Mel nods thoughtfully. "Thank you, your grace."
Over the next few days while waiting for assorted projects to complete, Mel makes some preparations -- gathering tools she thinks useful for the coming task.
She takes some time to show Túrion the enchanted mirror in the Cozy Badger's basement, knowing that such an arcane object would likely be interesting to him.
Fyrtor was grateful for the time to rest while the group made preparations for the coming mission. He often went to the Temple of Sarenrae. One older priest, a man named Dalet, was particularly friendly with him. After a few days visits, Fyrtor had grown comfortable enough with him that he sat with Dalet and spoke of his father, how he had died, and of his conversation with his father's spirit. Dalet, was kind and understanding, he didn't tell him that it he was wrong to harbor the guilt, neither did he condemn him. He told Fyrtor that, if he remained faithful, one day he'd be able to forgive himself, and encouraged him to draw closer to the Lady of Mercy.
When he wasn't visiting the temple, preparing for the future, Fyrtor was on the ship with the orcs. He kept trying to work with them though it seemed few were truly willing to change. Still it kept them occupied as they sat in port and it helped to ease his mind. One or, Orluk showed great promise. Fyrtor began having conversations with him directly using magic to overcome the difficulties in communication. After explaining the situation to the priests there he brought Halak and Orluk to the temple. It caused a bit of a stir, but Fyrtor was insistant that the orcs deserved a chance to see the beauty of the place. Halak was brought to interpret and Fyrtor hoped he might be converted someday as well. As the days spent in Helm drew to a close, Fyrtor worried that he might not be able to continue working with Orluk. He bought the orc a necklace with a small golden symbol of the Dawnflower. He gave it to the orc, with a charge to remember the things that he'd taught him and as a sign of their friendship. He also gave Halak and Orluk both a copy of "The Birth of Light and Truth" each with a personal note written into the first page.
After securing permission from Henry McHenry, Mel leads Túrion down into the Cozy Badger's basement.
"Just down here," she says.
The basement is much as she remembers it -- except that a shelf has been shoved in front of the mirror.
"Oh. Hold on a sec," she says. Running back upstairs, she borrows Henry McHenry for a moment, and the two of them muscle the shelf out of the way.
Henry looks unhappily at the mirror. "I don't much like that thing," he says. "I wish it weren't here. But I don't know if it can be moved."
"It's maybe a little unsettling," Mel assures him, "But now that the spell is repaired, it's harmless."
"Be that as it may, I'm not going to hang about," he says. "Anyway, there are customers upstairs. Kindly put the shelf back when you're done." And with that, he makes his exit. The wooden stairs thump under his footfalls as he goes.
"Watch this," Mel tells Túrion mischievously, and lays a hand on the mirror's surface. In moments, she vanishes into it, leaving Túrion standing alone in the dim basement.
Túrion watches the exchange between Henry McHenry and Mel, with increasing curiosity regarding that mirror. Clearly, magic was at work, but it would probably be impolite to try and determine the exact nature.
Besides, Mel seemed comfortable enough around it, and early analysis might spoil the surprise she seemed excited about.
A bit self-conscious about not having been strong enough to help with the shelf, he listens to Mel, then looks at what she is doing. She sounded mischievous but was a good sport.
When she vanishes, Túrion raises an eyebrow, then steps in front of the mirror, also laying a hand on it.
One evening the party gathered in a private room in the Cozy Badger to discuss the preparations they'd been making for the upcoming mission. "So, how has everyone been getting ready for trip to Iustia? Pippi still has my sword. I wish she could work faster, I hate to be without it, but these things take time. Anyways I found this today." Fyrotr proudly raises what looks to be a normal belt pouch up. "The Bishop's words got me thinking. If we are going to to be found skulduggery type work for count Aral, we need to be able to hide things. Unfortunately while the haversacks we have do that reasonable well, as soon as one checks for magic it becomes very obvious the bags are more than they appear, and if someone searches them there's no means of hiding the fact, whether or not they can use magic. But this, this is AMAZING! Watch this." Fyrtor turns the bag inside down, and hands it to Kazador to inspect as well. "Nothing in there right? Turion, is the bag magic?" After a moment the elf responds, "not obviously." Then Fyrtor speaks a word, and reaches into the pouch pulling out his unstrung bow followed by a few arrows. He then puts the items back into the pouch and speaks the word again, tossing the pouch to Turion. "The merchant called it a Pathfinder's pouch. I don't know where he got it, but I couldn't pass it by."
Turion finds that his hand has passed smoothly through the surface of the mirror but he doesn't feel any particular effect. Sensing no danger in this spell, he leans forward and soon his entire body passes into the mirror. On the other side, he finds Mel standing in a shiny hallway, apparently made entirely of reflective glass, with several shining glass doors to either side and one at the end of the hall.
"There you are," she says. "So, welcome to the mirror. I thought you might find this interesting -- I found it with Perrin, just after Kazador joined us. It was malfunctioning at the time, and David, the innkeeper's son, got trapped in here. Perrin fixed it."
"There was another fellow in here -- Harold Donaldsson. He'd been trapped in here for fifteeen years, poor soul, just living off conjured water and berries."
A thought occurs. "Incidentally, you probably don't want to go into that side chamber," she says, pointing at the first door on the right. "It's ... pretty foul. Or at least it was last time I was in here, and I don't think anyone has, err, mucked the place out since then."
"The core of the spell is through the big door at the end of the hallway."
"Certainly a remarkably useful item.", he speaks the command word himself, opening and closing the hidden part of it:"A magic aura negating the magic aura of the extradimensional space. Unless specifically looked for, exceedingly hard to find. A word of warning, however: You will probably be extra careful around other extradimensional spaces of all sorts with that thing...they have...destructive interactions. That, and it would probably be much more useful if we didn't light up like a lighthouse on a magic scan. Some of those items we wear are bound to leave a lingering trail that could possible be followed hours later.", he indicated the Dwarven Amulet around Fyrtors neck, then hands the pouch back: "Still exceedingly useful, without a doubt. A good find."
_________________________________
"I find it not just interesting, I find it fascinating. Thank you for showing me this!", Túrion responds with excitement in his voice, turning around and looking out the mirror, before checking the corridor, then looking at the first door on the right:"Actually, I would like to take a glance...before we leave. Most conjuration does not really create something from nothing. It is called into being, from elsewhere, or from what is available. Sometimes more permanently, often less, but usually from where it is available. If this is an extradimensional space, it should be...contained. That means he created foods via magic, but the spell may have drawn on...the contents of that chamber. It's hard to explain the theory, but without magic to stabilize the result, most of what was called should have...faded away. Most likely, that room will not be pleasing, olfactory or otherwise, but it should, over time, return to an empty state by itself as the magic binding what remains becomes unstable and untangles.", he explains, taking a cautious sniff, then passing the door:"You say the core is at the end of the hall? The fact there is a hallway with side-chambers by itself is impressive. I have heared of spells that allow to create small extradimensional hideouts - but the size and permanency of this place suggests much more powerful magic at work. Something akin to the legendary demiplanes."
Standing before the big door at the end of the hallway, he apologetically bows his head:"I apologize - as said, this is fascinating for me - I tend to speak freely what comes to mind, I did not mean to rant or lecture you on the nature of this wonder." If Mel does not stop him, he opens the door.
"I don't really know how he was getting his food," Mel says. "They seemed like enchanted berries, such as a druid might make. But according to the accounts I've read of such things, that magic does not actually create a berry out of nothing; it merely enhances a number of existing berries. There aren't any berry bushes in here, so I don't know where he was getting the berries from."
Turion finds that the refuse chamber still smells terrible but it has mellowed quite a lot since it hasn't been used in quite a while.
"Certainly a remarkably useful item.", he speaks the command word himself, opening and closing the hidden part of it:"A magic aura negating the magic aura of the extradimensional space. Unless specifically looked for, exceedingly hard to find. A word of warning, however: You will probably be extra careful around other extradimensional spaces of all sorts with that thing...they have...destructive interactions. That, and it would probably be much more useful if we didn't light up like a lighthouse on a magic scan. Some of those items we wear are bound to leave a lingering trail that could possible be followed hours later.", he indicated the Dwarven Amulet around Fyrtors neck, then hands the pouch back: "Still exceedingly useful, without a doubt. A good find."
Fyrtor frowns, "Yes, I know. I haven't come up with a way to hide that. This at least would allow me to carry a few things discreetly, but as you say, we will look like beacons to any that knows how to look. Also, I've been thinking we may need to be able to disguise ourselves. I know a few spells that I could use to change shape, but unlike most druids I cannot take the forms of animals. Of the spells I know few last long and all require a great deal of my power."
Inisde the door at the end of the hall, Turion finds a massive, shiny chasm extending farther than he can see upwards and downwards. Shiny floating platforms are scattered on the way toward a floating icosahedron, each face appearing to be a mirror.
Mel follows Túrion into the core chamber. "That's the core of the spell," she tells him. "It was broken when we came in -- Perrin fixed it. I'm not sure I could really describe how."
"The core, hu? Mister McHenry did not seem fond of this object? Do you think he would be willing to part with the mirror? I would very much like to study it in more depth. A self-sustained persistent and cascading subdimenion. I have never seen something like it."
Looking at the floating icosahedron, he ponders: "I think it may be more than just the core. I think that may be...a way to control it. We may be in a physical manifestation of a liminal space. A "between". For all we know, we could shift that Icosahedron, and shift the exit to a different mirror altogether. Or it may simply be the focal point - but further study is needed, either way..."
After speaking with the bishop, Muse sought out an artificer he knows about further enchanting his terbutje and commissioning a page of spell knowledge.
"If I recall correctly, Perrin mentioned that the spell would end if the mirror was moved more than five feet from its current location," Mel informs him. "So, while it's clear that the owner is spooked by the mirror, if you want to study it you'll need to do so here."
"Hm. That would make sense...you see, if this quasi-real dimension we are in is really a connection between different places, then the exits will be...aligned with coordinates. In some ways, it makes sense. The mirror itself could be mundane, and simply link up with this magical effects once it's in the correct place. Such an arrangement would be more stable, and less prone to errors, than attempting to link up with specific mirrors regardless of their locale. It would also allow replacement of broken mirrors. The more I learn, the more fascinating it becomes. Of course, that begs the question of who made this, and for what purpose..."...Túrion ponders the possibilities "Thank you for showing me this. I shall not abandon our task, but I will use the days until our equipment is finished to try and learn more about the nature of this place."
Brolin gets some work done for him at standard prices. It takes a few days but the group has the time, which is a welcome change of pace.
Turion contemplates the spell and determines it is probably a mirror hideaway spell but one souped up by a very powerful mage and made permanent.
Mel accomplishes her shopping, thanking Laine when she picks up the newly enhanced armor.
She also purchases a hat having the curious property of being able to disguise the wearer on command, and assume the shape of any other headgear while it's at it. She takes to wearing it instead of simply wearing her scarf. But she makes it look just like the scarf, so the differences are not immediately obvious.
She makes some further purchases: from a leatherworker at the edge of town, she procures two simple leather pouches. And from a jeweller in town, she purchases a variety of loose gems, totalling about 2,000 gp. She puts half of these in one pouch and tucks it away in her handy haversack.
After determining that Túrion lacks the ability to extend the duration of spells, she revisits the mage who assisted her with the letter to her parents before they departed for Kazad Gravr, and hires them to shrink the pouch containing a thousand gold's worth of gems to a small piece of fabric. She also pays for a spell to cancel the magical aura on the resulting piece of fabric.
She tucks the cloth carefully into an envelope with a letter to her parents.
You must have gotten my message! I'm so relieved. I happened to come across an Avinoan mage, Túrion Alagoster, who mentioned seeing you arrive in Avinoax.
I'm sorry to have upended your lives like this. And I really, really wish I could tell you all about it. But ... things are still happening, and I don't think it would be wise to commit the details to paper, lest this letter fall into the wrong hands. So I guess you'll just have to trust me. I promise to tell you everything eventually. In person. And in a safe place.
I don't know when I'll be able to see you again. I write this in Helm; but will soon be departing for ... I'd probably better not say that either. Damn, this is frustrating! I'm not even sure how to tell you how to send me a letter if you wanted to, because I don't want any of my friends here in Helm to attract attention they don't deserve. Blast all this cloak and dagger stuff anyway!
So just know that I'm doing the best I can. I pray to Ostara daily. Often more! I have sorely needed her guidance these past few months; and she has not let me down.
I hope you are all safe and well, including Varen.
Melira
P.S. I have enclosed a cloth sample I thought mother might like. It flutters so nicely! Try dropping it on a table.
She carefully seals the letter and the precious "fabric sample" into an envelope, and goes looking for Túrion. "Ah, there you are," she says to him. "Do you have a moment? You mentioned you might be able to help me send a letter to my parents in Avinoax. Well, here it is." She holds up the envelope. "It absolutely, positively has to be there and delivered within 14 days, and I don't know exactly how to address it since I have no idea where they might be living at the moment. What do you recommend?"
For his part, Kazador kept to himself. He was uninterested in magical mirrors. Or hates, or pens, or whatever the others were on about. Instead, he wandered, as lost in thought as he was in the streets. In many ways he did not know what to do with himself. In his own lost lands he had a routine, but that was long gone. And in the realm of humans, all he knew how to do was drink himself into a stupor. Something he refused to fall back into.
As he had time, in his exploration he found something. A tea house. Black tea, green tea, dark tea...even the expensive oolong. It was a world of flavor that he had never known before. He found the environment to be relaxing, and the drink to sharpen his mind rather than dull it. Certainly he got odd looks. It wasn’t really a place known for dwarves. But he was beyond caring what others thought, and after a few days the regulars stopped staring.
It was, all things considered, a good way to spend time after what they had all been through.
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After exploring the mirror and getting your materials together, you head out across land.
You begin heading west through helm, traveling quietly and trying not to make an impression. You head for a ferry to cross the River Rush. One night you stop for camp and take turns keeping watch. When Kazador is on watch, he hears footsteps approaching and wakes the rest of you. Human shapes appear around your campfire, one older man (highlighted in red) stepping forward and addressing you. "As you can see, you are outnumbered and surrounded. Please be so kind as to lay down any weapons. We will relieve you of your valuables but leave sufficient necessities for you to make it safely to the next town."
Kazador had been sitting down, a hood pulled over his head. To the world it looked like he was unarmed and unarmored. A dwarf wearing simple traveling clothes and with a long silver torc running the length of his right arm.
When the bandit approached, he got to his feet with a frown. Once the man had made his demands, he let the illusion slip. His clothes and torc shimmered, only to be replaced with a full suit of runic armor and a large hammer.
He wasn’t a particularly well spoken person. He was usually content to let his actions speak for him. But he didn’t want his companions to be filled with arrow holes. So, he at least tried.
”What was that, boyo? Yer going to drop yer weapons and valuable while I let ye keep enough to make it to the next town?”
Algric, for his part, had been sitting cross legged with his bow across his legs. Startled, he jumped to his feet, bow in hand. He looked around wildly, trying to gauge the danger present.
Algric can't tell if there are more enemies in hiding. The seasoned leader of the bandits raises an eyebrow at Kazador. "I see you're well-equipped. But you're still very out-numbered. I'll tell you what, if you surrender nicely, I'll let you each keep one valuable of your choice."
"If you think to find easy prey in us you will be sorely mistaken. I doubt you could overpower us, and even if you do you will loose many if your number." Continuing in a louder voice Fyrtor scans the group trying to project an air of confidence.
The bandits look at each other as Fyrtor exhorts them to choose another path then look back to their leader who shakes his head. "Big talk. But you're outnumbered, badly. Your wolf looks scary but I've heard a few good shots takes down a dire wolf, just like a bear."
"You do have us outnumbered and surrounded," Mel acknowledges. "But we've been there before, and we're not going to just hand you our possessions. Even if you can win -- which I doubt, actually -- many of you are going to get hurt or killed. So the real question is: how many of you are willing to die to take our stuff?"
She surveys them, her expression one of mixed compassion and sorrow. "Be sensible," she urges them. "Go home and live long lives."
Túrion rises, somewhat casually, and surveys the situation.
The others were talking,, but so far, neither side seemed inclined to back down.
"If I may? Sire, you are old for your kind. Not something easily achieved in your profession if you are unwise with the marks you pick. Since we are still talking, do take a moment to consider your situation here. How often did you come across parties as diverse as ours? Humans, Elves, Dwarves, a Wolf...allow me to elaborate: You may not be familiar with my gear, but it is that of a High Magister of the Concordat. That there is a Dwarven Runewarden, who, by his actions alone, slaughtered at least 4 dozen Orcs, including their warleaders. That one is captain of a ship, and ended the threat of piracy at the coast of Helm - you won't need a full hand to count the pirates who survived his final encounter with them...I could go on, but the general gist of it is: You are in over your heads on this one. That is not big talk, but an honest warning. We have skills acquired over a very long career. Skills that make us a nightmare for people like you. You did not outright attack, and I am willing to extend that courtesy to you - if you turn around and go now, that'll be the end of it."
"You should re-consider your life choices and be thankful you survived today. Gather your band and leave now. Wasting the lifes or your man and risking your own is not worth it, especially if people associated with us would come and hunt you down even if by some stroke of fate you would succeed."
The large wolf, her already formidable intelligence further boosted by a small circlet attached into her barding, reads the situation as "troublesome", and steps closer to Túrion, to better protect him in case of hostilities.
The bandit leader listens to Mel's and Turion's reasonable words and his eyes seem to glaze over. "You do seem a little too equipped. Alright men, we're looking for other marks." The bandits lower their weapons slightly and back up, melting back into the forest.
”Take it that was some magical shenanigans?” Kazador asked. ”Almost a shame. World would be better without them. But good work on dealin’ with that. Not worth anyone here dying over.”
Mel lowers her bow and glances at Kazador. "Maybe the world would be better off without them. Maybe not. Life allows possibility -- the potential for change. Once they're dead, all that is done, and the weight of their souls will be added to the Scales."
Turning to Túrion, Mel sighs. "If I remember my Fundamentals of Arcane Theory for Non-Mages course correctly, that spell is going to wear off sooner or later, and when it does he's going to figure out what happened. He'll probably be pissed. We should move on before that happens."
"Whether or not he'd realize there's an issue we'd beat be on our way. I'll not sleep easy tonight otherwise."
After the bandits retreat, Túrion nods:"Aye, magic. I compelled him to re-evaluate his life. He may come to the conclusion that he wants to continue his course of action, but I am reasonably certain he would second-guess his decision to go after us again - I am not even sure he'll be pissed if his contemplation brings him to the conclusion that I may have saved his life. Also, the spell should last for several hours, but relocating may be a wise choice regardless, just in case."
Turning to Kazador, he continues:"I see your point, but as you say, it's not worth risking our lives over if such can be avoided - our task, as I understand it, is too important for that. That, and their existence by itself could be helpful - I am not certain which side of the border we are on...if still in Helm, they may be patriotic enough to prey on enemy supply convoys in times of war, and play out their role as irregulars in times of war, as per Mels suggestion. If across the border, their banditry may be a destabilizing factor demanding attention from the lords, focusing inward or requiring a force to counterbalance-them, diminishing their overall potential and willingness for aggressive actions against other sovereign nations. Either way, having spared them may yet serve our purposes."
You decide to break camp early, not having finished resting yet. You trudge along for the rest of the day, quite tired, but you manage to push on.
After another few days, you arrive at the River Rush. It is thirty yards across by now with a noticeable but not roaring current. You decide how you want to cross.
You are confident you could get the horses to swim the wagons across, especially if you could lighten the heavy crates somewhat.
No doubt there is a ferry nearby. You can find one and get the wagons ferried across for 10 gold pieces.
Having crossed the river, you find yourselves in Iustia. There are not many guard patrols but they pass by from time to time. You need to decide how to travel through Iustian lands.
You travel along the border of the Hammerfall Desert and, after days of dealing with the heat, you are stopped by a Dwarven sentry. "Who are you and what do you want?!"
Mel surveys the river. "Well, that's no good," she says. "But the river's headed in the same general direction we're going anyway. If we just follow it north there's bound to be a ferry before long."
Mel maintains her human guise, using the hat of disguise to make only simple modifications.
"If we're challenged along the road, shall we tell them we're just on our way to the clanhold to make a delivery?" Mel asks. "If they ask what we're delivering, we can tell them it's metal. Which has the advantage of being true. I just hope they don't insist on opening the boxes."
Mel keeps her hands in plain sight and lets Kazador and Algric take the lead here.
Kazador walked forward, his traveling clothes shimmering as they returned to their true form. The stone-plate, etched with runes of power, was clearly visible and upon his head was the Helm of the Defending Warden.
”I am Kazador, last Rune-Warden of Kazad Gravr, and this Algric. One of the few survivors. The city is dead, it’s heart broken. All that is left is rubble, ruin, and the fallen. We are on our way to Revan, for in these crates are all that remains of our home. They must be brought safely to Dwarven hands. This is our duty. These men and elves have risked their lives to see that the sacrifice of our people was not in vain. Already we have had to fend off bandits upon the way. Will you let us pass, so that duty might be fulfilled?”
He had never been a great orator, or a leader of dwarves. But he spoke now with as much conviction and purpose as he could muster.
Algric stood by, opened his mouth to say something, only to shake his head sadly.
"As Kazador says," Mel starts to say, and then accidentally inhales a passing gnat. Her sentence peters out into a horrendous coughing fit. Kelian thumps her on the back.
You find the ferry and cross the river easily.
You decide to pass for simple traders in Iustia but a patrol stops you and asks what you are doing.
The dwarf sentry's eyebrows raise and he nods gravely, replying in his tongue. "The gift of Kazad Gravr is welcome. We feared the worst when communication from them ceased. This way, Thane." He leads you past a rocky outcropping to a hidden door and begins leading you down a dark tunnel.
As they walked down the tunnels, Algric visibly relaxed. He took several deep breaths before saying ”Can’t imagine any of ya see me as a friend. And the feeling is mutual. But, thanks. You’ve done our people right. Bringing *all* of this back to us.” He put emphasis on all, and gave Kazador a disgruntled look. He wasn’t happy about the relics of Kazad Gravr being in non-dwarven hands, but had apparently decided to let it slide. He was happy enough just to be back in dwarven lands, and to have brought the crates.
Fyrtor speaks with the leader of the patrol, drawing on his experience accopmanying traders during his missionary work to explain any inconsistencies in their cover story.
Mel lets Fyrtor do the talking.
Mel pays the small fee for the entire party (10 gp total) and you move on without incident.
Fyrtor manages to convince the Iustian patrol that there is nothing of interest going on with these traders and you pass on, unmolested.
Mel was familiar with the lay of the land, and somewhat with the local customs. Letting her take the lead on solving any problems that came up was a natural conclusion.
Depending on her also allowed Túrion sufficient free time to fulfill his promise to Nelly. While the woods were hardly safe, as their run-in with the bandits had shown, they were still safe enough to allow for some hunting.
As Nelly caught the scent of some Deer, Túrion moved within visual distance to the prey, then surprised Nelly by taking the form of a Wolf, himself. With a growl, he started forward, maneuvering to direct the chosen target of their hunt towards where Nelly could take over with a sprint and finish the deer before his own form returned to his Elven Self.
As she returned with the prey in her fangs, he took time to cut some choice bits of meat for their other companions and skinning the creature, before letting Nelly sate her hunger. The hunt had been for sport - but it was not in the way of nature to waste. Finding some edible roots, berries and wild herbs to make a complete meal on their way back to the group, they would not need to depend on rations for that day.
When they moved across Iustian lands, Túrion kept as low a profile as possible. He had attempted to adopt the same kind of disguise as Mel had, but his features, his movements, his way of standing, it was too 'elvish' - he would draw more attention in disguise than without, so it was simpler to be himself and let the others do the talking.
Similarly, he kept his own counsel when they arrived in the Dwarven autonomy region - there were few of these holds, and they no longer had the knowledge to create such artifacts as the heart...at least to his knowledge they did not. That meant that a fallen city was a loss more final than it was for most other races. He liked to think that being from a long-lived, ancient race himself, he had a way of understanding Kazador on a different level - but the impact such an event had on a whole society, that was beyond the ability to comprehend. That did not mean it was pointless to contemplate it, though, and Túrion watched with curiosity as they entered these new tunnels, marking differences and similarities to the other Dwarf Hold he has visited in greater Haste, recently.
The patrol regards Turion with curiosity and almost hostility.
The dwarven sentry leads you deeper into the tunnels until you come to a larger chamber with some houses and tunnels connected to it. There the sentry heads over to a dwarf with a braided grey bear, fine stoneplate armor, and a hammer with glowing runes. This dwarf walks back over to you and places a fist on his chest. "I hear you bring the gift of Kazad Gravr. This is welcome."