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Tag: padhraig_letter_to_magret

A Fifth Letter Sent Via the Lady's Temple (second part)
The Fathomer’s voice in my mind either faded somewhat or, and this thought is more worrisome, became just the same as my own as we made our way into the segment labeled as 3, sneaking toward the ice cavern. Or perhaps it was sneaking that quieted him. He seems to like sneaking into terribly dangerous place to do risky things. Again, I hope we are more different than I fear we are.

The rune here is encased in ice, that is clear as we approach the cavern near to the base of the ridge.

The cavern is vast and deep, all approaches iced completely. And, rather than lower ourselves into uncertain darkness, Jokhula attempted draconic diplomat, as best she knew it. Her mantle perhaps assisted, as her manner showed none of the doubt she expressed when first she proposed the idea.

A voice responded in some surprise, then a moderately sized white dragon flapped up, taking a commanding perch on a wall that overlooked our position, clearly prepared for treachery.

“Cousin,” Jokhula began, “we mean you no harm, nor theft. We are strangers come to this place in pursuit of an enemy of our people and have discovered the damage to reality here and which to do what we can to repair it. Will you let us pass thru in peace, to examine the rune in ice on the cliff above?”

The dragon considers for a moment, studying us. “Prettily said. So you are here about the statue and the puzzle. And you are the children of the Lion. This is an especially treacherous place for you to be.” She switched to common after the first, to bring us all into the conversation. I have, in this telling, translated from the Draconic as best I can... the common tongue lacks much of its formalities, however. “Not everyone has the opportunity to learn the true tongue. The rune is covered for a reason.”

“For safety?”

“It is knowledge that I possess. It has value. More than gold or jewels.” The dragon, Caessalax by name, was clearly protective of this treasure.

“You are wise.”

“And you mean to unlock the pedestal?” She seemed skeptical about the whole thing.

“Do you wish to be in this place?” Jokhula asked.

“I am here by choice. I am not of these other times. I have been studying this place. From what I understand of the way things are supposed to work, there ought not be so many of you here.”

“That is so.”

“I find it far stranger, however, that you and you are here together.” Jokhula and Yvor, in their aspects, seem less a pair than they are normally, a dragon noble and a dragon hunter. The observation is not without merit. And its suggests to me that we are not only echoes of our prior selves, but can be more if we choose to be. I find that comforting, after a fashion.

Jokhula, perhaps, took it differently. “It does seem a sign of some intention," she said, "a sideways portent or prophecy.”

“In my limited experience, prophecies are like eels. Slippery, hard to catch, and seldom taste good.” Caessalax studied us again. “A fight between us is too risky, and I care not to discover your place in the Pax. So I will propose a trade. Bring me either the rune from the forest or the rune from the dark place and I will give you the rune from here.”

She seemed to be unusually clever and subtle for a white dragon, who lore tells me are usually more simple and brutish. But she offered a reasonable trade, we thought, safer than conflict.

We withdrew and started to make plans for the fey wood. Charm and etiquette being essential, we though our skald, Aillie, likely to be our best resource. That conclusion was to be challenged soon, though.

We cross from the ice of 3 thru the wastes of 4 and into 5. The shift into rich forest is rich and sudden, the scent an feel of vibrant life impossible to ignore, invigorating as if the life of this place sought other life to enrich and be enriched by.

As we head to the cliff-face to find the run, there are many woodland creatures, birds, deer, etc, that scatter as we approach. And occasional faint laughs and vanishing figures.

Rounding a tree, we saw a small man in the path toward the cliff. “Good day to you, Travelers.” He bent the knee, doffed his cap. He was barely 2 feet tall, clad all in green. Clothes of a wealthy gentleman, visibly armed only with his walking cane.

When Sir Jarrad apologized for the trespass, but he said he doesn’t claim any of this land, nor command of it. And when told we seek a rune of power, asks if we want any particular one. When we identify it as the one carved in the rock above, he calls it the dark rune.

“Not for any dark purpose,” Jokhula insisted, but he says that’s no concern of his.

Jarred offered bread and honey with a cup of magically created water, all with a good bit of ritual that seemed familiar to him, practiced.

The fellow warned us it’s quite dangerous to be here, as the lot of us are mortal. "And there’s a dragon about and 'Himself' might try to skewer ye should ye approach the rune. As such, He has shrouded the rune, to keep others from abusing it."

He also offered that in the court, the “usual rules” apply, and we might, as little as it will help, tell them Master Briar Green Trews speaks well of us.

He vanished as we make our way further into the wood, approaching the sounds of revelry.

We chose to skirt the celebration if we can, but Yvor’s best path clearly circled us away from the base of the cliff and the rune as well.

The wood respond to him when he tells us they are pushing us away. Once he realizes we can all hear them, he introduces us to the wood. Which seems mocking, but says it is the work of Himself that we can’t approach the rune. As they ask us our identities, Jarred answers in tree-ent tongue, at which they all bow to him. “It has been many turnings since the King walked among us.” (apparently his cyclical mantel is some sort of nature king.)

“We have come for a rune. The dark rune.” Jared is clear and straightforward, as apparently his kingly mantel shares that trait with him. Again, I wonder how like or unlike we can be, at the nature of how people are chosen to bear these powers, or if we somehow choose the power. But this was no time to consider such things.

“That is problematic. The Earl-King guards that rune, as he disapproves of the effect it and its like have on the wood.” The trees were not unfriendly, just clearly respectful of their "Earl-King" and of the threat of the Zolosian rune.

“We need it in a cause to prevent a great evil that threatens the wood, the world, and the very cycle,” Sir Jared answered.

“We would not be here if it were not so. You could challenge the Earl-King. It need not be to the death. If you bested him, he would need to grant your request. But recall that he is a terrible opponent.”

“I do not wish to disrupt this place any further,” snd clearly Sir Jarred believed that challenging the Earl-King would do so. Looking back, I must say he was likely correct.

“There are but two beings the Earl-King respects. His Lady and the Dragon. The second is a latecomer, but many denizens of the wood have spoken in hushed tones and gone out of their way to avoid the Dragon.”

“It seems our lot in life to rush toward such things.”

“Then we can set your feet on the path toward the Dragon.”

Another dragon. Indeed, our lot in life.

After friendly goodbyes, we head onto the path toward the dragon. But as Aillie commented about how all she really only wants a good bath, a claw-footed tub fell from the sky onto Cabhan. Perfectly level and not spilled a drop, despite its bumpy landing.

Kaela pulls him out from under with a magical dimensional shift. And Aillie then took a bath, the nature of this place or her expressed wish or some other effect, perhaps her mantel, somehow making her utterly unabashed about that.

Attempting to be a gentleman, I suggested we keep out focus on going to the dragon, and getting what we need. The wood is clearly paying attention to us, the path a bit wilder and less stewarded, but not blocked. And yes, behind us, the bathtub, carrying Aillie and a tall mound of strongly perfumed soapsuds, gently follows along.

Pushing thru some lightly thorned flowing vines, we come into a clearing in front of a cavern where something sleeps. Piles of fruits, berries, and honeycombs along with crystals rest outside the cave.

Jokhula approaches, there was sound of wings furling, flapping, and then a cat-sized iridescent dragon flaped out of the cavern. He flattered her melodious voice, and
wondered where all the tribute came from, as if it were a surprise.

Jokhulla introduces us, and he wonders why we’re here and why with a woman in a bathtub. And offers us some of its vast feast, if we want any part od it.

He asks me where his cloak is, as what I wear is not my own, which I can't say I quite understand. And that my mother might help him find it, though when I said she’s
been lost some eight years, he just replied “As you say.”

He warned Kaela against calling gods or demons before the Erlking and Aillie to put on some clothes more fit to meet the Court’s expectations. Then he suggested that the Knight and the Wavestrider make the approach, as the Knight is of the Fey Lands and the Wavestrider respect because of his parentage. Again, I had no words to ask the questions that raised.

His name, he offers, is Glimmerflitt. A troubleshooter or fixer or problems. He offers us to eat of his feast, under his protection.

Aillie finished her bath, stepped out, and still quite causally dries then redressed herself, though courtesy demanded we not look. At least Sir Jared and I considered that necessary courtesy.

Glimmerflitt asked us if we’re elderly, because sometimes there’s a bit of passage of time involved in visiting the court and Mortality was a controversial thing there, and
structured time a relatively new concept. We concluded we were likely safe, though that proved only mostly true.

The forest are dense an imposing again as we traveled to the feast, though somehow I began to become more comfortable within it. Perhaps I was succumbing to its magic, though I never felt any specific charm or working.

We came then to a canopied clearing, a throne room, where numerous fey lounged and gamboled about. Seated in the bowl of a cooperative tree was the Erlking. As we entered, the clearing went silent and everyone stopped in place except to turn toward us.

Jarred introduced himself and us as Scions on Ancar, and the Erlking turned to the Lady beside him, who I, at least hadn’t noticed before, lost in the focus the Erlking drew, and gestured the two of us forward. Benches were brought out for the others.

I explained our purpose, to seek to battle eVIL, but the Erlking saID one seldom needs look far to find evil. "On many occasions, misdeeds can come in the name of the light as well. But, out of respect for your grandmother, I will speak plainly." He offered no gap for me to question this, and my mouth went too dry to attempt it anyway. "We have little love for any of this endless repetition. The sequential nature of time makes it see pointless, but we were not consulted. Understand Us, even were We inclined to reveal the Rune to you, there is no guarantee you will be successful in neutralizing the threat. If we maintain things at all, it remains unopened. These are threats from ancient days, when even mortals were more. To show you the Rune is to allow for another great Sorrow to be visited upon the world.” He looked then at Aillie. “You will forgive me if I doubt you can grasp it and put it in your bag.”

I suspect Zolos can open the Trials even without the rune, and said as much. To which the Lady says “To do nothing is still a choice.” She then asked Kaela the state of affairs beyond the wood, of Her Master’s handiwork (which is to say, of the Arch). Kaela suggested, as she saw things it remained fine, except here. But 2-7ths (or more) of this place lay outside the Working, and that may spread. Kaela, Aillie, and the Lady all slowly circle around this idea in conversation I wish I could recall more fully, but the Erlking again demanded my focus, though I cannot say he made a gesture or spoke a word to do that.

I warned of Outsiders working in alliance with Zolos, and tried as best I could to praise the fine court he commanded, but the Erlking said only “Save some of your fine words for the Court of your Grandmother.” And again, I found I could not ask the questions that screamed in my head.

Glitterflitt then said this was all stupid, we have been courtly and the Lady understands our purpose, and "these children have stepped from their world, from the world, because it is in peril. They did not create the rules you, Erlking, chaffe under, so you ought stop being such an ass."

The Erlking was not pleased with this. “So once again, it comes to this. I am expected to place my faith in the hands of mortals.”

“If it goes that badly wrong, you merely have to wait.” Aillie pointed out, the cycle being as it was the focus of his complaint.

“The problem, Moonthief, is that once the door is open, the early bird might get the worm, the the second mouse the cheese.”

He points to me then, without warning, and I was frozen mid-thought. He will reveal it only to me, he said, and trust that my blood will carry the day. Frozen, I could not second guess him and so I follow him away from the court into the wood, which quickly grew deep and dark, imposing and more threatening with each step. It reached toward me, as if to take my concentration into its endless branchings and twisting.

The Erlking apologized then, if only in saying that this would be harder for any of the others. He brought us to a stop at the base of a tree. “It pains us to use one of our mightiest for this, but only such could contain it”

Padhraig’s mantels, now many, all speaking in my head, insist that might need every bits and defend his mind. Against the power that was obvious even looking at this mighty timber colossus before me.

“Sometimes a price must be paid, or be taken from us later.”

He touched the tree and it tore apart, and thus the glyph was shown. It burned itself into my memory even before I started to try to study it, and is still there as I close my eyes to rest them. I will not record it here. Zolosian letters should not be written.

I returned then to the rest, after this most exhausting hour's effort. Save that it was no hour, and I felt on my chin the growth of more than a week's beard.

“You have our gratitude,” Jarred offered. “Just succeed,” the Erlking said bitterly.

“We do hope for your success, perhaps not always in such grim tones,” the Lady added. “We may do some small thing to assist your journeyings. It is not much, but if you are willing, we can extend our blessings.”

“We still have terrible places to go, and any protection is welcome,” Sir Jarred said.

“I would not take it in place of your armor, but this will still do something.” The Erlking glowered, but she reached her hand toward Jared and the blessing flows…

Then, as we walked for the clearing, Jokhula offered her thanks to Glimmerflitt and an offer of future assistance, he said “That is fine and good, but I’m coming with you.”

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A Fifth Letter Sent Via the Lady's Temple (first part)
To Acolyte Magret Shepperd of the Lady’s Temple at Halvor,

As we approached the month of the harbor that gives Tillman’s Notch its name, we gathered on the deck of our borrowed ship. Giving orders to anchor here, outside view, a called on magics of the wind and water to grant my companions and Lady MacNombra the gift of wave-running, and we sped into the city, hoping to be faster and smaller than any watchers might see.

Which turn out to be for naught.

For even as we approached, we could see that all was not as it out to be in this small port, barely more than a place to resupply before setting to deep ocean. No, only a portion of the town was visible, an impossibly dense forest replacing much of the rest. Three vast pillars still marked the passage into the port, as the charts had said, but that port was neglected and battered, where it was not lost completely in the thick greenery.

We made for the edge of town and wood, and with the wind’s speed to help us, easily made our way to the roof of one of the few sturdy-seeming buildings. Beyond the ill-kept port and its fisheries and rough housing lay a battlefield, and past that, a mighty fortress over which flew the banners of Blackbyrne.

But no such fortress still stood of Tillman’s Notch. It had been taken and pulled down at the end of the Rising, a dozen decades and more ago, as I’m sure you know, the last hold-out of their loyal troops against the allied houses. But we could not deny our eyes.

Ailie used the magic of her armor to make a disguise and stumbled into the streets as if a recently near-drowned sailor, looking for others who might tell what happened here. She returned not long after with a rag-tag bunch, half mad in the tales the told of something flying overhead like thunder, of the wood appearing from nowhere and luring folk to it, and of riders from the ruined keep taking folk away.

We sent them in a small skiff out to the ship beyond the harbor’s mouth with a letter to the crew that they be looked after and we headed up toward the keep and the smoke rising from either within or behind it. As we crossed from village into battlefield ruins, a strange effect overcame Yvor. We were not certain of it then, but it became clear later that he was taken by a prior cyclical person, his appearance oddly doubled with that of a dark form in a drake-skin cloak. The Dreadstalker, he named himself, and pressed Yvor to identify where the nearest dragon hid, that they might hunt and slay it.

Jokhula was not pleased by that suggestion.

The battlefield, as we crossed it, was more impossible than it seemed from afar. It was weeks old, burned and stained, but the dead removed, though everything else seemed left where it lay. Lady MacNombra told the story of the battle from the details she could see, how the keep was besieged, but the gates held fast until… just what, she could not say.

We carefully made our way around the keep, trying to keep from clear sight of any watchers, to see what burned beyond it. And it was as we feared when we arrived, the bodies of as many as twenty common folk, piled with wood and doused in oil, burning into thick, terrible smoke. The surrounding area is so dense with hoofprints it does not take Yvor or Sir Jarred to point them out. We knew what the mysterious horsemen from the keep had done with those they took.

Abandoning that terrible scene, we turned to the keep. There is no sign of movement on the walls, so we climb them quickly and look down within. There are signs of a fight, the marks of cavalry in struggle, but no sign of them now.

Looking from the wall back toward village and wood, though trying to avoid looking too closely at the wood as shimmering lights tried to and capture attention if observed too long, we could see an odd green glow, somewhere just about at the meeting point of all these odd, mis-connected slices of Tillman’s Notch.

We crossed to that point, keeping to the battlefield, and discovered it to be the large pedestal of an enormous statue, though only the feet and hints of the legs remained. A woman, if the details that remained spoke truly, that must once have stood over a hundred feet tall. Which, again, there is no record of existing in Tillman’s Notch.

But the lettering on the pedestal explained that. Glyphs in darkest Zolosian, a sign that this was another Cyclical site, awakened but not yet unlocked. Or so I was certain after I opened my magical sight to it and was nearly blinded by the power of it. I sat to clear my head as the others searched the ruin.

Ailie crossed around the statue and found herself taken by a past self as Yvor had been, Taeyna of the Seven Sorrows, who carried a bag to again trap those sorrows she had released. Jokhula followed her, and likewise transformed, into Draeka of the Host Argent, a good foot taller than she normally stood, cloaked in mithril and crowned with diamonds.

But examining the statue paused when Ailie vanished around another turning, only to stumble out battered and exhausted, telling of having spend days fleeing pursuit by relentless enemies in a place where the statue stood, undamaged and terrible. We stepped back and reconsidered. If we could steal a step on the Zolosian side, we could capture some bit of this power ourselves, and more importantly deny it to them. But we had no way to read the glyphs, as I cannot think one can keep both Ancaran and that dark language in the same mind easily. How, then, to unlock the gate?

To seek to learn more, Jokhula unfurled her cloak into wings and flew up over each of the three pillars in the harbor. Atop them in order from first to last, where these numbers: 5, 1, 2 on the northmost, 3, 5, 3 on the central, and 2, 4, 7 on the southern. And looking atop the pedestal of the broken statue, the segments into which the Notch had been split were numbered. The village 6, the haunted forest 5, ruins in 3 and 4, the earlier with a vast sinkhole of uncertain origin. 2 could not be seen from above, but seemed the place Ailie had vanished into. 7 was battlefield and keep, and 1 was nondescript, unusually calm beside its fellow segments.

And on the cliffsides above each, a faint green glow could be seen. Flying to them in segments 7 and 1, she finds them to be glyphs like those on the statue, and she traces them out carefully. I will not write them in this latter, for Zolosian is nothing anyone should study without great care.

We are certain the sink-hole is home to the dragon Yvor’s past-self insists waits, but we must get closer if we are to approach it without granting it the initiative. We determined to cross through the ruins of the 4th slice, crossing into the 3rd quite near to the sinkhole.

But crossing into the fourth was not without its impact. Dama Kaela was overcome by Toallu the Thrice-Owned, soul bound to her people, god, and demon all at once. And I, quite unexpectedly, found myself wrapped in mists and mystery, as the Grey Fathomer awoke within me. I remembered events from the Time of Legends, in Dol’Shan, when the Lord of Battle sent a servant to tear down the Ring of the Blood Price and free the city from its traitorous governor, though not without cost. His presence was dark and dire, and it made me want to hide, to not show anything of myself to anyone. That was his gift and curse, and it did not sit well on me.

Also, Kaela felt at once, the Arch was not working in this sector. Was this somehow a time before the gods made their Pact? The ruins were of unfamiliar building styles, and there were signs that the the residents had been herded away, and fires where it was also terribly clear they had been burnt and their flesh consumed.

A group of humanoids gathered around one such fire, not humans, more beastly and dark, and their leader wrapped himself in leathery wings. We set on them suddenly, Ailie’s song and anger driving us into them. Jokhula’s ice slowed them but her magic had difficulty taking hold on them, and when Yvor’s arrows slew the first, it burst into flame!

I flashed a burst of light and color to daze them, to give Ailie an opening and to not risk another flaming away, but when the bat-winged leader – Maelkin, a memory that wasn’t mine said to me – sent a fireball into the rest of our number, I knew I could not wait. The Grey Fathomer shouted in my head that I was a foolish clown for it, but I knew this required action, not subtlety. When Kaela shouted a magical Forbiddance, I took the opening and dove through the ranks of… gralloc? Yes, that’s the right name. I kept my magic to myself, to my blade, drawn tight into its edge. With all my strength, I rushed at their captain, striking below his leathery wings, one sharp, fast cut. It took one leg off at the knee, then almost cleaved the other before I drew my blade back. His eyes, more those of a demon than a creature of this world, stared widely at me for just a moment and he fell in a heap.

The Fathomer says I was lucky, and lucky lasts only until it doesn’t. I think I saved my friends from another blast. And that is enough for me.
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A Fourth Letter Sent Via the Lady's Temple
To Acolyte Magret Shepperd of the Lady’s Temple at Halvor,

At last, a chance to write as we’re back at sea, not riding until we cannot any longer, then collapsing sore and exhausted to too little sleep. The sea’s a more proper place, where one can let time pass as it must, and set one’s course based only on tide and wind and not the stubborn mind of an ill-tempered beast.

But I am ahead of myself, and these letters are to keep Halvor informed of our progress, so I should return to where I last finished.

We rode from Tiranin as fast as we could, hoping to gain ground on the larger warband, which were like to be only as fast as their slowest member. Yvor seems almost born to horseback, and rode out scouting ahead and beside our way often, reporting back what signs he had of the warband and, troublingly, of four others following the warband, two groups of two if they weren’t one quartet. We reached the first wayhouse not long before dark, and they had passed through some hours before us, pausing only to exchange horses and purchase all the lamp oil that could be had.

We paused longer, both so we could ride the next day on rested mounts and to allow Dama Kaela the time to consult her Patron, divine guidance being among our best hopes in this mad chase. We had questions both of our recently ended experience and of the MacKinzie’s plans, which I will record here as they were asked and answered.

“Will my companions who were affected by the dimness in the shadow realm recover normally?” No. (I find this quite disturbing. I don’t notice the dimness most of the time… but when I do, it is and unpleasant reminder of that place.)

“Is the MacKinzie still under the influence from the shadow realm creature?” He is slowly awakening from a long nightmare. (A good sign.)

“Did the Red Spear summon the being from the outer planes?” Yes, at the behest of his Master. (The first we’d heard, I think, of a power above the Spear other than Dread Zolos. I will need to do some research in the Journal for more clues here.)

“Are the people in Tillman’s Notch willingly given over to the Dark?” No, nor in any other way. (A good sign for them, but bad if the Warband rode on them with fire on their minds.)

“Is Ursula actually on this island?” Yes, she hunts for you now. (More bad news. I fear what she might be if the shadow doppleganger of her was a mere hint.)

“Is there more than one heir to the Blackbyrne line?” No. (A relief.)

“Will the MacKinzie order us to be attacked on sight?” No. (Likewise.)

“Is the Red Spear’s Master the Blackbyrne heir?” No, not the heir. (So the roles of Master, Spear, and Heir remain related in some uncertain way.)

“Is the goal of the MacKinzie Warband something that we should stop?” The fire of the warband is fueled by lies. (Dangerous. And again, fire. All the more reason to make haste, despite that it means more time dealing with horses.)

Out of caution, we kept watch even in the wayhouse. Some of those four followers may have decided we were worth attention as well. Jokhula and I had first watch, so we could get a full night’s sleep after to refresh or magic. But all we had to show for it was catching the farrier’s boy trying to unshoe some of our horses to make business for his master. We chose not to punish him, on his promise to inform his master in the morning.

During the third watch, just before dawn, Yvor caught sign of two watchers, splitting up as they moved away, one toward Tiranin the other on toward Mawrs Landing. He says he gave chase to the first, but lost him when the pass grew too rocky.

We left at dawn, to the angry shouts of the farrier, and rode our rested mounts into the pass. I had studied the maps of the island, and did all I could to keep us to the best path, though I think Yvor’s scouting was still the more important help. Shortly after noon, though, we came to an unexpected sight. A badly wounded woman slumped at roadside, eying the road each way as if trying to decide which way to go once she could walk. She was practically dressed, and raised a hammer to defend herself as we approached, though with more desperation than skill.

Once she was assured we weren’t a threat, she told us she was a miner, and the mine had been attacked, somehow from inside the mine itself. I encouraged her to guide us to the mine, that we might be able to help. She does, and we find a scene of sorrow. An old iron mine, nothing remarkable, but its workers in panic, those still alive at least. Too many are laid out in an unusual fan around the mouth of the mine, felled as they fled, with not much of a mark on them. The survivors told their story of being chased from the mine by shadowy horrors. Examining the dead, Dama Kaela thought they had been killed not by shade or specter, but rather by fear itself. Perhaps a powerful illusion, convincing them so thoroughly that the body followed the mind into death. We found a broken wand and places where horses had been tethered that convinced us this was an effort to create a terrible diversion, to keep us from our pace. Reassuring the miners that they are safe and the MacKinzie would be informed, we returned to our ride, and I missed the relief from the saddle all too quickly.

We made the next waystation before nightfall and traded out our horses for what they could offer, which were those the warband had traded them hours earlier, but at least were rested. As night fell, with Jokhula in lead as her night vision is the sharpest, we pressed on into the highest, narrowest part of the pass. We made our way past two simple, reasonably obvious trip traps, and to a watcher who set off an alarm arrow. Jokhula flew Yvor up to quickly confront the watcher as Dama Kaela followed and the rest of us set for a likely ambush. They found a ghast in Blackbyrne Huntsman gear, who they promptly dispatched, and no ambush occurred. Just who was signaled, we could not say, but we rode on.

Come dawn, we were clear of the pass and making our way down in Mawr’s Landing, where the banners of the warband could be seen below us. We had found them, not yet launched toward Tillaman’s Notch! We rode down fast, and so of course were spotted as we approached. Gwyrr Stone, the housekarl, rode forth to meet us, to ask why we followed into such danger, as he had saved us from the MacKenzie’s wrath earlier. We gave our reason and the warnings Dama Kaela had seen in her commune with her god, and we were escorted to the MacKinzie himself, who was arranging sea transport for the Warband across to the Notch.

Lady MacNommra was there as well, as we had guessed, and she welcomed us with no hint of anger at our part in the fate of her house. Instead, her anger was at our shared enemies, and we needed to calm her and the MacKinzie Himself against their rash actions. She says she wishes she had destroyed the mirror herself, but I do not think that would have ended even as poorly as what had occurred had been, for her and hers or for Himself. And we asked, given the information we brought, if we might have just a week’s time, where we could scout ahead and find the truth of what waited in Tillman’s Notch. Somehow, against all likelihood, our offer was accepted and a dozen men and a ship were given to our cause, with Lady MacNommra to watch us.

And so it was that we exchanged horses and endless riding for the familiar comfort of the sea, albeit in a clumsy, sluggish tub, at least beside the Fenstalker. I hadn’t time to re-work the simple, basic rigging nor a dock to address the other flaws, but the SeaSkipper, as she is named with, I have to think, more irony than anything else, carried us a day and a half toward the Notch before we came on another ship.

She as crippled and adrift, without sails or anchor, and as we approached hailed us for aid. The Spear had set on her, killed her officers, and left her as we found her, not hours before. We left her with spare line and chain and two MacKinzie men to oversee her recovery and hurried on toward our destination.

As I finish this letter, we are just about in sight of Tillman’s Notch, and the watch has just reported seeing smoke in the distance. I fear that we may be too late for some, but hope we are in time to prevent the worst of what might have befallen had the warband continued as their planned.

I must end this now and send this to you, with hopes I can send another letter soon. And until such time, I remain you loyal friend,


Captain Padhraig of the Fenstalker
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A Third Letter Sent Via the Lady's Temple
[As this is mostly assembled from notes posted previously, albeit with some editing, I have inserted a [*****] to mark where new information begins (and of course the first two paragraphs are new).]

To Acolyte Magret Shepperd of the Lady’s Temple at Halvor,

I am sorry for the delay, which perhaps was sometime longer for me than you, or the other way. I have not yet been able to make certain, so strange was the recent times and their passing that I can only with difficulty order them myself, and like as not they will make little sense to one not wrapped up in them, as I ws and, in some lingering ways, still am. Yet I will try to communicate them as best my poor pen can.

I wrote last time that the minutes and hours had become difficult to tell from one another in this haunted city, and that was only worse once we stepped… but already I get ahead of myself. Care and order, or none of this will tell a thing.

In the morning, after troubled dreams, we made our way back to the strongroom. The mirror was as before, and once uncovered behaved as before as well. We asked a guard be kept on it, and it left uncovered with a lantern shining into it that perhaps might guide us back, and I took the lead, with Jokula and Ailie assisting, in unlocking it. I will not repeat how the mirror needed to be touched to awaken its powers, save to say it required the same terrible and uncomfortable familiarity. And it offered to do many things more than simply let us cross. I kept those from my mind and opened the way.

Once we were thru, the light of the lantern proved of no avail, but I was still able to spot, with some effort, the soft place that marked our way back and Jokula marked it with her magic so any of us with the proper skills could find it. It was then we noticed that we had not all made our way here. Cabhan was missing. But we could not worry upon that just now.

We then made our way thru this dark, distorted version of the city, haunted and wrong in its making. Angles were wrong, there was no hint of a sun, and large black things circled above. Things Jokula and I recognized as Starwinged Horrors, terrible creatures of another realm. Perhaps this one, but I thought not even then and now know it not to be so.

Also, figures moved down dark distances as if behind the sky, humanoid but with improperly long arms. It was not comfortable to look too long.

We continued. Strange worm-like things floated in the air as if it was water, but we mostly avoided them. Once, we saw a Starwing swoop down and snatch up a man, but there was no way we could get to his location. Instead, we saw three possible destinations. Tendrils from the sky reached down toward the Keep, the Red Yard, and the Shieldlord's Chapterhouse. The last seemed protected by a dome of some sort, and so we made toward it, to perhaps find aid in this terrible place.

I have said the place was dark, but that is not quite correct. It was not bright, but neither was it shadowed. We saw evenly, but faintly. I do not know the workings of it.

A man staggers from an alleyway, his eyes both taken in the maws of the flying worms. We quickly move to remove them, but his eyes are still gone, gaping wounds in his face. Dama Kaela works what healing she can and we hurry on to the Chapterhouse.

The dome offers no resistance to our entry, but inside we find four figures, like to the men we saw being cared for in the true Chapterhouse, but their straightjackets hanging unfastened, wandering aimlessly in the courtyard.

Or so they were until we arrived. At our presence, they turned, or rather it was more as if they were turned by their wrappings, and charged at us. We gave battle, and though the jackets tried to take us as well, enveloping us so our allies attacks would wound us as well as the terrible creatures, but care and magic were sufficient. We stood, appraising the situation.

With more time to observe things, it became clear to us that the shifting and distortion of our surroundings was not without some pattern. Not predictable repetition, no, but if we observed the flickering hints of people, they were dressed from different eras. None less recent than the Blackbyrn days in Tiranin, but all the years since. Most were garbed as dedicants of the Shield, as one might expect here. But they did not interact with one another, nor with us.

Or not quite... there was a resonance with them, something on the plane of the more extreme of our experiences, the connections with the Great Cycle. But the only way I could think that might shift thru the distortions of time would be taken as hostile, and we all agreed not to pursue it. We instead made our way further in, to the shrine proper.

There, the images become more patterned still. There are clear signs of a desperate defense, of vital treasures being locked within the altar. Ailie and I did our best to avoid the precautions, but opening their warding still created an unnatural lightning that struck on a Cyclical as well as a mundane manner. Smarting, we searched through what was inside, but found only fairly familiar regalia save for one uncertain object wrapped in a crumbling tabard. Once unwrapped, it proved to be helmet, not overly ornate, and marked with a glyph that I knew as the mark of a famous warrior, Thaygur the Stoic. Powerful magic of transmutation and abjuration were bound into its making.

We felt perhaps this helmet was the anchor of the dome protecting the Shieldhouse, and with some care Dama Kaela called on holy energy and was answered with a thrum of power. Ailie rushed out to see if this caused any change outside, and said that indeed a mass of shadowed, distorted people were gathering at the walls.

We attempted to use the sally port to escape unnoticed, but the crowds were gathering there as well. Retreating to the roof for a better look, we could see that the dome over the Shieldhall was evidently stronger than before, and from that hint we determined to try to further strengthen the helm. Dama Kaela would don it, but only after channeling divine energy and Cyclic power both toward it. At that, the power reaching to attack the dome made a not-quite-sound that we all heard or felt… Sensed, there was no doubt, and it withdrew as the dome was fully restored.

And a voice spoke to Kaela, identifying itself as Thaygur Shieldbreaker. They conversed for a while, and we determined to get his protections to the Keep where, if we were fortunate, they might be redirected toward the MacKenzie. To avoid the masses of "people", mostly so we did not need to do them unnecessary harm, we traveled rooftop to rooftop, which served us well until loose tiles betrayed Sir Jarred's step and we caught the attention of two Star-Winged Hunters.

They were, in combat, as terrible as suggested, not quite solid in even this realm, and sending waves of distortion around them that left our senses swimming. When the first finally fell to Yvor's magic arrows, it imploded completely out of the mirror-realm, and the greater waves of distortion did no little harm to many of our number. We were more cautious with the second, Dama Kaela Anchoring it into this dimension before we killed it.

This left a terrible temptation. I had read of these beasts, that no-one had ever managed to study their remains because of their tendency toward instability. But the delay could mean we were caught by the hordes. We took a quick vote and I did what dissection I could before the shadows were nearly upon us, then I used every hint of magic and energy to grant us impossible speed. The calling on Cyclic energies immediately attracted some higher attention, though, and we knew we were noticed.

We rushed through the streets, our speed granting us just enough of an edge to avoid confrontations with the many lost souls. Even just their near approach tried to drain our will when we met their eyes, but I believe we were all strong enough to resist, and so made our way to the base of the escarpment below the Keep.

Yvor and Jarred scaled slope and dropped ropes to aid the rest of us. From there, we could attempt the more daunting walls of the Keep itself or drop down to other structures of the Heights. The Keep was our fixed goal, however, and protected by Invisibility magic, Jarred and Yvor scaled the wall again before Dama Kaela's magic helped the rest of us to the top. The effort to travel magically in this dimension did her some harm, but it seemed to fade quickly. Not so quickly, though, that the guard on the walls were not closing upon us.

In the distance, we could see he great Colossus from above reach down and break through the dome over the Red Yard, then draw back up beyond vision. Which, in that moment, we feared might mean we had no way back from this terrible realm, even though our point of arrival was distinct from the Yard.

But that left us little choice but to press on into the Keep.

Not a moment was given to us to worry what the Colossus destroying the protection over the Red Yard might mean because the guards closed in along the outer wall, approaching from both sides. They wore samplings of armor and insignia that shifted by the moment, many Blackbyrne or older still, some quite recent. None seemed to welcome us as friends and allies, though. Each group of guards, though, was commended from their back ranks by tall, hooded figures of dire aspect.

Yvor was first to act, firing an arrow at one of those commanders, passing thru an insubstantial portion of it as its shape shifted. It glared back at him and the weight of its gaze seemed to weaken the bold archer. The twin commander on our other side threw back its hood and revealed nothing, a lack of features that demanded attention, twisted the will. But we resisted and fought on.

I summoned a jet of seawater to push back their vanguard and Jokhula turned added layers of ice to that water, encasing the guards to one side, leaving only their half-spectral commander. Jarrad fought the other squad, blade and shield preventing them getting any closer to us, cutting them down as they try.

With Ailie's aid, I was able to press one commander against and over the wall as it tried to turn its faceless gaze toward Dama Kaela. Yvor put two arrows into the space that wasn't a face on the other and he toppled over the outer wall to the rocks far below.

In the distance, we could see the Colossus had now turned its attention in our direction, so we wasted no time. I wove the winds to slow us as we jumped from the wall into the courtyard, then dashed across it, still seeing countless shifting, temporary images of times past, growing denser as we approached the postern gate of the keep itself.

Jokhula's magic forced the door and, passing through it, we came into a fully developed image of the past. Blackbyrne housekarls cluster around a central figure, followed by Blackbyrne Himself, unmistakable even had we not seen his features on those cursed coins. He shouted orders, to hurry the escort along as the MacKinzies were at the main gate. He ordered they stop for nothing, make their way into the mountains, and upon reaching the monastery, to be sure that he -- and it was at this moment we could see the figure more clearly, a woman carrying a child -- was to there receive the 'second mark'.

She protested. Said he should come as well, as the keep was lost, but he refused. "If they find me here, they will not look further," he said. And, from what I know of the history of things, that was so. When Blackbyrne fell, there was no tell of any escaping. Certainly no lost child that was more than a rumor.

The image faded, but even as it did the effect of it was not totally gone. Jarrad, Yvor and I had lost some of our natural color, the dimness and shadow of this place leeching it from us, though the women seemed, for the time, unaffected. The stomps of the Colossus grew louder beyond the walls, pressing us on.

Dama Kaela knew the Keep some, more than the rest of us who had visited the true one but once, and that being secreted through by guards. She led us to an inner door toward the great hall, which Ailie opened.

There, another scene showed itself before us, signs of recent combat and MacKinzie plaids hanging as trophies along the walls, bloody where heads hung from them. Blackbyrne sat on the throne, his throne at that time, spinning his crown idly around a finger as he looked at the same mirror we had used to gain our way here. "It is as you were promised," says a voice from the mirror, whose surface none of us could see, which I do not think any of us regret. "So long as one drop of your blood remains, you are undying." He laughed and raved, how the MacKinzies were all but extinct and once the mongrels of Fraser being taught their place, so he would rule again. And then the images faded.

The throne room of the present was no less horrific in its own way, if not so gore-laden in its decoration. Instead, twisting columns of earth and crystal entrap the throne and reach upwards to where the private chambers are likely to be. Sir Jarrad senses nothing dire about the columns themselves, despite the unnatural appearance, so we determine to make our way upwards, to find this world's echo of the MacKinzie Himself if we can.

Time-echoes contine as we make our way up the private stairs, but there seems nothing here in the present, not even to guard the most private door. Inside, there was indeed a figure, seated and engulfed by the crystal column, some energy being drawn out of him and downward along the column, but we had little time to examine this before a terrible surprise beset us.

Lady Alice stepped from the shadow and sent arrows toward us, striking Ailie and Kaela, though Sir Jarrad's shield blocked the one coming toward me. A shadow of Cabhain burst through the far door, his features changed by a tattoo on his cheek, a symbol of shadow. And even as we engage these, trying to get past Cabhain's impossibly fast staff to quite Alice's bow, they were joined by Ursula, more enraged than when we last saw her, maddened beyond control. How had these, our allies, been brought here? We did not know... but had no choice but fight.

Cabhain and Ursula did their best to block our way, but Jokhula flew and Dama Kaela's magic slipped between phases of his shadow-world to bring Jarrad and Yvor past as well, and once we were able to place ourselves to our own advantage, the tide turned. But still, our allies turned enemies showed all the power of the Cycle they should have, and were terrible foes.

I sent lightning along my blade to strike down Lady Alice, and as she fell her features twisted and faded, seeming both like and unlike those dopplegangers we had faced before. As if taking the form of one touched by the Cycle had locked them in some way. I had no time to examine it, for it then faded to nothing but darkness and dust.

Ailie struck down Cabhain, who faded as if made of shadow and doppleganger flesh, and I called on what lightning I had left to strike at Ursula, which seemed only to anger her further. The distraction, though, was enough to allow Jokhula to rime her in ice and Yvor, showing it likely that they had practiced this coordination before, launched arrows into her briefly stilled form to bring her down. And like as the others, she dissolved into nothingness.

We paused to regain our breath and our sense of the situation around us.

[*****]

Jokula and I examined the crystal and found it a most potent magical imprisonment, entrapping something that was painful to even look toward with magically aware senses. Yet I forced myself to study what of it I could see and was made certain, as I remain now, that what was held there, most precariously, was a greater outsider, a creature of impossibility from outside the the arch, beyond the edges of what the Gods would allow. But perhaps this place was close enough to the outside that it could reach here, yet close enough to our own world that it could then… But that could not be permitted.

Even that seemed unlikely, though. A vast power would be needed to open the way for such a thing. But our enemy has vast power, the echos of Zolos, Mother of Darkness, the memory of whom, at the proper points of the Cycle, was a power vast and unbound by the agreements of the Gods as we understand them.

Also, it was not alone The form of a man sat in the throne amidst the crystal binding, unfamiliar but too like to be the MacKinzie to leave any doubt.

Dama Kaela and the Dragon-Mage Jokhula and I considered this, to be interrupted by Ailie’s clear voice speaking unexpectedly, calling out to some unknown presence.

“You looked deep in your dilema and I did not wish to interrupt.” The speaker was a man, but unfamiliar and seeming too much of this place, of shadow as much as flesh.

Dama Kaela demanded he introduce himself, and he said the name ‘Scath’ would do, in such was as to be clear it was not the only name he was known by.

When asked if the Abominations presence was his doing, he claimed it his concern. A concern he wished dealt with quickly, as to do nothing was the only thing likely worse than doing something.

I asked if dispelling the binding would release it to be fought to merely allow it to consume what remained of the MacKinzie. He said it would be freed and might then be fought, but what would come of that he could not say beyond.

Dama Kaela, who had little trust for the man, asked what caused this infestation, and he responded that he believed someone came here and opened the way, inviting this. And confirmed that yes, some things of importance had meaningful echos in this place, and the MacKinzie was like to be such. But if the imprisonment was the realm trying to protect its lord or something else, he could not say.

To fight the thing’s source, he said, we would need go to the Outer Realm ourselves. But then he offered another option, one he said would call for ‘unwarranted trust’, as it involved strengthening him with the ancient energies of the Cycle.

What he wanted with that power, he would not clearly answer, save to say “My waking, my sleeping, my secret-most heart, already they are here.”

I addressed him in Ankaran, which he clearly recognized, but did not comprehend. I thought it a test of any link to the Cycle’s power already, as anyone with the connection seemed gifted with the tongue. So he wanted the connection he lacked. It did not, in truth, strengthen his argument.

He said, and promised quite clearly when Ailie asked it of him, that he would, if possible once the working was done, see us home by the quickest means available. Because he was, he claimed, “the King of Shadow.” Just what that meant, he would not elaborate.

But he offered us time, until we might decide, to remain concealed and private, to rest and consider our options.

Once he had withdrawn, I took a moment of quiet to call on my own connection to the Cycle, to the knowledge of prior wearers of the mantle I was given, to others knowledgable and studied. If we did this, would it be enough to banish this creature and keep its like away for the rest of the cycle? The answer was quick in coming. Yes, he would have the power, if he chose to use it that way. The gift of the Cycle could be shared, at least with certain people. But not without a price.

We decide then against delay, to take him up on his offer, and get clear of this dark and haunted place as quickly as we might. We summoned him back, and he appeared quickly.

We pool our energies, save for Dama Kaela who felt herself already drawn to her limits. Ailie and Jokhula give more of themselves to fill in the gap, and we focus that power on the self-named King of Shadow. It forms into a floating, glowing liquid, which he gathers into a cup and drinks with a satisfied smile.

I addressed him in Ankaran again, and this time he answers in the same tongue. My theory, it seemed, had some merit.

He walks around the crystal then, studying its lines and limits, and then a second time, trailing shadow behind where his attention focuses. There is a sudden, faint, wail of impossibly inhuman voices, that does not grow less or more in volume, but fades in distance despite that, until it is beyond hearing. And then the crystal and the shadow-thing it bound are gone, only the MacKinzie’s echo and an obviously strained Skath remained.

He then said he might send us home, as promised, if we but told him a place. We asked first about Cabhain, as we had not seen him since we came here, but he said only six entered his land, and six were here. So we asked to be set on the road outside the Red Yard, near enough to where we had begun. We joined hands and he wove shadow among us, engulfing us for the briefest time before they were gone and we were back in the chill rain of Tiranin. It was a moment still before sight returned to confirm it, but indeed, we were back in this world.

Yet before us was not exactly the sight we had expected. A sign was mounted on the gates of the Red Yard, declaring that the Yard was closed until further notice, dated the very day we had left.

The gates were locked, but Ailie’s skills were more than a match and we entered to find the windows of the Yard broken open from within, some but far from all boarded over. The inner door opened easily to Ailie as well, and we found its surface oddly studded with fine slivers of glass, each driven deeply into the wood. A horrible possibility came to all of us at once, and our examination found it to be quite likely. There was all-around destruction, and with each step fine glass crushed under our feet. Too much glass, more than could be explained were it the terrible mirror’s shattering that was its source.

But we made our way to the vault, passing the remains of several fallen household staff and countless shattered treasures. The heavy doors had been forced from their frames and hung open. Inside the vault as worse still, everything destroyed, studded with fine, glinting glass. The only clear space was the outline of where the mirror had once stood. Blood marked the door, the wall, and a place just where the mirror had once been.

Finding no one alive, nor any other thing to examine, we left the Yard, re-locking the gates behind us, and returned to our in, the rain trickling off to nothing for the first time since we had come here as we arrived.

Within, we were greeted at once by Cabhain, to the great joy of all. Ailie and Dama Kaela hugged him fiercly, to his evident embarrassment, as he tried to ask what had happened to us, and we the same of him.

Stories exchanged, he said he had seen it all. That as he tried to step into the mirror, he had merely stepped back out, immediately followed by the impossible burst of glass. He had shielded Lady MacNombra, but only they had escaped. She set the sign, then made her own way to deal with the matter, he did not know where.

We took some time then to recover ourselves, during which I have written this. Healing magic was sufficient for some of the wounds, but not quite all. Each of us who participated in the ‘King of Shadow’s” empowerment are still weakened in our connection to the Cycle, and Yvor, Jarrad and, I must confess, I myself, are still somewhat oddly shadowed in bright light, as if the touch of that realm remained on us.

Word has reached us that Lady MacNombra and the MacKinzie’s Warband had ridden out as we rested, inland through a pass toward Mawrs Landing. Rumor is unclear as to why, but they rode out in force and anger, and with every bit of lamp-oil that could be had in the city in their supply.

Even the Stalker’s speed could not meet theirs by sea, the pass being a shortcut across the island, so we quickly acquired cart and horses, to ride on their trail, we hoped to close the gap in time to prevent them doing anything unwise. I sent word along to my crew that they were to maintain port station until they heard from us again, or if it was two weeks, to make back for Halvor and home.

I do not like what may have come of this. We thought we were preventing some terrible thing, and perhaps we have, but something terrible still occurred in our absence. I send this on to keep you and Lady Alice well informed, but just now we know very little of what we ride toward. We can simply hope we will be in time to offer some help where it may be needed.

Stay well and safe where you are, and spread calm word to keep that calm yourself, I beg. I will send more word when it is again possible, and until that time, I remain you loyal friend,


Captain Padhraig of the Fenstalker

[Not included as it occurred after the letter was sent is Yvor’s scouting and discovering we are not the only people following… there are 4 others, either in a group or two pairs. And Kaela’s Communion spell after we camp for the night. These will be included in the next letter.]

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A Second Letter Sent Via the Lady's Temple
To Acolyte Magret Sheppard of the Lady’s Temple at Halvor,

Has it been only a few hours? Indeed, I know it has been, but tense ones, and filled with dark worries and darker discoveries. I shudder to burden you with this, but as I have promised the others to get word to Lady Alice and I have no wish to deceive you about what we do or its dangers, I will continue.

We did make our way to the Keep, where the gates were, as expected, closed against us. Unless we brought the head of the murderess, we were told, we were not welcome. Allie make a more persuasive and earnest appeal that we be able to state our case, and it seemed to be accepted. Except that, after long delay, what we saw when the gates opened was the chief housekarl and at least fifteen armed and armored men.

"One things certain… you’ve signed your death warrants by coming here.”

Under guard, we were led deeper into the keep, but then, to our surprise, the guards were dismissed once we reached a windowless, mostly featureless cell.

The housekarl then, without any real apology for his manner except abandoning it, told us of his fears. The MacKinzie is troubled, perhaps mad, and if he were to hear of our arrival, prone to over-reaction. But by drawing us away carefully, we can be kept out of his notice. We discussed the nature and signs of his state, which Sir Jared believes are the wounds of the land being told in the person of its head, but I rather think are a sign of extra-dimensional assault, as we have seen already in the streets and know the Red Spear uses as his dark weapons. The cause, though, is not really one we can diagnose at that time, so he shared what warnings he could, made thin promises, and then led us out by a secret way.

We were not but minutes back at the Three Blades, already discussing options of how we might investigate, when we are given word of a message left for Sir Jared. The Mistress of the Red Yard, Lady MacNombra, requested our presence for a matter she felt exceeded her expertise. Thus, clearly, not a martial matter nor political, as there is little of a martial or political nature she cannot properly comment on based on our earlier visit to the Yard. Thoughts of rest and being dry abandoned, we returned to the chill mists to again cross the city, this time to the Red Yard.

We arrived at an hour I cannot certainly say, given there was no hint of sun or stars to set it by, but we were quickly welcomed and given a chance to dry ourselves and be refreshed as needed. Then the Lady greeted us, friendly enough but clearly worried. Something had come into her care, she said, from an estate with old Blackbyrn connections. It had always been disturbing, so she kept it safely locked away, but lately it had become more than just uncomfortable. She thought it easier to show than tell, and led us to a deep strongroom, well and truly locked away.

On the way, I asked after the history of the piece and she attributed it to the collection of Sir Isra Georbhallun, a scholar of the pre-uprising Isles and student of the betrayal itself. Just where it came from before, she could not say. She led us into the strongroom, which was unnaturally chill, and toward a tall item draped in thick cloth. Drawing back the cloth, the room chilled even more. I think even Jokula noticed the chill, and she has little fear of cold.

It was a mirror, some seven feet tall and three wide, but such a simple description renders it less than it is. It holds a glass, yes, reflecting, yes. But the frame was worked with great and twisted care. Figures, human and not completely so, twisted in obscene pleasures around the whole of it, frame and, when checked, the entirety of the back as well. And the wood was stained a deep, bloody red that, to a quick daring touch, proved still tacky, though Lady MacNombra said it has been carefully locked away since it started acting oddly.

It was then that we saw the most odd thing. The image in the glass, once someone made to study it, became not the image of this room and us. No, it was the space outside the Three Swords, then other places, then the Three Swords again, the images swimming thru a complex cycle I could not divine the workings of. But it returned to the Swords often enough that we were able to see that it was the inn, but also was not. The differences were subtle and slight, but very real. Including a form, likely a body, lying just barely out of total shadow.

I theorized that it was likely a sort of gateway, and if we could Anchor it, we might break its hold on the city. But when Dama Kaela attempted that, it merely shook, rattled slightly, and then resumed as before, the spell absorbed harmlessly.

Watching further, as there was little else we might do, we started to believe the places we saw aligned with the map the Brothers had shown to Jokula and Yvor, where people were taken by madness. Was it echoing them or guiding them? That is difficult to say...

Aillie, Jokula, and I studied the magical workings of the thing a bit more, and together we were convinced we could open the gate further. In fact, it clearly wished to be opened further, and we must needs be careful to do no more than the minimum when we awaken it.

A matter for the next day, though, Spell-casting and combat requires rest, and braving a dark mirror world perhaps more so. Lady MacNombra offered us the hospitality of her house, the mirror covered and locked away for the night.

As I wait and rest, to refresh my mind for preparing spells come morning, and do all I can to not think of that mirror in the vaults, I find my thoughts wander toward more personal matters. I know so little of your history, and what you may know of mine is likely second-hand. I didn't know you from before I left Halvor for my studies, a hand of years before, though that doesn't mean you weren't there, I suppose. You would've had no reason to be down Dockside, and I was rarely elsewhere save when I was out to sea.

I can barely recall my parents, or perhaps not at all, just imaginings from what others have told me of them. My father, Morvyn, was more sea-touched than I, and no amount of begging or drink has ever gotten Grandfather to say a word about his mother in explanation. Mother was, they say, beloved of the Storm King, as they knew from when they named her Ula, jewel of the sea. I mean no slight to your calling, understand, but when sailors say this of someone, it is as much curse as blessing. When His mood is good, He sends you good winds and full nets. And when His mood turns dark, they may never find a plank, line, or sail to prove your passing. And such it was with them, one day in my fourth year. Grandfather, I think, held out hope they would be found and returned longer than I did, having come back after nearly a year lost himself. But they did not.

When I was old enough to be useful, Grandfather arranged a trusted friend to take me onto his crew. Captain Nyle Bricott had his own son to watch over me and another storm-lost child. The three of us, Ioco, Linnet, and I, could not have been an easy bunch to keep an eye on and run a ship, but the old captain did it well, and somehow got us to pay enough attention to learn the skills to eventually be of value to his crew. In time, I took up diving to add shellfish to our catch, as I've my presumed Aquan blood to aid me, and it was in pursuit of such that I found the old barque, resting not so far down as many might think. It takes but a little water to lose a ship, after all, not more than an hand-span more than her tallest spar. She'd been there an unknowable time, her markings either obscured by wear and sea growth or unfamiliar, so I cannot name her or her people. Nor did the chest I took from her aid, as the coins were of no known minting. But they were proper gold and silver, that was certain.

Captain Bricott was more than fair. He could have claimed the Captain's share for himself, as it was taken by his crew on his ship. But he took only a crewman's share for himself, and left and left the bulk of it to me for finding it. It was enough to buy me my education, and to share the excess with my as-close-as-brother as well. Ioco spent his on a ship and a bride, as I left Halvor for... I cannot rightly say, save that my studies were undertaken far from the Isles. We were not permitted to know precisely where the Great Wastes lie, that the privacy of the Tower be kept. I returned just before the Blessing last spring, in time for the first coin-cursed to appear, and at that time I met you. I will not soon forget that day for several reasons; meeting you that first time is one of the few entirely pleasant ones.

And now, the night is growing slight and dawn all too soon will come. If I am to be ready to serve my role in this, I must turn from writing to rest. I will see this sent to you in the morning, before we depart. Another will follow when next my feet touch this world, which from what we have been hinted of what lies beyond he mirror cannot be too soon.

Until such time as I can write again, and I have no idea if the magics of this communication will cross worlds as well as distance, I can only ask you to pass on word to Lady Alice at your convenience and to try not to worry over us. These are matters our association to the Great Cycle prepare us for as few others can claim. And so we face these dangers knowingly and willingly, with more hope to exit the other side than might otherwise be claimed.

I remain your loyal friend, Padhraig, Captain of the Fenstalker.
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