#32: Mirabar

The days spent after the discovery of the chambers under the river keep are spent in contemplation over how to proceed.  Zargon raises the question about exploring the scorched passageway, clearing the boulders to see what lies beyond, but after our last encounter in confined spaces, it’s not an option that Audric or I are excited about without further research.

While Zargon and Selben continue their studies, sharing Zeb and Ethelenda’s spellbooks to pore over the arcane writings, the discussion turns towards Mirabar, and what we might hope to accomplish there.  Since the barbarians’ attack, I have been considering hiring a family or two, perhaps a guard or someone that can serve in that capacity, to bolster the community and defenses of Dagger’s Deep.  Though my funds are limited, the investment could prove worthwhile for the struggling settlement.  Access to Mirabar’s libraries are also attractive given the mystery of the parchment, and the desire to learn more about it—or indeed, the tunnels beneath Dagger’s Deep—holds appeal.

Audric convenes with Tarrsh, Dagger’s Deep’s smith, to discuss the construction of a longbow.  The request is a mighty one given the settlement’s limited resources, though the man commits to the commission, indicating that it will take a month of time to produce a weapon of quality.

One of the foresters, a man named Lom, has been spending a fair amount of time in Audric’s company.  Lom is a skilled tracker and lamenting our lack of such a skillset since parting ways with Wyardt, an arrangement is made for Lom to accompany the group to Mirabar.  Perhegan catches wind of Lom’s intent to depart with us, and though he does not intercede, we can tell that the loss weighs heavily on him.

To alleviate the man’s fears, I announce my own intentions to remain in Dagger’s Deep with Bonie while the group is gone.  Audric expresses surprise at the decision, as is to be expected, though I explain my motivations.  With the town still in recovery, having a priest on hand is an invaluable resource.  And should there be a few barbarians remaining that press the settlement’s defenses, Bonie and I are equipped to handle that.  After some discussion, the decision is accepted, Selben stepping forward sheepishly.

“I am coming with you,” he announces.  “Zeb and I have discussed it, and he thinks I’m ready to go out on my own.  If you’ll have me, that is.”  There is no argument from Audric or Zargon, and the arrangement is settled.

We ask Perhegan if there is anything we can do on his behalf while in Mirabar, and he gives us a short list of minor items into which to look, but nothing critical to the town’s operations.  For the most part, however, there is little that he needs besides additional manpower, which was already on my list to pursue on Zeb’s behalf. 

Zeb conjures a group of four mounts to bear us on the first leg of the journey, and we make our departure from Dagger’s Deep.  For me, this is the first time I have spent away from my master since the attacks of Carcerus in Carrock, and I’m filled with a near-overwhelming sense of excitement mingled with fear.  The mounts speed our travel, and though uncontested, we’re not able to complete the journey in one day and we decide to break outside Mirabar’s walls so as not to raise suspicion at the gates.  The watches are split between the four of us, having little fear this close to the mighty walled fortress.

A few hours into the night, Lom awakens Audric, having heard the galloping of hooves and seen the light of a lantern approaching where we are camped along the road.  Audric awakens the rest of us, and we wait to see if the rider has any intention of stopping to harass us.

There are two men on horseback, and they veer off the road toward our camp.  They appear to be Mirabarran soldiers, wearing the livery of the fortress guards.  We’re asked whence we’re traveling, where we are headed, and if the road behind us is safe.  I whisper that we have no reason to lie, and Audric steps forward, laying out our journey from Dagger’s Deep.  The men are gruff but not unreasonable.  “You’re about seven miles from the city, and should reach it in good time tomorrow morning.  The road has been clear for days, we bid you well on the rest of your journey.”

Before they can leave, I step forward.  “Does Rale Cotchen still number among the Mirabarran guard?”

Zargon and Audric share surprised looks, and the guards look perplexed.  “He does, indeed,” they answer.  “Do you know the captain?”

“If I needed to speak with him when we arrive, where would I find him?” I ask.  They respond that I should visit the barracks, and anyone there could probably direct us.  Audric and Zargon shoot me a pointed glare, and once the guards are gone, interrogate me over the statement and intentions.  I explain that Zeb has a message for me to deliver, should we run into him.

“Under no circumstances are you to seek out Rale Cotchen,” Audric orders.  “We’re not looking for trouble here, let’s not seek it out.  Leave well enough alone between them.”

The following morning, we break camp and are greeted at the gate by more guards.  The city is quiet compared to the last time we visited during the spring festival, and Audric states our business.  Our explanations pass scrutiny, and we are allowed entry.

From the center of the city, we examine the flow of traffic and look for a place to sleep during our stay.  We pass various market stalls, food vendors, and peddlers on our search.  The buildings of Mirabar are, for the most part, squat and made of stone, trading architectural style for functionality.  One such building has a group of solicitors outside, the “Sift & Skirmish Mining Company,” and from their calls they are looking for miners for hire, as well as those who would protect miners and clear out new caverns.

Mirabarran guards meander about the town keeping peace, though there doesn’t seem to be a high level of alarm among the men.  We settle upon an inn, the Rusty Sword, a three-story building that stands out among the other low structures.  Audric recognizes it from time spent in Mirabar previously, the inn apparently surviving the ravages of time to exist in our future timeline as well.

Finally in his element, we cut Zargon loose to negotiate with the innkeeper.  Zargon will be allowed to play the taproom and perhaps make coin from the customers for a night, assuming he remains civil and does not incite rows, but we still must stipend the cost of our lodging.  The inn is busy, as Mirabar is on the cusp of the heaviest trade season, so prospects are good.  We decide on a pair of rooms.

Zargon asks if the innkeeper will advertise that the “famous writer and singer of the ‘Ode to Laerch’” is in presence, and the innkeeper assents that he will spread the word.  With most of the day in front of us, we head back into the city.

As we leave the inn, we witness a commotion, centered around a young woman somewhere between Edine and Bonie in age.  It appears as if she is being arrested, with a soldier holding her arms behind her back as she struggles and yells.  A person at a food stand nearby is yelling at her, accusing her of thievery.  Audric and Zargon want nothing at all to do with the situation, and as we turn away I can’t help but look back. 

“I’m just trying to feed my family!” the woman yells.  “I have four children, my husband is dead and we all will starve!”  I raise an eyebrow towards Zargon, who also appears interested.

I slip him three gold coins, pushing him toward the stall.  “Two for the guards, one for the stall keeper!” I whisper to him excitedly.  Zargon steps forward and attempts to lubricate the situation but is rebutted immediately by the soldiers.

“We can arrest you in turn for your attempted bribery,” one of the guards responds as he fails to defuse the tumult.

“There’s no bribery involved,” Zargon replies.  He shares a few words quietly with the guards and offers to buy off the woman’s debt from the merchant, as another soldier draws near.  The guards snap to attention, as if this newcomer is a ranking officer, but they still maintain hold of the woman.  An exchange occurs between the soldiers as they explain the situation to the new arrival, and the ranking soldier stares the woman down.  “What do you have to say for yourself?” he commands, and the woman stops resisting.

“Just trying to feed my family,” she says defiantly.  The man turns to Zargon, asking of his involvement.

“I am a man of the arts with a very big heart,” he says glibly.  “I too came from a broken family, and I too have three siblings, and I understand the stress of being a business owner,” he says, indicating the merchant.  “I thought I would make a donation to the Axe of Mirabar for their troubles.”

“If we ever catch her stealing in the city again, we’ll arrest you both,” the officer says harshly.  He and the other soldiers decline Zargon’s ‘donation’ and depart, and Zargon attempts to smooth over the matter with the stall keeper.  Free from the guards’ scrutiny, he presses a gold coin into the merchant’s palm, coaxing him to let the matter rest.

The woman begins to thank Zargon for his kindness, but the bard interrupts.  “Look,” Zargon begins, his tone matter of fact, “you can’t bullshit a bullshitter.  What’s your name?” he asks.  She replies that her name is Seirsha, and Zargon continues.  “I’ve been around, I’ve been in trouble with the law too, and I’m running with some very interesting people right now.  You cannot lie to me.”

“I need to get home,” she says, turning away quickly, and he grabs her by the collar and turns her around, growling something about respect.  Sensing another confrontation and fearing the return of the guards, Audric intervenes on her behalf, telling him to let her go.  Zargon gives her one of the coins and releases her, inviting her to the Rusty Sword to watch him perform.  Seirsha examines Zargon quizzically, and after a few hesitant steps back, she turns away and runs off into the city.

Audric holds me to task for getting Zargon involved, and Zargon for attracting the attention of the Mirabarran authorities.  “The Audric I’ve come to know is a man of incredible morality,” Zargon begins, before Audric shuts his argument down.  Agreeing to disagree about the attempt at chivalry, we continue through the city streets.

Before long, we encounter another woman calling out solicitations for adventurers, offering boisterous claims of wealth for warriors, mages and priests.  She stands outside a building named the Gilded Tankard.  “Are you interested in an expedition to Icewind Dale?” she calls out to our group.

Audric seems curious, if not sold, and she takes us aside to explain.  “Go inside and ask for Kinray,” she tells us, before returning to her place in the street.  We follow Audric inside and find this Kinray, who appears to be a warrior with well-maintained equipment and long, flowing hair.  We approach as another group of would-be associates departs, and the man greets us.  “Kinray Moonshield, at your service,” he says, introducing himself.

He explains that they’re taking on adventurers for a 300-mile journey through the mountains and tundra of Icewind Dale, a path only accessible during the summer months, to deliver and trade goods before the deep snows arrive in the Northlands.  The man draws a crude map, but Audric explains that we’re not in a position to accept such a task right now.  He invites us to return should we change our minds.

Returning to the solicitors outside the Sift & Skirmish Mining Company, we enquire about the nature of those positions.  These jobs, certainly in comparison to the expedition to Icewind Dale, seem very mundane, most of the mines being close to Mirabar.  We thank them for their time and depart.

The only other notable site in the vicinity of our inn is a small ward within the city called Undercity Square.  It is the entryway into the dwarven Undercity, and as we approach the population becomes notably more weighted towards dwarves than humans.  The entrance to the Undercity is manned by more Mirabarran guards who explain that, while not strictly off limits to us, we would need to explain our business to gain ingress.

Having spent a few hours investigating the city, we return to the Rusty Sword so that Zargon can prepare for his performance.  His winnings are meager—a few copper coins, perhaps a silver or two—though partway through the evening Seirsha arrives at the tavern, taking a seat towards the back of the taproom.  I pump a fist in the air toward Zargon excitedly, making sure he’s aware of her presence.

His performance concluded, Zargon sidles forward to meet with Seirsha.  “Were you able to use some of that gold to buy a child-sitting service?  How are the kids?” he asks.  Not expecting her to answer honestly in any case, he continues.  “What brings you out tonight?”

“They are well,” she responds.  “After this afternoon, I was in need of some entertainment.”

“Do you often have run-ins with the Axe of Mirabar?” Zargon questions.

“Stealing is better than whoring,” she explains wryly, and Zargon changes the subject.

“If you haven’t heard of me yet, I’m Zargon,” he introduces himself, waiting for a look of recognition.  When it doesn’t come, he continues to press the woman with questions.  I sit nearby, my drink untouched, and stare, watching Zargon work his craft.

“You might be curious to know that there’s a place up the River Mirar where people looking for a fresh start can go, a tight-knit community run by a visionary named Perhegan.  Does that sound like something that may interest you?” Zargon asks.  “Looks like you might be wearing out your welcome in Mirabar.”

Though non-committal, she says that the offer is indeed interesting, and after pushing the third and final gold piece into her hand, he invites her to return tomorrow to talk more.  The revelry continues through the night, and eventually we retire.  Our rest is undisturbed, and we awaken refreshed.

Zargon questions those he has become acquainted with during his performance if they know of Dagger’s Deep.  The answer is unfortunately disappointing: no one seems to know much about it, but what he does discover is that the city is offering a bounty for orcs, 10 gold pieces per head, a bounty that is taken very seriously by those within the city.  Two years past, apparently, orcs attacked Mirabar in force.  Though the siege was unsuccessful, the bounty remains, and it has drawn several bands of adventurers to wage the war against the orcs proactively on Mirabar’s behalf. 

People with knowledge of the river do, however, seem familiar with the ruins there, though the river keep has been ruined as long as they can remember.  Triggered by mention of memory, it becomes plain that the scope of our investigation needs to increase, and we discuss the possibility of venturing into the Undercity to consult the long-lived dwarves.  We pack up and head out into the streets.

As expected, we are pressed by the guards while approaching the entrance to the Undercity.  When asked our purpose, I explain that we wish to consult the dwarves for their knowledge of ruins near Mirabar.  They indicate that we should seek public audience at the Hall of All Fires, a massive dwarven temple.

“Are we allowed to just go there?” I ask the guards sheepishly.  They explain that typically business is conducted between specific individuals, but that our entry would not necessarily be barred.

We are escorted onto a huge mechanical lift that hovers above a gaping pit which leads several hundred feet into the earth.  The contraption lowers us into the darkness, eventually transitioning to black corridors and barred portcullises lit by torches, and we see dwarves directing people to various destinations in the confusing maze of tunnels.

“We seek public audience at the Hall of All Fires!” I say more confidently in response to the dwarves’ questions, and we are sent in the direction of a specific tunnel.  Before long, we encounter the last torch before the corridor ends in blackness, so I withdraw a torch from my pack and set it alight.

We pass a lone dwarf on the way who greets us, and when asked how far the Hall might be, he indicates that we’re only a few hundred yards away.  Eventually, the corridor opens into a huge lit chamber, the ceiling rising several hundred feet above us, ending in stalactites.  There are all manners of dwarves meandering about.

Attendants at the entry to the chamber take note of us.  I ask after someone that might have knowledge of keeps and ruins, explaining the location of the river keep.  One answers.  “Regrettably, it was not a dwarf hold, so our knowledge is limited.”  He explains that it was occupied by humans at various times in the past, though the site has remained in a state of ruin for many years.

“Not to be naïve,” I say carefully, “but just how long is ‘many years’?”

“I’m 247 years old, he answers,” confirming that the ruins have been such to the extent of his memory.

When pressed for other details—books, sages, older dwarves—he regrettably says that the dwarves may have little to tell, as the keep was not dwarven made.  The dwarf with whom we’ve been speaking is named Arion, and he offers to look into it further if we will visit him again in two to three days.  When asked about the expectation of payment for the service, he explains that the Hall of All Fires is open to donations from all friendly beings.

“Are there any followers of the god Malar among the dwarves?” I ask.  Audric gives me a look, and I shrug innocently.

Arion chokes a little bit and explains that the worship of Moradin is of the utmost importance in dwarven society.  He seems a bit agitated at the question, though answers candidly.  “There are very few worshippers of other faiths among our clan, and those are not looked upon particularly well.”

“What about the craft of magic rings?” I ask.  “Are there any among you who would know about that?”

The dwarves convene, whispering among one another for a moment.  Arion narrows his eyes.  “Ask at the entry to the Undercity for Thrur Dalgin,” he answers seriously, though it’s hard for me to tell if he’s agitated or insulted, and I apologize again for asking so many questions.  I thank them and tell him that I will return in three days to discuss the ruins.

Audric asks if there is a temple nearby to Moradin, and the dwarves laugh, raising their arms and pointing to the walls that surround us.  “You’re in it!” they say.  We give our thanks again, and head back towards the entrance.

When we encounter the attendants again, we are handed over to a dwarf named Balgan.  I follow Arion’s instruction and ask after Thrur Dalgin, and am questioned about my purpose, an inquiry which has become very familiar in my time in Mirabar.  “My new friend Arion has indicated that Thrur may possess the knowledge that I seek.”

“Indeed he may,” Balgan replies gravely, “for he has forsaken the ways of the great dwarven gods.”  He calls over another dwarf attendant and tells him gruffly to escort us to see Thrur.  We are led through a portcullis into another corridor and a maze of tunnels and passages.

Eventually, we are brought to an iron door beyond which is an aged, gray-haired dwarf.  Thrur, after inspecting us carefully, agrees to let us in.  The room is as a home built within the stone, with clothes and forlorn sheets of parchment lying about, as well as an aged suit of armor.  He asks us to sit, indicating stone benches built into the walls. 

“I’m here about a ring,” I tell him.  “A magic ring, or so I was told, made by a dwarf.  If you were to examine the ring, could you tell if it were made by dwarven hands?”

He gives us a questioning look, asking “Do you have it?”

“Kind of,” I respond, “it’s complicated.”  Though I didn’t expect it and it leaves me somewhat surprised, Audric steps forward and takes off the ring, handing it to Thrur.

As the dwarf opens his hand, we can see that tattooed upon his palm is a symbol of Mystra.  His fist closes around the ring, then he holds it up, examining it.  “An interesting piece.  Very plain.  Why is it of concern to you?”

“Can I trust you?” Audric asks gravely.  “What we have to say we haven’t told many people.”

“And isn’t easily believed,” I add.

“If you truly serve the sign you bear,” the dwarf replies, indicating Audric’s own symbol of Mystra, “then yes,” Thrur answers.

Audric shares the pertinent details of the ring, and Thrur holds it up again.  “I do not believe this is of dwarven make, though what you say does interest me.”  He asks if he can trust us, in return.  Audric nods, and all of us listen carefully, feeling as if Thrur’s next words may carry some great weight.

“Curiously, you’re not the first that has inquired strange questions of me in recent months.  A man of southern origin, with tanned skin, passed through Mirabar with a sizable force—a score of men at his command.  They were on a path through Mirabar, headed northeast.”

“This individual enquired of my knowledge of Mystryl, of a time before magic was governed by law and order.  The man was clearly a wizard of significant power, though what he sought was not arcane, but godly, in nature.”  Thrur expects that this person may have been a worshipper of Shar, though he was never able to learn more about him, or of what he sought.

There was one other notable detail, as well—among this mage’s party was a large man, taller than any human, his face and body covered in robes, presumably the wizard’s personal bodyguard.  “When I drew near him, I had the foreboding sense of something... unnatural.”

We pause for briefly, taking time to consider the revelations, and what—if anything—any of this may have to do with the strange parchment found below the river keep, our travels along the River Mirar in both timelines, as well as this strange wizard and curious bodyguard.  Though we have learned much, it seems we may leave the Undercity with even more questions.