Fir'umil waits patiently, trying to not drum his fingers along his staff. But providence seems to smile down on them when he notes three riders coming through the gates. "If I may offer, cousins, our friend the Chaplain-Protector has just returned from her patrol." The wizard gestures to the gates. "She looks none the worse for wear, perhaps she will be so bold as to provide escort or at he very least assign someone to us?"
He spares a glance to Mal'undil for some support, but the half-elf responds with the slightest of nods to the negative. As if to say he wants no part of their discussion.
Part of him regrets not putting up a bigger fight. There were too many aspects of the wardrobe and the machine that held unanswered questions. It wasn't in Fir'umil's nature to allow questions that interested him to remain unanswered for long. That simply bred laziness.
But the level of evil in the creature...the mania, the Chaos...even its simple thoughts and emotional shifts were enough to nearly overpower. When it had exerted is will in even a fraction of moment, it had been enough to set their teeth on edge and nearly overwhelm them. No, the creature had to have been destroyed.
As the answers to questions descend beneath the surface to remain mystery, Fir'umil focuses on what they know and where they needed to travel next. "Once we have attended to the reconciliation of Sacerdos' brethren, we will need to pursue the matter of the dead captain's brother. Who is he, what is his investment in this dark undertaking? Was he the one who summoned and bound Ugoxyl'glek? To what end?" The wind across the deck sets his cloak and robes to fluttering like a raven's plumage. "And just who else knows about this? Was there any information from the good captain? Who was aboard the other ship? Were they pirates, salvage? Or were they here specifically for the Lydia's Wake?"
"I'm curious after this other ship. Perhaps Captain Vossian's brother is closer than we thought?" His normally callous eyes soften a moment when looking to Karthan. "I agree, there are no coincidences. We burn everything and hope we have enough information to discern what is happening."
"This crew followed Vossian in the hopes of riches. But they earned far more than they would have wished...or chosen." He hefts a few of the items on the desk and lines them up for packing. "I think his journal will yield more information given enough time. Plus there is the whole reason we embarked on this little adventure. Getting the two remaining priests back to the Temple of Iomedae should be completed. At which point we can see about Vossian's brother."
Fir'umil approaches the roughly spherical brass vat into which the creature's bodily fluids had been flowing. The complicated array of pumping gears and flaring electrodes and gurgling hoses are silent. He rests his hands upon his staff and studies the vat. "Mal'undil would be more suited to ferreting out any other secret doorways into this place. I am hoping he will find none. At the very least, it would mean the wardrobe is the only way in or out." The wizard's eyes never leave the vat, following the hoses and the conduits and wondering if it might be wise to preserve the space for the time being. "As for this device of Captain Vossian, I wonder if Caleb's diminutive friends at the Clockwork Academy might be able to make sense of it."
He reaches a hand forward, brushing a spigot at the front of the contraption. But at the slightest touch of his fingers, a black, droplet of ichor oozes from the nozzle and drips to the floor. It hisses upon impact with the wood, a small trail a smoke draws upward. Fir'umil stumbles backwards quickly, coughing and hacking. As his cousins step forward to secure him, he waves them back. "તમે ઇડિઅટ્સમાં પાછળ!!" he hisses in elven. "ત્યાં એક ફૂલ માટે જ *cough* જગ્યા છે અને તે મને છે!!"
Elven:
"Back you fools! There is only room for one idiot here and that is me!"
Fortitude Save:1d20 + 1 ⇒ (20) + 1 = 21
He makes a few more paces away from the vat and leans against Vossian's desk. After a moment or two of coughing, he regains his composure, taking another drop of his tincture to steady his throat.
"There are traces, strong traces of necromantic and transmutation energies in that...goo. Potent enough for a clever alchemist to make extensive use." He dabs at this lips with a cloth, then at his nose, coming away with blood. "My apologies for my outburst. I didn't want you approaching the spot where that goo had landed. I think its chemical reaction has passed, though."
Fir'umil concentrates for a few moments, eyes shut as he reviews the troves of information he'd been exposed do during his years with Master Beleg and who he thought was Master Tabir. "I have read of something like this, the construction of such apparatus, in an account of a dwarven explorer in the Darklands. On Ironhand's Scoutings I think it's called. One of his companions had fallen into madness upon finding a machine such as this one," he points to the contraption holding the dead creature. "But there was something operating it. Something not human but - how did he put it - 'Faul prítomnosť pokus o prevlek mäsa' - Dwarven for a foul presence attempting the disguise of flesh."
Mal'undil returns to the group with Sacerdos after searching the room. He shakes his head at Fir'umil's unspoken question. "Very well then. No other ways into this place besides the wardrobe. Good." He turns then to Karthan and Zandra. "I will need to research more to discern this things construction. The wardrobe is one thing, a magical device of fine quality. It should be studied at the Arcanamarium, secured by those Master Beleg can trust. But that means leaving this room intact. I'll say right now, I'm in support of destroying this room. Karthan's idea is a good one, using the Alchemical fire."
"I could rig something to set it off if you guys want. Give us a few moments to skidaddle." Mal offers.
The wizard nods agreement with the possibility. "On the other hand, if we can secure the wardrobe, bring it back with us and make it to the Arcanamarium without incident, we may be able to learn more of its secrets and more about this Captain Vossian's brother." Fir'umil shrugs. "Either way, he will be our next point of investigation. We must uncover who is behind the creation of this lab...and to whom this vat of necromantic goo was destined."
Okay, choice is yours:
Remove the Wardrobe to the Lucky Slip, then run the risks associated with getting it securely back to the Arcanamarium without incident.
Rig the lab - and the wardrobe - to blow using the Alchemist's Fire. Losing out on the potential information the contraption, the room could bring.
Attempt to blow the lab only, and preserve the wardrobe - risky but possible.
Fir'umil shrugs. "We can attempt to bring the wardrobe with us, but I wonder who else has access to this space. If this Captain was less than his brother, then why would he trust him with such a thing? And what was the goal of bringing back the slime? Remember, the captain was directed to the island."
The wizard shakes his head. Part of him wanted to learn more, but he'd been too long in investigating the Pattern to be so foolhardy.
Of course stepping through that cabinet was dumb enough. What was I thinking?
"No cousin, you were right in doing so. There was no safe way to commune with the creature. I think our esteemed Captain learned that very lesson." Fir looks at the dead man with distaste. "I fear he attempted to control the creature, ply its depths for information. But Ugoxyl’glek referred to him as inferior. I'm in agreement with Sacerdos. Once we are safe and our duties discharged, we should look in on Captain Vossian's brother in the city."
"As for that weapon, Karthan, indeed a good piece of equipment when facing beasts such as this... Chaos loathes the purity of Cold Iron. Quick thinking."
Ask questions and make observations as you like. Reflect on the journal and what the creature said. Soon we'll move on to the next scene.
Fir leans upon his staff, thumping it upon the floor instead of unleashing his next spell. "Quick thinking, cousin. Well done."
He looks back to the table and shelves where the various items of worth are located. "I don't know what it means, his death, but his words...'I was called' gives me pause."
"The captain," Fir'umil observes, looking upon the man's wrists and forearms. There are deep cuts upon them. "...he did end his own life. But the vacancy in his eyes, it is deeper than the husk left behind by life's exit."
The wizard meets Karthan's gaze then motions to the wardrobe, indicating they should be ready to exit that way if there is a need. "Lingering too long would be...unwise. But we should gather what we can."
He withdraws a small, cloth bound object from his spell pouch and casts Protection from Chaos, Communal. "That should buy us some time..."
”I think this will send us beyond the range of that summoning.” He points to the candle, the small ribbon of smoke still spilling upwards from the wick. ”That object is of great potency, as is the rune in the wardrobe. That implies the great distance.”
The wizard moves to the wardrobe and climbs inside. ”I will show my impatience be the first, eh?” With that, Fir’umil closes the door behind him. Somewhere in the distance, a gong sounds. A moment later, the door to the wardrobe clicks open as it did when Mal opened the lock.
"Again, I don't know where this leads. Perhaps the other side holds no exit." Fir'umil points to the journal still resting atop the mahogany desk. "Or perhaps death was the only exit the good captain felt remained."
"As for Aklo, it is spoken in small dominions of the Darklands. Of late, it is thought to be the heart tongue of the serpentfolk who used it in communication with the Ancients. It is very old indeed, and is used by worshippers of Chaos." He pauses and glances at the gathering of adventurers. "It is a language I shall not utter here."
He glances back to the rune in the wardrobe. "The language is tricky, as I said before. It is a word of power, but the sweep of the right arc in the rune could denote a name as well."
"I think you know what the 'black' is, cousin." he says to Karthan. "It is our foe, it is the great expanse that threatened to swallow our souls. It is forever." The candle on the table stood out in his periphery, drawing his attention as though tickling at something in the back of his mind. "I think our captain used this candle to communicate with whatever resides on the other side of this rune. I estimate that if we were to light this candle, we might be able to reestablish that communication."
But he points back to the wardrobe. "Or we move forward with our discovery and find where this leads. I think you know my preference."
Fir'umil leaves behind his ruminations of the candle and glances over Zandra's shoulder at the glyph she found. "Well done, cousin." He leans in a bit to gain sight of the symbol. After a moment, he sighs and withdraws from the wardrobe. Ugoxyl’glek
"It is Aklo, a language of the First World. I learned it during my first year of study with Master Beleg." He stands back and leans upon his staff. His eyes go distant as he considers what it could mean. "The rune itself is a word of power, etched into the wardrobe...perhaps it is the element that powers the teleportation magics I sensed earlier. But Aklo is a tricky language. One not heard in this plane very often."
He motions for Sacerdos to step forward. "If the good inquisitor would humor us, I'm curious if the rune will react to be touched by a holy weapon."
With no hesitation, Sacerdos draws Knighteye and sets the blade's tip upon the rune.
Nothing happens.
Next Mal'undil retrieves a pair of tools from his satchel, one looking oddly like a jeweler's ring. The half elf uses it to inspect the seams and even the wood grain around the rune, then inspects the rune itself.
Perception:1d20 + 12 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 12 + 3 = 19
He steps back from his inspection and shrugs his shoulders. "Nothing I can see. Doesn't mean I'm comfortable zapping my tale into a pit of acid or something." He gestures to the wardrobe. "Who knows where this thing leads?"
Fir'umil holds his council, watching the others. But as Mal'undil steps back he nods to himself as though coming to a conclusion. "As was so astutely put a moment ago, this is an important find. While our first priority is to the Sacerdos' priests, we cannot overlook the ramifications of this wardrobe. It would be foolishness of the highest order."
The elven wizard points out three items in the wardrobe. "I shall begin studying it, but in the meantime, I would gather up these materials and place them in your bag. They are indeed magical and worth quite a lot in both gold and power."
He gestures to the boots first, "Boots of Springing and Striding, if I'm not missing my guess..."
Then to the cloak hanging to the side, "A cloak of Flash and Shadow, quite useful for you, cousin." He gestures to Karthan. "One side gives benefit to sneaking about, even holds the blur spell. The other is for...personality." He grins slightly at the last.
He opens the small box, reminded of the one he'd procured for Tabir. And just like that one it contains a wand. "This one is the most potent. Keep it hidden for now until I'm absolutely certain..." Fir'umil eyes it for a moment longer, tempted to keep the implement for himself. "I'd wager a wand of fireball. If it is, it is more dangerous laying around until we know the command word to use it."
Again he gestures to Zandra to secure the items. "Go ahead, place them in your bag. There is no place safer in proximity than extra-dimensional space."
He shifts his attention to the candle on the desk. "Now what do we have here?" He speaks over his shoulder as he inspects the candle. "It is not summoning or conjuration...but a good guess considering the adversaries we've faced as of late."
Spellcraft:1d20 + 8 ⇒ (2) + 8 = 10 ...no go...
After reading the runes and construction of the candle's holder and even the wax and wick, Fir'umil steps back from the desk and twiddles his fingers. The chair that is laying on its side rights itself so he can sit in it as he cogitates. As he thinks, he reaches into his robes to withdraw his tincture to soothe his throat. A habit at this point even though he didn't feel the need for it. I wonder if the sea air is helping? he thinks absently.
He glances over to the journal and flips through its pages. "Hmmm, he mentions not hearing from this 'U.' with respect to the candle."
He turns the tincture bottle over in his fingers, letting it roll along with surprising dexterity as he leans back in the captain's chair. "You know, there were times when Hal'dorel would use a minor spell to send messages to his cretinous barbarian over distances. This could be transmutation magic. Giving our deceased captain the ability to communicate over great distances. But to whom or what?"
Fir'umil listens intently as Karthan and the rest disclose their findings inside the Captain's quarters. The wizard asks to see the wardrobe, eager to understand more of what has transpired aboard the Lydia's Wake. Once there he confirms the Inquisitor's observations and further identifies that a door exists in the back of it.
"Where it leads, I'm not certain, but I recognize the workings of teleportation magic."
"Some bodies are desiccated others are fleshed, the ones above still alive and looked human. We must try to understand the mechanics at play."
"Indeed, cousin. A mystery into which we must descend." Fir'umil agrees, inclining his head as different thoughts swirl and turn. "For those who succumbed to the possession of this...slime beast, or whatever it was, it would seem their life forces were drained away. While those who did not succumb...' he points to the two paladins who'd claimed their own lives. "These are not touched by the effect."
His attention is drawn to the amulet around the headless paladin. "Then there is this medallion, it seems to have been damaged, perhaps burned. I don't sense a magical resonance upon it, but the craftsmanship would indicate it is something akin to a reliquary."
He crouches down next to the headless body and lifts the medallion away. Given that the head is gone, it frees easily of the dead man's form. He holds it up into a shaft of light coming from above. It was once a well made symbol bearing the unfurled wings of Ragathiel, the Empyreal Lord holding his blade aloft in defiance of evil. But now, it has been blackened and pitted and scoured along the surface. Like a dozen tiny creatures clawed at it and broke its power.
"The other two guardsmen who took their own lives, they have similar chains about their necks, but a clump of powder is all that remains of what I can only estimate are their medallions." He holds up the one in his hands again. "Yet this one is still intact, but appears, ruined."
He looks to Zandra and wonders what she makes of the evidence.
The wizard watches his cousin leave with the other two men. ”He will need to be watched.” He smooths his robes out of habit. ”As will I for that matter.”
With that, he heads to the edge of the aft cargo hold doors and reaches into his spell pouch. ”I have aid for your descent if you require it, cousin.” He grasps a small, parakeet feather in his hand and jumps from the edge, bypassing the crates Sacerdos had used and floating to the bottom.
If Zandra doesn’t want to use acrobatics to get the bottom, Fir will use “Mage Hand” to float his parakeet feather up to her waiting hands if he’s asked…
Once they are down into the hold, he casts a Light spell on the edge of his staff, adding to what the elves can already see with their low-light vision. There is obvious evidence of a pitched battle that occurred here and probably throughout the ship. Bodies are strewn about, most are dried husks of their former selves as though their very essence were drained from them.
”Interesting…” he says, spotting three bodies that don’t appear like the rest. They are garbed in much the same battle dress as their Inquisitor cohort; breasplates, bastard swords and even conical helms with nose guards. ”Two of them appear to have taken their own lives, falling upon their blades in such a way as to drive the steel into their brains.” He points to the third member of the cadre. ”This one, looks to have been beheaded by one of his fellows. Perhaps looking to avoid possession by the entity?” He gestures above their heads toward where the dead slime beast lay.
Further back in the hold, through the dank darkness and the smell of putrid earth, he spots the shattered remains of one sarcophagi. Not long after, the two elves find the two intact vessels. He casts Detect Magic Fir’umil raises a hand, fingers arched at odd angles as he closes his eyes and reads the lines of magic in the area and upon the two intact coffins.
”Their wards appear to have held against many onslaughts. I don’t detect anything aboard that would have been powerful enough to have opened that one over there.” He contemplates the headless guardsmen a few feet away.
Perception or Spellcraft DC 15:
You can see that in the hands of the two guardsmen who’d taken their own lives, is the remnants of a medallion, now reduced to powder. Over by the headless guardsmen, his medallion is still around his neck, a black and pitted scouring on its face.
Given a boost to his will, Fir'umil's eyes glow with a brief understanding just before he squeezes them shut and concentrates.
Will Save:1d20 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 4 + 2 = 14
The wizard raises a hand to his head, feeling a wave of nausea lift from his mind. "What...what happened? Something foul clawed at my..."
"Wizard, now, you must intercede before Karthan succumbs fully!" The inquisitor is shaking him and pointing at his cousin.
Fir'umil sees him, hands reflexively tightening on his staff as he sees Karthan readying a dizzying strike upon...his eyes track over, is he going to attack Zandra? The elf mistress is standing protectively in front of one of the crewman...
"It is Chaos, Fir'umil Osseus, I tell you it is Chaos!!" Sacerdos bellows a second time.
Fir'umil's jaw tightens as he raises his staff aloft. "So be it..." he rasps, slamming his staff down on the deck, a deep and resonating thump emanating outwards from the bonded implement. Cast Protection from Chaos, Communal, via his bonded staff.
Karthan, give me another Will Save, this time with a +2. The Target DC is 10. If you fail, then give me an Initiative Check.
Initiative - Round 7
Sacerdos 24
Thor 19 (*)Tiny Statue
Good Crew (x2) 15 Confused
Zandra 14
Croaker 14 HP 21/46 Confused
Mal'undil 14 HP 35/46
Karthan 13 HP 15/22 | Earth SkinConfused
Fir'umil 13
Mound of Horror 3
Horror Mound Confusion:
Table: Confusion Effects
d% == Behavior
01-25 == Acts normally
26-50 == Does nothing but babble incoherently
51-75 == Deals 1d8 pts of dmg + Str modifier to self with item in hand
76-100 == Attacks nearest creature (for this purpose, a familiar counts as part of the subject's self)
===============================
At 13
Fir’umil’s Magic:
Spells Prepared Level 2 - 2/2 Summon Monster II
Level 1 - 4/4 Air Bubble
Floating Disk
Air Bubble
Level 0 - 4/* Detect Magic
Detect Poison
Flare
Open Close
Arcane Bond: Can cast any one spell the wizard knows, even if it’s not prepared.
Force Missile: 1d4+22/4
Knowledge (Arcana):1d20 + 8 ⇒ (9) + 8 = 17
Fir'umil contemplates his options, realizing that all his offensive powers are merely scratching the surface. Cousin, I believe you have the best idea yet... He pinches the components and tosses them in the air, summoning a Lightning Elemental to assault the horrid mass of flesh and slime.
Level 1 - 4/4 Air Bubble
Mage Armor
Floating Disk
Air Bubble
Level 0 - 4/* Detect Magic
Detect Poison
Flare
Open Close
Arcane Bond: Can cast any one spell the wizard knows, even if it’s not prepared.
Force Missile: 1d4+2
4/4
At 13
Fir'umil stands up and readies himself, calling upon the mystical energies all around him to clad his frail form in magical armor.
"The captain of this vessel," the wizard calls out. "...he left behind a journal we can view should we survive. Perhaps there are clues therein to explain what is happening."
The wizard holds his staff at the ready, feet as firm as they can get on the deck of the ship.
"Fir'umil I am sure you are already doing this but can I get you to detect for magic aft and fore before we go down below? I don't want to leave anything on top of us."
"That I can do..." Fir'umil stands amid ships and places his staff upon the deck. Casting Detect Magic"I'm sensing two emanations directly below us, maybe two decks down?"
Finding nothing else in the first area, he heads to the stern section and casts once more... "Nothing of prominence."
He gets ready to head forward when Croaker steps forward from where he and the two remaining crewmen were searching the aft castle.
The wizard steps back from the door and nods to the bed. "If that is the case, then you will need to claim your sister. We have been delving into the clues we'd uncovered on the crystal daggers." He points to the bag of holding on his bed and speaks to Zandra. "If you would be so kind as to replace the materials in the bag. I noticed a finely crafted strong box in this room earlier. We can keep the bag in there, I will take great cautions in locking it from prying eyes."
Fir'umil looks back to Karthan. "Four hours you say? That should be enough for me to finish my preparations." He stands back and opens the door a bit further and waits for Zandra to leave.
Varisian Etchings
Fir’umil pulls a vellum scroll from the bag of holding, the item rolled and bound in a horse hair tie that fastened with a tiny brass clasp. The wizard unrolls it to its full 12 x 3 ft dimensions. On it is the depiction of a rubbing, probably transferred from the thin material used by whomever had acquired the original. The first thing that draws the eyes is an ancient rune, Thassilonian in origin according to Fir’s research. Then there is the writing. Fir'umil indicates that his research led to older forms of Shaonti and Varisian to get a rough approximation of the language being used. The words arch from the rune on both sides, those appearing clearly, but only half the rune on the vellum.
”If I don’t miss my guess, this is a rubbing from an old temple, the tympanum to be precise.” With the vellum rolled out, it’s easy to see that the width of it could easily depict a mighty over the double doorways of a temple. He points to the word right below the half rune. ”Here, this is a name, Lixxahla I think it says. On either side, it repeats a phrase...something to the effect. ’As one we give, endless Lixxahla, as one we give...’”
He speculates it to be used on thralls to inspire unwavering loyalty and adoration as they enter the temple for worship.
If you think any of your skills may apply to delving into this portion of the mystery, feel free to roll them.
"On the crystal daggers? Yes, the one he resisted...and the one that impacted you negatively and gave you the visions you no doubt experienced after our encounter with the oracle and his ilk in Coppertown." Fir stretches his back and withdraws a slip of paper from his satchel. On it is a rubbing of the kukri where the symbol of the dark god Andirifkhu is etched. "And-eer-if-khoo." he sounds out for his cousin.
He shakes his head. "No, thankfully no connection for the two other than their Chaos origins. But it can't be denied, the similar uses of the crystal daggers and the kukri. Where the daggers appear to be siphons, leeching the essence of their targets to be transferred to a recipient...the kukri seems to have only one use, torture."
Fir draws forth the materials dealing the stone...
Stone of Zamnahd Ur
This clue details the finding of a rock by adventurers in Geb, the land of the undead. On the rock were etchings of strange symbols. The only word decipherable was “Zamnahd Ur”… Of the 8 person group, only one of the adventurers survived the experience. All of the adventurers were from Magnimar, survived the return trip from Geb, all but a man named Jorg were driven to madness and suicide. Jorg had been on the run, a homeless pauper surviving on the streets of Magnimar, the stone from Geb still in his possession.
No one knows what befell of Jorg or if he still lives...
Fir’umil thinks it has a link to an ancient evil named Xhamen-Dor. A creature thought to have been awakened during the cataclysm of Earthfall, little is known outside the insane cultists who worship him.
What little Fir was able to glean from Beleg’s and Caleb’s libraries lends Xhamen-Dor the power to create of undead. The is also a strong following in Geb of this particular creature. Comparing the symbology found on the crystal daggers and that found on this stone from Geb, there are some similarities.
There was an image Fir’umil found that purportedly gives form to Xhamen-Dor. When viewed, whether for the first time or for the 100th, it causes a disquieting feeling of dread and hopelessness...and sometimes nausea and fear in those who look upon it. For this reason, Fir’umil has it (the image) sealed away in a warded scroll case, not certain of the types of magics worked into the ink or vellum.
Driven by curiosity, Fir delved the drawing and came away with the surety that the ink used to put the image to the vellum is actually blood drawn from multiple sources. After this viewing, the elf has been reticent about pulling the drawing forward again.
Fir stepped aside from the doorway. "By all means. I'll not get much in the way of studying my spells accomplished this evening." He signed and pointed towards his bed and a trunk he'd dragged over next to it. "Let us view some of the books there."
Closing the door behind him, the wizard waggled his fingers and spoke a simple word of arcane magic, conjuring forth his unseen servant to begin clearing a place for both him and Zandra to sit.
His mood brightened a bit as Zandra drew forth some of the materials from the bag of holding. "One good thing about research, it settles my mind and will provide me with a good night's sleep once we're done."
"Where shall we start, eh?" The unseen servant, work accomplished, was sent away by Fir'umil with a wave of the hand. "The book on Mwangi Spirit Faiths? The Varisian etchings about the Thassilonian ruins and the thralls with unwavering loyalty and adoration...? Or the story on the rock from Geb?"
Flashback Reference:
While investigating back at Caleb's shop, you found 3 important clues regarding the crystal daggers and their potential origins...
- Book on Mwangi Spirit Faiths - Rumor in Mwangi Expanse of a rite designed to provide the spiritual leader of a village with the strength of the faithful during times of war...
- Varisian etchings on a vellum rubbing – An ancient Thassilonian ruin, speculated to be used on thralls to inspire unwavering loyalty and adoration / found over the door of a temple...
- Finding of a rock by adventurers in Geb, the land of the undead. On the rock were etchings of strange symbols. Only word decipherable was “Zamnahd Ur”… only one of the adventurers (all from Magnimar in Varisia survived the return trip / others driven to madness and suicide)
Fir looked up from his book, having only a moment ago sent the half-orc oaf on his way. Gambling? Isn't gambling on the available food on this deathtrap enough?
Of course he had to admit that the accommodations were slightly better than his own quarters at the Arcanamirium. Of course his room wasn't moving!
The wizard slid from his bed, placed the book down and trudged over to the door, opening it with a frown. "I said 'no'..." Then he paused, seeing Zandra in the narrow hallway. "Sorry cousin, what can I do for you?"
Fir'umil had a distaste for sea travel. Especially after his studies into teleportation. Master Tabir had made great strides in the field...partly why Fir's heart had lept at the possibility of just teleporting to the Lydia's Wake and then right back to Absalom. But all the notes he'd read on the topic indicated that blind teleportation was akin to madness when it came to the open seas.
The wizard held his council, preferring to observe at this point as he continued to reassess his situation. First and foremost was the lowered tension between himself and his cousins. It meant better communication at the least, but also a stronger connection to Fir'umil's family at the most. Since his father's disappearance...no, since my father's death...he corrected, Fir had done everything he could to distance himself from his blood relations. Only Hal'dorel had been so persistent that such distance - physical or emotional - had been nigh impossible.
Maybe that was the true reason he'd parted with him in such a dreadful manner. Deep within the fortress surrounding Fir'umil's heart, he hoped that his musically inclined cousin was faring well in the Lonely Coast. Perhaps the wizard would have an opportunity for reconciliation.
"What do you guys want to do about bunking up?" Karthan's question stabbed through Fir's reverie.
Was he already on the ship? Fir collected his thoughts and stammered out an answer as he gestured to one of the empty rooms. "If it's not too much of a bother, I would prefer to room to myself. It will give me time to meditate on what I've learned from Tabir's tome. There is a spell within that may be of great use to us out on the open seas...something about creating a bubble of air within which one can breath even under water."
"Could be useful..." Mal remarked with a side-long smile. The half-elf clapped Karthan on the back and turned himself towards the other available room. "C'mon, kid, you can rack with me...but no funny business." He paused a pointed a finger back at the ranger. "Plus, I snore...so invest in cotton ear plugs...just sayin'"
Fir nearly bristled at the comment, but realized he had to tamp down his sensitivities...even where the interminable rogue was concerned. He simply nodded. "Just so. I shall need my full concentration to study and prepare for investigating the derelict ship."
He touched a hand to Karthan's shoulder. "Cousin, back at Caleb's shop, Zandra was provided with a bag of holding which contains several of the books we accumulated for the research into the crystal daggers. If it wouldn't be too much trouble, could you inquire after it? I may be able to make use of the passing days to study those as well."
"I think Onura's use of title "Salvage Operation" may go a long way to outlining the real reason the Harbormasters are so eager to go along with the temple's request for the Lydia's Wake." Fir grinned at his cousin. "I agree, there is a fortune to be had on a derelict ship. It just so happens that the Temple's standing request for the boat happened to match with that goal." He held up a hand. "My guess, I'm not Mal'undil or Caleb."
He agreed with his cousin, Zandra. Fir'umil would also need to consult his spellbook to gather the appropriate magics for the journey. "As for Onura herself, she would be loyal to the 2nd Harbormaster Ptarnex Dexarion. Rumor has it, though, her loyalty is only matched by her recklessness on the open seas. If they are to be believed, Onura Limnestti is responsible for the sinking of 3 ships in a single engagement...the last by ramming." Fir'umil waved over Sacerdos and Olivia, seeing that they were still conversing at the top of the stairs. "Other factions, though? I don't think so. I think Onura Limnestti is her own faction."
Sacerdos and Olivia descended the stairs, the inquisitor looking eager and agitated.
"The only reason I know these things, cousin, is that her ship, the Lucky Slip was on a short list of vessels Mal'undil researched for a trip to the mainland when he, Hal'dorel and Kheegan traveled to Isger." Fir shrugged. "They went with another vessel because Onura's was out of their price range."
He looked to Karthan regarding his other question. "As for an elven court representative...Fahtima Ishbellana is who you seek. She has a residence in Green Ridge. Her and her retinue hold audience once a month. But she is open to free audience given enough time to prepare."
Fir'umil silently observed the interactions, curious as to how his cousin would react to Onura Limnestti's attentions. He'd not given much thought to his cousins interacting on a more mundane level with Absalom prior to right then. It was somewhat amusing to see his cousin so uncertain and off guard, but he thought Karthan acquitted himself rather well considering what Fir'umil knew of the lusty captain's history.
With a grin that unfortunately looked more menacing than he intended, Fir'umil shook his head. "I don't think you revealed more than was necessary, cousin. All things considered I think you offered the information needed without seeming too secretive or...rigid." He grinned at his cousin and then continued. "It was enough for the fair Windsinger to do her job safely and kept our business where it belongs."
He glanced over and saw Onura playing with her monkey. What a filthy creature! Why would one choose to... He wiped the growing sneer from his face as Zandra asked her questions.
"Despite his no doubt, exceedingly high level of aptitude, I don't think asking Master Tabir for such help would be in our best interest. Right now. Master Beleg has his hands full keeping him..." He frowned, seeking the right word. "...sedate? Besides, teleportation to a location unknown to the conjurer is a tricky business at best. If the spell goes awry, we may end up 200 feet under the ocean's surface and that would end our little adventure too quickly for my liking."
"As far as magical transport of other sorts," Fir tucked the bearskin tome into his book bag and continued. "Airships are a rarity here, I doubt even the somewhat considerable influence of our benefactors would be able to acquire one for our service. But I can't say we'd need much more support than Karthan's new object of interest. If rumors are to be believed, she's among the most capable sea captains in the Harbormaster's employ."
The wizard leaned upon his staff and thought for a moment, considering all of what Zandra had expressed. "I too find it worth a great deal of concern that the Lydia's Wake was found drifting. Is there a possibility that something wicked dwells beneath her decks?" Fir'umil shrugged, not really attempting to cover up his inquisitive bent towards the subject. "...is it more likely that someone waylay the vessel and stole it's contents? I don't know. What I do know is that magics behind these clerics shared malady are still at work and must be stopped."
Fir'umil looked to the temple and saw that Sacerdos and Olivia were exiting. The appeared to be in deep conversation, the Inquisitor growing more and more animated.
Before they hit the stairs, Fir'umil inquired of his cousin. "Was there something else you had in mind for transport, Zandra? Something I've not considered?"
Fir’umil was drumming his fingers along the surface of the book, thinking on Sacerdos’ words. Perhaps they were putting too much faith in the addled mind of an ancient wizard. But there was too much knowledge locked away behind those eyes to just move on to a different lifeline. This situation with the Ragathielan clerics, as Zandra had put it, may play a part in putting back together what Tabir had lost...but it no doubt tied closely to the events of the Pattern.
The elven wizard shook his head as he came to a conclusion. Broken mind or no, Fir’umil was not willing to put aside so potent a weapon as Tabir the Grey.
”...anything that you will need for that cousin that we could prepare or obtain for you?” Karthan was looking to the book in Fir’s hands.
Instinctively, the wizard clutched the tome a bit tighter but forced himself to relax. ”I’ll require more time to study the content before I can answer that question, I’m afraid. But I’ll endeavour to digest as much information as possible in transit.”
Fir’umil stared in wonder. He was truly speechless. Master Beleg had warned him of Tabir’s capabilities...but this? This was astounding! The creature before him, he tried to recall in his studies the like...Knowledge(planes):1d20 + 7 ⇒ (3) + 7 = 10...but was unable to call it to mind.
What in the vastness of the firmament was transpiring here? What had he gotten himself into thinking he could be caretaker over what had to be among the most powerful magical beings the elf had encountered?
What’s worse, there was Tabir’s all but tenuous hold on sanity. If given the ability to commit his spells during a day’s worth of studies, would the Grey seek vengeance upon those who’d incarcerated him? What would Fir’umil be able to do to stop him?
”Fascinating,” the Grey pronounced, looking over the kukri. ”So they bypassed the mental framework, no care to cognitive cohesion...only the emotion...the real guts of their essence...quite lovely if you think about it...the sheer horror of their audacity notwithstanding...”
He thought on what it was the kukri was doing based on notes left behind by Tabir and the Inquisitor’s description of events. Fir’umil put aside as many of his questions as he could and focused on those two things. He looked to the bearskin bound book Tabir had placed on the table and he felt his fingers flexing and desiring to look upon its contents. Knowledge(arcana):1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18 Fir considered what Tabir was saying...by circumventing the subconscious mind...focusing the ritual’s energies not on the will but on that subconscious mind...
Karthan spoke up. ”I’m guessing that given time, you can learn the secrets of this item But will you be able to restore their souls to their bodies before they expire, Master Tabir?”
Fir picked up on something in his cousin’s tone, following the ranger’s gaze to Sacerdos. The Inquisitor was gripping at the edge of the table, looking prepare to stand, jawline a study in tension.
”Yes, I can see that the pattern is fascinating,” Zandra added. ”...but we should remember to be respectful of the life forces trapped within and be mindful that there are those present that are intimately involved and invested in getting them safely repatriated.”
It was a good tactic, one that was necessary. Sacerdos was not aware of Tabir’s...mental state. Fir’umil gestured in the air and drew forth the bearskin-bound tome, the heavy book sliding across the wooden surface to his outstretched hand. As he’d hoped, Sacerdos’ eyes cooled as he watched the book move. ”This is our focus, Master Tabir. To better understand the evil nature of this cult’s work and to restore Sacerdos’ clergymen. If I might add, your expertise and wisdom is central to our investigation.”
He opened the book and was once more astounded. The notes and diagrams varied from page to page, in some cases a solid stream of thought and in others just myriads of observations and details that few right over Fir’umil’s ability to understand. But as Tabir had indicated, towards the middle of the tome were notes regarding an attempt to help a Paladin from the north by the name of Gunthar Steelback and his warmage...no name for that one.
Fir’umil looked up from the book. ”Perhaps we should return to the Temple of Iomedae. We have people from the Harbormaster’s office to deal with and sort out transfer of Sacerdos’ clergy.” He held up the book and emphasized with a look to Karthan and Zandra. ”There is much we can learn from these initial notes along with Master Tabir’s wisdom in putting the information into context.”
”No ships!” Tabir slammed a hand down upon the tabletop. ”I won’t be exposed to those disease bearing horror shows!” The ancient wizard stood suddenly, the high-backed chair in which he’d been sitting crashing over. ”I will be in my lab beginning my research. I expect the bodies to be delivered there toot sweet!”
The wizard turned to leave, Fir’umil laying the bearskin book down on the table and standing to intercept him. But Tabir came up short, eyes going wide then narrowing in anger.
”You...” he said darkly.
”Yes...old man. It is I.” The now all too familiar voice caused all eyes to turn towards the door to the Hall. There, standing wrapped in his dark, forest green robes with their embroidered sigils and elvish words was Master Beleg Cuathon. Apollos, his psuedodragon sat balanced and at his ease upon the top of Beleg’s staff.
Fir’umil stood slowly from the table, grasping his staff in the process.
Tabir’s wand sprung from within his sleeve, the end of it beginning to glow faintly red. ”I told you...the next time I saw you I’d turn you into a dwarf, eh?”
”You’re welcome to try, Altabiric.” Beleg remained unmoved. Even Apollos seemed unperturbed.
”Their little trick betrayed them, eh? Now I’m out, and now you’ll be a dwarf for eternity!” Tabir waved his wand abruptly and uttered a word in that strange dialect he’d been using earlier... ”Tani ju jeni një xhuxh!” A brilliant flash of red burst from his wand...
Fir’umil used his staff, spinning it upwards to catch Tabir under the arm and divert his aim... Staff Attack:1d20 + 3 ⇒ (9) + 3 = 12
...but the flash of red light was just that...a flash of red light. ”Well done, boy.” Tabir looked at Fir’umil and shook his head with approval.
Beleg stepped forward, Apollos taking to the air and landing on Tabir’s shoulder to provide a prodigious amount of kisses from his long, forked tongue.
”Off, off, you demon beast of the 3rd hell!” Tabir waved his want at the familiar until it flew upwards and then landed on Fir’umil’s shoulder.
Beleg greeted all in the room. ”If it will help, I can see to it that Master Tabir’s quarters and labs are prepared. During that time, you all may attend to any business or research needed.”
Fir'umil looked to his cousins, curious of how they wished to proceed. He leaned against the table clearly out of his element for the moment. All he could think to do was rest a hand on the book. Wherever they were going, he would bring it along for study and reference.
"Now, there is the small matter of Master Tabir's appearance." Fir'umil gripped his staff and looked from Tabir to Karthan then back again. "The simulacrum still walks the halls of the Arcanamirium. All though it is under control, there is the matter of conducting Master Tabir to the Hall of Geros."
Tabir stuck out his chin and nodded his head with firm satisfaction. "So, Alaric kept his word..."
"Yes, Master."
"Of course he did! I've got his number right here..." He promptly reached down and grabbed his crotch thru his robes.
Fir'umil cleared his throat and turned to Karthan. "Yes, well, be that as it may, cousin, I wonder if Master may avail himself the use of your new token?" He gestured to the ring on the ranger's finger.
"If I may," the elven wizard cleared his throat. "From the way Sacerdos described the bodies prior to his departure from Magnimar, they may be in what is called a coma, not dead. A term I noticed in some of your old notes, master."
Tabir crossed his arms and frowned at Fir. "Reading my diary, eh?"
"I...uhm...*cough*..."
The old man swooped in close to Fir'umil and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Did you find anything in there about where my recipe for mango salsa is located?" There was a mischievous grin on his face. "All this talk of Magnimar has reminded me of a good recipe..."
Fir shook his head. "I'm sorry, master, but I have not seen such a recipe."
"A pity, child. A pity." he patted Fir'umil on the forearm and stepped back. Then he looked sharply at him. "The young lady asked you a question. Don't be rude."
"Um, well, I think the Inquisitor is a weapon. You know in which direction he will always point and that injects a bit of certainty and dependability we will no doubt need in the coming days. I'm glad to assist him if it means we can win him to our cause." Fir'umil rested a bit on his staff. "His will and duty and cause are too aligned with ours for his appearance in Absalom to be simple happenstance."
Fir'umil regained his composure and responded. "Yes, directly to the Hall of Geros. I will need to make arrangements to reopen his lab...but there will be time for..."
Tabir suddenly stopped sifting thru his pockets held out a weathered hand. The archmage's eyes were locked upon the wooden box under Fir'umil's arm. "My wand, boy."
Fir'umil's instinct was to hide the box immediately. Gentry had indicated it that belonged to Tabir and contained his possessions. But he let himself trust Master Beleg, knowing that his mentor wouldn't lead him to harm. With a subtle wince of concern, he handed the box to Tabir.
The old man waggled his fingers like a child pining for a giant piece of chocolate. "Ahh, good, good..." The small box opened at Tabir's touch. Inside were two items; first was a finely crafted wand carved of what appeared to be Darkwood. Its base was thicker, runes carved in various languages along its length as it tapered to a point. The grip of the wand was sumptuous, bearing a hand hold for the owner's grip. The wondrous item turned in his fingers then disappeared up his sleeve.
The second item in the box was a folded velvet satchel. Tabir withdrew it with an appreciative smile. The wooden box was casually disgarded, tumbling from his fingers. When it hit the wood floor of the lift, it puffed into dust and disappeared.
"Ahh, my things. Everything I will need to supply my lab." He went about unfolding the satchel until a soft leather strap appeared. This went across the wizard's body, the full size of the satchel becoming more of a book bag.
As it hung there on Tabir's shoulder, it changed shape. One moment it may have held a collection of books. In another moment it might have been the odds and ends of an alchemist set with glass transfer tubing poking out of the opening. Fir'umil's eyes studied Tabir's face, noticing that for every change in expression, the bag's apparent contents altered.
He looked away and focused on the task at hand. He could marvel at the specific behaviors of Tabir's bag of holding another time. "Master, the man we go to see has in his possession the instrument that this cult used to trap the cleric's of his order. Our request of you would he to hopefully decrypt the magics and ritual used to retun the souls to their rightful place."
Fir'umil nodded gratefully for the anti-venom, taking the drought along with a swig of water from a flask on his belt he usually saved for making tea. Then a dose of the smelling salts. The sudden surge of vitality helped...Fortitude Save:1d20 - 1 ⇒ (10) - 1 = 9
...but he felt the leeching of his life continue after a moment. But it was enough for him to stand, leaning heavily on his staff. "I will take you up on that..."
Fir'umil shook his head. "Age maybe...I can't be certain but that is not the impression Master Beleg gave me. He noted a change in his personality...but perhaps the years held here have done something... Master Beleg told me that he was not a danger. That Master Tabir could be trusted implicitly."
The sound a creaking gear came from the small room into which Tabir had disappeared. Then the sound of flowing water ceased. But his singing, although now taking on a more uptempo beat, continued.
"I was told that he would not be needed, that it would only require us. We were the key in releasing Master Tabir from this place." Fir rubbed at his temples and drew his fingers and thumb back noting that he was beginning to perspire. The elven wizard squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself to bring his body under control. "I..." By the wings of Larilee, his insides were on fire! "I was also told to follow Gentry's protocols. There will be further information, I would assume, given on our exit."
Fir'umil was in considerable pain, and with that fact, his patience began to ebb. He bit his tongue before he could say something cross, instead speaking kinder words. "I trust Master Beleg implicitly, as...I...said. Let us bring Master Tabir to the Hall of Geros, have him meet the Inquisitor. In the meantime, I will send a summons to Master Beleg once we've exited this...infernal place!"
It took all his will not to double over in pain. He could feel something coursing through his veins...something eating at his center. "Besides, Karthan, there are enough wizards and sorcerers in this place to put a hole in the world..." The last came out a bit harsher than he intended. His hand came up immediately after saying it to forestall any anger. "My apologies, but I'm feeling a bit of discomfort at the moment. I should like to depart as soon as possible."
From the other side of the wood door, it sounded like Tabir was reaching the conclusion of his song. The music was becoming grander and more jubilant with every note.
Giving you a few more moments before Tabir emerges...
Fir’umil hazarded over to Tabir’s desk and brought over the desk chair which was mounted on useful wheels for maneuvering along the smooth stones around the area rug. ”Master, here, please be seated. My cousins and I are here seeking your aid.”
The old man was still sniffing at his hands, eyes closed in a memory of culinary adventure, but he took a seat as soon as he felt the chair behind him. ”Well of course you are, my boy.” Tabir responded through his hands.
Fir cleared his throat and continued, returning to the bed to sit next to Zandra. ”Master, there has been an attack upon three clerics of Ragathiel...”
”Ragathiel you say?” His voice took on a professorial tone for a brief moment. His hands dropped to his lap and his eyes opened, crisp blue intelligence bearing upon Fir’umil. ”Never heard of him. Is it catching?”
”No, Master, Ragathiel is an Empyreal Lord who has garnered a strong following out of Magnimar...”
Tabir interrupted again. ”Feeling a bit jumped up, this Ragathiel, for being the bastard son of a demon!”
”It is more related to these clerics...there was a weapon imbued by nefarious individuals with an enchantment that trapped their souls...”
Tabir clapped his hands together with such suddenness, the sound so loud, that all three elves jumped. ”I must see the bodies! I will need my lab...” He began stroking his beard with a practiced motion. ”Get those shrieking harpies they call students out of my lab and summon Ella...we will need to inspect the bodies at once!”
The old man stood so rapidly that the his roller chair shot backwards and hit the opposite wall. ”Well, what are we waiting for?”
Fir’umil winced inwardly. ”Master Tabir, Ella is gone...I don’t know how to say it...”
Tair’s mood shifted...darkened to a point of melancholy. ”Of course she is, my boy. Ella is dead, dead, dead...” he whispered.
He turned away from the three elves and clasped his gnarled hands behind his back. ”If you’ll excuse me for a moment...”
With that, Tabir walked across the room, slippered feet whooshing over the area rug and carrying him into the small adjacent room. A wooden door slammed shut behind him. A few moments later, the hissing sound of steam and squeaking sound of a turning gear...then running water. Not long after, they could hear singing mixed with sobbing coming from the behind the door, carried into the quarters on growing clouds of steam.
The song’s words were unintelligible, a language none of the elves had heard before. But nonetheless they could feel a sadness gripping at their hearts as the words were sung.
Fir nodded, "But you and i, Karthan, we have words to exchange and bad blood to rectify...*cough* Let us do so in better evirons..." He sketched the formal symbol of elvish oath in the air between them. "Family shall once again be our foundation...then deed...then trust. This is my oath to both of you...but especially you Karthan."
Forgive me on some of the years quoted here, I’m not making Fir a liar, but I need to revise my notes so the chronology lines up...
Fir’umil once again resisted the urge to lash out at his cousin. Without the comforting thrum of magic in his blood, the elven wizard’s thoughts were a bit clearer on how he seemed incessantly barbed by Karthan’s every word. Instead, he responded to Zandra’s question and in the process dodged Karthan’s baiting. Besides, Fir’umil was finally understanding more clearly from where the anger originated.
”It was Master Beleg who revealed that information to me, not the Grey. By that time, he was already incarcerated here.” Behind him, there was a small receiving area where stood a round, wooden table with a four chairs. It felt as though his very bones were turning to glass under his skin. Fir’umil stepped to one of the chairs and eased himself into it, trying to mask the shriek of pain erupting from his core. Bluff:1d20 ⇒ 8
”About twenty five years ago, there was an immense accident in Tabir the Grey’s laboratory. In that accident, his lab assistant was incinerated along with twelve other students of Alchemy who were there on an observation assignment.” Fir paused long enough to take a sip of his tincture...not so much for his throat, but more for the moment to gather his breath. ”He survived unscathed, but shortly after the accident, his mind began to fracture. There was another incident where he animated several shelves in the library by simply uttering the words to the spell with no thought to invocation. Not long after, the spell lord and regents of the school had him sent here.”
”Earlier, I told you Tabir was the one who’d informed me of my father’s death. At that time, and I believed I mentioned this point, I had not received the necessary permission to reveal Tabir’s true condition. Outside of us here, only Master Beleg, Liberios, Olivia and those who placed him here, everyone thinks Tabir is still an instructor here at the school.”
”How is that if he’s locked away?”Assuming this question would come out of one of you...
”There is a simulacrum safely ensconced in his laboratory, conducting experiments and tutoring students. The common knowledge is that he recovered from his malady and has since returned to a somewhat diminished capacity.” Fir’umil lay a hand upon the table, the one holding the mint-scented handkerchief. On it was a few dabs of fresh blood. When he noticed it, he maneuvered his fingers to tuck the material into the palm of his hand. Sleight of Hand:1d20 + 1 ⇒ (11) + 1 = 12
He cleared his throat and continued. ”Before his incarceration, something else happened to him. Something Master Beleg could not understand and had not the time to investigate before Tabir was locked away. It seemed after the incident in the library that Tabir’s personality had changed. He no longer was consistently...how did he put it...sharp or methodical. The Grey’s magical ability appeared diminished as well. In fact, he was unable to resist those who imprisoned him here and in fact agreed with the assessment. But his mind was scattered...” Fir shook his head. (A DC Perception Check of 12 will notice a drop of blood appearing at the corner of his lip.)
”Master Beleg believes that by freeing Tabir, there is a chance that his mind will begin to repair, perhaps even his magical ability. But the need now, when facing what is happening, is great enough that we must take the risk.” One more pause where he looked both of them in the eye. He cleared his voice...the air in the asylum was so incredibly stifling! ”I ask a lot for you both to put yourselves at risk. But perhaps it is I you should be viewing as a tool...an instrument to be used in whatever capacity to see that whatever or whomever is behind the Pattern does not see their plan come to fruition.”
This is the most open you’ve ever seen Fir’umil in all the years you’ve known him. There is no need to roll Sense Motive because your characters are seeing him plainly; an elf looking at a destiny far more fulfilling than the one he’d selfishly chosen.
Zandra: Heal Check (12):
Zandra sees that with the magic torn away from him, and all his professed arrogance wiped away, Fir’umil Osseus is dying. Only the runes and the elf’s connection to the arcane is keeping his body from wasting away to nothing.
Down the hall, the siblings (and Thor for that matter) can hear approaching footsteps.
Including a map of the Asylum for your use. Don’t worry, no combat, just wanted you to visualize.
"Add I said earlier, we have been denied access to the Grey...that is, until now. The opportunity to work with him directly well increase our effectiveness. I suppose what you saw in the courtyard was anticipation." Fir frowned. "She and I don't always agree, but we do share a measure of zealotry in this...calling."
"Gifts of Master Beleg and a sorceror who studies the art." Fir was beginning to feel the lack of their effects already. He breathed in more deeply, then continued. "A particularly nasty encounter with skinsaws two years ago. They are wards that reinforce my fortitude. Without them, I will waste away in a matter of weeks."
Fir’umil’s eyes were downcast. ”You speak truly, Karthan. But I keep this...” he placed fingers to his throat. ”...as a reminder of the first 135 years of my life. A reminder that all of the power I had sought, all the magic I’d given my soul over to possess...all of it with the goal of saving my father.” The wizard’s shoulders slumped. ”Only to find out it was all for nothing. I’d pushed away everyone in my life...including Hal’dorel.”
”You have no reason to believe me. Since you’ve arrived in Absalom both of you have seen the Fir’umil of the past. But the humility and loss of nearly fifty years of my life has directed my energies to the path my father had chosen for me all along. In a way, I think I found him in this new work.” The wizard took a deep breath, slow and sure so he wouldn’t cough. He took a step closer to Karthan. ”Our cousin is better off lending aid as he sees fit. He searches for clues about my father...about his past. No we didn’t separate on proper terms...I hadn’t accepted the truth of my father’s death at the time. If the gods are forgiving, perhaps I will be given a chance to repair that bridge, maybe even repay him for the years of being my defender and confidant.”
”What I can do now, is prove to you both that things are changing within me. Am I prone to my old ways? Yes. I still carry the same likes and dislikes that make me who I am. But the ambition and determination of my past is also part of what makes me an effective wizard now. I will not change that, but perhaps my deeds will go towards reclaiming a trust between us that should have been there all along.”
Fir'umil nodded thanks to Zandra, forcing his emotions to react to her step of faith rather than the expected questions from Karthan. To focus there would be to cause his hackles to rise. Of course, now, cut off from the life of magic, there would be little or nothing he could do to defend himself should Karthan decide to strike out of anger or perceived betrayal.
"Altabiric was one of your parents greatest friends, having met long before you were even born." Fir held up a hand to request patience. "Yes, I know how that sounds. Altabiric the Grey is only human...but his mastery of the arcane has lent him our lifespans. As I said, this place cuts off all connection to the world of magic but for those changes in us that have become a part of us. Our lifespans...the Grey's lifespan. You must understand the level of accomplishment in this man's life for him to achieve such a coup."
Fir'umil reached into his robes and withdrew his tincture, placing a drop on his tongue. He took a deep breath and continued. "When Olivia and I embarked on this crusade with Beleg and Liberios, we continued to run into various obstacles that essentially cut off our ability to research. We eventually gained access to Altabiric's library, but that has only garnered so much. I pleaded with Beleg and the spell lords here to tell me why I couldn't speak to Tabir, why Olivia and I were hamstrung in our efforts. If the Grey was such a close friend of my family, then why wouldn't he see me? I had crossed half a world just to find him...back when I had thought my father still lived..."
Fir'umil swallowed again, but this time it wasn't his throat that was trying to betray him. "Master Beleg revealed to us several months ago what had befallen the friend of my father and your parents. He also revealed that it would take three children of those friends to vouchsafe his release. It was not revealed to myself nor to Master Beleg why that was the case. Only that the provision was made and it was non-negotiable. It had to be three of the four remaining children...myself, Zandra, you or Hal'dorel, any combination of three. So things were put in motion to see that all of us were in Absalom." Fir gripped his staff and closed his eyes for a moment. "Perhaps if I'd known more at the time, I wouldn't have treated Hal'dorel so poorly. Perhaps he would still be here instead of the Lonely Coast...then Karthan, you would not be needed so."
Fir’umil nodded and retrieved the carved turtle and held it out in his palm before a brass plate inlaid with intricate carvings. After speaking an arcane command word, the turtle floated from his palm and phased into the brass-plated panel. Moments later the clicking and whirring of machined parts could be heard outside the tiny room.
The doors slid shut and the room shifted beneath their feet. The room was moving.
”The next area we will enter will be somewhat disturbing.” He turned to face the others and actually leaned against the brass handle that encompassed the tiny room. ”There is no way to say it but to come out with it; we are entering a secret area of the Arcanamirium. A place all the regents and spell lords would rather didn’t exist but does.”
The lift came to a stop, the doors sliding open with the same mechanical pronouncement with which they’d closed. The wooden turtle emerged from the brass panel and Fir’umil retrieved it from the air without looking, stuffing it into his robe’s sleeve. Into the tiny room in which they all stood drifted the sounds of insanity.
”This is an asylum constructed deep within the foundations of the Arcanamirium. Master Beleg accomplished much and sacrificed much to gain our access to this place. Unfortunately, so did Master Altabiric the Grey. He is a resident of this place, imprisoned here several years ago after a fire erupted in his laboratory on these grounds. A student died in the fire, and a part of the Grey’s mind did too.”
Fir’umil was the first off the lift, quickly turning back to forestall his cousins from departing the tiny room. They both could see Fir visibly shudder now that his feet were on the stone tiles at the opening a lengthy hallway that extended out. ”Before you emerge, realize the level of warding that is over this area. All magic save those workings that are permanently part of you are severed in this place. It is how those who are residents here are prevented from ever escaping.”
Still standing before them, he continued. ”Understand, I have spent a great deal of time exploring the Grey’s library, working closely with Master Beleg as he instructed me as my sponsor and mentor. When I arrived here the first time, my anticipation was to meet Tabir, but instead, Master Beleg took me on. The Grey is a crucial piece to the puzzle that is the Pattern. His knowledge of magic will aide us in uncovering just what or who may be behind these events. Needless to say, Olivia and I have waited a long time for you.”
Fir’umil looked to Karthan, a grave concern in his eyes. He was so close...so close! Their responses will be the next step or a cataclysmic set back... Fir thought to himself. ”Karthan, this next part you will not like. It was stipulated as part of his incarceration that only three people in unison could gain access to the Grey. Those three are here now. We are the key to freeing him from this menagerie. We are the key to freeing one of the most brilliant minds in generations.” He gestured behind him, his hand taking in the moanings of despair eminating from the hallway and the many dozens of barred doors. ”He suffers needlessly. A broken mind that we may have a chance to bring back to some semblance of sanity. His work is bound in books and scrolls, locked away until Altabir’s mind is allowed to access their secrets.” His words faded to a wheeze and then a coughing fit that doubled him over.
The wizard stepped back and leaned upon his staff, dabbing at a spot of blood at his lip with his handkerchief. ”He has the key to Sacerdos’ predicament. That much could be a start. If he fails, if his mind is too far gone to manage the task, then we return him to this place to languish.”
Any attempt to Sense Motive on Fir’umil results in you noting he is completely sincere. There is no ulterior motive at this point with the revelation of Tabir’s mental status and incarceration. He stands ready to answer your questions.
For if you step forward...:
The threshold of the lift acts as a barrier. As Zandra crosses it, her connection with the magic that has been part of her life is gone. Even her connection with Thor is severed. If she steps back into the tiny lift, her connection is restored.
Fir’umil leaned forward and looked his cousin in the eyes. ”I will make you that promise, Karthan. No magic will bind you.” He sat back in the carriage seat and gripped his staff in contemplation. ”I’m not picking a fight, cousin. But you must hold your temper in this place. While you may think this school is nothing but wizards and scholastics, there is an element here that focuses on martial skills as well.”
He cleared his throat to keep from coughing, drawing his handkerchief from his sleeve to breathe in the mint he’d crushed and worked into the material. ”Whether you like it or not, the festivities we just enjoyed with the Rook should be proof enough of the abilities you yourself may eventually acquire in the avenues of magic. If you avoid burning bridges here, and you so choose to take advantage of the opportunity, there is a ranger group here from whom you could learn a great deal.” Fir pinched the bridge of his nose, resisting the urge to comment on how it would take an astounding arrangement of difficulties of Karthan’s own making for his cousin to overcome before he arrived at the obvious course. Instead he sighed again. ”But I leave it to you to find your own way with respect to your education and future. For now, I suppose we should stay to the task at hand.”
There was a time when he’d felt the same way as Karthan did right then. Trapped behind the walls of a destiny he didn’t understand nor even wanted. But as the Pattern had expanded before he and Olivia’s efforts...as more and more was revealed...Fir’umil understood that between his own father and the parents of his cousins, the planned destiny they shared would lead to a better place than his own ambitions.
Outside the carriage, Hindre thumped once with this booted heel to let them know they were arriving at the first gatehouse to the Arcanamirium. After a few moments, the carriage rolled to a stop. ”I ask, out of courtesy, for you all to follow my instructions and extend a measure of trust.” It was one of the few times Fir’umil did not like the after effects of Kheegan’s grip on his throat so many months before. His crushed larynx lent his voice an improperly timed amount of looming darkness.
He let his words swirl in the carriage as he withdrew another item from his robe sleeve; a small wood carving of delicate intricacy. An object in the shape of a stylized turtle. Fir’umil handed the object to the guardsmen outside their carriage door.
The guardsmen was dressed in elaborate plate armor, a tabard of blacks and purples. A human. He took the turtle, examined it and simply returned it to Fir’umil’s outstretched hand. ”Good morning, Arcanscenti.” The guardsmen raised a gauntleted hand to signal the opening of the gate.
A moment later the carriage rolled forward.
”Arcanscenti?” the Inquisitor reflected. ”How long did it take you to achieve that rank?”
Fir’umil secreted away the turtle in his sleeve and rearranged his robes again. ”The day I was tested. The day I was brought on at the school.”
”Impressive.” Sacerdos commented.
It tempted at his ego but Fir’umil merely shrugged. At this point, the wizard had to see past his ego and to the present world. Dreaming of future glory was a waste of time.
They passed into the main arrival yard where the carriage’s ride became smoother over the paved stones, the horses’ shod hooves ringing out. About the courtyard were several buildings of varying forms and function. A library with mighty stone pillars carved into the likenesses of dragons, a marble staircase at its front with griffin statues at the base of the stairs welcoming all manner of student and teacher alike.
Another building rose several stories into the air, built in a simple cube design save for the climbing vines that seemed to encase it within nature’s hand. Twenty foot double doors stood open where the main atrium could be seen from the street. Despite the enclosed structure of the building with its measured windows all around, there appeared to be new-dawn sunlight bathing the interior.
Yet another building was surrounded by a thirty foot wall of solid stone, the building within tall enough to rise above the walls where its uppermost floors could be seen from the arrival yard. From within the walls could be heard explosions and the clatter of steel and the shouts of various languages. The main entry of to the structure was a solid iron portcullis through which an interior practice yard could be seen, wizards and warriors plying the trade of war within.
But the center of the Arcanamirium’s grounds drew the new arrivals attention as a whole. A spiraling tower rose from the ground to nearly mythic heights, the base of which could account for two city blocks. The stonework was detailed with chips of obsidian and gypsum all along the surface, giving the exterior walls the look of a pool of infinitely deep water.
It was at the front of the main building that the carriage came to a stop. A diminutive individual saw to the opening of the doors and a wood stair was put into place as the figure, a halfling female smiled greeting. “Arcanscenti Osseus, welcome back.” She bowed with respect, garbed in dark green robes of finely woven silk with an interior lining of a tight-furred animal skin. ”Letrious will be pleased you’ve returned.”
In a motion that may have taken his cousins by surprise, Fir’umil smiled and placed a friendly hand upon the halfling’s shoulder, gesturing with this staff for her to stand up straight. ”Greetings to you as well, Ana. Has Letrious been hounding you for the Book of Lesser Totems the entire time I’ve been out?”
Ana giggled but stopped her response short when she saw the others exiting the carriage. Instead of responding to Fir’umil’s question she bowed again. ”Greetings and welcome. I am Apprentice Ana Greenfields.”
Fir resisted the urge to sigh again. The halfling was close to his heart in her earnestness to learn magic. ”Ana, may I introduce my first cousins, Karthan and Zandra Dawnsetter. And also a new acquaintence, Sarcedos e’Niihl, Inquisitor of Ragathiel.” As Thor exited the carriage, the elven wizard noted the wide eyes on Ana’s face. ”And this mighty creature is Thorendel. He is companion to Zandra.”
”Honored to meet you all,” Ana bowed and stood with a bright smile that warmed the group with its enthusiasm and genuineness.
”Ana, if you would be so kind, I would ask that you escort Inquisitor Sacerdos to the Hall of Geros for me. In addition, if you would notify Alaric that I have returned and have him meet in the Hall as well. I will be taking my cousins on a quick visit.”
”It would be my pleasure Arcanscenti Osseus.” The halfling curtsied and held out a hand for Sacerdos. ”Master Inquisitor, I will be escort you to the Hall of Geros and see to your refreshment if you desire.” As she moved away, she spoke quickly to Fir’umil. ”Don’t worry, Letrious only asked a dozen times for the book.” She winked and led Sacerdos away.
Once they had departed, Fir’umil turned back to his cousins and Thor. ”We will enter now. Stay close to me and gird your minds. There are things you may see that will challenge your sense of what normal in the world outside this school. But as I said before, please trust me. Nothing in this place means you direct harm.”
Fir’umil looked over in response to his Karthan’s inquiry. ”Indeed, cousin. The smartest thing you’ve said all morning.” His hand slipped into one of the secret pouches of his robes of its own accord and withdrew a bit of dried soap and flakes of potpourri. ”Immundus Amove...” he spoke in the language of magic.
The clothing and belongings of those in the carriage began to have the bits of dried and drying blood and grime and sweat removed. In a matter of moments, all - save for the tiger - looked as though fresh from the launders.
”When we arrive at the Arcanamirium, Sacerdos, you will be escorted to an audience chamber. My cousins and I will first seek Tabir, and then meet you there. There are procedures and protocols that must be followed.” Fir’umil’s gaze fell upon all in the carriage. ”I’m sure all of you can understand the need for holding to protocol in this matter. Success in battle is one thing, but you now approach the most powerful center for magical learning in all of Golarion. I won’t have you embarrassing me.”
As the carriage traveled the roads of Absalom, they left the Ascendant Court behind and crossed into the Wise Quarter. The buildings became libraries, gathering halls and open forums. It was the home of several prominent schools and libraries, but none are so prestigious as the Arcanamirium. Scholars and philosophers from all over the world over congregated in the Wise Quarter to teach, research, and debate any topic known to mortals on Golarion. At its heart rose the Arcanamirium, climbing into the sky upon stones mortared with arcane energies.
Fir'umil subconsciously smoothed his robes and settled his mind. Soon, my master. Soon you will be free of this place!
