Viridel, keen on quickly securing the key-lights, joins his companions—not before studying the fading auras of Maganrad’s spell.
He focuses his vision to identify the end point of the spell or the hint of the enchanter.
Anethra assumes a guise of neutrality as the headmaster speaks, her composure total, her expression inscrutable. She listens, but does not react, and only once the trial itself begins does she move; and that simply to follow with her companions toward the Hall of Whispers, her eyes narrowing a fraction as she considers the building and the challenges awaiting them within.
Having overhead Laree An's conversation with Maganrad, she moves alongside the alchemist and takes her arm as they draw close to the Hall.
"My, you seem to have had quite an effect on the young mage. He was quite taken with you. As well he should have been."
"What? Oh...Umm...I suppose. You think? I mean...he is quite nice to look at I dare say. Though I can't say I have time for that," she huffs defiantly with finality at the prospect of ruining so many years of research on a boy who would just distract her. Especially when she's so close to physically perfecting and knowing the secrets of fleshcrafting. While Laree An was flirty, it seems she was just that and nothing more. "What about you? Do you...have someone in a contractual relationship?" she half-jests, playing off the woman's clear affinity for law. "I'll admit, I'd want a contract too..."
"Oh no, my dear, don't misunderstand me," says Anethra, patting Laree An's arm. "I was just checking to see how susceptible you are to flattery. And I'm still not entirely sure, but I'm glad to see some iron beneath the velvet."
"Well, I'm not so full of secrets as to keep you entertained long," she answers with a grin; perhaps betraying the truth of such a statement and not legally inviting the hawkish attention of the woman to keep studying her.
"I feel that given our challenge ahead, we should do our best to conserve ourselves for the final challenge as much as possible. Hopefully, this search for key-lights does not deplete us of our grand resources before the end..."
Her eyes look to Viridel, and mostly in mind is his vision.
"I will be reserved with my healing and bombs in attempts to save some for this. I'll try to leave most of this fighting up to you two," she graciously pats the arms of the two strong men in their presence.
"Yes, she is my creation. One very important to me. But, I think that depends on the wizard. I've known many, and your great exploits I have heard so readily I can't have dinner with any of those wizards I know without your name being dropped into a conversation at some point," she chuckles, feigning annoyance, but really he is endeared to her already and it is clear.
Maganrad lets out a sonorous laugh and rubs the back of his neck in a self-consciously abashed manner. "Such are the perils of fame, I suppose. Perhaps we should have dinner on the morrow. I can promise not to talk about myself overmuch—unless you insist, of course. The winner's treat, ja?"
Dean Cangi's enthusiastic presentation and the crowd's overwhelming clamour are quickly stifled by the funereal quiet of the Hall of Whispers. The last you see or hear of the other contestants, Illia sounds to be contending with the Hall of Ward's outer protections directly, Maganrad's exact position appears to be unclear, and Knur looks to be heading for either the Hall of Lies or the Hall of Shaping.
The school of necromancy is much as you left it, though its eeriness is heightened by its current lack of breathing inhabitants. Each creaking floor-board and shuffling curtain is enough to make one's skin crawl. Hushing the others, Laree and Elann do their best to ignore the creepy ambiance and follow the more-or-less helpful murmurs of the restless dead. This proves to be the correct strategy, as it takes you only a couple of minutes to come across a store-room filled with old grave-digging equipment—rusted mattocks, shovels, and winches—as well as half a dozen wooden crates. The latter have been left conspicuously ajar, revealing their loamy contents: each is filled to the brim with fresh soil. The rich smell of wet earth offers a stark contrast to the musty alchemical stench which dominates the Hall.
There is no key-light to be seen, but the set-up is quite obviously intentional—and besides, the guiding voices have gone silent. As the group enters and begins looking around, each of you starts to note an alarming sensation in your chest: there is a sudden pressure building around your heart, and the rush of blood in your ears becomes a deafening roar. Something is most definitely not right here...
This place has become a nexus for tainted spiritual energies: in lay-people's terms, the store-room is haunted. Unless exorcised with an overwhelming shock of positive energy, the spirits of the dead will soon lash out at the living. It is nearly impossible to guess what exactly will happen next, but there appears to be a physiological component to the phenomenon—whatever heart-wrenching doom these wretched souls had to endure, they now seek to share with you.
You note a dim violet glow seeping out from the cracks of one of the earth-filled crates, otherwise indistinguishable from the rest.
Somethings glowin outa that crate there. Should we be worried bout that?
------------------
Upon first entering the Hall, she reserves her infusions, but once the whispers run dry of guidance, she will apply those more capable of combat focus.
"It's a haunt! Go invisible if you can. If not, retreat. Use positive energy against it. I'll throw a bomb infused with life energy at it."
Elann retreats out of the room.
"Quiet your howl, friend. We are here for you. Do not lash out in violence against those who set you free from this tormenting memory."
Viridel silently joins his comrades, and at the sign of trouble in the crypt-like hall, raises his hand, invoking a spell that would hasten his fellows.
Anethra heeds Grym's warning, and rushes to the source of the glow, where she drops to a crouch beside it.
Bayard moves forward, ready to use positive energy against the haunt if it proves a problem.
Time slows to a crawl as Viridel finishes his incantation, leaving only yourselves moving at regular speeds: as Laree's bomb soars across the room and shatters against the floor, you can distinctly make out each of the individual droplets scattering across the room. Every surface the liquid touches emits quickly dissipating strands of ectoplasm, as the interior is partly purified—still, there is no immediate effect on the mounting sense of dread invading your minds.
Suddenly, from everywhere around you—from within the walls and under the floor-boards—there resound a hundred dying gasps and the hideously dissonant pulse of a thousand heart attacks. The beating in your chests loses all rhythm, and it feels like your veins are filled with burning ice. Soon the pain makes it hard to think or concentrate on anything at all. Anethra and Viridel are especially affected, nearly brought to their knees with freezing hot agony. Blood drips from their eyes and noses, as if all of their capillaries had burst simultaneously.
Bayard alone stands entirely unaffected by the haunting. He feels a powerful presence of evil pervade the room, but the horror and pain wash over him like a cool autumn rain. Elann, who is now outside in the hallway, likewise reports no feelings of cardiac discomfort
The haunt's oppressive power is truly felt in her chest, and she grasps her clothes there as it becomes hard to breathe. With effort, she manages to once again, mix some of her infusions into her bombs in hope that it alleviates their sufferings.
Laree then throws two more bombs with positive energy infused within them. The bombs play off each other creating a massive shockwave of resistance against the oppression filling the room.
"Are you alright?" she asks the two bleeding from their faces. She then quickly looks to Elann, "Don't come in here yet."
As the room is thoroughly doused in life-infused alchemicals, the voices of the dead quiet down and the spirits return to their restless torpor. It takes a few moments for everyone's heart-beats to return to something resembling normal, but the overwhelming pressure of supernatural fear wanes away.
Bayard looks around as he enters the room. Nothing seems all that unusual. He feels horror and pain, that he is dimly aware don't come from inside him. But horror and pain are hardly new to him, and he shrugs them off as a man might shrug off a light breeze. But then Anethra and Viridel hit the floor, blood dripping from their faces. "Well, that's not good." he says, before grabbing each of them by their feet and dragging them back out of the room where he can see to their injuries.
While Bayard drags Anethra and Viridel out of the room, Grym remains inside with Laree An, on guard for any further threats, staying wary while enduring the sickening feeling that undead spirits sometimes cause.
Is it gone lass? Grym asks Laree An while searching for any further malevolent glows
The faint violet glow inside one of the soil-filled crates remains, but otherwise the room appears unilluminated.
The haunt is likely still extant, but forced into quiescence by the bursts of positive energy, the source of all life. It is hard to determine exactly when they will regain their strength, but they should remain unable to harm you for a period of time. The only way to get rid of a haunt permanently is to take care of whatever wrongs or unfinished business keep the dead shackled to their miserable half-existence—something you are unlikely to have time for in the middle of a competition.
Huh..Guess it'll be quiet for awhile. Laree An, can you detect magic auras? I'm thinking the Key things should have an aura so we should be on the lookout for that.
Glancing back at the rest of the group outside off the room You doing ok out there?
”No, but Viridel is capable,” she answers.
Except for a swift-fading aura of powerful necromancy, there are no magical emanations within the storage-room.
Anethra comes to, sits up, and touches her fingertips to her upper lip. Regards the bright crimson on them without my emotion, and then rises to her feet, her long gown rustling as she does so.
"How undignified," she mutters as she moves to the doorway and regards the group within. As she does so, she mutters a spell under her breath, and restorative powers remove the lingering malaise.
Blood erupts from Viridel’s face—but something feels familiar. The scent of familiarity overwhelms him as he falls to his knees and is dragged out, dazed.
Not soon after, the hooded mage removes his cover, looking at the rest. The blood was gone as if it never was, fading like a rapidly-evaporating river. This occurs before the eyes of Bayard, and the elf seems to offer no explanation.
”I am well”, says the elf, levitating to his feet, and raising his staff. He waves his staff towards the room.
Viridel casts detect magic to locate the key light.
Elann looks as if she wishes to enter the room at the sight of Viridel, but regards her master’s command. Laree hovers close by him but knows he is capable to ride on his own at this point. She is there to steady him should he need the aid. As he casts, she looks throughout the room and looks toward the haunt with an investigative mind.
As you mill around the store-room and inspect the crates, you can faintly hear Dean Cangi's booming voice outside the Hall: "Illia Ean has pierced the Hall of Wards' outer defences! A considerable feat—now, wish her luck as she moves to disentangle the interior protections..."
The muffled cheers of the crowd follow.
Viridel's calm countenance was unperturbed by the rogue's success in breaching the wards. He knew there was something insidious involved in the test, and that it is highly unlikely that a single thief (skilled as she may be) could reach the bottom of all this and come out in one piece.
Viridel steps closer to the crate, and turns to the exectioner.
"I can bestow two weaves upon you," he says quietly. "I can augment your considerable bravery, and wreathe you in protective illusions--what do you think you need to get to the crate and the key-light presumably within?"
The augmentation of bravery might be of some use. I don't know that a ghost would be fooled by illusion. Best save that for later."
Viridel nodded, wreathing the crusader in magics, murmuring, "Byddwch yn olau pan Galad eraill yn mynd Ambar."
Bayard momentarily exchanges his axe for an old shovel, many of which hang off hooks on the walls. With a couple of minutes of concerted effort, most of the crate's loamy contents are deposited on the floor, revealing the key-light: a glowing mote of pale violet light, small enough to fit in one's palm. Holding it feels much like handling a small feather or dandelion seed, light and soft, with little to no real materiality to it—if squeezed, it contracts like a sponge.
As the group exits the sepulchral Hall, Dean Cangi exclaims cheerily: "Ho! the Chief Executioner has claimed the key-light hidden in the Hall of Whispers! Is it any wonder, given that a headsman stares Death in the eye all day, every day? Give a big hand to Korvosa's very own deliverer of justice!"
The crowd erupts into applause and cheers, though there are murmurs of confusion as well—perhaps having to do with your apparent co-operation.
The Acadamae's school of divination is as enigmatic as before, its many reflective surfaces expanding the cryptically meandering hallways into an expanse of inscrutable wonder. Fortunately, Viridel is able to stride through the silvery maze with the confidence of a regular visitor, his visions guiding him true despite him never having set foot inside until yesterday. In nary a minute the elven seer leads his companions into a central junction in between the building's two main halls: a pair of long hallways which meet in a fifteen-foot diameter circular room, with a domed ceiling above. The walls are decorated with several tall mirrors, meeting in the middle of the dome—an orange key-light appears to float at head-height in the centre of the junction, but only in the reflections in the looking-glass, not in the chamber itself.
Viridel nods at Bayard's successful retrieval of the key-light. Things were starting to make sense now. He drifted behind the party as they withdrew from the eerie halls of the dead, guiding the rest to the crystalline-domed Hall of Seeing. There seems to be an air of dread to his movement, as if he is approaching something and cannot be pulled away.
It is not long before Viridel guides the party through the maze to the point they witness the mirror-room. The key-light is in the reflection, but not where it should be.
"Curious," he says. The mark on his forehead pulsed with a single note of pain, but he pushed through.
Viridel's eyes glow with arcane power as he studies the mirrors.
"We must destroy some of these runes...but first decide on which ones to go with. A bad choice could cause a fatal trap to spring," he explains to his party.
Grym maintains a healthy distance from the mirrors
I've heard tales of mirrors trapped with all kinds of devious magicks. I've no interest in fighting my identical twin
Grym readies to throw his shield at the various mirrors if Viridel directs him to
Viridel nods at Grymwold. From his position, he can sense something in the mirrors--perhaps a lead.
"An abundance of caution is warranted." he says. He studies the runes once more. "After all, a mirror image that could hurt you is something you don't see every day."
You believe the runes are meant to respond to one's touch. This should not preclude a mechanical approach, though it would require meticulous care.
Laree pulls out her Spectacles of Understanding and attempts to study the writings as well, without the ability to detect magic. Perhaps there is some clue that can be utilized here that can tell or perhaps even betray which mirror is the correct one? Often people will spend far more time accurately writing out the correct version of something that they often disregard doing so with the mockeries. She also thinks to those who she saw earlier yesterday and their known specialities. Perhaps there is something here that can betray who worked on this and what the likely effect would be.
Anethra stands at the back of the group, clearly content to let Viridel and Laree An solve this obviously complex and magical puzzle.
Bayard knows when he's out of his depth, and keeps back enough to give the casters room to work.
Carefully, she places her glasses back in their protective case and back within the folds of her gown.
"Hmm...well, that didn't reveal anything. Viridel?"
She is conceptualizing a unique form of using her magical items currently to create a workaround, but isn't sure it would work. Against a demon, probably not, but if it is one of them in the mirror, perhaps it will...
Viridel approaches one of the mirrors. When close enough to observe it, he blinked.
The reflection didn't.
The reflection smiled, and moved. A dizzying feeling it was, but Viridel tracked the movement of his mirror image, who pointed above--a pale orange key-light suspended in mid-air.
Speaking a prayer against evil, Viridel withdrew his hand from his robe, holding his fingers in an intricate warding motion.
At the beginning, Viridel's magic faltered at the sights and possibilities.
Is that truly another me or...
What calls from the Void...?
What happened in the Hall that would show me so many terrible things...
But--
Heartbeat
This was NOT the time for reflection.
The executioner's firmness and unwavering faith in the face of the cries of the dead was inspiring--and Viridel channeled that firmness--or heroicism.
"You shall yield the Light to us!" he told his reflection.
It was not a request, nor an order.
It was a fact.
As he makes contact with the cool surface of the mirror, Viridel feels a dark presence looming above his soul, like a vast shape blocking out the sun—the mirror blurs, though he knows not whether it is the looking-glass or his eyes that are dimming. With a masterful series of gestures, words of injunction and all his willpower, he disentangles the complex web of magical power that connects the looking-glasses into a mind-shattering snare for the unwary.
Somewhat unexpectedly, as he raises his eyes anew, Viridel sees that his reflection has not been chased away by the abjuration. It nods impatiently, furrows its brow (an expression the diviner has often seen staring back at him from various scrying tools), and then points at its feet and back at the key-light.
From your perspective, standing in the hallway, nothing much seems to happen: for a moment, as Viridel lays his fingers against one of the mirrors, the reflections turn blurry and indistinct. As the diviner utters his powerful abjuration, the dimming ceases, but there is still no key-light in the room.
Viridel nodded, mirroring the steps of his reflection and heading to the center of the room, levitating ( and reaching out to where the key-light should be.
Anethra watches, eyes narrowed, her frame tense as she fully expects some form of an explosion to result from this direct approach.
When, instead, the image but blurs, she forces herself to relax for but a moment, and continues her vigil, ever wary.
As he moves to the centre of the room and reaches out, mirroring the movements of his reflection, Viridel feels his fingers closing around something feather-light and yielding, and sees an orange glow blossom in his palm—the key-light has been found.
The mirrors seem to have returned to normal, showing only Viridel's image, once again limited to mimicry.
Anethra slow claps.
"Very impressive, Viridel. Very impressive. Now, shall we proceed?"
well done. Whatever you did worked. My plan of smashing all the mirrors probably wouldn't have been as successful, just more messy. That's two. Three more to go.
Laree mimics the facial features of Anethra as she experiences similar emotions running through her. As he is successful, a brilliant smile emerges from her an involuntary clap comes forth.
"That's another down. We are well on our way."
The young girl will take up alignment after the more melee-focused of the group as they head out, but makes sure to give a congratulatory hug to her friend. Meanwhile, she inquires of Viridel, "Now, tell me what you really saw. What we noticed wasn't much."
With them exiting the building, she pauses from experience to hear an announcement of their victory.
Bayard nods wordlessly to Viridel, then leads the way out of the building, eyes wary, just in case.
Viridel reaches the floor, as his reflection reverts to its natural state.
He nodded in thanks.
He turned to his allies who started congratulating him, and answered, “The mirrors were indeed traps—they would send your minds across the planar barriers, which might not come back for weeks.”
To Laree he said, “My reflection moved in a most unsettling way, and guided me to the Key-Light.”
He paused for a moment, and said, “Yet, I am not sure if he was my reflection at all.”
He turned to the rest, key-light in hand, and floating behind the rest as they advanced to the next challenge—the Hall of Lies.
"Possibly an obscured blend between a mirrored illusion and a simulacrum. Possibly a shadowborne creature then meant to mimic you? I'm wondering if we'll get the chance to ask after this. I'd love to know."
At the Hall of Lies, she doesn't have much in the way of preparedness that she can think to do, but will instruct Elann to not act based on what she sees, but only based on the instructions of her words.
"We are relying on you to see true," she voices to those resistant to illusions and with true-seeing spells.