100 rooms · levels 19–45
Pink marble pillars line this colonnade which extends from the opulence of Sultan Al-Qadir's palace. Carved into the pillars are all manner of decorative mythical beasts. A breeze wafts in from the ivy-covered archway to the south, carrying the sweet fragrance of jasmine and roses, and the tinkling of wind chimes.
The marble archway passes into a small courtyard whose high stone walls are hung with twisting ivy and a colorful disarray of wild roses. A stone bench lies along one wall, partially enshrouded by shade... what a romantic spot to sit for a while. The greenery along these walls is so thick, it could hide almost anything...
The ivy curtain parts, uncovering a tiny doorway which leads to this hidden alcove. Its stone walls are almost completely covered by hanging vines. A carpet of wildflowers and sweet-smelling grass lies underfoot. The trampled state of the grass and the scent of crushed blossoms mark this as a choice spot for court intrigue or romantic encounters. To the right, a shallow niche lies in the wall, half concealed by a fall of crimson roses.
Hidden away in this tiny enclosure is a well-tended plot of herbs. The air is thick with the rich smell of freshly-turned earth and the variety of plants in this garden, some fresh and sweet, others sharp or pungent. In careful piles to the left, some newly-cut herbs have been laid out to dry in the sun.
The small arched entrance opens up into a grand courtyard dominated by a magnificent marble fountain. Jets of water spray upwards from the upraised hands of the central ornament, an alabaster mermaid. Fallen jasmine blossoms drift in the fountain's sparkling waters and are nibbled by gaily colored fish swimming inside. These fish are depicted in detail around the base of the fountain, where one carving seems to stand out from the others. Wooden doors set in the stone walls exit to the south, east and west. A great feeling of serenity radiates from here.
A narrow pathway bordered by marble pillars lies on the other side of the wooden door. Carved into the pink rock are bizarre creatures which wind and twist through a pattern of ivy. A brisk, chill-raising wind blows steadily from the west, and a few tiny white snowflakes drift past before they quickly melt away. Nearing its end, the path becomes rocky and uneven heading west.
On the other side of the wooden door lies a narrow pathway lined with pink marble pillars. Spiralling through a leafy design down the length of these pillars are strange carved creatures. From the east comes the sprightly song of a skylark, and a brightly-hued butterfly flitters among the pink primroses bordering the path. As it continues to the east, the path vanishes in a lush carpet of green grass.
Sweet blooming jasmine and sprays of wild roses grow in abundance, their enticing fragrance filling the air. So abundant are they that they nearly hide the small gazebo which stands here. A few stray roses, bright crimson and sunshine yellow, cling to its delicate white latticework walls. Peeking through the slats reveals a mountain of plush velvet cushions, and curls of an exotic spicy smoke rising from an incense burner. The broad view from the gazebo overlooks a small path leading south.
The southward path runs to an end here in a sunny patch of grass surrounded by high stone walls. Large lazy honeybees buzz amongst the sweet honeysuckle which frames the sward, pale pink and lemon yellow against the grass. Several slender plum trees, their boughs laden with succulent fruit, provide privacy and a small amount of shade. Two wooden doors lie to the east and west.
Soft tendrils of silver mist drift through the trees which form a living barrier against prying eyes. A tiny breeze whispers in, carrying the gentle scent of wildflowers and trills of birdsong. Beneath the shelter of an ancient oak, a blanket has been spread in preparation for a picnic. A basket of red strawberries, freshly picked, lies waiting. A small trail lined with birch trees descends to the south, from which you hear the faint sounds of running water.
The path wends its way past the sheltering boughs of the birch trees to a place of utter tranquillity. Sunlight dapples through the trees and shimmers off the surface of a small pool of crystal clear water. A cascade falls into the pool from a high ridge to the south, misting the pebbled shore with a fine spray. To the right lies a flat rock warmed by the sun, perfect for sunbathing, or so someone must have thought, for a silver hairbrush and a white silk robe have been left here.
This path leads south into a less dangerous part of the foothills. Rocky and uneven, they slowly rise into the rugged terrain of the huge mountain which dominates the horizon. A few trees and patches of dry grass cling to spots in the lee of large stones along the path which twists up to the west.
The pathway opens out into this expanse of rocky soil, its incline scattered with large boulders and dark green yew trees whose ribbed trunks hug the crevices in these foothills. A huge mountain rises out of these hills, its steep slopes and jagged spires stretching far into the sky. The way to the west is treacherous, barred by huge stones. Backtracking to the north or south is the only way to climb the mountain.
Twisting to the west, this trail picks its way over rough and hilly terrain. Large rocks rise out of the rolling stretches, perhaps pieces which have tumbled down from the mountain which looms ahead. The path snakes its way up the rugged slope, occasionally vanishing behind boulders and groups of trees.
Sudden stormy weather concentrates on the flat area of this windward slope. The cold wind which blows makes it difficult to breathe. The trees in this exposed location have grown in an odd fashion, all their branches stretching out from one side, the side sheltered from the prevailing wind. Semi-exposed roots cling stubbornly to the side of the mountain like gnarled hands. The slope drops off sharply to the west and continues to the south.
The trail winds its way up from the foothills to the east, around the occasional jagged outcropping of rock. Snow has begun to fall heavily, large lazy flakes drifting slowly down to cloak the area in white. Small mounds of snow partially obstruct the path to the north, and a few slender conifers bordering the trail are bowed over beneath their white load.
The twisting trail claws its way up the jagged mountain face to its destination, an uneven snowy apex far above. This rocky ridge overlooks a vast ravine to the west from which the mountain itself seems to shrink. Along its very edge is an out thrust ledge, and loose stones roll away, clattering over its edge. Hollow clicks and echoes sound as they bounce down the ravine walls. Rugged slopes rise to the north and south of here.
Edging up from the foothills to the east, snow has begun to fall heavily, huge fat flakes which blanket the area in white. Up on the path ahead, the trail is half-covered by small drifts, and lined with pines and firs bent double under the weight of their white burdens.
Rocks are piled at the entrance to this u-shaped gorge, rocks which have tumbled down from the peak above over time. The floor of the gorge is surprisingly sheltered-- though the wind howls along the gorge rim, the air here at the bottom is quiet and still. Even the cliff faces are relatively sheltered, and several large nests lie in crannies in the rock. The bottom of the gorge disappears in a sheer drop to the south, and twists around a bend in the rock face to the west.
The mountain curves from either side to form a rough, precipitous ravine whose walls are almost completely vertical. Jagged rocks and crags of wind-whittled stone protrude from the wall surfaces. The ravine is so large and deep that no light falls all the way to its depths. Only a howling wind whistles angrily through the black emptiness of its deepest regions, from a darkness which could plunge into the core of the earth.
Snowy winds whistle through the bare skeletons of trees which grow here in stunted clumps. The wind's harsh blasts flatten the snowdrifts on the north-facing slopes, whipping snow through the black shadows of clustered evergreens and dark twisting ravines. The path drops sharply to the north, entering a ravine, and climbs toward the peak of the mountain to the west.
Sheer stone walls rise up from the floor of the twisting ravine, in a spot hidden by a jagged rock face. The air is clear and cold, the once-restless winds rising in strong, directed currents. A landing point is barely visible, a stretch of smooth stone seemingly carved from the grey rock of the mountain. Beyond this, set back in the rock, lies a rough chamber. It is luminous in some areas, as if lit by an inner source, faintly glowing. The light gleams off golden plumes which litter the chamber floor and trail out onto the landing point.
The air is thin on this cold and windy mountaintop. Ice-laden clouds send gracefully curling streamers, heralding snow, out across a sky of chilly blue. On the land below, powdery snow driven by the wind sweeps and swirls across hard-packed drifts. Snow outlines the bare grey branches of a few hardy trees, sparkling white frost outlining even the most fragile twigs in a silver sheen. From here, one can go back down the mountain, or leap out into the clear air... if properly equipped.
Rising up to break through the shroud of grey mist which cloaks the mountain peak, the sudden blue of the sky is almost blinding. The air swirls around in strong, aimless currents, tossing and spinning anything in its path. The dizzying climb continues as the wind blows eastward.
The remnants of icy wet mountain air swirl about, lashing and whipping at hair and garments. Blasts of frigid wind turn the journey skywards into a series of crazy swoops and plummets. It is hard to tell which direction is which in the force of these gusts... the only certainty is the great distance to the earth below
This high up, at such a great height above the earth, it is colder than seems possible. The air seems to be full of ice particles. Angling upwards into the sky against the fighting wind which whistles past, a small section of cloud can be seen. It seems amazingly undisturbed by the turbulence around it, its cushiony whiteness arranged into the shape of a small palace.
The tops of billowing clouds stretch out like a landscape of rolling white hills, far above safety and sure ground. The pummeling winds and the hungry pull of gravity give the sensations of rising and falling simultaneously. It is so cold at this height that it is easy to imagine oneself turning to ice and shattering on the rocky mountain far, far below. But in spite of the bitter cold, these surroundings are made beautiful by the feelings of freedom and solitude in flight.
The air is calm here as the restless wind currents have slowed to a gentle flow. The sky is a soft shade of blue made hazy by the rays of the sun which warm the cool air off the mountain. Towards the west, the sky becomes streaked with wisps of white cloud that seem to gather into a strange shape.
This section of the sky has deepened to a clear blue, made all the bluer by a formation of pure white clouds haloed by sunlight. It is strange, but these clouds seem to be arranged in the form of a staircase whose low, fluffy steps spiral off to the south. To the east, the sky fades to a softer, muted shade of blue.
The atmosphere here is heavy and brooding, the sure sign of an approaching storm. Not a breath of air stirs the wispy edges of the clouds that have formed here. The edges of the cloudbank are snowy white, kissed by sunlight, but its center is dark grey. As if on cue, fine drops of rain fall from the clouds, and as they hit the sunlight the air is alive with sparkling miniature rainbows. So many colors shine that it looks like a shower of gemstones has fallen from the heavens.
Lush green grass, thick and soft underfoot, dominates this section of the meadow. The small blue flowers of some forget-me-nots peek out from the grass, and the area is alive with the whirring of insects and merry chirping of songbirds. The rolling meadowland continues to the south, and leads to a small grove of slender trees to the east.
Long green grasses sway in the slight breeze, stretching far to the north like a green sea. Bees buzz among some black-eyed susans, and tiny goldfinches pick at berries from shrubs laden with fruit. Tiger-striped butterflies flutter over milkweed pods and head southwards, where the meadow appears to be taken over by wildflowers.
A gentle, south-facing hill rolls down from the meadow to wave upon wave of grasses and a profusion of wildflowers. The field is a carpet of flowers, a multicolored tapestry of endless floral variety. Spiky purple asters nestle amidst delicate white clouds of baby's breath, and yellow daffodils and scarlet snapdragons draw the eye with their brilliant hues. The heady scent of so many blossoms is almost dizzying, making the verdant field to the east all the more inviting.
Deeper into the grove are the elder beeches, whose struggles with time and the elements are reflected in their twisted boughs and wrinkled bark. Little sunlight penetrates the thick interlacing of branches high overhead. Silent passage is next to impossible here, as the forest floor is covered in a carpet of last year's fallen leaves which rustle as they are tread upon. A newer section of the forest is south of here, while this part of the beechwood opens into a small clearing to the east.
Faint mist catches an aura of golden sunlight surrounding the russet foliage and slender trunks of this young group of beech trees. Snug against a sun-warmed trunk is an alluring cluster of flowers, all wondrously coral pink. Twenty or so paces beyond, another group of these blooms hugs the roots of an older tree. As if stirred by a breeze, the blossoms shake slightly... but there is no breeze blowing.
This scrub brush area south of the beechwood grove has been allowed to grow unchecked, preventing passage to the east or west. It is barely possible to force a pass through the twisted brambles and trees, but it has been done before... some low trees bear bent twigs and nibbled branches, while the thorny shrubs have snagged bits of fur from whatever made its way through here.
In this open space of countryside, everything is painted in shades of green, from the newest grass to the moss growing on a fallen log. Overhead, great billowing white columns of clouds climb into the blue sky and vanish beyond the tops of ancient beech trees nearby to the north. This field runs west into a rolling meadow, and north to a nasty-looking tangle of briars and brush.
This small area of land next to the beechwood has been cleared of all its trees. The only evidence that this was once part of the grove is the presence of several moss-covered logs and a large rotting stump crowned by bright yellow mushrooms. In spite of the emptiness the clearing still teems with life: birds nest in the fallen logs and sing as they hunt for beetles, and a chorus of crickets chirps from the tall grass surrounding the stump. Scattered throughout the clearing are strange hoofprints. This must be a favoured grazing area for woodland creatures.
A ribbon of trodden earth through underbrush turned lush and green by spring rains leads to a narrow trail. In the soggy ground along its sides, marsh marigolds bloom in golden bursts, the waxy flowers shining in the sunlight which gleams through the trees. The surrounding brush is thick with saplings, supple shoots of alder and the occasional red maple, and a great number of smooth-barked beechwood trees.
Ghostly white trees glimmer through the forest shadows cast by the larger beech trees to the north. Below them, the forest floor is carpeted with a thick covering of fallen leaves. Hugging the ground shaded by the larger shrubs along the trail, violets bloom, tiny splashes of cool color in vivid white and rich purple. The forest grows dense and dark as the trail goes east.
The faint smell of ashes, dusty and thick, hangs in the air as the path turns east toward what looks like a barren field. Fire has recently passed through this area, leaving much of the earth in a bare and blackened state. Yet here and there a brilliant swatch of reddish-purple fireweed blooms, thriving in the soil of wood ash. Looking closer, it is possible to see the smallest of tender green shoots pushing their way up through the soot-dark dirt.
As the tops of the trees grow closer and closer together, the twisting trail narrows, leading into the heart of the forest. A few slender saplings grow in spots where bright sunshine has filtered through the canopy overhead, but most of the trees here are tall and massive-trunked, with thick, moss-covered bark. In the moist and humid places along the shady trail ferns unfurl, their fronds brushing the white trilliums shyly hiding from view. The dense forest runs south and west, opening out into a section of rolling hills to the east.
This section of the forest is dense and strangely lit. The thick canopy casts somber shadows over the wood's inner recesses, yet the sun highlights the outer surfaces of the leaves above like a halo, occasionally filtering through in a shining ray of gold. A few of these sunbeams illuminate a group of lilies growing on the forest floor, making their delicate snowy flowers look like jeweled earrings. A stand of white birch trees gleams to the west, and the narrow trail runs north through the greenwood.
The trail curves around to climb a small incline scattered with large rocks. A tiny creek flows out of this hilly area, meandering past green fields and groups of willow and aspen trees. Blueberries and wild roses crowd in on the borders of the path. Beyond the hills, like clouds, loom the tops of majestic sentinel pines. A wooded area is south of here, while the forest lies to the west. Eastward, the hills converge in a green valley which had been shielded from view.
The gently undulating grassy hills roll southward into a quiet section of forgotten forest, past some thick hedge-like growth to the edge of an inviting woodland pool. The trees rise up as if to shield this place from view, and a single shaft of sunlight hits the still surface of the water. Green lily pads break up the mirror-like reflectiveness with repeated circles, drops of moisture sparkling like diamonds when hit by the light. Wild raspberry bushes grow along the rocky ledge over the pool, dipping berry-laden branches low over the water.
This small pocket of land is nestled between two rolling hills. A stand of poplar trees thrives here, just starting to be toasted to a rich gold by the sun. On the slope of a hillside a shrubby rowan tree hugs the ground with branches full of feathery foliage and scarlet berries. In the soft, knee-high grasses that grow with abandon here, white asters bloom so abundantly their tiny blossoms look like a mass of stars strewn across a clear night sky.
The path has travelled past the shielding trees, through the lush green hills, into this small secluded valley. Surrounded by rolling hills thickly covered in trees, it is easy to see why this valley remained hidden. The valley floor is flat, covered by a great meadow of sun-bleached grass. Under the urging of the sun, thousands of lupines and sunflowers have bloomed, throwing their sweet fragrance to the wind that blows along the valley floor. There are hills to be climbed to the east and west, and a small wooded area lies north.
This gently rolling expanse of grassland seems to go on forever in all directions, with nary a tree or shrub in sight. The green and gold waves of grass are awash with the vibrant, swaying colors of wildflowers. Packed tightly amid the stems of grass are blooms of every color, from pristine white to sunny yellow and deep rose-purple. A wind blows in from the east, causing the grass to ripple like the surface of a brilliant sea.
The narrow path winds its way up a hill from the green valley, wandering back and forth almost aimlessly for perhaps a half mile as it climbs toward the summit. Once at the top, the view is breathtaking. Range upon range of dark green forested hills roll all the way to the horizon, dotted with small, flat areas of lighter green. From this vantage point, an aura of peace and solitude seems to hang over the region. To the west lies the heart of the hidden valley, and to the north a small dell is nestled between two hills.
The wooden door leads out onto a narrow pathway lined with pink marble pillars. Strange beasts carved in the stone curl and twine in and out of a decorative vine motif. There is an increasingly dry feeling to the air here, and a parching dust settles in your nose and throat. A sprinkling of desert poppies, palest pink, are scattered along the edges of the path. To the west, the winding path turns to sand.
Sand stretches out before you as far as the eye can see. A restless wind drives it into ridges and dunes, polishing the bones of some unknown animal which lie partially buried here. A few hardy prickly-spined cacti and the occasional patch of battered sagebrush provide the only hint of color in this otherwise barren landscape.
Small mounds of sand, heaped up by a dry blowing wind, barely alleviate the monotony of your surroundings. There is a harsh, gritty feeling to the air, and the sun has turned the grains of sand underfoot scorching hot. As the wind blows once more, a cloud of dust whirls and rises, vanishing to the west.
The heat of the sun beats down mercilessly and rises in shimmering waves from the desert sands. Any hope of finding shade is quickly quashed, for the only vegetation in sight consists of clumps of sere grass and some scraggly yucca plants, their tiny white flowers withered and dried. Scattered in the dust are some tracks like those of a mighty lizard.
The terrain rises slightly here into dunes of shifting sand. Rolling and falling like waves, they appear to go on forever in all directions. A tumbleweed drifts over the crest of a dune, and sand scatters as a small spiny lizard scurries away in fright. Huge blocks of heavily eroded stone lie about, nearly covered by the drifting sands. They seem to be the tumbled remains of an ancient pyramid.
The dunes cease abruptly, giving way to a hard black extremely uneven surface which seems to be made up of hardened bubbles. No vegetation of any kind grows here... it all must have burned away by a flow of lava, for the ground beneath your feet is surely its cooled remains. A strong smell of ozone hangs over the area, and the air almost vibrates with a strange hum which emanates from the south.
The lava bed continues, sloping down slightly towards the south. The air here fairly crackles with electricity... tiny sparks seem to fly along the ground then leap and ignite in midair. Here and there the surface of the rough path is pitted with irregular holes. They look to have been melted into the rock. Suddenly it is striking how eerily silent this place is... but for that strange electric hum, not a sound can be heard.
The lava bed gives way once more to a sweeping expanse of rolling sand dunes. Small clouds of dust form and spiral upwards from the valleys between them, scattering abrasive grains of sand to the wind. Squinting against the harsh rays of the sun reveals a vast sandy region spreading out to the west. The dunes in that direction fade gradually to a smooth level tract.
The top of this sandy incline is fully exposed to harsh desert wind. Chunks of stone piled haphazardly in this flat area have been worn down by the blasting sand. It seems impossible that anything could grow in this unforgiving clime, yet a single tree rises unstunted from the rock pile. Its graceful boughs stretch heavenward, perfumed by the warm scents of cinnamon and myrrh. A cloud seems to wreathe the tree, not dust in this dry air but rather a halo of soft light.
The searing heat of the sun reflects off the bumpy black surface underfoot. It rises in waves, promising the hope of water in the distance, but it is merely a mirage. The path mounts a sandy slope to the north, and leads to great areas of shifting sand to the south and west.
Sweeping shifts of sand stretch clear to the eastern and western horizons. The rolling motion of the landscape is broken only by a group of large cacti. They tower above the ground, their green stems as thick as a man's waist. Each bears a colorful blossom of sunburst orange or blush pink, and each is covered in a multitude of dagger-length spines honed to razor sharpness.
The downward slope leads from the plateau to a meandering trail of desiccated earth. Whorls of dust sweep over dry, cracked soil and tiny clusters of rounded pebbles settled in shallow depressions. A few blades of grass, wilting in the heat, have forced their way through the cracks and one lone desert flower clings stubbornly to the riverbed. The trail curves to the south and vanishes beyond the crest of a dune, and seems to enter a more verdant area to the north.
The dry riverbed snakes to an end in a broad expanse of glittering black sand. Scorching waves of heat rise up from its surface. These obsidian crystals are actually minute fragments of volcanic glass which must have spread here from the east. In spite of their size they are incredibly hard and abrasive... if they were seized up by a sudden sandstorm they would doubtlessly flay flesh from bone. Looking closer, there are a few bones strewn about the area... human bones... and they seem to have been gnawed on by something with many teeth.
The ebon sands fade back to a tawny gold which is less glaring to the eye. As far as the eye can see, there is nothing but shifting sand dotted with the occasional cactus or hardy sagebrush. Here and there are a few fragile blossoms, small splashes of pink and yellow in this otherwise desert environment. A small scorpion emerges from the meagre shade of a cactus and scuttles quickly away, leaving a faint trail of dust behind.
The riverbed trail winds up a slight incline and opens out into a breathtaking oasis. Tall date palms circle the area, their spiky trunks and long feathery leaves swaying gently in the breeze. In the center of the oasis lies an inviting pool of sparkling blue water banked by the softest whitest sand. Lush green grasses surround the pool, and several wild almond trees thrive here, bursting with fragrant pink blossoms and a harvest of nuts.
The wooden door opens, and leads out onto a narrow pathway lined with marble pillars. Bizarre beasts carved into the pink stone coil and writhe among curls of ivy. A balmy breeze blows in from the east, carrying a kiss of salty air and sunshine. The faint cries of seagulls and the soothing sounds of waves lapping a shoreline drift to your ears. To the east, the pathway fades to a sandy trail bordered by tiny seashells.
The waters around this semi-submerged sandbank grow deeper, slowly reaching above knee height, but they seem to be safe to wade in. The sandy sea floor gradually gives way to a carpet of blue-green seaweed. Tiny silver fish dart in and out from its strands which sway gently to the water's current. An inquisitive turtle paddles in, and finding nothing of interest, continues to the east.
This wide shoreline is coated with a beach of white sand, and dotted liberally with clumps of spiky marram grass. Chunks of grey driftwood in all sorts of interesting shapes lie here, and one large piece in particular would be the perfect place to moor a small seacraft. The tide slowly laps onto the beach, polishing tiny seashells in the shallows to an iridescent sheen. To the north and south from this beach the waters of a small sea appear to deepen gradually, shimmering brilliant aquamarine in the sun.
This smooth stretch of sand slopes gently into the water, which becomes deeper by small degrees. Many colorful varieties of seaweed abound here. Green and brown kelp floats upon the water like flowing tresses, while red algae drifts like clouds of blood in the shallow depths. Here and there seagulls alight on mounds of kelp, crying raucously as they pick out bits of shellfish discarded by sea otters. The current flows lazily to deeper and darker waters to the east.
As it deepens, the seawater darkens to an intense shade of sunlit blue-green. It is deep enough here to force one to either swim or travel by boat. A few seabirds circle high above in an azure sky dotted with billowing white clouds. Their distant cries are carried by a balmy breeze which blows in the warm scents of sun and brine. Mingling with the cries are faint lilting notes of melodious song, seemingly borne by the waves.
Brilliant blue-green water stretches out in all directions. The sea is becalmed, small waves rolling and rising hypnotically all the way to the horizon. The fresh, invigorating smell of brine hangs heavy in the air, so thick that salt crystals can almost be felt on the skin. High overhead, the cry of a lone seabird echoes as it is carried across the waves.
The current grows stronger here, causing many small wavelets to break the smooth surface of the water. Streaks of white seafoam briefly mark their passage before dissolving into the sea. Unperturbed by the motion of the waves, several semi-transparent jellyfish bob up and down. A closer look at them reveals delicate tentacles stretching beneath the water, their multicolored tendrils gently swaying as they quest for food. To the south the sea continues, while to the east lies a small raised expanse of wet sand.
The sea turns choppy, its deep green waters rough with short, broken waves. Frothy white foam hisses on top of them, occasionally vanishing into a swirling eddy. In spite of the strong current, a school of large fish can be seen swimming, flashing silver in the darkened depths. They cut swiftly through the water leaving scarcely a ripple behind. The current flows to the east, where it seems to increase in strength.
Near the surface of the shallows here lies a ridge of sand and rock. The aggressive current calms slightly, swirling slowly in circles before continuing to the south to break against a strand of white sand rising from this ridge. Clustered along the incline of this sea shelf are a number of aquatic creatures. Flowery anemones in bursts of red, white, and deep purple rest here, along with orange starfish nestled in small rocky crevices. A spiny blue lobster picks its careful way up the bank, its antennae swiveling slightly in a puzzled manner. Westward, the underwater shelf falls away, returning one to the open sea.
This narrow bank of silvery sand stretches for a short distance through the shallows. Judging by its dampness and the salty scent of brine hanging heavy in the air, this strand must be revealed by low tide. A few rippled blades of seaweed are being dried by a breeze which blows gently through, and warm sunlight twinkles off highly polished seashells embedded in the sands. Blue-green water expands in all directions from this point.
The waters of the sea have become dark and treacherous. The churning waves are of a green so deep they appear to be almost black. Ripples upon the surface mark the presence of dangerous undercurrents. To the left, a small whirlpool has formed. The strong current swirls water down into it with a sucking, gurgling sound, then it is vomited forth once more in a spray of angry froth. Northwards lies a small sandbank, while east and west the sea flows on clear to the horizon.
Seagulls cry overhead as they circle away from the pile of rock to the south. A bracing wind blows the smell of sea salt and a fine spray of water into the air. Off to the right, a fish suddenly jumps out of the waves. Purple scales glittering in the sun, it spreads out large spiny fins and glides a short distance on the breeze before dropping back into the water with a splash. Looking down to see where it swam, a faint, almost eerie green glow can be seen flickering deep below the surface of the sea.
A small pile of rocks juts up here, surrounded by an expanse of vividly blue-green water. Rippled strands of dark green seaweed lie draped wetly across the surface of the stones. A bird's nest is sheltered high in a small crevice, cushioned by clumps of weed and what looks to be tufts of silky brown fur. A small movement comes from the waves lapping the base of the rock, and several pairs of brown eyes look up with solemn intelligence as a host of wet-furred creatures surface. A group of seals seems to call this isle home. Sleek and lithe, they bark as they roll and gambol in the surf.
Out on the open water, the sun shines brightly on the rolling waves. Jaunty curls of foam top the swells, and dissolve with the rise and fall of each blue wave. To the west the waters undergo a marked change, becoming darker and surging angrily. Northwards, the waves break against a small rocky isle which rises from the sea.
Plunging beneath the waves into the colder and darker waters of the depths, the sunlit world is left behind. A faint green glow filters through the murky water. Following it leads you to the mouth of a sea cave, nearly hidden by large growths of seaweed. The interior of the cave is dank and gloomy, lit only by phosphorescent lichens which grow on its rough, cracked walls. The sound of trickling water echoes strangely through the cave as water splashes down over the walls' uneven surfaces, creating a cascade effect. What little air is present in the cave is stale and smells strongly of decaying fish and seaweed. There is an overwhelming feeling of malevolence here, as though something evil is lurking in the shadows.
Pushing the carved fish panel reveals a hidden stairwell which descends under the fountain. It is extremely dark and damp here, the uneven walls and stairs of rough hewn stone trickling with droplets of moisture from above. The strong smell of mildew combines with that of decaying straw and something unpleasantly musky. It is barely possible to see a long corridor which stretches off east and westward into the darkness.
This stone corridor extends for quite a distance to the south, until it joins into a winding hallway. The dirt-packed floor is scored with many long, irregular grooves, some of them up to several inches deep. A few other indistinguishable marks are scattered across the floor as well. Along the base of the wall, a mangy black rat scurries over a small heap of dirty straw and animal dung.
The dirt floor of this corridor is littered with bits of dirty straw and set with many animal tracks. Standing out in particular is one large set of cloven footprints, and a fainter set of scuff marks, as if something has been dragged away against its will. The corridor continues southwards, where it runs into a winding hallway.
This long hallway twists and turns about in a labyrinthine fashion, sloping slightly downwards as it snakes along to the south. The ceiling is bumpy and uneven, dipping very low in some places. Growing darker as it descends, the hallway's increasing close quarters are almost claustrophobia inducing. A small opening off the hallway leads to the west, and a faint red glow accompanied by a wave of heat emanates from that direction. To the east is another winding section of passageway.
Well-worn stone steps, barely discernible in the growing darkness, lead down this twisting hallway which slopes slightly downward to the south. Another winding branch meanders off to the west. The confines of this hallway grow more and more cramped, the rough walls seeming to press inward with every step.
Chunks of rock have tumbled down from the ceiling, and the rough-hewn walls of grey stone leave little room to get by. Movement is difficult but by picking a path over the fallen debris it is possible to make progress. An ominous cracking sound comes from overhead, and a fine spray of dust and small pebbles rains down. Perhaps it would be best to hurry along before the ceiling caves in! A clicking noise, like the sound of hooves on stone, resounds from the darkness to the west, and an ember-like glow barely illuminates the way to the south.
Many stalactites descend from the ceiling of this vault-like chamber, some of them so low that they nearly touch the ground. Spread throughout the cavern, they resemble nothing so much as an inverted stone forest, and they considerably obscure line-of-sight vision. Small bits of rubble dot the floor, along with heaps of sweet-smelling grass and golden stalks of grain. A soft golden glow fills the room while the fragrant scent of lotus blossoms drifts languorously in the air. The chamber ends in a narrow exit to the south, and a similar one lies to the east.
Two conflicting smells greet your nostrils in this confined passageway. One is a faintly spicy, fragrant perfume reminiscent of water lilies and sunlit pools. The other is slightly bitter, stale and dry, like ancient dust or ashes. The pleasant smell comes from the darkness to the north, where the passage seems to open into a larger room. The source of the other odor lies to the east.
Hallways from each direction meet in this area, which was apparently once a cage. Several iron bars still descend from a framework connected to the rocky ceiling, and the outline of a square shape lies in the sooty straw which lines the floor. It seems unusually warm here, seeming to radiate from this straw. Perhaps some of it is still smoldering underneath the pile.
This narrow passage is partly open at the sides, supported by stone columns carved with wreaths of laurel and dancing figures. Shallow niches are set back in the walls, their chipped and cracked borders carved with flowering vines. They must have once been meant for the display of artworks, judging by a few remaining cracked earthenware jugs and vases, and the broken remnants of bas reliefs surrounding them. Shards of pottery and bits of sculpture litter the dusty floor which is also tracked with large hoofprints. The rank odor of musk and urine rises from the straw on the floor, and gets stronger as the gallery continues eastward.
The sour odors of stale sweat and musk are almost overwhelming here, fairly saturating the rough walls and decaying straw on the floor. This dimly lit room is a scene of total chaos. Pieces of rotting blue fabric are strewn about the room, and crushed bits of pottery have been flung everywhere. The walls have been smeared with a dirty red-brown substance, and a skeleton lies impaled upon a broken stalagmite. Something which looks ominously like a heavily-gnawed human thigh bone has been discarded. Who or whatever did this must have been in an uncontrollable rage.
The hissing sound you heard before has stopped now. Converging here from all directions, four hallways end in a chamber literally carved out of the rock. The framework of an iron cage stretches down from the stony ceiling, a few bars still connected to it. The floor is littered with shards of glass which once came from a mirror, or to judge from the number of shards, more than one mirror. Yes, looking closer, it is apparent that this cage was at one time surrounded by many mirrors. Several small boulders rest outside the skeleton of the cage.
Partly open at the sides, this narrow passage stretches off to the north and the west. White stone pillars with elaborate carved capitals covered in tiny cracks help carry the weight of the ceiling. Shallow recesses are set back in the far walls, probably meant for the exhibition of art, but there are no pieces of art in sight. Only jagged fragments of pottery and sculpture remain, littering the floor. A foul stench permeates the air, and seems to be strongest as the passage turns to the north.
Lying westward off the twisting hallway, this small room looks like it was once used as a guard post. A broken stool rests in one corner, along with the rotting remains of an oak cabinet. The interior door of the cabinet hangs off its hinges, creaking slightly as it is opened. A dozen nails protrude from the door, several of them still bearing keyrings. One large keyring in particular lies in the dust on the floor, grasped by a skeletal hand. Whoever tried to use these keys didn't get very far... they are all useless, horribly bent or broken off. The only exit to this cell is to the east, through a battered doorway.
This hallway winds crazily, seeming to try and go in all directions before settling on one firm path. A doorway can be seen to the east, covered with scratches and deep gouges, as if something had forced its way through. To the west a shallow set of steps carved out of the stone floor leads downwards into darkness. Another section of this hallway extends to the south, halting at a closed wooden door which is in surprisingly good condition. A few curls of smoke drift lazily from under it, an aromatic spicy smoke which teases and beckons you to follow it.
Shallow stone steps descend into the gloom, leading down to an elegant spiral staircase cut out of a shaft of marbled rock. Several torches burn with an unsteady light along the wall, but their pale blue flames give off no heat. The stairway comes to an end in an octagonal chamber dominated by an overturned stone sepulcher. The contents of the tomb no longer remain, having been snatched through the broken end of the sepulcher's thick glass lid.
Well-worn steps lead to a small landing, and down to a gracefully spiraling stairway cut out of a shaft of greyish marbled stone. The base of the stairway opens out into an octagonal chamber barely lit by a few torches lining the walls. Pale blue against the blackness, they produce a glow similar to that of moonbeams, but no heat emanates from their flickering flames. Each of the room's eight walls bears a panel covered in mosaics. Their tiny pieces of colored glass glitter like miniature gems in the torchlight. In the center of the room sits a stone sepulcher topped by a thick glass lid which has been smashed at one end. Whatever was on display here has been forcibly removed.
Twisting and winding in all directions, this hallway eventually settles on a firm path. East of here, a worn set of stairs hewn out of the stone floor descend into the gloom, while to the west a small doorway can barely be seen. It is hard to tell from here but its door appears to have been forced open. Dried bits of straw and blades of cut grass trail from that direction as well. Another section of this hallway continues to the south, ending at a set of closed double doors of reinforced iron. Smoky fumes of brimstone hang in the air, and all light in the immediate vicinity is drawn towards the door, seemingly sucked underneath it.
The way to the west twists to an end in a small room tucked off the main hallway. A wooden door with two great holes punched through it swings drunkenly on its remaining hinge. By all appearances, this place was once used as a storage area for bedding and animal fodder. The small piles of dried straw and green grass which are left here have been fouled with excrement, and bare patches of floor are strewn with crunched bones. Strange animal tracks mark the dirt, and strands of coarse black hair are caught in the rough grain of the door.
The interior of this grand room is a shocking contrast to the general shambles which lies beyond its wooden doors. The rough walls are covered by hanging tapestries in vivid jewel tones shot through with golden thread. A crackling fire sheds a warm glow from a hearth carved from the rock of the southern wall. In front of the fire, beside a richly-woven rug of Eastern design, a mahogany sidetable stands next to an armchair covered in brocaded burgundy velvet. Wisps of spicy smoke rise from behind the chair and drift towards the door. In spite of the warmth of this room, there is something chilling about it.
As the iron doors open, the overwhelming stench of sulfur burns in the air. The contours of this room can barely be made out, but even in the darkness its enormity is apparent. Even magical light has difficulty penetrating the murky blackness. Normal light seems to be sucked toward the middle of the room, where a darker area, black as pitch, pulses evilly.