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Ydalon
The upper floor was not half as devestated as he had described it, but still treachery awaited. This high, no stone floors could be supported, nor extravagant halls and chambers. Instead a single low room was constructed from the ceiling of the one below. The wooden floor was in places rotting, and in others fully gone. Sparse furniture still stood littered about, and a ladder led to a hatch, which would in turn lead to a magnificent view of the landscape.
Ydalon stepped forward, glad of his light weight, and traversed the floor. He had already spotted the reason for his visit. It was not for a view of the land that he had quarrelled with the Lords of Vision.
This was for a view of the heavens.
Waiting on a table, one of its four sturdy legs penetrating the uncertain floor, was a rectangle of cloth. Ydalon saw the sign and knew that he could not be mistaken. With a grin, he bundled it up and stuffed it into his sling-bag. Then he turned and hurried back down the stairs.
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