You are walking slowly thru a tunnel dimly lit.
There is soft twilight coming from the cavemouth ahead.
You step out into a land where it seems the times between the times.
Dawn or dusk you cannot say, for you have no bearings in this place.

You follow the path out of the cave and down into a hamlet below.
The tiny village is filled with sad and weeping figures.  
You ask their woes and wish to help but their tongues speak 
languages you recognize but know not.  Chinese, Arabic, Hindi, Pahlavi.
 
You come across a sad man in a kilt who seems to speak a sort of English.
When asked what's wrong he replies, "Ah friend, we ha' no myoosick to ease
the passin' o' the years.  The queen says we canna leave this land and 
that a mortal only can help."

You knew there was something faery tale-ish about this place.
Now it seems you've landed the part of hope and salvation of the people
because once the Scot says these words to you he smiles and takes in 
the fact that you were born within the surly bonds of Earth.  

The people hail you and implore you to help them.  They point you 
with all haste to the castle upon the hill.  
And you set off thither.