Later that night....

With a final exertion of will Zackar closed the infernal portal. The imp had fled, a problem for another day. The circle spoke of an unusual connection between the goblins and Tiamat, one that merited further study. As the sounds of conflict faded around him Zackar examined the altar and planestone. The divine energies flowed from the altar and interacted with the runes carved on the surface of the stone. Removing the stone would solve one problem, Durin and his hammer, the other. As the thrill of battle wore off, the weight of his exhaustion took its place and he sank to the ground beside the defiled altar. He observed his new... companions, he supposed. Miramar seemed to glide around the room as he slit the throats of any goblins still breathing and collected their valuables as well as his what seemed like hundreds of shuriken. An unusual fellow this dashing halfling, certainly a dark sort but he seemed to have a closer connection to the force which guided them here, though that connection seemed to confuse him at times as if his will wasn't completely his own. A disturbing prospect. Gaav was a simple enough figure, he thoughtlessly toyed with infernal powers and cared little for his own safety but he was powerful and greater threats existed than the ones he was allied to. He felt a certain kinship to Valaris, both were outsiders from the fey norm but Valaris had integrated well with the others, especially Durin, whose typical dwarven nature grated Zackar somewhat. There was no denying his strong faith however and the favour Moradin granted him. As the party left the goblin caves and made camp for the first time in days, Zackar's thoughts lingered on Durin's connection to his god and Zackar's somewhat tenuous commitment to Corellon, for the first time he doubted if he served Corellon as He would have chosen. As he prepared to enter his trance Zackar thought again of the burden of his Black orb and it's place in his destiny. As his mind began to drift in it's meditations, the terrors which plagued his dreams seem to come alive. He was trapped in a terrible dark forest while high above his Black orb shed a baleful light, an unholy moon. The sounds around him grew louder an more hostile, monsters lurking just outside his vision. But here and there a quiet tinkling laughter woud break through for just a moment and then go silent. The horror of the moment broken, Zackar tried to focus on the tiny voices he could barely make out. Suddenly a gentle wind stirred carrying the rich scents of the feywild. Faster and faster the wind blew circling him and driving away the nightmare. Soon Zackar was enveloped in what seemed a storm of the Fey, his orb above was swept up in the tempest and began to whirl about in the sky spinning faster and faster. As it spun it stretched like a spindle growing longer and thinner. The storm raged and the magical implement hung before him, as long and slim as an arrow. Zackar reached for it and a deafening explosion buffeted him and he was thrown from his trance. Zackar blinked his eyes and looked around, he was across the camp from his bedroll, wisps of mist clung too him as they did when he stepped through the Fey. Strewn across his lap were shards and chips of black crystal and a slender white wand as long as his forearm and etched with tiny runes.