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Sagiro's Story Hour Returns (new thread started on 5/18/08)
- Thread starter Sagiro
- Start date
Jackylhunter
First Post
Woot!! an update and a Sep reference, all wrapped in one. Great stuff Sagiro!! 
Last edited:
Sagiro
Rodent of Uncertain Parentage
>> Warning! This update is all talk and no action. Furthermore, it’s not even plot-advancing talk. It’s just some fun banter, with one or two interesting bits. If you’re reading this Story Hour episode hoping for some juicy plot, you’ll have to wait for the next write-up. Sorry!
Sagiro’s Story Hour, Part 213
Chiswick and Medina
Aravis, Grey Wolf and Kibi stand in the hallway outside room number twenty-three. Aravis knocks three times.
“Eh? What’s that? Hello? Hello?”
It’s the creaky voice of an old man.
“Chiswick?” calls Kibi.
“That’s me! Yes, come in, come in!”
The three wizards enter a small, cluttered room. Shelves on the walls are stacked with papers, bottles and quills. The bed is rumpled and clothes spill out of a tiny closet. A small man is sitting at a cramped desk, drawing.
“How do you do,” says Kibi, bowing as the man cranes his neck to look at them. “We’re travelers just arrived here. We’re mages.”
“Mazes? What?”
“Mages!”
“Oh, mages! Sorry! It’s just that my mind was on…”
He holds up his drawing and shows it to them. It’s a maze, a swirling complex design with a clearly marked ‘in’ and ‘out.’
“What do you think?” he asks, beaming. “Keeps the brain sharp!”
Kibi gets right to the point, as usual.
“We have some spells we’ve written down in our books in our travels, and we’d be interested in sharing or swapping. And we hear you might have some components and ink for sale, which we’d like to buy.”
“Mmmm,” says Chiswick, thinking. “I’ve got some of that. Ink. Hm. Ink ink ink ink ink ink ink. Hm.” He starts poking around in some of the piles of clutter, doesn’t find any ink, reaches for a large trunk on the floor, then stops. He looks at the three other wizards.
“So, how powerful are you? And you, and you?”
They’re all a bit taken aback at the question. Kibi answers first.
“Well, I can cast teleport,” says the dwarf.
“Ooooooh, fairly well along then,” smiles Chiswick, nodding. “And you, and you?”
“I can’t teleport yet, but I can cast acid orb,” says Grey Wolf.
“Do you know of a spell called true seeing,” asks Aravis.
Chiswick nods again, and answers, “Of course! You cast that on your own, with those weird peepers?”
“No, I still need to cast it the normal way,” answers Aravis.
“Hm,” says Chiswick, starting intently at Aravis’s eyes. “Quite a magic item you’ve got there… or else that’s one heck of an illusion.”
“It’s no illusion,” Aravis assures him.
“It’s kind of a maze in his head,” says Grey Wolf.
“A maze in your head!” exclaims Chiswick. “Wonderful! So, one eye’s the ‘in’ and one eye’s the ‘out?’”
“If only it were that easy,” Grey Wolf sighs.
“Mind if I look at it?” asks Chiswick.
Aravis nods cautiously, not sure what the old wizard means. Chiswick steps over to his trunk, puts his hand on the lid, concentrates, and opens it up. After some rummaging about inside he produces a shiny glass monocle and holds it up to his eye. He peers at Aravis.
“Hmmmm. Mmmmmm! Hm! Hmmmhmmmmm. Ah!”
“What do you see?” asks Aravis, curious.
“Layers upon layers. You’ve got an entire multiverse in there! Probably dangerous to go visit. Say, can you access the Slices with that thing?”
“No,” admits Aravis. “I injured myself while using it to seal a rift between our world and another, and I haven’t been able to access it since.”
“Ah well. That’s life. What else can I do for you?”
“Can we give you money for inks or spells?” asks Grey Wolf.
“Money? What would I possibly do with money?”
“Er… well, what of value could we give you?” asks Aravis.
“Oh, you know,” says Chiswick. “Knowledge. Secrets. Spells. Information. The usual stock-in-trade. Your Maze, for instance. You could tell me about that! Let me get my pen!”
So Aravis does. He shares with the old wizard everything he knows about the Crosser’s Maze and how it works, only holding back details about the previous Keepers who still live inside, wanting to preserve their privacy. Chiswick wields a mean quill for such an old guy, and soon has filled up many sheets of parchment with notes.
“Where do you think I could get another one?” Chiswick asks abruptly.
“I think mine is the only one,” says Aravis.
Chiswick lets out a big sigh. “Well, I’ll never have time to make my own. Don’t have the proper materials here. And the saddest part is, once this whole thing with the Slices is solved and I go back to my home plane, I’ll probably die of old age in about five years.”
“How old are you?” asks Grey Wolf.
“I’m ninety-one,” says Chiswick with a grin. “This time-standing-still business happened just in time!”
He turns to Kibi. “So, what do you know? Any spells? Good books? Scrolls? Tomes?”
Kibi hands over his spellbooks for Chiswick to look through.
“Hm. Mmmmm. Hm. You have a funny accent. Your spellbook, I mean. Your scripting lines. Your notation.”
“It’s because I’m a dwarf,” says Kibi.
“Well, there’s nothing here I haven’t seen before except coldfire, and that’s of no particular use to me. What about you?”
He swivels his head to look at Grey Wolf.
“It’s mostly the same as his,” Grey Wolf says, handing over his books. “We share a lot.”
“Your book’s more normal,” says Chiswick, flipping through the pages. “I like the way you write. You write like a warrior. I’ll bet you’re a swordsman. It’s the notation. The way you use terms. Nothing new, though.”
He tosses Grey Wolf’s books back. Aravis hands his own books over without even being asked.
“Hm. Ah.”
Chiswick points to a page near the middle.
“I’ll bet this is where you got that Maze thing in your head. Your whole way of writing changes, did you notice?”
“He’s very good,” mutters Aravis to the others.
“Still, nothing I haven’t seen before. Such is life. Got any other interesting items? Magical gizmos?”
“I was just given this,” says Kibi, showing Chiswick the statuette of himself.
“Looks like you,” says Chiswick.
“Yes, but I’d never seen it before!”
“It’s not magic. Who gave it to you?”
“Omar.”
“Omar. Omar. Sounds familiar. Do I know him?”
“He’s a silent-type, downstairs,” says Aravis.
“I don’t bother much with the people downstairs, unless they come up and visit me. But I like it here.” Chiswick pats the big trunk.. Then, laughing, he adds, “Don’t you get any ideas! You’d never get anything out of this trunk, even if you could open it. Which you can’t.”
“Not to worry,” says Grey Wolf. “We won’t try anything. I mean, if you’re powerful enough to see what’s in his head…”
“I couldn’t see everything, says Chiswick. “I could only tell the nature of what’s in his head. I suspect that if I could really see in there, I’d go stark raving mad! And let me tell you, if I went mad, I could kill a lot of people!”
“If you don’t mind my asking, what’s the most powerful spell you can cast?” Aravis asks Chswick.
“Are you sure you’re ready for that?”
Chiswick puts his hand on the trunk, thinks for a moment, then opens it and pulls out a slender volume.
“Now, if you open this, and your brain hurts a little bit, just close it,” he warns.
Aravis opens it. His brain does hurt slightly, but he reads a bit just the same. Like all wizards Aravis understands that most arcane magic exists at ten different valences, typically referred to as ‘levels.’ And he knows right now that he’s looking at a spell past 9th level, with no idea of what it does. Divination, maybe?
“I see,” says Aravis, snapping the book closed.
“Really? How much do you see?”
“Enough that now I doubt we’d have anything of interest to you, beyond what we’ve told you already.”
“You know what the real pisser is?” asks Chiswick. He taps the title of the book with his finger. “’Chiswick’s Master Divinatory.’ And you know what it tells me? Squat, in this stupid place!”
He chucks the book back in the trunk and closes it.
“But when I get out of here… oh, the things I’m going to know! Anyhow, I have some other books that might have things more to your liking. You’ve shown me yours, so I show you mine, as they say.”
“Anything you can tell me about this?” asks Grey Wolf, drawing Bostock and showing it to the old man.
“An intelligent sword!” exclaims Chiswick, after only a second’s glance. “It has that look about it.”
“My friends all believe that it’s evil,’ says Grey Wolf.
Chiswick takes out his glass again, and looks through it for a minute at the glowing blue sword.
“I’d say about a 37% suppression breakdown. Well, keep at it, keep at it.”
“What happens when it gets broken down completely?” asks Kibi.
“Whatever’s in there will come out!” says Chiswick happily.
“It’s getting there,” says Grey Wolf. “It started out whispering to me, but now it’s voice is louder.”
“What’s the breakdown vector?”
The three Company wizards stare blankly.
“What do you do to make it talk louder?” tries Chiswick.
“Oh, I hit things with it,” says Grey Wolf. “Evil things. It wants to kill evil things.”
“Well, that’s promising. Probably.”
“When whatever it is comes out, will it be good or evil?” asks Kibi.
“There’s no way to know until you let it out!”
Kibi abruptly changes the subject. “Do you know anything about Wild Magic?”
“No, but I’ll bet you do,” answers Chiswick. “Stands to reason. You being a dwarf and all.”
Kibi’s not sure what that has to do with anything, but says, “Where I come from, there’s only one other wizard who’s a dwarf, and he’s an Archmage.”
Chiswick rolls his eyes and goes on a mini-tirade.
“Pah! Please. Archmage. Useless title. When someone tells you they’re an Archmage, what does that mean? Nothing! It means nothing! You could call yourself one, right now, and compared to someone who doesn’t do magic…how would they know? Bah!”
Kibi tries again. “Er…since I’ve been here, I’ve felt a strange energy coursing through me, and sometimes it makes my spells stronger. Do you know why that is?”
“Are you a wild mage?” asks Chiswick.
“I don’t know,” says Kibi. “I don’t know much about wild magic either.”
“You say you feel your magic augmented here? Fascinating! You’re the first wizard I’ve talked to who’s said that, and you’re the only dwarven wizard I’ve seen. And I’ve talked to plenty of wizards; they all come to see me, once they find out I’m here. Hmmm… You feel it right now? Yes? Really? I don’t feel anything, and I’m much more powerful than you, and I’ve mastered most magical disciples. But not Wild Magic. It’s dangerous!
“Wild Magic comes the earth, you know. Most magic comes out of the air. It permeates space around us, and we manipulate it, focus it. But that’s residual. That’s the run-off. The source, it’s coming from down there.” He points downward. “From the worlds we’re on. But wizards don’t tap into it directly. They couldn’t control it. That’s why they call it “wild magic.” Right? The only people I’ve ever met who could control it were Dwarves! Do you feel it in every Slice?
“Yes, though it’s weaker in some Slices and stronger in others. It was weakest in the elemental plane of water.”
Kibi’s head is spinning from the explanation. If he’s understanding correctly, Chiswick is saying that Earth Magic and Wild Magic are just two names for the same thing. Which means the Eyes of Moirel…”
“Aaaah,” says Chiswick. “Well, that tells me a bit about the nature of the Slices, then. And that’s worth something. Here.”
He tosses some spellbooks around to the wizards.
“If you see something you like, let me know, and we’ll work something out. You might not be able to glean things right away. My accent’s eccentric.”
The first thought the Company wizards have when they look at Chiswick’s lower-level spellbooks is that they’ve been had, and that the books aren’t spellbooks at all. The notation is crazy. Grey Wolf and Kibi can’t make anything of it. Aravis realizes that while they are spells, it would take two weeks before he could even start copying them down.
“These are… very interesting,” he says. “The problem is, you have a very different way of writing magic. It would take a long time for us to translate them.”
“You in a rush? It’s not like you’re getting any older! Heh heh heh heh.”
“Do you know about a place called the rotunda?” asks Kibi.
“Well, my family owned a mansion, back home, and it had a rotunda, full of little statues. The stupid part was, they were all porcelain. Which was stupid because my father also loved parakeets, and they were always flying about and knocking over the statues, and making a mess everywhere. It made my mother furious, but my father loved his parakeets, and refused to… uh… well, I doubt that’s what you mean, is it?”
* *
According to Mercury, the cleric Medina has been at the Eye of the Storm for over six years, having long since decided to stay and be a healer and general spiritual presence at the inn. She worships a Goddess of the Heavens called Celian. Apparently she’s built a contraption for watching the stars, up on the roof. At this time of night she’s likely up there now.
Morningstar walks up the stairs with Snokas in tow, while Dranko goes outside an scales the wall for practice. He sees Medina across the roof, bent over a strange rectangular object. There is man standing by her with a drawn sword.
“Knock knock!” Dranko calls, waving. The man instinctively points his sword in the half-orc’s direction.
Dranko adds, “As it turns out, if you want actually want to attack someone who’s way over here, you need a missile weapon. Hi! We’re here to speak to Medina, if you don’t mind.”
In a low, drawling voice, then man answers, “Then why did you climb the wall?
“I’m out of practice,” explains Dranko, starting to walk over.
Morningstar has just emerged from a trap door onto the roof. The man adjusts his position slightly so he can see both of the newcomers. Medina doesn’t stir.
“Greetings,” says Morningstar, bowing.
“Ah, hello,” says the man. “Nice of you to enter the civilized way.”
“This is Morningstar, Priestess of Ell, and I am Dranko, Priest of Delioch,” says Dranko formally, as he walks to Morningstar to take her hand.
“You are two of the new group, then,” says the man, relaxing. “Mercury has spoken well of you, I hear.”
“We’re both healers,” says Dranko, “so we thought we’d introduce ourselves.”
“Medina is in meditation with the skies. Can you wait another ten minutes?”
“Sure. Who are you?” asks Dranko.
“My name is Fren. I am Medina’s bodyguard.”
“This is Snokas, Morningstar’s bodyguard.”
Snokas nods and grunts. For a moment everyone looks at Medina, still seemingly oblivious to the arrivals’ presence. Up above them the clear sky is ablaze with stars.
“We came here from a world called Motan, and our kingdom is called Bilik. We traveled through the Chaos to get here, though I remember nothing of that journey. Medina brought me through in some kind of… slumber.”
“I’m glad you made it safely,” says Dranko. “Do you like it here?”
“I like it here,” says Fren. “We’ve been here for six years, since we ventured out of the house. That was our whole slice. Three quarters of our house.”
“Good thing you weren’t in the outhouse!” exclaims Dranko.
“We often wonder what people back home, our neighbors, think has happened. Is there a great empty space where the Slice used to be? A wall? Or are the Slices merely copies, and back home everything is still the same?”
“And if it’s been copied, there are other copies of us running around,” says Dranko.
“Yes, I suppose so,” agrees Fren. “But if my copy has my judgement, and Medina’s copy has her wisdom, then I’m sure they’re doing what’s right.”
“Not running up your bar bill then? I’ll bet mine is!”
“How long were you in the house?” asks Morningstar.
“It was about three days, before we decided to venture out.”
“Is Medina a very powerful priestess in your world?”
Fren nods.
“Does she often look into little tubes sticking out of strange boxes?” asks Dranko, pointing at Medina.
“That ‘tube’ gives her an expanded look at the heavens!”
“Amazing,” says Morningstar.
“Looks like she’s looking at her feet,” comments Dranko.
“There are mirrors in the box,” explains Fren “She sees closer. She sees what’s beyond the stars, when she looks through that device. Perhaps she will let you look, though you may not see what she sees.”
“What is beyond the stars?” asks Dranko. “I’ve heard the stars themselves are diamonds, glittering in the huge embroidered fabric of space.”
Fren shakes his head. “No, no. Each star is a sun, like our sun!”
“Get out!” exclaims Dranko.
“No, it’s true! You’ve discovered different Planes of existence, yes? We think each star is another Plane. You see that red one? That could be the Plane of fire!”
Abruptly Medina looks up from her telescope. She’s human, very plain looking, and somewhere in her forties.
“I’d be honored if you’d let me look through your thingamajig,” says Dranko by way of greeting.
Morningstar clears her throat. “Let’s try that again. I am Morningstar, a priestess of the Goddess Ell.”
“I am Medina Starwatcher, priestess of Celian.”
“This is my fiancee…”
“I’m Dranko, priest of Delioch. It’s an honor and a pleasure.”
“Is Delioch a country?” asks Medina.
“No, he’s the God of Healing. The White Hand. He salves the sick and heals the injured.”
“And Ell is a Goddess of Night and Darkness,” says Morningstar.
“Ah, then we have something in common!” says Medina brightly.
Medina shows them how to use the telescope and invites them to have a look. “Perhaps you can see what’s beyond the stars,” she offers.
Dranko can see the stars up close, and faintly glowing clouds beyond them. Perhaps that’s what she means? It’s a spectacular sight, and Dranko can hardly tear himself away.
“Wow… wow,” he says.
“Beyond all of that is Celian, who spins the world around us.”
After Morningstar has also had a look, Medina folds up the telescope and sits down on the roof.
“So, you are newly arrived? I’m sorry,” she says.
“Don’t be. We came here on purpose,” says Morningstar.
“You subjected yourself to the Slices? Why?”
Morningstar looks up at the stars as she talks. “We’re here looking for a magical artifact that our world is in great need of. And if we find it, it may also free those trapped in the Slices.”
Dranko adds, “The people who created this place, this interlocking network of worlds… they used a powerful magic to turn back time and rebuild reality the way they wanted to. We came here because the source of magic that’s powering all this can also restore our world to its proper time-stream. To reset the balance in favor of good, instead of evil.”
“Good for you,” says Medina, nodding.
“We’ve heard that you came here through the Chaos,” says Morningstar.
“Not pleasant, I take it,” says Dranko.
“No, it wasn’t. Have you ever been?”
“Nope,” answers Dranko. “Been to the elemental plane of water, though!”
“Not dissimilar,” says Medina.
“And we came to the Inn through the Storms,” says Morningstar.
“Hm. It’s been a while since I looked at the map,” admits Medina. Then: “Oh! Aren’t the storms supposed to kill anyone who crosses their Slice?
“We’re special,” says Dranko.
“We talked fast and moved faster,” says Morningstar.
“I can tell you about the chaos, if you’re curious. Not for the weak of mind.”
When Morningstar and Dranko look attentive, she continues.
“You’ve been to the plane of water, so you know something of how it works. You know about subjective gravity?”
“Figured it out myself!” says Dranko.
“Well, Limbo is like that. It has subjective gravity, and it was water. It also has earth, and fire, and air, and electricity, and slime, and ooze, and lava… there’s nothing in creation it doesn’t have.”
“Slime and ooze, two different things?” says Dranko, smirking. Morningstar elbows him.
“None of it sounds pleasant,” she says. “How do you move through it?”
“Oh, bits of earth, bits of air,” says Medina. “It takes extreme concentration. You have to build yourself a way through, from one place to another. You imagine what you need, and hope it coalesces around you.”
“It sounds like Ava Dormo!” says Morningstar. She explains the Dreaming to Medina.
“What lives in the Chaos? Anything?” asks Dranko.
Medina glowers as she answers. “The Frog-men. The Slaad.”
“Slaad’s a scarier name than Frog-men,” says Dranko.
“There is supposedly a monastery, somewhere in the Chaos, but I certainly didn’t see it. I went through three portals on the way. There is something strangely localized about the Chaos Slices, similar to what goes on with the Demonic Slices, from what I gather. One area of Chaos led through a Way into another area of Chaos. There may be nexuses formed where powerful outer planar forces are at work, but I’m only guessing.
“For a long time in my life I was a famous scholar. It’s one of the avenues we can take as we ascend through the priesthood of Celian. So I know some of these things. And it’s a good thing. If I hadn’t known what to do, we both would have perished in Limbo. But I did, so we didn’t. We went through several Ways, fought off some of the… frog-men.
“The first thing you have to do when you arrive is make yourself some air, if you don’t find yourself in some already. You want to be able to breathe. You must remember the gravity, or else you can fall out of the air and into something worse. I also find it easier to create some solid ground beneath my feet, with some air above it. You can travel that way, like building a road in front of a cart. As the cart travels, you continuously lay the cobblestones on which it will roll. Because you’re no longer concentrating on what’s passed, the road will vanish behind you. And you won’t always succeed. You have to be prepared. Bits of other elements will come hurtling through, however well you’re doing. We were struck once by a fireball… not like the spell, mind, but more literally. A mass of fire-stuff. That was the worst of it. I almost lost Fren, then. I had to keep him… emptied… to prevent him from going mad. He doesn’t quite have the mental wherewithal that I do. He is… new. He could not effectively fight the frog-men. But I could.”
“What are the frog-men vulnerable to?” asks Morningstar.
“I simply cast my spells quickly, furiously, and then fled. They are creatures of Chaos, so I’d expect lawful magics to have greater effect.”
“We’re looking for an item that’s Chaos-magic-based. Well, wild-magic, I guess.”
“Is there a difference?” asks Medina.
“I don’t know.”
“I suppose it’s possible your item is in the Chaos. I understand that in the actual Plane of Limbo, there’s a bit at the center, around which everything else revolves. A little piece of pure Chaos that constantly spawns the maelstrom around it. Perhaps that piece is in one of the Chaos Slices?”
‘Isn’t Limbo infinite? Then how can it have a center?” asks Dranko.
“It has center and goes out forever from there in all directions. Thus, infinite.”
Dranko looks puzzled.
“Don’t’ think about it too hard,” says Medina, smiling. Snokas almost cracks wise about Dranko being a bit dim, but wisely holds his tongue.
“We need Aravis for this,” mutters Dranko. Then, changing the subject, he says, “We were going to offer our healing services around here, but I hear you’ve got that covered.”
“Well, I suppose so. My healing prayers aren’t in much demand except when there have been invasions, and we haven’t had one of those for over two years. Fortunately the Demons get weaker the farther away from their own Slices they go.”
“Are they actual Demons? From Hell?” asks Dranko.
“Yes, though they are from the Abyss, not Hell. Devils come from Hell.”
“Do demons have a particular look to them?” asks Morningstar.
“Their forms are many, and I don’t know them all. But, you tend to know when you’ve seen one. They’re unlike anything else.”
“Do you have any advice for us, for when we leave this place?” asks Dranko.
“That depends on what you’re going to do.”
“We may have to head out through the Gate of No Return,” says Dranko.
“Or we may need to go through the Demons,” says Morningstar.
“What? Why?” asks Dranko, looking alarmed. “There could be 8 bajillion demon slices full of 8 bajillion demons!”
“Yeah, but one of them had Kibi’s face in his pocket,” says Morningstar with a nervous laugh.
Dranko briefly explains Omar’s statuette to Medina, and then says, “To me that suggests they’re saying ‘If you see this dwarf, eat him whole!’”
“Or it suggests that one of the Demons knows something,” says Medina.
“Yeah, they know that they should eat him,” says Dranko, still not much liking the thought of going to the Demon Slices.
“Well, I don’t suggest you take the Way of No Return,” says Medina.
“We’ve heard that before,” says Dranko.
“Because we couldn’t come back here, right?” says Dranko.
“That’s one reason,” agrees Medina. “But there are others. The Eye of the Storm is a well-defended safe-haven, and it would be a pity to deny yourselves the option of falling back and regrouping here after you set out. But more to the point, it’s entirely possible that the Way of No Return goes somewhere where people simply die, instantly. There’s no way to know. It may go to various other Slices, or maybe it’s a one-way gate to an innocuous Slice. No one quite understands the full extent of the network of Slices. If it were finite, and you traveled long enough, you might eventually find your way back to something you recognize. But that has not happened to anyone, to my knowledge.”
“We appreciate your advice,” says Dranko.
At Morningstar’s request, Medina agrees to let the Company use her equipment, including lab stuff for making potions. Dranko, though, thinks of more about the telescope.
“You know, you could look through windows with this thing. From hundreds of feet away!”
Morningstar sighs.
“My telescope is for watching the heavens, not one’s neighbors,” says Medina, shaking her head. Then, to Morningstar, she says, “You’re engaged to him? Hidden depths, no doubt.”
Dranko grins, showing his tusks.
“Am I a lucky man, or what?”
…to be continued…
Sagiro’s Story Hour, Part 213
Chiswick and Medina
Aravis, Grey Wolf and Kibi stand in the hallway outside room number twenty-three. Aravis knocks three times.
“Eh? What’s that? Hello? Hello?”
It’s the creaky voice of an old man.
“Chiswick?” calls Kibi.
“That’s me! Yes, come in, come in!”
The three wizards enter a small, cluttered room. Shelves on the walls are stacked with papers, bottles and quills. The bed is rumpled and clothes spill out of a tiny closet. A small man is sitting at a cramped desk, drawing.
“How do you do,” says Kibi, bowing as the man cranes his neck to look at them. “We’re travelers just arrived here. We’re mages.”
“Mazes? What?”
“Mages!”
“Oh, mages! Sorry! It’s just that my mind was on…”
He holds up his drawing and shows it to them. It’s a maze, a swirling complex design with a clearly marked ‘in’ and ‘out.’
“What do you think?” he asks, beaming. “Keeps the brain sharp!”
Kibi gets right to the point, as usual.
“We have some spells we’ve written down in our books in our travels, and we’d be interested in sharing or swapping. And we hear you might have some components and ink for sale, which we’d like to buy.”
“Mmmm,” says Chiswick, thinking. “I’ve got some of that. Ink. Hm. Ink ink ink ink ink ink ink. Hm.” He starts poking around in some of the piles of clutter, doesn’t find any ink, reaches for a large trunk on the floor, then stops. He looks at the three other wizards.
“So, how powerful are you? And you, and you?”
They’re all a bit taken aback at the question. Kibi answers first.
“Well, I can cast teleport,” says the dwarf.
“Ooooooh, fairly well along then,” smiles Chiswick, nodding. “And you, and you?”
“I can’t teleport yet, but I can cast acid orb,” says Grey Wolf.
“Do you know of a spell called true seeing,” asks Aravis.
Chiswick nods again, and answers, “Of course! You cast that on your own, with those weird peepers?”
“No, I still need to cast it the normal way,” answers Aravis.
“Hm,” says Chiswick, starting intently at Aravis’s eyes. “Quite a magic item you’ve got there… or else that’s one heck of an illusion.”
“It’s no illusion,” Aravis assures him.
“It’s kind of a maze in his head,” says Grey Wolf.
“A maze in your head!” exclaims Chiswick. “Wonderful! So, one eye’s the ‘in’ and one eye’s the ‘out?’”
“If only it were that easy,” Grey Wolf sighs.
“Mind if I look at it?” asks Chiswick.
Aravis nods cautiously, not sure what the old wizard means. Chiswick steps over to his trunk, puts his hand on the lid, concentrates, and opens it up. After some rummaging about inside he produces a shiny glass monocle and holds it up to his eye. He peers at Aravis.
“Hmmmm. Mmmmmm! Hm! Hmmmhmmmmm. Ah!”
“What do you see?” asks Aravis, curious.
“Layers upon layers. You’ve got an entire multiverse in there! Probably dangerous to go visit. Say, can you access the Slices with that thing?”
“No,” admits Aravis. “I injured myself while using it to seal a rift between our world and another, and I haven’t been able to access it since.”
“Ah well. That’s life. What else can I do for you?”
“Can we give you money for inks or spells?” asks Grey Wolf.
“Money? What would I possibly do with money?”
“Er… well, what of value could we give you?” asks Aravis.
“Oh, you know,” says Chiswick. “Knowledge. Secrets. Spells. Information. The usual stock-in-trade. Your Maze, for instance. You could tell me about that! Let me get my pen!”
So Aravis does. He shares with the old wizard everything he knows about the Crosser’s Maze and how it works, only holding back details about the previous Keepers who still live inside, wanting to preserve their privacy. Chiswick wields a mean quill for such an old guy, and soon has filled up many sheets of parchment with notes.
“Where do you think I could get another one?” Chiswick asks abruptly.
“I think mine is the only one,” says Aravis.
Chiswick lets out a big sigh. “Well, I’ll never have time to make my own. Don’t have the proper materials here. And the saddest part is, once this whole thing with the Slices is solved and I go back to my home plane, I’ll probably die of old age in about five years.”
“How old are you?” asks Grey Wolf.
“I’m ninety-one,” says Chiswick with a grin. “This time-standing-still business happened just in time!”
He turns to Kibi. “So, what do you know? Any spells? Good books? Scrolls? Tomes?”
Kibi hands over his spellbooks for Chiswick to look through.
“Hm. Mmmmm. Hm. You have a funny accent. Your spellbook, I mean. Your scripting lines. Your notation.”
“It’s because I’m a dwarf,” says Kibi.
“Well, there’s nothing here I haven’t seen before except coldfire, and that’s of no particular use to me. What about you?”
He swivels his head to look at Grey Wolf.
“It’s mostly the same as his,” Grey Wolf says, handing over his books. “We share a lot.”
“Your book’s more normal,” says Chiswick, flipping through the pages. “I like the way you write. You write like a warrior. I’ll bet you’re a swordsman. It’s the notation. The way you use terms. Nothing new, though.”
He tosses Grey Wolf’s books back. Aravis hands his own books over without even being asked.
“Hm. Ah.”
Chiswick points to a page near the middle.
“I’ll bet this is where you got that Maze thing in your head. Your whole way of writing changes, did you notice?”
“He’s very good,” mutters Aravis to the others.
“Still, nothing I haven’t seen before. Such is life. Got any other interesting items? Magical gizmos?”
“I was just given this,” says Kibi, showing Chiswick the statuette of himself.
“Looks like you,” says Chiswick.
“Yes, but I’d never seen it before!”
“It’s not magic. Who gave it to you?”
“Omar.”
“Omar. Omar. Sounds familiar. Do I know him?”
“He’s a silent-type, downstairs,” says Aravis.
“I don’t bother much with the people downstairs, unless they come up and visit me. But I like it here.” Chiswick pats the big trunk.. Then, laughing, he adds, “Don’t you get any ideas! You’d never get anything out of this trunk, even if you could open it. Which you can’t.”
“Not to worry,” says Grey Wolf. “We won’t try anything. I mean, if you’re powerful enough to see what’s in his head…”
“I couldn’t see everything, says Chiswick. “I could only tell the nature of what’s in his head. I suspect that if I could really see in there, I’d go stark raving mad! And let me tell you, if I went mad, I could kill a lot of people!”
“If you don’t mind my asking, what’s the most powerful spell you can cast?” Aravis asks Chswick.
“Are you sure you’re ready for that?”
Chiswick puts his hand on the trunk, thinks for a moment, then opens it and pulls out a slender volume.
“Now, if you open this, and your brain hurts a little bit, just close it,” he warns.
Aravis opens it. His brain does hurt slightly, but he reads a bit just the same. Like all wizards Aravis understands that most arcane magic exists at ten different valences, typically referred to as ‘levels.’ And he knows right now that he’s looking at a spell past 9th level, with no idea of what it does. Divination, maybe?
“I see,” says Aravis, snapping the book closed.
“Really? How much do you see?”
“Enough that now I doubt we’d have anything of interest to you, beyond what we’ve told you already.”
“You know what the real pisser is?” asks Chiswick. He taps the title of the book with his finger. “’Chiswick’s Master Divinatory.’ And you know what it tells me? Squat, in this stupid place!”
He chucks the book back in the trunk and closes it.
“But when I get out of here… oh, the things I’m going to know! Anyhow, I have some other books that might have things more to your liking. You’ve shown me yours, so I show you mine, as they say.”
“Anything you can tell me about this?” asks Grey Wolf, drawing Bostock and showing it to the old man.
“An intelligent sword!” exclaims Chiswick, after only a second’s glance. “It has that look about it.”
“My friends all believe that it’s evil,’ says Grey Wolf.
Chiswick takes out his glass again, and looks through it for a minute at the glowing blue sword.
“I’d say about a 37% suppression breakdown. Well, keep at it, keep at it.”
“What happens when it gets broken down completely?” asks Kibi.
“Whatever’s in there will come out!” says Chiswick happily.
“It’s getting there,” says Grey Wolf. “It started out whispering to me, but now it’s voice is louder.”
“What’s the breakdown vector?”
The three Company wizards stare blankly.
“What do you do to make it talk louder?” tries Chiswick.
“Oh, I hit things with it,” says Grey Wolf. “Evil things. It wants to kill evil things.”
“Well, that’s promising. Probably.”
“When whatever it is comes out, will it be good or evil?” asks Kibi.
“There’s no way to know until you let it out!”
Kibi abruptly changes the subject. “Do you know anything about Wild Magic?”
“No, but I’ll bet you do,” answers Chiswick. “Stands to reason. You being a dwarf and all.”
Kibi’s not sure what that has to do with anything, but says, “Where I come from, there’s only one other wizard who’s a dwarf, and he’s an Archmage.”
Chiswick rolls his eyes and goes on a mini-tirade.
“Pah! Please. Archmage. Useless title. When someone tells you they’re an Archmage, what does that mean? Nothing! It means nothing! You could call yourself one, right now, and compared to someone who doesn’t do magic…how would they know? Bah!”
Kibi tries again. “Er…since I’ve been here, I’ve felt a strange energy coursing through me, and sometimes it makes my spells stronger. Do you know why that is?”
“Are you a wild mage?” asks Chiswick.
“I don’t know,” says Kibi. “I don’t know much about wild magic either.”
“You say you feel your magic augmented here? Fascinating! You’re the first wizard I’ve talked to who’s said that, and you’re the only dwarven wizard I’ve seen. And I’ve talked to plenty of wizards; they all come to see me, once they find out I’m here. Hmmm… You feel it right now? Yes? Really? I don’t feel anything, and I’m much more powerful than you, and I’ve mastered most magical disciples. But not Wild Magic. It’s dangerous!
“Wild Magic comes the earth, you know. Most magic comes out of the air. It permeates space around us, and we manipulate it, focus it. But that’s residual. That’s the run-off. The source, it’s coming from down there.” He points downward. “From the worlds we’re on. But wizards don’t tap into it directly. They couldn’t control it. That’s why they call it “wild magic.” Right? The only people I’ve ever met who could control it were Dwarves! Do you feel it in every Slice?
“Yes, though it’s weaker in some Slices and stronger in others. It was weakest in the elemental plane of water.”
Kibi’s head is spinning from the explanation. If he’s understanding correctly, Chiswick is saying that Earth Magic and Wild Magic are just two names for the same thing. Which means the Eyes of Moirel…”
“Aaaah,” says Chiswick. “Well, that tells me a bit about the nature of the Slices, then. And that’s worth something. Here.”
He tosses some spellbooks around to the wizards.
“If you see something you like, let me know, and we’ll work something out. You might not be able to glean things right away. My accent’s eccentric.”
The first thought the Company wizards have when they look at Chiswick’s lower-level spellbooks is that they’ve been had, and that the books aren’t spellbooks at all. The notation is crazy. Grey Wolf and Kibi can’t make anything of it. Aravis realizes that while they are spells, it would take two weeks before he could even start copying them down.
“These are… very interesting,” he says. “The problem is, you have a very different way of writing magic. It would take a long time for us to translate them.”
“You in a rush? It’s not like you’re getting any older! Heh heh heh heh.”
“Do you know about a place called the rotunda?” asks Kibi.
“Well, my family owned a mansion, back home, and it had a rotunda, full of little statues. The stupid part was, they were all porcelain. Which was stupid because my father also loved parakeets, and they were always flying about and knocking over the statues, and making a mess everywhere. It made my mother furious, but my father loved his parakeets, and refused to… uh… well, I doubt that’s what you mean, is it?”
* *
According to Mercury, the cleric Medina has been at the Eye of the Storm for over six years, having long since decided to stay and be a healer and general spiritual presence at the inn. She worships a Goddess of the Heavens called Celian. Apparently she’s built a contraption for watching the stars, up on the roof. At this time of night she’s likely up there now.
Morningstar walks up the stairs with Snokas in tow, while Dranko goes outside an scales the wall for practice. He sees Medina across the roof, bent over a strange rectangular object. There is man standing by her with a drawn sword.
“Knock knock!” Dranko calls, waving. The man instinctively points his sword in the half-orc’s direction.
Dranko adds, “As it turns out, if you want actually want to attack someone who’s way over here, you need a missile weapon. Hi! We’re here to speak to Medina, if you don’t mind.”
In a low, drawling voice, then man answers, “Then why did you climb the wall?
“I’m out of practice,” explains Dranko, starting to walk over.
Morningstar has just emerged from a trap door onto the roof. The man adjusts his position slightly so he can see both of the newcomers. Medina doesn’t stir.
“Greetings,” says Morningstar, bowing.
“Ah, hello,” says the man. “Nice of you to enter the civilized way.”
“This is Morningstar, Priestess of Ell, and I am Dranko, Priest of Delioch,” says Dranko formally, as he walks to Morningstar to take her hand.
“You are two of the new group, then,” says the man, relaxing. “Mercury has spoken well of you, I hear.”
“We’re both healers,” says Dranko, “so we thought we’d introduce ourselves.”
“Medina is in meditation with the skies. Can you wait another ten minutes?”
“Sure. Who are you?” asks Dranko.
“My name is Fren. I am Medina’s bodyguard.”
“This is Snokas, Morningstar’s bodyguard.”
Snokas nods and grunts. For a moment everyone looks at Medina, still seemingly oblivious to the arrivals’ presence. Up above them the clear sky is ablaze with stars.
“We came here from a world called Motan, and our kingdom is called Bilik. We traveled through the Chaos to get here, though I remember nothing of that journey. Medina brought me through in some kind of… slumber.”
“I’m glad you made it safely,” says Dranko. “Do you like it here?”
“I like it here,” says Fren. “We’ve been here for six years, since we ventured out of the house. That was our whole slice. Three quarters of our house.”
“Good thing you weren’t in the outhouse!” exclaims Dranko.
“We often wonder what people back home, our neighbors, think has happened. Is there a great empty space where the Slice used to be? A wall? Or are the Slices merely copies, and back home everything is still the same?”
“And if it’s been copied, there are other copies of us running around,” says Dranko.
“Yes, I suppose so,” agrees Fren. “But if my copy has my judgement, and Medina’s copy has her wisdom, then I’m sure they’re doing what’s right.”
“Not running up your bar bill then? I’ll bet mine is!”
“How long were you in the house?” asks Morningstar.
“It was about three days, before we decided to venture out.”
“Is Medina a very powerful priestess in your world?”
Fren nods.
“Does she often look into little tubes sticking out of strange boxes?” asks Dranko, pointing at Medina.
“That ‘tube’ gives her an expanded look at the heavens!”
“Amazing,” says Morningstar.
“Looks like she’s looking at her feet,” comments Dranko.
“There are mirrors in the box,” explains Fren “She sees closer. She sees what’s beyond the stars, when she looks through that device. Perhaps she will let you look, though you may not see what she sees.”
“What is beyond the stars?” asks Dranko. “I’ve heard the stars themselves are diamonds, glittering in the huge embroidered fabric of space.”
Fren shakes his head. “No, no. Each star is a sun, like our sun!”
“Get out!” exclaims Dranko.
“No, it’s true! You’ve discovered different Planes of existence, yes? We think each star is another Plane. You see that red one? That could be the Plane of fire!”
Abruptly Medina looks up from her telescope. She’s human, very plain looking, and somewhere in her forties.
“I’d be honored if you’d let me look through your thingamajig,” says Dranko by way of greeting.
Morningstar clears her throat. “Let’s try that again. I am Morningstar, a priestess of the Goddess Ell.”
“I am Medina Starwatcher, priestess of Celian.”
“This is my fiancee…”
“I’m Dranko, priest of Delioch. It’s an honor and a pleasure.”
“Is Delioch a country?” asks Medina.
“No, he’s the God of Healing. The White Hand. He salves the sick and heals the injured.”
“And Ell is a Goddess of Night and Darkness,” says Morningstar.
“Ah, then we have something in common!” says Medina brightly.
Medina shows them how to use the telescope and invites them to have a look. “Perhaps you can see what’s beyond the stars,” she offers.
Dranko can see the stars up close, and faintly glowing clouds beyond them. Perhaps that’s what she means? It’s a spectacular sight, and Dranko can hardly tear himself away.
“Wow… wow,” he says.
“Beyond all of that is Celian, who spins the world around us.”
After Morningstar has also had a look, Medina folds up the telescope and sits down on the roof.
“So, you are newly arrived? I’m sorry,” she says.
“Don’t be. We came here on purpose,” says Morningstar.
“You subjected yourself to the Slices? Why?”
Morningstar looks up at the stars as she talks. “We’re here looking for a magical artifact that our world is in great need of. And if we find it, it may also free those trapped in the Slices.”
Dranko adds, “The people who created this place, this interlocking network of worlds… they used a powerful magic to turn back time and rebuild reality the way they wanted to. We came here because the source of magic that’s powering all this can also restore our world to its proper time-stream. To reset the balance in favor of good, instead of evil.”
“Good for you,” says Medina, nodding.
“We’ve heard that you came here through the Chaos,” says Morningstar.
“Not pleasant, I take it,” says Dranko.
“No, it wasn’t. Have you ever been?”
“Nope,” answers Dranko. “Been to the elemental plane of water, though!”
“Not dissimilar,” says Medina.
“And we came to the Inn through the Storms,” says Morningstar.
“Hm. It’s been a while since I looked at the map,” admits Medina. Then: “Oh! Aren’t the storms supposed to kill anyone who crosses their Slice?
“We’re special,” says Dranko.
“We talked fast and moved faster,” says Morningstar.
“I can tell you about the chaos, if you’re curious. Not for the weak of mind.”
When Morningstar and Dranko look attentive, she continues.
“You’ve been to the plane of water, so you know something of how it works. You know about subjective gravity?”
“Figured it out myself!” says Dranko.
“Well, Limbo is like that. It has subjective gravity, and it was water. It also has earth, and fire, and air, and electricity, and slime, and ooze, and lava… there’s nothing in creation it doesn’t have.”
“Slime and ooze, two different things?” says Dranko, smirking. Morningstar elbows him.
“None of it sounds pleasant,” she says. “How do you move through it?”
“Oh, bits of earth, bits of air,” says Medina. “It takes extreme concentration. You have to build yourself a way through, from one place to another. You imagine what you need, and hope it coalesces around you.”
“It sounds like Ava Dormo!” says Morningstar. She explains the Dreaming to Medina.
“What lives in the Chaos? Anything?” asks Dranko.
Medina glowers as she answers. “The Frog-men. The Slaad.”
“Slaad’s a scarier name than Frog-men,” says Dranko.
“There is supposedly a monastery, somewhere in the Chaos, but I certainly didn’t see it. I went through three portals on the way. There is something strangely localized about the Chaos Slices, similar to what goes on with the Demonic Slices, from what I gather. One area of Chaos led through a Way into another area of Chaos. There may be nexuses formed where powerful outer planar forces are at work, but I’m only guessing.
“For a long time in my life I was a famous scholar. It’s one of the avenues we can take as we ascend through the priesthood of Celian. So I know some of these things. And it’s a good thing. If I hadn’t known what to do, we both would have perished in Limbo. But I did, so we didn’t. We went through several Ways, fought off some of the… frog-men.
“The first thing you have to do when you arrive is make yourself some air, if you don’t find yourself in some already. You want to be able to breathe. You must remember the gravity, or else you can fall out of the air and into something worse. I also find it easier to create some solid ground beneath my feet, with some air above it. You can travel that way, like building a road in front of a cart. As the cart travels, you continuously lay the cobblestones on which it will roll. Because you’re no longer concentrating on what’s passed, the road will vanish behind you. And you won’t always succeed. You have to be prepared. Bits of other elements will come hurtling through, however well you’re doing. We were struck once by a fireball… not like the spell, mind, but more literally. A mass of fire-stuff. That was the worst of it. I almost lost Fren, then. I had to keep him… emptied… to prevent him from going mad. He doesn’t quite have the mental wherewithal that I do. He is… new. He could not effectively fight the frog-men. But I could.”
“What are the frog-men vulnerable to?” asks Morningstar.
“I simply cast my spells quickly, furiously, and then fled. They are creatures of Chaos, so I’d expect lawful magics to have greater effect.”
“We’re looking for an item that’s Chaos-magic-based. Well, wild-magic, I guess.”
“Is there a difference?” asks Medina.
“I don’t know.”
“I suppose it’s possible your item is in the Chaos. I understand that in the actual Plane of Limbo, there’s a bit at the center, around which everything else revolves. A little piece of pure Chaos that constantly spawns the maelstrom around it. Perhaps that piece is in one of the Chaos Slices?”
‘Isn’t Limbo infinite? Then how can it have a center?” asks Dranko.
“It has center and goes out forever from there in all directions. Thus, infinite.”
Dranko looks puzzled.
“Don’t’ think about it too hard,” says Medina, smiling. Snokas almost cracks wise about Dranko being a bit dim, but wisely holds his tongue.
“We need Aravis for this,” mutters Dranko. Then, changing the subject, he says, “We were going to offer our healing services around here, but I hear you’ve got that covered.”
“Well, I suppose so. My healing prayers aren’t in much demand except when there have been invasions, and we haven’t had one of those for over two years. Fortunately the Demons get weaker the farther away from their own Slices they go.”
“Are they actual Demons? From Hell?” asks Dranko.
“Yes, though they are from the Abyss, not Hell. Devils come from Hell.”
“Do demons have a particular look to them?” asks Morningstar.
“Their forms are many, and I don’t know them all. But, you tend to know when you’ve seen one. They’re unlike anything else.”
“Do you have any advice for us, for when we leave this place?” asks Dranko.
“That depends on what you’re going to do.”
“We may have to head out through the Gate of No Return,” says Dranko.
“Or we may need to go through the Demons,” says Morningstar.
“What? Why?” asks Dranko, looking alarmed. “There could be 8 bajillion demon slices full of 8 bajillion demons!”
“Yeah, but one of them had Kibi’s face in his pocket,” says Morningstar with a nervous laugh.
Dranko briefly explains Omar’s statuette to Medina, and then says, “To me that suggests they’re saying ‘If you see this dwarf, eat him whole!’”
“Or it suggests that one of the Demons knows something,” says Medina.
“Yeah, they know that they should eat him,” says Dranko, still not much liking the thought of going to the Demon Slices.
“Well, I don’t suggest you take the Way of No Return,” says Medina.
“We’ve heard that before,” says Dranko.
“Because we couldn’t come back here, right?” says Dranko.
“That’s one reason,” agrees Medina. “But there are others. The Eye of the Storm is a well-defended safe-haven, and it would be a pity to deny yourselves the option of falling back and regrouping here after you set out. But more to the point, it’s entirely possible that the Way of No Return goes somewhere where people simply die, instantly. There’s no way to know. It may go to various other Slices, or maybe it’s a one-way gate to an innocuous Slice. No one quite understands the full extent of the network of Slices. If it were finite, and you traveled long enough, you might eventually find your way back to something you recognize. But that has not happened to anyone, to my knowledge.”
“We appreciate your advice,” says Dranko.
At Morningstar’s request, Medina agrees to let the Company use her equipment, including lab stuff for making potions. Dranko, though, thinks of more about the telescope.
“You know, you could look through windows with this thing. From hundreds of feet away!”
Morningstar sighs.
“My telescope is for watching the heavens, not one’s neighbors,” says Medina, shaking her head. Then, to Morningstar, she says, “You’re engaged to him? Hidden depths, no doubt.”
Dranko grins, showing his tusks.
“Am I a lucky man, or what?”
…to be continued…
Last edited:
Jackylhunter
First Post
Thanks for the update Sagiro. I love these interludes, like the calm before the storm.
Chiswick is a great NPC, the first Epic character the mages have ever met?
Chiswick is a great NPC, the first Epic character the mages have ever met?
carpedavid
First Post
Is the reference to spell "valences" another Sepulchrave reference, or is it more common than that?
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