Kia looks a little confused. "The last time we saw them the stones were still there, but blank. What are we supposed to do to 'reunite' them? Or have they been scattered since we left?"
"And they're heavy! I know, I had to help carry one."
"Perhaps they were not all present on Pharoe but had been moved in antiquity, or as you say, they have somehow been scattered in the recent past. We have been absent for 12 years..." Arianwyn muses.
"Matters have moved on since you left."
Pirot pushes his glasses up his nose and stabs a finger at the piled papers.
"Some years have passed and these are artifacts of unknown power being sought by a variety of beings for a variety of reasons. How the fomorians found them is not really the issue. The case appears to be that they have been found and are now separated. Probably by the fomorians themselves. Each tribe will want all of them and be holding their own stone hostage, so to speak. Most likely in devious ways."
"We could just let them kill each other and pick the stones up later," offers Whiteclaw.
"Not a stupid suggestion. Even an intriguing one. Your first task, of course will be getting close enough to find the things. They'll still be on the island, but they'll be hidden. There are records of mining works and you said you met duergar there on your first visit. Good fomorian country. Try underground to start with."
"Do we actually know how many stones we need to find then? And what do we do when we find them? Take them to some sort of rune stone repositoiry. Find a place where the formorians won't find them."
"Five stones, each with a different property. The Stone of Fury. The Stone of Creation. The Stone of Wisdom. The Stone of Rebirth. The Stone of Despair. If I were you, I'd keep things tidy. Put them back where you found them. Of course, the place may have changed a bit. The fomorians are lazy basket cases, but the cyclopes are very inventive and have a much stronger work ethic."
"Underground, from the island. .." Tutavak hesitates on the last. "And some magical transport?"
"We'll visit Hroaldir. He may know the best way to approach the island since it will probably all have changed since we've been gone. He may even have some useful suggestions on how to stop the stones being moved again once we have found them."
"And I'm hungry. Is there any decent food available here?"
"Not here, no. I don't have much interest in the stuff. You can probably find rooms at "The Way With Words". Your dwarf friend took it over a few years ago when Roswitha opened her smithy. She's very talented they say."
"I need longer to think about the Nuckalavee. It's an ancient thing and very little known."
"Yes... I have somewhere I must go, someone I must see. And alone."
Tutavak takes the suggestion of The Way With Words. His objective is to secure a room with a private meal and spend time with his spirit companion.
It's been a trying 12 years. . .
Chary will go to The Way With Words with Kia and Tutavak. She could use some time to eat, rest, and get to know the area a little better.
Whiteclaw returns with Chary.
Tutavak, Chary, Whiteclaw and Kia take some well earned rest under the kindly auspices of the Way With Words. Always a civilised environment, this evening it is quiet and offers nothing more than the opportunity for good food, hot baths and supremely comfortable beds.
Arianwyn sets out on a different errand, making his way towards Narissa's town house. Her garden remains a thing of beauty. Night is falling as he arrives and he is in time to see a combination of moonlight and other, artificial, but no less beautiful lights turn the place into a silvery paradise.
The warlock raps on the door.
Bankimchandra slides the door open and betrays no surprise on seeing Arianwyn after so many years.
"My lady is in the conservatory. Please let me take your weapons."
Arianwyn hands them over and enters the conservatory, "Forgive my absence. Our travels took us further in time and space than we had anticipated." he says warmly.
Narissa seems only a little changed by the years, thinner perhaps and more fragile than the warlock remembers, but her eyes and her smile offer no sort of reproach, merely immense joy at his reappearance.
"Dear love, you would hardly be you if you were prompt," she remarks serenely.
She rises and pulls him into a warm embrace. "Sit down, beloved. I have somewhat of a surprise for you. A gift, as you might say, from our last meeting. Most welcome to me, if unexpected."
Gesturing to a sofa, she pours a glass of chilled wine and goes to the door and calls to another room.
"Arianhrod, there is someone you must meet. Your father is returned."
"Arianhrod, there is someone you must meet. Your father is returned."
Arianwyn... raises an eyebrow.
The door opens and Arianwyn finds himself confronted by an eleven year old girl with a gaze at least as appraising and arrogant as his own. His daughter's eyebrows rise as she surveys him.
Arianrhod has Narissa's brown eyes, but otherwise she closely resembles her father.
"You took your time."
Arianwyn blinks, and then stands.
"My apologies," he replies wryly, "The vagaries of multiversal travel led to a more extended absence than intended. That, and until this moment, I was unaware of your existence."
He surveys her in return, "But, I am very glad to rectify that." he adds with a smile.
Arianrhod completes her survey and seems prepared to accept the explanation.
"I suppose that's fair. I know about you though. Mother says you curse people for a living. Can you teach me? It sounds a lot more fun than interprative dance."
She casts a sidelong look at her mother who sighs slightly.
"I'm not having this argument again. Besides, your father is a deft performer himself. And Arianwyn, I'd be very cautious about what you promise."
"Mother!"
"I know you, cariad, but your father has some catching up to do, although I'm sure you'll both find it interesting."
Mother and daughter smile at each other, suddenly looking remarkably similar.
Narissa continues. "I'm sure this must come as a shock to you, but as you've said yourself, you have been hard to contact." For a moment it looks as if she may say more, but keeps silent for now.
Arianwyn falls uncharacteristically silent.
Arianwyn replies, "I would not suggest treating with otherworldly entities. At least, not yet."
"Does my Dwarf language teacher count?"
For the first time, Arianrhod smiles properly at her father.
Well rested and sustained by an excellent breakfast, the group reassemble and make their plans.
Once he has made peace with his other self, Tutavak allows himself to look into the strange bag Brightpur handed over just before leaving the Labyrinth. Gazing back at him is the primordial eye from the Golem the Chosen destroyed there. In the lavish comfort of the Way with Words, the thing seems even more alien - and quite definitely alive.
As the leisurely meal draws to a close, a messenger arrives from the University.
"From Magister Weltmann. He sends apologies for not speaking to you yesterday, but he was unexpectedly called upon to undertake urgent research."
He hands over a thick envelope. On inspection, it contains a note in Weltmann's flowing hand and a note of credit to addressed to the Bursar of the Parthenon.
Your departure twelve years ago took place before proper recompense could be made for your efforts on behalf of this august establishment. As you will be aware, prising money out of institutions is a ticklish and often laborious process, however I was eventually successful. Regrettably, institutions are not notorious for their generosity, but your absence has at least enabled me to invest said remuneration. The interest rates have been favourable. Take the attached note to the Parthenon and present it to The Bugler on duty. He is authorised to deliver 20,000gp each to you. Madame Vel's portion has been delievered to her in Kargzant where she currently resides.
Chary is along for the ride for the moment...feeling out of place at a Unversity. She will defer to others' opinions about where to go next. However, with Magister Weltmann's appearance, she first blushes at his "unexpected research" comment, then smiles appreciatively at his production of the note. She is feeling more and more at ease here, particularly when given the opportunity to spend some hard-earned (by someone else) coins!
Arianwyn prepares to enchant and enhance his equipment. He initially thinks to do so in private without distraction, but then smiles as he decides to show his newfound offspring a little practical magic.
Rev:
Tutavak's vast inherited knowledge serves him well. The eye is a living thing, linked inextricably to its unknown owner. Hidden in the depths he senses a primal intelligence watching and measuring him. Neither approving, nor disapproving, it simply is. In so far as such a thing can have desires, it wishes to be reunited with its owner, and is looking at Tutavak, probing his own desires.
Faint images appear deep within it, and Tutavak senses that it is pulling his own recent viewing into itself. The Courts, the King, Brightspur, Suntide, Pirot's tower and Pirot himself all appear fleetingly. The images blur and fade and are replaced by a brief vision of a boat moving into dense fog and disappearing.
Tutavak
The eye grants you a single piece of information. That information will take the form of an image or series of images, depending on what you're looking for.
In addition, once per day as a minor action, you may call upon the eye to provide you with another viewpoint of the battlefield. You may use another creature (friend or foe) as the starting point of any attack. You make the attack at +4, but suffer a -2 penalty to all your subsequent attacks (se).
Narissa and Arianrhod watch the demonstration, Narissa with a faint smile and Arianhrod with undisguised glee.
"That doesn't look dangerous. Does it work on everything?"
Tutavak appears notably less well-rested than the others over breakfast. "So, a ship journey next?" he asks, somewhat uneasily.
Arianwyn grins, "Hmmm... if that anything is of sufficient value." He produces a small silver necklace in the shape of a the symbol of Sehanine.
"For you."
@Chary another spoiler for space
Arianrhod takes the amulet and hangs it gleefully around her neck.
"How pretty."
"Where do you go next?" asks Narissa.
@Fabes
Arianwyn says to Arianrhod, "This is the crown of a lost kingdom, to which I- to which you are the last heir. It is the Crown of Whispers, safeguarded by your mother these last near 20 years. The Kingdom of Lasselanta shall be reborn. This I swear in the presence of the heir to my line, and in the name of the Goddess of Autumn."
He places the crown on his brow.
"Mother never said you were a prince. Why not?"
"There are a lot of things you don't know. Some you may never know. Some you may find out. Not all those things are safe knowledge and in this case, I had made a promise. You know how seldom I do that."
"I suppose. Are you going away for another 12 years?"
It would be going too far to say Arianrhod's tone is pleading, but she does look rather forlorn.