideas as to how she might avoid detection.

The lady snorts, most unladylike. "I'm not worried.. our kin of the high forests or deep woods might attract the wrong sort of attention, but our kind are tolerated if not loved."

"Act like we belong there, and don't do anything to bring ourselves to their notice and they'll ignore us in the main."

The dwarf slept well and certainly did justice to the food on offer, so he was at least as cheerful as anyone else when Diker led them up to the tower and showed them the portal.

"Dawn and dusk, right, that'll be easy enough to remember. Thank ye for yer 'elp, Master Diker. Ah 'ope we be 'aving good news to report next time we see ye."

Though Ayas's fears are but party allayed (and the young elf makes sure to gather his thick woollen cloak about him, pulling the hood up to hide his distinctive features within its folds as best he might), the rest of you are more concerned about how you might determine which sword is the key to the final portal than about such trifles as concealment and recognition.

Well rested, better fed than you have managed for some time, and with supplies to hand, you thank Diker and pass through the portal ...

... finding yourself before the stone bridge that sits astride the dank Yernaduin, as it all but oozes towards the dark waters of what was known in the Fourth Age as the Kalibarian Sound, not far from where you now stand.

The warm sun shines down on you from above having banished the mists that cloaked the land for so long (and giving Ayas no few regrets in his choice of attire as he sweats beneath its folds, even at so early an hour as this).

The road is empty, the lands around little more than parched ground, with the rising foothills of Lonorod clearly visible about a league away.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 06:47, Thu 09 June 2022.

"Twelve miles if we travel across country, perhaps.. a third again if we stick to the road," Alasha'an begs the question as he waves her hand in a vaguely north and westerly direction.

"It is probably just as quick to stick to the road."  Hamin say, with a shrug.  He scowls down at the turgid river, but the warmth of the sun, eventually, brings a small smile to his lips.  "It feels like we are starting to get somewhere ..." he says to no one in particular, as he enjoys the sun's warmth for what feels like the first time in years.

"This alone was worth the fight," avows Ayas, to whom the warmth of the sun is something unknown.

The elf nods his agreement with Hamin's choice. "This.. daylight should suffice to cause the Dark God's servants to seek their hidey-holes."

With Alasha'an estimating it will take you the best part of the day to reach the area where she believes the ruins that Venelia spoke of can be found, you decide that following the road is the best option, if a slightly longer route.

The day is warm, and perhaps uncomfortably bright after so long (for some more than others) in the mists and shadows, and without them the blighted land is revealed.  What once were fields, of grass and farmed crops, dotted picturesquely with the occasional shady tree is now little more than a dusty, barren plain.

For Hamin and Yetta, especially, the contrast to what they once knew is painful.

Around midday, when the sun is at its height (Ayas having long given up with his cloak while there are none around to see him lest he perish from the heat), you halt, those familiar with this road somewhat perplexed as it continues straight as far as the eye can see, with no sign at all of the intersection with the road that ran from the Grunhelm forest to the east to Kalibar in the west.

Certain you have not missed it, you continue on, scanning the sides of the road with care, until eventually Alasha'an spots a fallen marker, all but buried in the ground.  A road, perhaps once crossed here, but it has long gone, not overgrown as one might expect with the passage of years, but covered with soil, blown by the winds that scoured the bare earth.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:57, Sat 18 June 2022.

"Not even so much as a trail, now, where once were a road fit for a wagon train?" Brugar observes. "Don't expect we'll be meetin' many travellers along the way then."

He studies the ground of the road ahead and the soil covering the supposed western road, looking for any tracks on either road to indicate how much traffic the northern road still carries and whether there is any sign at all of anything travelling the western way.

OOC: Brugar Armbuster rolled 27 using 1d20+13.  Survival skill check to find tracks.

The north-south route certainly shows the marks of wagon wheels, though Brugar cannot say how recent they are, for the road is in very poor condition indeed ... and while what was once the western route to Kalibar is heavily rutted, it is so overgrown that the Dwarf is confident that it has seen little or no traffic for a long time.

"Road, or no road, we still need to go that way.  Hopefully we will still find enough of a path to guide our steps." Hamin offers,  as he adjusts his pack.

Brugar looks down the line of the old road and shrugs his shoulders.

"We be lookin' for a city, right? Don't reckon it'd be easy to miss summat as big as that!" he declares.

Then he sets off along what remains of that western road.

"We're looking for some ruins," Alasha'an clarifies. "Kalibar lay much further on than the place that we seek, and besides it is no more."

The elf's lip purse as she looks to Hamin and Yetta in sympathy.

As Hamin says, road or no, your path still lies in that direction.

Though unused, perhaps for centuries, and all but reclaimed by shifting dirt and occasional low scrub, it does not prove too difficult to follow.  Several times you discover that you have wandered away from it only to find it again, mostly as you pick the easiest route where the road once tracked around landmarks or landscape that is no more.

As you make your way, you begin to find bodies, slumped at the side of the path, or even in the middle of it, left where they fell.  Curious you investigate the first few, discovering that beneath their cloaks lie the corpses of Drow, the skin of their hands and faces blistered and pustulent, no doubt burned by the rays of the bright sun above.  Whatever coin or weapons they had are gone, assumedly taken by whatever companions were with them, or by those who later passed by.

Indeed, as you continue on, you find the path all but marked out for you by a trail of corpses.