#21 (Part Two): Parting the Veil

Our business in Griffon’s Nest concluded and our escort arranged, we depart before our welcome is overstayed.  Our journey back to the plains is uncontested, the corpse of the hill giant slain days before mostly undisturbed—the second giant is nowhere to be seen.  We are escorted back to the skull, and we camp in the shadow of the hills beyond, our last night spent in silence with the warriors of the Anaithnid.

The following morning, Audric, Selben and I summon mounts to expedite our travel across the plains.  Keeping the hills to our side, we ride west into the cold wind, occasional gusts and the first snowfalls obscuring our vision and complicating our journey.  We knew winter to be an imminent threat, and the desolate tundra provides no cover and little in the way of deadfall to create a fire.  The first night is cold, uncomfortable and our rest fitful, but we are not disturbed, and the next day Audric calls upon Mystra to insulate us against the weather with a blessing.

The second day of travel provides a break in the weather, a welcome relief.  Thanks to the expertise of Wyardt, we manage to find the road without trouble.  We ride out our conjured mounts towards Longsaddle, glad to be back in known territory, and early in the next day we arrive there safely.

We decide to settle in and wait for Malchor’s return, who is not yet due until the new year.  Wyardt has expressed a desire to eventually return to Xantharl’s Keep, Bonie seems satisfied to remain in our company, so we purchase rooms for all for the week, and pass our time in various ways.  We spend a little time researching the reversal of petrification at the Ivy Mansion, and after a few days of rest, we receive a summons via Cartisan to meet at noon the next day, with the intriguing side note to “be ready, body and mind.” 

The next morning, Audric and I depart.  Longsaddle seems to be in preparation for the new year, which is to be called “The Year of the Harp.”  As such, the streets and rows are adorned with harps both mundane and magical.  Though we had meant to confront Malchor alone, Selben and Bonie (each in their own way) express their desire to accompany us.  With no reason to deny such faithful companions, we agree, and together we approach the Ivy Mansion to learn what awaits us.  Cartisan casts an inquiring look at Bonie, but upon being informed that to “have a problem with her is to have a problem with us,” we are escorted into the depths of the mansion.

This time, we are taken deeper than we had been allowed previously, eventually ascending a tower with windows that look out over the hamlet.  Malchor presents the ring, explaining that he has pored over tomes for nearly a month, utilizing resources mundane and arcane to divine its purpose.  “I have learned a great deal, but also very little at the same time…but what I do know troubles me.”

He believes that the ring was forged somewhere in the Spine of the World, home to tribes of orcs and the deep homes of dwarves.  He thinks it the creation of a venerable archmagi but refuses to share further speculations on the matter.  Instead, he explains that he is confident it was imbued with the power and possibly even the spirit of its creator—who sought to use it to permeate the Mystran “veil.”

The veil, he explains, is the “eye through which we experience and study the essence of Mystra, magic.”  To explain the meaning, he draws a sketch, illustrating a wizard with outstretched hands, standing before a portal.  “This is the veil—as warlocks, we leverage the Weave to communicate with Mystra.  If you were to remove the veil, you would be all-knowing, you would see all realities at once.”

“Could this destroy the Weave?” Audric asks.  Malchor shrugs, unsure how to answer.  “To part the veil is to see the world through Mystra’s eyes, to wield her power.  This ring may be the key to such power.”

“In Shadfeld, you experienced a distortion.”  He explains that the Kezia we met could not possibly have existed in that reality, which also explains in small part the temporal phenomena of the destruction of the village.  “It’s fitting that one of the Mystran faith be the one to exorcise this power, and I have a great deal to ask of you.”  Gravely, he asks if Audric is willing to help him.  The warrior replies solemnly, “My life’s work is making sure artifacts like this don’t fall into the wrong hands, I’m willing to give my life to pursue this task.”

Taking our hands, Malchor escorts us to a table on which sits a large mortar and pestle.  Inside is a fine red powder, and he explains he’s going to cast an incantation that may take a few minutes, one that exceeds by great measure my own ability to comprehend such magic.  He asks the four of us permission to “bestow Mystra’s protection upon us for safety.”  When confronted about any possible conflicts with my faith in Malar, he shrugs, believing it to be inconsequential.

Reaching into the pestle, he coats his fingers with the red paste, and begins to paint my face with it.  Malchor takes several minutes, marking Selben, Bonie and Audric in turn, though does not mark himself, claiming that he cannot participate for the ritual to function properly.  He gestures for us to spread out in the chamber, handing Audric the ring, asking him to don it.  The Mystran warrior consents.  At Malchor’s instruction, Audric withdraws his magical axe.  Malchor withdraws a longsword and wields it awkwardly, explaining that he and Audric must confront one another in battle, Audric wielding the power of the ring.  Malchor asks us not to intervene except to protect Audric, no matter what fate befalls Malchor himself, and we nod agreement.

Malchor launches an attack, clearly not holding back, but Audric sidesteps the strike and slaps it aside with his axe.  Audric’s return strike hits, but the force behind the blade itself pales when compared to the magical force released by the ring.  A swarm of bats appears above Malchor, attacking him.  Malchor steps out of the swarm and swings wildly, striking Audric and drawing blood, and Mystra’s chosen returns the favor.  This time, a stone wall emerges in the center of the chamber, separating Audric from Malchor, who races around the edge of the wall, attacking again.

Malchor seems to have a death wish, drawing another thin line of blood across Audric’s torso.  Blows are exchanged and parried, Audric eventually coming out ahead.  Magic bleeds from the axe but its effect this time isn’t obvious—Malchor swings again, crazed, missing Audric, who is forced to defend himself.  As the axe is pulled out of the wound, a ghostly hand materializes in front of Audric.   The hand obeys Audric’s command, bolstering the strike, then suddenly the room erupts in a gust of wind, forming a swirling cyclone.  Bonie is picked up and slammed against the wall, blood flowing from cuts on her head.  While Malchor and Audric continue their melee, I rush to Bonie’s side, but can’t get there before she is picked up by the tornado again and crushed against another wall, this time causing her to collapse in a heap.

Malchor mutters an incantation that seems to dispel the cyclone, and I administer healing to Bonie, forced to choose between protecting her against the foolishness of this display of reckless magic with my own, or intervening to put a stop to Malchor’s madness.  I stabilize her, bringing her back from unconsciousness.  Malchor’s warning, to be strong of mind and body, is the only thing preventing me from outright murdering the wizard. 

Malchor?!?

Fortunately, Audric is there to complete the task.  His blade bites deep into Malchor’s shoulder, a killing strike, and our world erupts in a storm of thoughts, a psionic assault of unknown origin.  Suddenly, we experience an overwhelming sense of weightlessness, followed by a crushing pain, as if we have fallen from a great distance.  Though we have not moved at all, the sensation and the accompanying pain seems very real.  When we finally come to, Bonie is barely conscious.  Selben seems shaken but coherent, and Malchor is absent, as is the conjured wall of stone.  There are no signs of blood, no sign of Malchor’s death, no other sign that the encounter took place at all, except for the ring, which still rests on Audric’s finger.

Audric halts our exit from the room, though I’m nearly furious.  Having been reminded that this was part of our agreement, I give him a moment to explain.  The ring, it seems, has lost its magic.  Looking out the windows, we recognize that it’s now darkening outside, and that fires are burning.  The harp decorations are absent, and the beating of drums overwhelms our senses.  At the end of his patience, I explain that we need to leave this chamber, leave the mansion, and once outside, we see people, and decide to investigate.  The decorations for the coming year, the harps, are again absent.

We traverse the road, disoriented, to the inn and find it different than before.  “The Red Rose” is inscribed upon the door, and entering we see inebriated patrons.   The layout of the interior is different, the former innkeeper and servants aren’t anyone that we recognize, and Audric steps forth to inquire of Alastra.  The man is clearly drunk, and answers that he has no idea what Audric is talking about, pointing out our red face paint.  “What is the occasion, why the celebration?” Audric asks.  “Hail the Year of the Raging Flame!” he shouts, to a chorus of cheers from all those gathered.

Audric decides to return to the Ivy Mansion before I start stabbing people, clearly feeling backed into a corner by the sudden change of environments.  Were it not for Bonie and the presence of Selben, it likely would have happened already.  Our way is barred, however, by armed guards, and at mention of Malchor, the guards take us for drunk revelers, informing us that “Master Brehan isn’t taking guests right now.”

Pressing the guards about the current year, feigning drunkenness, their answer is shocking.  “The Year of the Raging Flame will be upon us in only a few hours,” one guard explains.  When pressed about the numeric year, they sigh.  “Twelve-hundred and fifty-five,” they spit back, and my spirit crumbles.  That’s 100 years in the past!

Assaulted by the sudden and unforeseen distortion of time, we retreat to The Red Rose seeking rooms, a place to gather our wits and start to lay out a plan.  On the eve of a new year, however, the inn is unsurprisingly full, and we are forced to overpay for a place in the stable, as the innkeeper clearly thinks that we are drunk and desperate.  Unfortunately, only one such word describes our current plight, so we pay the coin and take sanctuary among the beasts of burden, our attitudes reflecting the miserable state of our accommodations.