Rest inside the nauseous tomb is fitful. The sense of being watched, an acrid and annoying stench, and the ominous stone cyclop statues abound, putting the party on edge.
Numerous interruptions of their attempts at sleep dog their resolve, as soul eaters are sent to harry the sleepers.
Sleestak and Willow pass the time discussing the hunt, Ashhaven and wilds surrounding it, plans for expanding their castle settlement, what love is, a parable of Erastil or two, and other subjects that come to mind.
Finally, after what seems an eternity, Emmond gets enough sleep and enough time passes for his arcane reservoir to refill. Alarah, too, seems to have had enough shuteye.
Emmond mutters some arcane gibberish, gestures, and an opaque hemisphere appears in the hallway. Emmond parts an ingress in the magical weave, the party enters, and the followers of Erastil collapse from exhaustion.
As time passes, another soul eater arrives, and eerily drifts in a chaotic pattern around the hemisphere. At this point, the group wishes the outside could not be seen, as its patrol promises more claw strikes inflicting silliness. No curtains to draw here.Another 8 hours pass, and the party assumes it must be the next day, although no evidence of a new dawn exists inside the dark tomb…