Nme'an feels the heat in his armor cool, and thankfully, it does not get any colder than that. The elemental's magical effect appears to be countered by Beorae's spell.
The floating dwarf slowly nods from his seated position above the pit. “Excellent deduction, Sevenstone. It was myself and my colleagues that crafted the wards and locks, and this extradimensional space where you stand.”
After a pause, he continues, “Ithalgol the Wise, the master of this tower, must be destroyed. Without this Lock to bind him here, he will escape and plunge the world into darkness. However fleeting, his ignorance will be your advantage. My soul is the source of power for this complex ward and the tower itself, and now that the Lock is undone, my spirit will finally be free at nightfall. You must stop him before the witching hour.”
Nme'an ignore the floating spirit at first and instead assesses his wounds and those of his party.
"Bi Sevenstone, might you use that wand of your to see to our injuries. It sounds as if we still have work ahead of us..."
The Knight Lieutenant then turns to Noe.
"You seem to know who we are and so know we will not stand by and allow an evil power to be unleashed, but what of you?" Nme'an asks. "Can you help us in this task? Or has your ability or responsibility ended now that your lock is undone? If you cannot help directly, what of the magics of this tower. We have been attacked and impeded for days. Can none of those dangers be turned to our aid?"
"Certainly. And I'm glad that counterspell worked!" Beorae feels a small moment of triumph well up insider her at being able to dispel the fiery elemental's magics in such short order. She makes her way around the room, seeing to the party's wounds.
As Beorae works, the four elementals, now without anything to do, move off to a corner of the room and start bickering with one another. One earth elemental bonks another on the head, while the third tries to poke the air elemental with his fist, but gets thrown across the room for his efforts. The grumble of rock and wind sounds fade after a time as they all pop back to the planes from whence they came.
There is a long pause before Noe answers Nme’an. So long, in fact, the knight begins to wonder if the ghostly figure had heard him at all. However, once he begins to speak, the three get the sense that a long-winded answer has only just begun: “Just as the perfect key can open the perfect lock, it is so with magical wards and barriers. This room is the manifestation of a four-aspect lock, crafted by myself and my peers, specifically to contain Ithalgol and prevent his allies from penetrating it. One aspect, The Noble, to ensure the one who unlocks it is capable of compassion and self-sacrifice. The second aspect, The Living, to ensure only a living creature can pass through unscathed, barring any golem or intelligent undead creature. The third aspect, The Material, to ensure that no extraplanar beings can interfere with this mortal affair. And the final aspect, The Elemental, to ensure that those who enter are capable in the face of any danger to come.”
“Though the keep has fallen into disuse, it was my goal that it remained true to its purpose. Every obstacle, or impediment, that led to this moment, Nme’an, was an opportunity to learn. Remember the words above the door: Knowledge Is Power. What did you learn, Sir Knight? And what lessons did you skip, in your haste to retrieve the fabled tome of the master wizard?”
“I cannot aid you directly, for my soul can only faintly affect the Material Plane. Yet in my millennia of solitude, there was naught but me and my divinations. I know many things that are, things that were, and some things may yet be...” he trails off, with a contemplative look towards Beorae’s bandaging and healing of Shark's injuries.
His focus returns to the questions of the knight. “My charge remains while I am tethered to this site, which is not for much longer. Yet I am able to prolong my departure, though it will be a strain for me; if you are in need of a safe place to rest, I am willing to do so. However, you will not be safe outside of this pocket of extradimensional space. Once you leave, you are all that stands between Ithalgol and his freedom.”
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Themp feels way over his head. Pocket dimensions, actual elementals, teachable death traps, millennia-old souls. And worst of all, his quest to maybe restore the city streets to his, in retrospect rose-tinted, teenage not-so-much-glory days, the quest of his life, basically, has apparently unleashed the evilest of wizards back into the world.
"Figures...", he says to himself aloud, moping off to a corner. He doesn't feel like much use in this conversation anyway. Unironically, but not very confidently, he addresses Beorae. "Thanks for the boost, Red. I feel much better now."
Sliding down the wall into seating, he dwells once more in his thoughts.
A wizard! My best weapon is a bow and arrows. I'm dragging these two behind... What am I supposed to do with a simple bow and arrows against a powerful wizard?
...
Hang on. Simple?
"Red" he addresses Beorae again. "You were right next to me on my last shot. Did you... Uh... Did you hear my bow... sing?"
”Rest?” Nme’an asks the spirit. ”Is it not urgent we stop Ithalgol? When would we have time to rest but a few minutes?”
“If you wish to confront him now, you may.” Noe answers evenly, “If you wish to recover your strength, I am willing to provide that option to you. At the moment, Ithalgol is contained, and his divination magic will tell him that the Lock is still in place. Elements of the Lock will fade as the night wears on, but I can focus my willpower to maintain that facade until you are rested.”
“My limitation was set by my colleagues when my soul was bound to this tower. The witching hour is the latest I will be released whether I wish it or not. And that time is a mere nine hours away.”
The witching hour is an archaic reference to the time of 3-4 o’clock in the morning, rumored to be the time of night where witches and other dark magic is strongest.
The druidess mulls over Themp's query. I did hear the bow, but what could it mean?
Beorae listens intently to the dwarf before turning to her companions. "Then I suggest we rest while we can. It's been a difficult few days, and I suspect we'll need our strength for what is to come. Speaking of which…", she says, turning back to the floating dwarf. "Master Noe, might I inquire about what we will find when you, um, fade?" She seems to suddenly remember something else and blurts out, "And what happened to Ithalgol? Why did he become imprisoned? This is all news to us. As you seem to already know, we're on a quest to find the wizard's tome to save our king… everything here at the tower has been… unexpected… to say the least."
Before she thinks too deeply, the druidess considers what she knows of Themp’s bow: It is a composite shortbow, designed to loose arrows with more force than the average bow, assuming that the archer is strong enough to draw the string. It has a magical element to it that was not apparent to her earlier, and required an unknown spell to reveal whatever that magical element could be. It was crafted by a dryad, a fey creature that Beorae recalls has an important connection to a tree. The singing rose to a shot that was impressively well-aimed, so that might be a factor to consider as well.
The phrase “Swift death to those who wrong me!” jogs Beorae’s memory a bit, faintly familiar, to a special bow used by the reclusive elves deep in the Carenthir Forest. The phrasing does not sound exactly identical for what she remembers, but the meaning is the same: vengeance. The elves in the myth referred the special bow as an oathbow, releasing devastating injury on one target to which the archer swore vengeance. Once a vow for vengeance is made, the oathbow will treat that foe with particular animosity, until the foe was dead or seven days had passed, and the magic of the oath faded. It is possible that the dryad’s gift was a variation of that bow, although the oathbow of the myths were all longbows, the favored weapon of the elves.
For Themp to get the bow to ‘sing’ again, the druidess is not exactly sure. If the bow is an oathbow, then he would need to audibly swear revenge on a target that has wronged him in some way. Getting fire thrown at his face certainly qualifies as being ‘wronged’. Since much of the circumstances around Themp’s bow are similar, but not parallel to what she knows, there is much that needs to be tested in order for her to be certain. Unfortunately, there is very little time for such testing, if she is going to be well-rested enough for a confrontation with a master wizard.
Speaking of wizards, there appears to be a floating wealth of knowledge in this room. Perhaps Noe knows something...
“A disagreement between the staff of this tower.” Noe gives a stoic non sequitur, though the reply feels like a ripple before the wave.
“Ithalgol the Wise is ever hungry for knowledge, his thirst for understanding is insatiable. And he had the insight to plot a course for his success. His advancements in arcane academia cast a long shadow for many before him, and after him. A new staff member to our place of learning, Duridel, with subtlety, poisoned his mind with the fear of mortality, despite Ithalgol’s inheritance of long life from his elvish parentage. The two set on a path of questionable choices, even among the scholarly community. In the end, when myself and a few others among the staff of this keep decided to intervene, we learned it was too late. In truth, and in retrospect, not the least surprising: Ithalgol the Wise surpassed Duridel in their shared endeavor. To overcome death, they chose a path to undeath, where a creature is neither living nor dead, free from pain and sickness, and even as their flesh rots their souls still give unnatural movement to the bones.”
“Ithalgol himself had gathered all of our students into his study, and by the screams, I could not bear to see what horrible magic he was using on them. That day, dozens of wizards turned against one another in this tower, it still haunts my memory centuries later. Duridel had influenced other colleagues, my peers, to defend their cause. Many great minds were lost, existences snuffed out, disintegrated, melted, or reduced to madness altogether. The few of us remaining had to make a choice: to save ourselves and flee and allow Ithalgol to stretch his twisted magic over all he saw fit, or find a way to contain the rising threat that we could not defeat.”
“It was a bitter victory, if it can be called that at all. After the ritual was complete, I watched my mortal corpse crumble to dust. My colleagues who completed the ritual set up the wards and barriers, and then departed. And in the time passing I watched from afar my surviving allies dwindle into obscurity, until their years were utterly spent and I remained, protecting the upper tower from unworthy wanderers and seekers of power alike.”
“What will you find? The remainder of the master library, I expect, and three levels above that. The exact state of things have been obscured from my divining eye, since Ithalgol discovered his containment. When he did, he threw every spell he knew at the Lock, and even some that he invented himself. Though it has been quiet for some centuries, I am certain that he is biding his time.”
"If what you say is true, then there is no magical tome with the spell we seek. If Ithalgol's undying spell is in fact an undead spell, then we cannot bring that back to save King Thadeus. And what if…" Beorae breaks off, her blue-green eyes darting back and forth in intense thought. After a few moments, she looks back at the dwarf, a mask of concern glooming over her usually cheerful features.
"How far does your vision reach, Master Noe? Do you know of Court Wizard Mortimer Dacius in Thaleniel? The one who sent us on our mission?"
Nme'an considered for a long time before speaking. "It does not matter if there is a tome or spell to save the king. Nor does it matter that the other knights are dead or that the prince is kidnapped. We can do nothing to change any of those things. But we are here at this important time. If all this about Ithalgol is true, then us leaving unleashes a terrifying evil upon the surrounding lands," he says slowly.
"Any thing else only serves to cause doubt or distract us and can be worried about properly once this problem is over. I suggest we get our rest as soon as we can so that we might confront Ithalgol as soon as we can. Ask your final questions, Bi Sevenstone, but then get your rest. Please. Nme'an says just a little more firmly than an actual request would be spoken.
The Knight Lieutenant begins unrolling his bedroll in preparation for his rest.
"Don't misunderstand me, Nme'an – Ithalgol cannot be left to become a power of evil, and dealing with him is our task at the moment. You and I are together on that. But we only have a short time to learn what we can from Master Noe. I think it would be kijinga to ignore his wisdom and guidance."
Nme'an cocks his head at the druid's single elven word.
"I... do not know what you wish me to do," he says. He then turns to the dwarf and tries his best to follow the druid's lead. "Master Noe, if there is anything else we should know about stopping Ithalgol or about our mission please tell us."
Noe blinks, suddenly aware of the mortals that await his answer. “My apologies. Lost in thought…”
“Ithalgol most certainly keeps a spellbook; the tome represents all of his applied knowledge and research, and I would expect him to guard it closely. It is possible that a spell useful to your ailing king is in that book. On the matter of your court wizard, Mortimer Dacius, I cannot say that I understand all things. Chief among them, his desperation to send for a cure when there was an heir apparent and of an appropriate age to ascend to the throne. Though in contrast to any foul play, I have watched his long nights and early mornings and surmised that he does not enjoy the mantle of leadership he has taken on with the others.”
“Mm, yes. Very well, Nme’an. You are correct in thinking that while I was blocked from monitoring Ithalgol directly, neither was I negligent in the time afforded to me for the confrontation to come. I bestow my aid to you now, with this knowledge...”
“Nme’an, your friends will need your unflinching courage before the end, but courage alone will not bring victory. Ithalgol’s mind has turned to destruction and undeath, and has devised many ways to afflict the bodies and minds of the living. As you have done thus far, continue to pray for spells that ward and restore you and your allies against these afflictions, but also mind the integrity of the equipment you carry with you. Ithalgol will seek to asunder every advantage of ones who oppose him.”
“You, Beorae Sevenstone,” he points to the druidess, “remember this: the land may burn and the sea boil, but none can take the sky away from you. Not even Ithalgol. Consider your mastery over the wind and storm when meditating on your spells.”
Lastly, Noe lifts his ghostly gaze to the archer sitting against the wall. “And I see you there, Themp Namor. Listen: You are wise to be wary of magic. Just so, arrogance is the bane of magic users to overlook the mundane and commonplace in seeking answers to mysteries. Do not let Ithalgol deceive you, and his pride over your lack of magic will be his downfall. He will not foresee a hidden blade at his moment of triumph.”
“Thus, knowledge is my final gift to this world. Each of you may ask me two questions, and if I do not know the answer now, I do my best to seek out an answer by the time you wake. Though a word of caution: questions regarding the future are difficult to discern specific answers. After I answer these, I must focus my power on maintaining the illusion of the Lock.”
Beorae's shoulders relax when it Noe suggests that Dacius is who he appeared to be at the outset of their journey. And she nods her head at his guidance for spell preparation.
"My first question, sir, is about Themp's shortbow," she says, turning to Themp and holding out her hand to ask for the weapon. Cautiously hesitant at first, the rogue eventually offers the bow to Beorae, who turns back to Noe, running her fingers along the smooth, finely-crafted limbs. Focusing her attention back on the dwarf, she continues, "It was crafted by a dryad of the wood nearby and imbued with some sort of magical powers, but I have had trouble understanding its exact function. During our fight with the elemental, it seemed to behave like an Oathbow of the elves of Carenthir, seeking vengeance against the elemental when it caught Themp on fire and he shouted at the creature. But I only know of Oathbows by their legend, so I cannot be certain that this one matches that description. Might you have some insight for us?"
"And my second question... there was a wizard in the tower who departed shortly before we arrived. He took Prince Titus with him. Do you know where they are going, and what condition the Prince is in? We have been charged with returning the Prince to Thaleniel if at all possible. I'm afraid that our foes seem to be a few steps ahead of us, and we've been playing catch-up since we began our quest."
"There would too things I would seek to know," Nme'an says.
"First: If Bi Sevenstone's guess is correct, and there is little here that might save our king, is there any more you can tell us about his illness. In particular, who or what has truly caused it. If our mission is to change from healing to vengeance, I would at least like to know who we should focus that vengeance on."
"Second: I do not wish us to leave this tower unattended as we continue our mission. You have been watching far even over to our lands. Is there some group or person who me might present this tower to so that they might renew it as a beacon of learning?"
Noe turns a scrutinous gaze to the bow in Beorae’s hands. “Oh, interesting…”
After some moments of prolonged silence, one of his ghostly, bushy eyebrows raise. “Oh, interesting…”
He glances at Themp, and then nods to Beorae. “A fascinating craft, that is...”
“Themp, not only was this bow crafted by a dryad, it appears to be made from the great tree to which the fey creature is bonded. A significant sacrifice on her part, I would not treat this gift lightly. As to the properties, Beorae, you are correct. The properties match that of an Oathbow, although not quite as strong. Similar to holding parchment in front of a candle to reveal a hidden message, these properties need a magic spell to amplify these effects. A simple spell known to many artificers as ‘Magic Weapon’ will accomplish this. For the duration of that enchantment, the archer who wields this bow can call upon its inherent magic to do even greater harm to one foe that has harmed the archer. For this weapon, the magic phrase, “Swift death to those who wrong me!” must be uttered, and the oath to destroy that foe is sworn. If you are able to permanently enchant magical weapons yourselves, these hidden properties will also become permanent. Oaths such as these can only be sworn once in a day, and if the targeted foe escapes, the bow will remember the oath for seven days before fading, and ignore any new oaths of vengeance during that time. Cherish this gift, Themp. It represents the rare favor of a reclusive and powerful folk.”
“As to your second question, Beorae: I have not turned my eye to the Thaleniel heir in a few days, and I would prefer a truer answer to give you. I will consult my divinations and provide my findings when you wake.”
“When I learned the year in which to expect my release, I sought as much knowledge as I could on the subjects surrounding these transpiring events. I can lend you some insight to your quest: Your king’s affliction comes from a harmonic starstone. The properties of that stone are subtle, appearing to primitives as magic, to the educated as mundane, and to the gifted as a sensitive, hmm… meter... beyond their sight. A means of measuring. You see, stars will fall from time to time, crashing with great force into the earth. Some of them contain a rare metal seen nowhere else in this world: adamantium. One rare occasion in Ithalgol’s lifetime, a star fell and left its deep and wide pit on the ground. Those who collected the adamantium found it was mixed with a milky quartz also unlike any other crystal found in the earth. It was fabled to shimmer when under direct sunlight, a dazzling effect beheld by many. The hunk of stone was jealously fought over by races of men, dwarves, and elves. At the time of the construction of this Keep, and with Ithalgol at its seat of power, a dwarf king seeking a powerful ally gifted a slab of this crystal starstone to the master wizard.”
“This does not become important until the human conquest of that dwarvish kingdom, and the dwarvish throne of adamantine-veined white crystal was carried to the human fortress that sits north of the great lake.”
If memory serves, throne in the Thaleniel throne room is made of white marble with dark grey veins, the same shade as the rare adamantium. Thaleniel itself does indeed sit on a hill north of the King’s Lake, the largest body of freshwater in the kingdom.
“Not until his captivity that Ithalgol discovered a subtle harmonic sympathy between the slab of starstone in his study and the starstone in that ancient throne. In the passing year, he began siphoning the life-force of whomever was sitting in that throne, and strengthening his own essence. The seat of which I speak is the one Thaleniel Throne. Disrupting that connection will weaken Ithalgol, and might allow your king to recover.”
At the knight’s second question, the impassive expression of Noe lightens. “Nme’an, to hear you say this offers a peace to my spirit that I had surrendered as not possible. Thank you. I would say there are three candidates, though two of them is forbidden by their own laws to ever reach the tower. The one not bound by law is a druid who roams the swamps south of this tower, who answers to Redsprig. Of the other two, you have already met one of them, the gnome tribe to the west. Lastly, the dwarves of the Komat Mountains are bound by law to never leave their mountain by ancient decree. Among them live a group of wizard-priests known as the Runemasters. That group would find the most value in this place, but they will be the most difficult to turn from their traditions. Though a word of caution: when I depart, the self-repairing magic of the walls, bookcases, and the study equipment, will be gone with me. The bones of this tower are strong, but also old. It is difficult to foresee what will remain of the tower after your confrontation with Ithalgol, though I have tried at length to unravel that mystery.”
Hidden blade? Magic bow? I... I can work with that. I mean, how different is it really from what I have always done?
"Yeah, I can do this..." Themp whispers aloud, not terribly confident.
"Uh..." he says more loudly, clearing his throat and standing up, approaching the others.
Dust off, street rat. You have a city to save.
"Noah, right? Any chance you happen to know an easy way to break the connection before we face off Ithagol himself?"
Noe blinks, and then a long pause, thinking over Themp’s question. “To give you the short answer, Themp: no. I doubt that Ithalgol would allow that connection -and by extension, some of his strength- to be easily disrupted. When I last observed, Ithalgol’s harmonic starstone was in his lecture hall. Though I cannot say I have seen it since the beginning of his imprisonment, so he has had plenty of time to move it. Unless you have a means to destroy the faraway throne from here, now, then you will need to sever the connection within Ithalgol’s Keep. Hopefully, that endeavor should be as straightforward as sundering stone.”
"If you have a final question, Themp, you may ask it."
“Sundering stone,” huh? I wonder if my Stone Shape spell would be sufficient to break a stone like that.
Themp recalls some reading in the libraries that lends itself to the questions he ponders. Priests of powerful faith are capable of bringing the dead back to life, but even these spells are too weak to reverse the befouled corpses reanimated. Only the purest forms of such spells have the possibility of returning an undead creature back to the living, but first the undead creature must be defeated and inanimate for the Resurrection spell to work -something about positive and negative energy unable to empower the same space. While not exactly what he might have hoped for, the answer nevertheless seems far beyond the capabilities of himself and his companions.
Themp’s mind for puzzles and mechanisms considers the conundrum from another view. If Ithalgol is capable of creating new spells while imprisoned, then his mind could be intact enough to reasonably negotiate a peaceful solution. Perhaps he could be persuaded to do the hard work for them, and stop the connection between the starstones himself? Or, what if Ithalgol did not notice their intrusion, and the stone was stolen without his knowledge? The second idea is a familiar one to the thief, though never to this scale of master wizards and the end of the world, but the basics of it are the same to many of Themp's ventures in the big city.
In general, undead creatures have a few advantages over the living. For one, they cannot get tired, or sick, or poisoned, and they do not need to eat, breathe, or sleep. While they are unable to heal on their own, undead creatures are restored by negative energy, that dark power Nme’an experienced at the hands of the shadow priest who brought the demise of travelling companion Mot Casns. Positive energy, however, which heals living creatures, also inflicts harm to creatures of undeath in equal proportion.
"Well, if we see any important looking stones we will deal with them harshly," Nme'an says, as a matter of course. "Before we rest, and because we may not get the chance to speak later, how are we to get to Ithalgol from here?"
Draped in a long grey sleeve, Noe's hand gestures vaguely toward the large portal where the fiery chain was broken. The ancient soul says nothing.
Noe silently floats for several minutes over the circular pit in the center of the room.
“If that will be all…” he nods impassively to Themp. “Then I shall return in eight hours to give Beorae my findings of Prince Titus, before the final hour of safety. That way, you still have time to change what spells you need to prepare, should you have the need. Rest well, all of you...”
The ghostly wizard vanishes with a sigh in a faint stream of vapor.
Although magically protected in this pocket-dimension, the paladin’s elven-meditation is fitful and restless. At one point, he wakes from a bad dream with a pressure on his chest, and his ability to read the evil in someone’s heart or intentions causing his own heart to pound. Yet, after a thorough scan of his companions and the small room, he finds nothing amiss. It takes him several minutes for his heart beat to slow, but the pressure lingers. Perhaps it is knowledge of the powerful evil that awaits, and his sense of conviction to destroy such evil without hesitation, but his mind recognizes that without a rested body, he would be at a disadvantage in that confrontation. At last, he is able to return to his resting state.
A warm dream of cards, dice, and drink in a smoky tavern puts the thief’s mind at ease. Even the towering Urlghain drinking buddy, Mot Casns, is there. The boisterous highlander regales the table with wild stories while Themp helps himself to the coin purses of distracted listeners. The heady night rolls on, as the air thickens with smoke and drunken speech, and now a few of the drinkers appear to have spent all their wages.
In the chaotic mirth, Themp finds Mot in the crowd. He cracks his snaggle-toothed smile and in his thick brogue rumbles, “Ah notissed ye weren’t mindin’ yer bag of actin’ paints.”
The thief suddenly feels something cold and hard in his gut, and looks down to find the handle of a dagger! Hilt deep and wet with his own blood. He claws at the highlander before him, and Mot’s beard tears away and his ruddy skin smears to a darker hue. Themp’s vision fades at the sight of the grey man laughing maniacally.
Themp wakes in a cold sweat, and checks his belongings to find that they are exactly as he left them. After awhile, he is able to calm down, put the bad dream out of his mind, and return to sleep.
The fire-haired druid finds a dream where her view of the world is high over the treetops. The wind whips over and under her, and she realizes her feathered form with wings spread wide. Over a deep green forest, she soars over foothills never seen to her before, and in no time arcs wide turns to sail between snowy mountain peaks. Her sharp vision catches another raptor approaching a rocky perch, and adjusts her wings to get a closer look, losing sight of the other bird for a moment. Swooping up she finds a large mound of sticks and dried brambles in a nook hidden from the high winds. In the hollow of the massive nest she is surprised to find an old man. Not just any old man, but Ferwald himself! The elder druid sits comfortably on a layer of feathers and furs from past hunts. A few dry bones litter the corners of the protective shelter. He beckons to the eagle he sees and calls, “Come, Beorae! You are welcome here to my aerie.”
He does not indicate how he might have recognized her from other eagles, and as she alights he pushes a recently caught rabbit toward her. Ferwald gestures to the layer of feathers and fur. “Please, come inside. Take a break from the Komat winds. The rest of this coney is yours to eat if you are hungry.” The fresh kill does look appealing in its own way.
Knobby knuckles folded over his beard, which is longer and whiter than Beorae remembers, the old man sits in threadbare clothing and bare feet. He does not seem the least bit disturbed by the icy winds that howl around the nest. Ferwald smiles warmly. “I am pleased to see that you continued on the path that I showed you. Beorae, you make an old druid proud. There is much and more to learn in this wide world, and it lightens my heart to see you take on that challenge. To grab it by the horns, as it were.” he adds with a cheeky grin.
After a moment, the old man grows serious. “The storm brings thunder and lightning, Beorae. But a wind will still cut through a cloud.”
With his last word, a thick mist rolls over the eagle’s mountain aerie, making her former teacher faint and difficult to see. The rumble of thunder and flash of lightning shock her senses, and Beorae wakes with a jolt, shivering as though the mountain chill clung into the waking world. After a few moments to calm down and warm back up, she is able to re-enter her meditative resting state.
Noe reappears as the three begin to wake up and prepare for the confrontation ahead.
“Beorae, I will tell you exactly what I divined, and share with you my conclusions. Protective magic seems to block any attempts to scry on Prince Titus, however, by divining the names of those who travel with him, I was able to briefly observe Prince Titus briefly. My scrying vision followed someone named ‘Gregor Norcandar’, a shorter brown haired man with one eye. His missing eye appears to be a recent wound. He and Prince Titus were never far from one that I recognize as Alphonse Umber, the one they seemed to be taking orders from. They were camped in a tiny cave of sharp red rock, the surrounding terrain seemed dry and barren, lacking in hills or valleys. Twice, Master Umber ordered the prince to fetch water from a river, which was beyond my sight since Gregor did not follow. To his credit, the Prince appeared to be in good spirits, and was not bound or chained in any way that indicated his captive state. This causes me to suspect that he is under an enchantment that inclines him to trust Master Umber and consider him an ally. My assessment of their camp tells me that they had not been there for very long, nor did they intend to linger. Alphonse spent much of his time comparing the stars to the charts he studied at candlelight. The moon was positioned just above the easternmost peaks of Gath. I listened carefully but did not hear or observe any indications of where they might go next, but my divinations revealed that they were traveling south.”
“As you may have already guessed, my deductions indicate that they are walking distance to what you call the West Emestar River, where the badlands stretch for hundreds of leagues between the Komat Range and the Mountains of Gath. Even if you were to mount horses and leave immediately, they might reach the city Highwatch before you could navigate through the Komat Mountains. I do not know for how long or far they plan to travel south, but that is their current position. I hope that it assists whatever tasks lie ahead of you.”
Nme’an nods at the new information but files it away for the future. He readies his gear and says his prayers and within an hour is ready to depart.
”Is everyone ready? I think it’s time to move out.”
Themp's dream shakes him to the core. All this magic, all this power...
"Yes. Let's end this madness."
Beoare shoots Nme'an a sideways glance when Noe mentions Gregor, but remains silent.
"Thank you, Master Noe," the druidess says as the old man finishes. She stands upright, stretching her back, and calls Shark to her side. "Strange, I had a dream about the Komat Mountains… and my old druid mentor. It was very… surreal."
Looking around the room one last time, Beorae nods, "Aye, let's go."
Ready for the day, the confrontation with Ithalgol heavy on their minds, the three adventurers and Shark make their way to the wide, circular black portal.
Behind them, Noe calls out. “I shall focus my power until the last. Farewell!”
Stepping forward into the black, they feel the familiar, inner lurch of dimensional movement. In a flash they find themselves standing on the same floor from where they were teleported into the crystal chamber. Behind them, the wooden double doors left open to the Master Library they have already seen. In front of them, the pair of double doors closed. At their feet, the random book that was thrown to test these closed doors from a distance.
However, now the closed doors seem different, less imposing. Light passes through the narrow gap at the floor. The wood doors have no lock, and in fact appear to move at the slightest push. No magic enchants these doors, and they hang silent on their hinges.
The doors quietly swing wide, revealing that the Champions of Thaleniel have indeed seen only half of the Master Library until now. Walls of books in tall bookcases, wooden chairs and tables for study. The other end leads to a stone staircase, curving upward and out of sight to join the next level overhead. For the anticipation of the terrible foe at the end of this journey, this place holds a presence of eerie silence. Nothing appears to be out of place.
That is, until they spot the dead body at the other end of the library near the foot of the stairs.
Beorae pushes the left door open, Shark at her side. As she takes in the unsettling calm, she notices the body across the room and focuses her attention on it.
Nme'an also notices the body. He takes a cautious step forward, instinct always leading him to the role of the protector. Still several more steps away from the body, the Paladin once again peers through his magic-seeing glasses. As he does so, he reaches out with his senses to attempt to discern the presence of any nearby evil.
Falling in step to the right of the paladin, Themp takes a good hard look at the body.
"Any one you know, Nme'an?", he quietly whispers to his side.
The half-elves do detect magical auras, but not on the body. These magical energies emanate from the bookshelves that wall the library -the signatures from this magic is exactly like that of the enchanted bookcases encountered so far.
Nme'an does not sense any wickedness or ill-will in this half of the library.
On closer inspection, the corpse is draped in grey robes with brown blotches of age. Laying face down with the head turned to one side, the visible side of the face shows dried out skin stretched tightly over the skull, which is mostly visible through thin frail white hair. Judging by the decayed ears, this could be a human corpse. Closed eyelids are sunken in with decay, and one hand protrudes from the stained sleeve. Skin still intact, the flesh beneath shrunken and dried out to leave only skin and bone. The feet wear shoes that may have been very comfortable to wear, many, many years ago before this body expired. It is plain to anyone that this corpse has been dead for a very long time, probably centuries.
The hand that is visible has one bony finger extended, on top of a faint scrawling on the floor. It is a single brown letter, "D", smudged as though the ink was still wet when something smeared over it.
Inspecting the exposed parts of the body, no cause of death is apparent. No damage to the head or the hand, nor does the frame under the cloth appear to be contorted or twisted in any way. The hand that is not visible could be folded under the body.
However, that shade of brown Themp would recognize anywhere, no matter how old. The letter written on the floor was written in blood.
Inspecting the exposed parts of the body, no cause of death is apparent. No damage to the head or the hand, nor does the frame under the cloth appear to be contorted or twisted in any way. No spots or lesions on the skin that indicate disease, either. The hand that is not visible could be folded under the body.
The brown stains are mostly around the shoulders and one sleeve. The color of the letter is very close, and the druid suspects that both could be age old blood stains. Since she does not see a wound and the clothing has no tears or holes, she is not sure how exactly this person died.
Nme’an moves to the body and gently turns it over as he looks for clues as to what led to this person’s death.
The body nearly falls apart while it is turned over, to the point that the clothing might be holding this dry, dusty corpse together. Under the faded robes are other stained garments, all designed for comfort rather than armor.
Right away Nme'an spots two holes in the dried out skin, at the base of the shriveled neck, and his assessment of the way in which the body decomposed with scarcely any fluid confirms it. This person was victim to a vampire.
While turning over the body, his hand notices a tiny glass phial in a pocket. Already aware of no magic on this person, he removes it to find an image of a spider with oversized fangs, with an "X" over top of the image. He has a pretty good guess that this could be antitoxin.
Themp and Beorae look on as Nme'an examines the body. The knight produces a small glass phial from one of the pockets of these old clothes.
”Odd. These holes made through the man’s neck... It’s like something out of a spooky story of creatures I know little about. I don’t suppose there is in reach a book on vampires?”
The paladin is certain that vampires are a type of undead, much more intelligent than a mindless skeleton or zombie. Fabled creatures of the night that thirst for the blood of the living, calling on unholy powers to aid their grotesque appetites. They considered profoundly evil by people of all good faiths.
Some devout warriors make a career out of searching out and hunting vampires, and these specialized hunters always seem to carry a wooden stake. Once a vampire is incapacitated, the stake must be driven through its heart to keep it from coming back.
According to rumor, vampires hate garlic.
Historically, a vampire's preferred location is a city, to best sate their constant thirst for blood. It is said that they not easy to spot due to their ability to blend in with civilized society.
One of the history books in this tower indicates that all vampires and their spawn are thought to come from one original vampire; the curse is transferred through the killing bite.
When Themp was a small street rat, there was a rumor whispered among the thieves of Thaleniel that a vampire was the cause of some disappearances of orphaned children. Or was that just an urban myth made to keep the children in line?
"Vampires?!" Beorae says, taking a half step back from the body as she sees the bite marks. "I've heard of vampire hunters before, but all I know is rumor and myth. Don't they use wooden stakes? And I think vampires hate garlic. Or so I've heard…" her voice trails off as she begins to scan the library, looking to see if there's an obvious section where she could look up vampires.
In her general understanding of magic, Beorae first looks for a section of Necromancy, only to find that most of the books on that section are missing. However, judging by the spines of the thousands of books on the walls, her sharp eye is able to pick out a few promising titles: Tales From The Crypt, Joggen's Study in Cannibalism, and an encyclopedia volume of a series committed to debunking common misconceptions of fantastical creatures, letter V.
Beorae pulls the encyclopedia volume from the shelf and looks for information on vampires.
This volume does indeed have an entry on vampires, although in the first paragraph the author is forthcoming in the fact that there is much to vampire lore not addressed in this entry, given the objective of this series to provide clarity on untrue notions of magical monsters.
The first characteristic they address is the weakness to silver weapons. Apparently there are some circles who confuse the weakness of cold iron in fey with vampires. This is due largely in part the shared ability to call on wild animals to their aid, and the ability to change shape into animals as well. However, the vampire kind seem to be restricted to bats and wolves, in both respective abilities.
They also address the difference between vampires and vampire spawn. Vampire spawn are weaker creatures created by true vampires, but with the same appetite for blood. They are often held in thrall to serve their sires, for they are unable spread the vampiric curse to others. They do not share the ability to turn into bats or wolves, nor do they possess the unnatural speed and strength of a true vampire. However they are still very dangerous, capable of contolling their victims through powers of the mind.
"Hmm… not much here. Vampires can turn into bats and wolves, it seems. And silver weapons won't help us, but I don't think we even have any of those."
The druidess continues her quick reading, aware of the fact that time is probably of the essence. "Oh, and here it talks about vampire spawn, which are different than actual vampires. The spawn drink blood, but are lesser creatures that cannot change form or spread the vampiric curse, and thus can't create new vampires. The spawn can still use mind control on their foes, though." She closes the book and puts it back on the shelf. Beorae looks at the body on the floor and asks the obvious question, "Do you think he could be a vampire spawn? I'm not sure how we could even test such a thing."
”That would be disturbing,” Nme’an says, ”Especially given this was meant to be a place of honest knowledge. I think, as with the werewolf from earlier we should limit the things we allow to bite us. At least until this situation is resolved.”
”For good measure...” Nme’an says after a moment’s thought. He pulls out his sword and...
for
...cuts the vampire’s head from its body.