Those seeking adventure in the north make their way first to the city of Cragellan in northern Carvos. This bustling, walled fortress-city holds the entrance to the Underpassage - a great tunnel carved through the mountains. This grants access to the wild northern waste; widely touted as “the new land of opportunity and adventure” in taverns all over the continent of Belinath!

The entrance to the Underpassage is a grand stone portal in a cliff of stone at the foot of the mountains against which Cragellan is built. The entrance is located within a double-circle fort whose defenses are equally designed to manage a threat from inside and out. Two carved figures stand watch over the high entrance - former Lords of Carvos whose names are not widely recalled these days.
The sky is overcast. A chill, persistent drizzle falls of the sort to soak through the driest and warmest clothes in a short time. The air is filled with voices and the sound of feet, wheels and horse shoes upon stone. The air is pungent with the smell of humanity and animals, though the occasional waft of bread or cooking broth from a street vendor add light relief.
A steady stream of people and laden goods vehicles pulled by heavy-horse teams flow out from the entrance. Traffic inwards is primarily people travelling on foot. A few of these pull handcarts piled high with their worldly goods. None appear to be particularly wealthy. Some seem to be in a state of excitement and wonder looking about, pointing out features and chatting animatedly. Others move with a steady, weary gait, their eyes downcast and their backs bent under large packs.
One group of travelers catches the eye in particular; a column of about twenty in rags, chains about their ankles and halters around their necks. They are led by a gentleman of exotic appearance in fine, bright (almost garish) clothing. He is accompanied by six armed guards whose presence seems unnecessary - the group are so malnourished and weak they can barely shuffle forward when ordered to. Many of the chained group appear more dark of skin than is common on Belinath and their features do not match those seen commonly on the continent.
This party “jump the queue” and are admitted without delay. The sound of chains can be heard for a short time before diminishing into the darkness.

Those wishing to enter must first queue in the rain to pay their fee. “A Quart apiece” for each seeking to enter, along with a reminder that there is a further “administration fee” at the far end. One by one the queue moves forward until finally, one quart the lighter, each traveller is permitted to enter the Underpassage.

The tunnel is a magnificent high-vaulted structure, faced within with smooth stone block-work and cobbled underfoot. The tunnel is wide enough for the carts to travel each way and leave plenty of space for foot traffic. Pedestrians by convention keep to their right-side wall. For the first half mile or so, as the entrance diminishes to a distant speck of grey light, braziers blaze to provide light and a little warmth.
Eventually these come to an end and the tunnel curves slightly away as it enters the deeper section. Every 50ft a single, great Star Crystal is mounted high on the wall, alternating from one side to the other in what appear to be golden brackets. These crystals spill a soft purple-hued light barely sufficient to show the way - at least until the eye becomes accustomed - but bright enough that you can be guided from one to the next.
For those with the gift of darkvision, the crystals offer a far brighter luminescence that allows easy travel between each and permits the viewer to admire the workmanship of the flawless stones. Many of these are polished so that veins of minerals glow and effervesce in the crystal’s light.
Regardless of how much is seen, passage is mostly easy though long. It takes six to eight hours to traverse the Underpassage depending on speed and fitness. The deepest section becomes quite slick underfoot, despite the well-engineered drainage channels. Some walkers struggle here and fall, requiring assistance from a friendly hand to regain their feet.

Finally you return to warm, bright braziers, announcing that the exit is not too far off. Here, alas, progress is halted. There seems to be some hold-up ahead and travellers have backed up for some distance. Most are happy to take a break. Some sit on the stone floor, nursing sore feet. Others take the opportunity to look about at their fellow travellers while the more gregarious strike up conversations with those they see. Their voices echo in a cacophony of sound which grows progressively as each speaks louder to make themselves heard.

You look about too, fascinated by the sheer variety of people gathered together. Does anyone in particular catch your eye?

In one section, a red headed human girl dressed as a maid, but with a travelers pack on her back (with bedroll and rope attached), starts calling attention to herself when she offers to clean the boots and clothes of those near her from when they were crossing the slick section, especially those who slipped and fell there. 

A dwarven male staggers into the person stopped in front of him, oblivious to the flow of traffic as he was fully investigating the contents, or lack there of in his wine skin. Wearing baggy brown, and many stained pants that are threadbare and just below the knees and a matching sleeveless shirt. His sandals held together by whatever bits of leather and rope he could find. His muscled arms reach out and deftly catch the man he ran into. "Sooory," he slurs "Didnt really shee you der. Wats happenin? Gotta drink?" He looks up hopefully at the man.  

In the bustling street, amidst the throngs of people, strides Ruzak, a seasoned mercenary whose loyalty lies with the clink of coin rather than any noble cause. Clad in heavy armor, scarred from battle, his rugged appearance is accentuated by a dirty, blonde, handlebar mustache.

As he navigates the crowded thoroughfare, puffing on a cigar with a nonchalant air, his attention is drawn to the sudden halt of the bustling crowd ahead. With a keen sense honed by years of survival, Ruzak tenses, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his greatsword.

It is a great act of humility for an elf to descend deep under the mountains.

But that is the path of the Wayfinder, to travel even where danger, discomfort, and fear threaten, where tunnel walls close in, alien and threatening, to find the way through the valley of the shadow of death, through the desolate peaks, through the watchful and guarded depths of the forest, and, perhaps most intimidating at all, on the long roads and forays of men as they seek in their short lives with indomitable energy things an elf would think about first for a century. Sometimes the pace of a Wayfinder must outrun the wild mustangs, climb higher than the mountain sheep, wait longer than the patient lion at the waterhole...

Most of the travellers who descend into the Underpassage aren't so aware of the elf in their midst. Hooded and cloaked in grey of silent elven make, one would have to look more closely to see the glint of graceful magic-forged helm and subtle links of chain that gird her silent form. A longbow, a wooden shield, and quiver of arrows slung on her back, but little else evident of what she carries. Her steps equally silent, she seems hardly more than a shadow passing under the celestial glow of the star crystals. She keeps her eyes on them, though she knows their artiface; any reminder of the eternal stars is a comfort to her, for the stars always guide on the Way.

Long hours, passed without complaint, only acceptance of the deep and uncomfortable crush of miles of rock over her free-spirited head. She raises her gaze under the hood as the crowd stops, milling at an unexpected delay. The animal in a trap, that ought to run free... the thought crosses her mind fleetingly, only to leave once again. There is a Way, too, from this place. Lost in her reverie for a moment is just enough time for someone behind her to stagger bodily straight into her. She is startled for only a millisecond, but she can smell the scent of alcohol even before she turns around, the strong muscled arms of a dwarf reaching up to grasp at her slender form bundled under the cloak to steady her.

And she laughs... a musical, tinkling sound. "Good dwarf," she says, "quite at home under the mountain range you must be, to drink to your ease so freely here. I've nothing of the sort, I'm afraid, to further cheer your heart. But it seems something has stopped us all here before we make our destination. I am sure you are less impatient than I am to get out from under the stone and back into the gaze of the starlit sky and the welcome rays of the life-giving sun. But, nevertheless, patient we must be."

Aside from the crowds Niros is picking himself up from the ground, mumbling to himself angrily : Damn these tunnels, no matter what I do, I always fall. Niros tries to get the filth and dust from his dark cloak, but gives up after a while, rather casting the mending spell on his worn-out boots and quite successfully repairing them. He stands up, observing the crowd ahead, red headed human girl catches his eye so he walks up to her and asks in chatty manner: Do you know whats going on? why did we stop? 

A street urchin approaches up the tunnel, their high voice carrying through the general noise. "BEANS! GEN-WIN DUNG BEANS! FROOTS OF THE EXOTIC EEEST!"  The child proffers one of a collection of small grubby bags to everyone they approach. "Hungry? Two Dits a bag!"

In the queue Avery stood tall despite his short stature, his pale olive skin catching the faint light filtering through the grand stone portal of the Underpassage. His eyes, a striking shade of green with flecks of gold, darted around, taking in the bustling scene with an air of curiosity. Dressed in rugged adventuring attire, he exuded a scholarly charm, as if his very presence hinted at untold stories and hidden knowledge.

Avery's gaze lingered on the grandeur of the stone portal, marveling at its craftsmanship and the history it held within its ancient walls. His attention was drawn to the diverse array of travelers around him - some filled with excitement and wonder, others weighed down by fatigue and hardship. His attention again pulled toward a new commotion. Did that guy trip? He stifled a laugh and watched with interest.

The red headed girl answers, "Sorry sir, I don't know what is going on. I'm just making use of the stop to practice my magic. Would you like me to clean your cloak for you?"

Avery's eyes wandered over the diverse array of travelers, each with their own story written on their faces. He watched the red-headed girl practicing her magic, intrigued by her skills. "Impressive," he thought, a smile playing on his lips. "Maybe she can teach me a trick or two.

His attention then turned to the street urchin selling beans. The child's energetic sales pitch caught Avery's attention, and he couldn't resist. "I'll take a bag of those beans," Avery said, reaching into his pouch for the coins. "Can't pass up the chance for an exotic culinary adventure, right?"

As he waited for his beans, Avery continued to observe the crowd, his curiosity piqued by the eclectic mix of travelers. He wondered about their stories, their destinations, and the adventures that awaited them beyond the grand stone portal.

As the thong moves through the damp, dark tunnels it is not difficult to spot the pretty young woman carrying herself with a straight-backed confidence and a charred staff in her left hand that continually glows with a bright, golden light. Her face is young and her thick, blonde hair is braided into two thick locks that fall to either side of her neck alongside a holy symbol of Delmar displayed proudly across her chest. When the urchin calls out about food, she approaches with a pleasant smile and waits behind another man. "I agree most wholeheartedly! I find myself very intrigued in the local customs and cuisines of the people in whose land I find myself traveling."

To Avery, the Urchin bows low and hands across a small bag in exchange for the coin.

"May you be thrice blessed, sir!" He exclaims. "Don't fret, it's always busy when Administrator Talvar is at the desk. The crowd will move on shortly." 

He turns to the lady with the staff and proffers another packet. "May you also enjoy the three Blessings,  my Lady." Assuming she heard his earlier comment, he continues speaking to them both.

"Truth is, half of this lot here," He gestures towards the crowd, "Come through 2 days ago when Administrator Allivarryn was on duty. He told 'em to come back today. His little joke on Talvar, like. Talvar ain't worked it out yet why his shifts is always twice as busy!" The lad laughs, short staccato hoots of mirth. Tears fall down his face clearing two paths through the grime. He eventually regains control. 

"Enjoy your beans and may your journey be blessed with success. If its work you want, head north to Skirnvjar. I here there's summat afoot and some gents and ladies are recruiting. " He grins, pleased to have rewarded their custom with what he assumes will be useful knowledge. 

Then he heads across to where the lady is cleaning and mending for her fellow travellers. 

"Beans?" He wiggles a packet hopefully. "Two dits a bag?"

Rin had plenty of food in her backpack, but she was always interested in new ingredients. "Sure, I'll take a bag. In return, do you mind if I clean you up a bit with my magic?"

OOC: I know I've seen the post explaining the money system, but now I can't find it. Could someone point out where that is?

"Three Blessings upon you, miss". Beaming, he hands over a bag. Then considers her offer.

"Can't look too clean, miss, cos they'll never buy beans if they think I's living like a grand Lord with baths an' soap an' wotnot." He frowns, not wanting to upset a customer.  "I spose my shoes could be brightened up a little, if you don't mind. The mud's that thick on em, they weighs as much as 'alf an 'orse!" He settles himself down and proffers a pair of exceptionally mud-encrusted shoes. 

"This lot be moving in a bit, miss. Reckon the Admistrator took his break away from the desk today. You'll be out of here soon."

Rin will clean just his shoes with prestidigitation, then keeping in mind his desired, she then Casterbridge digitization again to soil them again, though with a much thinner layer. "How's that? Lighter, but they don't look clean. How about I clean the bags you are selling? People might be less likely to want to buy a dirty bag." She demonstrates what it will look like by cleaning the bag she bought.

"Ooooh! Thank 'ee Miss!  That's properly kindly of you."  He delves into a small bag he is carrying and produces a tiny phial. "Here, Jak's demuzzifier! Clears a sore head immediately. Some of the brew up this way can be strong. Might be there's a day you or a friend needs their wits undimmed.  One drop only - don't swig the lot! Take it as a gift."  he thrusts it eagerly into Rin's hand before she can protest.

"There's work up north in Skirnvjar I hear, if its work you're after."  The tunnel's noise increases and there's a general air of bustle and movement about the place.  "What did I say?  This lot'll be moving on now."  He shifts from foot to foot. "Oh, if you takes a drop of Demuzzifier before you drink, you won't be affected at all!  Bet there's plenty of lads reckon they could out-drink a lass like yourself.  You show 'em, eh?"  He laughs again, rocking with mirth at the thought.

"Safe travels, miss."  With that he darts away, leaving Rin with the impression that "goodbye" is a word he is not comfortable with. Meandering through the crowd that is beginning to stir, the urchin spies a dwarf and another lady - likely targets for his now clean bags.  He sidles up to them obliquely, waiting for an opportunity.

As she spoke, Avery's attention was caught by the young woman nearby, particularly the symbol of Delmar displayed across her chest. Intrigued, he decided to engage in conversation.

"Excuse me," Avery said, gesturing towards the symbol. "I couldn't help but notice the symbol. Are you a follower?" He smiled warmly, maintaining a respectful distance. "I'm Avery, by the way. It's always fascinating to see the variety of travelers and stories in a place like this."

As Avery conversed with the woman, he deftly stashed his bag of beans into his pack, ensuring it was secure. Simultaneously, he fussed about with his equipment, adjusting straps and checking pockets, all the while maintaining a fluid conversational pace.

It takes the elf a moment to disentangle herself from the dwarf's arms. In his drunken apology, he seems to now feel the necessity of using whatever he has a grip on to keep himself upright. But she lays a hand on his shoulder as she does so, making sure that he doesn't fall down in a drunken daze. "I wonder what you're running from," she says, light-heartedly. Once confident that he'll continue standing without support, she steps back with a smile, and pulls a small, dark, block of resin and a censer from her pack. The censer is wrought of fine metal, either brass or gold, and delicately molded with beautiful floral designs, and vines that seem to branch a thousand different directions. On the cardinal points of the censer is boldly stamped the holy symbol of Oriellen. The elf opens its lid, and unsheathing a knife from somewhere under her cloak, she deftly scrapes the resin block with the edge of the blade a few times, the slivers and dust falling into the bowl of the censer. She replaces the knife and the resin block under her cloak somewhere, and, holding the censer in both hands with her forefingers pressed to her thumbs, she raises it to her lips and whispers a prayer. Her eyes glow just for a moment, and a spark of flame ignites the slivers. Musky, sharp-scented smoke begins to billow from them, and she claps the lid of the censer closed. Small holes perforated in patterns on the lid allow the smoke to easily escape.

"Here," she says, and leans down to hold the censer beneath the dwarf's nose. "This will help to revive you." She smiles even more broadly as the smoke curls up around both her own face and the dwarf's, greatly solaced by the strong and familiar scent. It's a scent that recalls the deep woods, the high mountains, but seems to waft even higher, bringing the mind to the very heavens themselves.

The elf catches sight of the little urchin standing unobtrusively to the side, watching, and she smiles warmly at him.

Jak (the urchin) forgets his sales pitch for a moment. A faint waft of the smoke has reached his own nostrils. His eyes widen and he adopts a faraway expression, tinged with a sadness that seems soul-deep. It lasts for a heartbeat before he masters his emotions and a smile returns to his face.  He bows deeply. "Hel netari ora meli kalienen!" He proffers a bag of his beans. "A Gift, mel Elien, from a friend.  Three blessings upon you and to you, master dwarf. Some beans?" His whole bearing has changed and he seems far older than he appeared when first bustling through the crowd, though outwardly he is unchanged in appearance.

A short distance away, where Niros, Rin, Ruzak and Avery are standing, the queue sways and begins to shuffle forwards again, although at a snail's pace.  The unmistakable waft of fresh, chill air begins to flow towards them, making the braziers flicker. Many among the crowd draw their cloaks a little tighter and linger beside the braziers for as long as possible before the weight of those behind nudge them forwards. The first guards are now visible, standing watchfully in small alcoves, conveniently close to braziers of their own.  They seem sturdy and fairly well equipped with stout iron-studded boots, topped with fur, thick grey cloaks and iron-banded helms.  Some have shields and short swords, others stand with crossbows or short bows.  They are relaxed but watchful - as guards should be. Few travellers warrant close inspection; they see all sorts come through the Underpassage and their curiosity threshold is accordingly quite high!

(OOC not sure whether Gwen is stood closer to this group or near to the drunk dwarf! If with the group, she can begin to move on, or if not, she can observe the interaction between the elf, the dwarf and the urchin)

Quote from Morinas>>

(OOC not sure whether Gwen is stood closer to this group or near to the drunk dwarf! If with the group, she can begin to move on, or if not, she can observe the interaction between the elf, the dwarf and the urchin)

(OOC - She would be near Avery, he approached her after our purchase of beans.)