"A stone golem and a magic mouth spell," Sand says in a voice quite a bit stronger and steadier than before. "If anything the presence of the guardian construct indicates that this man is a powerful mage at least."
"As for the Grey Fists, well..." The elf leaves the sentence unfinished, a sheepish look on his face.
As the group makes its way towards the office Micah seems uncharacteristically preoccupied. "I have... a... theory about who we're going to see..." he mutters, the name 'Terminsel'... the syllables: ter- mins- el... its a rearrangement of el- mins- ter... one of the Chosen of Mystra..." He reaches up and touches his holy symbol reverentially at this last phrase.
"I don't know, however, if this is a version from one of those other realities Lemon mentioned, or if its a pseudonym," he adds with some concern, "if its an evil version of him we may be in great trouble..."
Micah's concern seems to melt when the voice calls for the Greyfists of Damara, and he calls back, "Yes Lord Elmin... my Lord, we are the Greyfists."
At your proclamation, the statue moves to the side, and opens the door, which leads to a simple, plain room, with no furniture, but a rather large fireplace currently burning a moderate flame, powered by some strange magic conveyance. Another pre-recorded magic mouth spell echoes throughout the room the minute the door is opened. "You should hope you didn't lie. Your charter is key. The gate is through the flames. The golem will attack in one minute."
The sprite looks at the lot of you. "Oh, to Baator with that! I'm staying the heck away from this! You bloods find me in the public memories hall if you need me." He darts off surprisingly fast, not at all eager to have an animate statue trying to smash him.
"Did we ever actually agree to that name? Perhaps a bad time to quibble but..."
"First things first," Micah answers hurriedly, "this portal could take us home... Kurza could you get to the locker and back in one minute?"
While he retrieves the charter from his pack he explains, "we had no legal authority to investigate until it was completed, so when people stopped disagreeing after that suggestion I wrote it in."
Given the armor he's wearing, Kurza is almost certain he is not going to make it back to the lockers, let alone there and back in a minute. Likely Lemon would've been the only one with that speed, and he is at this point long gone. Perhaps with an expeditious retreat spell, one of the unarmored ones of you could make it in that time.
The fire burns ominously, as the statue stands, staring blankly at you.
|
"There is no way for us to get to the locker and back again, so let us assume that should this take us to Elminster he can get us back here easily enough to retrieve Flarghin. I wish we had more time, but it appears we don't."
Kurza looks flatly at the party and motions to the fire, then smiles...
"Always rushing through portals... maybe that should have been our charter name." as he steps through the flames.
"If the Elminster of our world is waiting on the other side, I'm sure he could get us back here..." Micah answers seeming to have grown less confident again.
As he walks into the fire with the rest of his company he grips his holy symbol and prays, "Mother of Magic, please do not allow our friend to be stranded in this place."
"What, something like Portal Hoppers? It is not like we expected doorways to other Planes in our futures," Sand quips with a wink. "Not in our immediate ones anyway. Besides, not quite that much of a ring to it."
And with those not exactly wise words spoken the elven warrior mage follows Micah's example and positively hops into the fire.
"Portal 'Sliders' might have been better. Captures the feeling more accurately I think."
The second Micah leaps into the flames with the charter, another swirling vortex opens within it, capturing him, and the others behind him as they travel through. There's another dizzying vertigo effect, but it's brief and short-lived, and then you find yourself in another room - this one larger, lit by a large fireplace as well. This one is lined with bookshelves filled with huge tomes. A single easy-chair sits before it - before you in fact - and it's occupant blinks, looking up from his reading with a turn of annoyance. He stands up, closing his book, and tilts his head, looking you over. He is an older man, though you can't tell quite how old - he could easily be in his sixties, or older. His sharp hawkish nose is his most prominent feature, though his eyes sparkle with a youth that his body betrays. Sure enough, Micah, and possibly others of you recognize him as the legendary sage, Elminster...though he seems quite a bit more worn and tired than you're used to seeing in paintings you've seen of the man.
"Let's see here...fireplace, five of you...holy symbol of Mystra...tiefling, human, human, elf, halfling, tiefling. Yes, you seem to fit the bill. Grey Fists of Damara, I presume? You're a bit later than she told me you'd be. No accounting for temporal variables, I suppose."
He looks tired...exhausted, actually, as if he's been exerting himself for longer than he ever should have.
"My Lord, Elminster," Micah answers with a bow, "we are the Grey Fists of Damara. I am Micah Haynes, a servant of Mystra and novice spellfire wielder. It is our great honor to meet you."
what 'she' told him to expect us?
"Presumqbly, he means Mystra. Though why a goddess would care about a crew of bounty hunters is beyond me. Perhaps she is interested in the Sharran plot we uncovered? Though she likely already knew. Maybe us stumbling on it ourselves was convenient? And I'm sure we never actually agreed to that name..."
Majhul seems more intrigued by the mystery than the living legend before him.
|
|
"Agreed or not, it is the name written on the charter." Kurza states firmly to Majhul. Then he softens a bit and says, "Besides, I thought it sounded good. It somehow fits our group."
Stepping forward with a bow to the great sage before him, "Well met good sir. You seem to know much about us. Pray tell, how did creatures such as we become so well known to you?" Then seeming to just notice the mage's near exhaustion, Kurza reaches for the mans arm to ease him back into the chair he just rose from, "Forgive my insensitivity at your weariness master sage. Please let me help you back to your chair..."
did I wonder that aloud? no, he must have wondered also and opted to speculate aloud, despite the obvious inappropriateness of the timing...
Micah looks at Majhul with some annoyance and retorts, "we are not all mere bounty hunters- I have been marked by Mystra, possibly to become one of her chosen in time, it would not be surprising for her to be watching me." Then he turns his attention expectantly back to the great sage.
Elminster shakes his head at Kurza's offer of a hand and returns to his seat. "I see my reputation proceeds me. I suppose that's just as well. No, thank you for the offer, I'll set myself. When you've gone through a few centuries yourself, boy, you will be a lot more weary, I assure you."
He steeples his fingers at Micah's introduction, and raises an eyebrow. "That's...a bit presumptive. Or is it confident? Yes, Lady Mystra was the one who told me to expect you lot. It wasn't so much by reputation, but, yes, she new you stumbled onto a plot...well...in hindsight she did...Perhaps you haven't felt it yet, Mister Hayes, but...I have some bad news for you that may, perhaps, explain my malady. Lady Mystra..." He leans forward, staring Micah plain in the eyes. "...is quite dead."
He pauses to let that sink in for just a moment, and speaks up. "I'm not sure when exactly you stepped through that portal into the planes in the first place, but the current year is 1450, and quite a lot has changed since Shar commiserated to have Cyric murder our good lady. To be honest, I'm getting a little annoyed with her constantly dying all the time, but this time it does seem very real, and to have had a rather negative effect on all of the realms." "My good knight, I see you carry a holy symbol of Tyr. Even he has left us, having abdicated his power to Torm after the Lady's death - he felt himself unworthy of his position, and recently he died fighting a demonic invasion in the upper planes. Frankly...there's been a lot of deicides of late, and I, for one, am not happy about it."
And indeed, any of you divine characters feel an absence from your patrons...spells you already prayed for remain, but your connection feels hollow, and you feel an absence from whence your power flowed. You're certain your prayers would remain unanswered at the moment if you tried to reconnect for spells, guidance, or anything else. "It was a few moments after the mortal blow that the Lady realized the situation - she used the last of her power to divine everything that lead up to her death, and, well...tasked me to deliver a message to you. Actually, rather a lot of gods are more than a bit annoyed with the situation, as rightfully they should be - if you lost a tremendous amount of power, watched an Archdevil ascend to deific power, and had half of your worshipers wiped out when a continent fell on them, you might be justifiably nettled." He sighs and sits back in his chair. "Unfortunately, I am no longer a Chosen, as there is no Mystra through which to flow her power. Though much of my own magic remains, it's exercise leads me to..." He pauses. "...a poor mental state. I'd love to personally myself to take out this plan the gods have put together, I simply cannot. So I'm relegated the position of messenger. Mystra left me message of your arrival, and I used what little power I could to arrange our meeting. I made sure my alias was known in the planes as someone seeking a way to map the planes to get you home, as I knew you would arrive there - though I wasn't sure when, as that domain is out of the purview of the gods - found a portal to my own time, and...well, you've seen the rest. And there...well, because we have no other means of keeping the plan secret from Cyric and Shar...there, we've laid the rest of the plan, for you to see...to remember...for yourself."
He nods to the shelves of books, and gives a grim smile. "The portal you came in is two-way. Take a book from the library labeled 'The Hope of the Realms.' It will prevent the golem from attacking upon your return. The book is otherwise a dummy, but within it is a key to my private memories library in the Hall. I've left a sphere for each of you that will explain the rest. I understand some of you may not care too much for the return of one god or another, but you were chosen for another reason. You see, the Spellplague - the death of Mystra herself - it lead to many deaths. It rocked the land itself, killed...millions, likely...and I will give you one guess what five intrepid young individuals were among those lost in the tragedy."
Majhul cocks his head.
"Why us, exactly? While I'm proud of my abilities, I'm also aware of my limitations. There are many much more powerful casters in the world, you are living proof of that. Given you can apparently manipulate time, why not contact a band of more experienced people to solve the issue?"
"Actually, how does this time portal work? Could you not step through it, restore your connection to Mystra by being in an age where she is alive, and solve this yourself?"
"I don't know if I can rightly risk it - stepping back to a time when she was. I've got some severe reactions when I use my magic to it's fullest of late, and frankly, I'm not sure it would simply be repaired by returning then. Our link was shattered when she died so instantly. It's like a shattered bone - you can't simply repair it by putting the pieces back together. The portal - it isn't my manipulation. I don't know if you were quite explained how the City of Doors works. Time...time is like another reality, in a way. You stepped in from one reality, where it was...somewhere in the 1370s from what I understand, though I'm not sure when exactly...to Sigil, and out from there, to another reality where so much time had passed. It's more than a little difficult to understand, but essentially, the doors are not only to other planes, but some are to other times. Using that..." He pauses, and clenches his eyes tight, then frowns. "The more I say here, the more we risk being heard. Even I have my limits to prevent ears from hearing and eyes from seeing from other places."
He sighs, deeply. "The truth is, young man, I'm getting very old. I'm still aging, though slowly, and we humans weren't meant to handle the stress of this. When I was a Chosen it sustained me, but now, now I don't know if I had the strength to accomplish this, even if I didn't risk going mad every time I exercised my strength."
|
|
Tyr, dead. The father of justice...dead. Mystra Dead. Many Gods...Dead. Kurza thinks to himself as he lets out an anguished sigh. Struggling to wrap his mind around the words of the great sage, Kurza does his best to gather his composure.
"We shouldn't stand here talking about all this he says. Our questions will be answered elsewhere or to be more accurate, elsewhen." He takes the book marked 'The Hope of the Realms' down from the shelf as the sage directed, then flips the pages in brief examination before tucking it into his backpack.
He then stands quietly ready for whatever his friends decide to do.
"I don't believe there's any particular hurry. We are currently 77 years forward from the time we left, and I doubt it's taken him too terribly long to pass on this message. Time is, almost literally, on our side."
"I see no harm in you and Micah taking the time to collect your thoughts and steel your resolve."
"There may yet be reason for haste, Majhul," Micah answers, "we don't know anything about the relative flow of time here and in Sigil- in the few moments we've been here hours or days could have passed there... besides, I don't like being here- I can feel Mystra's absence. Let's get back and view these memories and then we can return to before this travesty transpired and, hopefully, prevent it."
"What of the elves, Old Sage? What of our Gods? Of Corellon?" Isandril's series of questions is spoken with more than a little urgency and worry.
'Time travel, the death of Gods, a continent falling,' the elf ponders as he listens to his companion and the archmage discussing matters. It is certainly a lot to take in.
Lavinia hops back in surprise when the stone man animates, and keeps a wary eye on it the whole time they are inside the sensate room. Once through the portal, she listens to the old human's cryptic ramblings with an expression of doubt.
The others seem to believe this El-Minstrel - that he can send us back and forth between past, present, and future - though I find that hard to swallow. Even the priests back home never claimed such power! And by his own admission his mind grows weak from his wizardry. She looks around the room while the others discuss the man's claims, glancing behind the magical portal. No windows... we could still even be in the city of doors for all we know. Might he be in league with our prey - just another trap to turn us astray? Then she hears the fatigue in his voice, the strain and the weary fear.
He believes his words, even if I do not.
Lavinia nods in agreement with Kurza. "If we believe his words of dead gods and years gone by, then believe his words of eavesdropping enemies and follow his instructions." Lavinia spares a final glance at the veritable library and the worn-out old man sitting in it. "Goodbye, grandfather - may peace find you." She catches Kurza's eye and motions to the portal.
"After you, toothy one."
The old sage nods to Isandril with a slight smile. "Fortunately the father of the elves passed through all of this unscathed, though his former consort, Lolth, has grown a great deal in power in these decades. That alone has caused the drow to grow more bold over the years in their hunting of your people, young elf. Indeed, with the deaths of Vhaerun and Elistrae, both, it seems the dark children of the underdark have all but united under the banner of the Spider Queen - a fact your lord is not at all pleased about."
Elminster nods to the group in farewell, and places his pipe in his mouth, giving it a light with the mildest of cantrips - even this causes him to close his eyes in great focus. "I hope to see you safe - or rather, to not see you, and that you've changed our time for the better. Perhaps after all of this is done you can visit me and tell me the story of how we met, and yet somehow never did." To the halfling's bidding farewell, he smiles, and whispers. "My peace depends on your success, it seems."
He blows a cloud of smoke and returns to his book, furrowing his brow in concentration.
When you step through the portal to return to Sigil, you are again in the simple room in the Hall of the Sensates, whereupon the golem is now standing at quiet attention, considering you have the key to his deactivation in your hand. That same key, it seems, is labeled "Terminsel's Private Memories", and it seems to correspond to another library here in the hall.
"And now the clock begins to tick. Let's move."
Majhul goes to find the right library.
"My Lord, Elminster," Micah asks as the company moves back towards the portal, "you've been mapping the portals... do you have a map we can take with us? Or perhaps instructions how to find and activate whichever portal we should return by to have the best chance of success? And, I know the last several decades have been taxing but could you give us any specific times and places where preventing events could help right these travesties?"
"Indeed," Micah answers, "do you think there's a sign somewhere or should we just ask for directions?"
If I understood that old man right, he hid his information here to keep it out of the reach of the gods. But as the book-keeper and toothy one prove, that doesn't mean their servants may not lurk here in wait, hoping for his plans to be revealed...
"If we ask, others can ask what we asked for; if we explore, we are more like to be seen by any watching for us." Lavinia rubs her chin. "Should we ask Lemon? He knows this place, and could be he'd lie for us if any asked him. Could be." Lavinia immediately changes topics.
"We already hunt a servant of Shar. Who now is this Cyric of which the el minstrel spoke?"
"Well, I'm assuming you know the basics, but... Majhul says before he launches into a long winded description of the god.
|
|
Kurza leans to the side and whispers to Lavinia, "To put it simply little furred one, Cyric is the god of murder. Not to take away from all the great information Majhul is spewing forth..."
Straightening up he waits for Majhul to finish before saying, "Lavinia makes a good point. Let us find Lemon. He knows this place well enough to suit our purpose and not give any further information away to those that would spy upon us."
Elminster nods to Micah. "It's in the memories, dear boy."
Once you step through the portal, Majhul takes a good time to share that Cyric is also the god of Madness, and literally every other god in the Forgotten Realms pantheon hates him and is against him. He even once wrote a book that claimed he was the only god that existed, and when he read it himself, it was so crazy powerful and magical it made him go even more mad. He was briefly the god of death before Kelemvor after Myrkul before took over. He, along with the current incarnation of Mystra (a woman named Midnight) and Kelemvor were all human adventurers hundreds of years ago during the Time of Troubles, when Ao the overgod exiled all of the gods to Toril to walk without their immortality because three gods stole the Tablets of Fate that laid out every god's responsibility. Cyric killed Myrkul during this time and absorbed his essence to become a god, and he's been annoying the snot out of every other god since, actively working to thwart the good and steal the pantheons of the evil, like Mask. The primary reason Shar would work with him or manipulate him against Mystra is, frankly, she hates Mystra (and Selune) even more, as she's tried since Mystra's existence to steal her domain over magic - even going so far as to create the Shadow Weave, a dark reflection of the Weave that controls magic in Toril.
You move back into the public hall of spheres and there's Lemon waiting for you. "Oh, you're back. Did you smash that golem? You guys must be tough! Man, I need to hang out with you more, prevent other pissed off dazzlers from locking me in a cage against my will, or something."
Regardless of how much you choose to share, since you're asking him at some point about the private viewing rooms, he nods. "Oh, yeah, sure. I haven't been there myself...well, I haven't paid to...but you know, nobody really notices a nine inch guy when he turns his inner radiance off and sneaks around real quiet like, so maybe I might have watched some of the dirtier memories in some of the halls." He pauses. "What?" The sprite crosses his arms. "Fairies have needs too. Do you see any other people the size of one of your boots flying around here? Let alone a female?" He starts to blush under your continued scrutiny. "I don't need this. What I like to watch two dwarves do in the privacy of the memories they lock away under a reasonably easy lock to pop and a moderately difficult trap to avoid is my business! Anyway, come on, the private halls are down this way. As long as you have a key, they'll assume someone let you in on purpose."
The sprite turns on a red light glow as he blushes and starts to fly off down another hall. Eventually he moves to the one labeled "Terminsel" and allows you to unlock the traditional lock. When you move inside, there are five pedestals, each with a grey crystal sphere roughly four inches in diameter floating roughly an inch above the pedestal. Each pedestal has your name carved in elegant runes in Damaran on it.
When you reach forward and touch the sphere, you're lost, as the world around you fades into blackness, and suddenly you come to experience the recorded memory...
"...And that, in brief, is the biography of Cyric. Any questions?" Majhul finally finishes.
Later:
"Thank you Lemon. And, for what it's worth, I'm not one to judge for someone else' sexual proclivities. It feels like it would be hypocritical for some reason I can't recall."
That said, he waves goodbye and without ceremony grasps the sphere with his moniker on it.
Micah takes a step back from his pedistal in stunned silence. He takes a deep breath and releases it in a slow, almost sigh-like sound. "I believe I know where we must go, but we keep putting off sleep and I think the time has really come for us to rest."
Looking around he adds, "we can lock ourselves in here if people wish... that will provide more security than the inn we looked at, though it's not likely to be as comfortable..."
Majhul steps back from the sphere, looking pensive. And, for once, seemingly humbled. On his left palm a tattoo of a scroll with an arcane eye glows faintly, though he doesn't seem to notice yet.
"Did the rest of you talk to your gods as well? Oghma himself greeted me. He was...plainer than I expected, but awe inspiring nonetheless."
"He told me to seek the high priest of Bane, though I'll admit that was for reasons personal to me and not our new mission."
"What did the rest of you see?"
|
|
Kurza stands with eyes closed in grim silence as his vision fades. He is ringed by a halo of soft radiance that quickly begins to fade, and he opens his eyes to witness reality anew. Upon his back, he can feel the heavy weight of his sword, yet somehow it is strangely unfamiliar to him. He scans around the room for his friends, noticing subtle changes in each of them.
"I was gifted a vision of justice. Justice that I need to deliver."
He remains quiet as the others talk of their experiences, but when they are done Kurza explains his vision to any that wish to hear the details.
"I agree that we should rest. This has been a most taxing day. I will take the first watch."
"I faced death, and it spoke to me. Of walking through shadow to kill a man that it could not."
"Why not rest behind the stone man and let him do the watching?" Lavinia motions to the memory spheres. "Can we take these things with us? If so, we should; if not, we should destroy them."
"I..."
Eyes wide, Isandril shakes his head as he tries to gather himself and regain his composure after the vision. Looking at his hands, he feels a strange thing, almost as recognizing them as his own and yet not entirely. He feels... different.
"I saw the First of the Seldarine. He was..." He takes a deep breath before continuing, not finishing his previous sentence. "Many of my people have died because of the Spellplague. And Lolth gained much from it all, growing in power."
He looks at the others. "Such things cannot come to pass." A simple brief statement spoken in a determined voice.
"Were any of you given further information on where we should begin?"
|
|
"I was not given any location to begin. I was just told that I needed to find Cyric and stop his ascension. I had hoped one or more of you would have more specific information or at least a location to start our search." the tiefling says simply.
He looks to the spheres at Lavinia's suggestion, and reaches for his own, wondering if it will replay the vision or if he can take it from its place above the pedestal.
"Lets head back to Termisel's room to begin our rest as Lavinia suggests. I'll still take first watch even there."
"We begin by resting," Micah answers flatly, "then we go to the marketplace to find someone to help Sand and get some supplies."
As he speaks, the priest sets his backpack on the floor, opens the center flap, and removes a cot and a blanket. After setting them up he offers, "I don't sleep much... but as much as possible I should not be left alone on watch... I'm not good at spotting danger..."
While the others are settling in he pulls Majhul aside. "I think I've had a breakthrough in using a power I've thus far only had the most rudimentary skill with," he whispers, "I know this is an odd request... but... could you, please, try to cast a couple spells on me?"
"Well, if you'd be so kind as to explain why first, I'd be happy to. What do you expect to happen?"
"I believe..." Micah answers as he prepares himself, "that I should be able to absorb the magical energy... but, uh, only spells that target me specifically, if you would..."