3. Mystic River

Mystic River


  • ((a week ago IG))

    His face is unfamiliar, yet the cocky headstrong attitude is not. One would think the elven would prove different, with their long years and engrained traditions. They are not. Corelleon’s chosen refuses my offer of aid, and I may as well chisel his fate in stone as he heads off to battle kobolds. I trail in his wake, unseen to all around me. The cats will play with this mouse, and I wish to see it.

    He does well at first. Enough to stroke his ego and draw him deeper into the swamp. This was always the Kobold’s game. Sacrifice a few to draw their victims in for the many. The mud clinging to his boots hampers his movement, and his armor sucks him down into the marsh weeds. Stones zing in from nowhere, some so wild they land at my feet. Enough catch him. His prayers sustain him for a while, but kobolds are used to that. They wear him down whilst the knife creeps in closer. It’s delivered with ruthless efficiency: from the back, up under the ribs, through the gap in cheap armor.

    The green swamp turns red as he goes down. His moans are pitiful and waning, like the tide going back out to sea. The Kobolds are wary. They pull back to see if he has friends. Perhaps they’ve guessed at my presence.

    I step closer and watch as the fountain of blood pumps out in ever dwindling spurts. His breath goes ragged and his eyes glaze over, then, with a terrible shudder, his lungs cease their function. The grasses of the swamp care not. Nor do the birds twittering in the brush. What more is one body to a swamp full of decay? I can picture the swamp cabbage sprouting from his bleached and rusted remains. Maybe a wild flower or two as a headstone. The slugs will be his mourners.

    The sudden zephyr stirring the saw grass is my first clue the elven’s story is not ended. It swirls around him in a frantic rush, lifting his body from the sludge and setting him on his feet like a child’s rag doll, his limbs draped at unnatural angles, as if the bowels of the earth are pulling him back down. The light erupts from his wound, then his mouth, and then the lifeless sockets of his eyes. The mud sheds from him like an old skin, falling away to reveal alabaster flesh that slowly regains the flush tones of a newborn child. His limbs twitch spastically and his chest fills again with air as the light subsides. I hear the sounds of kobolds turning tail in the grass and can’t help but wonder how they feel being children of a lesser god.

    Corelleon has saved his chosen this day, but I doubt he’ll learn anything from it.


  • … Mystic is lost in thought, puzzled over why she even offered her services to begin with. Her abilities are usually only offered to her closest companions.... might be boredom.... restless as she hasnt seen her friends for a year, perhaps she is just looking for something to do...

    ....................

    The candles flickered suddenly as the boil in the cauldron started to roll. Mystic added salt and daimond dust and the boil reduced itself to a simmer again as the smell of beeswax wafted about the room. It would soon be time to add the armor and begin the enchantment.

    She could feel them now. The flickers of the candles dancing about the room with a will of their own, drawing from the enchantment, and adding to it by their whim. There were so many this time.

    She tried to count them, but the shadows writhed and cavorted with each other in ways that seemed both playful and obscene, making it difficult to assess their numbers accurately. It was distracting.

    She tried pushing them from her mind. Distractions were dangerous when forming the complex weave of magical energies enchanting required. What were they up to? Why did more come every time she enchanted? Mystic shook her head to clear it. The magics and the motion of the shadows was making the room start to spin.

    Her throat burned for a glass of wine. She could imagine the cool of the glass on her lips. The temptation of simple pleasures was overwhelming. Her focus was wavering. She felt like she was wading upstream against a relentless current. It would be so easy to let the tension go and drift where the flow would take her.

    She checked the armor again, fretting over the setting for the Star Sapphire on the chest. She mentally walked her self through the complex enchantment that would let the wearer bend spells around the armor. It was no simple task. Magic, even blood magic, had rules, and they didn’t like to be manipulated in this fashion.

    The shadows had closed in while she was focused elsewhere. She could see them slipping in and out of the cauldron like it was a warm bath, feel their icy hands caressing her in unseemly ways that sent low voltage shocks up her spine. Every sense tingled, as she cloaked herself with a shadow shield joining them.

    She added the armor to the cauldron, wrapped in in her charms, barely remembering what spells she used, and what order they came in. Dimly she was aware the shadows were whispering suggestions in her ear. She wasn’t sure if she followed one or two of them. It was almost like they were taking control of her mind.

    Smoke burned her eyes as her vision blurred. She rubbed them and the room spun hard to the left, taking her off her feet, driving her to the floor, scattering the flickering shadows gathered about her. Sensing her weakness they piled in on her, each trying to be the first to take advantage of her exhausted state. It felt like being wrapped in ice.

    With one last flick of her wrist, she snuffed the candles, feeling a small satisfaction as the darkness consumed the shadows.

    Then the darkness took her as well.


  • The silence in the Coppers feels like a gnawing void in the bottom of my stomach. Where have they all gone? I have too many questions I don’t have answers for. There are plans I need them for, but I refuse to wallow in idle time. The very air in the Coppers has turned into a loathsome hanging stagnation that draws the one’s spirit into the morass of melancholy futility. Fresh air and raised voices beckon me, even if only to idle prattle.

    A crackling fire holds the goblin filled darkness at bay, or so hopes the small village that’s seen too many assaults to be anything more than a smoking husk. It isn’t hard to imagine burning steeples and trampled bodies oozing their last into the turf to the relentless beat of goblin war drums.

    The knights waits like so many others, drawn by conflict and visions of glories as yet unachieved. Some more eager than others. Oh so eager. The fame and renown that comes with triumph on the battle pitch is not the only thing he lusts for. Desires, even while he can only guess at mine.

    Youth always has that problem. I’ll find my satisfaction in a sumptuous glass of vintage wine, savored by candlelight in streaming bath of crimson, soaking myself until my thirst is quenched, wearing nothing more than an iron key around my neck, while the fires crackle, and the silence is no more.


  • Plans for the evening

    Boiling rats…

    The water from the storm wasn’t hot enough to boil them in a traditional sense. It was, however, enough to flood their burrows and hidey spots, making them boil to the surface like some great writhing brown wave flashing by in the shorts bursts when the lightning cleaved the night. They beset Lisa and I in the commons in a fight that was made all the more difficult by the cascades of lightning that seemed intent on tearing Peltarch apart blinding us every few seconds.

    It was a hellish storm.

    I muttered a few words of power, and green vapors rose from the ground, swirling about me, leaving smoldering piles of rats in a circle around me. It was hard to hold back my laughter.

    The guard captain and I took refuge from the deluge in the Mermaid. Kat poured wine, and the fire felt good after the soaking. Maybe the dead rats would wash away in the flood. The lightning continued to pound the city, and although it faded into the distance for a while, it soon returned. A loose shutter beat against the side of the inn giving the strangest impression it was applauding the lightning’s encore performance. The clop-clop of horse hooves and the squeaky groan of a wagon wheel added to the feel of a stage performance.

    Wagon wheels? At three in the morning during the worst storm in months? Curiosity got the better of me and I went back out into the sodden night to see who the foolish peasant might be.

    It was tough to make anything out at first. The driving rain made the darkness near complete, but I did see him eventually. A tall man, leading two teams of wagon pulling horses, his hood up against the rain and his cloak shedding water like an oiled duck. Sharp looking eyes peered out at me from under the hood, along with a few wavy locks of dark hair. I knew him.

    “Mr Razier!”

    I flashed him a smile and he turned back the hood of his cloak as he stepped under the eve. A bolt of lightning struck the ground near Vanities, and the thunder shook the buildings.

    “Miss River.”

    There was an amused twinkle in his eye and a smile crept across his face showing almost too much of his near perfect teeth. My dealings with Razier Bleylock have shown me a man who’s elusiveness is almost matched by his charm. He gives the impression, on occasion, of a wolf wandering through the sheep pen for looking for a way to pass the time. I edged out into the rain to walk along the wagon side.

    “You’re from the Isle of Storms, did you bring this storm with you?”

    He doesn’t even look up. “Of course. This, sadly, is what I’m used to.”

    I make it to the back and pull one of the strings holding the tarp down. He isn’t looking my way, which makes it too easy to be fun.

    “What are you hauling in these wagons in the dead of night? Is your project finished?”

    Another bolt of lightning strikes up by the south gate, and the brief flash shows me two wagons with overloaded springs and oil tarps over lumpy cargo.

    “Aye, it is. Have a look if you must.”

    His voice is a study in lack of concern, but a few other faces are watching now. I doubt he wants to draw a crowd. I pull up the tarp on the first wagon enough to look in. I count five large gears made from a metal I don’t recognize. The largest is easily six feet across. I reach out to touch one while Razier says something to one of the onlookers. I’m rewarded with a jolt of electricity that passes through my entire body. I yelp in surprise, although there is no pain, only a pronounced tingle that leaves a prickly feeling in it’s wake. It is in no way pleasant.

    I return to Razier at the head of the horse team. I will find out what he’s up to. His clockworks story has been fraying at the edges.

    “Is your cargo causing all this lightning?” I watch his expressions hoping he’ll give something away I can make use of.

    “No.”

    Blunt certainty. Another bolt of lightning strikes dangerously close to us and I’m sure he’s being less then forthcoming.

    “It gave me a shock.”

    “An unexpected effect of the metallurgy. It seems to accumulate static.”

    Another bolt hits the ground closer then the last. He’s starting to look nervous.

    “Has your Duke arrived?”

    This time he looks up at the sky. Then back to me, a grin creeping across his face.

    “Perhaps you would be so gracious as to allow me to take you to dinner and discuss this further?”

    I feel another tingle as a bolt of lightning dashes across the sky in a jagged fork. This is getting dangerous.

    “You didn’t answer my question.” I replied.

    “He’s here. Dinner?”

    At last, a bargaining chip with him. Men are nothing if they aren’t predictable. Who am I to give up an advantage? I can press for a little more.

    “I’d like to see those plans of yours.”

    A sudden look of alarm crosses his face. Did I go too far? Tip my hand too much? The mage had his hands on them once and didn’t look at them. I don’t like missed opportunities. His composure returns rapidly.

    “In all the hustle, I forgot to get them back from the dwarves. Thank you Miss River for reminding me.”

    “You don’t want to disappoint your duke. We can stop for dinner at the Grapevine on our way by. Dinner and maybe something else.”

    I’m done here. I can feel his eyes watch me as I walk away.

    “Agreed. Now if you’ll pardon me, I have a ship to catch.”

    He starts the team off and continues to the docks. I have to be quick. There’s a chance here I can’t let slip by.


  • Sitting in the library Mystic is writing down notes on things important to bring to the others. She had spent most of the afternoon with Lauren and Razier, searching for books on fire, and finally it had given some results.

    Now there were preparations to be made:

    The burning Valley of Setesh - the heart of the flame

    • Give piece of canvas cloth to Kyan, prepare teleportation
    • Gather the travelers and tell them what to expect
    • Tell them the story about the mage attempt to acquire the heart of the flame

    Creatures

    • Spiders
    • Scorpions
    • Elementals (learn more about them)
    • Para elementals??
    • Elemental King - Homage – do we bring gold with us or something else

    To buy:

    • Elemental protection
    • Protection from poison
    • Anything else that is need after further research, delegate research

    Flames
    The sand seem to be covering hard rock there are cracks in the surface from where the flames erupt, its seems they are fuelled by some gas. Is it toxic?

    Places of interest

    • Oasis (possible rest)
    • Cave (you find it when you see the obelisks - great danger)

    Then on another page

    The Duke and the forge South of Norwick

    What is the Duke and Razier really trying to accomplish, we should try to get ahold of the blueprints of their mechanical clock work.

    Why haven’t the Duke made his notice yet?

    Ask for funding for his dirty work, if we are risking our lives he got to show us the gold for it.

    She folds the two parchements and tucks them inside her blouse, she stands up from the desk and stretches . Its been a long day. She thanks Laureen for her help on the way out.


  • Bags are packet she is casually talking with her assistant as Lector walks in.

    "Oh I have been looking for you Lector.. and finally you show up"
    "I have something for you Mystic"
    "So do I for you"

    Lector hands her a note, on the bottom of the note there is a sum. Mystic smiles to herself

    "Well well what on earth will I do with all this…"

    She folds the bill and tucks it away in a hidden pocket inside her cloak, she then unties a set of keys from her belt. Handing them over she says with a surprisingly stern voice.
    :

    "You will take good care of the lodge you hear me"

    There is a moment of silence and with the mutual sentiment of the seriousness in the situation they both reach out for a comforting hug.

    As she lets go she gives him a final firm nod, and heads towards the door but just before vanishing she stops … “.and don’t mind Grobble… he be here from time to time… you know rat extermination.”

    A soft chuckle .. "I be around for a while trying to sell off some trinkets"… then its southbound for Thay. Be a good boy… now stay focused.. balanced an all that..." her light laughter seem to remain in the hall some time after shes gone.


  • … to the legion Tower.

    Dear Rom,

    As we seem to miss each other through our passing’s in Peltarch I am writing you this letter.

    As you know, as I have no children, and should anything happen to me I have made you the beneficiary of my estate and wealth. Given your occupation and loyalty to the legion my thought, as I am still alive, is that the lodge would best come to its use if acquired by entrepreneurs, that have the time and the appropriate skills to not only care for it, but also develop it to something better than it currently is.

    As it happens I have been offered a great deal of gold for the Mystical Lodge, which I am not willing to decline. Furthermore, I do not know if this opportunity will present itself again. As my mother told me, everything is for sale for the right price, never pass a good opportunity, you will regret it for the rest of your life.

    The lodge is reserved for inspection, I need to file the appropriate papers with the city officials, I presume some formal documents are needed in order for the purchase to be legally binding and correct.

    Now this doesn’t mean that you will lose what was originally intended for you. The gold I acquire through the change of ownership will be given to you. I cannot open an account in your name however; I will as the deed is signed deliver the sum of gold to our mutual and most loyal friend Gnarl Horst.

    I will also arrange a private auction and I have finally found an auctioneer, a skilled craftsman, which has great knowledge of the value of the items that I hold in my possession. In the coming weeks I will plan, categorize items, set a date and send out invitations for the auction, things that are not sold I will personally hand out to the people I know have need of items but never seem to have the means or luck to acquire them. This way I can provide those loyal to the region and those who protect it with simple means have the opportunity acquiring something that will increase their chances of survival should the citizens of the region have a need to defend themselves.

    I will continue the correspondence with you to let you know of the progress

    Love

    Mystic River


  • Something is wrong

    Mystic grabs the quill to write in her journal, frustrated she reaches for the feathered pencil, but it seems to escape her grasp several times, before she finally holds it firmly in her hand. She frowns cursing while she is struggling writing:

    Something is wrong, but then what could I expect being raised by a man of death. The days pass and I become weaker and weaker, I wander around in the lodge, with a blanket around my shoulders. My golden locks seem more like powdered ash and my skin has gone pale, almost transparent. I avoid company, its for the best I don’t have the energy for it anyways.

    It’s time to write my will and testament, I have no idea what is happening to me, but this could hardly be a good thing, who knows if I will be here come dawn or if I have been consumed by the shadows forever. I will try to greet everyone as they expect of me but it is harder and harder to keep up the facade not to worry those dear and close to me.

    I will try to grasp on to life and welcome all warm energy given, but I am afraid my will is weakening.

    ….................................

    The will and testament of
    Mystic River, Mystic Lodge Enchantress and citizen of Peltarch

    I, Mystic River being of sound and disposing mind, memory and understanding; and after consideration of all persons, with the full knowledge of the nature of my assets, do hereby make publish and declare my last will and testament.

    In the case there should neither be a husband nor children, I hereby devise and bequeath each and everything of value including real property, personal property and mixed properties to Romulus Grey.

    In the event Romulus Grey should predecease me, or fail to survive for a period of three months following the date of my death, then and in such event, the devise and bequest to him should fail and the same should be devised and bequeathed as following:

    The lodge and the enchanting facility including the shoppe should be left to Eragor and Lector ownership divided to a half each.

    All gold should be moved from my personal account to the account of the orphanage in Peltarch

    All items in the Droibos storage and the chest itself to Andrew Brightdawn.

    Chosen executor of this will and testament, Gnarl Horst

    This last Will and Testament is subject to change should there be obvious challenges making execution impossible and I, Mystic River, still be alive and in disposing mind to make the necessary adjustments.

    –-------------------------------------

    Finally she scribbles the date and signs the page, she then rips it out of her journal, rolls it up and tucks it in her jewellery box.


  • The last thing I could remember seeing was the bright arrows - the norther lights - over the cavern ceiling.

    I lay still now, soaking in the warmth of the body next to me, listening to the soft comforting crackle of the fire on the hearth. The delightfully familiar scent of lavender, ever present in my lodge, tickled at my nose, awakening my consciousness, bringing with it sensations of happiness and relief. Fragments of my memories return slowly.

    I am alive.

    Again.

    I did not expect it this time. Certainly not from him, and yet this is the second time he has brought me back. It seems he is the only one willing to shackle my soul to the world of the living. What is his reason? I ponder for a moment what remains a mystery me…

    –--

    They had both been standing over me when I had awakened in Oscura. My skin rebelled against the harsh scratchiness of the tattered rags I was wearing. The expected velvety silk embrace of my red dress was gone, as were the rest of my belongings, save for my soulbound dagger Athme, whose hilt pressed firmly into my thigh.

    The Mage directed the man I’ve come to know as Victor to carry me back to the lodge while he cleared the path ahead of us.

    Victor had borne me through the door, then gently set me down on the large cushions of the lounge. After that, he excused himself, and departed with the soft sounds of the door closing in his wake. Both men had been quite silent through the entire trip, or perhaps I had been drifting in and out of consciousness. I really couldn’t be sure.

    The Mage broke the silence first, his voice demure, yet still carrying the confident power that has always clung to him. “I don’t know of your belongings, but I will take care of you.”

    He took the moment to lay down beside me, giving me thoughts I found ironic and darkly mirth filled. What could a man of death give to a woman struggling back to life? I guess the world works in ways too mysterious for my understanding.

    My thoughts drifted as I hovered on the boundary of exhaustion and sleep. One kept returning to my mind in a way that was almost morbidly comic: I really needed to write a will and testament. Including my accounts and property, my wealth is considerable. I have no children. I’ve worked too hard for it to not to go where I choose. This must be done as soon as I regain my strength.

    I feel him moving next to me now, but I pretend to be asleep, savoring the moment for a while, knowing that at least one cares for me and my well being.

    How Precious.


  • As so many times before she was entering the damp caverns to collect trinkets, gems, scrolls for friends, who needed it. Suddenly she heard Almaz hissing and she turned the corner, in a distance she saw the hoard of kobolds and then their well-known arrows lit the cavern like the great northern lights.

    The black cat leaped forward as she was trying to stop the inevitable

    “No Almaz” she cried, and the last breath of air left her body and all went very still.


  • @61303508e2:

    Dear Rom

    I have missed you greatly, the world around me is not the same without you. You are the best friend one could ever expect to have.

    Regarding Sirion, I am well aware of his habits. I have already suffered his ill wish towards me by following me around, which resulted in Ardents accusation about me some years back. I have never laid a hand on anyone… yet. But I can’t promise Sirion will walk free from my anger should he once again accuse me wrongfully.

    In my opinion, Sirion is a coward that hides behind arrogance and a self-image that gives the elven race a bad reputation. He is certainly not a man he is a rat with long ears and even worse a rat with an undetermined gender.

    Yes, I found his horse; well it looked like his horse anyways, by my house. I have to admit that I let my thought wander and play with all possible things I could do with it, but I am not that person. It was only and observation I will not waste my time on a horse owned by a rat.

    Anyways, Sirion was not with us. Concerning my companion my own reputation is already in the gutter it really doesn’t matter whom I travel with, I think. I am so called “quilty by association” a life I have come to accept.

    But under my roof my rules, and I have spoken with Lector, the druid follower of Silvanus a great deal about “keeping the balance”. He has become a good friend of mine and his constant presence is very much appreciated, he is quite domestic, he is quite the chef.

    Hope to see you soon

    Love
    Mystic


  • @b80f22a916:

    Dearest Mystic,

    I missed getting to speak to you the last couple of days, but I had an observation and a question. I heard that you went to the Underdark with a man called Victor, and an unnamed companion who I presume was Kyan. Please continue not to name him in any public forum.

    I used my GPS to determine how deep inside the Underdark you were, so that I might possibly join you. My GPS indicated that Sirion was in the Underdark at the Grand Staircase. Was he with you too? If not, were you ever in that location?

    I ask for two reasons. Sirion likes to follow adventureres invisibly. He has done it many times. Second, later that day, I found his horse tethered outside your lodge. It remained there for a couple of days.

    It doesn't bother me in the slightest that Sirion was in your party, so long as you knew about it. If not, I just wanted to make you aware of the possibility that he was following you and Kyan around.

    Romulus


  • With her leather bound book of charms resting heavily upon her lap, Mystic scribbled…

    Something happened, I was on my way back through the caverns with my companion’s, one of them a “new face in town” named Victor. Suddenly a man appeared, or rather, erupted stylishly from the hell pit itself it seemed. I have to admit it scared me at first, however, he approached us with good manners, and his voice was not harsh, almost friendly. Not friendly enough though, to convince me to completely drop my senses of “Flight alert”.

    My companion greeted him like a long lost friend, naturally this revealed that they seemed to know each other quite well, which came as a surprised to me, as my companion never spoken of him before. Anyways, I decided it was best for me to keep quiet and listen.

    The man before us seemed genuinly concerned and spoke of doppelgangers.. how odd.. then something about the Hornleaf family. I will need to make some research on this family name, I am too curious not to.

    He asked us a favor with the promise of rewards. It seemed easy enough. I just have to throw another dinner party…

    I still wonder how he knew my name….


  • Au retour

    A bit tired after a long trip east, Mystic returns to Narfell through Peltarch then, finally, on to the lodge, happy to be back home.

    She left each her friends with the task of safeguarding the place during her absence, and she hoped to find everything still in order on her arrival. She opens the door, and at first glance it all seems normal. Dropping her luggage in the middle of the room, she heads straight to the chest, and opens the lid, reviewing the items inside. She nods to herself, then heads for her private room unlocks and peeks in. All is in order. She takes a deep breath and turns, walking to the enchanting room. She sees the gate is open and her pace quickens towards it.

    Inside, on the floor are tipped and empty bottles of strong drink. Mystic bends down to pick one of them up and sniffs it…

    “Ewww,” she blurts out, then dry heaves in disgust. She cover her mouth and swallows hard fighting back of a recurrence of her morning's breakfast. “What the hell have the boys been drinking?”

    She continues further into the room, only to find more of the bottles scattered over on the floor and counter. Something else catches her eye: ladies black lingerie, then further back, silk scarf restraints and a pair of thigh high leather boots.

    “Oh my…” she whispers.

    She follows the trail of the dropped items, reaching down to pick them up one by one, then suddenly slips on some strange wet substance on the floor, her legs going up in the air as she falls heavily on her behind.

    “Damned” she blurts out.

    Steadying herself, she leans back on her hands, only to drop them into a substance that is sticky yet slippery at the same time. She sits down, rubbing her fingers together, feeling the wet lubricant between her delicate digits. Raising her hand to her nose, she smells it tenatively, remembering the foul stench of the liquor.

    Mystic bursts out into hearty laugh as she remembers the scent from the Wilting Flower. In the corner, under a bench, she sees the open and empty flask of body oil...

    "Now boys... I am disappointed. Where is the whip? And the shackles…"

    She pauses for a moment to consider what has happened, an amused smile crossing her face.

    "I do believe I will have a serious talk with them as soon as I clean this up."

    She giggles to herself while happily singing, picking up the the rest of it as she goes. The spirit bottles she empties and places in an orderly fashion on a shelf. The rest of the items… well... those she carries to her own private back room... for her own pleasures.


  • @950de7b1e6:

    Dear Master Z
    I thank you again for your hospitality showing me your own home I am certainley impressed by its grandeur. Now, I have some more orders for you. I need a finely crafted belt and a pair of boots, they are meant to be enchanted. Please let me know what you can offer, if you make your way up here, let me know, and I will have dinner ready for you.

    Kind regards
    Mystic River


  • As she can hear the eager talks, laughters outside her room.. she scribbles quickly on a note

    @e22fa1f120:

    Dear friend
    I havent seen you for a very long time, where ever you are, please come visit me. You find me in the newly built lodge south west of Peltarch. There is something I need you to do for me. I will be going away soon and this cannot wait.

    Mystic


  • Soles of the Damned
    Dancing flickers of candlelight reflected from the gold embossed spines of the books on the shelves of the Oscura Library, giving the feel of predator’s eyes watching from the darkness. Mystic sat in the center of the thaumaturgic triangle painstakingly inscribed inside a magic circle, whose wards were drawn in a smoldering mixture of coal and dampened oak chips, while candles burning at all three points of the triangle shedding their pale light. The smell was a heady combination brimstone and the smoke of spent wine barrels burning.

    Higgins’ book lay open before her as she meditated. With Iathouz’s help they had found two subtle traps in the lich’s scribbled notes. The first was in the use a pentagram in place of the triangle, the former made to keep summons inside, while the less used triangle was used to keep unwanted visitors out, but that was only half of the trap. The second, and more insidious, was in the reversal of an eha-doh rune that would have caused one of the lines of power to run out from the caster in the circle, instead of to them, leaving the mage drained of magic and at the mercies of whatever was attracted by the power emanating from the circle. They had only caught that one because Mystic had remarked on a misspelled word in the notes written in the margins. It left Mystic feeling less confident then she wanted to be, and such things, she knew, could be dangerous on their own…

    The boots were a marvel of craftsmanship. Tooled displacer beast hide formed into the sturdy shoes the dwarves favored for their mining trips into the damp and slippery stoned underdark. They had been meticulously fitted to their future owner, who needed them enchanted to make the undead hunter more nimble in battle. The irony was not lost on Mystic as she once again looked over the translation of the Lich’s notes.

    She had previously accomplished her normal routine, using her spells and magical oils to enhance the leather. Water from an east running stream, beeswax, her enchanting oil mixture, the Grace of Cats spell, Armor of Mages… All these things had become simple to her, but the quest for knowledge and power never ended, so her needs pushed her to test her limits. The Blood Binding of Essence was a challenge for any mage.

    Mystic’s eyes darted to the skinned carcass of the displacer beast on the table just outside the circle; it was the same one the leather for the boots was made from, carefully preserved by the instructions in Higgins’ book. It had taken her hours to carefully dissect the creature, pinning it muscle by muscle to the table, then marking the points where the essence of it concentrated so she could bind them to the leather of the boots, enhancing the properties she had all ready imbued them with.

    She closed her eyes, focusing her power first, then seeking out the assets she had available to assist her. She found her dagger Athme with the eye of her mind and drew upon it for control and protection before releasing the enslaved shadow from her ring. She felt the temperature inside the triangle drop as the shadow swirled around her, trailing its icy cold fingers across her skin and pulling at her hair in its desperate hunger to feed. It was a creature that knew how to wrench the essences of the living from them, and now it would help her tear them from the dead.

    The shadow rebelled against light from the candles, threatening to snuff them out, but it’s will was no longer its own, becoming an extension of its mistress. Mystic held up the vial of blood from the displacer beast, teasing the shadow with it. The shadow moaned a keening note, clawing at the stoppered vial feebly, hoping for the merest taste to sate it’s burning appetite. Mystic bound it tighter with a line of force, then sent it out through the circle.

    “Go, remove it’s essence and send it to me. Take nothing for yourself, I will feed you, my pet, when the time comes.”

    The shadow swooped low in subservience, then oozed up over the tabletop, rooting its way into the carcass, burrowing deeper in search of its prize. Bits of flesh and pieces of bone vomited forth from the remains as the shadow tore into its work with glee. Mystic extended her will and pulled the essences to her, sorting through for what she desired. She could feel the creature’s power, its ferocity, its awareness, and its agility. She wrapped the last two traits with a spell of eagles splendor as she poured the blood into the boots and them directed the spell to bind itself through the blood and into the boots, forming a permanent bond. The blood turned from crimson to a dark brooding purple, then seeped into the boots, leaving the black leather stained with a subtle purple sheen. Taking Athme in her hand, she pricked her finger, adding a drop of her own blood to the inner sole of each shoe. The boots would do more then merely protect the paladin they were fitted for, they would also appeal to his vanity, leaving him vulnerable to her whispered suggestions in the future.

    Drained, she pulled the shadow back to her, noticing for the first time that the darkness outside the thaumaturgic triangle was skulking about on its own. She watched as a crack of lightning from the outer circle drove off one of the…things… as it tried to test the protective wards. Snarls came for the direction of the table as something unseen tore the carcass apart in a fury of rage.

    It would take time to drive them all off, but from inside the wards, she had nothing but time.


  • In a more favorably disposition the following correspondance took place

    @6b1475503f:

    Dearest Master Z
    I have come in need of some leather works. To be more exact finely made Master Work Dwarven Flat Bottomed Boots. Actually I need two pairs of them. What is your price for a swift delivery?

    Kind regards
    Mystic River

    @6b1475503f:

    Miss Mystic,

    It is with regret, I must inform you that we do not currently employ anyone capable of crafting such boots.

    I haven't tried myself, but I have often attempted to craft items that are better know to be crafted by the other races of Faerun. Unfortunately, I have not been too successful.

    I do have a pair that is of standard quality, and I will attempt to figure out the secret that makes them so special. We shall see if I am successful.

    Z

    P.S. Perhaps I can convince one of my Dwarven workers to take up tanning so they can learn how to craft such boots.


  • Mystic sits by one of the desks in the Oscuran library writing a letter, while she lets the quill dance over a piece of parchment, she chuckles to herself:

    @7318c0d6dc:

    Mr de Garmond,

    I am truly flattered that you would think of me when you have need of some 9,000 gold coins. Whilst such a sum is not impossible, it is considerable, and I’m afraid that to give it to you would cause severe damage to your otherwise sterling reputation. It seems unseemly that a Knight of quality would take to begging in the streets of Peltarch like some common waif. Might I suggest you try the more common and acceptable means that Knights have used in the past to raise money? In case you are unfamiliar, I shall list them for you.

    1. Extort the peasantry for “protection.” For a slim investment, you can have bandits burn a few farmers fields and then ride in and chase them away for a sizable percentage at harvest.

    2. Marry into a wealthy family.

    3. Bed a rich, ugly, married woman. If you are any good, she will certainly pay to keep you, and if not, then blackmail is still an option.

    4. Have your Temple declare a holy war, and demand the peasants be taxed more to support it (you).

    5. Slay a dragon and take it’s hoard. This may be dangerous. I suggest the time honored tradition of sending your squire in first.

    If these options are less to your liking, you could try more economical means like having the senate make corners illegal, thereby denying the “darkness” good places to hide in. When you are prepared to actually have something enchanted, then maybe I can be of assistance. I can assure you, with the proper tribute, I can bless your rings and sword and armor. There will be no maybe’s. If you’re good, I may even give you a discount.

    Sincerely yours,

    Mystic River
    Enchantress


  • Vanquising Evil

    A young knight David de Garmond a follower of Milil arranges various meetings with the more wealthy families in Peltarch. Then surprisingly a letter finds its way to Mystic

    @e04561c398:

    Ms River
    I have asked to see you as I seek a Patron or Patrons to aid me in vanquishing evil in the lands. I serve Milil as a holy warrior and wish to clear the evil from the lands and bring light and song where there was silence and darkness.

    I require coins in this war. I have been praying to Milil of late and asking for tools of great power to help in my quest.

    I believe with an appropriate tribute Milil will bless my rings, armor and sword with such power that the evil lurking in dark corners will quake and tremble at the sight of them."

    The letter further explains in more detail of his needs there is a ring, and a holy sword even an armour amongst his requests. Then in the end…

    I seek your assistance. I require 3,000gp for each item at this stage - who will step up and help me with such? Any of you?"

    Humbly awaiting your response and may Milil bless your family with lives of joy and song.

    David de Garmond