Kireth studied the grating, the hole in the chamber floor, and the chains, seemingly oblivious to Tradden's strike. He didn't even lift his head when Tradden put his boot against the dark creeper to draw out his bloody sword. Khalin huffed up to the side of the mage.

‘How do we get down?’ asked the dwarf.

‘I'm not sure,’ replied Kireth softly, but firmly. ‘I need but a moment.’

Khalin nodded, turning back towards the dais. Although the mage had been acting strangely in the past hours he still trusted his insight. Back at the dais, Zero was holding aloft a small key in his hand, and Rangrim was still clutching the dead halfling.

‘This is no time for plundering!’ bellowed Khalin at the rogue.

‘Huh?’ quizzed Zero, a quick frown crossing his face. ‘No, no. There are prisoners behind here,’ he implored, and stood ready to return to the cells.

The dwarf mumbled an apology and came up behind Rangrim.

‘Rangrim,’ he spoke reverently. ‘We cannot help your friend here, now. But there are others behind the dais. Perhaps some of those are your friends, too?’

Rangrim looked up at Khalin, surprising the warlord with the venom in his eyes. He almost seemed to start to say something, but then bit his lip, laid down the halfling carefully and marched silently towards Zero. The pair then swiftly swept around the back of the dais.

Khalin was lost in thought for a moment before walking back to the pit. He had quickly checked the elf, to see he was resting peacefully. Gilmorril or not, they would make sure he got safely back to Blackengorge once they had dealt with whatever lay below.

Tradden had joined Kireth, eager to offer any assistance. It seemed to Khalin that the young lad's continual suggestions and gesticulations down the pit only seemed to irritate the mage.

‘We could just slide down the chains, you know,’ Tradden was offering Kireth advice. ‘It would just be like shinning down a rope. I bet we could get down there in seconds.’

‘And what if we slip?’ replied the mage.‘ It is a long way down. There must be a better way. How else would others get down there?’

‘There's no time to think of other ways,’ said Khalin from behind the mage. ‘The lad's right — we must scale the chains. I'll wager there are things down there waiting for us, so let's get ourselves ready.’

Zero returned to the cells with Rangrim in tow, pointing out the prisoners to the dwarf. With a whoop Rangrim jumped into the first cell, towards the dragon-man, clasping his arms around him. The dragon-man's eyes seemed to light up with pride, and he began to speak, muffled by the muzzle.

‘Give me that key,’ ordered Rangrim of Zero, who a little reluctantly offered it up.

The dwarf then began to unlock the manacles holding the dragon-man, and started to rip off the muzzle.

‘Rhasgar, you're alive!’ Rangrim shouted with glee. ‘And the others,’ he noticed, looking at the unconscious bedevilled creature and the halfling. ‘Are they ok?’

‘I think so, my friend,’ stated the dragon-man in a clear, authoritative voice in perfect Common. ‘We may have been through the Nine Hells and back, but we're all alive.’

His eyes narrowed again.

‘Ulmo?’ he questioned Rangrim. ‘He was taken from here not long ago. Have you seen him?’

Rangrim looked down, and then over to the other halfling slumped in the corner, and then shook his head in sorrow and anger.

‘Can you stand?’ asked Rangrim, backing up and offering his arms to help the dragon-man.

Zero took a couple of involuntary steps backwards, not sure what to make of this odd creature. It talked and acted like a human, like a noble even, but the resemblance to a dragon was uncanny, and somewhat frightening.

‘I think so,’ replied the dragon-man. ‘But I don't think I will be of much use — my leg is broken and I have called on divine aid too many times for the others to help us through the suffering, I am exhausted.’

The dragon-man's eyes narrowed once more. ‘There is something going on below. They're opening something. I think they mean to release a horde upon the Vale. We need to stop them. Are there just the two of you?’

‘No,’ said Rangrim, almost cheerfully. ‘There's another warrior, there's a mage, and, uhm, a Grundokri.’ At the last word his face became stern.

‘I see,’ mused the dragon-man after a pause, stroking his scaled chin and staring at Zero with a piercing gaze. ‘We will see what comes of that later. Give me the key, I will free the others, and I will deliver the news to Bekio. The loss of his brother will play hard on him. You must go forwards and defeat whatever lays below. Those of us that can assist will be with you shortly, I need a few moments to ask Bahamut's guidance and revive our fellows.’

Rangrim nodded in acceptance, passing the key across to the dragon-man and standing up.

‘C'mon, Zero,’ he said pushing the rogue back out towards the dais. ‘Rhasgar knows what he's doing. If he says we go down and defeat what's there, then it's good enough for me.’

‘What's down there?’ asked Zero, almost politely.

‘I dunno,’ grinned Rangrim back, and odd humour crossing him. ‘Isn't that part of the fun?’

The pair joined the others at the pit where Tradden already had wrapped himself around one of the chains.

‘Like this,’ he offered, showing the others how best to swing and slide on the chains. Kireth shook his head mournfully, but knew it was the only way.

‘Let us descend, then,’ the mage stated, and they all drew a breath.

On Khalin's signal the group slowly descended the chains, appearing into something out of nightmares. Crimson streams spilled from the grates above, dripping down to form a shallow pool of blood covering the centre of the chamber. A yawning, black portal dominated the northern wall, something straining against the darkness within, as if it were a thin film keeping back a vicious, clawed beast. A patterned circle of blazing runes were inscribed on the floor before the portal, glowing intensely as if bursting with energy, illuminating the room with a vivid blue light.

Opposite the portal, facing the pool of blood, was a huge statue of a demon lord, gesturing towards the darkness of the rift with a skull-capped wand. Its curved horns pointed up to the crimson shower above, and flames from braziers surrounding its base licked at its feet. ‘Two humanoid skeletons, longswords held firmly in hand, stood guard, blank eye sockets looking up at the intruders, waiting for their master's signal.

To the east, steps rose to a platform where a pit was flanked by two smaller statues of the same demon lord, their wands angling into the depths, where glimpses of whitened bone could be seen reflected in the sheen of a silvery mirror. Two further skeletons stood to attention here at the bottom of the steps. Beyond them, near the pit, was a ragged figure, lurching, bedraggled and watching the group descend with pinprick-white eyes in a grey, ashen face.

To the west, another set of steps ascended to a ten-foot high ledge supporting an altar of bone and several wide pillars. A human, oddly familiar, wearing a horned helm and carrying a skull-capped rod stood behind the altar. His eyes were closed, a book resting open before him. He continued to chant a low, droning prayer as the portal bulged and grasped. Guarded by a number of skeletons and illuminated by the eerie glow of oddly coloured flame from the closest braziers, he cast a fearful visage, of one consumed by evil.

Even the stonework around the chamber seemed to be infused with blood, and a tingle of energy seemed to emanate from every scratch and crack within the stone.