Story I: The Rift

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Garrett collects the coins with a smile, pulling mug after mug out from under the bar and onto the counter top. One by one each is filled and passed out to the bar's patrons as they line up for a taste of Baric's generosity. The crowd's spirits are certainly lifted, and the announcement of free drinks is met with prolonged cheering and hollering. Though Garrett is kept busy filling mug after mug from the taps, he chuckles a bit at Baric's question, "That, my curious friend, is a harmless question that has only a dangerous response."

"I'll say it, then," Mialee says, scoffing at Garrett's reply. She scoops one of the filled mugs into her hand, now with two drinks though her first still contains plenty. She turns to Baric and says, "The Lord of Bracklewhyte is scum. If he is not dealing with the Winter Court, he is making dissidents in the town 'disappear.'" Garrett gives Mialee a serious look, filled with warning, but Mialee continues, "No one brings it up because he has his thugs all over the town."

"That's quite enough, Mia," Garrett says, care and caution in his voice, pulling the fresh drink from in front of her and sliding it to Baric instead, "For all our sakes."

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Father Morgan returns Devanis' look, but when the acolyte touches his shoulder, the priest instead embraces him. "Be careful, son. I insist that you return to tell me all about what you see below," he says, holding Devanis with all the strength in his thin arms.

After the farewells and the prayers, Devanis reenters the guildhall to find it empty, except with some noise coming from the Study. Callie's office door is closed, as usual.

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"You're welcome," Garrett says, almost reluctantly, "You can sleep in the one up those stairs, second on the right."

Mialee, however, chuckles at Baric's words, "I've said worse about more dangerous men and I still breathe today." She then busies herself with her drink, letting Baric depart.

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Ameera is quickly able to find a drink to her liking as the stores seem to have been recently restocked. Unfortunately for her, the closest thing to a Valkarian tea seems to be the Sevarran brew, which is almost identical, if a bit unpatriotic. There are a couple kinds available, however.

Erran spends several hours studying The Great Retreat dutifully, dog earring several pages he finds particularly useful. He eventually finds the will to tear himself away from the book, closing it and taking it with him to the sleeping area.

He takes the time to get down to his simple clothing, and take off his mail armor, and places all the pieces within the footlocker at the end of a unoccupied bed stationed in the corner of the room, staging his crossbow and Messer shortsword on top of the chest in hopes that it shall create a clamor should anyone attempt to fiddle with his belongings in his sleep. Keeping his greatsword within reach, Erran leans it up against the wall near him, puts his hands behind his head as he attempts to quell the anxiety and excitement of what tomorrow has in store for him.

Keep calm, that's how you stay alive, the words of his father swimming in his mind as he closes his eyes and falls into a slumber.

The following morning arrives...

The air is much warmer than when you went to sleep last night. Outside it is bright and sunny (though there is still a cloud of smoke hanging in the air above), and Grey Mountain glistens in the light. Within the guildhall, it is almost too warm if one is dressed for Winter. A few people are found asleep in nearby cots when the party awakens one by one (first with Erran breaking from his Elven trance). One is that same dwarf, Duggin, that was sleeping there yesterday, spread out across one of the cots and snoring loudly. The second is a woman in her 20s with short dark hair, covered with a green, woolen blanket. A heavy, filled traveling pack is laid next to her, and a black, flanged mace rests against it.

Callie remains still hard at work in her office, uncertain as to whether she slept or not. The smell of coffee wafts in from the kitchens. Otherwise, much of the guildhall is unchanged.

As Erran enters into Callie's office, the halfling is hard at work behind her desk. She is just now rolling up a scroll and setting it on the edge of her desk before setting to writing another one. She looks up when the Elf enters, and smiles, "Good morning, Erran."

She ponders his question a moment, tapping the end of her quill into the inkpot, and then she says, "If you think it will help, then yes; it is permissible." She offers a warm smile once more, "Are you departing soon?"

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Ameera finds that none of her equipment has been bothered, and luckily more coffee remains for her to indulge in. Though the air is cold, the sunshine is warm as she exits the building. Icicles that had formed in the night drip from the edges of rooftops. The side of the Guildhall contains a small yard ringed with a knee-high, wooden picket fence. Though now covered in a layer of snow, small signs that stick up out of the ground labeled "tomato" and "peas" give evidence to a failed garden.

A few members of Bracklewhyte's populace can be seen walking down the street, within sight of the guildhall's side door.

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Outside of the guildhall's front door, Pyrrah steps out toward the rift in the center of town. As she nears the edge, a gust of wind hits her back, just firmly enough to make one pause at the edge of such an abyss. The wind whistles and moans as it blows across the sharp edges and cracks that the rift had formed in the ground. The lift creaks and whines as the platform sways uncertainly back and forth.

The darkness seen within it betrays no secrets.

"Yes! Callie says excitedly, "Ameera was so helpful and brought them down for me. She has the key."