Crossing the veil

After having successfully collected all of the ingredients for the plane-traversing ointment, which the Faba Myrna has agreed to concoct, the heroes make their way back to the wise woman. Arriving in the late afternoon the Faba is delighted to see the adventurers returning. She agrees to immediately start working on the ointment but lets the adventurers know that she will need to work the night through and does not wish to be disturbed. The party settles down in the clearing a bit away from the hut of the Faba, in part because the adventurers still are wary about the Faba Myrna’s motives and have the elves’ warning about her fickle disposition in mind. Nonetheless, so far she has been welcoming and supportive. Playful in her banter even. As the night settles and the adventurers begin to sink into sleep they hear strange noises from the hut. Ominous lights emanate from behind the closed shutters and haunting wailing robs the adventurers of their sleep. The Faba Myrna demanded to not be disturbed over night. So all that is left for the heroes to do is to press their heads into their bedrolls and pray that they will see the morning.
After sunrise the Faba greets them jovially. As she is standing in her doorway she is stretching her slender limbs and brushing her beautiful golden hair with a wooden comb. The concoction has been prepared and the Faba Myrna instructs the adventurers on its application. She hands the party a small wooden box, filled with a black, sandy paste which gives off a slightly minty scent. Alongside the box the heroes receive a clay tankard, filled with a strong-smelling liquid. This combination will allow the party to traverse the veil in places where it is already thinned out. When they have reached such a place, they shall apply a generous amount of the paste to their forehead, crossing two fingers across it and then take three strong gulps each from the jug. After that the adventurers need to wait a short while for the effect to set in and then are able to walk the path between worlds. But the Faba Myrna warns them that they should not dally because the effect is only temporary and will not last more than half an hour. Additionally they should stay strictly on the path before them and not stray from it, or their souls would be in danger to be lost forever. Thanking the Faba Myrna for her hospitality, wisdom and generous aid the party sets out to leave for Ki’iron Erberos, the ancient site, deemed unholy by the Lyari.
Having almost left the clearing, the heroes hear the Faba calling after them: “Oh, adventurers. One more thing.” As the party turns around again to face the Faba Myrna their hearts stop cold. In place of the beautiful woman they have come to know, stands a creature straight out of nightmares: A tall, gaunt and ugly creature with a cruel grin on its gnarled face. It is dressed in rags, its leathery and spindly arms bare. A single working yellow eye pears out from underneath wispy strands of white hair, the other eye is a swollen, sickly-white mass without a pupil. Out of the creatures mouth, the true form of the Faba Myrna now revealed, she utters: “You do not know what you are getting yourselves into….” With that the Faba withdraws from the daylight into the dark interior of her hut and the last things to be seen of her are her spidery fingers clutching the doorframe, before they also retreat into shadow. Shaking and disturbed the party hurriedly leaves the clearing.
Unnerved and rattled, no less from the Faba Myrna’s warning than from the gruesome sight of her real form, the party makes its way across Gloomwood Forest to reach Ki’iron Erberos, its precise location still unknown. But after a days worth of travel the party arrives in the area where two of the landmarks mentioned in the journal entry may be found: Standing atop a a waterfall the adventurers gaze on a rocky canyon, its floor blanketed in shrubbery and small trees. The water falling from this precipice gathers in a pool at the bottom of the falls and then continues its way, traveling through the undergrowth. The sound of the waterfall is present at all times and from up here does not have a deafening quality and rather more the way the sound is reflected through the canyon seems to have a slight musical quality; gentle overtones are present in it. The song of Sister Lierin at the Le’orin Falls. Watching back to the east the party is greeted by Keeper Nedenirth: The peak of Nedon Irtheni is visible against the waning afternoon sun. Indeed its shadow is creeping across the bottom of the canyon and nears the canyon wall on the opposite, eastern side. The party hurries down a slope and crosses over to the wall looking for a possible entrance. But there is none to be seen. Discerning that they must be at the correct position mentioned in the journal nonetheless, they prepare the ointment and potion for transitioning. Standing together the adventurers do as the Faba Myrna instructed and apply the paste to their forehead: A generous amount applied two-fingers wide to the forehead. The paste is cool, has a sandy quality to it and a minty scent, which is very refreshing and seems to clear the mind. After that each hero takes a generous swig from the jug, downing three gulps of the foul smelling concoction: it smells and tastes rancid and its oily quality makes it hard to keep down, but the adventurers manage to keep it in. The liquid in their stomach seems to weigh them down and the adventurers now feel both lightheaded and heavy at the same time.

They turn and face the canyon wall and wait for an effect to set in. They concentrate and stare at the rock. They narrow their gaze trying not to blink, their focus set on one point on the wall. Everything else in the periphery lengthens. Becomes insignificant. The adventurers see every detail in the rock, every shadow, every crack. The view lengthens, like looking through a tunnel. The light on the rock wall seems to play tricks on the onlookers, who now feel dizzy, feel drunk but clear-headed simultaneously. There is pressure on their ears, the sounds muted as if they were under water. There! An opening in the rock. A slight crevice. Was it there all this time? The party takes a few stumbling steps toward the rock. And indeed! An opening about three feet wide is before them, showing nothing but darkness. The adventurers enter, not able to hold a thought other than to move forward…After a few dozen feet the light leaves them. But not entirely. There is some slight illumination, a pale, sickly-green glow. Just enough to see where to place your foot next. Where does this light, dim as it is, come from? No matter. Onward. Now there is sound. Wind. A gust. But just the sound. It can not be felt on the skin. Cherish, the Warlock, is leading the way. She stumbles forward, just as her companions do, but other than her they only seem to be able to follow the person in front of them. There are shadows living in this darkness. They can be seen in the periphery of the view behind dark walls of vertically speeding winds. Are those faces that can be seen? Humanoid forms flicker in and out of existence. Arms. Reaching toward the adventurers. Cherish tries to shake the stupor from her mind and suddenly hears a kind and familiar voice in her head: “Do not be afraid, child. Ever onward. Protect your friends.” It is the voice of Keahiel, her Celestial Patron. Alarmed by the warning, Cherish turns to check in on her compatriots. Narvik recoils from one side of the wind wall, having seen the face of his deceased mother in it. He is walking backwards, terror on his face, towards the other wall where grasping arms are waiting. Similarly Enna seems to have fallen under the spell of these apparitions, as she moves toward the wind wall with outstretched arms, having seen the faces of her dead grandparents in the shadows. Quick-witted Cherish fights against the sluggishness of mind and limb and reaches for the hands of her companions, pulling them forward. “Hold hands! Do not trust the shadows!”, she yells. The sound comes muffled to the ears of her companions, even though she is standing but an arms length away. All the compatriots can do is stumble onward, feeling a pressure as being on the bottom of the ocean. Putting one foot in front of each other. Holding each other’s hands. Holding them fast. Onward. Step. By. Step. After what feels like having marched for days the pressure lessens. The sound of the otherworldly tempest lessens. The green-tinted light recedes and the adventurers march on until they are in darkness and silence. Then they stop. Breathe, heavily. And listen. The silence of centuries surrounds them. They light a torch. They have found and entered Ki’iron Erberos. The Darkbarrow.