Seregal said:
Seregal clears his throat. "Let me start with a story; it's about a map I came into possession of under rather tragic circumstances." He pauses, draws out a handerchief and dabs at one eye.
"I once worked in a hospice, where I cared for a dying man called Zorak of Redstone. He was a numenera hunter. He told me that twenty years ago, he had gone into a strange city at the behest of an Augur - one Jastor Kannop by name - who wanted him retrieve a strange, green orb from the centre of the city. Zorak said that the city had some strange properties - one moment all ruined, and the next, all shiny and new. Zorak told me that map belonged to his wife, and she was the real brains behind the expedition. She used the map to figure out the right time to get into the city, using some sort of clock or device. Anyway, so Zorak's expedition got in there and they found the green orb. But when they had it, time went all awry. Buildings were crumbling to ruin while Augur citizens walked unnoticed through parklands. Zorak panicked and fled the city before his wife could get the clock working properly. She crumbled into dust, and Zorak was left with part of his body aged like an old man, and part of him eternally young. He had the map but couldn't figure out how to get back into the city. He told me he smashed the green orb in his fury, and so he lived the rest of his days, a bitter old man, haunted by the memory of things past."
Seregal pauses and wipes the tears from his eyes. "Zorak gave me the map and told me to find out what happened to his wife. I decided to carry out his last wishes, for we had become close friends, but I couldn't decipher the map. However, Echo here has had some success with it. We found our way to a strange, underground location... I was wondering if you could tell me if there's any truth in Zorak's story, for often I did not know whether Zorak's words were based on madness or his own truth. And tell us what you may know about this 'Call', and what grim portents it may hold."
Jastor listens to Seregal's story, his expression almost masklike. At the end, he mutters a few low, heartfelt words in a strange, lyric tongue.
Duncan said:
"Did you say you have been having visions? What do you know of them?"
Duncan's abrupt questions seems to snap him out of his reverie. "Myself? No, I do not see the visions; they resonate with my storage bubble." Jastor indicates the orb with a nod before turning back to the group. "Zorak. Delved Sorrows, I hadn't thought to hear that name again. I would have forgotten it if I hadn't written it down." He stands abruptly. "Not here. Come with me."
Jastor strides out of the Violet Sun, ignoring the rest of the food, heading down the stairs to a lower level, to what looks like a storefront wrapped in shimming black synth, a curtain of semi-solid shadow obscuring the door. It parts at Jastor's presence as he walks in, the strange orb, nearly as large as he is, bobbing along behind him. As the last of the group follows, the curtain flows together again, and the chatter of the marketplace abruptly cuts off. There are what look like balls of dark blue rubber, perhaps three feet in diameter, scattered throughout the room. Anyone who sits on one finds it conforms to their body shape, making a comfortable chair.
"The map," Jastor says, reaching his hand through his orb and pulling out a small roll of paper. He looks over at Echo. "Your map, Echo. Let me see it." Jastor unrolls his own, and it's clear it's a plain paper copy of the map that Echo carries. If she unrolls hers, she finds that while the three circles are no longer there, the inverted triangle is back to shimmering in the dim light. "It's Zapheda's map, what you carry. I made a poor copy as a reminder. It's why I hired Zorak in the first place; his wife had carried that map for years without difficulty. I thought they'd be immune." He lets out a long, weary sigh and sits down, placing his hand on the orb and bringing out a small cylinder made of silver metal. He presses his fingers into several places along its length, and pale green vapor rises from it. He inhales it in an abnormally long breath, then turns his attention back to you, his eyes a bright, luminescent green.
"I had heard fragmentary tales of the city for years from some of my
feylath-an: how a small council of deep scholars had thought to use a series of trans-chronal capacitors as the centerpiece of a great experiment to move part of the city into an alternate time, allowing them to explore multiple probabilities at once. That is the theory as I understood it, though deep councils are notoriously close-mouthed about the specifics of their work. One thing I have learned is that they required a great deal of intellect to power the experiment. During the course of it, something went horrible wrong. The experiment grew to encompass the city, yet malfunctioned. It began to siphon more than intellect, and did so without consent or intent. If it hadn't been for those ancient power points, the devastation might have spread." He taps the inverted triangle. "As it is, part of the experiment is still active. Those that draw too close to the city have their minds drained. None of the deep scholars can get near without becoming dangerously damaged, even... unhinged. I ventured a little too close myself, and have only the foresight of containing my recorded memories within the sphere to be certain I would recall all of myself.
"It seems that those who are not Augurs, and particularly those who have had contact with artifacts from the ancient power points, have more immunity. I wanted one of the trans-chronal capacitors brought out so it could be studied, and the experiment either shut down or completed. Unfortunately, while Zapheda and Zorak seemed to have been unaffected by the mind drain, there were more dangers there than anyone had realized within the confines of the experiment. The orb was a capacitor; though I do not blame the man for his anger at the death of his wife, he might have caused more harm than he realized in his rage.
"But it seems that the power point is attempting to fix itself, perhaps, by calling others. I have seen at least a dozen pass through Wislayn, the sum of my memories," here Jastor pats the orb, "resonating in recall of the energy about them. And now here are more Seekers, and this time you have the map. You are more wary than Zapheda and Zorak. You may be able to answer the call where my own kind cannot. You could fix what his broken."
The green glow fades from his eyes, and Jastor sags a bit in his seat, breathing heavily before looking up, keeping in contact with the orb at his side.
