The group moves forward, the sound of massive, grinding stone becoming louder and louder as they traverse the long, dark corridor. With the necrotic power leeched from the runes on the floor the corpses remain inanimate and as you walk each of you sees a member of your own race shackled to the wall, serving to remind you of your possible fate. Soon the party reach the end of the hall, where there stands a massive gate.

The gate is made of sturdy wrought iron forged to resemble heavy vines bearing inch long, razor sharp thorns. Nestled in the iron vines are the bleached skulls of creatures as varied as those hanging from the walls behind you, apparently absorbed by the iron gate. Upon the thorns you can see blood stains and the occasional piece of dessicated flesh but nothing too recent. A small lever rests on the wall to the party's left, near Gorthunk and is apparently the opening mechanism to the oddly intriguing gate.

The vines are too thick for you to gain a view of the room beyond, though from the noise you can certainly be sure that whatever is making that noise is on the other side of the gate.

As you examine the gate a sudden noise from above you alerts you to a presence and when you look up you see another rusted grate with the large, piss colored eyes of the Storm Shaman gazing down on you. "The passage of thorns tsk tsk... Claws can tear through thorns or pull lever and let them open, pull lever and let Standard know you come. Yes yes Lord, your Claws must choose roads.." he says, smiling his needle-toothed smile at the party. As you listen to the words of the strange creature you can't help but wonder if all those 'failures' behind you had to bear such a commentary.