Wizard's First Rule (Part 2)

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You stand in a room dominated by bodies covered by thin sheets, a busted golem laying on the floor where it was felled not more than a few moments past. It's quiet now, with the room falling silent in the aftermath of battle. There's no sign of what killed these bodies just the absolute certainty that the soul has flown and now you're looking at a corpse.

There's still much of this tower left to explore of course. A door in this very room that leads somewhere; upstairs if you wish to return that direction. Though of course you've learned the hard way that the other direction is fraught with its own dangers. Who knows what else you might run into /anywhere/ in here.

Mikilos takes a few moment to look over the bodies, not really expecting anything, but these were people... and knowing this place, they might be again at some point. Worrisome, but one for later. Moving towards the door, he glances to the others. "Shall we?"

Morgan nods "Lets get going, and I find it funny for one of the most powerful mage ever we can not find any books what so ever."

"I expect that we shall discover many tomes, " Verna opines, "once we locate the library. This room is far too damp for longevity and the lighting is suboptimal for reading." Her hood then dips to Mikilos. "We should." Given her recent experience with the stairs above, she approaches the door in the room which leads ...elsewhere.

Mikilos nods in agreement. "I'm sure there's a library or some such somewhere, though I don't think we'd have much leisure to browse." With the group in agreement, he looks the door over cautiously before attempting to open it.

The door to the room opens easily to another half-circular room of equal size to the one with the bodies in it. Only this one is much different. Here the floor is cleared off but the walls are covered. Or rather the far back wall along the curve is covered. Covered in potions of every color under the sun. From vibrant blue to dusky red. Some are clear or quicksilver-gray. The only thing that is the same about them is that they seem bottled in the same kind of bottle. That, and that they are entirely unlabeled. Whatever they are, and whatever they do, there's no way of telling by looking at them.

Morgan sighs as she looks at the potions "One magic items I am not that great with." said as she starts to look around for anything that would have notes on what they will be.

Mikilos frowns mildly, looking around the room. "There's got to be some kind of organization, though might just be a memorized pattern. But perhaps something outside the regular spectrum?" Maybe there's an index that retracts into the floor? The elf takes a look around, well aware that anything and everything might be a trap.

Verna considers the shelves. "Their brewer may simply memorize their properties by color and consistency, thus no need to label. I would advise against evaluation via imbibing." In case any consider that option.

There's no sign of notes, nor magical filing system that might be pulled out of the wall to help organize all these bottles on the wall. They are however organized by color. The blues are with the blues and the reds with the reds. It's a lovely color-wheel actually with all the varying shades filled in so that they fade naturally into one another. There may then be something to Verna's claim as the intensity and depth of the color could probably tell someone quite a lot about the potion, if you had any idea what the color itself was for.

Morgan asks them "Should we move on or bother with this. I say we move on and come back if we need to." She does like the color of the potions and does think they are pretty to look at.

Mikilos considers. "They mentioned potions that allow direct return to the Tower... I'd have to guess said potions are in this collection. But, which ones, and how do we tell? I'm no slouch at alchemy, but identification by color, viscosity, and maybe scent, would be iffy at best."

"If they are true potions, there are other means to gain clues as to their power." After another moment of further consideration, Verna incants and gestures. It may aid in evaluation of the potions or, possibly, the space, itself.

GAME: Verna casts Arcane Sight. Caster Level: 15 DC: 18
GAME: Mikilos rolls craft/alchemy: (14)+13: 27

Mikilos frowns mildly, slowly walking the length of the wall before turning back. Part way the elf stops, slowly crouching down before standing straight again. "Seems the weaker, lightly colored potions, are stored towards the top. The darker, more powerful potions are kept along the bottom. The really dark, black potions are separate unto themselves... Still doesn't tell me what any of them -do-, but it's a start."

GAME: Verna rolls 1d20+15+int: (6)+15+int: 21

Verna's lips purse, not quite a scowl. "He is correct. The more dense the color, the more concentrated the power. The quantity here makes individual discernment impossible, and we could spend hours scanning these individually. Hours we cannot spare." Not to mention that her spell will dissipate long before then. "We should continue on, though this obviously merits a return visit when our urgency is reduced."

Morgan nods. "We need more information before we play the alchemic bar tender."

A puzzle. Involving *potions.*

There are occasionally downsides to being a wall of armor, and Iolaire looses a whistling sigh through her nares as she flies beak-first into one of them.

Her head perks, however, as Verna suggests coming back another time, and she nods firmly. "Not knowing what else might be lurking hereabouts, I'd feel *much* better waiting until this place is well cleared, before properly experimenting with mystery magics."

Mikilos considers, nods, and selects a short rainbow of potions to tuck into his bag, aiming towards the darker options. "I agree, but returning might not be an option. I'll take a couple to examine if we end up having to run."

GAME: Mikilos rolls perception: (18)+19: 37
GAME: Morgan rolls perception: (7)+14: 21
GAME: Iolaire rolls perception: (1)+17: 18 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Verna rolls perception: (1)+22: 23 (EPIC FAIL)

As you all enter the room you just came out of you realize something rather abruptly. Namely speaking that the golem which you had destroyed is now sitting back in its alcove. Not only that, but it seems to be... better than when you last saw it. As if the damage you did to it has been smoothed away little by little. It's still a bit broken, but eerily you're just about certain that if you turned away for a little bit that it would look even better.

Morgan mentaly holds her naughty words and her bladder when she notices the Golem is in good shape "Well lets get the hell out of here." the half elf says as she really hates golems.

Mikilos blinks. Blinks again. "...the golem is repaired. Either it regenerates, or we were in there a -lot- longer than I thought. Which, given where we are, time manipulation is very possible."

Distracted by the chip in her beak from the fight, Iolaire is too busy nursing her various hurts and abrasions to notice the golem's relocation. Her gaze sharpens, however, when it's noted that the golem looks better, and her head darts this way and that. "Repaired? What? Where?"

There's a beat of silence, as she finally tracks onto the golem's alcove, and her beak clicks once, sharply. "...Yes. We should go."

It's not that hard to get back out of the basement. A little bit of naturally or not-so naturally occuring flight means that two shakes and your back on the huge circle that you started out in. And... the door to the tower is open. A light gust of wind - extra chilly slips inside and sends a trickle down your spine.

Verna's attention was upon the bodies, as if they were her concern of sudden animation (despite her spell), and not the construct. Only after the others comment does her head turn. For once, she is in agreement with Morgan. "We should exit promptly, lest we earn its ire anew."

And now that the scholars and their battered guardsbird have left the basement, Iolaire breathes just a bit easier... briefly. Until she notices the door standing open.

"Aware that I may have just taken one too many solid iron fists to the head," she says slowly, "wasn't that door closed and locked when we came in?"

"It is possible that others entered in our absence, " Verna postulates, "or even departed. Either could bode for good or ill."

Morgan says. "This place does mess with time in strange ways so yes it is a chance."

GAME: Iolaire rolls perception: (2)+17: 19
GAME: Aftershock rolls 6d6: (23): 23
GAME: Verna rolls reflex: (15)+9: 24

When the smoke clears, a *very* singed Iolaire coughs, loosing a thick cloud of grey smoke, and attempts to wave the smell of burned feather away from her face. "...Let's hope," she says, voice rasping, "that there's nothing else dangerous left in this tower. Else it's more than likely I'll not survive to finish my part in this job."

Morgan says up to Iolaire "If you really want I have a few healing potions for you, and some mead that will heal you if you can hold your booze." She shows some concern for some one else for a change.

Verna retrieves a wand from her pack and proceeds to bludgeon Iolaire with it in an anti-injurious fashion. Repeatedly. "Fret not." Now that she assures, she adds, "If this trend continues, we may be more secure in treading the stairs with eyes closed." She gestures to Iolaire's wings. "Or avoid them entirely."

GAME: Verna used a Wand of Cure Light Wounds.
GAME: Verna used a Wand of Cure Light Wounds.
GAME: Verna used a Wand of Cure Light Wounds.
GAME: Verna used a Wand of Cure Light Wounds.
GAME: Verna used a Wand of Cure Light Wounds.
GAME: Verna used a Wand of Cure Light Wounds.
GAME: Verna used a Wand of Cure Light Wounds.
GAME: Verna used a Wand of Cure Light Wounds.
GAME: Verna used a Wand of Cure Light Wounds.
GAME: Verna used a Wand of Cure Light Wounds.
GAME: Verna rolls 10d6: (40): 40

"Ow what hey--" Iolaire starts to protest, but pauses as the frantic switching hurts *less* with each strike. Straightening, she tilts her head to one side, then the other, and gives the impression of a raised eyebrow. "...Well. Thank you for that, truly. So... How far up are these stairs mined, then?"

Verna's hood does not move. She may be unfortunate, but she is not foolish. "I am uncertain, and sighting the runes is nigh impossible... until near enough that they detonate."

Morgan says, "All the stories I know about explosive runes are false, but if you think you know where one is try tossing a rock at the area it might set it off."

"Then perhaps," Iolaire muses, casting an eye over the stairs, "it's best we not get closer to them than we have to..." Her gaze drops to Verna, then to Morgan. "You mentioned a spell to grant flight?"

Morgan nods as she is floating a foot off the ground. "It will let her fly in the air for 11 hours." She looks to Verna "Would you like it?"

Verna's hood dips. "By all means. It is far preferable to being incinerated or forcibly ejected from the stair."

GAME: Morgan casts Overland Flight. Caster Level: 11 DC: 22

Morgan touches Verna's arm and says a few arcane words that comes hollowed sounding. A blue energy passes over the other woman that forms in to spectral wings for a second before fading. "You have to think more 4th dimensionally now for the next 11 or so hours."

"And now that we're situated," Iolaire says, audibly smiling as she turns back to the stair. "Let's continue!"

Her weapon is out and glowing, as she launches into the air, powerful wings chasing away the last remaining wisps of smoke and singed down.

Now, with everyone flying one way or another you make it to the second floor. The landing there is safe to land upon thankfully, and you open the door there into yet another round room. This one however has a simple desk in it, and to your left is another door. Most remarkably however is that you are not alone. Not any longer.

There standing behind the desk is a handsome man with eyes like steel. The sort of eyes that can read someone at a glance and know everything about them. How many steps they've taken, when their last meal was and what it consisted of. The man gives you the distinct impression that he knows all too much about you, but he doesn't seem unwelcoming. Just... surprised to see you.

-TBC