Carnifex's SH - Updated July 24th, Light and Questions

[Carnifex]

If this is an outpost, Kale had thought while regarding the huge structure, I'd like to see the Capitol. Fine cut walls climbed into the sky on precise angle, it would be the envy of Naserians. And even the tower of Zhatan was the very heart and pride of Huron. An outpost! Where had those Umbrals gone off to? And he had resumed his survey of the woods, almost expecting something nasty and alien to pop from the bushes.


The sudden interest and excitement had served to revive Kale a bit. Even his eyes seemed to perk up, despite having been silent and strictly about his business on his way up. Resisting his urge to range up ahead with Jarvis, Kale instead hung behind to learn what he could from conversation.


Johan had a lot to say, and sadly, Melisande had more. That woman needs to learn a bit about discretion, Kale had thought as he winced for the third time. For some reason, he felt only a spectator, riding along with his old crew, exploring new terrain and odd peoples.


The tower rose slowly on the horizon; slowly, too slowly it loomed closer. Escaping the eye, each time Kale reached to give the tower scale, it stretched longer and taller- still out of reach, still growing. So huge it commanded time, against it a man could feel nothing but small and fleeting. The structure was smaller, younger than the hills, but as the party stopped within view, its walls called out with purpose. It would have been inspiring, but that the purpose had nothing to do with Kale. A missing race of incredible power, wars long dormant- what were these to a young son of a merchant?


How badly he wanted it to go back to a simple smash-and-grab. I just wish Wolf were here…


"Someone's got there ahead of us, I can see tents, and horses tethered. No people in sight though." Of course. Kale hadn't reacted to the news, though his last hopes dissolved, the last chance for a straightforward job.


”Someone should go have a look,” Kale said to himself before he advanced to where Jarvis crouched. ”There might be people about,” he turned and said to Wyshira and the rest as a reminder to keep alert.


Sebastion turned in his saddle as Kale spoke. Good to hear his voice. he thought, with a grim half-smile. He's been too quiet since... lately.


"I agree." he nodded in Kale's direction. "I'll head down with.. Johan, was it?" he nodded to the more talkative of the scholars, "And you flank us to keep an eye out. Mel, Wyshira, you stay back a little with the others in case we need a line to retreat to."


Wyshira looked at Melisande to see how she would respond to being left behind. "We'll get there ourselves eventually," she said placatingly.

* * *​

Sebastion, Johan, Kale and Jarvis thus headed the movement towards the camp. Wyshira, suspicious of possible magical spying, could discern no scrying prescences, and after peering carefully she also found that what she could see of the camp didn't bring forth any recognition. There certainly weren't any emblazoned flags or icons visible, anyway.


It took some while for the forerunners to reach the camp, winding their way down the valley towards the base of the increasingly looming tower, its shadow cast far by the sun. The camp itself, nestled amongst copses of trees, seemed to be genuinely deserted, for they saw no movement nor met any resistance as they slowly approached.


Yet there was some life there. A cluster of horses were tied to the trees of one copse, solid and strong-looking, with plenty of feed having been placed nearby to them and the ropse that kept them there loose enough for the horses to wander a few metres. One of the horses had clearly been manipulated, bugles of additional muscle evident beneath its skin, and it watched the newcomers with a suspicious and intelligent gaze. Over by another copse, some other horses had been tied, thin and scrawny creatures.


Some of the tents in the camp were carefully arranged, well made from tough material, and supply boxes and sacks stacked in an orderly manner. Yet searching amongst them revealed that the tents were empty of all but very basic interior fixtures, bedrolls and supplies all stripped out, and the crates emptied of their innards. A short way away, the wreckage of some other tents and containers were scattered, made of poor tattered cloth and stripped of anything of value.


"Looks like two groups, one took what they could from the other camp," muttered Jarvis, emerging from a tent having been looking around inside. "And whoever set up the second camp seems to have taken everything with them except for outdoors wilderness survival equipment, like the tents. Now my guess is, and it's just a guess, that they went in there planning to stay for quite a while." He gestured to the imposing tower.


"What of the first group?" Sebastion asked, quietly, dismounting near the camp, though he didn't go and second-guess Jarvis' assumption. The lack of corpses implied that either they'd come together - which seemed unlikely given the stark contrast in equipment, or...


"Went in before the second, do you think? That would make us the third group heading in; popular place all of a sudden, wouldn't you say?"


Frowning at the possible implications of that, Sebastion turned a slow circle, surveying the scene, trying to make out what he could of the surroundings and make sure it was safe before gesturing for the others to come down.

* * *​

It had been a long journey for Meg'anna, but at last her destination was ahead of her. The valley swept away before her, the strange tower tearing up from the ground in the middle of it, surrounded by a carpet of trees on the valley floor. This was it, then.

* * *​

Her path had taken her from her newfound friends in southern Naseria deep into the wilds of the Drakkath. The young druid had felt the upsurge of sickness in the land, the vile tide that seemed to be rising throughout the bones of mountains and the roots of forests. Something horribly wrong had happened, and she had felt no choice but to seek out what.


She had known of one place that might provide an answer for her; she had never been to the domain of the archdruid of the entire Drakkath, even though theoretically she was part of the hierarchy. Yet it was the only possibility she could think of to solve the mystery. All other venues she tried failed her; other druids she knew were equally disturbed about the sickness of the land, and equally unable to explain it. So she had begun the long trek to the verdant court.

* * *​

The sheer massiveness of the trees, the might and grandeur of the father oaks, sweeping up around her, had been dazzling in its magnificence. The place had been like a beautiful, natural garden, life allowed to grow free yet somehow forming patterns of colour and giving the place a calming aura.


The inhabitants of the place had been a surprise. The court was in the heart of forests where gnolls held sway, and she had been given passsage by many of their tribes to reach the place. It was guarded by a fierce breed of the hyaena-men who called themselves the Glade Wolves, the distinctively-warpainted warriors an elite and loyal core of warriors at the command of the archdruid. Many of the druids were themselves gnolls, with some few men and elves there.


And they had had answers, though only a few and only incomplete.


She had asked the druids there of the sickness, and they had told her what they knew of it. The cause was uncertain, though the archdruid was apparently most troubled and had organised the forest-kin and druidic seekers to discover what the source of the taint was. It came from within the Drakkath, they knew, and it did not reach outside the area, but they could not pinpoint the exact cause. Some druids worriedly muttered of Elder gods or dark powers, while a number of the gnoll adepts spoke of their suspicions of Carthagia, for in recent times a virtual war had sprung up between the dark nation and the gnoll tribes along its eastern border, the clerics of Toran unleashing fell Manipulated beasts into the wilderness to dive back the forest-kin.


But there had, in truth, been nothing there for Meg'anna. No final answer to the problem, no confident solution, and neither was there seemingly any guidance as to what she, Meg'anna, was supposed to do now.

* * *​

Meg'anna had sat herself down on the bank of a bubbling brook that wound its way nearby the verdant court, tired from a day of trying to find out what was going on and what her course of action should be. A sudden noise made her start, turning her head to see an elderly gnoll druid, his fur grey-white, slowly making his way down the path towards the brook with the aid of his quarterstaff. He quietly padded up beside her, and seated himself down by the brook as well.


"Meg'anna, yes? Ah, young druidess, I have heard you are a recent arrival to this place, and like all the arrivals, want to know what causes the illness within the earth. And like most of the others I doubt you are satisfied with what you have heard. The archdruid plans to do this, the archdruid has sent out people to do that, eh? But you can do something yourself for the druidic council, young woman, if you are willing to take the burden of a task from us."


"These are bad days. The illness of the Drakkath is not all. Have you heard of the Knights of the Thorn, Meg'anna? An order of holy warriors who fight in the name of Lliras, defenders of nature and warriors of the goddess of life. A brave and powerful band of warriors indeed, and most respected. It was over a month ago that one of their number, a young gnoll knight errant by the name of Storm Dancer, left the verdant court, on a most urgent quest to a place in the Sarokean mountains. He seemed to believe that something important, something related to the sickness, was there, at this dark tower deep in the mountains which was built by an ancient race. He left with haste and with few words, and never returned." The gnoll's words were slow, patient and measured, matching the peaceful environment they sat in.


"We have sent envoys to the Knights of the Thorn to discover what they know of the sickness, but we are most worried by the fact that the gnoll warrior never returned. He was a capable traveller and soldier, and thus we fear something unfortunate has befallen him at the tower, and that indeed something related to the sickness really is there. We have few more we can spare to investigate this matter though, and thus I ask you, Meg'anna, would you do this for the council? Would you investigate the matter, and discover the fate of Storm Dancer?" The aged druid's old, wise eyes settled on her, awaiting her acceptance or refusal.


* * *


And thus she was here now, at the tower, after many long days of travel. She had approached the apparently deserted camp, observing from a nearby coppice. There were tethered horses, one clearly Manipulated, but no other signs of life.


And then, others had come. While she had assumed the camp inhabitants weere either dead or had ventured into the tower, she had not been prepared for new arrivals. They had approached carefully and cautiously, and several were now poking around the camp.


The next shock was that she recognised some of their number. While she might have thought herself mistaken when she thought she saw Sebastion and Ebri there, well... there was definitely no mistaking Melisande with her blue skin. It was them.


It was her old friends. Here, at a mysterious tower deep in the mountains, it seemed that fate had re-united them...


Next time, surprise at Meg'anna's return and speculation about those who reached the tower first...

 

[Carnifex]

Mel drifted down the valley, her mind too overflowed with the tower to take offense at Sebastion's macho strategy to approach without letting the girls stray into harm's way.


As the ancient, snaking stone grew to fill her field of vision, a mystic case of goosebumps rushed over her blue skin. What weird customs and unworldly rituals lay still imprinted in the arcane fabric of this place? Surely such an old and learned race left its footprint on the magic weave of the world. She strained her mind to sense it, to pull gingerly on the strings of arcana she held tenuously in the mental fingers of a sorceress, and see what might happen. The temptation was to enhance her vision, but this would be counter-productive until a moment when she could stand still, close by the breathing bulk of the tower, and concentrate. She wondered if the stone would feel warm to the touch.


Soon she had ridden up into the very midst of the abandoned camp, mostly oblivious to the implications the others were discussing--these were a mere formality as far as she was concerned. She wanted to explore the tower. It didn't matter to her who else had explored it or when.

* * *​

Strangely enough, the camps seemed deserted, or they appeared to be that way. No movement, save for that from the horses, had been seen at all. The strange and alien smell of the manipulated horse assaulted Meg'anna's nostrils, causing her to manuever around to a position where the smell was not so potient.


A slight rustle behind her instantly put the druidess on the defensive, her spear springing into her hand. Taking a silent step backwards, Meg called a simple defensive spell to mind. To her relief, a small red fox appeared from the undergrowth.


Micah! You scared me nearly to death! What am I going to do with you, huh? Not that you could understand me anyway. We'll see if after we finish this little errand, we can do something about that.


The small fox merely cocked its head at the druidess in a look of confusion before pressing forward through the thicket. Meg'anna merely smiled and stepped forward, looking for what had caused the little canine to move ahead.


Probably a shiny beetle or a shrew. He might as well be a stomach with red fur.


Propping her spear against the tree, Meg'anna eased the bough out of her line of sight, peering around the campsites, seeing no more than she had all morning. The horses had moved around somewhat, but that wasnt the strange thing. The druidess gasped inaudibly as she saw another group approaching the tower as well. She jockeyed around in the thicket to get a better vantage point, looking for some sort of insignia or device that might identify the newcomers. Not that she would have been able to identify one if it were present, but something would have been better than nothing.


The newcomers swept down the road, moving cautiously, yet with measured force towards the campsite. They had begun poking around when Meg'anna had finally gotten a good look at them. Most were of no real circumstance to her, they had the look of rugged scholars, one or two carried weapons that introduced them as the vanguard of this group. But there was something strangely familar about a pair of the company. Meg couldn't quite place what exactly it was about the man and woman that was familar, that was until Melisande walked into view.


Her skin flushed cold for a moment as the dreadful though that her former companions were behind this strange illness that faced the land, and even worse that they were somehow linked to the mysterious fate of Storm Dancer. She quickly dismissed the thought, as she watched them poke around the campsite, seemingly looking for the former occupants. They were here looking for answers too.


What should I do? I could eaily reveal myself to them, though I fear that they might have betrayed our trust. Perhaps I should merely watch from afar. Or even follow them.


Her thoughts were deliberate, as she tried to remind herself that not everything was as it seemed. Her former friends had brought a lot of firepower with them to this tower, and they were prehaps involved with the denizens therein.


But, in the pit of her stomach, Meg yearned to be re-united with her friends, to call out to them and talk about all the time they had been apart. But she could never do that, not before and certainly not now. Taking a deep breath, Meg'anna made her decision.


Taking a moment to shoulder her hidden pack as her spear, Meg pushed her way out of the thicket and approached the campsite with slow, deliberate steps.

* * *​

When a stranger stepped into the campsite from the nearby copse Mel did actually stop wondering about the tower abruptly. The tall, dusky woman was staring straight at her. She gaped, double-gaped, and then flew off her horse laughing.


"Meg'anna? Meg'anna! It's you! What a coincidence! I never dreamed we'd see you again!" Digging awkwardly for her naturalist's book and a pencil, she rushed over at once to embrace her old friend--her first friend from the outside world, who had reappeared miraculously here at the tower. She thrust out the book and pencil, changed her mind, and embraced the tall druid, then eagerly handed over a blank page. "You'll have cramps in your hands, dear, because I want you to tell me everything!"


Though she was expecting some sort of welcome, Meg'anna could not be prepared for the sight of Melisande toppling off of her horse and bounding towards her, tearing through her pack the entire way. Meg'anna flushed a deep crimson and smiled at her, hoping to get an equally receptive response from the others in Mel's group. She opened her mouth to speak, and as she tried, the memory of her inability to communicate verbally hit her hard. There was little in the way of talking to in the forest by oneself, so the memory tended to fade while traveling alone. Thats why Melisande was getting a notebook out, because she remembered the druidess' handicap. Her smile faded instantly, replaced by a look of hopelessness. Eventually, she would find a way to talk to others. She just had too.


The completely confident tone of Melisande's voice put Meg in a better mood. She was still depressed by her issue, but there was a way to communicate with others. She was still intelligent, after all. Nodding to the young woman, the druidess took the sheafs of parchement and in a very neat, fine script she began to detail her journey to the south, to seek advice from the druid elders.


"Having no need to seek out information in the city, I turned to the south, seeking out my own answers for why the illness is spreading, and what I could do to stop it. I found, however, that there was little that my meager knowledge would allow me to do. Having experimented with some rather rare reagents, I found that perhaps if certain extracts were augmented with the power of natural energies, that we may have a chance to combat this illness.


Knowing that I did not have the strength to pull these energies on my own, I traveled to a conclave of my peers. Here I presented my work before them, trying to pry out anymore information or garner some sort of help. As it turned out, my works had been presented some dozens of times before the Council Members, and each time the theory had been disproved. I was congradulated for my work, however, and allowed to seek out some of the elders for more information.


This also got me no where. Apparently, there is no magic that can combat the sickness, and in some circles, it is thought that any attempt to curb the spread of the illness will, in fact, curse the one attempting it. Most of all this is simply hearsay, and I don't believe it for a moment. Yet, there is something that I was not being told, I could feel it. Perhaps I am just in denial.


Regardless, I found myself contemplating what my next move should be. I figured that I should probably continue my search back where I left off. Nature always has a tendacy tol right itself during these things, yet the sway of magics over nature often overturns that balancing act, stunting it for years or longer. Other times, nature simply falls into a chaotic retinue, letting the more destructive forces of nature to be allowed to run rampant. Perhaps that is what this blight is. Though I highly doubt it. Hurricanes, typhoons, and drought are all within nature's grasp, these things rage for a brief period of time, annihilating everything in their path, thereby allowing the natural course continue on with things. Blights and poisons are often the handiwork of man-kind. They find no reason to protect what provided for them, often viewing nature as an obstacle to overcome, rather than work with. I hold my suspicions that this blight is created by the hands of men.


So, I traveled north, finding myself seeking out suspected niches of evil men. Those whom would have the capacity to do soemthing so evil. Through my sources, I had been told that this is such a place. And, here I am.


What have you been doing this whole time? Why are you here?"


Though she had written most of the truth, Meg was still unsure about whether to tell Melisande the entire reason for her being at the Tower. She had agreed to look after Storm Dancer, and to report his fate. But that was her mission, not that of her friends. And it would be better to know what she was doing here first, before giving up the complete truth.

* * *​

Jarvis nodded at Sebastion's appraisal, looking over the tracks of the camp. "First group turns up, heads in. Second group turns up, probably ransacked the first group's camp by the look of it, and headed in themselves. It seems others have an interest in this place as well as us..."


It was at this point that Meg'anna emerged from the trees and Melisande so eagerly greeted her. The suddenly tensed poses of a number of the ragtag band who did not know Meg'anna subsided again as it became clear that she was a friend and not a foe, though the druidess could not help but notice many eyes remained suspiciously trained on her.


That's got to be some coincidence! Wyshira thought when she realized that she was witnessing the reunion of two old friends. Afterall, she knew how long a journey Melisande had made, just from the Truthseeker's home, to reach this tower. How odd that an earlier companion of the sorceress had made the same journey, but by a different path.


She wouldn't intrude on the friends' meeting, although she made herself available to be introduced to the newcomer just in case it occurred to Mel to make introductions.


Meanwhile, she looked around the two camps a bit, making sure to avoid the manipulated horse. She was especially interested in the lesser camp, the one that had apparently been destroyed by the usurping second-comers. She examined the remains of the threadbare tents, looking for some recognizable insignia or something. There didn't seem to be anything of any of value left here whatsoever.

* * *​

Melisande read along eagerly as Meg'anna wrote, and pronounced the words aloud so that the others who might be interested could hear.


"Oh, what we've been doing--it's a very long story. I'll tell you everything later on. We went on to Tarravus and met Lord Ecurius, who is a Naserian sorcerer and Truth-Seeker (and you should meet him, he's a real dreamboat), and he asked us to explore this tower for him, and we joined with some other er, adventurers--Kale, Wyshira, and Burl, there. It's all very exciting. But right now I guess we need to find out who went into this tower before we did and how long ago, and why, and all that. Do you know anything about them? Look at that horse! He's Manipped for sure."


Gesturing for Meg'anna to follow, and not waiting for an answer to her own questions, Mel started across the copse toward the unnatural-looking horse. She approached him warily, knowing it was no ordinary animal and probably trained to display its mistrust for strangers with reinforced hooves and teeth.


Meg'anna nodded to Melisande as she began to leave for the strange manipulated horse, but stopped in horror as she watched the sorceress approach the creature. The manipulated beast had a feint odor to it, making it nearly unbearable for the druidess to go near. Motioning for Melisande to continue on her own, Meg'anna began quickly, but carefully going through the campsite, looking for clues as to what happened to the former residents. As she moved from tent to tent, a small rust coloured blur raced from the confines of the trees to wrap itself around the druidess' legs. A small fox made it rather adamant that he was not leaving her side, at least for the moment.


Oblivious to Meg'anna's disgust at the flesh-twisted horse, Melisande spoke confidently to the creature. "Hello there, boy. You're a long way from Carthagia, just like me. Want an apple?" She rummaged for one from her pack. "...Or some jerky? Are you that kind of horse?" She stood out of his range, testing his reaction with an apple in one hand and jerky in the other. He didn't look Manipped enough to talk, but then again she never worked with the horses; still, even his tack might reveal something of his origin.

* * *​

Stood in the midst of the two contrasting sets of tents, Sebastion watched Mel's enthusiastic, ebullient display with equal parts amusement and despair. The soldier in him cast numerous looks about the site, wondering who - or what - might be attracted by the noise, but he couldn't help but be buoyed a little by her seemingly unquenchable drive to babble.


Despite the return of a familiar face, however, there was still work to be done, and he quickly turned his eyes about to see what it was.


"Kale, you and Jarvis take a good look through this lot, see what you can make out. Wyshira, see if you can't get Mel to quieten down a little. Why she needs to shout at a deaf woman I'll never know."


"I'm going to circle the site - and the tower - make sure neither of these two groups is still out and about. I'd appreciate some company?" he finished, looking at Cazamir, with a querying expression.

* * *​

After Melisande went off to make friends with the strange, manipulated horse, Wyshira followed Meg'anna as she began to search the campsite for clues.


"I already looked through all that," Wyshira said in a helpful tone as the druidess began to open a ramshackle crate. "Although maybe you would find something in it that was meaningless to me.


Meg jumped slightly as the blue-tinted woman appeared up beside her. Her face flushed pale, before a nervous smile appeared on the druidess' face.


"I'm Wyshira, by the way, priestess of Ishrak." Wyshira offered Meg'anna a pale blue hand, and serenely dipped her head in greeting. "Mel rather hurried through the introductions, didn't she? But that's Melisande! I'm afraid I can't relate to her interest in those unnatural creatures," she added with a slight shudder and a glance toward the manipulated horse.


For once, Meg'anna felt like someone finally understood her problem. Manipulated creatures were inherently evil. They were abominations, with no place on the earth. They are creatures that should be put out of their misery.


Unfortunately, Meg could only shake her head.


"I hope you don't mind my curiosity, but is what Melisande read true? Your sources warned you that this Tower might harbor men of evil? Do you mean currently, or in the past?"


"I'm sorry... I don't have any paper or a pen......" She lapsed into awkward silence as she waited to see how Meg'anna would communicate with her.


Slinging her pack over her shoulder, Meg'anna quickly produced a small slate board and a piece of phosporescent chalk.


Unfortunately, I have no way of telling whether my information was meant ot be past or present. I, however....


Giving her a moment to read what Meg'anna wrote, the druidess then wiped the slate clean and continued.


...believe that whomever is here, has to be somehow aligned with the blight. I came here simply as it was thought to be a place...


Wiped clean once more.


...where I could find some answers. Perhaps, we will find out soon whether or not I am correct in my assumption.



Next Time: A shocking discovery for Melisande, and preparations to enter the Tower itself...

 

[Horacio]

Good!
I really like the way you keep updating almost daily

 

[Carnifex]

Some kind of accident...... thought Wyshira, as her glance fell on the terrible scars on Meg'anna's throat. A wild animal attack, possibly? That didn't seem likely, since the woman was a druidess. Perhaps some evil, unnatural creature had done it.


Well whatever it was that had caused Meg'anna to lose the power of speech, it had likely been a traumatic experience. Especially if it had happened in childhood. Wyshira couldn't tell for sure how old the scars were. For a moment, she could clearly visualize how the wounds must have looked when they were freshly made, and her heart filled with compassion.


When Meg'anna produced her slate and began writing on it, Wyshira read the words out loud.


"And you would have gone in the Tower alone, in spite of the danger if these men truly are evil?" she asked the druidess, astonished. "It really is a good thing that we came along then!"


Meg'anna paused, looking around. The camp was, in all actuality, deserted. Not that she couldn't see that previously, but it was verified by the completely empty capsites. Here there was signs of former habitation, an empty tankard here, a bit of discarded parchment there. All in all it was a disgusting mess. Bits of char and burnt wood lay scattered amid the ring of rock that once contained the campfire, yet now the living fire was now dead, a distant reminder of what once was.


As if by habit, the druidess began picking up the small bits of refuse, piling them all in one of the hide tents. It was the least that she could do, for otherwise, the trash and bits of refuse would scatter about into the wilds, thrashing what is all natural and good. There was little that she could do to save all the wilderness from the trappings of man, but she could at least make a small difference here.


With the final bit of trash picked up, Meg found there to be little else to do but venture to the tower. That was, orignally, why she came here in the first place. She had found nothing mentioning the gnoll she was sent to find, nor was there really any trace of those denizens that where here previously.


She stopped for a moment and pulled out her slate again, and Meg'anna quickly scribbled a message upon it.


I am going to the Tower now. What is your company here for? Are you seeking entry as well?


She thrust the tablet towards Wyshira, hoping for some sort of answers.


"Well, yes... yes we are planning to enter the Tower," Wyshira answered Meg'anna somewhat hesitantly. Next to the reason that the druidess had for being here - searching for the source of the evil blight upon the land - her company's purpose for coming to the Tower seemed much less worthy.


"Like Melisande said, we're on a mission for a Truthseeker." That sounded noble enough on the surface. Actually, Wyshira knew less about what they were doing here than she should. She was here because Wolf had decided to take this job. And when Wolf was lost, she had continued on with the others. She didn't really care what they were here for; she only cared about keeping them all healthy.


Which only served to remind her of her recent failure.


She turned to where Kale stood watching the Tower, and found him talking quietly to Melisande. She considered Kale to be Wolf's chosen successor. He had been closest to Wolf afterall, and the one most likely to know the fallen mercenary's intentions. He seemed to be coming around a bit finally, and with this new serious side to his nature becoming more evident, she trusted him more than anyone else to make the best decisions about what to do next. With fierce determination she swore again to herself that she would let nothing happen to him, or to any of the others, if she could help it. Maybe it was time that she took a more active role in the decision-making process......


"I don't know what to tell you about these scholars," Wyshira went on to Meg'anna in a low voice. "They were ahead of us on the road. They say this is some sort of ancient Umbral outpost that they want to study." She shrugged to show that it made little difference to her, Shadows or no Shadows; but Meg'anna could see that her expression was grave.


"The Tower is dangerous, Meg'anna. Strange, Umbral spirit-machines..... And there are likely other traps laid by the last inhabitant, a Carthagian wizard. Now we find this camp and that.. that horse; they can only mean more trouble. Don't go in alone. Wait and see what Kale decides to do and go with us."

* * *​

Rather than going for either of the proffered foods, the Manipulated horse continued to watch her suspiciously, moving itself so as to always be facing her head on as she approached. From where she stood now, several feet away, she could see an impressive bridle and other pieces of riding gear attached, all red cloth and decoratively inscribed metal. Hanging from the bit dangled two golden emblems, and from peering as well as she could, the sorceress recognised the symbol emblazoned on them. It was, in her memory, associated with two things; firstly her Manipulator tutor, Professor Akarsis, the foremost biothaumaturge of the laboratory-fortress she attended at; and also with the school itself, which used the professor's personal insignia as its own more general emblem, playing on the famous achievements in flesh-twisting and genetics that the wizard had achieved to enhance its reputation against those of rival laboratories. Whether this meant the Professor himself was here, or just a member of that establishment, she could not tell.


"Oh." Mel took a couple of steps back from the horse. It was her turn to stare warily at it. She lowered her hands slowly, stuffing the jerky in the first pocket it found its way to, and took a thoughtful bite of the apple.


Maybe he just sold the horse to some mercenary. No, he wouldn't have sold his precious personal tack along with it. Maybe someone stole the horse? Mel smirked grimly. You didn't just walk off with a Manipulated horse.


If it was indeed Akarsis or someone from the lab, she realized, there was likely to be trouble. Mostly because of her. Of course, she could try to bluff them, to pretend she'd been sent on this ultra-secret mission by someone over their heads like the Toranite church, long before they'd heard of it themselves.... Yes, it might work... except who would believe Melberry as some sort of secret agent? She could pretend the whole nitwit thing was a charade to keep them in the dark. Hm....


Deep in her pocket, roused by a stab of unidentifiable jerky, Pierre stirred. He sensed her disquiet and began automatically to worry, and then went stiff with horror as he caught a familiar mental whiff of something foul--something sinister!


Akarsis!


Pierre did not form words, but the concept of this personage rang out as clear as a name in his mental cry of terror. He began to kick uncontrollably in his clingy pocket as if swimming in despair.


Tadpoles.... Tadpoles.... Swimming to and fro in a panic that gave a sour smell to the water.... Hundreds of monstrous tadpoles, like an amphibian's demon phantasmagoria.... One with implanted stingers festering in its back, another with the front end of a toad and the back end of some sort of newt, one with long, spidery legs, one with swollen venomous tongues lolling, one with five heads and no tail, like a hideous cartwheel spinning in the water. There had been electric shocks, scalpels under hot lights, bitter chemicals, cauterizing irons--evil things, and through the green surface scum the same face hovered thoroughout the torture. Akarsis!


She had been there too, of course; he remembered Her. But She was the one who turned the hot lights down and lifted all the struggling things from the water gently to clean their tub, and gave them fresh red worms. Pierre knew it was She who had spliced him together but that had been before he was even a tadpole, and he didn't recall any pain, and now he was glad because he always had company. Some of the others weren't as lucky. And then She had spoken to him. She was kind. The other humans were cruel to Her. Pierre had sensed an ally, and they both cringed together when Akarsis approached. He thought that was over. But now! What treachery was this?


Pierre! Settle down! Mel felt herself begin to hyperventilate in empathy. Floating images of pollywog hell reached her through Pierre's panic.


Ugh, stop it. It might not even be he. Calm down! Even if it is, he won't hurt you. The experiments are over. I promise!


Besides, it's me he'll be interested in seeing, not some dud of a Manipulated toad. Mel shivered, even though she was trying to soothe Pierre with a pat to the pocket. His thrashing slowed, more from exhaustion than anything else.


She was looking around at her companions and feeling like a liability, and wondering whether she should tell them, and wishing she were invisible. Hm....


No. She would not hide. Once, when she was young and inexperienced--months ago!--she had run away from this evil. Now, it was time to stand!


...But carefully. Feigning nonchalance, she wandered over to where Kale stood in the camp. "Kale, I was just thinking--I could make a couple of us invisible if you wanted to scout the tower undetected. It wouldn't last an hour, but maybe that would give us a chance to see who else is in there before they see us. Alternatively we could send Pierre and Spike in...."


She trailed off. There were still goosebumps from the thought of Professor Akarsis, but something told her she should be able to sense a presence so foul....


Head to one side, brow knit, she gazed up at the weird tower and concentrated.

DM's Note: Melisande trying out her Detect Evil gained with her 1st level of Paladin

* * *​

Sebastion's quick circling of the area showed up nothing; no signs of movement except for the local wildlife, and certainly nothing suspicious that might indicate that anyone from the camp was prowling around. Equally the renewed search of the camp showed up nothing new. "Nothing," was all Jarvis could say with a shrug when Sebastion had returned from his patrol.


Coming back to the gathering with a serious but not concerned expression, Sebastion wasn't surprised at all by Jarvis' findings, and simply nodded as he dismounted. Eyeing the manipulated beast warily, he searched the area to see if anything had been left out for it in the way of feed. Perhaps someone was intent on coming back.


"We should be heading in soon, anyone in there will likely know we're here by now." he offered, catching up to the end of Mel's comversation with Kale.


"Invisible? Will that stop anyone setting traps off?" Swallowing, despite himself, and suppressing the shudder he felt at asking, he continued with the line of thought. "How... how many of us could you inv... make invisible?"

* * *​

As Melisande gazed up at the massive tower, looking intently for any trace of such foul presences as might reside within, she didn't particularly get any sense that there was anything evil there. Obviously the tower itself was rather foreboding but she couldn't see or feel anything more about the place than she had already observed.


Then, a few seconds after she had begun concentrating... it was almost as if the tower reacted to her thoughts. High up in the structure, part of a vane-sprouting toweret that branched off the primary trunk crackled with dancing electricity, grinding into revolving motion with a screech of rusty metal before settling into a high-speed hum. Her concentration broken by the odd device high above, it seemed to turn off once again, slowing to a stop once again. Why it had begun to spin in the first place, and what it had done, was unclear, but with the sudden mechanical noise having subsided an eerie silence descended once again across the landscape around the tower.


Mel smiled sheepishly as she came out from behind Sebastion, in whose shadow she had instinctively taken refuge when the tower started to rev up ominously. The sound reminded her of the kobold machine they's come across in the caverns, but much more refined. It was not good.


"Strange, it was almost like it knew I was looking--or prying, that is. But unless I'm mistaken, there isn't anything consciously menacing inside.


"Still," she concluded, turning back to Sebastion, "invisibility will not protect us from the traps--only from being seen. I can make two, maybe three people invisible for a little more than a half an hour each.


"Then again, not only is there nothing consciously menacing but the previous parties may be watching us from up there right now and thinking, 'Ha, they're going to make themselves invisible.' Wouldn't that be stupid? You're right, we probably should get out of this open campsite soon."


Hand on the hilt of his sword, staring up into the sky alongside the tower Sebastion felt slightly foolish when nothing happened, and only settled when he looked down and saw the alert postures and skyward glances that everyone else displayed.


"I shouldn't blame myself, if I were you," he offered, quietly, as Mel emerged from behind him, "we were all looking."


Settling his gear with a slightly nervous jangle, rearranging his mail-shirt on his shoulders, he cleared his throat and looked once more at the tower.


"We don't actually know anything about the people that beat us here - they could just as well be students and scholars like... well, scholars, anyway. Let's be careful, but just head in and see how they are."


The sages seemed to be nodding amongst themselves as Sebastion's words. Most seemed both eager to be on into the huge tower, while equally to be out of the wide open and away from the eerily empty campsites they had found. The tower's movement had only further settled and exceited them.


Jarvis gave a shrug. "Not a lot we can do out here for the time being. There's plenty of the day left after all, so I'm sure we can at elast begin to make some headway in exploring the tower."

* * *​

Ruin. Death. Caution.


Ebri kicked at the long-dead embers again, sending them scattering across a wider space. The hard black bits re-formed into a new set of patterns. She read them idly, musing. She listened to her comrades, but her eyes were cast firmly upon the ground.


Good Fortune. A Birth. Drought.


These 'auguries' took no effort to recall, and it did not surprise her that her mind had retained them this long. Once they had been second nature to her, a part of each day's beginning and end. Her clan had set much store by them. Fortunately for them, in Ebri they had had someone intelligent enough to interpret the random nonsense into something resembling guidance, if not actually wisdom.


It had been service, of a kind, she reflected. They were unenlightened folk who asked for nothing more. Certainly her childhood had given her skills that served her at the monastery and here, today. It would be pointless to think otherwise.


She brushed her sandal across the ground once more; three had been the 'number of completeness'. From a statistical point of view, it served her as well, offering a chance to display the disconnected and meaninglessness of such things.


A Birth. Travel. Death.


Such vague things. Meaningless, but useful to the weak-minded. No doubt if she explained what she was doing at this moment, and the supposed 'answers', her companions would shudder, and spend the next hour pondering...


She turned back, walking over to them as the tower made its odd motion, taking in the horse, and her ward's increased blue color. Consternation? Anxiety? Surprise, of course. And possibly the proximity to Sebastion...


That was... rather interesting..." she commented mildly, as she approached. "I do not say it is unwise, but I wonder how useful invisibility will be to us. For it seems probable to me that the tower, if it has a mother-spirit as these gentlement suggest, is already aware of our presence. It is likely any intelligent occupant therein is also alerted to us. But still, it may prove useful." "Or comforting, if nothing else." If you wish, I will join you in scouting. I have a way of becoming invisible myself, without need of your spell, Melisande. But I would also suggest that we simply go now, all of us, and find what may be there. I would not wish to split our strength on unknown ground. "


"We're all here to explore, right?" Sebastion noted, facing the door with a thoughtful expression.


"There's no reason to suggest they aren't here for the same thing - sneaking in on them will most likely just get their backs up. Let's just go in, and try to talk to them?" Despite the words, he took the time to buckle on the black-blade sword, and reached over his shoulder to re-arrange the three axes sat on their baldric as he waited for a response.

* * *​

Mel tightened a leather strap that held her spear alongside her saddle. It would not be of much use in close quarters and she was ever more eager to baptise her new sword if it came down to it. And it was likely to.


She bit her lip as she tore a couple of sheets from her notebook and folded them into a pocket along with a quill pen, in case she wanted to converse with Meg'anna; the book would stay in a saddle bag, along with much of the rations she was carrying. She should not be burdened in the tower. With cold dread she realized she was planning for another struggle against death. Could one ever become accustomed to fighting for one's life? Would her heart, adrenal glands, bladder and the rest ever become hardened to mortal fear? she wondered wistfully as she finished tying up her horse and located a convenient bush in order to address these over-stimulated physiological sensibilities.


Emerging ready as she'd ever be, she joined the gathering group and faced the dark entryway. Whatever it held for her friends, it held one thing she would have to address alone. If she told them what she suspected, certain people would surely instruct her to remain outside. There was no way she'd let that happen. It was risky, but this was something she had to take care of someday, one way or another, ready or not. She was unusually silent as they began their ascent from the campsite, her mind and Pierre's communing in dread.


Professor Akarsis. She'd feared him even when they were on the same side.


Oh, let it be one of the snotty necromancers! Just not him!

* * *​

It seemed most of those assembled were in agreement with Sebastion - they might as well go in and find out just what was waiting for them within with the minimum of fuss. "They might be looters or somesuch, of course; just avaricious treasure-hunters, in which case I advise everyone to be ready for trouble... though I still hold out hope for a reasonable reception..." Johanne said quietly as they approached the dark entranceway, metal arcing overhead as if it had writhed into place, a tangle of curved steel of unpleasantly organic appearance. It funnelled down to a dark pair of what seemed to be double-doors, the complex gear-lock seemingly having already been dealt with for one of the looming doors was slightly ajar.


Jarvis wordlessly indicated what looked like three small cairns of stones on the rugged ground just outside the entrance of the tower, each marked with a piece of deadwood and some small talisman placed on them. The scout walked quietly over to the stones and gingerly picked up one of the talismans, a tiny emblem on a leather thong. "The symbol of Toran. Looks like someone has already experienced a definite danger within the tower. If they've lost people they're more likely to be edgy, jumpy... we should continue with caution..."


Staring for a moment at the commitments to the fallen, Sebastion's face set a little into a frown, before he looked back up towards the tower.


"Or, perhaps, a group that has already lost men may be willing to accept help." he offered, quietly. "Either way, we won't know until we're in. Kale, Jarvis, you go first, overlapping runs. I'll take the van of the group. Ladies, if you settle in with our learned brethren, and Casimir, was it? Could you cover the back?"


Cazamir stared into the eyes of this man again. It was fine to see someone active about this situation, but Cazamir didn’t care for his orders. This Sebastion had paid him no coin. And of course, he was pulling Jarvis and Cazamir away from their charges.


Cazamir glanced back at Johan. “I’ll be glad to investigate the dangers of the cairn, but I would not leave you unguarded. Should Jarvis or I stay here?” He nodded to indicate the scout.


Then he turned back to the group, his jaw clinched tight. They had conveniently met another of their ‘party’ at this destination. What surprises would they be hiding inside for him?

* * *​

Though she had wanted to start towards the tower, the priestess had kept her from going, at least for the moment. Meg screwed her face at the thought of waiting much longer, though she knew that if she wanted the help of those she had traveled with before, she would simply have to wait.


Patience, however, was not one of Meg'anna's virtues. She paced around anxiously, awaiting the decisions of the others. The diminutive red fox scurried about the ends of her robes, Though the fox did not know what was troubling his mistress, the small canine could tell that something vexed her.


It was then that those she both knew, and those she had recently met started towards the tower suddenly. Meg quickly shouldered her pack and followed them, keeping most of hte group ahead of her, as it was that she did not know all of the members therein. She kept Melisande in view, as she was the best known. Strangely enough, she kept fingering the blade she kept on herself, as if the woman was itching for a fight. Why though, Meg'anna could not say.


The huge tower doors stood ajar slightly, and the stone cairns sent a ashiver down her spine. This was a place of strange magics and unnatural emminations. She could feel the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up with the close proximity to the tower. Near her feet, Micah whined, while figeting back and forth, tattoo-ing the ground with his tiny footsteps.


Toran!!! There are buried the men of Toran! And now we go into this place willingly? We must tread lightly, for whatever caused this destruction is most likely not to enjoy more company.


Grasping firmly to her spear, Meg'anna fought down the shivers one last time before steeling herself against whatever they might find inside. Taking a tentative step forward, she slipped through the door.

* * *​

It had been some time, Melisande realized as she moved into the cool shadow of the tower doors, since she'd felt the stern, accusing gaze of Toran weighing on her from above. After crossing into Naseria that burden had slowly lifted, until the moment she met Klavius and found Naskha and felt at last fully shielded from the Carthagian god's judgment. Now, standing over a cairn dedicated to the god she had disdained and betrayed, she felt a rush of goosebumps across the back of her neck. Not only had Iron-Handed Toran been invoked here,--was he watching?--but Carthagians had died. Might it be people she once knew? Some of the young necromancers from her lab, cut down by a trap they set off at the tower door? In spite of herself, she felt sorry. She'd never liked those necromancers much, but she didn't want them dead.


Her first day in the lab she'd been guided into the upper level work area by a skinny, black-clad and black-fetlocked wart of a boy, only to discover a handful of other boys just like him, practically identical but for various heavy silver jewelry, more or less white matte makeup and a pimple or two. They looked up from their thick books and dissecting tables and scrutinized her for an uncomfortable moment before bursting into peals of nasal laughter. One asked her if she'd recently been strangled, and they all seemed to think that was terribly funny. Necromancer humor. They never included her. She never got it anyway.


On evenings off they would gather to play some sort of trading card game in a candlelit vault, but they never invited Melberry. She was like a weird mascot for their sinister team, and they got no end of amusement from her. They slipped goblin guts into her pockets and forced her to clean up after their cruel experiments. When she'd first made Pierre they tried to put him down the outhouse hole. One of them brought to life a disembodied human hand and hid it in her workbench drawer. Mel stared down at the cairn and resisted feeling even the least bit satisfied. That wouldn't be nice.


But what made her writhe the most was the memory of Akarsis. She hadn't hated the man by any means--he'd earned her profound respect, in fact. But the mere thought of his regard gave her a chill. A cryogenic knife of a man, with an icy, dissecting stare, Professor Akarsis had instantly inspired Melisande with deep adulation. She remembered showing up bright-eyed nearly an hour early for her interview and finding the professor in full lab regalia, looking like some huge dragonfly with his bulky magnifying goggles and long, thin frame hurrying from bench to bench. The interview was short, pointed and terse (at least on his end), just like every interaction they had had after that. He was as exact, brilliant and cold as the North Star. She knew how he would react to seeing her here. Interested.


No! The goggles! The horrible goggles! Pierre had begun to squirm again. She squeezed her pocket with a clammy palm. Their nervousness was feeding on itself. She was nearly hyperventilating.


Keep this up and I'll send you ahead to scout, she threatened, to which Pierre replied sulkily, but did at last settle down. Mel sidled forward warily, silently, waiting for the scouts to move ahead first.


"Just let me know if you need light," she breathed.

* * *​

The talismans on the cairns were familiar, of course. Wyshira would have known the symbol of Toran from the lessons she'd learned at her mother's knee, even if she hadn't just seen the exact same symbol, up close and personal, in her recent travels.


How could she forget those horrible fanatics that had demanded that Burl be handed over to them back at the inn in Haltstath? The symbol of Toran would forever be etched deeply into her memory, right next to the sight of that menacing, spike-armored cleric towering over Kale, his black-mailed fingers closed tightly around the helpless rogue's throat. (As it turned out though, Kale hadn't been completely helpless in that zealot's grasp, had he?)


Wyshira looked around nervously, as if clerics of Toran might be popping into existence all around the party: materializing out of the deceptively empty tents behind them; or reaching with iron-clad determination from the shadows beyond the Tower doorway.


Well of course, there were likely to be a few clerics of Toran with a party of Carthagians. Her party had a cleric, didn't it? Any group of travelers probably would, and Carthagians would have Toranites.


But that didn't mean that any Toranites inside would be after Burl, or recognize him on sight even if they were. And what were the odds that the clerics they'd encountered back in Halstath had gotten here ahead of them? Still, there was so much she didn't know about Burl....... So many things that might be connected in ways that she just couldn't fathom.


Wyshira squeezed Kale's arm, and whispered a warning for him to take care, before he disappeared into the stone mouth of the Tower entrance. Then she took up a position just ahead of Burl, making sure that he was well ensconced in among the scholars. She held a prismatic javelin in her hand and peered into the darkness ahead, preparing to follow along with the others.



Next Time: The Rusted Entryway...

 

[gerg_861]

Jee! Great posts. It's good to have the game moving along so quickly again.

 

[Carnifex]

Thanks gerg! Here's another update for today - probably wont do one tomorrow as I'll be spending the day gaming




The doors loomed over them, close now, strangely out of place with the dark metal of the tower that constricted around the entrance. Stone and brass, covered in confusing eddies of patterns, ridges and markings. Despite the rather sinister impression this gave to the approaching infiltrators, as far as any of the sages knew it was nothing more than decorative - no hidden meanings or Umbral language. And then there was the large and very functional, but extremely complex-appearing, mechanical locking mechanism. That, though, had already been dealt with, its innards broken open and the guardian cogs tampered with. The great doors, each eight feet tall, were slightly ajar.


As prepared and ready as they intended to be, the party began to file through the doors. Wyshira's crystalline javelin caught the light from the so-distant sun, refracting multicoloured hues in a splash across the metal door as she approached it, and around her a number of the scholars were showing their less pacifistic side, spell components quietly selected from pouches as they made ready for any trouble. "You keep close," Johanne nodded quietly to Cazamir, the tall wizard selecting a silvery wand from his belt and reaching over to tap the monk on the shoulder with it. There was a spark, and Cazamir felt an involuntary shiver run across his skin, accompanied by a dim pulse of blue energy. "That should help protect you if we run into any trouble, but we'll need you to be close by. Most of my companions are old men, for all their arcane lore. Jarvis, do as that man says, keep ahead. I know we can trust on you to make it back quickly if we need you, and he's right, your skills would be well suited at the fore."


The pathfinder nodded, slipping two short swords from their sheathes as he stalked forwards to the vanguard with Kale. The light caught on one of the weapons momentarily, revealing a vein of crystal to seemingly have been forged into the blade.


A couple of the Drakkath wizards muttered the arcane words for spells of light, their staves glowing with the heatless illumination.


And then they were through the doors, unassailed, stepping from the warm day outside and into dark, cool gloom within.

* * *​

For a moment, as their eyes adjusted, it looked like there were just fragments of a room before them, slices of splashed light playing across rusted metal, debris, support struts and girders arcing above, panels of dirty glass high above. After a little bit of blinking they saw the rest of the room, the dark majority of it where the beams of light shed from the apertures above did not illuminate. It was like the walls had bled, rust everywhere, the ceiling a nest of the supporting girders. Some of the windows had not withstood the passage of time, their contents scattered instead across the dusty, rusty floor, shards of sparkling glass. This large entryway felt, in some way, like a cathedral; the way the struts soared overhead magnificently, despite the marring of oxidised metal.


Debris lay across the floor, scattered. Bits of twisted, warped metal. Glass, clumps of rust, gears and tangled girders surrendering to the carpet of orange as if the rust was alive, a mold trying to devour the metal. In places the walls of metal seemed to have buckled. It was old, ancient. The air was thick with moisture and the tang of metal.


Doors led from the room, appearing like organic tubes naturally flowing outwards from the room. Some had doors, some had the remnants of doors, some had no doors at all, just corroded hinges. The largest exit lay straight ahead of them, the sizeable door there having seemingly just fallen backwards off its hinges, lying in the carpet of rust.


Across the floor paths and disturbances of the rust were clear, scuffled areas and footprints. Some lead to the sidedoors, most went straight forwards. Crumpled, in the midst of a patch where the rust had been heavily disturbed, lay what looked like a massive suit of armour, some ten-foot tall behemoth of tangled, broken metal and gears, crystal tubes and pipes. The construct looked like it had been destroyed in battle, the bulky, plated form rent by weapon-wounds, and recently too. "That's not Umbral," Johanne said, quietly but with enough force for everyone to hear. "Design's all wrong - must be the work of that Carthagian wizard you were talking about."


Amidst the patches of rust on the metal floor around the destroyed construct, other dark red splashes had yet to completely dry out, still slightly resinous and sticky, mixing with the black oil that flowed from the iron warrior's form.


Cazamir frowned as he stepped into the metallic tower. The rust permeated the air, leaving the taste of copper in his mouth. That, coupled with the bizarre feeling of Johanne’s spell washing over him, made Cazamir decidedly uncomfortable.


He kept his eyes upon the lifeless hulk on the floor as he moved to allow the greybeards into the chamber. He would rather the sages have remained outside the tower while others investigated it for dangers, but he knew they would never allow any prizes to be stolen from them. The experience of what was inside was most definitely a prize to their learned minds – even if it held their deaths.

* * *​

As he stood looking at the giant machine, Burl felt the inadequate crossbow in his hands. It was here he decided that, if this was to be his adversary, the crossbow he carried wasn’t going to be of any help to him. With care, he unloaded the bolt, returning it to its case. He would need to rely on his stock and trade.


Wyshira could see the spatters of blood on the floor near the wrecked construct were still slightly wet. The humidity in here probably helps keep it sticky, she mused, stooping over the spots and reaching out with her finger to test one drop. She guessed that it had been this huge metal creature that had made the graves outside necessary; before it was brought down, of course. How long ago had that been?


"Looks clear," said Jarvis. "I think we can assume the construct was trying to stop whoever came through this door, but they overpowered it. Can't be sure whether it was destroyed by the Toranites or not though. So... what now?" He looked over, questioningly, to Johanne.


Before the wizard could reply, the quiet chamber was rent by the screech of metal and a clunking whirr of gears. Over to their left, a patch of the wall was moving - a plate, some twelve feet by twelve feet, pushed out of the wall and began to move upwards. Beyond it, whatever alcove or passageway lay beyond was still dark and hidden by gloom, though further noises could be heard. The progress of the plate moving, grinding upwards on the power of gears, was slow - even now it had only raised two feet from the floor.


"Hold the door!" Kale spoke urgently to the mages at the entrance, making sure that whatever the rusty din hailed would not meet a party with no escape route. Unsure of the grinding panel and what may hide behind it, the mercenary strode alongside the doorway and found cover in the sills, fallen beams, and natural folds of the walls. The chaotic rumbles and confusion caused uncertainty among the mage's party, but somehow, for Kale things seemed more clear. Like a burden lifting, he felt more alive, aware- not nearly like the drooding weight of the last few days. It was exhilerating in a smooth way- his hands did not shake as he drew forth his blade.


-Umbral?- Kale mouthed to Johanne, indicating the construction of the panel. Hoping the surprise would be more friendly than their predessesors', he coiled like a spring to strike... or flee.

* * *​

Mel walked in awe among the ancient rust and debris, every fiber of her superstitious mind abuzz. Not only had she thought she felt the heavy glance of Toran at the cairns outside, but now she was treading on something so far beyond her puny self she couldn't help glancing up guiltily, as if the thing, Umbral or whatever else it was, would be offended by her very presence and move to squish her like an ant.


Beside Wyshira, she bent over the mutilated construct and studied it for a baffled moment. Was that sticky red stuff blood? Was this some sort of half-living, half-machine monstrosity like Anas'turi and her folk made? What kind of Carthagian had constructed this? Before she could mouth her questions, she and all the others were startled by the ear-shattering echo of grinding metal.


Around her, among her companions, the atmosphere suddenly became charged as if with lightning. Kale in the front was already gliding his sword from its sheath. Everyone stood staring in dread at the sliding panel. She looked from tense face to tense face and then shrugged.


"Hello? Hello! Whoever is there, announce yourself, please!"

* * *​

Despite Kale's urges to keep to the door, the collected assortment of scholars seemed far too fascinated by the prospect of what might lie beyond the rising wallplate, even in the face of such potential danger. Ansas 'Turi stopped trawling through the fragmented mechanical innards of the dead construct with her fingers, letting gears clatter to the floor as she peered intently into the darkness being revealed, and her gaze was the same as everyone elses. What lay beyond was the focus of their attention. Those with sight more attuned to such environs, Melisande and Wyshira, could make out a bulky figure slowly being unveiled from the feet upwards. Then the plate clanged to a halt and the figure stepped forwards.


A beast of steel and steam clomped forwards, two powerful metal haunches moved by massive pistons with hisses of heated vapour escaping out with every step. The triangular torso of steel-shod brass plates was studded with vents, and sprouted two powerful arms that ended in a myriad of slender claws; the head of the construct slender and long, slung forwards on a neck of pistons, an impassive faceplate marked only with the two glowing blue eyes that marked its vision sensors. Underslung of the faceplate, two fiercely powerful lights flickered on, sending a powerful flood of actinic blue-white flowing over the scene as those who fell under the glare could not help to wince from its intensity and brightness.


The design of the brass creature was delicate for such a massive thing, towering nine feet tall as it did. Elegant runes flecked the construct's surface, a spiny ridge of crystal growths studding its back. The engines, stowed within the armoured shell, were given away by the low growl and snarl of machinery with every step and movement, and with the twin smokestacks that protruded up from the base of the neck in elegant but twisted arcs.


"Looks like nothing I've ever seen... not Umbral..." Johanne said quietly, before Melisande issued her challenge of words.


Instantly the head swung round to face her, glowing eyes fixing on the blue woman as the headlights washed her down with white light.


"Identify yourselves." The voice was metallic and reverberating, issuing not from the head of the beast but from a shoulder-mounted grill-speaker that rattled out the noise. With a rustle of metal, the construct flexed its powerful claws. "Who are you, and what do you want here? Your patterning is not the same as previous trespassers - the master considers you may be non-hostile. Nonetheless, this arcanofex is prepared for battle - if you are an unwelcome visitor, be warned to leave now."


Ansas 'Turi was muttering something under her breath, which she then said again, louder, for the others to hear. "Arcanomechanical engine. This is an arcanist's creation - a mixture of magic and metal."


The arcanofexes head swung round to focus the headlights on the Ironjack. "Perceptive. This arcanofex was constructed by combining arcane and mechanical expertise. It is fully capable of causing injury and death to opponents. You are advised to identify yourselves immediately."



Next Time: Conversing with the Arcanofex, learning more of the tower's secrets, and heading in deeper...

 

[Horacio]

Good and long updates, cool!

BTW, Carnifex, have you thought about compiling your story in a handy .rtf or .pdf document easily downloadable?

 

[Carnifex]

Good and long updates, cool!

BTW, Carnifex, have you thought about compiling your story in a handy .rtf or .pdf document easily downloadable?

I have, but I am too lazy/too busy to have done so so far It would certainly be handy though, I have to admit...

Anyways, possibly an update later tonight...

 

[Horacio]

Don't be lazy...
or use your friends If you email me a txt
version of all, I will begin to slowly put it in a .pdf document

 

[Carnifex]

I might well take you up on that, Horacio

Anyways, another update...





Melisande blinked in the flood of white light. She hadn't had enough time to look the Arcanofex over as much as she would have liked before it burned its beam straight into her. She flinched and raised a hand to shield her eyes--and to prepare a spell.


But the Arcanofex replied, rather than attacking. Mel breathed out one long, slow breath.


Her voice wavered a little, but she saw some room for hope here, and would not be daunted. "Your master is correct, Arcanofex, that we are not hostile. We are scholars and emissaries of the Truth-Seekers, sent here to study, not to pillage. We would very much like an audience with your master, if he is disposed. I gather he's not dead, then? That's wonderful news. And of course, we'll lay down all our weapons. They're only for defense anyway."


"Melisande!" Wyshira couldn't help exclaiming. She stared at the other young woman in disbelief.


Wyshira knew for a fact that Kale would never happily lay aside his weapons and go trotting after the Arconfex to meet with its master. She herself didn't feel inclined to part with her javelins in the middle of all this uncertainty.


And as for claiming that they were emissaries of a Truth-Seeker... well, Wyshira wasn't sure that that was a wise choice either. This mysterious master of the Arconfex might well object to his work being the subject of Lord Ecurius' study.


But standing in the glare of the thaumineered creature's headlights, there wasn't much that the priestess could say or do now. She waited tensely for its reaction to Mel's words.


There was a moment of silence as the arcanofex seemed to be considering Melisande's words. "The master's situation is... difficult. If you wish to meet with him, I will attempt to render your passage to the Vault as easy as possible. However, this arcanofex must remain here to guard the entranceway against further intruders."


"Furthermore, I have lost control of large areas of the tower. Systems may be operative within those areas which will consider you as intruders and respond aggressively, but I will communicate with you where possible and give guidance as best I can. Beware also of intruders moving through the structure."


"The master thinks... if you wish to meet with him, please hurry. The Vault may soon be breached. It lies near the top of Primary Spire."


With that, the machine broke into clattering movement again, steam hissing as it clomped backwards to return to the guard alcove it had emerged from, and the plate began to close down again.


"I think the mother-spirit is still alive," said Johanne quietly, awe in his voice.


"Thank you very much," Mel managed in an oddly strangled voice. As the Arcanofex turned back to its duties she bowed to it, but did not straighten right away, doubled over as she was with hardly stifled, wheezing giggles.


"You should have seen the looks on your faces," she gasped, at last regaining enough control to stand straight and dab her eyes. "Sometimes.... Sometimes 'hello' is mightier than the sword. Ah, me!"


She had to cover her mouth. Of course, not everyone was going to see the humor in it. The place was indeed creepy and there had been, recently, ample reason for tension, but somehow the friendly, helpful Arcanofex struck her in a funny spot, with all these stuffy scholars digging frantically in their linty component pouches and everyone's eyes bugging out. It would be a few minutes before she could stop the corners of her mouth from betraying her while the group re-organized and headed into the tower proper.


She caught Wyshira's eye in search of some shred of complicity, even though the priestess had upbraided her like a child a moment before. "See? And we'll get a lot more interesting information from the Master of the Tower himself than from his remains. I wonder...."


But another muffled attack of giggles broke off the rest of the thought.


Wyshira shook her head, confounded by Melisande's mirth. "I just wish that you hadn't volunteered to disarm us all," she said, irritation edging her voice. But in the end she relented and gave her friend a small, reassuring half-smile.


"Of course, I'm glad that the - uh, the ar-cano-fax is friendly," she went on, "But what did it mean when it said that it would try to make our passage to the Vault as easy as possible? How are we to find our way?"

* * *​

Relaxing imperceptibly, Ebri replaced the shuriken in the folds of her wrap with its companions. She resisted the temptation to run her fingers over it thoughtfully. Of late, she caught herself more and more slipping in such undisciplined habits. Thought needed no action to accompany it; fidgeting was a waste of energy and a display to others of a preoccupied and unattentive mind. She had mastered the weakness years ago; why did it resurface now?


The weapon comes into one's hand when needed, and not being needed, is replaced... she recited to herself. ...and little good it would have been... she added. Though perhaps, the eyes were a weakness; a shuriken might have reduced the blinding light....


She returned to a more normal stance from her protective neutral one, and turned her attention to what was far more of interest: her ward. The girl displayed more and more this lack of caution and thoughtlessness. If she were alone, the habits would surely have caused her death by now. Fortunately for her, she is not alone...


Obviously, the Old Masters were wise in sending her.


But she thought further. There were several ways to handle such individuals. One was to attempt to kill or change the behavior through negative interventions. Ebri considered this inefficient; it wasted potential, and besides, if several near brushes with death had not modified such behavior in Melisande, then she doubted anything could. In this case, the better option would be what she was already set upon: to study the person, play upon the tendencies, and so manipulate them into the desired behavior. This, after all, was what the idolatrous and superstitious priesthoods did everyday.


"I wonder, as well..." she said slowly. "And it is well for us that we are alive to wonder... I do not think I could have handled that so bravely, or with such optimism..." Ebri allowed approval into her tone. "Thank you."


Obviously, when they camped next, she would have to continue their discussion about the 'sapphire' quest. For now, she pulled her wrap about her more tightly, and adjusted a sandal strap.


"Shall we move on?"

* * *​

"That was incredible..." Sebastion whispered, almost to himself, as he turned back to the others, then cringed slightly as Mel laughed at his expense.


Clearing his throat he straightened a little more, pulling gently at his suddenly tight collar.


"Alright, let's get ready to move on. I presume this tower is the main structure here... do any of you have an idea about the layout of these places?" he asked, in the general direction of the huddle of mages.


"I've never rescued a building before..." Kale mentioned as he emerged and walked to where Anas'turi crouched over the fallen guardian. Producing a stilletto from his boot, he quickly plucked a crafted eye from the steely corpse. Lobbing the instrument to Anas'turi, he spoke to everyone. "I agree with Sebastion. We should get on. If the arcanist or the tower's powers have suvived, I'd rather not the Toranites and their ilk get advantage. Besides," Kale sheathed his thief's tool, "If the keepers of this knowledge still survive, we'd do well to have their favor."


The band seemed unsure where to go next. "Forward and beyond the entrance would be a good start," Kale surmised in common sense, hoping such routefinding was of value in the ancient tower-being. Drawn back to alertness, he moved forward in hopes of finding a way.


Johanne nodded. "Well, we have some vague idea, though it's not as if there is any standard form or structure planning for Umbral sites. I'd imagine Primary Spire is the main tower, so we probably need... to head straight in, try and find access to the upper levels near the core of the building. If we're lucky there'll be still-active transport mechanisms to get us up the tower quickly..."

* * *​

Lit by the fitful wychlights of the mages and sages, the tunnel-corridor they walked along cast odd shadows. Despite the fact it was about ten feet high there was still a sense of claustrophobia and closeness, with damo heavy on the air. The curving walls of the corridor rose up around them, their foosteps reverberating hollowly on the floorpanels.


Ansas'Turi continued to look around her in intense interest, and the sages were engaged in quiet conversation and discussion, marvelling at the structure through which they paced. Jarvis kept alert, blades still in his hands and eyes scouring the winding way ahead.


They passed great round doors of brass, studding the sides of the corridor. Some were heavily locked, others jammed shut. Some were open or sundered, opening up into dark spaces beyond. Johanne, his staff shimmering with blue energy, pointed them onwards further down the corridor at each such juncture. "We should make haste to find the 'master', we can explore the rest of this place later," he said eagerly. "Best to stick on heading down the corridor towards the core rather than wasting time in side-passages and back-rooms." The tall mage would keep pacing straight on, clearly wanting to reach the 'Vault' as soon as possible.


After a few minutes walk, they saw a trap that had been sprung. Apparently someone had then broken it thoroughly. Protruding from an aperture in the side of the corridor, a barbed, twisted piece of machinery drooped down, damaged beyond repair. Ansas'Turi paused to break off a chunk of gearworks from it, slipping it in her pocket for later examination.

* * *​

Wyshira walked along the corridor with the others, stopping occasionally to peer into the darkness of the open doorways away from the light of the mages. Still she glimpsed only hints of large chambers or smaller, winding corridors beyond.


She kept close to Johanne and the cluster of sages, trying to listen in on their discussions. She wondered who - or what - the Arcanofex's 'master' was, and why the master's situation was 'difficult'. She guessed that the master was the arcanist that Lord Ecurius had told them about, and that somehow he had gained at least partial control of some of the old Umbral machinery. Johanne had said that he thought the mother-spirit was still alive ........ Did he think that the mother-spirit had spoken through the Arcanofex? Wyshira didn't understand, and the idea that some kind of extra-planar spirit bound to the heart of this Tower was watching the party's movements from afar made the priestess extremely anxious.


Knowing that a group of Toranites was just ahead of them only added to her anxiety. She expected any moment to run into an ambush.

* * *​

It took them a while, but eventually the corridor broke out into a vast inner chamber.


Their lights seemed pathetic in the gloomy expanse, but aided by those with darkvision they were able to assemble an idea of what the chamber looked like. Tall, reaching high above them, it was dominated by a set of struts that rose from floor to ceiling, bearing an array of machinery and stairs. It sank into the floor, the staircase apparently descending down as well as up.


"This looks like the center of the tower to me. It doesn't look like it has any power though. Probably to our luck, actually, since any defences wont be active, but it means we'll have to trek up the stairs rather than being able to ride any of the machinery up there." The mage peered up into the darkness. "It'll take us up into the upper levels, though no-where near all the way up to the top. well under hafl-way up the height of the building, by my judgement. It's probably a maze of smaller rooms up there, no-where near as simple a design as the area we've just come through. Hopefully we'll be able to navigate our way through it without any problems, but my guess is that's where we'll find the Toranites." He scowled. "Shall we make haste? I don't want to lose out on any knowledge of this place to Carthagians."

* * *​

Inside the inner chamber, Wyshira felt like a tiny, insignificant speck compared to the vast expanse of machinery and stairways leading up. She had never been in a structure this large before, and felt completely overwhelmed. She closed her eyes for a moment and leaned back against the wall near the entrance to the chamber. She whispered a prayer to Ishrak, beseeching the Lady to grant her courage in the face of the unknown, before opening her eyes again.


A quiet exclamation of "Thank the Lady!" escaped her lips when Johanne declared that the machinery lacked power, and that they would have to walk up the stairs instead of riding in one of the contraptions. But she nodded her assent when the mage asked if they were ready to proceed.

* * *​

"Let us go up, by all means..." Ebri murmurred. "Let us go quickly, but carefully... We should space ourselves evenly, so as not to put undue stress on this ancient structure." Looking up, she eyed those joints and struts the magelight revealed with unconcealed suspicion. Someday, air and space would be nothing to her, she knew. Nor would time, nor distance, nor the solidity of things like walls. As she grew in her understanding of the Purpose and the Way of Shadow, she would gain mastery over the illusions of the world. She would apprehend true reality. Already, she could direct and redirect force energies, had gained more control over the machine of her body than most people ever would. Someday, she would simply rise through the air, more spirit than body, and fly. But someday is not now. Now, there is the staircase. She set her foot upon it, testing her weight, and began to climb.


"That," said the priestess of Immar, cheerfully but softly, "was surely one for my Journal of Unusual and Interesting Creatures... if it is a creature, at all. I wonder, would you say it is alive? For if it is not, I should rather list it in my Tome of Curious Things..."


"Or," Wyshira called up to Ebri sweetly, but with a bit of a smirk, "you could record it in your travelogue. What's that thing called again? The mimir."


The floating, talking, metallic skull had been on Wyshira's mind ever since running into the Arcanofex. Ebri had never really explained the thing other than to say that she used it to record her travelogue. Wyshira suspected that there was more to it than that, especially since she had never seen Ebri record anything on it, or in fact use it at all.

* * *​

Not that she needed much more buoying, but Melisande felt gratifyingly uplifted by Ebri Zol's vote of confidence. She'd handled the Arcanofex well! Maybe that was what made her so insanely giggly: it seemed like the last few times they'd run into anyone or anything she'd brought down catastrophe, and this time there was a lifting of tension that went to her head like a bubble of hot air when the Arcanofex did not, like the Solar Beholder, fry her to a crisp.


I'm learning! She thought excitedly. Let mother call me a nitwit now! Eh, Pierre?


But the toad's only response was a mental moan of terror.


Oh, lighten up. You know, I think it's the inspiration of Naskha. Now that I'm dedicated to him my mind must be growing more focused and discerning.


Aloud, she chatted with Ebri as the group of them started up the stairs. The bubble of hot air was not entirely spent, it seemed.


"I'd put the Arcanofex down as a Creature, because it's sentient even if it is a construct and probably not technically alive--can't imagine it eating or--or--reproducing for example. My goodness, what an image!" She giggled again a few moments before the hush of the others around her made her self-conscious.


In a lower voice, she went on. "If we run into those Toranites, let me handle them. I know all about Carthagians."


"I'll lead." Sebastion's quiet words eased between Mel and Ebri much more easily than he and his bulky armour did, but he nudged through and stood on the third step turning back to survey his charges with an inward grimace.


If he were going to ambush a group such as this, on the staircase would be an ideal place.


"Kale and Jarvis, you back me up, Burl your back-up would help. We'll clear a bridgehead at the top, and then the rest come up in groups. Cazamir, you cover the back."


That, he thought, should keep the weight on the staircase low, and minimise the target on the steps, too.


Loosening his sword's twin scabbards he turned back to face upward and awaited the shuffling behind him to finish.

* * *​

Meg'anna found it rather interesting that those around her merely accepted the large metal behemoth as a mere greeting and had continued on, leaving the massive construct to its own devices, allowing themselves to get further into the Tower. Not that she had anything against the creature, only that it was rather unusual for her to let anything like that to its owns whims. It was such thinking that had lead to the creation of the Flesh-tearers and other abominations.


Her thoughts strayed to the Toranites that were ahead of them. Though by natire Meg was a rather docile creature, she could feel her blood begin to boil at the thought of catching up with the mutilating bastards and dealing out divine punishment. The goddess of nature would work through her this day, and strike a blow against these vermin. Meg'anna did not realize the tight grip she had on her spear as she walked and thought. Her near white knuckles showed her thoughts rather clearly to those around her, and it was all that she could do to simply smile and shrug.


This would be one interesting meeting.....

* * *​

The metallic plates of the spiralling staircase creaked and shifted under the feet of the infiltrators, giving the party an alarming feeling of having very little between them and a long drop to the floor below. As they slowly ascended past struts and gears and eldritch but dormant machinery, a faint breeze bringing a fresher tinge to the rusty air swirled around them for a few moments, through vents and pipes studding the side of the high chamber.

* * *​

Kale, Jarvis, Sebastion and Burl, leading as the advance party, moved up the staircase well ahead of the others and entered the darkness that beckoned from where the staircose wove up through the ceiling of the chamber. Jarvis held his crystal-woven blade ahead of him, concentrating for a moment before the mineral strands glimmered with blue light, illuminating the area around them now that they were away from the wychlights of the mages.


The staircase broke up through the floor of the round chamber, the 8 foot high ceiling something of a change after the massive core room. Some sort of elevation machine also terminated in this room, part of the transport engine that, were it active, would have carreid them up in a cage-lift from the room below. The walls and ceiling, rather than metal, were stone - it seemed that the building was something of an amalgam of the two materials.


Four large round portals were equally spaced around the chamber, each studded with cranks and machinery. Three hummed quietly with energy, the fourth dark and dead, immoveable without active gears to shift its heavy bulk open.

* * *​

"Mimir?" Johanne asked, the tall mage ascending the stairs not far behind the three women.They were high up now, their voices and the metal squeaks of the stairs seeming tiny in the dark chamber. "You've really got a mimir?"


What a foolish thing to say, out loud and in front of everyone too! Wyshira thought. I'm getting to be as bad as Melisande...


The water priestess shot Ebri an embarassed, apologetic look, then jumped as the staircase let out a mighty screech above them, probably in protest of the advance party's approach. She held her breath while the whole thing swayed beneath her feet for a moment, then continued climbing when it steadied again.

* * *​

The last of the band filed up into the circular room, the four doors seemingly presenting the way on.


"This area must have power, which is good since it means we can actually get through these three doors. That one over there; you'd need a lot of work to get that one open, so I'd suggest we just take on of the others. We're looking for further ways up now, but to be honest I have no idea which direction'd be best. Pot luck really."


Ansas'Turi strolled over to the nearest door, peering at it carefully, before experimentally tugging at a crank. The innards of the door gave a stubborn clank, refusing to open up. "Mechanically locked... which is strange, if the Carthagians came this way. They must have been able to get through, but..." she strolled round the other two active doors. "They're all locked. Um..." She knelt down, giving the mechanisms of the door, now at her head level, a good look over before touching anything. "Okay, no obvious traps." She rolled one sleave of her tunic up, revealing a bulky metal bracer, before reaching over and pulling back a metal plate on the back of it and giving it a shake. A dozen delicate and complex looking tools jingled out, each attached to the bracer by a thin copper chain, and after another moment of thought plucked one away and began to work at prying open the door's engine.


The front-plate fell away to hit the metal florr with a resounding clang. The Ironjack peered intently into the machine guts, and after a few moments of bewilderment she seemed to see something she recognised.


"Okay, I've found the gears that prevent the door opening, but they're pretty old and rusted. I could probably just knock them out on any of these doors, and that should unlock them. I can only assume that the Carthagians had some kind of key, or magic, to get them through these doors. Or they found another way up." She sat herself down properly on the floor, looking up at the others. "So which door do you want to go through?"


Wyshira sat down to wait while Ansas'Turi examined the doors. She invited Meg'anna to sit next to her, guessing that the druidess was feeling a bit out of her element here in the middle of this man-and-magic-made structure. The young genasi was feeling more than a little lost here herself.


"I don't know which door we should try to open," Wyshira said in a hushed voice to the other woman, pulling out a little of her dry rations to nibble on while they waited. "Does it matter? I suppose it does, really. I was going to suggest asking the mimir - it performs auguries, besides being a recording device - but, well ....... I hate to bring the subject up again. Ebri seems to want to keep the thing a secret."


Face set and serious, Sebastion moved slowly about the room, switching glances from one door to the other, though he felt no likelihood of spotting some sign the others had missed.


"If this were a war tower," he offered, finally, "I'd say the most likely way up is that way." he pointed towards the door to the right of where the stairs emptied out.


"Rule of thumb in designing for defence is keep the enemy turning right, into their own swordarms and... " he stopped short, realising they probably didn't care.


"Anyway, if they had any warrior traditions, I'd say that way."


"Assuming the Umbrals' enemies weren't all left-handed, of course," Melisande muttered, repressing yet another giggle.


"Let's have a close look at these doors and perform any divination we can before we decide. I don't think we know enough about their customs to guess which is the shortest or safest route up. I wish the Arcanofex had given us directions. Or maybe we should be sniffing for baking cookies, since we are expected now, after all."


Though her ebullient mood had not disspated in the dank air of the upper tower, she was able to set to work fairly seriously.


First, she said a command to enhance her vision, attempting to discern any magical fields in the doors around them.


Next, with great concentration, she tried the same new trick as out of doors: frowning at each door and upwards from it, she opened a sort of newly grown inner eye--or no, it was more like exposing her delicate skin to the elements in order to find out whether it was cold out. Yes, that was more like it, because she knew that if she found what she was looking for it would prickle and burn.


As she did so, Ebri answered the questions of the others. "By all means..." Ebri answered, forcing a pleasant and harried smile to her lips. "By all means, let us use the mimir... Indeed, we do have one..." she informed the inquisitive member of the scholarly band. "However, since its augury may be only used once in a day, I hope we shall have no more need of it. Also, it may only answer a question that has a simple positive or negative answer. In this case, I do not see how we can ask it which direction is best. As for keeping it secret, the thing is exceptionally precious and valuable. I do not advertise its presence among strangers and unknown places because it is a thing likely to be stolen. Its worth is so high that many would kill us just for the price of selling it. Although its true value, of course, cannot be set-- that is the information it carries."


She withdrew the mimir, and set it floating in the air.


Let them take the risk, themselves, then-- she thought, highly annoyed at having had her hand so forced. The thing has a record of all our doings and all we have said. And anyone may ask it of us, and get information as to our plans and where we have been.


For myself, I would take the door directly opposite the stairs. But let us ask-- Mimir, we wish to perform an augury... one moment... " She turned her eyes to the others. "Well?"

* * *​

Melisande's incantation of arcane detection brought a faint glimmer to what she could see of the three doors, some small amount of eldritch energy woven into the machinery within, but not enough to do anything more than confirm that these mechanisms were a fusion of magic and more mundane concepts. Her attempt to discern anything more sinister beyond and above the doors was without a result, detecting nothing no matter which way she turned.


"Fascinating, a genuine mimir... might I ask where you procured such a thing? They're rare finds indeed, since we've long since lost the art of making them. Most date back to the Dawn War..."


As Ebri brought out the silvery skull and let go of it, leaving it hovering in the air, those who ahd not seen it before looked on in interest, awe, or surprise; the sages, Ansas'Turi and Jarvis in particular watching it intently to see what it did next. It rotated round to face the gathering, and the eyes flared with blue light for a moment as it came up to full activation.


It cast its glance around momentarily, as if taking in its surroundings. And as it did so, it muttered something, so utterly quiet it was barely more than a murmur, and so softly that no movement of its jaw was visible. No-one heard what it said, except Ebri, the magical earring she had taken from the dragonkin warrior amplifying and clarifying the sound for her.


"Surely not shadowmen..." it had gasped so quietly. Then it spoke in its normal, metallic volumes.


"You wish for an augury? As you wish, though I remind you that my divinations only reveal an answer to me in terms of 'weal' or 'woe' - irritatingly cryptic, I know, but blame my creator for not having imbued me with a more powerful divination. What is your question?"


"Amazing..." came the mutter, several times, from amongst the onlookers who had not seen this mimir before.



Next Time: The party choose a door, find out what is behind it... and meet the Crystal Eye...