There appeared a few ways to escape this recreational detention: 

Bathing in the fabled waters of yet, another realm.
Death.
Bargaining further with Birbin.

The gnome promised all with ears to hear, the Green Man. In the Hall. None of these fleeting thoughts, which sporadically etched into the forefront of her attention, pledged a dawn to herald a new venue, with potential further comrades to aid the cause of light. As the gems were discarded into the engulfing darkness, the incantation, for the fortification by discus, ironically prefigured the eclipse of the night. 	

[color=ec008c]“The remains of those vessels now litter the shores of this abode. The morning light will prove the occupancy of those phenomenal tenants. My bones will also withdraw shortly, but, please, venture ahead and retire in your cradles.”[/color]

Immediately, a floating circle of force, whose namesake attributed to Tenser himself, materialized before the door, hindering any meddling from the domain outside. The warlock, once all departed to their rooms, investigated further the bar, scouring only mead and ale, but nothing of particular value. After collecting all the glass perishables, Wick, then, strewed bottles before each door and window, hoping that if an invasion transpired, a ruckus would beckon arms to meet the intruder. 

Once satisfied with the array of spirits abutting every possible portal into the [i]Mystical Martin[/i], the reincarnated cleric took to cot, eventually dreaming of parchment and ink, a requiem of dreams long past, swindled by the nightmare that rages beyond Turyn.