"There's another knot for you to deal with in the next room. It's a creepy one too."

"What kind of creepy?"

"Burnt bone smell, gray fog so thick you can't see more than five feet ahead -"

"So that's the Necromancy room, with a Necromancy thread to be fixed. Anyone got a spell for that?"

"Nope, okay, ask your Yeoman to come back with as many books as they can carry and dump 'em next to Ivaebhin. We'll try the other route."

"Next room is Conjuration, going by the books. Not sure what clockwork toys have to do with it."

Goodberry. Strange to be casting it on a magical knot floating in space instead of a sprig of mistletoe, but it seems to work. 

The Enchantment room is lined by mirrors -

"Sleep." His face is still buried in a book, this one on Thayan life-draining rituals. 

And then the room after is one of Illusion, spectral elves emerging from the walls to drift across the space in a ghostly dance while another ancient elf with atrophied and translucent flesh stands motionless in the center, as though lost in thought or befuddled by the figments. 

Scarloc resolves the thread in that room with their own innate Invisibility.

"This must be an image of the lorenorn!"

"Why does he look halfway to a skeleton?"

"It's complicated."

"Is this sort of Illusion supposed to be... tactile?" Fala asks. She withdraws her poking finger like it's been burnt. 

"Illusions are not reality, the map is not the territory, no, but that is not to diminish the effect that they can have on that which they represent. When soldiers march it is the lines on the map that dictate their movements as much as the reality of the terrain, and though territory is an abstract concept without physical grounding it is ignored at one's peril," the figure speaks.

And then he vanishes, not with the abrupt absence of an Illusion ending or an Invisibility starting but with the faint pop of a teleportation.

"...I swear by all the Seldarine, if that was one of the last surviving lorenorns and you poked him -"

"You said he was an illusion!"

"He didn't seem insulted by it. Let's continue, if we see him again we can warn him about the doppelganger mages."

Transmutation: Prestidigitation. 

"Cantrips work, just need to resist the pull to use a levelled spell."

The floor here feels like putty underfoot.

Divination: True Strike.

This one of the octagonal chambers is lined with viewpoints, projecting the sights of dragons soaring and storms roiling. 

Evocation: Booming Blade.

Just when Ivaebhin is thinking he's getting a good grade in showing off his spell coverage to the lorenorn, the scorched room shakes underfoot, the whole complex reconfiguring. 

As the party variously shouts, dives for cover, or goes to the doorways, the tumult subsides again. Where there once was a wall, an extradimensional space has opened up, like the mouth of an open Bag of Holding. 

Inside is a comfortably appointed living space where the lorenorn awaits. He beckons the party to enter.