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The Ambergate Chronicles - Galahorn or the Curious Adventure of the Glass Coffin
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<blockquote data-quote="eris404" data-source="post: 2819497" data-attributes="member: 5338"><p><strong>Galahorn or the Curious Adventure of the Glass Coffin</strong></p><p></p><p><em><span style="font-size: 9px">EDIT: Much to my embarrassment, I got some of the details wrong, so I needed to repost this section with corrections. I also wanted to add some background to KidCharlemagne's campaign setting and Master Lykor's lecture seemed like a good place for that. </span></em></p><p></p><p>I suppose you hear that infernal clanging down the hall. I hate it myself; too loud and bright, if a noise can be called “bright.” It’s the kind of sharp noise that makes you squeeze your eyes shut with each ringing clash. I suppose you also want to come closer, investigate the source. Please do, if you must. Down this dark passage, at its very end, you will see the orange glow of the forge before you feel its heat.</p><p></p><p>The forge is filled with apprentices this time of day, all glad to be indoors near the open flame on a day as chilly as this. The apprentices are not at all what you imagine wizards to be: no skinny lads these, they have arms hardened from swinging hammers against anvils. They are dirty from toil and when they wipe the sweat from their foreheads it leaves a gray smear on their shirt sleeves.</p><p></p><p>Over there, you see a familiar face: it’s George, the tall, thin Mavarran lad with the pale blond hair. Our young friend is here visiting his mentor, Unna, a tiny, wrinkled gnome with hair the color of iron. Unna’s arms may not be as strong as they once were, but her hands are still clever and nimble. She’s leaning over a disemboweled clockworks and peering, through spectacles sliding down her nose, at its entrails.</p><p></p><p>The clockworks is enormous, even in comparison to the tiny gnome, with gears ranging from the size of George's hand to one the size of a wagon wheel. It is only a small part of a larger mechanism, the internal works of the school's clocktower.</p><p></p><p>"Again, George," she says in Gnomish.</p><p></p><p>"All that's just for telling time?" he asks in the same tongue, ignoring her command. "I heard the clock is magical. What does it do?"</p><p></p><p>Without looking away from the gears, she repeats, “Try again. This is detention, not recess. If you're in my forge for anything else besides a class, you better be practicing or making yourself useful. It's either magic or a broom, you decide."</p><p></p><p>George sighs, exasperated. He replies, “I still don’t get why I have to gesture. Why can’t I just say the words?”</p><p></p><p>“Hmmmm,” she murmurs to herself. “I think it’s this one.” She plucks out a gear with one slightly worn cog. “Because, my lad, that’s how it’s done. Perhaps if you learn this trick, I can teach you to pull while standing perfectly still and not saying a word. But you need something to focus on first. Draw the area on the ground. Say the words. Concentrate. Focus. Again.”</p><p></p><p>George smiles at the Gnomish idioms; Gnomes call spells “tricks” in their own language and rather than “cast a spell,” one “pulls a trick” or “makes a prank.” This appeals to George’s sensibilities. He exhales and clears his mind. He imagines drawing a large box on the floor and says the words. This time he feels the familiar electric tingling on his neck flowing through his arm and out his pointed finger. The floor hisses and inky black oil bubbles to the surface.</p><p></p><p>“Unna!” He exclaims. The excitement in his voice makes her look where he is pointing. She drops the gear, kneels next to the greasy substance and groans in discomfort as her old knees pop and protest. With two fingers she scoops up a bit of the oil and tests it against her thumb.</p><p></p><p>“It’s good,” she notes. “Very slick. With a little more practice, you’ll be able to coat this on any surface with ease. A very good prank indeed.”</p><p></p><p>George smirks, thinking of course of all the pranks he will be able to pull with this particular spell.</p><p></p><p>“Grab those ropes, will you, dear,” she adds. “Let’s rope off this section until the trick wears off. I don’t want to cause any accidents.”</p><p></p><p>George helps her tie ropes to tables and chair legs, making a neat little fence around the grease on the floor. A young wizard, just out college, passes by and whistles through his teeth.</p><p></p><p>“That’s a nice one, George,” he says in the Imperial language and claps him on the shoulder. “Good job!”</p><p></p><p>When the fellow moves on, Unna chides George, “See, people do like you. You need to make more friends your own age, not sit around chatting with old gnomes in the mother tongue no less. Where is that nice girl, Serai?”</p><p></p><p>“She’s working,” George says with a blush. “She's always doing her research in the library. And I do have friends. I see Dante all the time.”</p><p></p><p>Unna rolls her eyes.</p><p></p><p>“And I see Ragi, too.”</p><p></p><p>Unna rolls her eyes again. “Oh, that one. The musician! Too old, by far, and I don’t trust her by half.” She clicks her tongue and shakes her head. “She’ll break your heart, I tell you. And that elf! Didn’t he slip something into your beer last time?”</p><p></p><p>“Some herb…” George mutters, embarrassed.</p><p></p><p>The gnome snorts angrily and wags a finger in warning. She is not even as tall as George’s waist and yet he backs away from her temper. “You’re too trusting by far, my lad. I’d like to see him try something like that when I’m about. Now, you’ve been hiding in here too long, my lad. You need fresh air and sunshine, and besides, Master Lykor’s Planar Mechanics lecture starts in less than twenty minutes. Off with you!”</p><p></p><p>Unna hands George his overcoat, tri-cornered hat and a woolly muffler his mother sent from home, knitted by her own hands. Then she shoos him out the door.</p><p></p><p>Outside, George takes his time. The lecture is a mile or so outside of the college in the outskirts of the Old Forest. It is quite cold, cold enough to make your breath fog, and he’s forgotten his mittens so he has to shove his hands deep into his pockets. It hasn’t snowed yet, but the leaves on the ground are crispy and laced with frost. The sky is a brilliant gray-white. He hates winter. Until he came to Ambergate, all George knew of winter were his mother’s tales of the Marklands, her cold, hostile homeland north of the islands of Mavarre. Now it seems he can’t escape it. The air passes through his coat unimpeded and he’s lost one mitten already and had to find a new pair. The stiff wind steals his hat and even if it is unfashionable, it’s the only one he has. He pushes it down securely and with a set jaw, he marches up the hill to meet the rest of his class.</p><p></p><p>He is surprised to see the Head Master among the students, then more surprised to see his guests.</p><p></p><p>Serai, the beautiful Murkraali girl, looks as uncomfortable as George in the cold weather. She seems almost oppressed by the heavy wool cloak she clutches tightly around her. Her long dark hair is loose and the cold wind playfully blows it about. The blue stone on its dainy gold still adorns her forehead.</p><p></p><p>The tall elf, Jade, stands beside her and seems untouched by the cold. His dark green cloak is open, revealing that he is armed with a bow and quiver and wears well-worn leather armor.</p><p></p><p>George quietly sidles up to him and whispers "How did you two get here? And why are you dressed like that?"</p><p></p><p>It is Serai who answers. "The Head Master permitted it, because it relates to my research about Dreams. Jade is interested in Fey and thought we might need some protection."</p><p></p><p>"Protection?" George hisses in disbelief.</p><p></p><p>Jade fixes an unblinking, serious gaze on George. "Have you ever met a Fey?"</p><p></p><p>George rolls his eyes. "Have you ever seen one around here?"</p><p></p><p>“Master Barleycorn, so good of you to join us!” Master Lykor announces in a too-loud voice. “Can you enlighten us on the nature of this object?” He point to a large red mushroom on the ground.”</p><p></p><p>George blushes to the tips of his ears. “It’s…a mushroom?”</p><p></p><p>A few of the students snicker.</p><p></p><p>“Yes, of course it is Master Barleycorn. Perhaps Master Dante can explain to you its significance?”</p><p></p><p>Dante clears his throat. “It’s a part of a mushroom ring, which at one time were used as portals into the realms of Faerie.”</p><p></p><p>“Excellent! So, if I step within this circle, I should be whisked away to a Fey realm, correct?”</p><p></p><p>The snickering stops. The students watch nervously as the master steps inside the ring. He does not disappear.</p><p></p><p>“Can anyone explain why I am still here?”</p><p></p><p>The students look away, so Dante dutifully raises his hand. When called upon, he explains, “There is a spike of cold iron, right there. During the War, many of these portals were closed by the Church of Alioth to keep the Fey from slipping through unnoticed.”</p><p></p><p>“And why cold iron?” Master Lykor asks.</p><p></p><p>“It is poisonous to Fey,” Dante answers.</p><p></p><p>Lykor leans towards Dante and murmurs, “Well done. You are ready.”</p><p></p><p>In a louder voice for the rest of the class, he continues, "The Church of Alioth has always had, at best, difficult relationships with the non-human races. The Church has formally ruled that the Fey, being immortal, do not have souls and have often debated whether this extends to our Elvin and Gnomish friends."</p><p></p><p>Jade stiffens at this comment, but Lykor closes his eyes and gives him a slight nod, as if to ask his pardon. The master continues his lecture.</p><p></p><p>"In the year AF 864, Cardinal Gregor of Carn took this belief as a mandate to break any relations with the Fey, whether Seelie or Unseelie. With full support from His Majesty, King Farghus, he issued an order to the Inquisition to block all Fey Circles and other Gates in Kintayne. The Church mobilized thousands of priests and lay worshippers to seek out and 'seed' these naturally occuring Gates with Cold Iron."</p><p></p><p>"As soon as the Seelie realm of Alfar and the Unseelie realm of Umbria realized what was happening, they responded. The Seelie used their contacts with the Wizards and Gnomes of the Guildlands of Khoria to put pressure on the Kingdom and Church, and defended their forests. The Unseelie, however, were openly hostile, sending small raids into Kintayne, assassinating and terrorizing the Church leaders and the Kingdom's nobility. Kintayne responded with a declaration of war."</p><p></p><p>"The war was disasterous for Kintayne. Can anyone give a reason why?"</p><p></p><p>Determined to redeem himself, George raises his hand. "The Merchant League was formed when the gnomes refused to sell smokepowder to the Empire."</p><p></p><p>That is a mistake. George feels the cold stares of the other students on him. Most of them are Imperial, born in Kintayne and devoted to the Empire. His accent marks him as Mavarran, an outsider only marginally a part of the Empire, and possibly a rebellious one. Never mind the war was one hundred years ago, there are still hard feelings towards the city-states that rebelled against the King and the gnomes who refused to help him.</p><p></p><p>Master Lykor nods and adds smoothly, "Yes, that is very true. The southern cities broke away from the Kingdom in order to continue trade with the Guildlands. Keep in mind all of you that gnomes are part Fey. If the Church believed that Fey were souless, that insult would include our friends the gnomes as well. Can anyone else give a reason?"</p><p></p><p>One student timidly raises her hand. "An entire Kintish army went missing."</p><p></p><p>"Yes, The Lost Regiment, very good. Anyone with another reason?"</p><p></p><p>"Taxes," someone called out.</p><p></p><p>Lykor nods. "Yes, indeed, very good! The peasantry were taxed heavily, some might say disasterously. It was a very costly war, both in trade, money and lives. But, this is no history class. I think we should move on to our next stop."</p><p></p><p>He ushers the group on to the next point of interest on this field trip, but Dante hangs back to speak to George, Serai and Jade alone.</p><p></p><p>“Dante!” George exclaims. “Unna taught me a new spell-"</p><p></p><p>“George, wait. There’s something important I have to tell all of you. Worthen is missing.”</p><p></p><p>George frowns. “How do you know?”</p><p></p><p>“He left two week ago on an errand in Dunbar. He hasn’t come back yet.”</p><p></p><p>George shrugs. “Maybe he’s just late.”</p><p></p><p>“No, not like this. I think he tried a shortcut through the Woods.”</p><p></p><p>George shakes his head. “No, not Worthen. He’s not stupid. He knows how dangerous the Woods are.”</p><p></p><p>Dante sighs. “George, you’ve seen him. Since we’ve come back from Bellhold, he’s been different. He’s always been obsessed with seeing Fey and now he’s even worse. I think he would take that risk. Master Lykor thinks so, too. That’s why he wants us to go look for him.”</p><p></p><p>George is stunned by this news. “Really? He really wants us to go?”</p><p></p><p>Dante nods, grinning. “Amazing isn’t it? He was impressed by how well we did at Bellhold. More than likely it will be as you said, that Worthen just got caught up in something innocent. But he trusts us to find out.”</p><p></p><p>For a moment, George is rendered speechless by this responsibility. Students are not usually trusted outside of the college walls let alone on a mission, even if it is a minor one. Neither he nor Dante is a licensed wizard as yet, which means that neither can legally cast spells. It just isn’t done, sending students on a wizard’s errand.</p><p></p><p>“We have to tell Ishii, too!” George blurts out, excited. “When do we leave?”</p><p></p><p>“Tomorrow, if we can.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="eris404, post: 2819497, member: 5338"] [b]Galahorn or the Curious Adventure of the Glass Coffin[/b] [I][SIZE=1]EDIT: Much to my embarrassment, I got some of the details wrong, so I needed to repost this section with corrections. I also wanted to add some background to KidCharlemagne's campaign setting and Master Lykor's lecture seemed like a good place for that. [/SIZE][/I] I suppose you hear that infernal clanging down the hall. I hate it myself; too loud and bright, if a noise can be called “bright.” It’s the kind of sharp noise that makes you squeeze your eyes shut with each ringing clash. I suppose you also want to come closer, investigate the source. Please do, if you must. Down this dark passage, at its very end, you will see the orange glow of the forge before you feel its heat. The forge is filled with apprentices this time of day, all glad to be indoors near the open flame on a day as chilly as this. The apprentices are not at all what you imagine wizards to be: no skinny lads these, they have arms hardened from swinging hammers against anvils. They are dirty from toil and when they wipe the sweat from their foreheads it leaves a gray smear on their shirt sleeves. Over there, you see a familiar face: it’s George, the tall, thin Mavarran lad with the pale blond hair. Our young friend is here visiting his mentor, Unna, a tiny, wrinkled gnome with hair the color of iron. Unna’s arms may not be as strong as they once were, but her hands are still clever and nimble. She’s leaning over a disemboweled clockworks and peering, through spectacles sliding down her nose, at its entrails. The clockworks is enormous, even in comparison to the tiny gnome, with gears ranging from the size of George's hand to one the size of a wagon wheel. It is only a small part of a larger mechanism, the internal works of the school's clocktower. "Again, George," she says in Gnomish. "All that's just for telling time?" he asks in the same tongue, ignoring her command. "I heard the clock is magical. What does it do?" Without looking away from the gears, she repeats, “Try again. This is detention, not recess. If you're in my forge for anything else besides a class, you better be practicing or making yourself useful. It's either magic or a broom, you decide." George sighs, exasperated. He replies, “I still don’t get why I have to gesture. Why can’t I just say the words?” “Hmmmm,” she murmurs to herself. “I think it’s this one.” She plucks out a gear with one slightly worn cog. “Because, my lad, that’s how it’s done. Perhaps if you learn this trick, I can teach you to pull while standing perfectly still and not saying a word. But you need something to focus on first. Draw the area on the ground. Say the words. Concentrate. Focus. Again.” George smiles at the Gnomish idioms; Gnomes call spells “tricks” in their own language and rather than “cast a spell,” one “pulls a trick” or “makes a prank.” This appeals to George’s sensibilities. He exhales and clears his mind. He imagines drawing a large box on the floor and says the words. This time he feels the familiar electric tingling on his neck flowing through his arm and out his pointed finger. The floor hisses and inky black oil bubbles to the surface. “Unna!” He exclaims. The excitement in his voice makes her look where he is pointing. She drops the gear, kneels next to the greasy substance and groans in discomfort as her old knees pop and protest. With two fingers she scoops up a bit of the oil and tests it against her thumb. “It’s good,” she notes. “Very slick. With a little more practice, you’ll be able to coat this on any surface with ease. A very good prank indeed.” George smirks, thinking of course of all the pranks he will be able to pull with this particular spell. “Grab those ropes, will you, dear,” she adds. “Let’s rope off this section until the trick wears off. I don’t want to cause any accidents.” George helps her tie ropes to tables and chair legs, making a neat little fence around the grease on the floor. A young wizard, just out college, passes by and whistles through his teeth. “That’s a nice one, George,” he says in the Imperial language and claps him on the shoulder. “Good job!” When the fellow moves on, Unna chides George, “See, people do like you. You need to make more friends your own age, not sit around chatting with old gnomes in the mother tongue no less. Where is that nice girl, Serai?” “She’s working,” George says with a blush. “She's always doing her research in the library. And I do have friends. I see Dante all the time.” Unna rolls her eyes. “And I see Ragi, too.” Unna rolls her eyes again. “Oh, that one. The musician! Too old, by far, and I don’t trust her by half.” She clicks her tongue and shakes her head. “She’ll break your heart, I tell you. And that elf! Didn’t he slip something into your beer last time?” “Some herb…” George mutters, embarrassed. The gnome snorts angrily and wags a finger in warning. She is not even as tall as George’s waist and yet he backs away from her temper. “You’re too trusting by far, my lad. I’d like to see him try something like that when I’m about. Now, you’ve been hiding in here too long, my lad. You need fresh air and sunshine, and besides, Master Lykor’s Planar Mechanics lecture starts in less than twenty minutes. Off with you!” Unna hands George his overcoat, tri-cornered hat and a woolly muffler his mother sent from home, knitted by her own hands. Then she shoos him out the door. Outside, George takes his time. The lecture is a mile or so outside of the college in the outskirts of the Old Forest. It is quite cold, cold enough to make your breath fog, and he’s forgotten his mittens so he has to shove his hands deep into his pockets. It hasn’t snowed yet, but the leaves on the ground are crispy and laced with frost. The sky is a brilliant gray-white. He hates winter. Until he came to Ambergate, all George knew of winter were his mother’s tales of the Marklands, her cold, hostile homeland north of the islands of Mavarre. Now it seems he can’t escape it. The air passes through his coat unimpeded and he’s lost one mitten already and had to find a new pair. The stiff wind steals his hat and even if it is unfashionable, it’s the only one he has. He pushes it down securely and with a set jaw, he marches up the hill to meet the rest of his class. He is surprised to see the Head Master among the students, then more surprised to see his guests. Serai, the beautiful Murkraali girl, looks as uncomfortable as George in the cold weather. She seems almost oppressed by the heavy wool cloak she clutches tightly around her. Her long dark hair is loose and the cold wind playfully blows it about. The blue stone on its dainy gold still adorns her forehead. The tall elf, Jade, stands beside her and seems untouched by the cold. His dark green cloak is open, revealing that he is armed with a bow and quiver and wears well-worn leather armor. George quietly sidles up to him and whispers "How did you two get here? And why are you dressed like that?" It is Serai who answers. "The Head Master permitted it, because it relates to my research about Dreams. Jade is interested in Fey and thought we might need some protection." "Protection?" George hisses in disbelief. Jade fixes an unblinking, serious gaze on George. "Have you ever met a Fey?" George rolls his eyes. "Have you ever seen one around here?" “Master Barleycorn, so good of you to join us!” Master Lykor announces in a too-loud voice. “Can you enlighten us on the nature of this object?” He point to a large red mushroom on the ground.” George blushes to the tips of his ears. “It’s…a mushroom?” A few of the students snicker. “Yes, of course it is Master Barleycorn. Perhaps Master Dante can explain to you its significance?” Dante clears his throat. “It’s a part of a mushroom ring, which at one time were used as portals into the realms of Faerie.” “Excellent! So, if I step within this circle, I should be whisked away to a Fey realm, correct?” The snickering stops. The students watch nervously as the master steps inside the ring. He does not disappear. “Can anyone explain why I am still here?” The students look away, so Dante dutifully raises his hand. When called upon, he explains, “There is a spike of cold iron, right there. During the War, many of these portals were closed by the Church of Alioth to keep the Fey from slipping through unnoticed.” “And why cold iron?” Master Lykor asks. “It is poisonous to Fey,” Dante answers. Lykor leans towards Dante and murmurs, “Well done. You are ready.” In a louder voice for the rest of the class, he continues, "The Church of Alioth has always had, at best, difficult relationships with the non-human races. The Church has formally ruled that the Fey, being immortal, do not have souls and have often debated whether this extends to our Elvin and Gnomish friends." Jade stiffens at this comment, but Lykor closes his eyes and gives him a slight nod, as if to ask his pardon. The master continues his lecture. "In the year AF 864, Cardinal Gregor of Carn took this belief as a mandate to break any relations with the Fey, whether Seelie or Unseelie. With full support from His Majesty, King Farghus, he issued an order to the Inquisition to block all Fey Circles and other Gates in Kintayne. The Church mobilized thousands of priests and lay worshippers to seek out and 'seed' these naturally occuring Gates with Cold Iron." "As soon as the Seelie realm of Alfar and the Unseelie realm of Umbria realized what was happening, they responded. The Seelie used their contacts with the Wizards and Gnomes of the Guildlands of Khoria to put pressure on the Kingdom and Church, and defended their forests. The Unseelie, however, were openly hostile, sending small raids into Kintayne, assassinating and terrorizing the Church leaders and the Kingdom's nobility. Kintayne responded with a declaration of war." "The war was disasterous for Kintayne. Can anyone give a reason why?" Determined to redeem himself, George raises his hand. "The Merchant League was formed when the gnomes refused to sell smokepowder to the Empire." That is a mistake. George feels the cold stares of the other students on him. Most of them are Imperial, born in Kintayne and devoted to the Empire. His accent marks him as Mavarran, an outsider only marginally a part of the Empire, and possibly a rebellious one. Never mind the war was one hundred years ago, there are still hard feelings towards the city-states that rebelled against the King and the gnomes who refused to help him. Master Lykor nods and adds smoothly, "Yes, that is very true. The southern cities broke away from the Kingdom in order to continue trade with the Guildlands. Keep in mind all of you that gnomes are part Fey. If the Church believed that Fey were souless, that insult would include our friends the gnomes as well. Can anyone else give a reason?" One student timidly raises her hand. "An entire Kintish army went missing." "Yes, The Lost Regiment, very good. Anyone with another reason?" "Taxes," someone called out. Lykor nods. "Yes, indeed, very good! The peasantry were taxed heavily, some might say disasterously. It was a very costly war, both in trade, money and lives. But, this is no history class. I think we should move on to our next stop." He ushers the group on to the next point of interest on this field trip, but Dante hangs back to speak to George, Serai and Jade alone. “Dante!” George exclaims. “Unna taught me a new spell-" “George, wait. There’s something important I have to tell all of you. Worthen is missing.” George frowns. “How do you know?” “He left two week ago on an errand in Dunbar. He hasn’t come back yet.” George shrugs. “Maybe he’s just late.” “No, not like this. I think he tried a shortcut through the Woods.” George shakes his head. “No, not Worthen. He’s not stupid. He knows how dangerous the Woods are.” Dante sighs. “George, you’ve seen him. Since we’ve come back from Bellhold, he’s been different. He’s always been obsessed with seeing Fey and now he’s even worse. I think he would take that risk. Master Lykor thinks so, too. That’s why he wants us to go look for him.” George is stunned by this news. “Really? He really wants us to go?” Dante nods, grinning. “Amazing isn’t it? He was impressed by how well we did at Bellhold. More than likely it will be as you said, that Worthen just got caught up in something innocent. But he trusts us to find out.” For a moment, George is rendered speechless by this responsibility. Students are not usually trusted outside of the college walls let alone on a mission, even if it is a minor one. Neither he nor Dante is a licensed wizard as yet, which means that neither can legally cast spells. It just isn’t done, sending students on a wizard’s errand. “We have to tell Ishii, too!” George blurts out, excited. “When do we leave?” “Tomorrow, if we can.” [/QUOTE]
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The Ambergate Chronicles - Galahorn or the Curious Adventure of the Glass Coffin
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