“I can’t believe I almost gave away the crystal heart just like this…it was a good thing Val was with me…”

I see fire - 77

Fandom: D&D 5E/homebrew campaign, actual play.

Word count: 3025.

Contents: Destruction, paranoia, betrayals, deals.

A/N: Here’s the MASTERLIST for “I see fire”. Any questions are welcome. Please comment, like, and reblog – reblogging is the only way for new readers to find this. Let me know if you want a tag or keep an eye out for updates.

Divider by @ firefly-graphics

LXXVII

Having opened the passage towards the Astral Workshop, they follow the stairs that appear down, and their arrival to the hallway with the view of the Astral Sea is accompanied by the sound of an unseen gong – three strikes – and the start of a soft ticking.

“Guess we have three hours?” Anvindr hazards

Lisa, keeping close to Morella, is staring wide eyed at the space around them all as they continue.

“This is…like home at the Harbour?”

The druid nods. “Yeah, it’s somewhere in the Astral Sea.”

Soon, they arrive at the lobby but rather than being greeted by the sentry, they find the lonely record keeper in a heap of broken metal and wires. The odd spark still flies from it, a faint trail of smoke too rising in lazy curves.

“This is foreboding.”

Zilvra isn’t sure who says it, if it even is just one person, but she wholeheartedly agrees. A hand on the hilt of her rapier, she watches the corners and the doors for the shape of anyone who might have done this…and yet she already has a theory as to who it might have been.

“Give me a moment,” Anvindr pleads, already on his knees by the scraps, “I might be able to fix it enough to get information.”

He works quietly. Lisa’s eyes never leave him but even if she’s curious, she doesn’t offer to help. Morella stays put too, eyes darting this way and that – on edge.

Zilvra knows it’s a long shot but she moves to the lectern where the giant book is lying open, waiting for names to be noted down with each new visitor…and of course no new name has been added.

“This…I can’t save it all but let’s see here,” the air genasi mumbles.

Carefully, he fixates the last wire in the neck of the sentry and with a whirring sound, the head activates. Light pools in its eyes and a staccato chirping comes from where a mouth would have been.

“G-g-g-g-gree-eetings,” it presses out, sound warping slightly before finding the usual pitch.

“Who did this to you?” Anvindr asks straight away.

There is no hesitation or stuttering this time: “The visitor called Xhalos Lyro.”

It’s hard to imagine one person being so destructive, so Zilvra is silently pleased when Anvindr asks if there had been others.

“Xhalos Lyro was alone.”

“So the place is inaccessible now?” Zilvra steps a bit closer to ask.

For a brief moment it seems as though the sentry tries to turn to face her, but it can’t so it just stares up at Anvindr as it explains. “Inaccurate. The Workshop remains functional even if I cease to be.”

Morella inches closer too. “What did you do to piss Lyro off?”

If the broken machine could have looked indignant it might have done so, but as it is it can merely alter its voice to carry an edge to it. “After your last visit, the guest known as Xhalos Lyro remained behind upon your departure. He was agitated. He showed hostile intent and acted on it.”

With that, the lights in the sentries eyes fade and no amount of prompting brings it back to “life”.

“Let’s get you signed in and head on,” Morella tugs at Lisa, urging her over to the ledger even if the human is looking longingly at the scraps that Anvindr busy himself with again.

By the time Lisa is done chiselling her name into the book, though, the blue tinkerer has given up on salvaging the sentry. Therefore, the little company of adventurers plus one, turn to the door of the workshop, planning to reveal the wonderland for tinkerers to Lisa – but as the door swings open, there’s only a narrow ledge before the vastness of the Astral Sea.

“What…?”

Anvindr steps aside, revealing how fragments of the workshop are floating in nothingness, suspended by an unseen force in the same way as Rogue Harbour. It would be possible, maybe to float from one piece to the other but none of the four feel like testing gravity.

“Let’s leave,” Morella tugs at Anvindr’s arm gently but sternly.

Stepping back through the doorway, he closes the door to the view.

“Markers…let’s head back,” the genasi decides and none of the women contradict him.

Just as Zilvra and her friends break the coins, though, she sees the handle dip as if the door is being opened from the other side.

Then the world is full of spiralling streams of light and dark, tugging at the drow’s guts before her feet find solid ground once more and the view solidifies into that of the Rogue Harbour.

“Close call,” Morella mumbles.

“Lyro?” Zilvra asks, causing Anvindr to stiffen.

The druid shrugs. “Smelled like a shit…probably is a shit.”

“What’s…a Lyro?” Lisa pipes up.

The trio exchange glances, silently deciding to finally bring the woman in the loop.

“Let’s go somewhere we can talk,” the only man suggests.

Moments later, they’re settled on stools and buckets and whatnot in Lisa’s cramped home. She’s put tea over and emptied some jars and mugs to serve it from but she’s not saying much, instead listening intently as the trio explain about the nature of the Astral Workshop…and the price for continuing to use it.

“So this Lyro,” Lisa eventually sums up, “he sacrifices people to tinker?”

They all nod.

“And it looks like it’s the same sort of concept but in reverse that was used to power the sentinel. Sentinels. All of it,” Anvindr sighs.

The drow shudders. “Makes one wonder how much of a person is left inside those things. The sentry seemed to have a personality at least…maybe the souls powering these inventions are intact…”

“Like the things called Warforged?” Lisa asks, earning more nods.

Cocking her head, it’s clear that Morella has had a thought: “Maybe the process can be reverted?”

“I can look into it, if you want.” The human somehow manages to not sound too eager but she still earns a glare from the druid.

“You’d have to be careful going there,” Anvindr points out. “Not just because of the sentry but because of Xhalos Lyro. He’s…bad to say the least. He’s beholden to no one but himself, so none can temper his messed up evil plans. He kills and tortures for fun.”

“And he can raise the dead at least for a while,” Morella shudders. “Problem is: we don’t know much else about him other than what he looks like.”

But Lisa doesn’t seem to mind as she puts her mug down. “Someone might…come.”

Leading the way at a rapid pace, she brings the trio to Nilaus’ humble home and they are lucky to find him home.

“Hey. What do you know of necromancy and elves who can raise the dead?” Lisa begins barely without preamble.

“Hello to you too, Lisa…and all of you,” Nilaus adds when he gets a chance to look further.

Waving them inside, he has to move some books and scrolls before there’s room for them all to sit down.

“Necromancy and elves?” he checks, earning nods from all four visitors. “I know some things but let me double check in the records.”

It takes a moment of searching through a few books before Nilaus dares to expand upon their knowledge, but when he does, he can tell that necromancy is an old school of magic that was brought to Omen via high elves that had been expelled from the city of Doorrodon on Reglasd. Coming from across the sea, they settled in the far north of Omen on the border of the Shadowlands – which Zilvra reminds herself is where Dinnin Dalorzzar is meant to reside.

“Here hang on…this might be of more use to you than me,” the magician begins as he digs through a drawer in the desk where he’s seated. Then he rummages in another drawer and it is from that one that he procures a little vial with a white, airy substance inside. “This is a memory of a tree that Adia might be able to create a portal to. It’s near the border…or it was once, at least.”

He hands it over to Zilvra who takes it gingerly. “Thank you.” She glances to her friends. “I don’t think we’ll be using it any time soon, though.”

The others shake their heads in agreement.

“Keep it. I’ve not found use for it in over a decade,” Nilaus insists.

Sensing their visit is at an end, the trio and Lisa leave but they haven’t made it far before Lisa suddenly slaps her forehead as if realizing something.

“I promised you payment! Do you want markers or something else?” she asks.

They have quite a lot of markers.

“What else can you offer,” Morella wants to know.

The human inventor smiles proudly. “I’ve been working on some gloves that I can imbue with the right materials to increase a skill for each of you.”

“What?!” Anvindr seems more interested in the process of doing that than the result but he schools himself. “Anything?”

Upon confirmation, the trio’s minds begin working hard and Lisa is helpful with suggestion so it doesn’t take long before she scampers off with three different wishes.

—

“Why are you so quiet?” Morella asks Zilvra.

They’re sitting in the inn, enjoying an early afternoon snack as they missed lunch.

The drow only slowly returns her attention to the present. “I’ve made a decision…if Menzoberranzan won’t play nice, then neither will I.” Her friends share a glance but wait for her to continue. “They’re abusing Filandrin and something my dad said…it’s mom who helped create him. She must have…done terrible things to him.”

It’s the druid that nods first. “So you want revenge.”

“No…yes…but this is not it. I want to undo what has been done to him.”

“You can do that?” Anvindr asks.

The young rogue shakes her head. “But mom might be able to reverse engineer it…so I need mom…” She pushes up from the chair. “You don’t have to be involved…but I have to do this.”

Of course, she’s trailed by her friends as she weaves between the many table to the corner where Kurnai is sitting on her own.

“Ah, the trio,” the dwarven woman smiles, making the tattoos on her face wrinkle, “what do you want?”

Sitting down before the leader of the Harbour, Zilvra picks her words carefully.

“Actually…it’s what you want. How much will you pay for access to Menzoberranzan?”

She can feel the intake of air from her friends who are standing behind her, but Zilvra’s gaze is fixed on the woman before her. An eyebrow arches. The body leans in. Oh yes, this is something that’s worth a lot.

Kurnai voice is calm, though. “Name your price.”

“I figure that a mushroom the size of a tree might work as a way point. I’ll give you that. In return, you will fund and carry out a mission to retrieve my mother who is held captive – most likely in the prison outside the city.”

“So you want to free your mom.”

“Oh, she can remain a prisoner but I want her under my hold.”

The brow arches again at that but Kurnai doesn’t comment on it. “Simply telling us about a mushroom won’t be enough…” she warns.

Before answering, Zilvra does a bit of mental gymnastics, trying to match what she know about the Wayfinder’s skill with any other information she might have and she stops at the memory of a vial with a white foggy substance in it: a literal memory.

“Nilaus will extract the memory from me?” she tries.

The dwarven leader nods. “It’s not without risks or discomfort, but yes. He’ll take your memories of anything pertaining to the access to Menzoberranzan as well as the job to retrieve your mother. If Adia can make use of the memory of the mushroom tree, then - and only then – will you get to pick your team for the prison break.”

“No, you get me wrong,” Zilvra straightens up. “I accept of course that the deal is off, if the memory is useless to Adia…but I won’t be part of the team going to the Underdark. It’d put me and therefore anyone else at risk.”

“You’re not welcome there?”

“I’d rather say I’m so welcome they wouldn’t let me leave again. I’m wanted.” Zilvra hesitates, catching a glimmer of interest rather than alarm in the woman’s eyes. “That’s what brought us here in the first place…and we were promised we’d be safe. Have friends and allies here.”

“And so you do. Rogue Harbour doesn’t sell out their own,” Kurnai solidifies. “But come…we have work to do and there’s no better time for it than now.”

With Morella and Anvindr quietly in tow, Zilvra is led back to Nilaus who agrees to do the procedure when his boss explains it.

“Are you sure about this?” Anvindr asks softly, while the magician rummages for the equipment.

Zilvra has been placed in a chair and while she’s gripping the floral plushy armrests tight, she nods with (what she hopes is) a stalwart expression.

A bit of that security does wane when Nilaus returns with a strange looking helmet that has nobs and wires leading to a series of empty vials. With an almost apologetic smile, he slips it onto Zilvra’s head where it wobbles loosely but he doesn’t seem to mind that it isn’t a perfect fit.

“Close your eyes. Try to relax.” The magician’s voice is soothing, and Zilvra does as she’s asked. “Now try to picture the mushroom before your inner eye. Describe it to me in as much detail as you can.”

“It’s in Donigarten, the mushroom forest on the banks of the lake. This mushroom is the biggest of them all, growing in a hollow, and the base of the trunk too wide for two people to reach around and fuzzy with frayed bark, so to say. It’s so old that moss and lichen grows on it. It’s cap, high up, glows purple, the light filtering through the slits of the gills on the underside.” Zilvra has a perfect image of the mushroom on question in her mind, but she also feels the helmet setting to work, following her words to throw a spotlight on whichever part she’s describing. It’s distracting but she can’t mess this up, so she barrels on. “On the side towards the lake, there’s someone who have carved their initials in the trunk – K.A. – it’s around shoulder-height for a drow so it must be lower for a human. The writing is of course in Undercommon.” Stepping back in her memories, she considers if she’s leaving anything out.

“What about the surroundings?” Nilaus prompts.

“It’s in a hollow, as I said, shielded from view from the city and far into the forest where mostly the myconids come. The are always plenty of mushrooms in various sizes to grant cover, though.”

She and Filandrin have spent plenty of time there, hiding from anyone who might consider it uncouth of the kids to be friends as they are different genders. Different classes. This is the place where she first let Filandrin taste candied lichen…something that became his favourite treat.

Nilaus’ voice breaks into her reverie: “Good, good. And your mother? Can you describe her?”

Allaunira is beautiful, like many of her kin. Though slender, her curves are softer than her daughter’s. She’s dark-skinned with eyes a bright blue like Zilvra’s. Her nose, with the slightest upturn, is often described as pretty even though neither she nor her child have quite understood the notion of that. Her hair is almost always tied back in a ponytail and she never wears much jewellery or make-up, having spent her youth and adult life pursuing bookish and arcane knowledge instead of beauty routines. She tends to wear simple yet elegant dresses under the robe of her station.

“And where is she now?” Nilaus prompts, a hand on Zilvra’s shoulder as the memory is allowed to slip out of the brightness of the helmet’s power.

The drow is feeling fuzzy minded, the way you would after waking up too soon or too abruptly.

“I’m not certain…but most likely in the prison and if she’s there she’ll be far down,” she manages. “The prison is on the other side of Menzoberranzan compared to Donigarten. It’s also called The Pit because it is literally a huge well or cylinder carved into the ground with a winding staircase leading down and the cells dug into the sides.”

She’d sneaked close once, managing to catch a glimpse of the circular darkness before being chased away by a patrolling guard. Guard.

“I don’t know how many guards there are or what their pattern for patrolling is…but there are guards at The Pit. And there will be at the gates to Menzoberranzan too.”

She should know how many are at the gates…but she can’t recall…her mind is too sluggish and it’s starting to hurt her head.

“Let’s stop here,” the voice of Kurnai chimes in.

“Very well,” Nilaus agrees.

A brief moment passes before the helmet is removed from the drow and she can blink at the soft light in the home of the magician. Rubbing her temples, she tries to unscramble her brain. What was all this for? Why couldn’t she just go there and talk to her mother?

Then the mind fog starts to clear and with it comes both the understanding of why she’s just done what she’s done but also that there will forever be no going back – she has betrayed her own home and people.

A wave of nausea rolls through her, but she swallows it down, breathing in through her nose.

“I’ll take this to Adia, you take that one,” Nilaus mumbles to Kurnai, handing her a vial similar to the one he holds in his other hand.

“Let me know if it works,” Zilvra asks tersely before getting up on wobbly legs.

“Of course,” the dwarf agrees as she gently but sternly ushers the trio out of the magicians abode.

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