Anethra follows behind the group, her gaze lingering on works of exquisite art, her fingertips tracing lines over gorgeous pieces of furniture.
"Really," she says, to nobody at all, "After this is done, I must find out who designed all this. They have a bright future redecorating some of the Asmodean inner sanctums."
Gazing at the setup of the challenge, she taps her chin. "This is the first time a key-light has a spell-like ability, is it not? Perhaps therein lies the key, if you will."
After a moment of light mnemonic calibration, Viridel conjures a shimmery approximation of a slender elven hand, which gingerly picks up one of the table-cloths covering the Hall's many decorative surfaces. The key-light remains stationary as the cloth floats into the room and nears the stage, but as the cloth is dropped, it starts to bob and flot around erratically, evading the falling fabric and moving out of reach. It is obviously much faster and nimbler than Viridel's magical appendage, immediately putting half the room between itself and the stage. It then reassumes a more passive mode of flotation.
I can beseech Torag to impart a mighty thrust upon the Key, making it fly to us. Unless you magically gifted folk can think of a better idea
Telekinesis
School transmutation; Level magus 5, sorcerer/wizard 5; Mystery ancestor 5
CASTING
Casting Time 1 standard action
Components V, S
EFFECT
Range long (400 ft. + 40 ft./level)
Target or Targets see text
Duration concentration (up to 1 round/level) or instantaneous; see text
Saving Throw Will negates (object) or none; see text; Spell Resistance yes (object); see text
DESCRIPTION
You move objects or creatures by concentrating on them. Depending on the version selected, the spell can provide a gentle, sustained force, perform a variety of combat maneuvers, or exert a single short, violent thrust.
Sustained Force: A sustained force moves an object weighing no more than 25 pounds per caster level (maximum 375 pounds at 15th level) up to 20 feet per round. A creature can negate the effect on an object it possesses with a successful Will save or with spell resistance. This version of the spell can last 1 round per caster level, but it ends if you cease concentration. The weight can be moved vertically, horizontally, or in both directions. An object cannot be moved beyond your range. The spell ends if the object is forced beyond the range. If you cease concentration for any reason, the object falls or stops.
An object can be telekinetically manipulated as if with one hand. For example, a lever or rope can be pulled, a key can be turned, an object rotated, and so on, if the force required is within the weight limitation. You might even be able to untie simple knots, though delicate activities such as these require DC 15 Intelligence checks.
Combat Maneuver: Alternatively, once per round, you can use telekinesis to perform a bull rush, disarm, grapple (including pin), or trip. Resolve these attempts as normal, except that they don’t provoke attacks of opportunity, you use your caster level in place of your Combat Maneuver Bonus, and you add your Intelligence modifier (if a wizard) or Charisma modifier (if a sorcerer) in place of your Strength or Dexterity modifier. No save is allowed against these attempts, but spell resistance applies normally. This version of the spell can last 1 round per caster level, but it ends if you cease concentration.
Violent Thrust: Alternatively, the spell energy can be spent in a single round. You can hurl one object or creature per caster level (maximum 15) that are within range and all within 10 feet of each other toward any target within 10 feet per level of all the objects. You can hurl up to a total weight of 25 pounds per caster level (maximum 375 pounds at 15th level).
You must succeed on attack rolls (one per creature or object thrown) to hit the target with the items, using your base attack bonus + your Intelligence modifier (if a wizard) or Charisma modifier (if a sorcerer). Weapons cause standard damage (with no Strength bonus; note that arrows or bolts deal damage as daggers of their size when used in this manner). Other objects cause damage ranging from 1 point per 25 pounds (for less dangerous objects) to 1d6 points of damage per 25 pounds (for hard, dense objects). Objects and creatures that miss their target land in a square adjacent to the target.
Creatures who fall within the weight capacity of the spell can be hurled, but they are allowed Will saves (and spell resistance) to negate the effect, as are those whose held possessions are targeted by the spell.
If a telekinesed creature is hurled against a solid surface, it takes damage as if it had fallen 10 feet (1d6 points).
Stopping him in his tracks, Laree holds up a hand to Grymwold as he begins to cast.
"No. It won't work. It is a light, not an object. I think we may just have to brave this and a couple people truly resistant to these effects should attempt it. We can't waste any more time. They need to be someone of particularly inner strength, not brutal physical strength, but someone capable of withstanding the torments of magics. It is fast too, so whoever this person is, needs to be faster still. Let me mix a concoction that enables your muscles to work in harmony. Trust me, you'll never find a drug like this!"
After completing the Owl's Wisdom infusion, she will work on an expeditious retreat one. Whoever is going in, she will require they take both.
"How tiresome," mutters Anethra as she watches the keylight zip about. "You would think the wizards are trying to deliberately test our patience."
As Laree sets to fixing a potion, she speaks once more. "If we must attempt this in a direct, brutish fashion, then I can cast a spell that shall imbue resistance to all forms of magic to our brave interlocutor. Whom will dare the trial ahead?"
If no one is going to step up, she will. She would drink her infusions before Anethra casts her spell. If someone else will step up in her place, she will hand her infusions to them.
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Bayard sets down his axe and shield. ”I can handle it.” he says, and holds out a hand for the infusion.
Good idea Grym says upon seeing Bayard set down his weapons. It'll be one thing to get punched by the big guy if he gets affected by the confusion spell. It'll be WAAYYYY worse if he starts swinging that axe at us.
We'll keep your weapons safe. Good luck Grym says solemnly.
After ensuring all her components are infused, she will retrieve her vials from him and nod.
"Go now, and may the gods be with you. You can do this."
Then, she will step back and give him space. He will find himself impressively faster and clearer of thought.
Anethra nods and casts her spell on the paladin.
Viridel adds his own enchantment to the mix, speaking a prophecy of the executioner's success.
Bayard trots into the room, heading for the key light.
As Bayard enters, he begins to notice a tingling sensation at the back of his skull. Initially, it feels barely perceptible, like a light headache, though it seems to be building up as he jogs further into the room .
Just as the executioner catches up with the key-light, it bobs in the air and tries to weave away between his outreached arms.
Bayard reaches the light and attempts to grab it.
"Viridel, the sheet again! Use your mage hand to move the sheet. It avoided it. You can use it to corral the keylight into Bayard."
Grym stays in position keeping a wary eye out for danger while Bayard chases the key
Viridel nods at Laree, and lets out his hand with a force of will, shifting the sheet to block the Key-Light.
Bayard attempts to take hold of the key-light, which deftly avoids his grasp. It flies over the desks and comes to a stop at more-or-less the opposite side of the room, weaving back and forth in the air like a will-o'-wisp flitting over a bog, luring an unwary traveller to his doom.
Simultaneously, Viridel wills his conjured hand to lift the discarded table-cloth once more, though the appendage proves much too slow-moving. The key-light still does not appear to react to the nearing piece of fabric in any way, but as Bayard makes his way back up and across the room, it dashes back to the other side, leaving both him and the cloth behind.
Bayard does something unexpected-he retreats. When he reaches the party, he says "Viridel, what's the range on that throwing spell you have? Can it get me to the light before it can move? can anyone summon something that flies fast, to scare it this way, if need be?"
Viridel nods, driving Bayard on with the momentum of a crashing wave, drifting into the room on the winds of magic to aid his comrade.
"Who knew this one would best us?" she thinks to herself, but as Viridel launches her teammate, she wonders. "Could it be? Will he make it?"
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Bayard, prepared this time, immediately starts grabbing at the light.
After grabbing the key-light, Bayard heads for the exit.
With the tingling inside his skull building up to a full-blown migraine of flashing lights and noise, Bayard calls out for Viridel, who flies into the room and signals his readiness. As the executioner starts off for the key-light once more, he is flung over the desks, landing near the key-light with a resounding crash. As he straightens, everyone sees the pale blue glow emanating from within his closed fist. Immediately setting off for the exit, he feels his focus swiftly melt way into delirium...
With a pained grunt, the paladin rushes to the exit, one hand clutching your hard-won prize and the other cradling his temple. As he stumbles over the threshold, the enchanters' muddling influence once more gives way to clarity. The final key-light has been retrieved.
Laree can't discern magic as Viridel can, but she can see the struggle in the body language of their paladin as he rushes to the exit.
"Holy Blessings!" she calls out with such a relief that her shoulders slump. It's potentially clear that this statement is of a sort similar to "oh boy!" that she uses occasionally. Laree repeatedly pats her hands in celebration on Bayard's armor.
"Was it just me, or was that the most difficult one of these for us? Well...for you technically, but in general, 'us'. To be fair, if it were just me alone, I probably would still be enthralled in the first room that tried to enchant me."
As Bayard exits the room, his mind clears and his head stops hurting. Finally. "That was harder than I thought it would be. Glad to be done with it. Let's head for the Hall of Wards."
"Well done," murmurs Anethra, reconsidering the entirety of the group as they exit the chambers. She had to give it to the man who'd brought them together; the team was effective, and thus far they'd faced no real difficulty in acquiring the key lights. She'd have been unable to get as far by herself, and so she neatly shifts the praise to their patron, Asmodeus, so that she need not think too highly of the chancellor himself.
Following behind the others, she turns to the Hall of Wards with a frisson of anticipation.
Laree will wait a moment, keeping some distance from Bayard for the clarity of mind that he was not under a confusion effect, but as they walk out, she is satisfied.
"So, we all have a key-light now?" she watches to see if Bayard hands it to Anethra or if he holds it himself through the exit. She is somewhat curious what the Asmodean priestess will deign to do.
As they make their way through the doors, she is once again met by the brightness of the green grass, the fanfare of the crowds, and the light of the sun. She is shocked at how bright it is still outside. They have made good time.
"Surely I've been squinting too hard while looking at the going-ons inside the auditorium chase." Now that she recovers and takes in a deep breath, she awaits the appropriate announcement before walking to the Hall of Wards with the others. As she does, she begins to ready herself for what may be their final challenge.
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Viridel shook his head.
"We left behind the Hall of Shaping." Viridel said. "It might be too dangerous, and the key-lights we found might take us far enough."
He closed his eyes for a moment.
"Besides, we might be too drained to tackle the real threat later...that thing that is the true test of the Breaching Festival."
He remembered the blackness, and the disappearance of all those souls as moths who touched and succumbed to an invisible flame.
"And do you not grow impatient? Acquiring these key lights has been a delightful sideshow, and a laudable demonstration of our wits and abilities, but I for one am ready to move to the main course."
Anethra's voice is low but smolders with intensity. "Were it not for standard caution, I'd be feeling optimistic as to our chances. We are formidable. With the keylights, I'd wager we are now unstoppable."
The crowd receives you with good humour—most folks are simply excited to see your success, even though some die-hards doubtlessly rankle at the perceived unfairness of such blatant teamwork. As you emerge, you see a group of students off to one side of the central square, being instructed by the gnomish Dean of Illusion, Rombastle Falgeringer, likely in preparation for a show of magical figments. While the contestants brave the Hall of Wards, the audience will need to be entertained by other means. In less eventful years, this might well be more of a spectacle than the Breaching itself.
Dean Cangi raises her booming voice above the plebeian cacophony: "Leave it to dwarven stubbornness to prevail over the enchanters' wiles! What an exorbitant number of key-lights recovered in such a short measure of time—surely, we have broken many a record this year! But shall we finally see a winner, after all these decades? Wish our brave competitors luck in their final challenge... the Hall of Wards awaits."
Cheers resound. The Hall's eastern entrance consists of double doors forged from adamantine (or, as Grymwold notes, some alloy of iron and the rare skymetal). When you near with key-lights held aloft, you hear a series of clicks as dozens of locks and latches unfasten within. The doors creak open, revealing they are thicker than one would expect, with layers of different metals covered with esoteric symbols and mundane mechanisms alike. Beyond, there is only roiling darkness.
For an indeterminable period, you fall through blackness, with no sense of direction or the passing of time, nor any clear recollection of transition from one place to the next. When your senses are restored, you find yourselves stood in a warm room lit by a sourceless, orange glow—the air is slightly hazy, casting everything in a slightly distorted mould. The tall chamber is nearly unfurnished, save for a table full of empty, stoppered vials of crystal with peeling, faded labels. You can see the faint outline of a doorway on the north wall behind you, though it seems otherwise solid and seamless. A heavy iron door to the south looms ominously.
Even more disconcertingly, you also find your own name inscribed on one of the vials (though not for the others in your group).
You also notice a scroll-case which seems to have fallen on the floor rolled behind the table, as well as a tiny splatter of blood near the door.
However, there are notable differences, as well: you can feel time itself is flowing strangely—it still proceeds in a linear fashion, but perhaps not at the same rate as on the Material plane . Other laws of nature, such as gravity, appear to function as normal. Another feature that gives you pause is the apparent stagnation of planar energies around you: it is as if this place is closed off, somehow .
After a few moments looking around, Bayard shakes his head. "Chelaxian architecture, I think. Maybe even a demiplane. This place is modelled on Hell itself, of that I have no doubt. It's an imperfect model, but good enough to be discomforting."
Laree stepped boldly in through the darkness, holding onto Elann's hand. The two seemed to fall forever and not long at the same time. Even to the skilled alchemist, she couldn't determine either direction or place. Once "landed" she observes the room with quiet at first. Then speaking her thoughts.
"It feels stifling in here, doesn't it? Door to the south...and a doorway of some kind to the north. Can you see it? It's faint."
She will want to search these, naturally, but first, her inner alchemist side is drawn to the bottles.
"My own name is here...and..." she falls silent and then looks upon her brother's name. She activates her tears to wine infusion and takes a drink. Suddenly, her nerves are a bit more calmed, and while she finds it hard to concentrate still, she is soothed and her thoughts flow easier.
"This is my brother's name, who went missing in this challenge. Viridel, what is this evil?"
Anethra steps forth into the chamber, emerging from that endless darkness... and finds her nerves soothed, her equipoise restored, her sense of rightness affirmed. Exhaling deeply, she smooths down her dress and allows herself a quiet smile as she regards the chamber.
"This is better than I could have hoped for. What a charming demesne. To think the Academy would go so far out of their way to make me feel at home."
Moving alongside Laree by the table, she inspects the vials without touching them and whispers a brief incantation.
Then, moving with surprising alacrity, she circles the table to inspect the fallen scroll tube without touching it.
Viridel glances at the priestess.
He inclines his head in understanding, turning his eyes back from the hall of enchantment.
For an indeterminable period, you fall through blackness, with no sense of direction or the passing of time, nor any clear recollection of transition from one place to the next. When your senses are restored, you find yourselves stood in a warm room lit by a sourceless, orange glow—the air is slightly hazy, casting everything in a slightly distorted mould. The tall chamber is nearly unfurnished, save for a table full of empty, stoppered vials of crystal with peeling, faded labels. You can see the faint outline of a doorway on the north wall behind you, though it seems otherwise solid and seamless. A heavy iron door to the south looms ominously.
Viridel landed on the floor at the tips of his feet, Asniroth fluttering gracefully beside him.
ThumpThe grace falters as a memory comes, unbidden, on the wind of hate, and his elven boots hit the ground--hard.
"Turn thyself from the path," Viridel insisted. "The Darkness in the heart of Man is not a pit; but a well wreathed in shadow, one that knows no bottom or end."
"I can do this, master," said young Owen. His hazel eyes radiated confidence and calm. "It is but a test, and I shall succeed."
"Nay! You shall drown in a tide of blood unrelenting," Viridel shot back, fear raising his voice. "I bid thee again, turn away!"
But the young Taldan smiled at his master, and said in Elven, "Im aran ech-cin galand."
But Viridel could not be proud of Owen Galdavir--nor could he think anything of him, for he has passed out of his Sight.
A pulse like a heartbeat sounded in his mind, as a sense of tension sparked his anxiety once more.
"We are in a Hell." Viridel says coldly. This was the pit--the one that drew the moths. He turned to from whence they came.
"We cannot go out. We must go through."
[spoilers=If asked "We're in Hell?!]Viridel shakes his head. "A Hell. This is clearly a simulacrum, a pocket or bubble dimension between the Material Plane and Hell. The Hall of Wards must be a gateway to entry, and now...we're in the mouth of the beast.
"This demiplane has a master. In true Hellish fashion, we must show domination over this plane's master to complete this quest."[/spoilers]
Viridel does not move from his initial position, eventually willing himself to drift a foot above the ground as normal. His eyes see the names.
"Owen," he said softly. His heart felt crushed as his eyes moved to the next name. "Wolfe, Elaine--even you, Marius. Maganrad--it is as if you walked into your fate willingly."
He feels his chest tighten, and tears glisten in the archmage's eyes. The weight of years and of realized worst fears bore him down, and he lowered his face, as Asniroth gave out a crooning cry.
Grym doesn't quite know what's happening as they fall through the darkness arriving in a place that feels WRONG. He falls back on old habits looking to Viridel for an explanation. And fully accepts what the Mage tells him and the others about this being A Hell.
He sees his name...But chalks it up to magic trickery and doesn't let it bother him.
His head is on a swivel ready for a Hellish threat to emerge
Moving alongside Laree by the table, she inspects the vials without touching them and whispers a brief incantation.
Then, moving with surprising alacrity, she circles the table to inspect the fallen scroll tube without touching it.
The vials do not evince any sign of being magical, making their paradoxically inexhaustible nature even more confounding.
As for the scroll-case, it appears relatively mundane: a tube of yellowed scrimshaw with a marine motif. There are a few drops of blood on the hollowed whale-bone, which imply it was not relinquished peacefully. There is a muted magical aura emanating from within.
Viridel studies his comrades' observations.
"I see only my name, not anyone else's." he says quietly. "I suppose that any of you can only find your name, and not mine or anyone else's."
Viridel nods, and says, "This must be a trait of this realm, to warp the world to fit our worst fears. Regardless, we must press on. The gateway to the north--must have been where we came from."
"It is not surprising that she is comfortable here. This is not some manipulatable experience Laree. You are just going to have to suck it up."
"I listened Viridel. I'm here." she hugs him to comfort his worry, but also to help her own at seeing her brother's name there. But you are mistaken, I found mine. It's right here," she answers Viridel. "Can you not see it?" she points a finger toward it.
"I think you are right, this must be where we came from. Perhaps if we win, it will reopen...I don't relish the idea of remaining down here forever."
Viridel accepts Laree's embrace, resting his hand on her head.
His chest tightened at the thought of another student having a fate so dark.
Her name will not be along with the rest, he vowed.
"Let us press on," He turns to the rest. "Whatever Power caused so much suffering shall End."
Viridel has no issue locating his own vial, but is unable to see Laree's before she points it out to him—the same applies to everyone in the group. Once the vials are picked up from the table, they can be discerned and handled by anyone.
The northern wall displays only the mocking outline of a doorway—indeed, Grymwold judges that there is no hollow space beyond it for any discernible distance, making it seem as if the whole structure was entombed in bedrock.
The southern passage, however, is quite usable. Beyond is a hallway, with similarly imposing iron doors leading north, east, and south. The glowing orange mist makes the far corners of the corridor twist and stretch like looming serpents. There is a vague smell of incense in the air, intermixed with a hint of something foul.
You note more blood-spatters along the hall, leading east.
While the others inspect the vials Grym examines the blood. He's not the greatest of trackers but Grym nevertheless notices that these are TWO distinct blood trails.
Which one would you like to follow? The fresh one to the southeast doors or the older one through the southern wall?
"The fresher one--perhaps we may still find whoever was wounded." Viridel says. He studies the scroll-case, noticing the blood. "Master Grym, is this the same blood?"
Grym takes a look at the scroll to see if it's the older or fresher blood
"Our surviving competitors headed here before we did, as I recall. I suspect the blood is theirs." Bayard says. I suspect they already realized that. But even so, someone should say it aloud.
The fresher trail appears to start in the entrance hall, making it likely the scroll tube was bloodied in the same scuffle.
Inside the case are two scrolls. Viridel recognises these as being in Maganrad's hand, having scried on the enchanter while he studied his spellbook.