After worrying for hours about the tactical nightmare of fighting incorporeal foes in a small space, the Defenders of Daybreak have considered almost all of their possible resources: extraplanar travel, wind walk, teleporting, dimension doors, reduces, and many other possibilities. These turn out to simply not be needed. Arriving at the narrowing end of Funnel Cave, TomTom and Mara both turn ethereal to scout the cascading tunnel carefully, and they find that the narrow and winding tunnel is completely unoccupied other than by beetles and rats. No ghouls, no ghosts, no wraiths -- nothing.

A small dwarven guardhouse deep within the difficult passage seems to be abandoned as well. Tao uses her helm to double-check, and the group concludes that it seems safe to pass. The passage is a bit difficult -- horribly claustrophobic for those who don't like tight spaces -- but uneventful. Soon the entire company is safely on the other side of The Narrows and headed down an uneven, dank passage towards the dwarven outpost of Mridsgate.

"Shhh! Did you hear that?" Nolin holds up his hand in caution. The company slows and stops.

"What?" Mara asks. All she hears is the ever-present trickle of water, her own heartbeat, and the heartbeat of her warhorse Luminor.

"Drums," answers Nolin. "Very distant. Let's get moving."

Several hours later the passageway dead-ends in a solid wall. "Rubbish," says TomTom. "It's dwarven make. See? The outlines of the door in the stone are right here . . . and here." He looks for a keyhole on this side of the door, but doesn't find one.

Tao concentrates, touching her helm and focusing its power. "There's a dwarf in there," she reports. "He's asleep, and looks exhausted. The door is doubly locked and barred. He's got a few weapons as well."

"We can knock down the door," someone suggests.

"Hmmph," snorts Nolin. He casts detect thoughts while Mara and Malachite simultaneously try to detect evil and undead. No one gets anything; apparently, either the dwarf is dead or the stone door is especially thick. As a result, Nolin knocks on the door.

"That woke him up," reports Tao. She's interrupted as a hitherto undetected peephole rasps open.

"Who's there?" asks a rusty, strained voice. "Who are ye?"

"Friends," answers Nolin in dwarvish. "We've come from the surface to help your folk." The dwarf is silent for a few seconds, processing the answer. He finally responds.

"From the surface? Stick yer hand through this slot."

"Don't do it!" someone whispers.

"Don't be silly," says Nolin, and pushes his hand into the dark rectangular peephole. He feels something touching his skin.

"Yer flesh is warm! Yer alive!" comes the dwarf's muffled voice, followed by the clanging of iron bars bouncing off of stone. A minute later, the heavy stone door swings open, and the tired dwarf looks out over the group. "Where's the rest of ye?" he asks in confusion, trying not to sound disappointed.

"This is it," says Nolin. "But we're really good at fighting undead."

The dwarf shakes his tired head. "I sure hope so. When they ordered me up here, the ghouls had camped outside of the walls, screaming and smelling. Morale was bad; they had a few of our dead from Mrid with them." The dwarf shudders involuntarily. "That was yesterday. They might have already fallen, I dunno, but I don't think so; no refugees yet up the tunnel. Can ye go and help?"

"That's what we're here for," answers Tao. The dwarf fishes in his belt pouch.

"Then here's a key to the back gate," he explains, quickly handing over a heavy iron key that TomTom eagerly grabs. "When you go through it, turn right, then right again. That'll lead ye to the courtyard. If ye go straight, ye'll end up in the outpost proper. I wish I was going with ye . . . but I have me orders. Moradin speed ye!"

On the other side of the guard room, the rhythmic beat of the drums is much louder; the faint noise throbs, echoing deceptively up the stone passageways. Once they hear a bugle blast as well, and the tired group trots even faster over the uneven ground. At long last they reach the back gate, and TomTom opens the door without effort. There is no guard there, and the heroes run through echoing corridors as they race for the combat. They know they're close because they can hear it now; screams and howls, chanting and the clash of metal on metal. One last corner, hearts pounding and breath rasping in their chests, and they burst out into a small gatehouse overlooking the courtyard. Anxiously peering through the arrow slits, the Defenders look out into a vision of Hell.

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