By her best estimation, it was nearly an hour later when Yasha crossed her arms and looked down grimly at the shrunken and bent form before her. He was obviously also avariel, like the others they had spoken to, though he was barely taller than a gnome, and his wings would obviously never carry him anywhere without magical assistance. Her initial impressions of him were put aside, for a moment, as he spoke. There was a reason, he explained, for all of the strange things in this town: a proud and claustrophobic people living in squalor deep in the Underdark; merchants who only traded for items of lesser value; and now a court jester named Elicid with more wisdom and knowledge than the most learned sages. That reason could be pretty much summed up in one word.
"Halaster," she growled.
His eyes flashed with understanding. "You're familiar with this archwizard then?"
"We met. Briefly," Yasha huffed. "So he detected your queen spying on him with some magic mirror? I think I can guess what happened next."
Elicid spread his hands at her. "You must understand, the mirror took hold of Shaoir's mind; part of its curse. She wanted to spy on everyone...but yes, when Halaster sensed her spell of scrying, he attacked with powerful counter-magic."
"We knows all about Halaster and what he does to people who get him mad, don't we Boss?" Deekin piped up from beside the paladin.
Yasha rolled her eyes and nodded sourly. "Which seems like nothing compared to what he does to people who attempt to rescue him." It was Halaster's geas which weighed so heavily on her soul, after all. She could hardly forget. The small avariel looked at her curiously, but she shook her head, trying to compose herself. She waved for him to continue.
"He turned the mirror against us," Elicid explained. "Our city - the castle, the temple, the library - was wrenched through the mirror, ripped from our mountain perch and cast down here into the darkness. Everybody pulled through the mirror was twisted into an opposite of their true self. The Queen abandoned her throne," he said, motioning to the empty chair behind him. Then, just as sadly, he tapped himself on the chest. "The fool became all-knowing. The mirror itself shattered, trapping us here."
"It's shattering traps you here?" Yasha asked thoughtfully. "Then if the mirror is somehow fixed..."
"If the mirror is repaired,"he finished, nodding at her train of thought, "then everything will revert back to normal. We will be transported back to the Lost Peaks, Shaori will reclaim her throne and all will be as it should be."
Yasha lifted one gauntleted hand to rub her chin thoughtfully. She pursed her lips and asked, "Then why have you not searched out these pieces and repaired it yourself?"
The avariel sighed, looking frustrated. "I have the mirror frame, but I cannot leave this throne room to gather the pieces. Before, it was forbidden for me to be in here unless Shaori was with me. Now, I cannot leave unless she is here. I need someone to bring me the five missing pieces of the mirror so I can repair it. If you do this, Yasha of Torm, I will give you the mirror. It could be a valuable tool against the Valsharess."
Yasha raised her eyebrows and put her hands to her hips. "How did you know we fought the Valsharess?"
Elicid looked hesitant for a moment, and then clasped his hands before him. "Sabal said as much when she was here. You should know that I've made the same arrangement with her."
Yasha was confused for a moment. Who was Sabal? Obviously alarmed, Valen stepped forward to address the winged elf directly for the first time. "You have agreed to hand this mirror over to the Valsharess' forces as well?"
Elicid sighed, melancholy but apparently quite resolute. "If they bring me the pieces first? Yes."
Yasha sighed, and looked at her companions. Deekin was kneeling on one of the stairs that led up to the throne, still hastily scribbling down the story of Shaori Fell's fall. Valen stood just a few paces behind. His jaw was clenched, and his gaze at the fool was icy. He was, no doubt, thinking the same thing Yasha was; there was now a race to acquire an artifact that could either give the Seer's weakened forces a fighting chance if they claimed it or doom them for sure if they could not. She should have known this would happen. They had fought a drow ambush and waded through a swarm of driders to get to this audience. She had hoped to request some space in the castle to rest. The armor dragged on her shoulders, and she felt the ache of fatigue behind her eyes. It had been a very long day.
But what did days mean in the Underdark anyway? she wondered ruefully.
"Then we'll have to find the pieces first," she said aloud, squaring her shoulders and motioning for Deekin to follow. As he gathered up his notes, she turned to Valen. "How hard could it be to find a few pieces of enchanted glass anyway?"
Yasha winced as they entered the once airy temple of the elven goddess Aerdrie Faenya. What had once been huge, open windows in the walls and ceiling were now draped with heavy strips of cloth, their sickly green and brown hues darkening the room. Vines of some poisonous plant twisted everywhere, grasping at the walls and choking the columns, its thorny stems laden with some dark and deadly fruit. Faintly luminous mushrooms crouched in small pots here and there, giving everything a ghastly pale cast. The cloying stench of sickness and decay hung heavy in the air, though whether it was from some twisted incense or magic Yasha could not tell.
Near the center of the temple, what was once a holy place of light and wind, several columns stood in a great circle around a raised platform. Between them, pale flashes of unholy light danced, turning the dais into nothing more than a great cage. It was a cage that stood ominously empty.
A single figure was near this dais, standing quite still in the flickering light. Yasha's hand clenched around Duty's hilt, but she kept the sword sheathed. She came to talk, if she could.
"And so the heroes entered the dark temple," Deekin whispered from beside her, "wondering what dark creatures lurked in its shadows, what poisonous trap might lay ahead, and if the distant figure had farted and made the air smell so bad."
Yasha snorted with amusement, though the kobold ignored her and seemed intent on taking in every detail of their surroundings. Shaking her head, she marched boldly towards the distant avariel priest. He eyed them confidently as they came, a wicked smile spreading across his face. The paladin slowed as she got close, pursing her lips.
"Let me guess," she said wryly, "you've been expecting me?"
The words were barely out of her lips when it started. A wave of nausea swept through her, and the weariness she felt in the castle turned into a weight of true exhaustion. Her skin flushed with the first fiery touches of what she recognized to be fever. She scowled at the priest, whose eyes glittered with cold calculation.
"You have been touched by Talona, my child. No doubt you can feel the fever raging inside you. The Goddess of Disease and Poison has laid her hands on you."
Yasha felt the eyes of her companions on her, but she was grimly focused on the priest, all lightheartedness gone.
"Whatever you did to me," she snarled, "you better undo right now!"
"I am not the one who has done this to you, though I have the means to remove this sickness. No, it is Talona herself who has laid her mark upon you. My name is Lomylithrar the Rotting. Once I served Aerdrie Faenya, the winged Lady. Now I bow to the Mistress of Poison. As you can see, I have converted this temple to honor my new patron." He motioned calmly at the temple around them, but his eyes stayed fixed on Yasha. "Talona has chosen you for trial. She has infected you with her burning essence, and the only way to be free of this sickness is to prove yourself worthy."
Yasha gritted her teeth at his air of sadistic amusement. She had little doubt he told the truth. Torm's hand protected her from most diseases, but the unholy touch of the Lady of Sickness would be one of the few forces that could so easily breach that defense.
"How, exactly, am I expected to prove myself worthy?" she finally growled.
The priest's smile twisted further. "You must prove yourself in combat. If you are strong enough to survive in battle while infected, then you are worthy of life."
Yasha pressed her lips into a thin line. There were much worse things he could have tried to demand of her. Struggling to keep her outrage in check, she asked, "And if I win the challenge you'll heal me?"
"If you survive the challenge the sickness will be lifted from you. Few survive the trial, but you are very strong. You may surprise me. I am looking forward to watching you in the arena."
"I'm so glad I can offer you some entertainment," she replied acidly. Already, a slow, painful throb had started in her head, echoing each beat of her heart.
"You have little choice. If you do not fight, the illness will destroy you." His eyes narrowed. "But I sense your reluctance, and I want you to be fully committed to the battles. So I will offer you something more."
He reached into his robes, and from some pocket pulled out a small bundle of the same greenish cloth that draped the walls and ceiling. He made a great show of flipping the cloth back, and Yasha could not help but suck in a surprised breath as its contents flashed briefly in the low light.
"If you survive, I will also give you this magical mirror shard. By itself it is not worth much, but if you can find the other pieces you can combine them into a powerful artifact."
She sighed, and licked her lips. That had been what she was hoping to find when she had chosen the large temple to explore. This wasn't exactly the conditions she would have hoped for. Valen drew close and spoke to her, his voice low.
"This is a foolish risk, my lady," he said, shaking his head.
She kept her voice just as low when she responded. "And what is my alternative? Strike him down and take it from him? It is the curse that has twisted this man's mind. I must rescue him from this as much as anything else. I cannot kill him." She gritted her teeth and looked back at the priest, whose face was still twisted in that horrid smile. "I cannot."
She stepped forward, drawing Duty, and raised her voice. "I accept your challenge."
His eyes glittered in smug satisfaction as she spoke. He raised his hands and gestured, and Yasha felt the dark goddess' magic coalesce around her once again. The temple around her shifted, spinning crookedly, and then she found herself in the center of the pillared cage she noted earlier. She tightened her grip on her shield, and ignored the echoing spasm of pain from her stomach.
She had only a moment to get her bearings before a shadow detached itself from the ceiling above. A great spider, its body the size of a pony, hung suspended from a twisted rope of webbing for a moment. It released its grasp, spinning expertly to land on six of its powerful legs. Its front two it held before it like the weapons they were, for they were as hard, sharp and as deadly as the sword Yasha held in her hand. She had seen this spider's like before, and defeated them easily, but this one's hairy skin was patchy and gray, its open sours oozing a putrid stench. A diseased sword spider. Of course.
Yasha braced herself against the renewed wave of nausea that struck her at the creature's sickly smell, even as the thing charged her, chattering angrily.
The spider's forelimbs banged loudly against her shield, echoing in her ears and thundering through her already throbbing skull. She blocked and parried, trying to get in under the sword-like limbs. She swung, and then swung again, but the great spider deftly flinched away and then jumped her blade.
It landed heavily on her shield, trying to press her to her knees with the weight of its body. Its sharpened legs scratched and pounded over her shoulders and against her back, trying futilely to find a chink in her breastplate. Another pair of legs gripped her shield on either side, and she struggled to keep it firmly pressed forward, blocking the spider's dripping fangs as it lurched at her again and again with its rear two legs as leverage. It hardly seemed fair. She only had the two legs, after all.
"Fool spider," she huffed as the poison drip harmless on the floor between them, "I'm already poisoned."
Coiling herself, she waited for the spider to rear back once more in an attempt to get over her defenses. When it did, she struck, but not with Duty. She charged forward, using her shield as a battering ram, and slammed into the spider's abdomen. It screeched in frustration, but with only half of its legs on the floor, it was unable to stop her momentum. It shuddered, its alien screech turning into a squeal of pain as it slammed into the magical barrier. The sickly green light arched like electricity over its body, and its legs curled and twitched, releasing her shield. Yasha stepped backward, wrenching her shield free, but only enough to give herself room to charge once more. Again the spider shrieked as it came into contact with the magical barrier, but this time it twisted, nimbly leaping free of the shield before Yasha could bring Duty to bear.
Still, it staggered when it landed, its legs tangling as it struggled to recover. Yasha didn't give it a chance. Duty leapth in her hand, and she skewered the thing before it could attack again. She shuddered as the magic twisted around her as soon as the killing blow finished the great spider. The room spun again, leaving her blinking in confusion outside the cage.
"Was that it?" she asked. "Have I won?"
The priest laughed viciously. "There is still a long way to go before you are free of the Poison Lady's grasp. Are you ready for the next stage of the trial?"
Yasha closed her eyes. She felt sweat stream between her shoulder blades, and body was trembling from the exertion of the fight with the spider, no matter how short it was.
"How many stages are there?"
The priest considered his answer carefully. "It depends on the strength of the individual in the challenge," he mused. "You must be pushed to your very limits before you can prove yourself."
Valen stepped forward angrily, and his voice was low and dangerous. "We're sick of your games, priest. So quit stalling and answer Yasha's question!"
"You are very powerful. For you, there will be several stages. Five, I think... though I cannot say for sure. Not that you have a choice if you wish to be free of this affliction."
Yasha sagged a bit. She could feel the sickness in her blood, sapping the strength from her limbs. If she was to survive this, she must finish it quickly. She drew herself back up and motioned towards the cage with Duty. "The next trial then, Lomylithrar."
She kept her eyes on his macabre grin until the magic clouded her vision. Then she was in the fighting arena once more.
Duty flashed with holy fire as a sickly green mist collected along the floor in one corner. It swirled and thickened, hiding the stone below it. Then a clawed hand burst free of it, and another. The claws scrabbled for purchase along the rock as the creature pulled itself from the mist. It was humanoid this time. Indeed, perhaps it was human at one time, though now undeath and disease and warped it so it was hard to tell. It slavered and bared its teeth when it caught sight of her, hissing hungrily.
Yasha gagged as the ghoul's stench struck her, and she nearly dropped Duty in an effort to protect her nose with her gauntleted hand. She shook her head, but the motion merely made the nausea worse. She hissed back at the thing, and her hand moved down from her face to grasp the holy symbol that hung from her neck.
"By Torm's Might!" she called. For a moment, the divine essence filled her, blocking the burning of the fever with its cool power, and easing the sickness that clenched her abdomen. She had only a moment's respite before she released the energy in a bright flash of light.
The ghoul shuddered as the raw divine power washed over it, clawing and slapping at its skin as if to rid itself of some burning fire. Gasping for breath, Yasha raised Duty before her, praying earnestly to Torm for yet more aid. With relief, she saw a golden fire join Duty's normal white flames. She held the roaring sword before her for a moment, watching the ghoul still yowling from the effects of her turning. Then she charged, and the doubly burning sword sliced through the undead creature, immolating it in one quick blow.
The room spun once more, and Yasha fell to her knees as the nausea gripped her. She swayed, pressing Duty's tip against the cold floor to keep her from falling completely.
"Boss?" Deekin's wavering voice said from somewhere to her right. "Is you OK? Deekin has seen orcs less green than you are right now."
Yasha chuckled weakly. She turned her head and slowly focused on the face of her concerned friend.
"I'll be fine, Deekin." She sucked in a deep breath, then pulled herself back to her feet.
The priest laughed out loud. "You feel My Lady's touch on your skin, do you not? The fire of her essence in your blood? How many more do YOU think you can survive?" he taunted.
"As many as it takes," Yasha said slowly. She felt oddly disconnected, and it was a struggle to form the words. No doubt the fever was clouding her mind. She lifted Duty heavily and pointed it at the priest. "The more sadistic and cruel you act, the more caring and good-hearted you are. I will save you yet."
The priest wrinkled his nose and frowned at her for the first time. "Save me? You're babbling."
Yasha let her arm fall heavily back to her side. "I don't have to make sense," she said thickly. "I just have to win. Send me back."