Pheyrmerrin's Gift

The official GemStone IV encyclopedia.
Jump to: navigation, search

Pheyrmerrin's Gift

This first potion of the log is from the viewpoint of Iscikella Zinnonn. All second person references, therefore, refer to said character within this portion.

Restday, day 6 of the month Jastatos in the year 5103

[Magical Burrow, Dervish Park] The snow and ice which dominate Icemule Trace stop abruptly at the fenceline of the park. In their place sits a wide open greensward full of laughing children running everywhere. A strange glow hangs about the area, an odd magical field, slightly shimmering, its outer edge falling right at the snowline. A tall statue comprised of ten wizened halflings in enruned robes stands majestically at the center of the field. You also see a red and black ceramic-tiled townhouse, a low mithril gate, a splendid colorful tiled home, a plain residence, an expansive oak wood manor and an ancient dark stone manor. Obvious paths: north, west

Suddenly you have the strangest feeling that you are being watched. The feeling fades as quickly as it came.

You reach out and run your fingers across the pendant, and a golden incandescence surrounds the object briefly... You feel your mind open up to the world around you.

[Private] Pheyrmerrin: "I require you to come to the gate of the Sorcerer Guild immediately."

[Private] Mekthros: "Your presence is requested at the Sorcerer's Guild, provided you have not already been contacted."

[Sorcerer Guild, Entrance] Heavy fog swirls in this entrance area but does not seem to pass through the silver gate. Sharp ivory mammoth tusks protrude outward from the top of a tall, rough-hewn ironwood fence enclosing the compound. You also see a hooded guard and a silver gate. Also here: Mekthros Obvious paths: south

You say, "Hmmm..."

Mekthros nods to you.

Mekthros says, "Pheyrmerrin wishes to see you."

Pheyrmerrin came through a silver gate.

You say, "The Faendryl sent me a thought, aye."

Pheyrmerrin nods to you.

Mekthros nods.

You nod to Pheyrmerrin in greeting.

Pheyrmerrin stifles a yawn.

You say, "Evening, Faendryl."

Pheyrmerrin says, "Thank you for being so prompt."

Pheyrmerrin smiles briefly.

Pheyrmerrin says, "At a time of great inconvenience to me, you were instrumental in making my life somewhat more... convenient."

You say, "Well, I am the curious sort."

Tierus just arrived.

Pheyrmerrin says, "While I have little doubt that others could have fulfilled your role just as well..."

Tierus turns around.

[Private] Tierus: "I had thought to inform you he was looking for you, earlier. But he seems to have found you first."

You chuckle at Pheyrmerrin.

Mekthros smiles faintly.

Pheyrmerrin says, "It was... useful that you bound the queen."

(Tierus takes a few steps away.)

Tierus closes his eyes for a moment.

You say, "Why thank ye."

Pheyrmerrin stifles another yawn and squints blearily around for a moment.

You say, "Ye are an odd one, Faendryl."

You nod to Pheyrmerrin.

You say, "No question of that."

Pheyrmerrin says, "And you are a... no, I'm too tired to bother with finishing that."

You squint at Pheyrmerrin.

You ask, "A sylvan perhaps?"

You laugh softly, trying to hide your amusement.

Pheyrmerrin says, "I don't wish there to be any thought of debt between us. Ideally, the Arkati will favor us both by dividing our paths forever."

Pheyrmerrin removes a faenor-banded smoky glaesine globe from in his leopard fur cloak.

Pheyrmerrin says, "This is yours."

Tierus whispers, "If your amulet was not on, I was going to hail you down as soon as I heard you were near."

Pheyrmerrin offers you a faenor-banded smoky glaesine globe. Enter ACCEPT to accept the offer or DECLINE to decline it. The offer will expire in 30 seconds.

You raise an eyebrow in Pheyrmerrin's direction.

You accept Pheyrmerrin's offer and are now holding a faenor-banded smoky glaesine globe.

You tilt your smoky glaesine globe side to side, making the light play off it.

Pheyrmerrin says, "Clench your hand around it to feed it, and don't open the globe unless you want to kill it."

Look my globe Thin bands of black faenor wrap around the small globe, reinforcing the seams between the thin panels of glaesine. Each pale glaesine panel bears a twisting, darker-hued pattern within its surface, which resembles several interwoven tendrils of smoke. The globe is suspended on a fine copper neckchain, which threads through a small loop at the top of one faenor band.

A shapeless blob of pale blue gelatin lies within the sphere, oozing restlessly back and forth within the confines of its prison.

Tierus stares off into space.

You quietly whisper to Tierus, "Oh?"

You say, "Oh... strange."

You blink at Pheyrmerrin.

Mekthros says, "Slightly."

Tierus whispers, "He turned down meeting with me."

Pheyrmerrin mimicks, "Strange..."

Pheyrmerrin mutters under his breath.

Mekthros glances at you.

Pheyrmerrin says, "I'm going back to bed now."

Tierus says something in Dark Elven.

You say, "I thank ye, Faendryl."

Pheyrmerrin says, "You are passingly intelligent, I'm certain you can sort the rest of its qualities out alone."

Tierus says something in Dark Elven.

You laugh softly, trying to hide your amusement.

Tierus says something in Dark Elven.

You say, "I might surprise ye, Faendryl."

Pheyrmerrin glances at Tierus.

Pheyrmerrin says something in Dark Elven.

(Tierus glances over his shoulder at Pheyrmerrin.)

You say in Elven, "Sylvans have their ways."

Pheyrmerrin says something in Dark Elven.

You tilt your smoky glaesine globe side to side, making the light play off it.

Tierus turns to face Pheyrmerrin.

Tierus removes a silver earring from in his watersilk cloak.

Tierus says something in Dark Elven.

Pheyrmerrin dryly says, "Look. Sparkly."

You tap the globe, and the gelatinous blob inside reacts in surprise by sending a fleeting burst of iridescence over the walls of its prison.

Tierus offers Pheyrmerrin a silver earring. Pheyrmerrin accepts Tierus's silver earring. Pheyrmerrin glances at a silver earring.

Tierus says something in Dark Elven.

You blink.

Pheyrmerrin makes a quick gesture while calling upon the powers of the elements... Pheyrmerrin gestures at a silver earring.

Tierus says something in Dark Elven.

Pheyrmerrin makes a quick gesture while calling upon the powers of the elements... Pheyrmerrin gestures. A silvery luminescence surrounds Pheyrmerrin.

Mekthros leans against a silver gate.

Pheyrmerrin says something in Dark Elven.

You say, "Hmmm... a very dazzling show. If momentary."

Pheyrmerrin offers Tierus a silver earring.

Tierus glances at Pheyrmerrin.

Tierus accepts Pheyrmerrin's silver earring.

Tierus asks something in Dark Elven.

Pheyrmerrin asks something in Dark Elven.

Pheyrmerrin rolls his eyes.

Tierus says something in Dark Elven.

You say, "But I admit to a curiosity about all things and as well a sylvan's desire to preserve life whenever possible."

Pheyrmerrin says something in Dark Elven. Tierus says something in Dark Elven.

Pheyrmerrin says, "It will probably serve you well."

Tierus says something in Dark Elven.

Pheyrmerrin says, "There is a saying about curiosity and certain death, but perhaps you will be lucky."

Tierus says something in Dark Elven.

Pheyrmerrin glances at Tierus.

Tierus says something in Dark Elven.

Tierus slowly empties his lungs.

You say, "I will keep it well, Faendryl."

You curtsy to Pheyrmerrin.

Tierus says something in Dark Elven.

Pheyrmerrin flatly says, "I don't barter. I'm headed away from here within the week if not the next two nights."

You say, "I thank ye for the interest in allowing me study such."

Tierus slowly empties his lungs.

Pheyrmerrin glances at you.

Pheyrmerrin says, "Keep it well or ill, it's at your decision..."

(Tierus starts to speak, but bites his tongue.)

You laugh at Pheyrmerrin!

Mekthros glances at Tierus.

Pheyrmerrin says, "And, if nothing else..."

Mekthros glances at you.

You say, "I will let ye get to yer rest, Faendryl. I hope the guild in IceMule keeps beds with enough height to suit an elf. Such is sometimes a problem in a halfling town."

Pheyrmerrin shakes his head.

You say, "Rest well."

Pheyrmerrin says something in Dark Elven.

You curtsy to Pheyrmerrin.

Tierus says something in Dark Elven.

Pheyrmerrin glances at you. Pheyrmerrin nods slightly.

Tierus turns to face you.

You curtsy to Mekthros.

Tierus smiles at you.

Tierus nods.

You wave to Tierus.

(Mekthros bows slightly towards Iscikella.)

Tierus whispers, "We will speak later."

Pheyrmerrin examines Tierus closely, sizing him up and taking note of all the details.

Mekthros says, "Good eve."

Tierus turns to face Pheyrmerrin.

[Magical Burrow, Dervish Park] The snow and ice which dominate Icemule Trace stop abruptly at the fenceline of the park. In their place sits a wide open greensward full of laughing children running everywhere. A strange glow hangs about the area, an odd magical field, slightly shimmering, its outer edge falling right at the snowline. A tall statue comprised of ten wizened halflings in enruned robes stands majestically at the center of the field. You also see a red and black ceramic-tiled townhouse, a low mithril gate, a splendid colorful tiled home, a plain residence, an expansive oak wood manor and an ancient dark stone manor. Obvious paths: north, west

As you tighten your hand around the smoky glaesine globe, you feel a sudden, sharp ache in your palm. A fine mist of scarlet diffuses through the inside of the globe, settling on the pale blue blob of gelatin inside, which reaches greedily up to consume the nourishment.

In only moments, the fluid within the globe is clear once more.

You furrow up your face and wince.

You say, "Hmmm..."

You concentrate while murmuring the simple, mystical chant for Limb Repair... You concentrate. Your right hand feels better.

You concentrate while murmuring the simple, mystical chant for Limb Scar Repair... You concentrate. Your right hand feels better.

(Iscikella momentarily stretches her hand, stretching the fingers and insuring the repair of the muscles and sinews beneath the flesh.)

You rub a faenor-banded smoky glaesine globe.

You peer closely at a faenor-banded smoky glaesine globe, but see nothing of interest. Maybe if you examined it closely, you would see more.

You glance at a faenor-banded smoky glaesine globe.

You turn the globe around, causing the pale blue blob to roll back and forth within.

You remove a multi-gemmed quintuple ring medallion from around your neck. You hang a faenor-banded smoky glaesine globe around your neck.

You peer closely at a faenor-banded smoky glaesine globe, but see nothing of interest. Maybe if you examined it closely, you would see more.

You rub a faenor-banded smoky glaesine globe.

exam my globe Thin bands of black faenor wrap around the small globe, reinforcing the seams between the thin panels of glaesine. Each pale glaesine panel bears a twisting, darker-hued pattern within its surface, which resembles several interwoven tendrils of smoke. The globe is suspended on a fine copper neckchain, which threads through a small loop at the top of one faenor band.

A shapeless blob of pale blue gelatin lies within the sphere, oozing restlessly back and forth within the confines of its prison.

You focus your mind on Pheyrmerrin and think: "I must admit, Faendryl, 'twas an unexpected turn in events witnessing one of yer race saving a halfling town. Perhaps in the end an old hurt is healed. But then again perhaps ye do not believe is the completion of circles in life."

[Private] Pheyrmerrin: "Mostly, I believe that Tierus does not have fifty million silver or anything to equal it, no matter what he wishes. I am very prosaic when my head hurts."

You focus your mind on Pheyrmerrin and think: "Tierus is one of yer kind. But stranger even than most of that race ye two share."

You focus your mind on Pheyrmerrin and think: "So perhaps Tierus' meandering is different than the taste of most Faendryl. In the end I would imagine so. Though in general I know yer race but little, and believe it wiser such for a sylvan."

You focus your mind on Pheyrmerrin and think: "There is some knowledge even I know is wisdom not to seek."

You tap the globe, and the gelatinous blob inside reacts in surprise by sending a fleeting burst of iridescence over the walls of its prison.

Raising the smoky glaesine globe to your ear, you hear an agonized, high-pitched keening coming faintly from within it.

EDITOR'S NOTE

This second potion of the log is from the viewpoint of Chutnee BornOdepression. All second person references, therefore, refer to said character within this portion. Please note this portion of the log takes place about an hour and a quarter after the first portion.

[Magical Burrow, Dervish Park] The snow and ice which dominate Icemule Trace stop abruptly at the fenceline of the park. In their place sits a wide open greensward full of laughing children running everywhere. A strange glow hangs about the area, an odd magical field, slightly shimmering, its outer edge falling right at the snowline. A tall statue comprised of ten wizened halflings in enruned robes stands majestically at the center of the field. You also see a red and black ceramic-tiled townhouse, a low mithril gate, a splendid colorful tiled home, a plain residence, an expansive oak wood manor and an ancient dark stone manor. Also here: Lady Noonee Obvious paths: north, west

You sing: "Globe which does conceal with smoky haze The creature imprisoned upon which I gaze..."

As you sing to the globe, your song penetrates its outer surface to reach the small blue blob inside, and the world changes around you.

Ribbons of iridescent color flow past as your gelatinous body ripples smoothly through rock, stone and the occasional brief pocket of cold liquid. You absorb all the food you need as you travel, and you are constantly aware of the keening and clicking of your kin's communication dancing along your amorphous flanks. Your form is as fluid and ever-changing as the nature of your joy, but there is always joy, for you are always among your kin, and to be joined is to be whole, and to be whole is to know joy.

Disorientation and a powerful sense of loss overcome you as the vision reaches to an end.

You sing: "Globe which does conceal with smoky haze The creature imprisoned upon which I gaze Tell yer tale in vibrations to amaze..."

Your verse draws you back into communion with the gelatinous blob inside the smoky glaesine globe.

The world fades into darkness streaked with shimmering iridescence, but it is not the same as it was in the prior loresong vision -- it feels silent, and more...it feels dead. The silence aches like a wound, and neither rock nor earth nor water have any food for you. This is something more terrible than you have ever imagined, let alone experienced. Yet there are things that live and move about in the air that are food, and they make noises, living noises -- not like the presence of your kin, but sufficiently famliar to comfort the agony of the silence, or comfort it slightly before the horrible hunger overcomes you.

But there is danger as well, terrible danger, because parts of yourself fall silent and fall away from you as you try to feed the hunger and fill the silence. This, you have known in the past, but only in times of great carelessness or foolishness, when you risked damage for the thrill of the matter -- here, where your song is the only song to be heard, it is even more horrifying to feel parts of yourself fall silent. Mourning for your kin is driving you mad.

The last strains of your verse are pitifully weak as you become aware of yourself again.

You sing: "Globe which does conceal with smoky haze The creature imprisoned upon which I gaze Tell yer tale in vibrations to amaze With emotion to set hearts ablaze..."

You fall away from yourself into the powerful resonances evoked by your song.

The madness of starvation and silence consumes you, but there is a way to survive, you have realized -- you need to be more than you are, and then you can fill your own silences with songs that are not your own. In warm places, the hunger fills you too greatly for you to concentrate, so you send many of yourself to seek out cold places. In the cold, everything is quieter, which hurts, but the hunger backs away and you can concentrate on the songs that you want the new kinds of you to learn. If you can only remember well enough, if you can only sing well enough, then there will be more of you and they will begin to fill the silences.

You need food, so you send parts of yourself looking for food in the air, but some never come back. Some do, and they bring food back for the small new kinds of you. Because it is hard to move food through the rock, since you have never needed to move food before, you carve tunnels into the rock, and then it is easier. The food gives you strength to endure in the silence, and the cold mutes the rest of the hunger to the point where it can be ignored. You have to endure.

Like a diver surfacing from icy waters into sunlight, you return from the memories evoked by your song.

You sing: "Globe which does conceal with smoky haze The creature imprisoned upon which I gaze Tell yer tale in vibrations to amaze With emotion to set hearts ablaze. Open to my explorations..."

At first, it seems that your loresong has failed -- the world remains unchanged around you as the melody weaves from your throat to touch the tiny blob of gelatin. Then, you abruptly realize that the song is not the verse you intended, but a high-pitched, keening cry, and your shock at the realization distracts you badly. In the next instant, the power of the vision surges over you, and you forget who you are.

The world begins with song, and the song is the most important thing in the world.

You can't sing back, but you listen and you remember. The second most important thing is food, which diffuses through the eggshell surrounding you to help you grow and make you strong. As you listen to the song, you make patterns on the inside of the eggshell to help you remember. You can feel the patterns and they feel like song, and a great joy rises in front of you as you wait for the day you can sing.

Then -- the world shatters. The shell is gone, and a terrible impact splashes your frail body over shell-shards and rock alike, but that is nothing compared to the silence. Only fractured, agonized pieces of the great song remain, and the great singer is gone. It would be possible to live, but what is the point? You will never know the full song -- you will never have food again -- you will die in silence. It is better just to let life seep away into the cold, dry air and be done with it.

Then something encases you, paralyzing all but your awareness, and even the escape you sought is denied.

You become aware of yourself, Chutnee, again, and you realize that your voice fell silent some time ago as you were lost in the vision.

You sing: "Globe which does conceal with smoky haze The creature imprisoned upon which I gaze Tell yer tale in vibrations to amaze With emotion to set hearts ablaze. Open to my explorations Without doubt or limitations."

The gelatinous blob's memories flow into you, invoked by your music.

The silence dominates your awareness. Grief and loneliness fill you, made even worse by captivity and immobility. As the world around you grows warmer, the hunger grows more intense, for cold wards off hunger, and even your immature form of consciousness begins to fade into a mindless animal awareness of the lack of food. There are sounds, but they are not song, and they cannot hold your attention for more than an instant.

The world changes. The immobility ends, and you find yourself locked in something like an egg that has no patterns on the wall and that is too tough to trace any there. Your form has changed as well, and you find, to your shock, that you can sing now, and flow into new shapes -- but you are still as tiny as if you were in the egg. Food comes sifting down through the thin liquid around you from time to time, but it is never quite enough, and the world is too quiet and too warm for you to forget the hunger and think clearly.

Your only song is weak and unformed, but you sing it over and over, crying into the void beyond the shell to try to fill the eternity of silence. You reach for new shapes whenever inspiration is near, hoping that someday, somehow, one of the new shapes will let you break the shell.

You return to your own awareness to find your left hand grasping helplessly and uselessly at the air, as if you reached for something that you could never possibly attain. Your hand aches from its tight grip on the smoky glaesine globe.

You sing: "Globe which does conceal with smoky haze The creature imprisoned upon which I gaze Tell yer tale in vibrations to amaze With emotion to set hearts ablaze. Open to my explorations Without doubt or limitations. For all is life, and life is all..."

When your song reaches into the globe, you feel a horrible wrenching sensation, and then everything dissolves in a spray of rainbow light...

You were never mature enough to grow eyes, only to sense outward with the invisible senses of your kind, but a cacophony of sound tells you that something is near.

You reach for a shape like the maker of sound, but this shape, like every other, is useless against the walls of your prison. You sing your fragment of broken, agonized song into the songless silence, hoping that the thing nearby will open your prison, and hoping that there is only empty air behind the wall, air to dry your weak flesh until an end to the silence comes. All you want is an end, and you plead helplessly for that end in the only language you have ever learned.

You snap painfully back into your own awareness. Light stings your eyes, and you inadvertantly close them as you feel them water. A single tear still escapes your lashes to tickle your cheek. Your entire body feels bruised, and your throat is torn and raw.

You sing: "Globe which does conceal with smoky haze The creature imprisoned upon which I gaze Tell yer tale in vibrations to amaze With emotion to set hearts ablaze. Open to my explorations Without doubt or limitations. For all is life, and life is all, And nothing ends with death's mere stall."

The small blue blob of gelatin within the smoky glaesine globe gives a faint, keening cry as you sing, but no vision comes as a result -- only echoes of misery, anguish, and madness shivering through your bardic senses.

EDITOR'S NOTE

This third potion of the log is from the viewpoint of Noonee Ne'Hatiea. All second person references, therefore, refer to said character within this portion. Please note this portion of the log runs simultaneous with the second portion.

[Magical Burrow, Dervish Park] The snow and ice which dominate Icemule Trace stop abruptly at the fenceline of the park. In their place sits a wide open greensward full of laughing children running everywhere. A strange glow hangs about the area, an odd magical field, slightly shimmering, its outer edge falling right at the snowline. A tall statue comprised of ten wizened halflings in enruned robes stands majestically at the center of the field. You also see a red and black ceramic-tiled townhouse, a low mithril gate, a splendid colorful tiled home, a plain residence, an expansive oak wood manor and an ancient dark stone manor. Also here: Chutnee Obvious paths: north, west

Chutnee sings: "Globe which does conceal with smoky haze The creature imprisoned upon which I gaze..."

Chutnee's face goes completely blank and expressionless as she stares at the smoky glaesine globe.

Chutnee sings: "Globe which does conceal with smoky haze The creature imprisoned upon which I gaze Tell yer tale in vibrations to amaze..."

Overtones of loss and horror shiver through Chutnee's voice as she concludes her verse, and her last words are little more than a pained whisper.

Chutnee sings: "Globe which does conceal with smoky haze The creature imprisoned upon which I gaze Tell yer tale in vibrations to amaze With emotion to set hearts ablaze..."

Chutnee's hand trembles visibly, shaking the small smoky glaesine globe slightly. Iridescence flickers over the globe's inner surface.

Chutnee sings: "Globe which does conceal with smoky haze The creature imprisoned upon which I gaze Tell yer tale in vibrations to amaze With emotion to set hearts ablaze. Open to my explorations..."

When the verse ends, Chutnee does not cease to sing, but instead raises her voice in a wild, keening cry. Anguish, misery, and loss shudder through the sound, punctuated by a bizarre series of staccato clicks that are all the more alien for coming from her throat.

Chutnee's voice finally drops into silence, but she continues to stare blindly away into the distance for several long moments.

Chutnee sings: "Globe which does conceal with smoky haze The creature imprisoned upon which I gaze Tell yer tale in vibrations to amaze With emotion to set hearts ablaze. Open to my explorations Without doubt or limitations."

Chutnee's expression contorts with fear and anguish, and she huddles back slightly as she stares around with wide, frightened eyes. She grasps at the empty air with her hand, and her fingers tremble as they fail to close on anything. Her right hand is clenched very tightly around the smoky glaesine globe.

Chutnee sings: "Globe which does conceal with smoky haze The creature imprisoned upon which I gaze Tell yer tale in vibrations to amaze With emotion to set hearts ablaze. Open to my explorations Without doubt or limitations. For all is life, and life is all..."

Chutnee convulses as if in pain, and her fingers snap suddenly tight into a fist around the smoky glaesine globe. She throws back her head and gives a wild, agonized cry that spirals up into octaves that she could normally attain -- after piercing straight through your skull, the sound passes even higher and then fades out of hearing. Chutnee's face is a rictus of anguish as tendons stand out taut and strained across her body.

Suddenly, Chutnee slumps forward. Whatever force had briefly possessed her body seems to have gone again, leaving her exhausted. She closes her eyes tightly, and a single tear leaks from beneath her lashes.

Chutnee sings: "Globe which does conceal with smoky haze The creature imprisoned upon which I gaze Tell yer tale in vibrations to amaze With emotion to set hearts ablaze. Open to my explorations Without doubt or limitations. For all is life, and life is all, And nothing ends with death's mere stall."

For a moment, it seems you hear a second sound as well as Chutnee's voice, but the faint keening is gone as soon as you try to focus on it.

See More

The Archmage in the Alchemists