Azah stood silently and still in the unchanging surroundings. She had long since exhausted her desire and curiosity about the misty realm that was her home. She took instead to sitting, standing, or, performing vigorous athletics in order to occupy her time. All of those activities were also spent in thought and prayer. She had bided her time for a length unknown, but, salvation came to the patient. Her host had at first tried to devour her mind as it did the many others, but, soon found her unpalatable. The Sister had not discouraged this, wreathing herself and belongings in ever burning flames and employing all manner of invocations of spark and scathing fire.
Her silence ended as the mirror appeared before her again. Her eyes snapped open at first burning with fury and vain desire, then, bursting alight with spectral flames of their own. The voice that came from the blackened pit was not of her captor though, this one was different. This one did not know the command word and had found herself in a blight of darkness, just the kind of thing Azah so desperately wished to stamp out. Her potential savior was direct, to the point, and, best of all, different.
The burning woman slammed her staff on the ethereal ground and took a deep breath powering her voice to boom like thunder for all to hear, “I am Sister Azah Rimeflar, stalwart servant of Kossuth The Ever Burning, Everpure,” she spoke firmly but her magic amplified her tones to that of a warhorn, “I hold the command word, hark, it is Reflection. Release me and this blight shall pass before you like dust on a breeze. Pay heed carefully though, lest you submit yourself to death and ruination, release only myself and whomever, the foul aberration who pretends at mastery here, has captured from among you. The others imprisoned here have earned their endless fate. She pounded her staff again like a thunderclap, “Have we an accord? Do I find you in the Flames or wallowing in ash?”
"Egil!?!" Before the bladesinger could act, a transparent thread recoiled into depths unknown. His rapier, now in hand, as he buried his back against the mirror, quivered slightly as Daud mocked Mhyrienne.
Then, a crack and blindness followed suit.
Within the charcoal void, Zaerith heard the inquisitive salutation of the puppeteer.
Anala was furious with the woman, so much so that she bodily shoved her away from the mirror as she heard Zaerith claim that the Puppeteer was inside. It seemed even the mirror did not know him, which was surprisingly fine by her at the moment. “Why hello there my favorite puppet,” she said into the mirror, “Such a shame I cannot see you but someone threw a bloody tantrum and has made it nearly impossible to tell if it’s safe to pull people out of this thing. Blame the Warlock, she seems to be lacking a fully functional brain between those pointy ears of hers. Now, unless you know the command word to get you out of here, which I didn’t get the chance to ask earlier thanks to the warlock I’m going to have to swap you out for someone else.”
"Favorite puppet?" came an amused response from the mirror, hidden beneath the cloud of darkness. The puppeteer knew this voice, though it belonged to someone they had not been in contact with for very long. "Sounds like you have friends out there George." But despite the almost cheery tone of those words, there would be a shaking of the dirty head and just a few more words. "George does not know what you seek. Best of luck in your search. T'is no pleasant locale." With that, as had been promised, the mist relented from its steadfast pattern, removing the rectangle of black from the scenery. Back to the lonely walk, then.
“I’m sorry to leave you on your walk,” she replied before feeling along the edge of the mirror. Once she found the number she was looking for, she pushed it, muttering the name she remembered having been engraved there. "Imma cut to the chase, I can’t see you, but I can hear you and I would like to know how to get you and whoever else is worth it, out of this blasted mirror without having to break it. Before you ask, the mirror is shrouded in darkness because my warlock… friend acts before she really thinks it seems.”
Trees. Mist. Chills down the wanderer's spine. Repeating ad infinitum. Old memories of a place long forgotten teased at the edges of the puppeteer's memory, but it ultimately failed in the task of delivery. But that was not a surprise. There were many things memory simply failed at, and trying to recall expeditions to forgotten corners of the realm were hardly the important sort. Not when considering what else was lost. There had been nothing to do but put one foot in front of the other, not until the mists suddenly began whirling, coalescing into a rectangular shape. A lone mirror stood without its frame, and through it… darkness?
"Now what is this George? If anyone would know, it would be you, wouldn't it? It looks like a mirror it does, but it is a very poor one at that. More like a window, perhaps?" the puppeteer mused to the doll, fingers idly stroking the hair of it. "Hello?" an unsure question followed, though even the new change was rapidly dropping the interest it had held. If something did not happen soon, one might as well continue on. There was not much to do here, but standing at black unresponsive rectangles could hardly be productive.
Everything was happening too fast to react to things. She hated when that happened.
Jetting up to the top, she landed neatly on her feet amidst a flutter of her cloak. She swept her gaze around the group, the rogue forming and looking at you. "Yeah, our loot now." She gave a smirk, but then he started talking, and she started getting pissed off some more. Especially since as she was about to cast her spell, the rogue's eyes settled on her.
"Now that's an interesting sight to behold. It's a good look on you elf..." The man twirled his dagger in his hands, and Mhyrienne felt her gut drop out. No. No no no no. He knew.
She sprinted forwards towards the mirror, her hand running over all the options. Finally, she slammed her fist down on the number 7, and just as the bright flash would attempt to blind everyone, she squeezed her fist down tightly. A small sound, as if a glass bead had broken emanated from her fist, and the entire room was plunged into pitch, magical blackness.
>Mhyrienne jumps up, gets freaked out, changes the mirror setting and makes everything spoopy.
“I think he is stuck in here with you actually,” Anala murmured with a thoughtful look, “If I were to release you, will you accept what we took as our payment for your release?” She questioned, watching the male’s odd behavior with a critical eye. She was a bit on edge about the way that he was acting; the way the dagger twirled was strange. However, something else entirely caught her attention when Egil fell as a sense of dread rolled over her. There was no time to go too far, even more so since someone had gone and forced the mirror to change before she had gotten a bloody answer from the weirdo in the mirror. “I was trying to get some answers out of that man you impatient girl.” She snapped at the warlock, “It would have been nice to know if anyone dangerous was in the thing before I let people out.”
>Darkness bellows around the Mirror of Life Trapping, stemming from the Warlock. Zaerith, Mhyrienne and Anala are close to the mirror.
Suddenly, a bright light shone forth attempting to blind those in the room.
The rogue bore a blade, dripping blood, while ogling the warlock and the paladin, bearing samples of treasure. "Oooh. People!?! Is this a party? With our loot!?!" The blade lowered itself into a scabbard, as shadows continued to smolder off his cloak and hood. "I don't see the twins among you." His sarcastic smile, dripped with satisfaction, as he understood they still remained in the predators' grasp. "If you haven't slayed them, then take a number. May I suggest cell number eleven or twelve?" A fistful of metal quickly collided with the impenetrable mirror, but to no avail. "I see. Well..." He began to kneel, then became cross-legged. "I get a front seat to this massacre."
Anala shielded her eyes the best she could from the bright light for a moment before glaring into the mirror, “Not exactly a nice thing to do to someone who could let you out of this blasted mirror,” she grumbled in regards to the blinding light, “Twins? What Twins are you speaking of and what do you mean your loot? Was this a place you stayed? Is everyone in this blasted mirror part of your merry band?” The Sorceress asked, launching questions at the man as he sat, a curious look replacing the annoyed one she had had a moment ago. The blade swiftly became unsheathed once more, as a tongue licked its edge, adorning a crimson hue again upon the long dagger. “I know there’s at least two of them. I can tell because they rotate us, like an eternal memory buffet.” He then, tossed the metallic medallion in his left hand, now juggling both the knife with the trinket with one swift palm. “Yes, that is my treasure. I looted from that stuffy dragon.” The rogue allowed the objects to fly high, off screen, to not return back for some time. “Merry band? Rekx is loyal, but we’re thieves. I doubt he would look for me. Especially since he’s dead.”
Upon that verbal dénouement, the vine of Vaasa collapsed, grasping his skull, ears oozing scarlet water. Unquenchable twitches suddenly overtook the body of Egil, demarcating a grand mal seizure. Soon, the ictus ceased.
“Ha! This will be fun.” The man licked his bloodied lips.
The first thought in Anala's head was that she was not about to give the Child over to the insane woman, the second was where the hell did the Puppeteer go? However, with the distraction that was around, she snagged Markus's sword and slid it through her belt where it rested rather comfortably before she peered at the edges of the mirror, careful not to look inside. She had seen what had happened to the Puppeteer and how enthralled the Zaerith had become. However, she could not help but murmur the las name on the edges softly to herself, her eyes trained on it for a rather long time. If her hunch was right, she would have to have a talk with a couple people.
Upon muttering the last few words, a woman appeared in the glass, a mask in one hand and a rather strange belt upon her. "Well hello," she murmured as she looked the woman over, "How did you become trapped within this strange mirror?" She tilted her head to the side as she continued to stare, tapping her bottom lip with a finger. So that had not been who she had thought it would be, but at the same time she was not surprised. "Does your prison intersect with the others?"
"You are not that cursed Oblex. Where is it? Who are you?" The pale elvish woman relinquished the blue fire within her right hand, whilst the floating mask, in her left, promptly vanished. Her buckle's eye scurried with its pupil, systematically surveying each of those afore her, including the corpse of Markus and their perceivable gear. "Kindness imprisoned me here. Never again." She pressed her face closer to the other side of the looking glass, to scavenge the clouded sight of Lady Anala. "Are there others, besides I?"
>Everyone in the foyer can see and hear Bellaq Yn Effen.
"Oblex? Well... no that is not what I am, nor do I know where it is. I am Anala Attor, I am guessing there are about 5 other people trapped within this mirror." She stared rather hard at the woman with a frown on her face, she wondered if she had time to cycle through the people before anything happened or if she would just have to shatter the mirror and lose out on what she wished to know. "How did you get trapped within this thing? What were you doing when you came across it?" "I am from the town of Berez. I visited Argynvostholt, west of Valaki, for aid in saving my sister, Marina." She sighed, as the belt's eye focused on Lady Anala. "It appears there is a serpent amongst you, as well. If you cannot release me, this is a waste of time." The back of the pale elf retreated once more into the mist.
"I can release you," Anala responded with a slight twitch when the woman mentioned a serpent amongst them, was it that belt? "Give me a moment and I will do what needs to be done." Pulling back a bit before the image of the woman left, she scanned the edges of the mirror in search of another number, settling on the second number. If this one wasn't fruitful, she may just see if they new the nature of the mirror enough for her to just break it, she did not have much patience at the moment, even if there was something she was trying to find out.
No. This was not right. It did not take long at all for the puppeteer to realize this. The smell. The holes in the doors otherwise decorated so lavishly. And the fact those holes were connected to the woman. "You are right, of course. All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well..." came the answer to the demands as the free hand crawled its way back under the tattered coat. The five fingers curled around the shaft of wood kept out of view, and then, in a swift move, the cudgel was out once again. "But not for the masquerading fiend!"
The weapon was swung. Not against the woman, but in a deft step towards her back. Two tendrils that the purple eyes had seen were severed in an instant, and the woman began to melt into a puddle of ooze, her clothes, skin, eyes and hands alike falling apart, the crude mockery of what had been collapsing before the sudden assault. "The holes are the answer!" the man screamed, only to find that one fatal mistake had been made. With the weapon in the left hand, as one needed to match the strength of the blow with an equal counter of fall to the floor... a reflection stared from the mirror. One with a puppet on its right hand, purple eyes showing the briefest instance of panic, and the unkempt coat flapping ever so slightly...
And then it was all gone. All around the man was mist. There had been a tug. A tug that one had believed to never feel again. Not at the wrist, not like in the memories of past. Not by the ringing metal, even that familiarity had been denied. The stains mattered not, and here one stood, among a misty landscape. Stretching indefinitely in every direction. A chill set into the core of the barefoot body. There had to be a way out. One step at a time. Good things come to those who wait... Isn't that right, George?
>Mad Mary's semblance disintegrates as a transparent tendril retracts to the bedroom upstairs and another into the kitchen. The Unnamable and George suddenly vanish before Zaerith. Inexplicably. The eight membered doll falls face down in the ooze.
Zaerith, entranced by the mirrors and holy symbols of Mask, stepped closer to the first looking glass, near the spiral staircase. Oddly, something could be recognized within the fogged reflection. A charred staff? Soon, scorching eyes of fire glared from brilliant robes mostly shrouded by the replicated miasma deep within the solid window.
The reincarnated wizard was somewhat startled by the now closing proximity of the shouting, as a mourning mother effortlessly descended the wooden helix, bobbing in each step as if tethered to invisible strings. Her arthritic hand clutched a malformed doll. The figurine possessed a strange leer with four arms and four legs, missing one eye, stitched on the hem of its sackcloth dress, a frayed tag. It bore the words.
Is No Fun. Is No Blinsky.
Not entirely lost in her sorrow and despondency, her eyes locked onto Lucian, holding onto that familiar tome.
“Give me the CHILD. And all will be well.”
The trickster touched the unpolished surface reflexively and gazed back at the woman, with a pointy finger.
“Stop right there. What is this?”
The champion gleaned the trapped silhouette over the rogue’s shoulder, understanding its mystical purpose and the emphasis of that word. He exclaimed to the puppeteer and the bladesinger.
“Don’t look into the mirror. It will siphon your soul.”
>The Unnamable must roll a Charisma save with Advantage. Zaerith and Egil passed. The woman is near Zaerith in front of the mirror near the stairwell.
Oh dear. Well, here they were. Steps descended the stairs. The man with the puppet would bolt up from the floor, leaving the task of mending the worst of the wounds on the deceased Markus unfinished once again, and quickly bow at the figure descending the stairs. She was, after all, the lady of the house, and by extrapolation its owner just as well. They were under her roof, and a fair bit of respect was in order. There was no immediate reaction from her it seemed, though once she saw just what had happened to her floor the reaction was... understandable. "Yes George, we ought to...", the man mumbled, glancing around worriedly. Doors were not a thing to usually run free, they were not. Now they were missing one. Most inconvenient, even annoying.
Slowly approaching the side of this 'Mad Mary', it was left to George and his voice to try and salvage what was salvageable of all this. "Indeed, most unfortunate, George does very much agree. It is with great reluctance that he admits these people who have quite thoughtlessly broken beneath your flooring are travelling companions of his... but he hopes there may be some olive branch to be extended here. Perhaps there is something you would require, he inquires", the puppeteer explained perhaps long windedly, shaking George just a bit every time he was mentioned in a sentence, "in order to set things right again?"
Before the woman had come into the room, Anala practically shoved a book and the necklace she had picked up into Talran's hand. "Take these, you could make better use of them than I possibly can, also... you should try this drink it is amazing!" she said as she wiggled the cup a bit. However, when she heard movement above the hole she made sure Lucian still had a grasp on her before she climbed up with some difficulty. Everything was harder with added weight and while she slipped a few times she managed to pull herself out, leaving the cup on Orhvin's hand seeing as he seemed more than pleased to try it. "Oh look! Company."
Anala was being rather sarcastic as she looked around and ushered Lucian somewhere that he would be safe. "You stay here my little one," she said to him, tapping his nose before going over to where George and his puppeteer were standing. She did not exactly feel bad for taking some of the things that had been left to gather dust, but she was a bit on edge now that their exit was gone.
Ach. Clearly his new travelling partners weren't fun at all when it came to looting. Apart from a few of them, that was always cool. Just as the Genasi was about to continue looting, his ears pricked up. Wine! Didn't look like the cheap stuff in the shelves either. Taking a swig of the cup, he felt the warmth of the alcohol run through him, smacking his lips. "Yeah, really good." A few nods and he drained the rest of the cup, idly swinging it back and hooking it to his belt.
There was more to loot though! He chuckled a little and looked down, frowning for just a moment. He could have sworn that there had been a ring here, but apparently that had not been the case. Or maybe someone else had picked it up... He couldn't tell. Sweeping up the obsidian in one smooth motion, he twisted his way through the air and let his quarterstaff rap upon the cabinet door. Sure, it wasn't anything special, but wine was wine! He stuffed five of the bottles into his sack, and as for the sixth... Well...
"You and I are going to become good friends!" A grin crossed his face and he uncorked the bottle with his teeth, idly pocketing a few bottles here and a lens there as he glugged down the first few mouthfuls of the rich stuff.
Just as he was about to be comfortable however, he... Ah, that was an issue. The woman seemed to have been attracted to them, and whilst Mhyrienne had put up an admirable technical defense of themselves, he doubted the woman would see it that way.
Unfortunately, this was a problem he could not punch his way out of. Especially since there was now no door to speak of, and without a door, no way to get out of the building. Ah well. He swigged the wine some more, ruminating a little as he did so.
Before he could really react, Talran found himself with a religious book in one hand and a set of prayer beads in the other. It was immediately obvious what exactly those beads were, but not what power they bore; sighing dejectedly, and glancing over to the unfortunate drunkard as whatever concoction Anala had handed him was chugged down, he placed the beads round his neck and stashed the book in his belt pouch, and began making the climb back up to the ground floor.
On his way up, he heard a lot of things. First, the arrival of Mad Mary herself, and her request for the child. Second, as he hauled himself up to where she'd been stood, the smell of sulphur crossed his nose, and the presence of very many tendrils of something leading out of her back; a manifestation, yet not demonic or undead so far as he could tell, swiftly ended by the nameless puppeteer's action.
@BCTheEntity Talran Galelove – Medium Friendly Paladin
And then the warning not to gaze into the mirrors. A warning his first companion failed to heed. The man vanished, puppet and all.
Talran found himself emitting some wordless noise of horror after a moment, for he didn't even have a name to utter. His climb concluded, he followed Anala over toward the mirror in question, keeping his body out of its reflective form and his gaze slightly averted at all times to ensure the mirror did not steal him away as it had stolen his ally. The wall next to it seemed a good place to look.
In due course, another appeared in the glass. And oh, how Talran was tempted to look upon her, for if she was trapped, and the puppeteer was trapped, then surely others were too? But he couldn't let himself be taken in, and it seemed the Lady had things under control after all. He merely uttered 'Try not to trap anyone forever,' before stepping away from the mirror and leaving matters to her.
In the meantime, he had other matters to consider. Lucian was well, the matter of Markus was dealt with, and he'd done all he could to prevent a lot of theft. Which meant checking other people's priorities. He could argue that many were at fault, but it seemed to him that the only one with no excuse was...
'Mhyrienne,' he uttered, stepping over to her with just a hint of foul temper, 'whilst Lady Anala seeks to free our trapped ally, would you care to explain why you weren't willing to so much as assist a fallen and badly wounded companion?' He gestured to Egil, still wounded, but much more alive than he would have been if left to his own devices. 'Egil could well have died for your choice to pursue the glory of the kill over his well-being. I hardly feel it would have been worth it, all things considered.'
The following items were pilfered (so far): 1 magnifying lens (100 gp) (Orhvin) 6 bottles of common wine (1.2 gp) (Orhvin) 1 book of elvish children's stories (25 gp) (Lucian, given to him by Mhyrienne) 1 disguise kit (25 gp) (Not claimed) 1 book of religious scriptures and prayers (25 gp) (Talran) 10 obsidian worth 10 gp each (Orhvin) 9 chrysoberyl worth 100 gp each (Mhyrienne/Anala) Carved bone mug with semi-precious stone inlay worth 250gp (Orhvin) linen necklace with 3 gemstone beads worth 250gp (Anala, given to Talran) linen robe with patches worth 250gp (Mhyrienne) Silk necklace with a gemstone pendant worth 250gp (Orhvin) 5 Potions of Healing (Mhyrienne, Orhvin and Anala) 500 gold pieces all over the floor (Mhyrienne, Orhvin, and Anala)
The elf looked around now that the noblewoman was talking. In her hands was an ornate cup, with a rich, full bodied looking wine inside it. She may have been a lot of things- thief, potentially a murderer depending on how you looked at her actions, undoubtedly a less-than-profitable member of society, but she wasn't a sucker, and that was begging for a sucker to be reeled in.
She held a hand up and shook her head, turning away from the mug. There was a nice warm, rich-looking drink she was far more interested in, the woman sweeping up a potion and stuffing it in her belt, before pocketing a number of yellow-white gemstones. A few coins as well, just for good measure... But then the paladin had clambered down, and was chewing the trio out. She sighed, half-swearing in elvish, and turned to face him properly.
"I'm not sure if you're aware of this, with your armor in the way, but this isn't a normal house. No insane woman has a basement with magical jewelry and gold in it completely unused. This place has been visited recently, and frequently, and not by someone shuffling." The woman looked around.
"In other words, I believe that all we're doing is... Liberating this from the original thieves." She brushed her cloak down a little, and then walked over the hole that she had descended down. Just as she was about to rocket up, she realized something. The kid was on the woman’s shoulders.
She walked over to Lucian, reaching up. "Here. You might not be able to read Elvish, but the pictures are still there." She placed the children's book in his arms. “You should be grateful- I wish I had that sort of thing growing up." A slight smile crossed her face, although it was instantly crushed what she realized she was doing.
The moaning sob no longer floated through the vibrant foyer, coloring the thoughts of Egil with renewed sadness. The harrowing howl, which spiraled from the second story of the adorned and barricaded townhouse, stifled into a dark somber emptiness. A final whimper exalted into silent, slothful footsteps emanating from the master bedroom until a pair of shoulders and a shawl crept into view, staring at the serrated floor, circumscribing four burglars and their child.
"No. Nooooo. NOOOOOOO!!!!!"
>The once previous entrance/exit has now mystically become a wall, now bearing a matching mirror, harkening the beckon of the woman.
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