Doom Garden

On the cool end of comfort for humankind, the heart of the mountain is a geode writ large, scentless air whispering the slow secrets of stone, a susurrus of sourceless sound.

Crystals of sapphire and gold, rose and scarlet, emerald and ice provide a steady light throughout the hall, the echoes of changeling voices lost in the bright distance of a thousand fractured feet, for all is not well here. Fallen into disarray, disuse, the massive matrices and maze-like trails of what was once a thriving settlement are cracked and broken, buildings tumbled down, paths blocked, though those which remain open show signs of renewed attention.

The central mustering space has been cleared, an open expanse the size of a football field with a floor of crushed stone and crystalline shards to hinder stealth. Targets along one side are liberally punctured, hay and, in some cases, stranger plantlife used to catch arrows. A few sand-covered squares fenced in as training yards are at the archery lanes' back, pells and more martial targets much-abused.