Entering Mrid

Tao sniffs the air, wriggling her nose. "Yes. Definitely rose petals." The frown on her face grows more pronounced. "Would someone like to tell me why those damn ghouls have scented the air with rose petals?"

"To distract us?" asks Galthia. He looks around. "Or perhaps, like the bottle of wine and flowers last week, he seeks to make peace with us."

"Maybe," mutters Velendo. "I don't like it one bit. I mean, clean cantrips, for Calphas' sake! Why bother?" A horrified look passes over his face. "Maybe he promised someone that he'd deliver this place to them nice and clean."

Priggle speaks up from the shadows, his voice dour. "I doubt it. Mrid is in the middle of a crossroads. Why would the ghouls want to give it up once they got it? No, I'm sure it's some plot against the gnomes." Velendo looks at him nonplussed.

"Priggle, Glibstone, how many ways out of this city are there?"

Priggle sounds depressed as he answers. "A lot, if these earthquakes haven't sealed them. At least four or five main underdark passages are cut off by this city. We came by one of them. One other passage heads surfaceward towards Sho'kel Gruumsh, an orcish and giantish city." He sighs. "I hate them. Everyone hates them. I hope the ghouls headed that way."

"I don't," grumbles Glibstone. "Ghoulish giants?" Tao perks up at the thought.

"In any case," continues Priggle, "another passage leads toward Titan Hall and my own svirfneblin city. That was seized months ago. A branch of that passage leads to a Derro settlement that may have been overrun, I don't know." He spits on the cavern floor. "Dammed albino half-breed demon-worshipping dwarves." He looks even more morose than normal. "The last major passage leads down, towards the drow city of Eleskiel and The Shuttered Gate. I think a side passage eventually leads to a small underground sea named the Lake of Song, but I've never been there."

"There are smaller ways," confirms Glibstone the dwarf, "but those are the major gates."

"Okay," concludes Tao. "Let's search the city and find out where all of those ghouls went. We know that most of the force didn't come up our way. It'll be good to know where they DID go."

"Fair enough." Velendo rubs his forehead. "I'm going to do a divination first, to see if we're walking into an obvious trap." He casts the spell, asking Calphas whether there are refugees left in Mrid. He hears back, "Remember that there are no ghouls and no dwarves left in the city, and you will do well." He thanks his God profusely with prayer, and the group prepares to continue.

Walking nervously past the unlocked gates, the heroes enter a long sloping corridor. With his arcane sight active, Agar notices a line of hidden murder holes along the corridor. There is no sound, though, and the paladins detect no evil or undead. Dust shaken loose by the recent earth tremors is stirred up by their feet, but otherwise the corridor is scrupulously clean.

"What's that rhythmic thumping sound?" asks Nolin. "And the roaring?"

"You'll find out in a moment," answers Glibstone mysteriously. At the end of the hall, two massive stone portals stand closed. Glibstone pushes on a shiny section of the stone, and the perfectly balanced and counter-weighted doors swing open smoothly.

"Mrid," announces Glibstone with a small jingle of bells.

Before the Defenders of Daybreak rises an immense oval cavern roughly a thousand feet across. On more than five lofty levels, intricately carved balconies and roads ring the edge of the cavern. Nearby, a marketplace stands, completely abandoned. There is no obvious sign of recent combat, and no corpses are visible. The only debris is occasional piles of fallen rock knocked loose by the recent earthquake. It is massive, grand, beautiful, and eerily deserted; a space designed for throngs of people, but now occupied by none. In the center of the cavern a tremendous waterfall thunders down into a dark pit. It is surrounded by magical, floating staircases. Sparkling lights reflect and flare on the falling torrent, and clouds of silvery water vapor rise from the depths of the well. Suspended in the water's path are massive waterwheels and dwarven engines, spinning and clanking as the water hits them.

"What are those?" asks Nolin in awe, over the sound of the falling water.

"Generators!" announces Glibstone proudly. "They power the pumps and the forges, the mills and the traps."

Nolin pauses, and then his eyes light up. "They're playing music!" Indeed, the clanking and thumping of the waterwheels is creating a massive symphony, counter-pointed by slight variations in the tone of the falling water. Nolin notices one engine that seems broken, probably damaged by earth tremors.

"Indeed," says Glibstone. "Hymns to Moradin. Designed by our finest craftsmen, more than six hundred years ago." His face twists. "Back when the city was alive."

"Astonishing." Nolin is lost in the music, and begins singing along, his voice echoing across the empty cavern.

Galthia and Tao returns from their quick scouting mission around the plaza. "No corpses. The place has been looted, but everything else has been neatened afterwards. Just like they're expecting company."