Khelzhad reloads his crossbow.

"I agree with Madragar - we must press on, at least until we find the armory. Remember our experience with the Dragonewts - they would not give up and we must do likewise."

The northern corridor, so the dwarves report, is about sixty feet long and opens into a larger chamber in which several motes of purple light can be seen - even by the dull-eyed humans. The companions advance cautiously with Pogar and Draxim in the lead. The room ahead is dim, but soon its shadowy contents become clear as the dwarves approach the open doors at its southern end.

The chamber is about fifty to sixty feet on a side and is lit by several large iron lanterns, each containing a shimmering ball of eerie purple light. They are quite similar, in fact, to the lanterns carried by the Duergar priestesses in the Cairnhollow and exude an unnatural and sinister aura.

Against the eastern wall of the room are two sturdy wooden tables covered in rags and simple tools. A pair of large oaken casks sit nearby. To the west a lone figure hunches over another table, its dry, brittle fingers clutching a feather quill as it scribbles patiently onto the parchment of the thick scroll before it. The thing appears to be yet another legionnaire, clad in mail with its shield and shortsword leaning against a nearby wall. It does not seem to notice the companions, however.

Behind the undead scribe, stacked high against the west wall, is a pile of old scrolls, dozens of them, each maybe five inches thick and wrapped around a simple wooden dowel. A pair of stone blocks, like bookends, hold the massive collection in place.

At the northern end of the room stands a simple screen made of linen stretched over a wooden frame. Behind the screen the vague outline of a massive throne is visible, though the throne itself could probably accomodate two men sitting side by side. A pair of lanterns flank the object, but it isn't clear if anyone, or anything, is actually sitting on the throne.

In general the room appears to have been recently occupied and is surprisingly free of dust and other debris.

The scribe continues to write with tedious strokes, occasionally stopping to re-ink its quill.

Map.