Ward returns the .45 to his vest's built-in shoulder holster. The acrid smell of burnt gunpowder lingers in the air, but it is not strong enough to overpower the stench of vileness that lies beneath Darsheath's foundations. He turns to his new companions, Julian and Valenta...and an obviously "Other-worldly" wolf who had recently joined the company, to ascertain their safety. He was relieved to discover them in the library where he now joined them.

The pompous butler was babeling on about his knowledge of this fortress of festering while everyone else was concerned with their next move and their safety. Ward's brain itched. It was the thing in the deepest room of this place. He knew it...but could not get there to use the artifacts in his valise to send it back to Tholhivez from which it had stretched it's mucus-covered tentacles. He had the seals and the plates, if this house also contained the wood-henge text of the Umberlexicon he could gate this hellish abomination back to it's brethern.

Ward squeezed his way through the crowd at the door. Julian and company followed. As he encountered others, he asked each one if they could take him to the lowest depths of Drakesheath. Eventually, he was answered and taken by the arm through another doorway several others followed, but Ward was far to busy preparing the tools of his trade to do mystic combat with the eldritch beast in the basement.