23 Nightal
The Tiru Tel-Quessir, the tower that served as the council chambers was a mix of stone and tree, reflecting both the elven and gnomish influence. A waterfall fountain poured into a pool filled with water plants, making a floating garden. The ancient Great Willow had sprung up from the surrounding stone and marble building. The tree portion was crisscrossed by wooden skywalks. As great as this tree building was, it was still overshadowed by the Mother Tree just south of it. Their escort took them to the stone door where two lightly armored mages stood. The companions were greeted by a female halfling who introduced herself as Finnea, one of the council leaders. She thanked the sun elf and relieved him of baby-sitting.
"I see someone has made an impression on Valandoril," Finnea commented as she led the group up the stairway that wound up the tree.
"Seems like everyone is like that," Jinx remarked.
"It is hard to trust outsiders. And it is too obvious yall are not escapees from slavery."
Not anymore, the tabaxi thought to herself.
"Plus, you know how the elven folk are," the halfling leaning over to whisper.
The next door opened to a skywalk that led to a small building on one of the branches. Inside sat six people around an oval table. Two chairs, larger than the others, held a gnome male wizard and an elven male cleric. An empty hair was between the leaders of the council, the halfling's own spot.
She introduced the five who'd came, then took her seat.
"Our guard informs us yall seek knowledge in our city," the head elf, Elisar began. He motioned for the companions to explain. Though it was directed more to Tahlethar or Ariali to speak.
The gnome leader, Singrim, finished the elf's statement, "what is your quest and what do you hope to gain?"
Tahlethar laid a hand on Ariali's shoulder, letting her know he would take the lead. He also looked to Zyne, who nodded for him the go-ahead. He stepped forward from his companions, greeting the council with his name and credentials. He then went on explaining their mission and intent. A dangerous Cult was seeking a way to access a legendary location with the goals of releasing the most dangerous beast of all. The Cult will be looking for a way to restore access to the Waymeet, most likely using Netherese magic. They hope to reach the legendary Vale before the Cult with the hope of securing the knowledge of stopping them, preventing them from accessing the knowledge to awaken the Beast.
"How do you plan to get to this plane?" Singrim inquired.
"We will have to use mythal building knowledge," trying to explain the elven magic to the non-elves. "This was one of the reasons for visiting an active mythal city." He attempted to explain how they were to use a high elven ritual to create a mythal gate to access the Waymeet. From there they should find the gate to the Vale itself.
"What is to stop this Cult from using "The Fhoeldin durr, the Waymeet, after you open access to it?" Elisar asked.
"the Selu'taar, high mages," he explained, "can close it back up once we are in."
"It is a risk," Ariali added, "and we are aware of the possible danger. But if we can reach it first…" deep down the lythari was hoping the council would reject their request. The less that was provided, the less she would have to give to her master, the less betrayal she could be apart of. "Whether we open it up or not. They are trying to do the same. It comes down to who gets to it first."
"Why not seek and wipe them out? Then there would be no danger of opening the Waymeet," one of the other council members asked.
"Paerth! How had that worked on the Cult of the Dragon?" Zyne frustratingly retorted before Tahlethar could speak. "Or them elemental cults? Did ye know there is a Cult connected to the Netherese still around? The Coming Chaos be seekin' their magic, it wont be long before they join up."
Tahlethar grimaced when Zyne spoke out, but the dwarf wasn't wrong. The council needed to know the potential threat here.
"If the worst fear come true," Zarae decided to add her own voice, "we destroy it behind us."
The cleric and sorcerer looked back to the rogue with a 'really?' wishing she hadn't chosen to speak. Tahlethar was leery of how the council would take to a dark elf, even a follower of the Dark Maiden, speaking here. She understood their glare, returning it with a shrug.
Elisar leaned over to Singrim and Finnea, then motioned for the other council members to lean in, and whispered too low for even the elven ears to hear. They nodded, the entire council was in agreement. Tahlethar could tell it wasn't going to go like they hoped. He knew how his people tended to be with decisions of this magnitude. Elves were often not quick to action; why would the long-lived race be? However, this issue was a race against the Cult. So time was important.
"We are hesitant to do anything without a very thorough study and further deliberation on the issue," Elisar spoke on behalf the council. To capture some of the magic of the mythal in a spell gem was not something they had ever considered and needed time to think on it. What might be the effect of the chardalyn or the person who attempted to gather the energy? Would there be lasting effects on the mythal itself?
The dome of the cave was once far overhead, past Eloth's darkvision. Now, most of its smooth stone lay as debris. The floor, once polished limestone, had burst open allowing liquid fire to fill the cavern. Carved columns lay shattered all around the space. Dominating the floor, where 120 bookcases should have been, now covered in hardened lava and buried underneath. Opposite the entrance were meant to be spiraling stairs leading up and down to other levels. The Black Library had once been filled with hundreds of thousands of scrolls, tomes, and texts, had been a labyrinth of lost knowledge of ancient Netheril; now it was nothing but a ruin. The three cult members let out a collective curse. Kemas signaled for them to spread out and see if there was anything that survived or could be salvaged. Powerful magical items might have a chance of surviving. Or better, secret compartments may have survived.
"What exactly was Mistress Helmyn hoping?" the warrior asked as he walked down the littered aisle.
"Mythallar magic," Eloth responded from across another aisle.
"We need something to penetrate the hardened rock," Trynoc responded.
"Good thinking!" the mage replied. Chanting a few magical words, his eyes glowed for a second to the casual observer. Kemas blinked a few times, then scanned the area as he walked. Most the stone burying the bookshelves was more than a foot thick, but there were areas that the stone was thinner. Evidenced by several faint auras of gold peeking through the hardened lava. "Over here!" the wizard pointed to one spot.
"I see stone, rock, ashes…" the warrior slightly annoyed.
Eloth understanding what Kemas was doing, "We didn't bring a pickaxe. Didn't expect to need one." Setting her pack down to dig through it for anything of use. "All I got is a crowbar."
"My pack is our supplies," the warrior following suit digging through his own equipment.
Kemas' face twisted in thought as he mentally went over his prepared spells to see what might be helpful. He then conjured forth the mind of his Awakened Spellbook. The tiny spectral object was hovering above the spot glowing to him; the spellbook lit up the small area a little more than the torch.
"That is new," Trynoc startled by the floating book. "How is that going to help?"
"It is more for me," the mage commented. "I have my reasons." He mentally commanded the floating book to flutter around the area seeking out other areas of flowing auras. The wizard ordered the other two to mark the spots the book stopped at to be checked out for magical items.
This went on for over an hour, the group able to mark out a dozen locations, as their wizard continued ritual casting of the spell. Two of them decided that after this to go ahead and set up a camp. Kemas walked over to the spot that had glowed the brightest, one with the object nearest the surface of the stone. He pulled out a lump of clay as he began the casting of the stone shaping spell. The clay was worked into a ring, hollowing out around the object. Beneath the stone had been located a leather-bound tome. The edges of the pages were crumbling ashes, but the magic held the object mostly intact, including the arcane lock. Written in Lorass, the dead language of High Netheril with the draconic Iokharic script. The wizard pulled forth a scroll specifically for this problem of languages; the letters rearranged for his eyes, reading Ballarini's Vivifective Sourcebook. Thumbing through it carefully, Kemas determined it was a book on necromancy, specifically on reanimating the dead. Useful, but not what he was looking for. The wizard discovered the more he moved the stone, the more they were able to detect surviving tomes deeper in the hardened lava, including a small chamber hidden between the shelves. Only indication of what was inside was a partial map of the stars from the librarian's time.
This process continued on, Kemas digging out more tomes, several sealed scroll tubes, and even a magical wand. The wand was quasi-magical they learned. Only able to work within a certain distance of a mythallar. They also found no shortage of illusionary or real magical wards and traps, most disarmed or destroyed when the volcano blew.
When Kemas took a break, sitting at the small fire Trynoc had built, he skimmed through the titles of the tomes: Forma Pelluriana- a tome on theories of shapeshifting, Teobaldik's Necrologicon- another book on the theory of necromancy, Anthologia Cryomantica- use of ice magic in sustaining life after death, Salic's Lex Sanguifecta– a book on the laws of blood magic, and Principia Velenosa- the principles of poisons. There was a sheep skin book with a draconic script that read Alkazaar's Appendix. The scrolls were ancient spells Kemas hadn't heard of: Psychic Drain, Ghaunadaur's Gift, Moan of Delerium. Another scroll spoke of the creation of an artifact called Myrjala's Shards.
Taking first watch, "hold on," the ranger commented as her companions were settling down to sleep for the night.
Kemas on his elbows reading the look of triumph on her face. He threw his cover off and headed for the half elf. She pointed to a phrase. Among the pile of written works, Eloth had discovered a diary of a former arcanist from one of the famous floating cities detailing her study with the Nether Scrolls. "That what I think it is?" she asked the mage.
His weariness was suddenly gone, the discovery filling him with a renewed energy. He took the diary from her, his eyes still under the comprehend language spell. It was a long hour as the mage read over every word of the diary.
"Nether Scrolls. Yes!" he exclaimed, startling the half elf ranger awake. Then we waved her over. The arcanist who penned the work had spent much time with the Magicus Creare, the "Spells of Creation", a chapter about magic item creation. The book was laid on a makeshift table as he read aloud the inscription:
'My former apprentice reminds me of the potential of creating it. And the cost. I will never forget his sacrifice in raising the…' Some of the pages were ruined, the script smudged out from the ashes. 'this breakthrough caused a great stir. My former master…' 'Xolund gave it sentience'. Other phrases stuck out to him, 'taking his lifeforce', 'raising of Xinlenal', and 'lethal'.
Brom stood looking into the still water of the scrying bowl. The scene was unsurprising. Large open desolate wasteland with some snow-covered scrub vegetation and frozen bogs. The wind whipped violently around piles of stones that were in the distance. This was assumed to be the abandoned hamlet of Zelbross. Brom cursed, not realizing how deeply the winter affected this far north; no sign of life, no sign of anyone trudging across the landscape.
"Reyxidor?" the tortle asked as she was walking through the door to the scrying chamber. She likewise cursed upon seeing the image shown. She was from southern Chult and still unuse to the harsh winters of the north.
"We wait for it to thaw?" he asked Helmyn, "or risk losing more of your men?"
"I thought we narrowed down the location of this elven mage?" she was thinking aloud.
"Reyxidor had to have discovered something he didn't want to share, hence leaving by himself so quickly." The image of a wolf crossing the grounds near the ruins appeared in the bowl. "The ruins seams to be host to dangerous creatures," the aasimir commented seeing the wolf run. They were starting to assume that with the potential of hungry predators Reyxidor had made himself an easy target. Seeing Helmyn confused about his statement on the ruins, "I would expect this mage we are looking for to be hiding among the ancient destruction."
"Why?" uncertain of his reasoning. She was thinking the mage to have been closer to a settlement; that would make most sense in finding a mage on the open lands.
Neither were aware of the creation of a mythal city hidden on the High Moor.
"Have you check into the history of the Moor?"
She shook her head. The aasimir explained what he knew, that the High Moor had been the location of an ancient elven kingdom that was thoroughly destroyed by a rival elven kingdom through some of the most powerful magics known to mortals. A mage out on the Moor was likely a scholar researching the ancient ruins or seeking the long-lost secrets of the elven kingdom. That was why Lyra suggested that they seek the mage out, he reasoned.
"It is the 12th month? Winter should ease up in the third month. Maybe we wait until then?" the warlock aasimir offered. "I will find someone from one of the nearby settlements to seek out Reyxidor's body."
The tortle did not want to wait, but his logic was undeniable. They would risk many lives in the harsh weather, and it would be near impossible to even find ruins that were buried beneath layers of snow. Besides, they had the three seeking the Black Library. That lifted her spirits a bit, thinking about what they might find.
The five companions, escorted by another elf assigned by the council, decided to seek use of the libraries in the city. The escort would follow the drow, not allowing any discussion otherwise. Ariali agreed to go with Zyne and Tahlethar would be with Jinx. They split up, taking different libraries agreeing to meet back at the Blushing Unicorn by dusk.
Ariali and Zyne entered the school district. They were mostly ignored, though Zyne got a few extra glances before the person would continue on their business. The sign above the building read 'A Novel Idea', and was carved from wood and engraved with an open book. Inside was a desk with a halfling reading. Behind her was 50 bookshelves, several wood tables with cushioned chair at the end of the aisle. Some empty desks were in the back were younger students were busy with school work. The halfling male looked up from his book to greet the visitors.
"What ye got on elven magic?" Zyne asked.
The halfling looked to the dwarf then to the wild looking elf, slightly confused over the request, "don't you want one of the schools?"
"This is a library, right?"
"Yes. Though this is more focused on fictional works and pleasure reading."
The dwarf gave a loud sigh, "which school?"
"What type of magic?"
"The ancient stuff."
"Rare, powerful, not your average type," Ariali added.
"You could try the school of Lost Arts. Maybe Paqen at 'World of Words' has historical treatises worth your eye."
The 'World of Words' was smaller than the previous library. It was less busy, but not unexpected in a library dedicated to historical works. A gnome was reshelving several tomes when the bell over the door alerted him to guests.
"Welcome, welcome," Paqen greeted the two from the aisle. Emptied hands, he hurried twords the front desk, "how can I help?" hiding his expression over who had entered- a dwarf and what he guessed was one of the wild elves.
"How far back ye go with the history?"
"For local history, further than say outside the country. I think I got some works from the second age of Calimshan."
"What about elven history? Or even the history of this city?"
"Odd request. But I think," tapping his cheek, then turned and walked down an aisle. He pulled a book, read the title then returned it. He did this several times before a 'ah ha!" then he did this two more times. The gnome flipped through the pages of the top tome as he returned to the front desk. "This is a personal journal about the founding of Myth Dyraalis," turning it so the two could see it, "this about the history of the elven people who dwelt here before the city," set beside the first one. Then he set the third one on top of the other two, "this speaks about ancient elven magic. But it is not going to detail as much as speaking with one of the elders."
"Can we read these?" the lythari asked, "here?" clarifying they didn't intend to take the books.
While they read, Peqen search through more of the tomes, pulling anything he thought they might find of interest related to historical works related to Myth Dyraalis.
The journal spoke about how the long-fabled town saved elves during their strife against Coramshan (pre-Calimshan) and allowed a few of Alondath's elves to escape the slaughter of their people by the Shoon Empire. The personal account was deeply painful, their sorrow of the war clear through the writing. Another tome was brief history, detailing the year the mythal city was raised and how it absorbed a few gnomish settlements from Iltkazar during the Eye Tyrant Wars.
"Nothing about how it was created," after about an hour flipping through the tomes, the lythari rubbing the bridge of her nose.
"Aye. closest I found was the year," his head went down to the page. Eyes tired from staring so long at words.
"I thought mages spent hours studying," the elf lightly joking.
"Wizards do. Aint no wizard. Me magics totally natural."
"I wouldn't expect the elves," the gnome commented as he gathered the discarded books to reshelve, "to be willing to share precious knowledge."
"Perhaps we check out that other library? What did he call it?"
"Where is the Lost Arts?" the dwarf called to the gnome who was still down an aisle.
"The school district. Pass through the art district, largest school here in the city."
Tahlethar and Jinx passed a few kids playing in the street. They all paused in their play fight, the youngest running up to the two then stopping, mouth agape. She'd never seen one of Jinx's kind before. "What are you?" she asked innocently. The girl who had came up beside her elbowed the younger one, "you cant say stuff like that."
"You look like my kitty," the younger one ignoring her friend.
Tahkether knelt down before the two girls, "what is yalls' names," distracting from their question.
"I'm Naynna!" the younger one expressed proudly.
"I'm Viaris," the older one answered.
As the cleric was about to ask another question, the boys back twords the building was calling for the two girls to return. Naynna grabbed Jinx's hand and tried to pull her to join in. the tabaxi looked back unsure how to respond. The elf was laughing that the kids were asking them to play.
"You know this is not safe," as Jinx was pulled along, "I am a stranger to yall."
"You get to be the big human," Naynna said still holding the tabaxi's arm.
Tahlethar walked over following, "sorry younglings," arm around Jinx's shoulders, "we got important things to do. Jinx cant play today."
"Aww," several sad expressions, a few exaggerated.
"You can play too!" a boy remarked. Several 'yeah! And 'come join us!'
"Maybe tomorrow."
Eventually the two entered the library attached to a school, 'The Lost Arts.' Tahlethar had seen it on their trip to the council and made a point to check it out. The school mostly hosted teenaged elven youths wanting to take up the rare arts of magic. There were a few other races, though they were mainly gnomes. Much like this city had been an elven and gnomish city. The school was divided into elemental magic, school of thaumaturgy, psionics, magics unique to foreign continents, such as Maztica, shadow magic, and High Magic.
A robed elven female mage greeted the pair, "you are a bit older than our usual," directed to Tahlethar, "But no one is too old to start or," looking to Jinx, "no race unable to learn."
"We seek more about Arselu'Tel'Quess," the elf informed the librarian.
"Ah," then looked to his non-elf companion, "I am sorry that you will not be able. Non-elves are simply unable to wield such power without being consumed by it."
"I am not a mage."
"Research," Tahlethar clarified for the woman, "more specifically mythals."
The woman was taken aback. Then as if recognition struck. "Elisar told us to expect such a request," then glancing around, "I thought he mentioned a dwarf and dhaerow."
"They are around somewhere."
"Very well." Not really comforted by his statement, "We will allow you to access to our texts."
"Let me guess," the tabaxi less then enthused, "just him?"
A nod, "The council agreed that we will not allow your dark elf access to our most precious. I will allow the N'Tel'Quess to be with one of us, but…"
"Not without escort?" Jinx's growing frustration was starting to show in her posture as she crossed her arms.
The female mage shrugged helplessly, though honestly not truly upset over preventing access to their most sacred magic. Tahlethar laid a hand on her shoulder, a reminder to expect this.
"I am not sure why the issue. I will allow you inside the school, under supervision of course," motioning for the two to follow.
Their steps barely made a sound on the stone corridor. Several large hallways branched off, leading to the various schools of study. The only indication was a glyph over the arches leading to the doors. Eventually the three took the corridor that corresponded to the school of elven magic. More doors marked various classrooms, divided by age and skill.
The wooden door was carved with runes that not even Tahlethar recognized. The door opened to an amphitheater. The teacher stood in the center of a circle of 12 elves probably no older than a ten-year-old human. "Magic is not some idle power or tool that awaits your beck and call. It is a living thing, a vigor that permeates the planet and the air, and can rightly be called Toril's life force. Magic demands your respect. Magic encourages cooperation. Magic requires understanding. Magic needs passion, for only in emotion can it truly become Art. Magic is not merely a pawn or force to manipulate at will and whim, for to do so is to invite disaster. Magic is not power, magic simply is."[1] Then the elderly mage looked up from his lectern to the mage who had opened the door. His golden hair was streaked with silvery grey, and thin lines spread out from his eyes. "Ah. We have guests." He gestured for them to sit and join the elflings.
Tahlethar's hands up. He'd wait for the teacher to finish the lesson, motioning for Jinx to follow him to a seat in the back of the theater. The female mage left the two to return to her post.
Within half an hour, the children were dismissed for a meal. The elf professor slowly made his way to the two. Jinx was sure this elf couldn't have moved faster if he wasn't to. She leaned over to ask how old he was.
"If an elf shows old age, you can bet they are over five centuries," he whispered to her. "When we reach about our sixth century, we feel the pull to journey from this world."
He then greeted the teacher with the traditional elven greeting, then introduced himself and Jinx before descending into their purpose.
"I am not a Selu'taar," he admitted. "So I can not give you as much as you would wish. But I have been around awhile…"
"That much is clear," the tabaxi commented softly, earning a frown from the cleric.
"We will appreciate anything you can offer in our research," Tahlethar tried to cover her comment.
"Come," he gestured for the two to follow him. He led them to the other side of the amphitheater, through another set of doors, down another hall and into a large office. The elderly mage invited the two to sit while he conjured up a pot of tea. He poured them each a hot cup and offered it.
"There is rumor of a group of outsiders in town. Some of the rumors are less…friendly than others."
"I can assure you, our purpose is to the protection of the Realms," Jinx attempting to correct her previous blunder.
"I believe you."
"So, you will help us?"
"I will tell you what I know of Arselu'Tel'Quess. But honestly, you would be better off finding a Selu'taar."
"One who will work with non-elves? Or…" the tabaxi started.
Tahlethar shook his head discreetly, not to speak of their dark elven friend.
Zarae with her elven escort, Cainala, took the long route intentionally wandering about and not actually heading to a library. As she strode down the street, fellow pedestrians cleared out of her way, making large circles around the two. Zarae decided to walk confidently, ignoring the jeers and snide comments directed her way. Her path went through one of the bazaars, by several stalls manned by gnomes. The market was alive with the chatter of vendors and customers haggling over goods. The cacophony of voices was punctuated by the clash of metal as blacksmiths demonstrated their wares. A colorful array of goods lined the stalls, from shimmering fabrics and exotic spices to intricately carved wooden figurines and peculiar trinkets. A towering fountain at the center depicted a majestic silver dragon spewing water into a large stone basin. children were playing and splashing gleefully.
One booth was a jewelry stand displaying several pieces of semi-precious gemstones. The more expensive pieces were under a glass case, securely locked away. A few leather strings with various pendants of religious symbols. Zarae's finger brushed over a jade pendant of a crescent moon. The jeweler kept glancing to the elf questioningly, brow furled, while the drow browsed the wares. Cainala attempted to move the drow along, missing the billowy sleeve hiding the stolen piece.
Soon a pleasant aroma caught Zarae's attention. one she hadn't smelt in years, freshly baked pastries. A small bakery was around the corner. The baker had just pulled out a fresh sheet of bread; she had opened the windows to purposely vent it to the marketgoers. Since there would be no running off on her own, something she deeply considered a few times, she startled Cainala by grabbing the elf's sleeve and tugging her twords the bakery.
The Half-Moon Bakery boasted of a cozy, timbered exterior with a rustic thatched roof. A colorful sign depicting a jovial crescent moon with a baker's hat hung over the purple door. Through the window they could see a plump gnome with flour-dusted cheeks energetically arranging golden loaves of bread on a display, humming a merry tune in anticipation of customers. Her back was to the door and window, unable to see the approaching elves. The door opened and the two were pleasantly hit with the scent of warm freshly baked bread mingled with cinnamon and nutmeg.
"Just in time…" the gnome started as she turned around to the customers. She was frozen with fear, not expecting a dark elf to walk through her door. Cainala was behind, finally moved into sight of the gnome. But her fear didn't ease.
Zarae picked up on the gnome's body language. Looking to the escort, then back to the baker, "oh, don't worry. She is not that scary," the drow leaning down slightly and whispering to her. Then she gave a sly wink.
The baker was puzzled for a moment, then forced a chuckle at the jest. She kept her eyes on the customers, brushing her hands on her apron.
"I would love to eat one of those fresh pastries," pointing to the rack display. Zarae pulled out a few silvers to purchase the largest one oozing with the spices and drizzled with honey. She pulled apart the crescent shaped bread slowly, releasing the aroma and buttery flaky pieces. It was warm in her hands, almost too warm. But it was everything she remembered in taste, or even better, considering most breads in the Underdark were mushroom flour based. She savored the taste as it melted in her mouth. Mouth full, "you should get it," the drow suggesting to Cainala.
Exiting the market, the drow took a wrong turn and found herself in the industry and mason's district. The distinct scent of burning coal mingled with the clanging of hammers on hot metal, creating the commotion of industry. Under pavilions, chisels clinked into slabs of marble or chunks of stone. Rows of open buildings displayed intricately wrought armor and weapons. The Singing Anvil stood out from the rest, the best known blacksmith of the city, and owned by an elven woman. She was hammering away at a glowing sword, her every strike a display of expert craftsmanship. She wiped her brow, smudges of coal, dirt, and sweat were streaked on her face. Under her were apprentices practicing their craft into metal utensils, cast iron pots, and other household goods.
She looked up from her work, forearm on her head. Rumors had already made it to her about the scandalous visitors. The blacksmith didn't care either way, though she was surprised to see one of her dark cousins coming to her business.
"Why are we here?" Cainala asked, stepping in front of the rogue. She was picking up that the drow was up to something, this traveling around was intentionally. They had been doing anything but heading to a library.
Zarae looked back and gave the most innocent smile, then headed over to the blacksmith. Slowly, she drew her first sai, holding the pommel end out, "these old things. Any chance you can add a little?" asking in the elvish dialect.
The blacksmith did as everyone did, a questioning glance to the escort, then to the drow. "What type of work you looking for? And do you have the coin?" reaching out to the sai to investigate it, estimate its quality, and give a rough guess of what it might cost. She checked the balance, the metalwork, and the sharpened edge.
"Magical enhancement?" Zarae asked.
"Well. That type of thing," the blacksmith biting her lower lip in thought, "you will need to speak to one of my mages. She adds the effects to already crafted weapons." She studied the sai again. Despite its wear and tear from use, it was still a quality weapon, excellent craftsmanship, evidently elvish, or rather drow made. "Ravara!" she called for the enchanter. About two minutes later, a short female wood elf entered. The blacksmith informed the mage of the request.
She studied the weapon considering what she could do and how long it would take, "I can tell you it could be up to a tenday. I will need the material, the spell, and the components that will go into it." The mage handed the weapon back to the blacksmith, then headed over to a bookshelf. Thumbing through, she pulled a red leather book, flipping through pages, settling on a list. "This is what I can add," then Ravara handed it to the blacksmith.
Several of the effects caught her attention, but the cost of many was above her available funds. They discussed through the list of the ones in her price range and the time it would take. After about an hour, Zarae settled on adding a warning effect to her sai, which would take the mage up to four days, and most of her coinage. She paid half of the price upfront and would pay the rest when it was finished.
"I assume you are staying at the Blushing Unicorn?" the mage asked, the money pocketed, and taking one of her sais.
The drowess nodded. "In a city like this, and the attention my presence causes, wont be hard to find me." Facing Cainala, "alright. Where does my baby-sitter think we should check out next?" a wry smile on her face.
Evening came, the Blushing Unicorn gradually increasing in patrons as the day was ending. As before, the taproom grew quiet when the companions entered. But since most of the patron were regulars, they had already experienced these five. This time the conversations restarted near immediately, if more hushed than before. The same table in the back was offered to them. Their escort Cainala sat at the bar nearby where she could still watch her assignment. On the other side of the bar counter, two barmaids were debating who would be the one to serve the strangers. A younger elvish looking maid lost the game of stone, sears, parchment, so she grumblingly walked over to the table.
"Guess you got the wrong side of the straw," Zarae bungling the saying in the common tongue.
The dwarf and elf shook their heads. The barmaid was clearly confused by the drow's statement. Zarae clarified in elvish. The barmaid nodded. Then she attempted to hurry them in their ordering. Spirits were ordered as well as plates of the roasting boar. The aroma of the cooking meat was filling the tavern, making everyone's mouth water.
"Make mine really rare," Ariali ordering her dish.
"Raw?" the waitress asked, looking the lythari up and down, puzzled. Ariali looked like any of the wood or wild elves, except the feral gaze in her eyes. Then she shrugged, finishing taking the orders of food and heading back twords the kitchen.
When the waitress departed, Jinx leaned forward to ask the others what they learned. They discussed their findings, pausing long enough for them to receive their pork dishes, including Ariali's nearly raw steak. The drinks were checked for poison, per the drow, and they dove into their evening meal. The cleric spent most of the time talking about what he'd learned about High magic that mattered to the others.
[1] Cormanthyr: Empire of the Elves,