As he reached the end of the winding cobble road of King and Wallace, Kalan decided to briefly observe the ancient oak known to most as Granny. Granny's twisted arms stretched towards the sky, as if they yearned to escape the torturous reality that was the Blight. Like spots on a man's arm, the ethereal lights of wisps emanated from her bark almost making her seem even more alive. Few living leaves were left on her branches. Was it a sign of the dark times we live in? Or was it simply a sign of her age? Either way it's implications were grave indeed. 

He looked down at the nest of Granny's gnarly roots in front of him and observed a warm orange glow in between them, this was indeed the famed Boggart's Hole. He felt an involuntary sigh escape him as he recalled the many tales told back at the Fortress of this place, most of them revolving around the myriad of ways Grogdar the Troll had ''disposed'' of the occasional plucky (or perhaps a better word would be retarded) Iron Brigadesman who tried to arrest someone within it's boundaries, he knew he couldn't be that stupid and composed himself. 

After taking a couple of deep breaths, attempting to dull his emotions once more, he put up his hood and entered the winding tunnels leading up to the Boggart's Hole. ''I need to be careful,'' Kalan thought to himself as he descended the rotting tunnels, passing by many fae who clearly had not paced themselves well. He wasn't exactly the most unforgettable person, a muscular Grey Elf with ''all too human'' blue eyes was quite unique even among the fae and considering the fact there were many who would wish to ''have a word'' with him despite his change of heart it was perhaps best, in Kalan's opinion, to obscure his features some what. 

Kalan arrived in the main bar and felt almost like he was back in the Mess Halls of the Fortress, it was a chaos in there as more fae than he had ever seen in one room congregated to revel, Auntie and her pixies trying to keep the crazed party goers under control. Without the watchful eyes of man, the fae were free to act and do as they wished, it was like they had become a whole new set of people. This was a special place. It felt like home. 

However as he stood there taking it all in, he felt a bit disoriented. A light ringing appeared in his ears drowning out the sounds of singing and an aura appeared within his vision distorting the appearance of the bar, it was as if the straight lines of the world lost their rigidity. Kalan began to feel the calm he had achieved outside breaking and emotions flooding uncontrollably to the surface. He forced himself to focus exerting some effort, returning the world to the state it should be and his mind reestablished a tenuous calm, and then remembered the lessons of his mother long ago: 

[i] ''There was a price to be paid for the Ritual as we willing chose to become like Iron. Magic became anathema to us and we lost any sign of our Glamer, our very biology having morphed because of the ritual. And in it's presence we deteriorate, our minds weaken, our souls groan and our bodies sag. In other words...we are helpless. In some ways your half blood spares you, you do not suffer like us. But nevertheless you too remain bound by the Ritual,''[/i]. 

As he withdrew from his mind, he realized just how dangerous this place was for him to operate due to the high amounts of Pixie Glamer. ''Perhaps that's why the Prince chose this place,'' he thought to himself as he took a seat at an abandoned bench, ensuring it gave him the best strategic position. And while it was difficult for him to concentrate, he tried his best to he access his situation in the way his Mother would have taught him as he waited for Donovan to arrive.