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The Thorns of Winter -(updated 8/1/2023)
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<blockquote data-quote="Nthal" data-source="post: 8114793" data-attributes="member: 6971069"><p><h2 style="text-align: center"><p style="text-align: center">Questions of Fact - 10/26/2020</p> </h2><p></p><p>My knees ached and my arms were tired from being bent in the odd position. But the worst part was the circular nature of the questions over and over and over, in Elvish. And while I was good with the language, it wasn’t my native tongue, so I struggled a bit trying to communicate effectively. And I suspected the dwarf might have been in the same position. Not that it mattered much; nothing I said helped. The only thing they took as a ‘correct’ answer was my name. Practically everything else was ‘wrong’ by comparison.</p><p></p><p>“Who do you work for?”</p><p></p><p>“What nation are you from?”</p><p></p><p>“What is your mission?”</p><p></p><p>“Who did you murder here?”</p><p></p><p>Over and over I answered to their dissatisfaction. They wouldn’t let me ask any either, as every time I tried, I was slapped on the back of my head by a dwarf behind me.</p><p></p><p>The one that questioned me wasn’t so much of a problem, and nor was the gnome who was intent on writing everything down. It was clear that the one on the tall chair was in charge and he wasn’t happy with my answers. His tone carried as he demanded his peer to ask me the same questions over and over. The dwarf asking the questions, seemed more even tempered and seemed to listen, but that didn’t stop the repeated questioning. As for the gnome, he seemed to make observations, and didn’t ask anything. Something else I picked up on was there was strong tension between the two dwarves. But it seemed that it was the seated dwarf that was much more visible about it, the dwarf interrogating me was more fuming about the other dwarf, but otherwise didn’t argue. Finally, the stalemate changed.</p><p></p><p>“Someone sent you on a mission here! Who is it? Why hide it?” The even tempered one asked.</p><p></p><p>“I am not hiding anything; I wasn’t sent here on a mission. Just let me ask—OUCH” I said as I was slapped on the back of my head once again.</p><p></p><p>The dwarf on the chair, slammed down his hand, and stood up suddenly, his hatred for me clearly written on his face. He walked by to leave the room, when he was asked a question by the other dwarf. He barked something back and then left the room, slamming the door behind him. I hung my aching head in exhaustion; I had no idea how long I had been there, and I hadn’t had anything to eat.</p><p></p><p>“So…Myrai. What are you? You aren’t a human, correct?” the remaining dwarf asked, a question that had not been brought up before.</p><p></p><p>I lifted my head to look at the dwarf. His tone was more of curiosity and less a demand.</p><p></p><p>“The term is <em>ha’celas.</em> A descendant of a <em>celas</em>,” I said trying to be helpful, but lost on how I could do so.</p><p>The dwarf frowned and looked at the gnome, who fiddled with a yellow crystal from his pouch. The gnome looked up and frowned and shook his head. Sighing, the dwarf turned back to me.</p><p></p><p>“Alright, where were you born?”</p><p></p><p>“Sigil,” I said and the blank look on his face told me everything. “You might know it as a different name; the ‘City of Doors’. Sometimes it’s referred to as ‘The Birdcage’ or the just ’The Cage’. Looking at him, I could tell that my answers didn’t mean anything, but he persisted.</p><p></p><p>“Alright, why is it called…the City of Doors?” he asked looking at me.</p><p></p><p>“Because there, it is said you can find a portal to anywhere. To Mount Celestia, to Baator, a Prime like this one. Once you find a door, you just need the right key to open it.”</p><p></p><p>“And…where is this city?”</p><p></p><p>“The Outlands…floating on top of the Spire,” I said not thinking much about it.</p><p></p><p>“A Spire…a feyspire?” he asked.</p><p></p><p>I looked up in confusion, “I…don’t know what that is. I’ve never heard it called that. It's a giant needle in the landscape, miles high.”</p><p></p><p>“Ok…what about those other places…like Baator. What’s Baator?”</p><p></p><p>I thought to myself he was truly clueless as I lowered my head shaking it, “Most primes call it the Nine Hells,”</p><p></p><p>“And what are they?”</p><p></p><p><em>What?</em></p><p></p><p>My head snapped up in confusion, “You don’t know what the…can I ask some questions without being hit?” even as I started asking, he raised his hand to stop the head slap I was going to receive. The dwarf nodded looking at me intently.</p><p></p><p>“The Nine hells...or Baator, are where souls go to be punished for evil they committed. Where do your souls go?”</p><p></p><p>The dwarf looked confused, “All souls, all the dead go to Dolurr. I have never heard of any other place.”</p><p></p><p>“Do you know anything about the planes at all?”</p><p></p><p>The dwarf was about to answer, when the Gnome spoke up. The dwarf nodded and turned to me. “I am not familiar with the Orrey, but he is, “and he nodded his head at the gnome. “He can understand what you are saying.”</p><p></p><p>I nodded, “Have you heard of any of these things? Caceri? Ysgard? Automata? Limbo?” and in response I saw from both of them was the same; neither had.</p><p></p><p>“What about…” I gulped afraid to mention names, but I gave in, “Asmodeus? Demogorgon? Lloth? </p><p>Kelemvor? Corellon Latherion? Moradin? Any of those names?” And to my surprise, none of the names had any meaning. I could understand the demons and devils, maybe not the elven gods. But a dwarf not knowing Moradin?</p><p></p><p><em>How far am I?</em></p><p></p><p>“What planes do you know of?”</p><p></p><p>After a moment conferring with the gnome, he started reciting some names; “Irian, Mabar, Syrania, Risia, Fernia, Shavarath, to name a few and of course the Astral which binds us around the world.”</p><p></p><p>I gulped, “What’s the name of the world?”</p><p></p><p>The dwarf and the gnome looked at each other and looked back at me confused.</p><p></p><p>“I take it, this place…is not Faerûn or Toril.”</p><p></p><p>“No…the name of the world is Eberron.”</p><p></p><p>I would not have called myself an expert on all the primes, but this was one I didn’t know.</p><p></p><p>“I guess I fell a lot farther than I imagined,” I said, again receiving expressions of confusion. “I was on an island in Faerûn. There I was working with my friends to escape and they created a portal to the mainland. But I was pushed into a well, and fell into a portal…here.”</p><p></p><p>“A<em> different</em> world?”</p><p></p><p>I nodded, “In Sigil we know of many worlds, Ortho, Athas, Krynn, Oerth, Abier, Toril…and there are many more I don’t know the names to. All with people and cities that have barely heard of one another. But some places are hard to reach, or seldom travelled. Krynn is one such place…I wonder if Eberron is one too.”</p><p></p><p>The dwarf knelt next to me and looked me in the eyes, “Let’s pretend I needed to prove that…how could I do so?”</p><p></p><p>I thought a moment, “Well, you need to find a planeswalker who could confirm what I am telling you. But how would you find…” I said, and the door behind me opened with the sound of several people entering behind me.</p><p></p><p>The dwarf looked down sadly at me, “Look, I will see what I can do. But understand…for what’s about to happen…I’m sorry.”</p><p></p><p>I was confused, but not for long. I felt a large hand pull on my hair, forcing my head back. Staring upwards I started to panic as a dwarf started to force the end of a funnel into my mouth. I instinctively clamped my jaw shut and tried to twist and turn to get away. In response another dwarf, pinched my nose shut, and I felt the butt of a weapon slam into my exposed abdomen, forcing me to open my mouth and gasp for air. Once open, it was over. Someone shoved the funnel in, and I was forced to swallow a sharp bitter liquid. I swallowed several mouthfuls all in a desperate effort to clear my throat and breathe. Finally, they removed the funnel and their grip on me.</p><p></p><p>I slumped forward, coughing, feeling ill and woozy. I slowly looked up at the dwarf in charge, who was already reseated on his chair. When he finally spoke, I had a good guess on what he said:</p><p></p><p>“Leafa us start aganwe,”</p><p></p><p>Vernan watched as they carried out the unconscious woman…no Myrai…back to her cell. Vernan knew he was a good inquisitive for a simple reason; his gut was rarely wrong. And right now, his gut told him two things, that Rior was missing the entire picture on this woman, and the whole treatment of her seemed over the top. Something was amiss, but it wasn’t clear yet what.</p><p></p><p>“This has been a useless day,” Rior grumbled. “She is either the most proficient liar, or she is an idiot. A couple more rounds and she’ll break.”</p><p></p><p>Vernan looked at Rior and calmly stated, “I don’t think she’s lying.”</p><p></p><p>“Why?” Rior looked at Vernan with contempt. “Because she told you a fanciful story of a city floating on a needle? That she fell out of a portal? She probably doesn’t even have the skills of an apprentice mage wright.”</p><p></p><p>“Then why make something that ludicrous up?” Vernan retorted. “It clearly isn’t distracting you, and she </p><p>clearly isn’t changing her answers.”</p><p></p><p>Rior stood up and walked to the door, “This is why I am the head of security and you are just an inquisitive. We’ll let her stew tonight and start again at second bell. Then we’ll break her.” He barely regarded Vernan, and barely nodded at Paron as he opened the door to exit the room, when Vernan asked; “And if her answers don’t change?”</p><p></p><p>“I can afford to send her to Dreadhold with that Boromar. Out of sight, out of mind,” and Rior walked out the door and slammed it behind him.</p><p></p><p>The pair looked at each other and both sighed when Paron spoke up first, “I agree with your assessment. And I am very curious on what I heard. The implications are fascinating. But I fear it will not make much of a difference in Rior’s mind. It’s just an interesting story right now.”</p><p></p><p>“Throwing around threats of the Dreadhold is a bit much. What’s this about a Boromar?”</p><p></p><p>“Oh, about a week ago, there was a heist on the Lightning rail—”</p><p></p><p>“—What running on the conductor line?”</p><p></p><p>“Hmm…no, in station. And because of that, it is Soldorak’s problem.”</p><p></p><p>“I hadn’t heard of this.”</p><p></p><p>“That’s not surprising, he’s tried very hard to keep it quiet. So, sending a prisoner there, keeps it that way.”</p><p></p><p>“Very pricey way to solve it.”</p><p></p><p>Paron shrugged, “Well, I have to file copies of the interrogation…might have a friend look at some of the notes. What about you?”</p><p></p><p>“I’m going to meet a friend for tea,” Vernan said.</p><p></p><p>“Tea? That doesn’t sound like your style.”</p><p></p><p>“It isn’t, but I go where the drinker is. Nice to see you again Paron,” and Vernan left the room leaving the puzzled Sivis scribe behind.</p><p></p><p>Paron frowned, and picked up his book, and exited the room, turning over the events in his head as he wandered through the corridors. Finally, he exited the front gate of the garrison, and into the afternoon air of Krona Peak. He quickly hurried along the thoroughfare, passing the storekeepers and carts being pushed and pulled to far off destinations in the city. As he walked, he kept thinking:</p><p></p><p><em>New planes? New cities? Entire worlds? This cannot be new information.</em></p><p></p><p>But while Paron loved a good mystery, the resources for personal research were somewhat limited in the Peak. But he did know someone that might be able to do some legwork for him. Smiling to himself, he made his way on the busy street, until he came to a large square building, with a silver globe perched on top. He quickly ducked into an alley and circled to the back of the building, until he came to a blank section.</p><p></p><p>He then took out a yellow crystal and holding it tightly, he touched the stone with it. The crystal flared to life with a green glow, and Paron d’Sivis walked into the hidden back entrance of the House of Scribing messaging station. The room that he entered was known as the ‘Low Room’ and was a haphazard collection of files and bins. A storage area for unimportant messages, that would be disposed of when convenient. The area was dimly lit; just enough to read by without tiring the eyes.</p><p></p><p>Walking out of the Low Room, Paron entered the heart of House Sivis’ business, the ‘Message Room’, which held four Speaking Stones. Also, dimly it, it was isolate away from the counters where the exchange of coin and script occurred. It all allowed the marked heirs quiet as they performed their duties for the House of Scribing. During the height of the Last War, all four would be occupied by a Sivis heir to communicate across Khorvaire. But today only a single heir was present, dutifully transmitting a stack of messages.</p><p></p><p>Paron sat down at a stone, and pulled out a yellow shard from a pouch, and slotted it into to a receptacle in the station. It began hum as it drew power from the shard.</p><p></p><p>“You <strong><em>ARE</em></strong> going to help with the queue, Paron?” the hard working Sivis heir asked as he pulled another message from the stack next to him.</p><p></p><p>“Of course, Benfiq. I just need to send a quick message to Korranberg.” Paron said as he stone began to pulse.</p><p></p><p>[HR][/HR]</p><p></p><p>Siting at a table, a raven haired, blue eyed half elf poured a cup of tea from a boiling pot. The table was one of a number sitting on a veranda overlooking the streets of Krona Peak. The sun was setting and the warm orange glow in the east, made her smile as she thought of home, far from the bustle of industry. But here in the “Krona Sky and Stone,” a small teahouse, at the top of an old guard tower overlooking the city, the bustle was far away. Below in the valley she saw the hoop of lightning flare to light, as the engine of the Lightning Rail roared to life, and the evening train started to depart. Perhaps she was being silly, but seeing the ring of lightning like that, gave her pleasant chills every time she saw it. And she made a point of seeing it every morning before she started work, and every evening when she started her own projects. She sipped her tea, as she looked over notes in a binder.</p><p></p><p>“Six found, and only…Vernan?” She greeted the dwarf coming up the steps of the teahouse. “My this is a surprise…I thought only true expats came here.” She said smiling, closing her notes, and smoothing out her velvet blue dress.</p><p></p><p>“There are some teas that rival the best stouts for complexity in taste, Melisandre. But they don’t have the same…charm,” the dwarf smiled, and pulled up a seat next to the half-elf. “You’ve been busy trying to keep Taryn’s dream alive eh?”</p><p></p><p>“You know better than that; it is his uncle’s dream. Otherwise Kundarak couldn’t pursue it. But I am proud to have found almost all the specialists I need for a small war,” and she took a sip of tea. </p><p></p><p>“Somehow, I don’t think you are the type to march and beat off a horde of Jhorash'tar, and I don’t recall you needing a job…yet. So, what brings you to my aerie?” as she gestured at the open teahouse, as the sun slipped beneath the horizon, scattering red and orange light across the clouds. “Something odd, and I needed an expert…consultation.” Vernan said.</p><p></p><p>Melisandre arched an eyebrow, “Depending on the consultation, that might cost a bit.”</p><p></p><p>Vernan smiled, “This isn’t about House Medani business…really.” He said trying to assuage Melisandre’s suspicions, as he leaned over to the steaming pot, and poured out some tea into a mug. “And I’ll even pay for the pot as I warm, me bones.”</p><p></p><p>“At the very least,” the half-elf said coolly. “So…out with it.”</p><p></p><p>“I ran into a word I hadn’t heard before in Elvish…and you are the most…devious person with letters, so I thought I would ask you.”</p><p></p><p>Melisandre looked at the dwarf intrigued, “Elvish is an old language…the Aereni know it from birth, we Khoravar have to learn it. But it doesn’t change much. So…what’s the word.”</p><p></p><p>Vernan took a sip of the tea, savoring the warmth and spice, and sighed. “That is a nice one…anyway the word is ‘Ha-Celas.’ What does it mean exactly?”</p><p></p><p>Melisandre cocked her head in surprise. “That’s an old word. It’s still in use, but little need for it. Where did you hear that….oh. The recent bar crasher said it, didn’t she?” She said catching Vernan’s smirk. “Well the meaning is literally translated as ‘Blooded of the Celestial host,’ but the term refers to a very rare people; Aasimar.”</p><p></p><p>“A what?”</p><p></p><p>“Very rare beings; ones that have all that is holy suffused into a mortal soul. Another word for them is Angelkin…but again, rarely used.”</p><p></p><p>“How rare?”</p><p></p><p>“I have only heard of one by name,” Melisandre said thinking a moment. “One named Lorrister, a Prince of Lhazaar. Commands the <em>‘Heavenly Fleet’</em> and is the smallest of the fleets in Lhazaar. It’s said that a pair of them may live a long lifetime and never meet another, if that helps.”</p><p></p><p>Vernan frowned, “Well, she may the second you have heard of, or at least she claims to be one. But you are right she probably doesn’t know him.”</p><p></p><p>“Why do you say that my dear friend?”</p><p></p><p>“Because she claims to have come from…somewhere else,”</p><p>Melisandre looked across her cup at the dwarf, her eyes narrowed her lips pursed. “I know I may be asking a bit much and treading into…business here. But where exactly?”</p><p></p><p>Vernan noted the sudden interest and was concerned. Melisandre was in the business of protection and safeguarding. And while her recent job was a recruiter for a scion of House Kundarak, she was still a member of the House of Warning. But Vernan trusted her, ever since they met in Sharn ten years ago. All because any information was kept safe with her, and she traded back what could. But most importantly, his gut trusted her.</p><p></p><p>“A city she describes as having doors to anywhere. She called it ‘Sigil.’”</p><p>Melisandre put down her cup, and placed her hand beneath her chin, staring at the Dwarf intently. “Do you believe her?” she asked cautiously.</p><p></p><p>“I do…but I can’t prove what she claims. I have only one thing that makes me believe it, and it isn’t enough.”</p><p></p><p>“What is that?”</p><p></p><p>“I have spoken Elvish with captains of Lyrandar, Aereni, and country Khoravar. But I have never heard an Elven accent like hers. Even the phrasing is off here and there. And she doesn’t speak it badly at all, but it’s notable.”</p><p></p><p>Melisandre said nothing as she stared at Vernan. The stars now started to reveal themselves within the holes in the cloud cover, and a pair of moons started to light up the sky. She took a deep breath and leaned forward towards the dwarf.</p><p></p><p>“Vernan, I need to ask you a favor,” she said quietly, almost conspiratorially.</p><p></p><p>Vernan reciprocated and leaned forward and lowered his voice, “This is a first from you.”</p><p>Melisandre nodded, “Stay close to her…and if she asks in your presence for anything, no matter how small, make sure she gets it. And I mean <em>anything.</em>”</p><p></p><p>“I want to help her but—”</p><p></p><p>“Just do as I ask…please. I believe it will help her. And you <strong><em>must</em></strong> help her.”</p><p>Vernan nodded and kept his eyes locked on Melisandre, “You know something…who is she?”</p><p></p><p>Melisandre leaned back, “Honestly I don’t know who she is. But I do know you need to do this for me.” And the half-elf stood, stretching her limbs and then straightening her velvet blue dress. “I have some letters to write tonight…thank you for visiting me Vernan.” And she turned to walk back inside the tea house, but not before turning and saying, “Remember the pots on you!” leaving behind the dwarf, wondering if he was out of his depth.</p><p></p><p>Melisandre headed down the stairs of the tower in thought. And as she pulled up her hood to cover her long dark tresses, she muttered to herself, as her boot heels clicked on the stone in the night air.</p><p></p><p>“In a city of the bones of the earth, one of the heavens may ask for succor of a stoneman from afar. If granted before a passage to an island distant, the path forward is certain.’ The board is almost set…soon very soon…”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Nthal, post: 8114793, member: 6971069"] [HEADING=1][CENTER][CENTER]Questions of Fact - 10/26/2020[/CENTER][/CENTER][/HEADING] My knees ached and my arms were tired from being bent in the odd position. But the worst part was the circular nature of the questions over and over and over, in Elvish. And while I was good with the language, it wasn’t my native tongue, so I struggled a bit trying to communicate effectively. And I suspected the dwarf might have been in the same position. Not that it mattered much; nothing I said helped. The only thing they took as a ‘correct’ answer was my name. Practically everything else was ‘wrong’ by comparison. “Who do you work for?” “What nation are you from?” “What is your mission?” “Who did you murder here?” Over and over I answered to their dissatisfaction. They wouldn’t let me ask any either, as every time I tried, I was slapped on the back of my head by a dwarf behind me. The one that questioned me wasn’t so much of a problem, and nor was the gnome who was intent on writing everything down. It was clear that the one on the tall chair was in charge and he wasn’t happy with my answers. His tone carried as he demanded his peer to ask me the same questions over and over. The dwarf asking the questions, seemed more even tempered and seemed to listen, but that didn’t stop the repeated questioning. As for the gnome, he seemed to make observations, and didn’t ask anything. Something else I picked up on was there was strong tension between the two dwarves. But it seemed that it was the seated dwarf that was much more visible about it, the dwarf interrogating me was more fuming about the other dwarf, but otherwise didn’t argue. Finally, the stalemate changed. “Someone sent you on a mission here! Who is it? Why hide it?” The even tempered one asked. “I am not hiding anything; I wasn’t sent here on a mission. Just let me ask—OUCH” I said as I was slapped on the back of my head once again. The dwarf on the chair, slammed down his hand, and stood up suddenly, his hatred for me clearly written on his face. He walked by to leave the room, when he was asked a question by the other dwarf. He barked something back and then left the room, slamming the door behind him. I hung my aching head in exhaustion; I had no idea how long I had been there, and I hadn’t had anything to eat. “So…Myrai. What are you? You aren’t a human, correct?” the remaining dwarf asked, a question that had not been brought up before. I lifted my head to look at the dwarf. His tone was more of curiosity and less a demand. “The term is [I]ha’celas.[/I] A descendant of a [I]celas[/I],” I said trying to be helpful, but lost on how I could do so. The dwarf frowned and looked at the gnome, who fiddled with a yellow crystal from his pouch. The gnome looked up and frowned and shook his head. Sighing, the dwarf turned back to me. “Alright, where were you born?” “Sigil,” I said and the blank look on his face told me everything. “You might know it as a different name; the ‘City of Doors’. Sometimes it’s referred to as ‘The Birdcage’ or the just ’The Cage’. Looking at him, I could tell that my answers didn’t mean anything, but he persisted. “Alright, why is it called…the City of Doors?” he asked looking at me. “Because there, it is said you can find a portal to anywhere. To Mount Celestia, to Baator, a Prime like this one. Once you find a door, you just need the right key to open it.” “And…where is this city?” “The Outlands…floating on top of the Spire,” I said not thinking much about it. “A Spire…a feyspire?” he asked. I looked up in confusion, “I…don’t know what that is. I’ve never heard it called that. It's a giant needle in the landscape, miles high.” “Ok…what about those other places…like Baator. What’s Baator?” I thought to myself he was truly clueless as I lowered my head shaking it, “Most primes call it the Nine Hells,” “And what are they?” [I]What?[/I] My head snapped up in confusion, “You don’t know what the…can I ask some questions without being hit?” even as I started asking, he raised his hand to stop the head slap I was going to receive. The dwarf nodded looking at me intently. “The Nine hells...or Baator, are where souls go to be punished for evil they committed. Where do your souls go?” The dwarf looked confused, “All souls, all the dead go to Dolurr. I have never heard of any other place.” “Do you know anything about the planes at all?” The dwarf was about to answer, when the Gnome spoke up. The dwarf nodded and turned to me. “I am not familiar with the Orrey, but he is, “and he nodded his head at the gnome. “He can understand what you are saying.” I nodded, “Have you heard of any of these things? Caceri? Ysgard? Automata? Limbo?” and in response I saw from both of them was the same; neither had. “What about…” I gulped afraid to mention names, but I gave in, “Asmodeus? Demogorgon? Lloth? Kelemvor? Corellon Latherion? Moradin? Any of those names?” And to my surprise, none of the names had any meaning. I could understand the demons and devils, maybe not the elven gods. But a dwarf not knowing Moradin? [I]How far am I?[/I] “What planes do you know of?” After a moment conferring with the gnome, he started reciting some names; “Irian, Mabar, Syrania, Risia, Fernia, Shavarath, to name a few and of course the Astral which binds us around the world.” I gulped, “What’s the name of the world?” The dwarf and the gnome looked at each other and looked back at me confused. “I take it, this place…is not Faerûn or Toril.” “No…the name of the world is Eberron.” I would not have called myself an expert on all the primes, but this was one I didn’t know. “I guess I fell a lot farther than I imagined,” I said, again receiving expressions of confusion. “I was on an island in Faerûn. There I was working with my friends to escape and they created a portal to the mainland. But I was pushed into a well, and fell into a portal…here.” “A[I] different[/I] world?” I nodded, “In Sigil we know of many worlds, Ortho, Athas, Krynn, Oerth, Abier, Toril…and there are many more I don’t know the names to. All with people and cities that have barely heard of one another. But some places are hard to reach, or seldom travelled. Krynn is one such place…I wonder if Eberron is one too.” The dwarf knelt next to me and looked me in the eyes, “Let’s pretend I needed to prove that…how could I do so?” I thought a moment, “Well, you need to find a planeswalker who could confirm what I am telling you. But how would you find…” I said, and the door behind me opened with the sound of several people entering behind me. The dwarf looked down sadly at me, “Look, I will see what I can do. But understand…for what’s about to happen…I’m sorry.” I was confused, but not for long. I felt a large hand pull on my hair, forcing my head back. Staring upwards I started to panic as a dwarf started to force the end of a funnel into my mouth. I instinctively clamped my jaw shut and tried to twist and turn to get away. In response another dwarf, pinched my nose shut, and I felt the butt of a weapon slam into my exposed abdomen, forcing me to open my mouth and gasp for air. Once open, it was over. Someone shoved the funnel in, and I was forced to swallow a sharp bitter liquid. I swallowed several mouthfuls all in a desperate effort to clear my throat and breathe. Finally, they removed the funnel and their grip on me. I slumped forward, coughing, feeling ill and woozy. I slowly looked up at the dwarf in charge, who was already reseated on his chair. When he finally spoke, I had a good guess on what he said: “Leafa us start aganwe,” Vernan watched as they carried out the unconscious woman…no Myrai…back to her cell. Vernan knew he was a good inquisitive for a simple reason; his gut was rarely wrong. And right now, his gut told him two things, that Rior was missing the entire picture on this woman, and the whole treatment of her seemed over the top. Something was amiss, but it wasn’t clear yet what. “This has been a useless day,” Rior grumbled. “She is either the most proficient liar, or she is an idiot. A couple more rounds and she’ll break.” Vernan looked at Rior and calmly stated, “I don’t think she’s lying.” “Why?” Rior looked at Vernan with contempt. “Because she told you a fanciful story of a city floating on a needle? That she fell out of a portal? She probably doesn’t even have the skills of an apprentice mage wright.” “Then why make something that ludicrous up?” Vernan retorted. “It clearly isn’t distracting you, and she clearly isn’t changing her answers.” Rior stood up and walked to the door, “This is why I am the head of security and you are just an inquisitive. We’ll let her stew tonight and start again at second bell. Then we’ll break her.” He barely regarded Vernan, and barely nodded at Paron as he opened the door to exit the room, when Vernan asked; “And if her answers don’t change?” “I can afford to send her to Dreadhold with that Boromar. Out of sight, out of mind,” and Rior walked out the door and slammed it behind him. The pair looked at each other and both sighed when Paron spoke up first, “I agree with your assessment. And I am very curious on what I heard. The implications are fascinating. But I fear it will not make much of a difference in Rior’s mind. It’s just an interesting story right now.” “Throwing around threats of the Dreadhold is a bit much. What’s this about a Boromar?” “Oh, about a week ago, there was a heist on the Lightning rail—” “—What running on the conductor line?” “Hmm…no, in station. And because of that, it is Soldorak’s problem.” “I hadn’t heard of this.” “That’s not surprising, he’s tried very hard to keep it quiet. So, sending a prisoner there, keeps it that way.” “Very pricey way to solve it.” Paron shrugged, “Well, I have to file copies of the interrogation…might have a friend look at some of the notes. What about you?” “I’m going to meet a friend for tea,” Vernan said. “Tea? That doesn’t sound like your style.” “It isn’t, but I go where the drinker is. Nice to see you again Paron,” and Vernan left the room leaving the puzzled Sivis scribe behind. Paron frowned, and picked up his book, and exited the room, turning over the events in his head as he wandered through the corridors. Finally, he exited the front gate of the garrison, and into the afternoon air of Krona Peak. He quickly hurried along the thoroughfare, passing the storekeepers and carts being pushed and pulled to far off destinations in the city. As he walked, he kept thinking: [I]New planes? New cities? Entire worlds? This cannot be new information.[/I] But while Paron loved a good mystery, the resources for personal research were somewhat limited in the Peak. But he did know someone that might be able to do some legwork for him. Smiling to himself, he made his way on the busy street, until he came to a large square building, with a silver globe perched on top. He quickly ducked into an alley and circled to the back of the building, until he came to a blank section. He then took out a yellow crystal and holding it tightly, he touched the stone with it. The crystal flared to life with a green glow, and Paron d’Sivis walked into the hidden back entrance of the House of Scribing messaging station. The room that he entered was known as the ‘Low Room’ and was a haphazard collection of files and bins. A storage area for unimportant messages, that would be disposed of when convenient. The area was dimly lit; just enough to read by without tiring the eyes. Walking out of the Low Room, Paron entered the heart of House Sivis’ business, the ‘Message Room’, which held four Speaking Stones. Also, dimly it, it was isolate away from the counters where the exchange of coin and script occurred. It all allowed the marked heirs quiet as they performed their duties for the House of Scribing. During the height of the Last War, all four would be occupied by a Sivis heir to communicate across Khorvaire. But today only a single heir was present, dutifully transmitting a stack of messages. Paron sat down at a stone, and pulled out a yellow shard from a pouch, and slotted it into to a receptacle in the station. It began hum as it drew power from the shard. “You [B][I]ARE[/I][/B] going to help with the queue, Paron?” the hard working Sivis heir asked as he pulled another message from the stack next to him. “Of course, Benfiq. I just need to send a quick message to Korranberg.” Paron said as he stone began to pulse. [HR][/HR] Siting at a table, a raven haired, blue eyed half elf poured a cup of tea from a boiling pot. The table was one of a number sitting on a veranda overlooking the streets of Krona Peak. The sun was setting and the warm orange glow in the east, made her smile as she thought of home, far from the bustle of industry. But here in the “Krona Sky and Stone,” a small teahouse, at the top of an old guard tower overlooking the city, the bustle was far away. Below in the valley she saw the hoop of lightning flare to light, as the engine of the Lightning Rail roared to life, and the evening train started to depart. Perhaps she was being silly, but seeing the ring of lightning like that, gave her pleasant chills every time she saw it. And she made a point of seeing it every morning before she started work, and every evening when she started her own projects. She sipped her tea, as she looked over notes in a binder. “Six found, and only…Vernan?” She greeted the dwarf coming up the steps of the teahouse. “My this is a surprise…I thought only true expats came here.” She said smiling, closing her notes, and smoothing out her velvet blue dress. “There are some teas that rival the best stouts for complexity in taste, Melisandre. But they don’t have the same…charm,” the dwarf smiled, and pulled up a seat next to the half-elf. “You’ve been busy trying to keep Taryn’s dream alive eh?” “You know better than that; it is his uncle’s dream. Otherwise Kundarak couldn’t pursue it. But I am proud to have found almost all the specialists I need for a small war,” and she took a sip of tea. “Somehow, I don’t think you are the type to march and beat off a horde of Jhorash'tar, and I don’t recall you needing a job…yet. So, what brings you to my aerie?” as she gestured at the open teahouse, as the sun slipped beneath the horizon, scattering red and orange light across the clouds. “Something odd, and I needed an expert…consultation.” Vernan said. Melisandre arched an eyebrow, “Depending on the consultation, that might cost a bit.” Vernan smiled, “This isn’t about House Medani business…really.” He said trying to assuage Melisandre’s suspicions, as he leaned over to the steaming pot, and poured out some tea into a mug. “And I’ll even pay for the pot as I warm, me bones.” “At the very least,” the half-elf said coolly. “So…out with it.” “I ran into a word I hadn’t heard before in Elvish…and you are the most…devious person with letters, so I thought I would ask you.” Melisandre looked at the dwarf intrigued, “Elvish is an old language…the Aereni know it from birth, we Khoravar have to learn it. But it doesn’t change much. So…what’s the word.” Vernan took a sip of the tea, savoring the warmth and spice, and sighed. “That is a nice one…anyway the word is ‘Ha-Celas.’ What does it mean exactly?” Melisandre cocked her head in surprise. “That’s an old word. It’s still in use, but little need for it. Where did you hear that….oh. The recent bar crasher said it, didn’t she?” She said catching Vernan’s smirk. “Well the meaning is literally translated as ‘Blooded of the Celestial host,’ but the term refers to a very rare people; Aasimar.” “A what?” “Very rare beings; ones that have all that is holy suffused into a mortal soul. Another word for them is Angelkin…but again, rarely used.” “How rare?” “I have only heard of one by name,” Melisandre said thinking a moment. “One named Lorrister, a Prince of Lhazaar. Commands the [I]‘Heavenly Fleet’[/I] and is the smallest of the fleets in Lhazaar. It’s said that a pair of them may live a long lifetime and never meet another, if that helps.” Vernan frowned, “Well, she may the second you have heard of, or at least she claims to be one. But you are right she probably doesn’t know him.” “Why do you say that my dear friend?” “Because she claims to have come from…somewhere else,” Melisandre looked across her cup at the dwarf, her eyes narrowed her lips pursed. “I know I may be asking a bit much and treading into…business here. But where exactly?” Vernan noted the sudden interest and was concerned. Melisandre was in the business of protection and safeguarding. And while her recent job was a recruiter for a scion of House Kundarak, she was still a member of the House of Warning. But Vernan trusted her, ever since they met in Sharn ten years ago. All because any information was kept safe with her, and she traded back what could. But most importantly, his gut trusted her. “A city she describes as having doors to anywhere. She called it ‘Sigil.’” Melisandre put down her cup, and placed her hand beneath her chin, staring at the Dwarf intently. “Do you believe her?” she asked cautiously. “I do…but I can’t prove what she claims. I have only one thing that makes me believe it, and it isn’t enough.” “What is that?” “I have spoken Elvish with captains of Lyrandar, Aereni, and country Khoravar. But I have never heard an Elven accent like hers. Even the phrasing is off here and there. And she doesn’t speak it badly at all, but it’s notable.” Melisandre said nothing as she stared at Vernan. The stars now started to reveal themselves within the holes in the cloud cover, and a pair of moons started to light up the sky. She took a deep breath and leaned forward towards the dwarf. “Vernan, I need to ask you a favor,” she said quietly, almost conspiratorially. Vernan reciprocated and leaned forward and lowered his voice, “This is a first from you.” Melisandre nodded, “Stay close to her…and if she asks in your presence for anything, no matter how small, make sure she gets it. And I mean [I]anything.[/I]” “I want to help her but—” “Just do as I ask…please. I believe it will help her. And you [B][I]must[/I][/B] help her.” Vernan nodded and kept his eyes locked on Melisandre, “You know something…who is she?” Melisandre leaned back, “Honestly I don’t know who she is. But I do know you need to do this for me.” And the half-elf stood, stretching her limbs and then straightening her velvet blue dress. “I have some letters to write tonight…thank you for visiting me Vernan.” And she turned to walk back inside the tea house, but not before turning and saying, “Remember the pots on you!” leaving behind the dwarf, wondering if he was out of his depth. Melisandre headed down the stairs of the tower in thought. And as she pulled up her hood to cover her long dark tresses, she muttered to herself, as her boot heels clicked on the stone in the night air. “In a city of the bones of the earth, one of the heavens may ask for succor of a stoneman from afar. If granted before a passage to an island distant, the path forward is certain.’ The board is almost set…soon very soon…” [/QUOTE]
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