[PFS][Level 3-5] DM Ranginui runs The Midnight Mirror (Inactive)

Game Master Tangaroa

As the Pathfinders look about the room, they see no easy egress into the central chamber. They do spot a variety of dark, rubbery food sitting on fine porcelain on the large central table in the room. The food is clearly a product of the environment, probably placed here to taunt one of the epicurean prisoners.

However, the porcelain appears to bear ancient Nidalese markings and appears to be quite real. One imagines the porcelain would have some interest to a collector.

"It seems this wall could be brought down. Does it lead to the Heart? I think we should stay true to our first intent, which was to reach the Heart last after exploring the whole place. Shall we head upstairs?" proposes the orc sorcerer.

"If we intend to hold off on closing the pocket, it makes as much sense as not."

"I'd rather just get the job done and get out of here. There's no knowing how long this darkvision spell's gonna last."

Having decided (if rather tentatively) to make a limited exploration of the upper reaches of the House of Night, the six make their way upstairs. As they alight on the second floor, they spy two smaller rooms and a hallway with a closed door beyond.

Opening the unlocked door to the first room, they find a rather well appointed room. A feather bed piled high with blankets dominates one side, and a floral wallpaper has been carefully pasted over the black walls of the manor. Carpets cover the floor. A dresser, mirror, desk and armchair complete the illusion of a comfortable apartment on the Material Plane.

Sitting on the bed is the well-preserved body of a human, whose visage matches that of Iozif Boroi. Agents of decay seem to have spared his body (no doubt due to the cold), and he appears to missing one of his fingers. A short search reveals a set of handwritten notes - a journal of sorts.

The Pathfinders also find a small doll fallen under the bed. It looks nothing so much like a small mock fetchling, with dark hair, white skin, and dark clothing.

I believe that we will read the notes, yes.

"So, this Sorin would be the rightful heir, then, yes?"

"I suppose so. Perhaps we ought to see if he is still here. I don't remember any children below..."

"There's no reason to expect that he's still a child, is there?

Baldwyn moves to the body and uses one of the many blankets to cover it. "Heir or not, it seems he would know of no life outside of the mirror. What kind of leader is that?"

"Good points, both of you. I wonder how long ago this was written...it says he was born eight years ago, but this diary could have lain here for twenty since then. Let's check these other rooms at the least."

"Agreed. We need to make haste before we tear this place apart, lest its evilness starts to grow on us"

My apologies. The diary specifies the day 11th of Desnus, 4706 (8 years ago) as the birthdate, although his time reckoning involves guesswork in this timeless realm. It is odd that the child ages, as those trapped in this plane from the material appear unaging - a complicated quirk of planar effects.

The pathfinders continue on to the next door, on the room to the west. As Leastrie presses his ear to the door his sharp elven ears can hear an unpleasant, but muffled, babbling. Listening at the door to the south, he can hear much more even-toned and subdued voices engaged in conversation.

Leastrie tells the others what he has heard. "I would think we try the more pleasant sounding voices first, no?"

"Agreed. Let's see who - or what - is there."

Baldwyn hoists his hammer. "Knock knock."

Leastrie opens the door and looks upon the room. Unevenly upholstered furniture fills this large common area, chairs and sofas circled around asymmetrical tables. Doors on both sides of the room lead off into tiny bedchambers.

Six fetchlings look up in surprise, bringing their various conversations to a halt. The are all garbed in the usual manner of the Kayal, with dark cloaks and light daggers; although these ones seem more alert then the ones downstairs, they are clearly stunned by the presence of the newcomers. The furthest one starts slowly backing towards a hallway heading east.

One near the front speaks. "Hullo... more humans! Who are you?"

Spotting the reaction of the kayal at the back, Shandor's eyes glow red as his rasping voice lets out: "Don't you dare moving. Yes, you over there. One more step and you will be struck dead by my formidable magic. For I am Shandor Arvandru, heir to Wrath magic of old Thassilon, and I eat the beating heart of those who cross me! Fear me, I am the Beast!"

Intimidate: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (9) + 8 = 17

The one moving towards the hall freezes in fear at the sorcerer's menacing command.

One of the others speaks. "Ah, old Fintar did not mean any harm. I'm sure he was just thinking the same thing as me - that Nicasor would like to know we have distinguished guests. You can call me Kreeko, if you please."

None of the rest make a move.

"Well, Kreeko does Nicasor keep his residence back there? I have no problem if he finds out about us. In fact, we'd rather like the opportunity of speaking to him. While we are all here, what can you tell us about this place? How long have all of you been here?"

"What year is it on the outside?" he laughs. "Iozef Boroi told me once he figured I had been here for 940 years, but I didn't believe him. This place is a prison-did you get tricked into coming here too? Did Stepan trick you? Well, it does not matter. You're welcome here, except you would be a bit heavily armed for Atamin's taste. He'd be Nicasor's brother, and naturally a bit protective. I suppose introductions are in order, as you're going to be here awhile."

He points to several of his fellow Kayal. "That would be Arim, Yetar, Inva, and Renza. Then there's the Shae: Nicasor, whom you seem to have heard of, best stay on his good side; Atamin and his daughter Manar, good folk both; and uncle Corys" he points to a room in the back. "Fair warning, he rather prefers his solitude."

"And of course young Sorin, who is a joy and treasure. Manar takes care of him; she and him were both born here, so they're kind of kindred spirits."

"Like I said, you're welcome to stay as far as I'm concerned, but coming in armed as you are will be taken poorly. Best to leave the weapons outside."

I'm just gonna go with our current year, feel free to alter it to fit.

"4714 by Absalom's Reckoning," Baldwyn says cautiously, trying to gauge the friendliness of the strangers. They seem friendly enough. "When were you stuck in here?"

"3764 A.R. - yes, I believe the was the date, sometime in Arodus. Uh... you still haven't told us who YOU are though."

Without waiting for the party's approval, Baldwyn turns back to the strangers. "We're the ones who are going to break free of this prison. You're welcome to come if you don't slow us down."

Several of them start muttering to themselves. "Many have tried. You have to kill the the Heart, and the thrice-damned thing always grows back. Then it focuses its greatest tortures on those that wounded it.... well you don't last long after that."

"Right. Well we've got a little surprise for the heart. Might just be its undoing. What is the Heart? Is it intelligent? Can it move or cast magical spells?"

Baldwyn laughs. "You said it yourself, we're armed more than the average passerby."

"Aye, it's intelligent, and cruel. It's always in the center and never moves. Why would it? It can shape this world as it will, and make servants at a whim. I heard tell it can change form at will; I never heard anything about spells though; you might ask one of the Shae. They can tell you better then I. Best of luck to you, whatever it is you think you can do."

The Kayal have little more to offer the Pathfinders. It is certain that they are not interested in hindering the progress of the six.

To the right, the sound of a small child playing can be heard. In addition to Corys' door there appears to be two doors at the end of the hall.

"Where is Nicasor? We want to speak with him." finally asks Shandor, fury still in his eyes.

Fintar points down the hallway to the East. "Do...down the hallway, through the library." he stammers.

"Let's speak to this Nicasor then." finishes Shandor as he treads towards the indicated door.

Kris follows, pleased at either the ease of informational gathering or its methods.

"We really should make sure we take the boy with us, at least. The locals will need a legitimate ruler . . .."

Chuurock contemplates the fate of Sorin as Shandor heads towards the door. The Kayal stand to the side and let the party through. The Beast throws the door open and beholds Nicasor's room. This luxurious and urbane apartment would be at home in any lord’s palace, were everything not in shades of gray. Clearly only the best this pitiful plane has to offer has been used as furnishings.

A being of living shadow looks calmly up from meditation, and slowly stands. Although the being is made of shadow, he somehow wears a cloak, silvery mask and black, lacquered armor. Two blades lie against the wall, sheathed.

"My now, visitors, what a pleasant surprise." He bows, a soft crackling seems to emanated from his wavering shadows. "I am Nicasor, and I welcome you to my home and prison. I would have preferred some warning of your coming, but I will not let such annoyances distract me from the pleasure of new company. Please, do come in and have a seat. Given your entrance I would guess you have a rather strong desire to exchange a few words with me." He motions to a couch and some pillows scattered about the room.

"Indeed we do sir. Perhaps you can begin by sharing with us the nature of the plane and how you came to be here. We have heard conflicting reports, and it would be a great help to us to hear the story from you. Also, you call this place your prison. Do you desire to escape? We may be able to help with that."

His voice is a deep bass that can send a shiver down the spine. "The nature of this demiplane, you mean. It is a product of the Age of Darkness, created by the upstart Zon-Kuthon or one of his servants. It has purpose and a rudimentary sort of intelligence. Regrettably, it's limited intellect is dedicated to making my life, as well as the lives of my family, friends and followers, miserable."

He paces to one side of the room, his cape unnaturally billowing in the still air..

"You ask me if I desire to escape? Do you? I have been here 950 years - you must have been here but a few hours, and you already talk of escape."

"What is more, you come with the audacity to claim a way out. Do not jest with me. My patience with the foibles of men has grown particularly short in the past few years. I had means of escape before, if only for a period of time, but the treachery of humans has cost me that chance. If you have a means speak of it plainly and quickly."

Baldwyn remains standing, butt of his hammer planted on the floor like a guard at a palace. Only with worse posture. "You say you're miserable? You seem pretty well off to me... in more ways than one..." he finishes in a mutter.

Leastries leans in closer and asks. "What means of escape? Who foiled the plans? If it were in our power, what could we do to aid you?"

Shandor immediately reacts at Nicasor's bold and untrusting words. "You shall find we have come prepared to confront the Heart. We have arcane means of destroying it for good. Do not doubt us or underestimate us, for such a behavior will only result in your death. You can benefit from that if you are willing to form an alliance. Help us, and your people will get free. However, we need to hear what you are going to do once you're out of this place."

Upon Baldwyn's comments Nicasor turns his silver mask briefly towards one of the pictures on the walls, and meditates on it. The painting is of a vaguely feminine Shae on the wall, with a small shrine underneath.

"A Prince in Prison... but a prison none-the-less. I have lost enough here for ten of your lifetimes."

Nicasor responds to Leastrie's question in turn. "Did you not meet Stepan, did he not tell you of our deal? You must be either his foes or his lackeys to be in this place, assuming he still rules. I was to ride his body, one year within the next ten, and in turn I would provide for and protect his brothers in their prison. I did so, until their passing, and after; even now my kin shelter Iozif's son. Stepan reneged; it is but one more injury from the Boroi line. For generations I counciled their family, and always they abuse me and my people. No more: my anger at their treachery knows no bounds, and not even this broken prison can contain that. Perhaps that is why you are here; you have seen my rage made manifest. Perhaps quaint Karpad enjoy the fruits of what its leader has sown."

He paces to the other side of the room.

"After a thousand years of practice, it is a simple matter for the Shae to feel the essence leaking from this mirror, and to mix it with their own. It has felt good to send a little reminder of my presence and our deal to Stepan.. Forget-me-not, dear Stepan."

He turn his mask towards Shandor; the sorcerer can only see his own reflection in the mirrored surface.

"If you have the power to destroy the mirror then an alliance I will gladly make. I reserve the right to my doubts, until you feel willing to speak plainly as to your means. I am no mean student student of the arcane - I would not have you tax me with bold and empty claims. Yet if you speak the truth - wealth, lore, my aid and council - I can offer these things.

"Is the heart aware of what we say? I would not wish to give away our presence or our plan and allow it to prepare some sort of defense."

"I'd think that ship has sailed, should it be the case..."

"The heart is aware of everything in this place, but its intelligence is rudimentary."

"Very well. Can you fight the Heart alongside us?"

"Yes, join us in this fight!"

"I'll tell you a bit - we have a shard of the mirror itself. We were told that it was the key to destroying the mirror. Perhaps it can kill the heart permanently."

He looks pointedly at Guilford.

"Yes... yes that might work. Material from the binding mirror would be anathema to Heart. Intriguing."

The swirling shadows of his body slow and undulate slowly as contemplates Guilford's words.

You folks can give me a diplomacy roll with aids as you will.

"Well? You in?"

Diplomacy Aid: 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (9) - 2 = 7

Clearly Baldwyn has little time or patience for this sort of thing...

"It only makes sense to join us and you know it."
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (16) + 4 = 20

"I have no doubt of your desire to end your imprisonment, but your time in the other world has passed. If freed, do you intend to rebuild your civil war? Has nearly a millennium calmed your heart, or are you as ready to destroy those with whom you happen to live?"

Oh, wait. Chuurock's not playing the same game as everybody else, apparently. Did I miss something, or the other way around?