“Belegdin...” Vark echoes, committing the term to memory and beginning to place it within his own understanding of Arden’s history. “Yes that makes sense... there were older gods before, and during Morhota they sacrificed themselves in order to defeat the shadow. That must have something to do with this  Great Silence.” He is quiet for a moment as he thinks on how to frame the visions that he and some of the other Acharnost have seen. “The visions uhm... well they seem to be glimpses of the past. We’ve seen them projected from... ancient artifacts. There isn’t much context though, and it’s just snippets, like a storybook with pictures that move but don’t have any words.” 

As they pause at the entrance to the teleportation room, Vark glances at the circle on the floor. “Uhm, would you mind if I studied this circle for a moment? Just in case we ever need to come back here quickly.”

"Older gods? Look, if you adventurers have uncovered something important, then you should journey to Brandoron and speak with the royal loremaster. I'm sure that he'd know exactly what to do with 'ancient artifacts'. As for the circle..." Morben throws open the large double doors to the circle chamber, revealing a hole in the floor where the teleportation circle once stood. The elf gestures to the ceiling, where a wooden disk is attached to the underside of a large block.

"Permanent circles can be a security risk and mother isn't a fan of unexpected guests. You can learn the sequence, but send a fire message to let us know that you're coming."

Retrieving the silver cube of runes from his pocket, Morben presses a number of them one after the other and the circle of the wood that the teleportation circle has been inscribed upon slowly descends back into place.

"Have at it," he tells Vark, waving in the general direction of the sigils.

"Perhaps we will," Aiden says, glancing sideways at Vark. He wondered what Vark would do if asked to give up Matthew's codex to this royal loremaster. That conversation was coming, surely. Regardless of what Vark wanted, Aiden guessed that Matthew wouldn't let the young half-orc go without a fight. "But for now, we have pressing business back home that we need to attend to. We can take care of that, confer with a friend of Vark's, and then perhaps we'll journey to Brandoron. I don't suppose you'd tell Vark how to teleport us there -- spare our new horses?"

"Oh, I don't have access to that one, I'm afraid," Morben tells Aiden apologetically. "You'd have to ask the duke. Perhaps mother can get you an audience. Just don't tell her that you got the idea from me."

He glances over at where Vark is inspecting the circle.

"Are you ready?"

Vark returns Aiden’s glance, and it’s clear to the Norscan that similar thoughts were running through the warlock’s head. 

“Th-thank you,” he responds to Morben before scampering off to take note of he arcane sigils. It only takes a minute or so before the address is committed to memory and Vark turns back to the elf with a smile. “Yes, I’m done! Thank you again, Morben. It... it was really nice to meet you! Hopefully we’ll see you again, maybe we’ll have more ancient secrets to share.” He laughs a bit nervously before moving back to take his selected steed’s reigns.

Morben dials the address of the Morloth teleportation circle on his cube and the portal whirls into existence once more.

"Same to you," he tells Vark with a smile. "Navaer, Acharnost!"

Aiden grabs the reigns of the massive black stallion, as well as his own grey gelding. "Sjáumst, Morben. Thank you again." With that, Aiden begins leading the two horses through the portal, seeing that Vark has taken the other two.

Bründir guides the elf captain and his companions through the old fortress with the gusto of an enthusiastic historian, but without the years of expertise. To keep from getting lost in the corridors, he retraces his steps through their epic scaling of the walls, push through the courtyard and halls, then finally down below to the ritual chamber to proclaim their great victory. 

With just a bit of guidance around every turn from Thurston, Bründir leads Finglas around to see the living quarters, kitchen and dining hall, then down dark stairs finally to the dungeon below. After the tour, he'd hoped the new occupant would be in a good enough mood for Bründir's request. "Sir, I'd be cruel if I didn' tell ye this now: some o' th' Morrigan's followers surrendered an' are held here. Best have been cooperative, worst keep quiet. If it's not too much, I'd like t'ask ya consider lettin'em live. I'm not askin' fer a pardon, far from it. Jus' ya consider putting puttin'em t'work instead of makin'em a bit shorter."

Finglas's expression is almost perfectly neutral as he hears Bründir's request. The man seems to have perfected the detached indifference that elves the world over are so well known for.

"You speak well, Lord Halfshield, and you have a good heart. I will tell you this; the penalty for unrepentant banditry in Wydrioth march is execution by sword or rope. Unrepentant being the important part. However, there is no such mercy for terrorism disseminated by religious fanatics. If these captured ne'er-do-wells are judged as bandits, rather than cultists, and swear an oath to repay their debt to the Eldrani people, then they may yet live to do so. I will make your case to her ladyship, but, in the end, their fate is not mine to judge."

Aiden and Vark are met by the pointed arrowheads of a dozen elven bows as they step back through the portal to Morloth. However, the soldiers quickly lower their weapons, when they see that the new arrivals are merely the returning members of the Acharnost.

"Thank ye, it's all I can ask." Bründir gives a deep nod to the elf captain.

Aiden and Vark meet up with the rest of the Acharnost in the courtyard. Aiden passes the reigns of the great black stallion to Valaith. "Asking for a horse fit for a half-giant raised a few eyebrows, but otherwise, it was no trouble. The prince Morben suggested that we journey to the elven capital at some point to discuss the things we have learned there, but that seems like a journey for another time."

"Good enough fer me. Seems like we'll be trav'ling fer the next three years at this rate. Sheercleft, Khaz a Kadrin, Vark's giant friend, maybe go raise a few Hells in Breanne, then we come back round fer a dinner with Elven royalty." Bründir finally grabs up his last few possessions and starts heading for Stonebrow's stable, "Too long an' I'll want a carriage fer all this."

Thurston nods at Finglas words about the fate of the prisoners. Out of respect and love for Bründir he keeps his opinion to himself but gives a stern look towards the prisioners before they leave the dungeon. 

he greets Aiden and Vark and hears their tale. 

"Well" he says adjusting the saddle of his horse "The sooner we start the sooner we can get to the mead. But first things first. Let's ride Archanost" he says jumping on to the horse "There's a Baron who needs to be taught some manners..."

Given Lady Evelyne's warning about Baron Reventlow's plans for Sheercleft, it seems important to return to the village as quickly as possible. Thus, after dropping Jex with his wagon, Aiden, Bründir, Thurston, Valaith and Vark bid their friend farewell, before spurring their horses to ride south for Hyarantar pass with all speed.

Dusk is falling by the time they reach the trail through the forest up into the mountains and the horses are exhausted and desperately in need of a rest. The flickering of firelight can be glimpsed through the trees on the road up ahead. A lone traveller has also made camp here on the edge of the road.

"What do you say?" says Thurston looking towards the fire "Should we offer our company and protection for the night?" 

Aiden nods and spurs his horse forward. "Hello, fellow traveller," he calls out, his voice friendly. "Might we share your fire tonight?"

The shadowy figure is wrapped up warm in a heavy cloak to ward off the cold of the mountain air. He glances up at Aiden as the Norscan approaches and raises his horned head to reveal the face of a tiefling with dark blue skin and long grey hair. 

"Welmet traveler. We can share our food and mead with you to warm us in this cold night. I am Thurston Barnatson and me and my friends are the Archanost."

Vark follows close behind on his own horse, Toivoa, curious to see the stranger. Healthy caution compels the mage to check for any magical presences in the vicinity and his eyes crackle momentarily with a blue glow as he scans the horned man. Immediately he winces as his vision is filled with brilliant starlight. “What on Arden...” he murmurs under his breath. But as his senses adjust he begins to glean that this light is not of Arden. It is otherworldly... celestial? Certainly powerful. He glances over to Aiden with concern, but for now says nothing, hoping the man means no harm despite the power resting beneath his cloak.

The tiefling takes in the group approaching with a curious gaze, recognizing them for the danger they represented to anyone crossing with them. His voice is friendly, if hesitant. "You are all welcome, as long as you bring no ill intent with you." He gestures to the ground around his fire. His eyes the train over to the large Norscan man as he speaks up. "Meat and mead would both be exceptionally welcome as I am subsiding mainly on rations for my journey as it has been long. Well met, Thurston Barnaston and Archanost. You may call me, Nikolai."