The various interesting items from the raid on Damarus' house were duly examined and passed around, and then the group fell to discussing what to do next. The mention of 'the museum' was interesting; both Méabh and Lynien had heard of this place. It was The Museum of War and Conflict, a local attraction run by a well-to-do citizen called Belarang Vulpold. Lynien had heard two members of her guild discussing this man one day, and their description of him was extremely similar to that of the Blood Snake from Damarus' files. It seemed a reasonable assumption that the two were probably one, and either his house or the Museum was the best place to go next. The Museum was the most popular choice, mainly because of the possibility that Anaric was to be found there. Méabh confided privately to Gorfang that her objective was the sword Rilliantorin, which also might be present, but asked him to keep that information to himself.
Rummaging through the purloined accessories from Callia's room, Lynien commented "Perhaps we should go in disguise?" and produced a false beard. The others looked at her for a moment, and then the debate continued. The likelihood was that anything useful was to be found in the areas of such a place not accessible to the public, and for that they'd need a diversion. Everyone immediately turned and looked at Gorfang. The orc, who'd been glowering and muttering volcanically in a corner over his spellbinding by Méabh, brightened up immediately at this suggestion.
There were things to be done first, however. Méabh headed over to the Mageguild, while Lynien and Eloy pleaded 'guild business' (without going into any details) and promised to be back in an hour. Soon Gorfang, Uruk and Bog were left alone at the table. Uruk looked around at the lack of things happening, back to Gorfang, and said brightly, "Time for a beer?"
"No," replied the orc tersely. Uurk shrugged, and ordered one anyway.
The Mageguild in Lossal |
Méabh was familiar with the Lossal Mageguild now, and her name and face were known there. She walked through the pleasant gardens in the courtyard to the tower that Erilas lived in, and knocked on the door of his rooms.
The mage was pleased - and just a touch surprised - to see Méabh safely home from her adventures in the deep Trakar, and welcomed her into his parlour warmly. Ushering her to a seat, he offered her refreshment and then sat next to her, ready to hear what she had to say.
The first thing she did, however, was to make him a gift of her share of the hydra's teeth from the giants' temple. Erilas was touched that she'd done so, and pleased; there were many arcane and alchemical uses for such items.
"How did the staff work out?" he asked. "Pretty well," she answered, "magically anyway, I've never hit anyone with it so far." Erilas held out a hand. "May I look over it please?" he asked. Méabh dropped it into his hand and the wizard turned it over, examining it. Then he cast a spell over it, one Méabh was unfamilar with but which had the feel of a divination or investigative magic. Satisfied, he handed it back.
"Did you find your crystal pyramid?" he asked. For answer, she dipped into a pocket again and dropped a chunk of dull, jagged crystalline substance into his hand. Erilas was speechless for a long moment. Then he placed the piece on his desk with great care and thanked his guest rather formally and very thoroughly. Méabh explained the reasons behind the party's decsision to destroy the Crysmyrlor. Erilas nodded wisely (presumably, Méabh thought, something they taught book-casters at Wizard School).
She asked if he had ever heard of the Blood Snake, but he looked blank. Then she mentioned Vulpold and the Museum, and Erilas laughed slightly. "Oh, yes, that place," he commented. "Quite popular, with a certain class of people, but not my kind of thing." Méabh looked unsure, and he explained. The Museum was a public exhibition of everything to do with war, battle and conflict, but was regarded by many as far too sensationalist, too uncomfortably detailed in its' depiction and examination of the pain and suffering of war. Several of the more strait-laced temples had tried to get it shut down, but the powerful Mageguild had many members who throughly approved of the place and it remained open.
"A rather 
unusual, perhaps eccentric person of power and wealth who collects magic
and weapons. Appropriate, really; we're ruled by one, after all!" and he grinned like
the boy he'd been fifty years ago. Méabh shared a smile, and changed the subject.
She explained she was seeking a magical item for herself, either to purchase or to be made for her; a ring (preferably) enchanted with the spell Cat's Grace. She'd sold part of her share of the loot from Damarus' house to Gorfang in exchange for most of the orc's gold, and was ready to pay what Erilas asked. His price of eighteen thousand for the making was reasonable and standard - he was prepared to knock off five, he added, for the teeth and the fragment, even though offered as gifts; the offer itself was the gift for him. The problem for Méabh was that Erilas estimated around eighteen days to make the ring, and she wasn't sure she'd still be here then. She decided to leave the matter for the moment.
Lynien and Eloy, now members of the grandiose thieves' guild, had little difficulty getting into the secret warrens of the underworld this time. The passwords they'd been taught were still valid, and they were ushered through. Their first stop was the Daymaster, 'Baron' Segaro, where they explained that they'd been involved in the turning over of Damarus' house. Eloy enquired rather nervously if Damarus was covered by the guild's protection racket, but was reassured to be reminded that the only the master gem-cutters, mercenaries, money-changers and animal trainers were off limits. "Was that you?" he asked. They admitted that it was. "A bit crass, burning the place down," he criticized; "how will you rob it again, now?"
"It was burning already," said Eloy. "You robbed a burning building?" replied Segaro, surprised. "A bit brave, then." Brave was not necessarily a complement in this company, but commanded more respect than careless. They paid up their 2% tithe, and, relieved that this at least was one organization that wouldn't be pursuing them, went off to look for the Fence.
'Earl' Circlethorn was a slightly pompous, affected individual, dressed in the ragged finery favoured by the senior members of the guild. Rumour was that a specialist thief actually earned his living stealing these outfits back from the foot of the gallows when the law caught up with the members. He was a bit surprised that Lynien and Eloy had come, not to sell loot, but to buy from it; specifically any magic regarding protection, invisibility or magic resistance. He explained that the night-shift were still reporting in, and that - of course - not all loot was stored in one place once he took ot for onward sale, but that he'd see what was available and let them know in the morning. When Lynien asked if he had a Bag of Holding she could buy he simply laughed. No thief ever left such an item unclaimed!
The bright April day had a couple of hours left to it by the time the adventurers reached the Museum. Lynien had discovered that its' opening hours were dawn-til-dusk, so they expected to be able to get in. Méabh cast a Cat's Grace as they neared the premises, and as arranged they split up. Gorfang, as the designated diverter, headed boldly for the entrance.
The Museum was a large, imposing building, with a magnificent entrance bracketed by pillars and approached by curving, shallow stairs. Stepping through, he found a lobby with a door to the left marked 'Private', an archway to the right clearly leading to the museum proper, and a desk occupied by a skinny human woman of around thirty. Two large lizardmen stood impassively either side with the slighly vacant look of those paid to stand still for seven hours. One of them eyed Gorfang as he stepped in, but - notwithstanding his impressive collection of weapons, heavy armour, and bloodstained condition - made no comment. For Gorfang, the orc, this was nothing unusual; it was only later that it occurred to him that most respectable places wouldn't have let him in.
"Welcome to the Museum of War and Conflict," said the receptionist brightly. "Is this your first visit?" Gorfang nodded. "That will be a silver piece please," she continued. "The museum is through there. I hope you relish the experience." Gorfang flipped a coin across the desk, and headed for the arch. It's not my language, he thought, but relish seems an odd word to choose.... This was not his normal line of thought, though, and he dismissed it and moved on.
The first room was fairly small, and clearly an introduction to the idea of war; displays and pictures went into the reasons why men and nations fight each other. Gorfang, for the most part, didn't give a damn why people fought; he knew why he fought. He moved on through the next arch.
He found himself in the first of the main exhibition halls, a huge space two hundred feet across and ten feet high. A large sign hanging from the ceiling declared the subject to be 'Battles'. The coverage was impressive. Every major conflict on the Prime Material for the last thousand years was depicted, described and analysed; battles from the Elf Wars, the Stryran Secession, Thallith, Vlan Gera, Slirryt, the list went on and on. Maps, pictures, dioramas, and relics illustrated the events. For any warrior who led men or dreamed of it, this place was fascinating.
Gorfang, however, had other objectives. Noting the further two lizardman guards in here, he headed for the arch to the next hall.
Méabh reached out and cast an Improved Invisibility on Eloy, before heading into the Museum herself. Lynien had already preceded him in, as her invisibility lasted much longer than the 8 minutes Eloy was going to get. The pair started searching around. Eloy looked over the door marked Private and established that it wasn't locked, but that opening it was going to be noticed. He drew his sword and started scanning around for magic and hidden doors; this drew him to a shelf, where he found a curious object - a small glass scorpion, around 4" long. It radiated moderate magic, and looking around he noticed another on another shelf on the other side of the room. Knowing his time was up, he left the Museum again so as to appear at the end of the spell and re-enter conventonally.
Lynien was placed near the Private door, waiting; she knew a diversion was planned. Sure enough, a few moments later Méabh entered and demanded to use the toilet.
The receptionist directed her to a tavern across the road, at which Méabh raised a fuss, and then pretended to faint. The receptionist leaped up and gestured at the two lizardmen; "Boris! Igor! Help her up, please!" she cried.
No-one was now looking her way, and Lynien stole the moment to crack the door and slip inside. Easing it shut, she turned - to see an office with four clerks sitting at desks, one of whom was staring at the apparently self-propelled door in complete amazement.
Gorfang wandered through into the next exhibnition hall. This room, designated 'Commanders and Victims', was an odd mixture of glory and horror. About half the room was given over to exhibits of the greatest generals in Alair's history; Galoriand, Gozan Vraspan, Seraphiel, Shuumash Death Tounge, Ramphaag Thunderslayer - and most recently Inverkel Tearscorn, the loyalist general in the recent Dalaghendan civil war. The other half of the hall went into unflinching, unrelenting detail of the terror, misery, pain, loss and suffering warfare could produce. Nowhere did it judge or comment; the facts and details were laid out and that was that.
Gorfang made a beeline for the cases with armour and weapons in, glanced at Gozan's doublesword and examined the case containing Shuumash Death Tongue closely. The armour and vadok were there, and the vadok looked like Anaric all right, but only a complete novice would mistake this for the real thing. It was a mock-up, and a good one, but that was all.
Moving on again, and noting that there were another two lizardman security guards in here, he reached the third and final hall; 'Equipment of Warfare'.
His hopes rose briefly, but he was out of luck. The room looked like an armoury, with racks and racks of weapons of every concievable type, torture, restraint and execution equipment, and detailed descriptions and pictures of their use, plus cases with specially famous weapons laid out under glass. But many of these latter were also present in the previous display, and many more were known to be in the hands of living heroes; Asharn, the Sword of the Dead Legions, Durundana. Replicas again. He shook his head, disappointed, and then pricked up his ears at the sound of angry shouting from the reception area. Now that's more like it, he thought, and set off there at a jog.
Méabh 'recovered' as Boris and Igor reached her - she didn't want to be picked up by that pair after all! - and demanded a glass of water. The receptionist was just pouring one, back at her desk, when Gorfang walked through the archway out of the Museum, and Eloy came in through the street door.
Méabh took one look at Gorfang, screamed "A monster!", and 'fainted' again. Eloy drew his sword, although no-one was looking at him. Gorfang roared "How dare you bully that poor girl!" at the two hefty lizardmen looming over her, and launched himself at them bare-knuckled.
Lynien froze and stood still, watching the suspicous clerk. For a few moments nothing happened, and then the noises, first of shouting, then of combat, came from through the door. Three of the clerks - including the one who'd spotted the door move - jumped up and went to peep through and watch the fun; and Lynien slipped past their desks to the door at the far end.
No-one was watching so she opened it and slipped inside.
On the far side was a well-appointed office, with a bookcase stuffed with the sort of militaria reference books one would need to create this kind of exhibition. A heavy desk was scattered with papers, all connected in some way to the trading in magical artifacts or unusual weapons. Carefully examining the desk, she located a hidden panel and slid it aside. Glancing in, she was disappointed to find it empty, and gave it only the most cursory of checks before leaving the office.
At the other end of the accounts office was a flight of stairs going upwards. Slipping noiselessly past the enraptured clerks as they watched the show outside, she carefully ascended and put her head out into the room above. The room was clearly a store-room as well as the upper landing. Piles of stuff, tea-chests, cleaning supplies and similar were scattered about. At the far end was a rather well-made door that attracted Lynien's attention, so she set off across the room towards it.
As 
she did so, she noticed something out of place - two small glass scorpions, one on each side of the room. One was on a shelf, and the other atop a tea chest. They looked basically harmless, but were just a little out of place here - and were exactly where she'd have placed a trap were she defending this room. Carefully, she got down and crawled past them.... Just as she came level with the first one, there was a flicker of movement from it, and it ballooned out into a huge, translucent scorpion the size of a large table, moving and purposeful, coming at her with enormous speed with its' pincers clicking! Lynien wasted no time goggling or trying to defend herself. She backed up three quick steps towards the stairs. Quick - but not quick enough. The ghostly pincers slashed out, passing through her armour as if it wasn't there and impossibly cutting her flesh. Frantically she twisted out of the way as the stinger slashed down; then, grabbing the rail at the top of the stairs, vaulted over to drop onto the steps below. Her landing was perfect and soundless, and as she looked up, the nebulous nippers reached out for her and then shrank down and disappeared from view. She breathed out slowly.
Gorfang launched himself cheerfully at two lizardmen a foot taller and three stone heavier than he. Two heavy punches sent Boris staggering backwards. 
He remained there, unwilling to re-engage, but Igor appeared to lose his temper and lashed out with his quarterstaff, catching Gorfang on the leg and nearly bowling him over.
The volatile orc boiled over. In a single smooth movement, he drew his black sword and struck. Completely unprepared for lethal force, the lizardman was caught flatfooted and carved almost in half. Blood spattered everywhere as Igor spun to the floor. Gorfang stood snarling and braced but it was clear no-one else was keen to come to lethal grips. Boris hefted his staff as his four compatriots jogged into the reception area.
"We were trying to help her!" he roared. "She had fainted! No cause for murder. Get out - now!" Gorfang knew this well of course, but his task as diversion-generator called on him to keep this going. Arguing and posturing, he stretched the stand-off on and on until he was pretty sure Lynien had escaped; then he demanded his money back. The receptionist flipped it to him, without (he thought) the rancor that his slaying ought to have earned. Odder and odder. He left.
Eloy lingered, helpfully offering to assist Boris with disposing of the late Igor and picking his pocket in the process.
Gathered 
again, the party decided to try the outside of the building as a means of reaching the room above the office, which everyone's intuition was telling them had to be the payoff. After all, it was guarded. So Eloy went up the main building from the back and across its' flat roof, while Gorfang climbed the north wall of the office to come up level with the window there.
Both windows were opaque, either coated with dust or artfully treated to prevent vision in. Méabh, trying to help, pitched a brick at the window above Gorfang as he climbed. The brick missed the window, bounced off the wall, and bounced off Gorfang's helmet, releasing a stream of orcish words that probably weren't a recipe for cupcakes.
Eloy waved Bereloth around, checking for more runelocked windows, but found no trace of anything the weapon could detect.
Reaching the window, Gorfang carefully unsheathed a sword and used it to jimmy the pane open. Below, Méabh began to climb after him. As it opened, Gorfang lost his balance and fell, catching himself at the last moment by grabbing the windowsill. By main strength, he hauled himself up as Méabh came level with him, and they peered inside.
The room was empty, plain and dusty, with only one distinguishing feature; a pentagram five feet across inscribed on the floor in faintly glowing lines. Méabh was not very familar with pentagrams, but guessed from the absence of candles, scorch marks and bloodstains that it was probably a teleportation circle and not a summoning one.
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