The Burnished Text

[gathera]

Did you ever have a feeling you must do something. A gnawing itching vision of a task you must complete. A feeling so powerful it haunts your very dreams. Close your eyes and that desire is still there, waiting skulking in the corridors of your mind.
So once more I am back in Skull Craig standing in the snow in the dark of night waiting, waiting and wondering why? Here alone in the depth of night accompanied only by the shadows of trees hovering just out of arms reach. I can barely see the tips of my gloves let alone the ground in front of me. It is a dark soundless cold that envelops me a cocoon of smothering silence. Resigned my eyes flutter shut in protest. What difference will eyes open or closed make?

Yes it a light, faint but a shimmering light never the less. Gasping my eyes snapped open. Wait no no the bobbing light was gone. Twisting around in circles I stare hopelessly at the inky blackness. Gone, the glimmering will-o-wisp vanished. My head slumped tiredly into my hands. No wait there. The light was back eagerly I bobbed my head upwards.

“Gods above and below gone. NO!”

But yes gone. It made no sense. Deliberately I shuttered my eyes and once more the illumination returned. With slow deliberation I meticulously opened my eyes. Gone. Gone, yes that was it. I could see the glow but only with my eyes closed.

Laughing I shouted out to the sky “Yes, YES YES”. I bellowed out at the top of my lungs over and over again, yes! Of course faith, a leap of faith or more precisely a step.

Eyes clamped shut I started out one step then another toward the nebulous witch-light. The limbs of the hidden trees reached out to claw at my face, blood oozed down a myriad of nicks and cuts but I pressed doggedly onward. I could have stepped off a cliff walked across thin ice a thousand and one different ways to die here. I had only my faith, but faith is always more than enough.

With each step the glimmer grew brighter washing over me with a wave of silvery white light until at last trembling I stood bathed in silver. My foot brushed against something that skittered away with a rattle. I dared not open my eyes least everything here be lost. Shaking with trepidation I slowly knelt down. My hands patted the cold crisp snow around me. My hand closed around a rugged woven cloth. Both hands clenched tightly around the parcel and I tugged at it sharply. Something held it fast for an instant, then with a rattling crumbing noise the satchel tore free. With a howl of triumph I staggered to me feet. The silver witch-light slipped away into the night as I stood pressing the satchel tightly against my chest. Apprehensively I opened one eye to see what it was I clutched so fervently to my chest. Curiosity had full grip of me now as I torn open the bag. Scraps of cloth slowly slipped downward. I gasped in wonder, a book clad in burnished bronze bound in white leather. Starlight shimmered and danced in the glimmering mirror-like burnished book, the burnished text.

[gathera]

The lament of long lost kings
A crystal tear of which sorrow brings
Clear and cold, one tear shed
For the fallen and for the dead
A crystal tear to adorn cheek alabaster
Weep not for me but for my master


My fingers brushed against the burnished bronze of the tome once more reassuring myself it was still there. The book was a compelling mixture of the mundane and the exotic. Several sections existed in the Burnished Text describing in immaculate detail assorted enchantments. How one might summon a storm, a means to command the freezing cold of the northern wind. However a great deal of the tome was more cryptic, veiled meanings, hints of places long lost and forgotten. Still I had made progress. The first tentative step to unlocking the secrets that lay within the volume.

I had paid for the riddles answer with one of four questions that could be asked; my first real breakthrough in deciphering the passages of the Burnished Text. A crystal tear, a Kings tear, the name of a rare gemstone. The stone was my reason to be in Great Gaunt this eve. I was hoping against hope that Mirrir would be in Great Gaunt this night for if anyone would have what I sought it would be her.
I could not believe my good fortune, there in the square of Great Gaunt Mirrir. Even without the wings she was unmistakable with her blazing red hair, emerald cat-eyes and languid feral grace. I licked my lips and gathered a steadying breath. I had always found Mirrir to be an intimidating figure and apprehensions like those i felt now would hinder me in my task here tonight. Mirrir stood near the doorway to the Griffon inn intently scanning over a small well-worn notebook. I approached pausing until my presence had been duly noted.

I managed to bleat out a ragged, “A book enjoyable?”

Mirrir glanced up from the ledger flashing me a lazy smile “Ah, not particularly, accounting ledgers.”

I thought to myself how strange the fates may conspire here this night, her reading a book and myself on a books errand. It was a good omen.

“I have heard it said a merchant’s friend is her ledgers or is that just her curse? Anyway I would ask a question of you if I may.”
Mirrir flipped the book closed, abruptly enough to cause it to emit a resounding snap

“mm?”

“I would not wish to disturb your work, except that I fear I already have.” I licked my lips to steady my nerves and quickly continued.
“Do you still sell gems as you once did before?”

Mirrir tucked the tome away, focusing her strange catlike eyes on me. Even in the dark of the night her eyes shone with a unnatural light only enhancing Mirrir’s unsettling effect.

“I -can- sell gems; however, my price for them is exceptionally absurd. I don't -like- letting them depart. It may be that I can direct you to a better source, however. Still I encourage those around me to indulge their curiosity dear. Questions are lessons, and lessons let us grow, hm?”

Fortunately for myself I had at least gained Mirrir’s interest now.
“There is a stone clear in colour and rare, known as a Kings Tear. Would you have such a gem in your possession and of course also be willing to part with it?”

“Mm. Lich Weeping’s, they're called, dear. And they've quite the story to them. I do have a collection of such, but I've little inclination to let them pass me by.”

Stepping forward another woman approached intrigued by our conversation. Tall taut and trim she was clad in midnight black that was accentuated by the paleness of her skin and scarlet lips. She stood still poised with a self-assured calm. I was somewhat reminded strangely of a coiled whip.

“What is a Lich Weeping?”

Mirrir turned to the woman “The King's Tear stone, Zodika dear.Pending the quality of the stone, I expect no less than five thousand, for even the worst specimen, and over ten for the best. Zodika here may be far more reasonable, hmh.“

I turned to Zodika, “If I said whatever it took I might seem a fool but shall I say I will be most generous Ten thousand is acceptable to me if, well if the stone is of exceptional quality.”

“My prices are similar to Mirrirs.”

Mirrir with a rustle of her wings re-opened the ledger.

“Thank you, Zodika dear. I'm never pleased to disturb that particular collection.”

The dominos were quickly falling into place for me this eve. The stone might yet be mine tonight.

“I have the money. The Kings paper if you have the stone a bargain can be struck.”

Zodika turned to face me; “I will sell a large one for 10 thousand.”

This was all proceeding far better than I dared hoped for. I quickly stammered out

“I Agree.”

With a coy smile with an adept twist of Zodika’s wrist a brilliant tear-drop shaped stone tumbled adroitly into the palm of her hand. Cold clear perfect just as the legends described, a tear frozen captured in stone. It lay there in her hand twinkling to me calling to me. I fumbled quickly at the purse on my belt racing through the charms of protection. My shaking hands clutched at two colourful bank notes, the price. Hastily I handed over the notes for Zodika’s inspection. I stood tense waiting, wondering tense with anticipation while a maelstrom of worries washed over me. With agonising slowness and a languid nod Zodika scooped up the notes and pressed the gem into my hand. I closed my hand around the cold hard gem pressing it tightly into my fist. I could feel the tension drain from me. With trepidation I opened up my fingers to stare at the stone.

“Perfection itself a Kings' Tears, the lament of the kings long now to dust. I could not have hoped for better quality of stone.”
I bowed by head respectfully to Zodika.

“You are welcome.”

Relief joy ecstasy all washed over m, I had accomplished it, and the gem was mine.

“The night’s zephyr shows me favour.“

Zodika slipped the notes away. ”Perhaps we shall do business again. I have many many gems. If you need more, you are welcome to inquire.”

“Yes, I shall remember that.

I bowed once more.

“Some things are best done by night so I must take my leave, farewell.”

My fingers drummed the satchel, I could not stand still, and the moment was electric. I had it, the Kings tear.


Based on transpired events with a special thanks to Pedantry INC and Lady Frost for their generous permission to use what was said that night.

[gathera]

Stir the cauldron cast the spell
Tide filled caves is where we dwell
Three old daughters of Cegilune
Seek them out by the light of Selune
Black Annie’s locks so long and fine
Spin the wheel, weave the twine
Spindle bobbin and long black thread
Spin the yarn of the dead


It was done, only the waiting remains now and goddess be willing that would be quick. It had taken me a few days to make the arrangements to speak with Mara of the IronSworn. An unusual woman, one was reminded of steel in the way she spoke, looked, and even dressed. Not an unattractive woman but one with hard eyes and a rugged no nonsense demure. The negotiations had gone well and an agreement in principle quickly forged. One of IronSworn, Maric would see to the logistics of the venture. Each member would receive 1000 gold. Gold, I chuckled, what I was after was worth far more to me than mere gold. In that cavern there were only three things I desired and the hags were far from golden. Our group would arrive at the mill shortly now and just prior to the suns setting. The lands around mill had once been valued farmland but the fields were now weed choked with and many of the cottages had fallen into disrepair if not collapsed completely. Even the air here was tainted with a miasma of decay, the covens doing no doubt. It was nearly time to depart to the cave, Selune would be rising shortly. Soon the three sisters skein would be mine.


Based on transpired events and my thanks to bloodalchemist for use of Mara in this prelude

[gathera]

[gathera]

Stir the cauldron cast the spell
Tide filled caves is where we dwell
Three old daughters of Cegilune
Seek them out by the light of Selune
Black Annie’s locks so long and fine
Spin the wheel, weave the twine
Spindle bobbin and long black thread
Spin the yarn of the dead

The moon lit the fields here in a kaleidoscope of white black and greys; a stark cold beauty. The land was calm, the air heavy with damp. Only the rhythmic creaking of the old windmill broke the still silence of the night. I knew we were close now. There was a palpable miasma in the air here, an obvious scent of rot and ruin. What was once vibrant farmland lay nettle-choked, abandoned withered into dilapidation. Even the night’s sea-air was heavy with wet pungent odor of decay.

I glanced over to the two with me this eve. Maric the IronSworn stood over one of the lesser sisters of Cegilune wiping her black blood off the blade of his two-handed sword. His was a rugged grim face, marred by a scar running from his left eye to his cheek. A mountain of a man he had split the hag in twain with a single stroke with a sword nearly as long as I. Maric had the look of a killer but the manners of a gentleman, an unusual combination.

The second of my group was Kathy, a lithe and limber lady who was clad head to toe in midnight black. Idly she brushed back blood red tresses of her hair dangling as she diligently cut free spent quarrels from another of the fallen hags.
Kathy grunted as she worried free the last of the deadly bolts

“May I ask why the hags?”

Maric looked across the marsh

“Experiments is all I know.”

I signaled for silence and knelt down next to one of the slain hags cupping my hands beneath the slowly trickling blood.
“No, not at all, this venture tonight is to fashion something. The dead here will lead us to the cave of the three I seek. Give me a moment”
I closed my eyes, focusing my concentrating on the hags-blood slowly dribbling languidly, methodically from my cupped hands. In my mind I gathered up each escaping mote of blood twisting them into an ever-gathering scarlet pulsating thread. With each of the cascading carmine pearls that trickled ever downward the wormlike mass grew; a sinuous slithering vermilion serpent. Blood always calls to blood.

“Follow me; I know now where the three daughters of Cegilune are now.”

For one with the sight the spell-shaped mass was a brilliant crimson beacon however for my companions the blood aggregate would appear only as a black smudge shimmering dimly. With determined persistence the congealed essence wormed its way forward with the three of us tagging closely behind. Unerringly the gelid creation writhed and slithered across the earth ever onward heading arrow straight towards the sea. With each step the gentle murmur of the tide grew louder until at last we reached the precipice of the cliffs edge. With an exhausted wet whisper the red-entity shrivelled away into the night-air. We had arrived at a set of well-worn stone steps cunning carved into the cliffs face. With our backs pressed firmly against the wall the three of us tentatively descended towards a dark fissure splitting the cliffs face. The stones here were coated with thick luminous foetid green algae as a warm cloying breeze exhaled from the caverns mouth. Pausing only for a moment we slipped inside, wading through the cavern’s ankle deep grey waters. Some distance away a natural ledge could be seen lit by the flickering orange glow of a fire. If nothing the ledge would provide firmer footing than the grotto’s brackish mud we stood in.

We were close now; I could hear the sizzle of a flame, the faint hissing crackle of voices echoing, I could even smell the tangy of the fires peat-smoke wafting through the mist. Vaguely I could discern three shapes in the disatnce. Three women of slender build with long dangling greasy matted black hair clad in ratty ragged peasant attire; three, haggard stooped-shouldered matrons who shambled slowly about tending a simmering cauldron.

I signaled for my companions to halt. As quietly as I could I invoked the spirits of the air bending them to my will twisting them about us until at last we were hidden from sight. It was time now Maric and Kathy knew what was required of them.
I held my breath; the three hags stopped moving as if they were one. With baleful purpose the trio glanced about the chambers disquietly sniffing the air. One of the sisters let out a low menacing cackle before staggering back gasping and pawing furtively at a black quarrel that now sprouted from her neck. The second shrieked in rage clawing futilely at a steel spur that had burst from her chest. Maric’s blade had found its mark.
Hissing with rage the remaining hag snapped forward and with supernatural strength tipped the bubbling cauldron contents splashing them towards Kathy. Twisting frantically Kathy scrambled backward from the onrushing bubbling seething liquid mass oozing towards her.
With a burst of manic laughter the hag spat out a small bleached bone chip. The yellowed fragment slipped into the damp loam worming its way quickly beneath the surface.

Maric ripped free his sword advancing warily on the remaining crone his blade posed menacingly before him.
I began to spin my arms in a tangled weave of motions, every gesture spinning quicker. My fingers tugged and grasped at the very air itself drawing it around about me in a small maelstrom of wind. Dust and bric-a-brac danced about the cavern swept up into the ever growing tempest. Shrieking the seething writhing vortex spun unerringly towards the hag.

“Maric take the hag now!”

Maric leapt forward his sword slicing inward drawing a thin black line of blood. The hag howled in rage as the dust blinded her eyes and the winds tugged at her arms. Enraged she lashed out staggering Maric. Her black- nails etched gouges in Maric’s mail raising a shower of sparks. A second blow hammered Maric back. The hag sensing her advantage twisted forward her cruel teeth snapping about Marics face bending Maric’s sword arm brutally backwards. Abruptly the hags eyes widen as collapsed stumbling against Maric. A single black quarrel had found its mark.

“That was all of them I think”

“You were quick and efficient Maric I shall let Mara know.”

I knelt down and begin the gruesome task of remove the heads of the three. Only their hair mattered but to my mind this seemed most practical way of gathering what I required. Unperturbed by what I was doing Maric kept a close watch about the chamber while Kathy rummaged about the den.

“Thanks, need more time? I hope this experiment of yours is worth this”

“Yes I have exactly what I required: and everything is undamaged as I requested”

“Even better; Now lets get outa here... horrible smell”

Kathy nodded to Maric “Glad you didn't want the hearts. That last bolt would have damaged it beyond repair”

I merely nodded, “this went far better than I expected.”

Kathy casually flicked a small gem towards Maric. “Everything with handsome goes better”

“Yeah, thanks... I’m good at removing the family jewels from frost giants too”

Kathy nudged Maric with a well-placed elbow” Glad I’m not a frost giant, Oh wait that just brought horrid mental images. Next time if we are to play with the dead can they not be hags or frost giants jewels?”

“Heh”

“I will have in the future other ah tasks if you amenable?”

“Sure, just keep Mara in the loop”

Patting the satchel, “Of course”

It was done; this step complete. Still a great deal more lay ahead, but the tome now opened to the next chapter.

The above was based on in-game events and dialog. Also I would like to give a special thank-you to both offduty and bhagavat for their permission to use their characters in this story.

[gathera]

In a regal forest where the black oaks dwell
Amidst the tangled branches of mires fell
From the blacken heart, slice to slivers
Etch in silver drawn from a strangled river
Twilight to night, Darkness to dusk
Mark each strip well and thrice thus

It was a remarkable sight. One never thinks of plants moving let alone something as massive as a tree. The so called black oaks were a spectacular to observe, their size their power and their absolute hatred. Theirs was a palpable black rage that rolled off in waves of anger. Still Maric was his usual efficient self.

I must say the interior wood was quite astonishing. It has a deep midnight black lustre once properly polished. Details of the woods proper preparation were described in detail the Burnished Text. What oils must be employed, what tools were required to work the timber, what words must be spoken even the details of the optimum time to work the wood, all were detailed. Such a sight the finished wood was; like holding a piece of the night-time sky. The Burnished text called only for a small quantity but I chose to indulge myself with another project that I had longed for. I never have had my own spinning wheel and the gathered wood was the perfect excuse to have a one built. Imagine my surprise in finding a master craftsman in that dreary little village of Great Gaunt. A coincidence that he should be in the village at the same time as I with the black oak, but then the faithful know that there never such a thing as a coincidence.
Moriano was a man of his word. I set stipulations on the use of certain metals in crafting the wheel and he obliged. No taint of iron was evident either in the final product or in the spinning wheels construction.







Yes Moriano’s Marvelous Wool Winding Wonder. It even could be dissembled then re-assembled as well. I had procured the use of a windowless room where the device remains under lock and key. It was a masterful machine. Had any other wheel been used in the attempt of crafting weaving the yarn I would have surely failed. The touch was outstanding the spindle whirls like it was possessed. With the yarn, gem wood and silver nails I was nearing the end. Success was in my grasp.

My thanks to Moriano (mycophobia) for the interactions in game and to post the spinning wheels description

[gathera]

Silent as shadows A darkness at the door
I slip through the dreamlands hunting for more
Ever seeking a beating heart of stone
Black rags fluttering, a visage of a crone
Merchant infernal Eyes glowing like coals
Black razor talons A stealer of souls
Cloth cut to measure to wrap and to bind
Seek out Isibial for it is she you must find

The scholars had proved useless, at best a few tantalizing hints and nothing more. I was at an impasse and the lack of progress was beginning to weigh on my spirits. At least this night an old friend was in the village to lift my spirits.

“Good evening Weaver. How do the winds find you on this warm summer’s night?”

“Evenings are always good Tailor. The winds favour me greatly this eve for they have brought me a scholar from Aizarin. I shall pay the air and its servant’s homage for such a gift.”

Tailor nodded, “well how good of them, is this your scholar? His eyes tracked across the square to a blacked robed woman casually watching the two of us.

“Oh no another hmm Salazar Von Nefzen We were just talking. I have asked him my questions as well as many others and yet no answers have I received, but perhaps the winds will whisper their secrets to him.”

“Salazar has joined the academy then; well certainly he is a scholar. What is your question Weaver? Tailor looked over towards me puzzled and intrigued.

“I have a stanza Tailor whose meaning is still hidden from me; that stanza and a name. The fourth chapter of the Burnish Text has proven to be the most intractable of all the passages. I have the verse memorized I can recite it if you so desire.”

Tailor gave a slow casual nod even as his eyes sparkled with curiosity.

Silent as shadows A darkness at the door
I slip through the dreamlands hunting for more
Black rags fluttering a visage of crone
Merchant infernal Eyes glowing like coals
Black razor talons for a stealer of souls
Cloth cut to measure To wrap and to bind
Seek out Isibial for it is she you must find

“So Tailor I have a name from a passage that likely deals with hags but little else concrete to go on.”

“This verse is a message you believe then, someone for you to seek?”

Pursing my lips I nodded, “From other notes transcribed in the margins I would seek Isibial’s demise. The cloth would be bound her It could not be bartered for. Other portions of the tome dealt with hags and the sages I have hired have agreed that this chapter of the text also implies a hag. Yet with all of the scholars consulted I remain stalemated.”

Tailor grew silent and serious for a moment. “Well I have no love for the hags and there is little to suggest a destination unless...have you ever heard of a dream catcher? Hags are said to prowl though dreams in search of....sustenance?

“They do?” I shook my head no, “No I think Isibial would be a difficult thing to catch”

Tailor gave his head a small shake, “all hags oh no, though one who can trap a soul in a bottle can dream another’s dream. The second line suggests to me that a hag that may be sought in your dreams Weaver, But to follow her trace though in dreams you must remain safe.”
I bit my lip with a worried nod “It would make sense that the tome calls for the demise of only the strongest of such creatures.”
“Dreams are real to these creatures Weaver and their presence is real though you cannot fight them there. Yet like a hound with her nose to a cord you can follow them if you dare.”

“Many dreams are real, and what you said is true and it is said that like always calls to like.”

Tailor locked my gaze with his,” You know of how such a thing might be done, magic? You would need a scholar not a poet but Weaver can you walk in your own dreams?”

I lowered my eyes from Tailors piercing gaze, “This would be a dangerous pursuit I do have certain plant extracts that can place me with in a deep slumber. A sleep near to death itself but to weave the craft in such a state... “

Words escaped me as I grappled with what Tailor was suggesting.

“Practice your craft, conscious waking dreams Weaver, at dawns first light before the night has fled when you are wake but not awoken then if you dare you may enter your dreams. There is no magic in this, just a choice; continue to dream with direction or rise and start the day.”

“There is a certain magic in very dream but it is from gossamer threads that such witchery is woven” I paused staring at the earth then after a time nodded slowly.

“But yes, yes I know what you mean.”

“Weaver practice first, then when you are ready create a dream for the hag, one with bait, with temptation, one she will walk through there you wait.”

You have given me another means to solve my dilemma Tailor, an outline at least.”

“Then Weaver you know what must be done. But why? Why do you seek her demise?”

“Cloth.”
“ I suppose it would be noble to claim that I desire to slay such a creature who exists only to prey on the innocent in their sleep, stealing their lives away, but the truth is cloth.”

“A great deal to risk for a bolt of cloth. Well do show me this fabric if you do acquire it.”

I shrugged “at least some good will come of gathering this cloth Tailor and I am in your debt singer. You have given me more this night than all the wise men scholars and wizards I have asked.”

”You owe me no coin Weaver, words are gifts I don’t trouble to count their cost.”

“Words are a gift of the air Tailor given to us all and I have many words to think on this eve and even more words to wonder at. Forgive me I shall take my leave while night still remains for I have much to ponder and more to prepare. May the winds bring us together again… soon.”

The above is based on in-game events and conversations. A special thank-you to Appleseedy for permission to post this chat. Some conversations just write themselves.

[gathera]

The trip to Marsember to consult with the Alizarin College once more had proven to be futile. Not entirely institute fault I suppose since I had provided them only select passages to study. Never the less I was frustrated at my rate of progress and to compound matters I now had the sense that something fundamental had changed. I took to the evening streets of Marsember wandering to ease my melancholy. The hours slipped by and a dank fetid fog chased me into a strange inn. The tavern was dimly lit by a few flicking candles and strange twisting shadows writhed and pranced about the walls. One might expect to glimpse a rat scurrying across the inn’s floor save for the uncomfortable feeling that any vermin would not live for long in those murky shadows. The only other soul present was the keep who I could only described as unwholesome. I paid him little attention and he returned me the favour.

Curiosity of the inn decor gradually began to out weight my ennui. As my eyes flitted over the tattered décor one thing caught and held my attention. On one wall hung a painting of an old stooped and decrepit woman with wild white hair feral features and shocking mauve skin. It was a masterful portrait so vividly lifelike that one almost expected the woman to rise and step forth from the composition. Yet as my gaze lingered on the depiction one could sense a tangible aura of malevolence emanating from the painting. This work of art was like finding a diamond lying in the muck of a sty. An exquisite masterpiece hung in stark contrast to its impoverished surroundings. I had the strange sensation that my stumbling into the inn had not been mere coincidence.

Once more I find myself back in Great Gaunt. I stood in the villages square enjoying the crisp, invigorating night-time air. As always, a few like-minded souls stood about the commons. One I recognized Ess'aoine, a slender elven woman with sky-blue eyes and flowing sun-kissed golden hair. I knew her as a good friend of Daphene and wise in ways that only the Tel-quessir may be.

“May I ask you a question? You seem wise in many matters.”

“Please, feel welcome.”

“Thank you. Have you ever heard of one called the Queen of the Brambles, Megeth by name?”

Ess'aoine delicately touched her fingertips to her chin and pondered for a time my question.

“A green dragon, if my memory serves. A part of Cormyr's history, if not of great age.”

I shook my head, “A dragon... Odd.” It was a puzzling reply that seemed incongruent to the image in the painting. “The painting was of another, not dragon-like in any fashion.”

Ess'aoine was clearly intrigued now, “It is not a story I am greatly familiar with, and perhaps there could be more than one that would claim such a crown. For there are many that would seek to be considered masters of many a domain, be it in truth or only the rampant desires of their mind.”

“Perhaps so, the painting was of an old haggard woman, very striking.”

“Hmm… Dragons are known to take many forms, and play amongst us smaller creatures for whim, flight, fancy and plot.”

“It could be so but a painting honouring a dragon would be in my mind... majestic.”

Across the commons two women one dressed in a riotous glowing ensemble of reds oranges and golds was standing next to a lady attired in a diaphanous shimmering white gown. Both seemed interested in what I had asked and the one in carmine vestments proved to be the bolder of the pair.

“Oh, are you talking about the painting of Old Meg at the Tips? That is a painting of a Night Hag.”

My ears perked up at the mention of the painting being on of a night hag. More than one scholar had suggested the possibility of a night hag as an answer for the Burnished Texts cryptic passage, most intriguing. “Oh? You know more of this?”

“Old Meg. And I know very little. I think Sharita Gallen ran across her a time or two.”

Perhaps the gods were with me this eve after all. This woman clearly knew more, at least of Megeth the crone from the painting. Still best to confirm the matter I thought. “Megeth; Yes Old Meg would be her name shortened.”

Quick look of displeasure at my mention of the crones name crossed her face. “She is a fiend, so best not to go around saying her full name.”

I quickly nodded. “Wise enough precaution.”

“I never heard her called the Queen of the Brambles though. I thought you were talking about the so-called Bramble Wood Queen, a green dragon that used to dwell in the Bramble Woods. Pretty sure she relocated to the Farsea though.”

“The painting mentioned she was the Queen of the brambles and also of the Grey Wastes. That place is unknown to me.”

“It's another name for the Blood Rift. I don't think there's any connection.”

“The Blood Rift, is it a site of a great battle?”

“No the Blood Rift is a fiendish plane, sometimes also called the Gray Waste. It's located between the Nine Hells and the Infinite Layers of the Abyss, and is home to the Night Hags and the Yugoloths. It is the primary battlefield of the Blood War.”

Tendrils of fear gripped my heart on what the crimson clad woman was saying, Isibial would be found only in the Abyss? With an edge of panic creeping into in my voice I managed to bleat out, “Night hags are only found there?”

“Not only there, I'm sure, but they're most common there. It's generally considered their plane of origin.”

Thank the gods not only there, at least a chance Isibial might be found elsewhere, at least on Toril and not the Abyss! “And is the Brambles and Grey Wastes a region of such a place then?”

“The Gray Waste is another name for the Blood Rift, so far as I know.”

“Strange to have a painting of such on display but it was a strange place.”

The woman in white silently observing seemed to me to have also visited the inn. “The Leering Lecher, did you try the food and drink?”

“No, nothing was red so I did not find anything all that appetising, but I did buy a drink for another friend of mine. Maybe he might enjoy it more than myself. I have rather selective tastes.”

Night Hags though, the passage from the Burning Text was coursing through my thoughts. Yes of course, the solution was obvious now; pick fragments out of the passage and gauge their response, but carefully. “Night hags though... I have heard one speak of them as merchants, merchants infernal.”

The woman in red seemed keen to continue and unlike many others that I had enlisted willing to go into the details I required.

“Night hags trade in souls. So not that kind of business you'd usually want to engage in, I hope.”

I quickly shook my head no. Careful now I thought to myself, least I seem to anxious. I bit my lip to focus now on what must be said and said oh so very carefully. “The picture; the woman stooped over, white hair, black gnarled hands, dressed in black tatters. Would that be hmm an accurate depiction of a night hag? Might their hands have the appearance of talons perhaps?”

I note of apprehension clearly had crept into Ess'aoine. It was subtle only her brow loft slightly. Thankfully the woman in red seemed more captivated in the conversation. Still I had no choice, I had to press on, there might never come another opportunity as good as this.. The carmine clad woman’s head bobbed with a vigorous agreement to my talons question. “I'd say so, dealt with a few Night Hags in Suzail once.”

I could not believe my luck this eve, confirmation and the location to start the hunt,… possibly. “How would such a creature arrive here though?”

“It's no more difficult for them to travel here as it is for us to travel there.”

Ess’aoine acknowledged the woman in red with a slight genuflection of her head. “There are many ways to move between the planes, some simple as breath, others deep as sea water.”

I shook my head, “Summoned by someone with little sense then?”

“Sometimes, they are, yes. Yet some gates flow free, much like a window.”

“Such is true Ess’aoine and there are places were the barriers between places are weak. Things may slip out that never should be. One last question If I may? Have either of you ever heard the term heart of stone or stone heart perhaps heartstone.?”

The woman in red shook her head. Ess'aoine after a moment replied. “Hmm.,,, , the Eldinari, perhaps, but it could be many things; by the way you speak it. The story if the Eldenari is an old one, and one thought to be largely myth.

I gave Ess’aoine long slow nod I felt like I was almost quivering in anticipation for her to continue. Ess'aoine in return paused touching a fingertip to her chin.
“I believe it went that they were known as the 'heart of hearts', and that they grew in the chests of dragons that fell in love with mortal men and women.”

“Oh?”

“They could then grant these hearts to the mortals they loved, so that their spirits could dwell with them, and grant them gifts of understanding and comfort. There was said to be great danger though, for should a dragon die while a mortal holds his Eldenari, the dragons soul would become entangled, forever captured in the stone itself, unable to seek the realms beyond life.”

It was a touching tale and even if not quite the answer that I was seeking the tale still give me an answer. The fiends traded in souls, life essence, it stood to reason that a vessel of some fashion might be employed in such infernal transactions.

“A rare thing for a dragon to ever consider a gift with such risk but Love is a strange and powerful emotion.”

“The dragon could eat the heart to return it within, when the mortal died. Yet the stone would still persist, and remind them always of their love for what was lost to time.”

“What you speak of is far more tangible than the context I have heard it mentioned in. The reference was to the dreamlands. Yours is a tale that I never knew. I thank you I am richer for your gift of this story.”

“Of that then I do not know. A stone heart might be one that is cold and closed, or it may be the binding point from which life flows into a system around it, grown weary and no longer beating, leaving what it once fed it and now only a shadow.”

Yes it was obvious to me now the passages referral to a beating heart of stone was what Ess’aoine was describing here; “A vessel of life.”

“Hearts may be places or things, as much as a part of people. What they always are though is a source. Where things being, and where things return, and when they still, that which is intertwined with them does as well.”

“It would be the greatest of gifts to give your heart to another To as you say intertwine yourself in such a way to another. I am just too selfish for that magnanimity but I can appreciate the beauty in the doing."

“Our paths are our own, and we must walk them as is true to ourselves. Selfishness is not a condition unique to man, but shared by all whom must at some point in their lives decide that they must remain true to what they hold in their hearts, rather than make way for the desire of others. Selfishness is not a condition unique to man, but shared by all whom must at some point in their lives decide that they must remain true to what they hold in their hearts, rather than make way for the desire of others. Even the birds that cease singing as night falls, or the sun as it sets could be called selfish by those that love then during the day.“

“Perhaps I hold far too often what is dearest to me in my heart over the desires of another. No the night has its own beauties it cannot be the day and I would never hold the birds silence as selfish. Silence and peace is part of the eve.”

“What we believe may be true, yet to another, false and cruel.”

I paused for a long moment then with a long and lingering slow nod, “Such is true.”

Ess'aoine smiled brightly “I do not think you should burden your heart with thoughts of selfishness. It remains that if you are true to yourself, and your path, that is all that could be asked of you.”

“I have both seen and known but it is one thing to have knowledge and another to be reminded. I am mortal and flawed and yet I have seen true perfection… once, and it is said that I shall see it one time more but not this night.”

“Perfection is an aim, more so than a truth. To inspire, hope, to tease and daunt. We all must have our mountains, for without them, our paths would be shallow things.”

I was agitated now, “No there are things that we are never meant to see The smallest of glimpses ... changes one like staring into the sun It is not just an … aim.”

Ess'aoine laughed with a melodic sound, dipping her head, “It may be as you say.”

I could only close my eyes and bow my head, “You have given me many things to think of this night and many more to remember. You have a way with words Ess’aoine that I envy. I will thank the night and the winds that I was here to listen. It is a rare gift.” My voice faltering I managed a softly spoken, “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome. I am honored to share what thoughts I may, with one so kind as to listen. May the stars shine on your path, that you find your way.”



The above story was based on in game conversation. I would like to thank minimumsafedistance, Munroe and Sandcastle_Kingdom for their parts in this tale. Some conversations need to be told

[gathera]

The inn was quiet, silent but then they always say silence is golden. This inn’s silence was well bought and paid for. What I had planned this evening would not take long but privacy was imperative. If my suspicious were correct the painting so carefully hung in the inn was more than just a painting. The portrait was more akin to a window through which the depiction of Megeth could monitor her interests in here in Marsember. Tonight I would merely ask for her discrete assistance in the location of a rival with what I deemed to be suitable compensation. To this end I had brought with me a nautical compass, a set of unique candles and a small fortune in gems.

A spider must always have patience. The ships compass had proved the most difficult to obtain. It was likely stolen not that it mattered much to me. It was ready now; all the required symbols had been painstakingly etched into the needle. Yes my talisman that would direct me.
Far simpler to acquire were the five bone grey candles wrapped in brambles that stood sentinel like in a arc about Meg’s painting. Quite admirable work, each candle fashioned to my exact specification. Yes the Queen of the Brambles and Grey Waste might enjoy the display. I suspect the candle maker would not have been quite so eager if he knew the source of both the ash and brambles. A service for the grounds keeper really, the crypt looked better after my efforts anyway. Besides matters were coming to a head. Each night I felt as if time was slipping away. That talk with Licios had only crystalized my resolve. The events in the ice-shrine had been a warning to me of the perils of failure. Thankfully the winds and night favoured me still.
Two fortuitous occurrences had transpired in the last few days, Ethan the Lathander cleric had provided me with the benediction I would require this eve. Not quite the recitation he would expect though since I would speak the prayer backwards. Such an artifice, the inversion of a prayer is a common enough method of invocation otherworld entities. This particular supplication from the Morninglord would set the stage. This location and that corrupted verse would be my metaphysical candle in window.

The second event was a chance meeting with Card the Alizarin’s master of mystical studies. Card for reasons known only to him had provided both the means and to a degree the method required. He was a clever man an intimidating man. The type of person who only showed you exactly what he wished, only that and nothing more. Still he had shown me enough. I thought back to a few weeks ago in Great Gaunt.

Blinking I could not imagine my good fortune it was Card one of the Masters of the Alizarin college here in Great Gaunt. Even if he was preoccupied with reading I might never have a better chance to speak with him. Card in prior conversations had proved to have an encyclopedia like grasp on the nebulous mechanics of conjuring other-worldly beings.

I stood up on my tip toes and peered over the top of the book with a look of curiosity. Card with a touch of annoyance spun the book about to face me. “It's just a book...”

“Oh ah Yes, Just wondering what kind of book?” I asked with feigned innocence, even to me the tome was clearly a discussion of planar dissertations. Still I had not been dismissed out right and the look of annoyance on Card’s face was beginning to lift.

“It is work related, some planar theory, to be exact. The genesis of, alignment of, physical location, if any, of, and you could just ask next time.”

“Oh you know a great deal about such things, if I may I have umm a question.”

Irritated Card snapped the book shut. “I don't think Headmaster Lang would have offered me the position I hold without a certain level of knowledge.”

Blushing I snapped out a quick, “oh sorry I did not mean to insult.”

Card merely gestured me to sit, “It's fine, alright your question then.”

I quickly seated myself next to Card. “Yes...Question, ah yes, places between, places can be thin thin to the point where for lack of a better word things leak out. How would ... well one detect such places? Is it even possible to find them?”

“You mean something like a rift? The sort of thing you might find in the magma down in the guts of the Underdark, for instance?”

I shook my head, “No no not a break just … thin. Someone said such places can happen ah… anywhere even umm cities.” The next few moments would be critical. Too direct and all was lost too obscure and he might lose interest.

“The elemental planes often overlap very directly with our plane, for example. Finding such locations is possible with the proper sorts of spells.”

“Oh? Ah umm what sort of ah spells? Sorry if that is umm well ah… a secret.”

Card traced out a small pattern on the table. “Generally, Divinations; Gertrude, the woman who just left town with Vennis, is a diviner, more an expert than I. I know specifics, but she could provide you with more context and I would not undervalue of … context. What exactly is it you trying to detect?”

I glanced about the square quickly it might not be wise to be speaking too publically of what I trying to exactly do after all. I leant close to Card lowering my voice. “Something in a city Suzail; something that is but should not be and something that may not even be there anymore. The information is old but still..

Card was clearly intrigued now. “What sort of thing? The body of that city is host to more than a few parasites.”
“Something that moves through the planes moves even through dreams.”

“Hrm.. is this that riddle? Hags?”

Clearly Card suspected the game I was playing if not even being one step ahead of me. I quickly decided to press on, one last roll of the dice. “Few creatures move through dreams. It is a means of entrance to here for there is power in a dream. There was a woman in town who claimed to have encountered hags in Suzail.”

Card stood still, staring at me with a studying intent. After a moment and a small nod to himself he continued on. “ I would guess in the area of the docks. The docks would be access to both vagrants for conversation to soul energy and conduction to the various off plane locations... and access to the older buildings with passages out to the water. I know of a powerful hag operating in Marsember. Hags are well known play part in a complex affair between the mortal planes and the outside.”

I tapped my chin with my finger, everything was beginning to piece together now. “They are merchants infernal Yes?”
“Yes, that, that and more.”

I tilted my head to one side my eyes begging Card to continue on. “More?”

“The magic they weave have much to do with the refinement of souls into a useable format. Not just the infernal planes run on these. All planes, upper, lower...Souls are the fuel that powers the outer planes... the lower planes beg, borrow, deal and steal. The upper planes promise this and that... Even Kelemvor's realm itself requires them to exist. The methods are different, but they all burn dark with the coal of mortal souls. Logs onto the fire, every one of us, and the hags know how to turn us into that coal. It would be short sighted to say they only cater to a specific realm. All the realms need the -sort- of thing they offer equally. Not that they're the only game in town.”

“True enough and to underestimate the resolve and resources of such creatures.” My voice trailed off into a worrying silence.

“Right, not smart. People think Amn has a well organized criminal market? Compare it to what the hags have and it's a drop in the Dragonmere.”

I could only slowly nods worrying my lip as I digested the ramifications of what Card had said. “You have given me many words of wisdom that I must ponder. Thank you. “

I gave Card a long slow formal bow. “The night calls me and some things are best done by night.”
Yes divinations, of course it was clear now; like will always call to like, the old ways of magic. While I did not have the like there was the portrait of Old Meg in Marsember. Yes I thought I could use that.

I steadied myself for what was to come. With reverence I lit the candles and emptied a small pouch of gems clattering into a plain clay bowl, a glittering cascade of night-black pearls and blood-red rubies. All was in readiness. I licked my lips at took a deep steadying breath. It was time. Time now for my beacon;

Reraelc si yaw eht dna sngier ytuaeb nwad eht ni

Nwad rehtona syawla si ereht rof

efil htead morf

The candles flickered with unseen breezes and the shadows of the room slowly began to congeal. What illumination present in the room slowly ebbed away until only the painting of Megeth could be seen. I was certain of her interest now it was the moment for the request.

Ya stell'bsna Or-Megeth hupadgh lw'nafhs t’nog th n’ghft

Ya sll'ha y’geb fr’shugg

Y’shtunggli Isibial

Ah’m t’grah'n r’luh

With the silver dagger I sliced open the palm of my hand. A spattering of red drops leisurely dripped down upon wetting the compass needle.

Ya stell'bsna t’ah h'bthnk hai!

Athg t’s'uhn th’k'yarnak

As the last word spat out my mouth the gems began a rhythmic rattled about the bowl. One could almost see the ghostly hand of an apparition greedily snatch up the gems. The compass needle burst into bruised lavender flames. The bewitched needle began a wild crazy oscillation whirling about with dizzying speed. The very air shrieked in protest at the tumultuous gyrations until with a sudden snap the needle transfixed itself pointing west, westwards to Suzail. I collapsed laughing tears of joy streaming down my face. It has worked, against all odds it had worked! I clutched the compass feverously against my chest. My talisman, yes my talisman to find her, find Isibial.


I would like to give a special thank-you to Demolicious, Theflyingpen and sydsbluesky for their permissions to use in-game dialog and in-game events to fashion this tale.

In game props consumed in this tale were 1000 gold 5 rubies and 5 black pearls

[gathera]

I sit here quietly staring in still silence of the room. Each shallow breath I draw sounds like a tremor. Each exhale rattles the room like a breeze through dried leaves. An ill-defined lump of black and white rags sits across from me, slumped over and stuffed into the corner. A harlequin’s vestment with all the joy and colour leeched away. The marionettes pale blue eyes starred back at me unblinking, unyielding and unforgiving. A single shimmering tear dangled perilously from one eye. Several thin nebulous ebon filaments trail away from the shape each wriggling like shadowy worms. Fine black braids; yes thank the gods for those sturdy strings that bind.

Everything was now complete but not completed. Maric as before had assisted me, really more than just assisted. His was the blow that struck down Isibial, the final puzzle-piece. I still shiver at the memory of that terrible place. Rot corruption even greed, all of the city’s sins distilled into a vile effluent dribbling down upon the dark dank corridors. Hallways stalked by damned souls capering about each one whispering of their fall from grace. Even Isibails with her shrieking maniacal laughter as Maric struck off her head. They all knew didn’t they, they all knew the joke, the irony of my victory. My victory that now sits silently staring back at me.


Threads been spun, garments sewn
Spin the wheel, rattle the bones
Path leads now to a kingdom white
Beseech the Daeva on a moonless night
For you; he shall heed your call
And essence he’ll breathe into doll