Their departure isn't entirely unheralded. Several dozen attractive maidens gather at the gates, waving at Nolin and cheering the group on as they offer lace handkerchiefs and other favors of affection; Belissa Fishsong (their intermediary with the Council of Eversink) is amongst them, teary-eyed and broken-hearted. Some of the group's political enemies such as the Stormcrowns are also there, eagerly hoping to see the group's actual departure with their own eyes. Nolin buys a sausage on a stick from a vendor, kisses a few hands, and then the heroes make their way out of the city. Once on the road, the omens are good. A cool breeze blows at their back, keeping away the ever-present mosquitoes and biting flies of the swamp, and fluffy clouds scud overhead in the bright autumn sunlight as birds swoop through the air. It's a good day to be alive. Nolin blows his nose in Belissa's handkerchief and thinks about how pleased he is to be out of 'Sink.

Four days of marching later, the 40-person force veers off the road and heads into forested hills. The map obtained by Nolin turns out to be accurate when the group is stopped by an unseen voice. "Who are you, and are you friend or foe?" pipes the hidden sentry from the bracken next to the trail.

"Friend," answers Nolin. "We were sent by the gnomes of Pellangin who have found refuge in the human city of Eversink. We plan to venture into the tunnels and liberate Pellangin and the dwarvish city of Mrid from the ghouls of the White Kingdom. If we can, we will take the fight to the White Kingdom itself." Nolin bows politely. "If you'll allow us to pass, of course."

A half-dozen armed gnomes appear from the underbrush, and a fellow with a bald head and large nose saunters forward and looks up at the Defenders with a mixture of awe and hopeful disbelief. "You will, huh? Well, my friend, I think you're lacking some troops for that, but who am I to say? I'll take you to the village." Hopping atop a trained riding badger, the gnome leads the group up into the hills.

A few hours later, they top a small ridge and see a lovely gnomish town laid out beneath them. "Welcome to Candle Ridge," says their guide, and they descend the hill to the accompaniment of a small stream that burbles happily beside them.

The group soon meets with the gnomish King in exile, Clanking Doriklath, a wrinkled and ancient deep gnome with fading eyesight but a keen mind. Doriklath offers them a company of gnomish troops, but the Defenders decline his offer. "Just a good scout," Velendo requests, and soon they are introduced to a short and stocky deep gnome named Priggle Gembreath.

Priggle seems both professional and competent. "I know most of these caverns like my own family tree," he claims in a surprisingly deep voice for his size, and proceeds to sketch out a rough map of major tunnels and turnings on a sheet of vellum. "You're damn suicidal if you think you're going up against those damn things. They're like roaches, everywhere and hard to kill, but I'll guide you if you're going to try and destroy some of them." Priggle looks grim, hatred distorting his homely face. "Anything to help. It burns me to think of those damn things clambering through my homeland."

"We have some talent in this area," Nolin assures him, and Priggle tries to look hopeful. He doesn't really succeed.

"If you say so. I'll get you there, and I'll keep myself alive in the process. The rest is up to you." The alliance struck, the group beds down outside under the stars. The next morning they are to go underground, and nervousness runs like a fever through the heroes; only the dwarves are truly happy at the thought of getting back into proper tunnels.

Dawn comes all too soon, hidden by heavy clouds and a light rain. With little fanfare, the Defenders of Daybreak and their dwarven troops line up in front of the inky black chasm that cuts along the side of Candle Ridge. Next to them, a huge rock carved to look like a shield throws a deep shadow over the cleft.

"Ready?" asks Priggle as he finishes checking the belaying ropes. Everyone nods. "Then go where I say and don't wander until you're used to the Underdark. It isn't like the surface. Sound travels, and predators seldom need vision to see you. There are worse things than ghouls down there." He wrinkles his large nose, and no one asks him for details.

"There's a ledge about a hundred or so feet down. We'll rendezvous there," Priggle says. "Let's go." And sliding down a rope into the darkness, he disappears from sight. One by one, either flying or wind walking or descending the ropes, the Defenders and their troops leave the surface world behind and enter the tunnels of the Underdark.