A sigh of relief -- the chain mail curtains at the portal were raised this time, giving access to the crimson-carpeted antechamber. The duo pressed onward through the low light, the smell of oils and burnt grain wafting about, when they found themselves in the Main Vault before the shrine.
They reverently settled to the ground as images and sound came to manifest before them:
• Animated spinning rings spitting out a clickety-clack tattoo of hi-hat and clav.
• The crackle of fiery aurorae in static air above blistering sands and ice-caked altars -- elementals simultaneous.
• A recitation of quests of yore, replete with beasts, villains, sorcery and... victory.
Victory is the inspiration the duo take with themselves.
Leaving the shrine and portal, they look back over their shoulders -- there, like Petra, the stony face of Iperborea yawns with silent benediction.
Ahead, the sun, the asphalt, and the satellites of Plymouth.