< Departure | Red Ice Logs | Meeting the Son >

The Temple itself is as it ever has been. Massive, black and forbidding. Iron Horse, despite being an adventurous young lad, has never entered here. His mother would never have approved, nor would have his father.

The massive entrance hall is utterly empty, except for the ruins of great greeting tables and the ancient, broken vessels once sealed tight. The decaying flying machine hanging from the ceiling of the vaulted chamber creaks slightly.

  • Iron Horse is moving as quietly as possible, which means that he's... moving slowly, for a change. Iron Horse might not be the brightest star in the sky, but he learned -some- things about keeping quiet, like when hunting and stuff. He's just hoping -he- isn't the hunted one.

Through the single available corridor, there is a chamber with only a few doors. One, set straight up in the ceiling rains bits of dust. The others are untouched, one leading left, the other leading right. A splash of Mendhari's blood stains the flagstones of the empty room.

  • Iron Horse frowns, staring at the blood, and looks into the empty tomb, to see what is beyond.

The two doors in the walls are closed, massive slabs of stone that still look as if they'd open at a shove from a strong arm, despite weighing more then mammoths. The door in the ceiling, wide open, shows nothing but darkness.

  • Iron Horse licks his lips, and steps into the room carefully, moving towards one of the closed doors.

The door remains closed, but no sense of threat emanates. A faint feeling of encouragement emerges from shadows in the back of Iron Horse's mind

  • Iron Horse takes a deep breath, places his hands against the doors, and pushes, at first experimentally and not too strongly, but then mightily as he gains confidence.

The door bursts open with a rush of dust that sets Iron Horse to coughing. As it clears, the young man can see an echoing chamber beyond.

  • Iron Horse tries to muffle his coughs (with no real success), and waves his hand in front of his face to clear it away. He pauses for a few seconds to stare at what lies in the chamber.

Nothing moves, or seems to have moved for many millennia, within the dusty chamber. Iron Horse can not even see the floor of the chamber, so caked is it in dust and darkness. Nothing seems to exist within the room, though in some places there are dark lumps and bumps in the carpet of dust and dirt.

  • Iron Horse steps into the room carefully, covering his face with a hand to try and not breath in too much dust. His eyes take a moment to get used to the dark in this place, and then he spots the depression in the wall, moving towards it slowly.

The scent of good, aged wine wafts toward Iron Horse through the dusty air. But as he walks into the dust-filled room, he finds himself protesting, sure that something lurks in the covering of dust.

  • Iron Horse has -long- since learned to trust those instincts of his, so he backs off, scowling as he looks towards the lumps and bumps in the carper of dust

From the feelings in his mind and the smell of wine, Iron Horse is sure this is the Chamber of Wine, where they'll be safe. But it's on the other side of that depression in the dust, across the carpet that seems so malevolent.

  • Iron Horse rubs his nose, and steps around the room a bit, idly kicking at one of the lumps of dirt softly, avoiding the depression for the moment.

The lump shatters, an empty vessel of ancient ceramic. A purple-red mist rises from it and dissipates

  • Iron Horse shakes his head, and heads back the way he came, to check on the others and say what he found.

< Departure | Red Ice Logs | Meeting the Son >