Saving our frustration to unleash upon the true Vuldorv we gathered our things and ascended another staircase. These stairs were sized for elves, leading me to believe we were entering what once were the slave quarters. The hallways were many, maze-like. At one point we found a large room where we were set upon buy a spider with legs five paces long. Seeing no sign that anyone had been in the area in centuries we made our way back down to the throne room and climbed the stairs on the opposite side of the level.
Here we had more luck, an obvious path in the dust. We followed the trail to the bottom of a staircase and an ambush from Vuldorv's men. A fireball erupted in our midst and the four of dived to the ground to escape the heat. We made our way up the stairs, Darkwood charging ahead full speed, Ur moving quickly yet quietly, Pennerath and myself cautiously behind them. Up the stairs were seven mercenaries, one an orc wizard, and three air skiffs anchored to this, the roof of the giant temple. We cut most of the mercenaries down and the rest tried to flee. The wizard was dealt with before he could release his skiff but another mercenary cut the line of the second air ship and it began to float away. Pennerath, Ur, and a goblin just put under Pennerath's psionic control leaped into the third skiff and gave pursuit. Ur steered their skiff just above the other and Pennerath forced the goblin to drop into it and return it to the temple. The goblin, whether from the fall or injuries sustained during the battle, fell unconscious while at the helm and crashed the skiff into the wall of the temple. I do not flinch from seeing men cut down in battle and I care not what happens to undead horrors like Zulo, the Drowned elf, but I cringe when I watch a sentient creature sent to his death while robbed of his free will.
Nothing. We had found nothing. From the bottom of the staircase to the roof of the temple we had explored and neither Vuldorv nor the Grankari Sphere had we found. The only survivor of our battle was the goblin Pennerath had sent to his death.
I surveyed the room.
"Darkwood, the warforged mercenary lying at your feet, can he be repaired?" Darkwood examined the inert construct. "I think so."
"Good, get to work then"