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Adventures in Eberron> Chapter 32 posted 08-08-05>
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<blockquote data-quote="skullsmurfer" data-source="post: 2417345" data-attributes="member: 17151"><p><strong>Aftermath, Chapter 18</strong></p><p></p><p>“You are three times an idiot!” the war-forged scolded. “I can't believe you did something so stupid!” Paragon 153 to 4 cursed and kicked the crate in front of him until it fell apart. “I couldn't protect you. Do you know how that feels!?”</p><p></p><p> “He was rifling through my head,” Theodyl tried to explain for the hundredth time. “I couldn't stop him, so I tried to take him with me.”</p><p></p><p> “Do you realize how crazy that sounds?!” Paragon ranted. “Look at yourself, I barely recognize you anymore! You look like a ghost!”</p><p></p><p> “I gambled and I lost,” Theodyl grumbled. “You have your standards, I have mine. Do I harp about you training guerrillas and picking fights with things that can kill you with a twitch? How many times have you been to the arena? Dol Dorn guides your steps, Olladra does the same for me.” Paragon glared at him, Theodyl decided to try a little honesty. “I am sorry to try your patience. You are my brother, please let us have peace.”</p><p></p><p> “You are an idiot. I am going to pick-up some things, Javelin will be outside. He's got permission to knock you unconscious if you do anything other than drink beer and talk to your cup. He killed that juggernaut barehanded, please don't try his patience.”</p><p></p><p> “I am sorry about your score!” Theodyl called at his best-friends back. The door shut and he was left alone.</p><p></p><p> The mirror isn't going anywhere. Theodyl stared at his reflection for over an hour, he is too lazy to move. Kicking the mirror over would take the same amount of energy. His eyes are many shades lighter, glassy olive, like those of a cat. It doesn't look right. The color is gone from his hair. That looks many times worse. He feels broken inside, as if something is missing. Theodyl can't stop thinking about what he could possibly be missing.</p><p></p><p> “Are you guarding me too?” He asked the dwarven spirit. “I see you looking at me. I am not senseless.”</p><p></p><p> “Ye usually don't see me at all.” The dwarf complained. “The shell-head told ye to rest.”</p><p></p><p> “Don't you like your new Beer Stein?” </p><p></p><p> “It's very nice. The diamonds are a fine touch.” The dwarf admitted. Only his voice carried emotion. “I used to collect beer steins before I died. I miss them.” The dwarf's face is hidden beneath a helmet, beard and mustache. He is wearing a round buckler on his left arm and holding an exotic urgosh on the other. It is a wicked looking weapon. The spiked gauntlets match his spiked boots and shin guards. An iron skirt ends just bellow his knees. The dwarf looks unassailable, noble and dangerous at the same time. He is a dwarf from a different age girded in armor of Black Iron.</p><p></p><p> “Quit staring at me, damn it!” the dwarven spirit growled.</p><p></p><p> “I just trying to get to know you.” The bard teased. He reached for a dwarven box-horn from a shelf next to his bed. It is made of rich, dark brightly polished hard-wood. The instrument produces deep bass notes, a resonator built into the box enhances the sounds further. Dwarves play them as one would recite poetry. It is a spiritual experience to hear the dwarven priests play them in the towering underground cathedrals within the Mror Holds. Theodyl knows only three compositions that he can play comfortably. The Path of the Morning, written by a long dead priest, is the shortest one.</p><p></p><p> “My mother named me Roarynn Morgani Vair, Ser Dwarf. I died to keep this name. Allow me to entertain you.” </p><p></p><p> The composition is paced. A lone priest stands vigilant deep within a mountain hold. The notes rise and fall slowly as a beam of light travels over a solar calendar carved onto the living stone of a temple. Theodyl taps a hard-wood stick against the side of the box to imitate the droplets of condensation falling from a cold stone ceiling. At the same time he deftly turns the polished air valves to adjust the resonating bass. The notes are serene, insightful, and moving. The notes move slowly with the ray of light around the hard unyielding floor. The priest taps a bell with every hour that passes, Theodyl rings a chime. With every chime he turns down the bass. The light fades, the bass dies away and only the droplets of water remain. It took over an hour. Theodyl's cheeks are burning and his ribs ache. It was designed for dwarven lungs. </p><p></p><p> The dwarven spirit lay his hand across his beard. It looked at the floor and then at the wall. It shifted and tapped it's weapon against a heavy shoulder pad. The spirit took off his thick Black Iron helm and scratched a bald spot. He misses the halls of his people.</p><p></p><p> “Ongred Narduur Ironshanks, of the Iron Eaves in Noldrunhold, pleased to meet you.” The dwarf donned his helm and faded away.</p><p></p><p> The polished mithril beer stein glimmered as the dwarven spirit took residence. It is decorated with a complex maze of classical dwarven scroll work leading to a large water opal set into the metal. A ring of large blue diamonds adorn the base. Their shade matches the blue from the water opal. The rim is accented by tiny white diamonds. The cap is etched with dwarven symbols for fortune and prosperity. It opens and closes smartly, with help from a spring loaded thumb lever. It is ostentatious, rich enough to be fit for a king. The jeweler had a commission with Theodyl to be paid in trade. The half-elf had his heart set on an emerald ring to match his eyes. The grumbling and moaning of a dwarven spirit crying for a beer stein changed his mind. He sent a letter with Paragon to Hercsztone's Treasury in the marble paved streets of the High Quarter. Paragon spent a little extra, just to irritate the half-elf.</p><p></p><p> The jeweler had needed help with his marriage. Theodyl had been entertaining a small wedding party months back, when a fight broke out. Some men from the groom's party were feuding over a business transaction. Theodyl wove a calming effect into his song to promote more singing and drinking. Master Hercsztone's wife had stopped nagging him at the very same time. The jeweler, an experienced Magewright, recognized the magical trick. The half-elf's solution was Birdsong. It is a whistle carved from a banshee's thigh bone with three holes for three different notes. Whenever Master Hercsztone plays it, his wife remembers that they are in love and stops nagging him, for a while. It is just a Calm Emotions spell, but the jeweler acts like he's got an artifact in his hands. </p><p></p><p> The whistle was in fact, his fourth most successful attempt at magical item design and enchantment. The only thing that irks him about it, is that if it is played for too long the whistle grows progressively cooler. Even the air blowing through it feels cold. His first creation was the Ring of Indifference. It stops functioning for a month after he uses it. While active, no one is shocked or surprised by anything he does. It is an absolute life saver when he is trying to impersonate somebody or when he is picking a King's pocket in front of his generals. Sadly, once a month for 5 minutes is not enough fun.</p><p> </p><p> Theodyl's second magical project was a Purge Stone. It is an aquamarine stone that when held in one's mouth removes the effects of poison and intoxication. The enchantment was successful, but half the time it also causes vomiting, diarrhea, profuse sweating and a runny nose; all at once. Success number three was a Wand of Steam. Paragon was looking for a way to stay clean without having to go to a body shop as often. The shiny brass pipe projects blasts of cleansing steam. Unfortunately, sometimes the pressure is a little high and the wand flies out of one's hand.</p><p></p><p> Theodyl sighed as his thoughts returned once more to his predicament. He can't sleep and he is bone weary. Maybe he should read. To his right is a lap desk with a mess of scrolls, forgery tools and magical formulae. To his right his master's appointment calendar and traveling spell book lie in several pieces. A set of round brass plates were hidden within their bindings. It is an astrological tool, the plates fit together and the symbols engraved on their surfaces match up to decode star signs. All of Stargazer's codes and cyphers are based on astrology. It is the key to a spell-shard, a sort of Master Spell Book imprinted on a dragonshard. Apart from a key to a House Kundarak Deposit Vault, it is the only thing his master ceded to him upon death.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="skullsmurfer, post: 2417345, member: 17151"] [b]Aftermath, Chapter 18[/b] “You are three times an idiot!” the war-forged scolded. “I can't believe you did something so stupid!” Paragon 153 to 4 cursed and kicked the crate in front of him until it fell apart. “I couldn't protect you. Do you know how that feels!?” “He was rifling through my head,” Theodyl tried to explain for the hundredth time. “I couldn't stop him, so I tried to take him with me.” “Do you realize how crazy that sounds?!” Paragon ranted. “Look at yourself, I barely recognize you anymore! You look like a ghost!” “I gambled and I lost,” Theodyl grumbled. “You have your standards, I have mine. Do I harp about you training guerrillas and picking fights with things that can kill you with a twitch? How many times have you been to the arena? Dol Dorn guides your steps, Olladra does the same for me.” Paragon glared at him, Theodyl decided to try a little honesty. “I am sorry to try your patience. You are my brother, please let us have peace.” “You are an idiot. I am going to pick-up some things, Javelin will be outside. He's got permission to knock you unconscious if you do anything other than drink beer and talk to your cup. He killed that juggernaut barehanded, please don't try his patience.” “I am sorry about your score!” Theodyl called at his best-friends back. The door shut and he was left alone. The mirror isn't going anywhere. Theodyl stared at his reflection for over an hour, he is too lazy to move. Kicking the mirror over would take the same amount of energy. His eyes are many shades lighter, glassy olive, like those of a cat. It doesn't look right. The color is gone from his hair. That looks many times worse. He feels broken inside, as if something is missing. Theodyl can't stop thinking about what he could possibly be missing. “Are you guarding me too?” He asked the dwarven spirit. “I see you looking at me. I am not senseless.” “Ye usually don't see me at all.” The dwarf complained. “The shell-head told ye to rest.” “Don't you like your new Beer Stein?” “It's very nice. The diamonds are a fine touch.” The dwarf admitted. Only his voice carried emotion. “I used to collect beer steins before I died. I miss them.” The dwarf's face is hidden beneath a helmet, beard and mustache. He is wearing a round buckler on his left arm and holding an exotic urgosh on the other. It is a wicked looking weapon. The spiked gauntlets match his spiked boots and shin guards. An iron skirt ends just bellow his knees. The dwarf looks unassailable, noble and dangerous at the same time. He is a dwarf from a different age girded in armor of Black Iron. “Quit staring at me, damn it!” the dwarven spirit growled. “I just trying to get to know you.” The bard teased. He reached for a dwarven box-horn from a shelf next to his bed. It is made of rich, dark brightly polished hard-wood. The instrument produces deep bass notes, a resonator built into the box enhances the sounds further. Dwarves play them as one would recite poetry. It is a spiritual experience to hear the dwarven priests play them in the towering underground cathedrals within the Mror Holds. Theodyl knows only three compositions that he can play comfortably. The Path of the Morning, written by a long dead priest, is the shortest one. “My mother named me Roarynn Morgani Vair, Ser Dwarf. I died to keep this name. Allow me to entertain you.” The composition is paced. A lone priest stands vigilant deep within a mountain hold. The notes rise and fall slowly as a beam of light travels over a solar calendar carved onto the living stone of a temple. Theodyl taps a hard-wood stick against the side of the box to imitate the droplets of condensation falling from a cold stone ceiling. At the same time he deftly turns the polished air valves to adjust the resonating bass. The notes are serene, insightful, and moving. The notes move slowly with the ray of light around the hard unyielding floor. The priest taps a bell with every hour that passes, Theodyl rings a chime. With every chime he turns down the bass. The light fades, the bass dies away and only the droplets of water remain. It took over an hour. Theodyl's cheeks are burning and his ribs ache. It was designed for dwarven lungs. The dwarven spirit lay his hand across his beard. It looked at the floor and then at the wall. It shifted and tapped it's weapon against a heavy shoulder pad. The spirit took off his thick Black Iron helm and scratched a bald spot. He misses the halls of his people. “Ongred Narduur Ironshanks, of the Iron Eaves in Noldrunhold, pleased to meet you.” The dwarf donned his helm and faded away. The polished mithril beer stein glimmered as the dwarven spirit took residence. It is decorated with a complex maze of classical dwarven scroll work leading to a large water opal set into the metal. A ring of large blue diamonds adorn the base. Their shade matches the blue from the water opal. The rim is accented by tiny white diamonds. The cap is etched with dwarven symbols for fortune and prosperity. It opens and closes smartly, with help from a spring loaded thumb lever. It is ostentatious, rich enough to be fit for a king. The jeweler had a commission with Theodyl to be paid in trade. The half-elf had his heart set on an emerald ring to match his eyes. The grumbling and moaning of a dwarven spirit crying for a beer stein changed his mind. He sent a letter with Paragon to Hercsztone's Treasury in the marble paved streets of the High Quarter. Paragon spent a little extra, just to irritate the half-elf. The jeweler had needed help with his marriage. Theodyl had been entertaining a small wedding party months back, when a fight broke out. Some men from the groom's party were feuding over a business transaction. Theodyl wove a calming effect into his song to promote more singing and drinking. Master Hercsztone's wife had stopped nagging him at the very same time. The jeweler, an experienced Magewright, recognized the magical trick. The half-elf's solution was Birdsong. It is a whistle carved from a banshee's thigh bone with three holes for three different notes. Whenever Master Hercsztone plays it, his wife remembers that they are in love and stops nagging him, for a while. It is just a Calm Emotions spell, but the jeweler acts like he's got an artifact in his hands. The whistle was in fact, his fourth most successful attempt at magical item design and enchantment. The only thing that irks him about it, is that if it is played for too long the whistle grows progressively cooler. Even the air blowing through it feels cold. His first creation was the Ring of Indifference. It stops functioning for a month after he uses it. While active, no one is shocked or surprised by anything he does. It is an absolute life saver when he is trying to impersonate somebody or when he is picking a King's pocket in front of his generals. Sadly, once a month for 5 minutes is not enough fun. Theodyl's second magical project was a Purge Stone. It is an aquamarine stone that when held in one's mouth removes the effects of poison and intoxication. The enchantment was successful, but half the time it also causes vomiting, diarrhea, profuse sweating and a runny nose; all at once. Success number three was a Wand of Steam. Paragon was looking for a way to stay clean without having to go to a body shop as often. The shiny brass pipe projects blasts of cleansing steam. Unfortunately, sometimes the pressure is a little high and the wand flies out of one's hand. Theodyl sighed as his thoughts returned once more to his predicament. He can't sleep and he is bone weary. Maybe he should read. To his right is a lap desk with a mess of scrolls, forgery tools and magical formulae. To his right his master's appointment calendar and traveling spell book lie in several pieces. A set of round brass plates were hidden within their bindings. It is an astrological tool, the plates fit together and the symbols engraved on their surfaces match up to decode star signs. All of Stargazer's codes and cyphers are based on astrology. It is the key to a spell-shard, a sort of Master Spell Book imprinted on a dragonshard. Apart from a key to a House Kundarak Deposit Vault, it is the only thing his master ceded to him upon death. [/QUOTE]
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