The Netherworld was a realm devoid of sunlight, where the sky was perpetually shrouded in a deep, foreboding haze. The air was heavy with the scent of decay and death, and the ground was dry and cracked, as if the very earth itself was suffering from a eternal drought.
Eryndor, fresh from a good night's sleep, gazed out the window of his motel room, scowling at the bleak landscape. "What a stupid world with no sun," he muttered to himself. "It's like the whole place is just one big, dark cave. I mean, what's the point of even having a world if there's no sun to light it up? It's just a big, depressing pit."
He shook his head, deciding that he had had enough of the motel's comforts. It was time to venture out and gather some information about this strange world. Eryndor made his way downstairs, where he encountered the manager, Lyrien, and Fianna.
Fianna, still looking a bit embarrassed from their previous encounter, bowed low to greet Eryndor. "Good morning, sir," she said, her eyes widening as she took in Eryndor's new attire. He looked like a completely different person from the beggar she had met the day before.
Manager Lyrien, a dark elf with piercing green eyes, smiled warmly at Eryndor. "Ah, good morning, young man. I see you're looking quite dashing today. What can I do for you?"
Eryndor asked if there were any intelligence brokers in the area. Lyrien nodded, suggesting a company called "The Shadowed Quill", a reputable guild of informants that specialized in gathering and selling sensitive information.
"They're a bit pricey, but they're the best in the business," Lyrien said. "Just be careful what you ask for, and be prepared to pay top dollar for it."
Eryndor thanked Lyrien and set out into the dreary morning, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of The Shadowed Quill. As he walked, he did notice a hooded figure following behind him.
The hooded figure, Krog, was having a miserable day. He had been chased by guards, attacked by ferocious beasts, and was generally having a run of bad luck. He pleaded with the gods, wondering what he had done to deserve such misfortune. "Why must you trouble me, God Zorvath?" he muttered to himself. "What have I done to deserve your bad luck?"
Unbeknownst to Krog, his bad luck was not the result of any divine intervention, but rather the presence of Eryndor.
Eryndor eventually found The Shadowed Quill, a plain-looking building with a black curtain covering the entrance. A gatekeeper blocked his path, demanding to see his money before allowing him to enter. Eryndor opened his purse, revealing a hundred gold coins, and the gatekeeper nodded, stepping aside to let him pass.
As Eryndor entered the store, he saw a shadowy figure standing behind a black curtain. A voice, neither male nor female, spoke from the shadows. "What information are you seeking, traveler?"
Eryndor replied, "I want to know the general information about this world and the different species that have inhabited this world. I'm looking for a broad overview, not anything too specific."
The shadowy figure nodded, seeming to consider Eryndor's question. "You're not from around here, are you?" it said. "If you were from the Netherworld, you would have asked more specific questions. This world is vast, after all."
The figure named a price of 50 gold coins for the information, and Eryndor agreed, tossing the purse at the shadow. "This is twice the amount," the figure said, surprised.
Eryndor smiled wryly. "50 gold coins is for the information, and 50 is for keeping your mouth shut and not revealing any information about me."
The broker handed Eryndor a book containing the information of this world and the varieties of species living here.
Eryndor's eyes widened as he realized the true nature of his situation. He had traveled from one world to another, but not just any world. He had crossed into the Netherworld, a realm of darkness and shadow, a land of the dead. The implications were staggering. He had been brought here through a divine teleportation spell, one that had bridged the gap between the living world and the Netherworld.
But how? And why? Eryndor's mind reeled with questions. Which genius could have created such a spell? And how would he be able to return to the living world?
Meanwhile on the red star, Lich Xandros felt a sudden chill run down his spine. He looked around, but there was nothing to see. Just the cold, dark walls of his prison.
"Ah, master, what's wrong?" asked Steve, the head with no body, floating in mid-air. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Or perhaps it's just the fact that you're an undead skeleton in a fancy robe, stuck in a prison with no chance of escape?"
Xandros glared at Steve, his eyes glowing with malevolent energy. "Silence, Steve. I have felt a malevolent presence."
Steve chuckled, his voice echoing off the walls of the prison. "Oh, come on, master. You're not going to start getting all spooky on me, are you? I mean, I know you're a lich and all, but you're not exactly the most... emotionally stable person in the world. Maybe you're just feeling a little claustrophobic from being stuck in this tiny cell for so long."