Postby Lorsalian » Sun Aug 22, 2004 10:35 pm
A bell tolled in the tower above, the sound shimmering in the cool coastal air, beckoning Lorsalian to continue toward the tower as the sun rose behind him. He considered briefly using magic to ring the bell an extra time as a joking announcement of himself, but considering how the village of Menden relied on it, he considered. Lorsalian thought often of the time he had spent here recovering from his fall half-way through the elfgate, years earlier, and that cast iron bell.
Cast bell - Caisen Uhspell - Lorsalian snickered to himself. On his first trip, he didn't know enough common to ask for water, and the barmaid thought his elven speech and gestures to be an evil spell - his appearance then, a weak figure wearing torn rags, and a furiously red chest wound, only amplified her screams. The warrior who gallantly lept to her defense in the bar nearly killed him.
"Young elf!"
Bounding up the trail from the monastery - well, as much bounding as is possible for a man who leaned on a staff - came Erahbam, the priest who had so long ago persuaded the warrior who knocked Lor unconscious not to continue his attack. To hear it from the priest later, the staff he wielded had knocked the sword-wielding man to the ground, and his brothers had arrived to carry the elf back to the room he had woken in, and the warrior drug back to the bar. Judging from the discussions the young elf had with him, however, Lorsalian thought it was more to have been a tongue-lashing. The warrior might have preferred the staff, however.
"Erahbam, old friend!" he called out, quickening to a jog to close the distance. The priest winced slightly at Lor's emphasis on the word old, but joined with the chuckling as the ranger clapped his friend on the back and moved to escort him back to the building.
"We've learned much from that sample you left us. We barely have a pinch of the original left, but even the partial match we've managed to put together has saved many lives over the years. Your mother is quite gifted."
"I'll get you another sample next time I talk to her. She'll be overjoyed to have someone learn from her efforts, and even more for the praise."
"But .. I thought you were still looking ... why do we still ... ?"
"She never told me - and I never asked. If you really want, I can talk to her about writing it down for you. I'll seal it in a good case I have, and you can read it - if you promise not to tell me."
"But ..." Erahbam stuttered, apparently still in shock.
"... why don't I want to know?" Lorsalian finished for him, shrugging, "Need something to strive for. Who knows? There might be something on this side of the Endless Sea that even surpasses what is on the isle."
"Which reminds me," Lorsalian continued, pulling a large brown root from a pouch at his belt, "I found this in a small village to the east. Think its called a Saspar root. Really dry and a bit bitter, but properly brewed, the locals drink it as a treat - it gives a bit of creaminess to a drink. I've watched them do it, and no milk, butter, or anything similar was added. I think it could be a useful ingredient."
They continued their discussions of herbalism well into the evening, Lorsalian eventually promising to obtain a few clues from his mother next he visited her.
"I truly enjoy these discussions, young elf. But, have you come for anything else? We could talk about our progress for weeks, but I wouldn't want to keep you."
"And you still may. I'll need something to talk about in the evenings, and I'll most likely be here for that long this visit. I'd like to use your library. I need to know all I can about the one we talked of earlier."
"Auz --"
Lorsalian nodded, "I do sometimes wonder why such weapons that would be effective could not be made anew. If this evil threatens your lord as well ... "
Erahbam sighed. "The existence of such a thing would be a threat to every single God if the enchantments could be altered - and given enough time, they probably could be. What would happen if a disciple of Shevarash decided to take the fight to Lloth herself? Or someone decided that Torm's justice should have no place in the world" That destruction would damage the balance, and so the weapons themselves become a threat to Ao's balance. Would you then create more?"
Lorsalian's mind reeled, and he decided to change the subject, "And also about the types of drives that would cause a spirit to remain and be able to call on so much of its original power."
"Halastar's apprentice?"
Lorsalian nodded. "Trobriand."
"Of course, young elf. Just be sure to tell us of anything you should find - don't assume we already know."
Lorsalian nodded, hanging his head for a time. The bone bound drow tome he had told Erahbam to be a treatise on gardening had turned out to be one of necromancy - a sick sort of irony - and had caused young Akansu, the foundling whose hunger that night was the very reason Erahbam was in town to save a young elf, to be cast out to follow his new art. There was nothing he could say in response. He drew in a deep breath, his eyes closed, and nodded again.
Erahbam was kind enough to be the one to change the subject this time. "Others have sought answers from the oracle of Deneir. Why concern yourself with mere written texts?"
"The oracle would never answer questions like 'What do you think of Trobriand?' or 'How does a spirit gain so much power?' or 'What happened so long ago?'. He responds only with 'yes' or 'no'. Besides, it was time for a visit regardless, my friend," Lorsalian replied, grinning " he paused briefly before 'friend' but did not say 'old' this time.
Each began to recount what had happened so far ...
A massive army of mortals had long ago failed to destroy an evil being, but their gods had succeeded in confining it. Thousands of years passed, during which the prison was watched over by powerful dragons, who slept until the prison was no longer sufficient. A silver dragon named Tsakchanar who sometimes took the form of an elven woman was one who watched over these sleepers, and periodically reinforced the wards.
The spell weakened. Perhaps due to a taint somehow introduced to the prism used in the spell needed to reinforce the prison, and to the supernatural upheavals of the Times of Troubles. The being known as Auzorm'tvorl escaped to begin influencing others to his return to full power in a physical body. Since he corrupted and eventually destroyed anything he touched, such would be a difficult feat.
Lorsalian still was unsure how the stone monoliths had come to be, but knew them important to the cause against this being. It was rumors of a contract to Kang, the guidmaster of Waterdeep's assassins, to destroy one of these that first introduced Lor to the name Trobriand - one of the apprentices of Halastar, the mad mage of Undermountain.
With assurances from Halastar that his apprentice could not escape his domain - the mage was happy to condemn his apprentice just to watch the spectacle - a group of adventurers chased Trobriand all over Undermountain. Each time the group had fought their way through Trobriand's thanatars - mechanical minions who exploded in a flash of lightning upon death - and were about to strike the last blow, the apprentice would be teleported away to another location in Undermountain. The giggling of Halastar could be clearly heard reverberating throughout the dungeon.
When at last the apprentice had been defeated, the adventurers learned from the mage's journal that at the end he had been a dupe to distract the group from the movement of huge pieces of enchanted metal and other materials to a location on the astral plane by a subsect of Banites - pieces to be prepared as the body of Auzorm'tvorl by those promised the return of their god.
Over the months following that campsite north of Waterdeep where Gurns first wore the amulet, the adventurers learned that three of them were to be especially important to the final victory. A bearer of the amulet, one who would see the spirits, and a third who would weave the moonlight. The forces of the Banites, and even Trobriand himself, once able to use the power of the amulet to gain a brief control over the bearer and summon a thanatar, seized upon any opportunity when the three gathered to destroy them.
The story far from over, and the candle lighting the room still long and burning bright despite the growing darkness, the friends bid each other a good night, leaving the candle to continue - guarded by an enclosing metal lantern.
