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Message: <blockquote data-quote="covaithe" data-source="post: 4663124" data-attributes="member: 46559">Volidar comes over to the table where Weel and Karm sit conversing.  "Well, gentlemen, it seems that if there is to be any aid to the party I spoke of before, it must come from your hands.  Are you ready to depart?  I can offer you little guidance as to what you will find when you arrive, but I can offer you quick passage.  But we must go soon."[sblock=Weel and Karm]ooc:  Weel, this is me getting you into Bazaar.  Karm, we talked earlier; you know what's going on.  If you're no longer interested, now's your chance to back out.  If you are interested, make whatever in-character preparations you need, and we'll assume that the following takes place after you return and tell Volidar you're ready.  Volidar leads you away from the inn, and with long strides, guides you into the woods northeast of Daunton.  He occasionally follows small game trails, but much of the time is spent moving directly through the trackless woods.  Every so often, he stops, mutters a snatch of odd-sounding poetry to himself in a language you cannot recognize, and then proceeds on a slightly different course, with no obvious reason to prefer the one direction over the other.  Even the most experienced woodsman would have difficulty retracing his route.  After several hours of this, he ducks into a thicket of trees, and there, in a small clearing, stands a tall menhir, a standing stone carved with intricate designs, interlocking circles and dizzyingly contorted stylized beasts, so entwined that without long study it is impossible to see where one begins and the other ends.  "Take my arm, both of you.  Do not let go," Volidar says, holding out his left arm.  Once you have firmly grasped it, he begins chanting.  It is an oddly tuneless, buzzing sound, with a simple, relentless rhythm and harsh overtones, that seems to echo and layer upon itself in the dense air of the clearing.  With his right hand, Volidar touches the stone several times, and it seems as if an unseen chorus joins in his chant, matching his voice some two octaves lower.  He begins an excruciatingly slow crescendo, at the peak of which he slaps the stone sharply and stops chanting.  The echoes linger, gathering, strengthening, until the air itself begins to blur, and the stone wavers before you.  Your vision narrows, and spots dance before your eyes, shimmering.  Then, suddenly, it is over.  You look around....ooc:  Weel, go <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/living-en-world/223203-gm1-bizarre-bazaar-22.html#post4663092" target="_blank">here</a>.  Karm, go <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/living-en-world/227863-urn-your-pay-rae-judging-51.html#post4663123" target="_blank">here</a>.  [/sblock]</blockquote>

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