Meredith engages a simple formulaic koan she learned when first gaining magic proficiency, a tool to connect to the Weave, but which also opens the senses of the more practiced arcanists to the Weave’s delicate striations, and… everything is exactly as it should be. She has read that on other planes, the Weave may invert or possess a slight fragrance or timbre different from that on the material plane. No. This is definitely the same. For a certainty, Meredith knows she is on the material plane. Erudisia feels the same thing but with less certainty and perhaps looks to Meredith for confirmation. Yet Meredith founders when she tries to recognize their location.

Scanning the stars through the thick-boughed but not dense woodland canopy, Erudisia recognizes, rising in the northeast, the constellation humans call Centaur, while the elves of Moonshae call it Eadro Anoriel, father of Merfolk. Wracking her memory, she recalls it is visible over the Sword Coast North and points inland during the summer months.

“We are perhaps not so far as I feared, if the constellations are those I know. That is something.”

She takes Meredith’s arm, and, with a quick look back to the others, begins to walk through the woods in the direction the Portal deposited them facing. 

After ten minutes of easy walking along the well-tended path, you pass by a picturesque lily pond, dragonflies darting close over the water’s surface. Moths, too, flutter lightly in the warm, humid air made amber by the candlelight of an open gazebo that marks the pond’s far edge.

When you reach the gazebo a minute or two later, the path continues, now lined with paper lanterns guiding you toward a low, wide building. Wind chimes lightly sound from where they hang by the front door.

Another path curves away from the entrance around a small stable toward a wider road, hard to make out in the dusky half-light.  

The main building’s walls are richly stained maple slats graced and adorned by subtly curved arcs, and glass windows — some stained in earthy greens and ambers — through which candlelight flickers from within.

The entry itself is slightly ajar, a wide wooden double door with inset glass panels and delicate bronze fixtures.

" Alright....we're still near Candlekeep.......AND Baldurs Gate.....lets rescue your friend and then get some answers."

" Assuming she needs rescuing and this isn't just a wild goose chase......"

Meredith approached and opened the door.

Yes. Assuming that. Erudisia thinks.

”If two of us enter the door, perhaps two of us should quickly look at the stable. Although the ambiance is extremely inviting I would think we should know if we have means of escape and if horses are easily … appropriated.”

“I check stable,” Little One says, carefully stepping in that direction. “If not back in five minutes, something wrong.” 

As I mentioned, the entry double doors – finely carved with floral designs – are slightly ajar: one door is shut while the other is propped open by means of a short peg meant for the purpose. You pull open the doors completely and a tinkling bell atop the entry sounds, drawing the polite attention of the lobby’s sole occupant. You step inside and find yourselves in a large rectangular room, perhaps 30 feet square, luxuriously appointed, and obvious in function: a greeting space. The air is heavy with the scent of fresh lilies. A tall desk stands at the center of the room, framed by large, colorfully painted vases on bronze stands, bursting with fresh-cut lilies of the valley. A dark-haired human male, graceful and fit, in a white tunic and pants, stands up from the comfortable high chair or bar chair behind the desk as you enter the room. The word “Saeth” is embroidered in black letters just below his collarbone.

“Welcome, friends, to the Restful Lily,” he says, his voice both precise and… husky. He is… quite handsome. Clean-shaven with an almost-lantern jaw and noticeably white teeth. His biceps pop with graceful abandon. “Did you make a reservation? You are welcome regardless. Freshen yourselves in our luxurious bathhouse. Or perhaps you’d enjoy a massage? A visit with our hair stylist? Manicure? Or… pedicure? Road-tired feet simply cry out for comfort!”

“Given the hour, I shall also mention that we have several open rooms for the night or weekend. Whatever your pleasure, I am here to serve.”  He folds his strong-fingered hands in front of him, and it is difficult not to imagine the pleasure of those strong hands giving a foot massage. He bows the slightest of nods in polite anticipation of your response.

Behind him, a 10-foot wide corridor 30 feet long, with a sumptuous white rug stretching the length of the floor leads to another double door at its far end. Velvet pull-curtains line the corridor walls at intervals, the kind that open upon changing rooms in dress stores or spas.

“Ah!,” the man says in welcoming surprise as Little One gingerly steps into the room behind you, a curious expression and arched ogre eyebrow taking in the scene. "Welcome, friend, to the Restful Lily."