Riloth the 19th the 73rd

"The Dahn?" I asked. "Is that a mysterious freestanding door that opens to a large room full of murderous golems? Because if it is, then yes, I found it."

"Take me there now!" Dagmar demanded again.

"Look, it’s getting late," I gestured to the dimming sky. "You aren’t exactly a Blessed of Assuine, and from the brief hike out here, I don't think you will be up for a four-hour trek through the forest in the dark. Besides, you just told me you wanted to get out of all this ‘nature.’"

"Oh," she said, eagerness tempered by her hatred for all things ‘outside.’ "I suppose we can come back later."

"Great. Let's head back to town. Tomorrow we can get there via the road."

She perked up at the prospect of avoiding a forest trek and we headed back towards the town.

"So, what exactly is ‘The Dahn?’" I asked once we made it out of the forest. My other questions took a back seat to this new and shiny mystery. I knew the word to be Torcish for tower, but that seemed a strange word to ascribe to the door I’d encountered.

Dagmar made a hmmmph sound, which I’d noted as her “I don’t know if I should tell this fool human or not” sound.

She settled on opening up. "After the Flood, the Hardune Ken Tiach Findle—that's something analogous to an Archmage—decided we should be more proactive in seeking the Toan—Primordials— in order to contain them before they can do harm. He repurposed a pocket realm created and gifted to us by one of the Dragons of Bild, and set out with a team of apprentices to find Primordials. That was the justification of the expense at least; being a gnome, his motivation was really driven by research of some sort. Tragically, he disappeared with his staff after a few decades of searching, having not found a single one. The Dahn was the pocket realm he took with him, and its loss was a great blow to the Hardune."

"That sounds like what I found. I've only seen the entry room, but how many pocket realms with Hardune symbols can there be? The foyer is a large round room with two golems, a giant crystal stalactite chandelier, and a stained glass window that suffocates you. Whatever is causing these resets is not affecting this ‘Dahn’. I tried to destroy the golems on my own, but they recovered faster than I could damage them."

Dagmar stopped walking, and it took me a moment to realize. I turned to see her looking me over as if with new eyes, "You tried to take on two golems by yourself? Maybe I misjudged you. Perhaps more ferret than mole. Facing golems alone takes stones, whether they be in your head or loins."

"So, do you know how to get us in? Get back Spellbook?" I asked, desperation creeping into my voice.

"I can try to guess the passphrase, but it's very unlikely I would be able to do so. They are three words chosen at random and changed regularly. Let’s get out of the outside. No more talking, I’m parched and I’m not drinking any of that water you brought. Take me to that fancy bar, I want more of that mushroom stout."

We headed back to town in silence. I had a lot to mull over and spent the time prioritizing my questions for Dagmar when we got settled.

First, what does she know about Spellbook? Second, I need to ask why she thinks we are both aware of the resets. Third, what does she know about dragons in general and Teshiv in particular. Fourth, what does she know about the ability to detect ensouled items. Should I ask her that last one? Dare I tell her about my sight? What could the knowledge risk?

At the Dragon’s Den, the host let Dagmar and me in with no complaints, and we settled at the bar. It was crowded with the elite of the refugees from Landing and officers from the Barion house guard. The patrons were mostly human, but there was a group of halflings in the corner booth who looked to be merchants passing through Crossroads. Many merchants took overland routes despite the dangers to avoid the enormous fees levied by the Tower for transport by ship. Halfings, generally, seemed the most willing to take the risk.

"See, I told you he wasn’t racist." I told her as we waited for our drinks. I ordered the Assuine Conclave wine they’d advertised on our first night in town.

Dagmar ignored me, and downed her pint in a single long gulp. She slammed her empty glass down on the table and yelled, "Keep them coming!"

"So, what can you tell me about Spellbook?" I asked.

"I suppose you got the right to know what I know, you having Bonded it after all. I’ll tell you upfront, I don’t know much," she stopped speaking to finish off another pint.

"I thought you were going to stop drinking and clean up your act?"

"Bah, this isn’t drinking. Those potions cleared me up good. It took me a week to get into the state you saw me in. So, here’s what I know. I only saw that spellbook of yours one time, and it was in the hands of Wyr Teshanodin. He headed the Hardune’s intelligence department. He was one of the few dragons directly in the Hardune chain of command. I didn’t know much about him, but I understood he was rather young—born after the Age of Heroes. When I saw it, I knew he was dead, and I suspected that you had been involved in the slaying. I was wrong," she paused, as if some of her guzzled alcohol was coming back up her throat, then added, "I apologize. There is no way an ensouled artifact created by a gold dragon would ever Bond one who took it through murder or deceit."

I sat in silence, taking in the revelation.

Spellbook must have belonged to that dragon in the fortress! I suppose it should have seemed likely in light of what I now know, but the idea that dragons exist amongst us is still too shocking for me to incorporate into my theories. Dragons. I can still hardly believe what my life has become to have three run-ins with them in as many months. Well, depending on how I count those months.

Wait a minute. Did Dagmar just apologize for something? Should I draw attention to it? Gloat?

In the end, I chose magnanimity. "It’s alright. I can hardly believe it myself. Do you have any idea why we are both aware of these resets? I was pretty convinced my Spellbook—" I could still hear the capital S in your name as I spoke, despite my efforts, "—is the reason I am aware, and Til—our friend’s actions reinforced that belief."

I caught myself from mentioning the name of the murderous dragon, and Dagmar’s nod in response showed she agreed with my caution.

"Aye, I think you are right, and that gives a hint as to what might be the cause of all of this. You being able to open that door to the Dahn and get into that dwarven outpost proves it. Somehow, the oath Wyr Teshanodin took in joining the Hardune has transferred to you. I won’t claim to know how ensouled items work, but I do know that the Hardune oath is bound to one’s soul. Somehow the spellbook became bound to the Hardune and that oath has been applied to you."

Bound to the Hardune. I don’t like the sound of that.

"Is this like one of those Will oaths you mentioned? Am I compelled to do something?" I asked.

"Naw, nothing like that," she said, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture. "You swear an oath when you are Bound to the Hardune, and it grants you access to some of our wards. If you violate your oath—or even conspire to in your heart—the Bond dissolves. I’ll tell you, you do not want your bond to dissolve anywhere another Hardune member can see you."

"So what are the words of the oath?"

She held out her hand over her mug, as if it were some ceremonial object and recited, "‘I swear to act for Kaltis as the Wardens did for us.’ It’s simple. The intent behind the words is more important than the words themselves. The oath is sworn over a Will-imbued gem with the intent set inside of it, that in turn is tied to some runes beyond my ken that bind it to your soul. There is no room for misinterpretations. It speaks to your character that the oath hasn't broken, despite you not even swearing it."

Will imbued with intent? What is that? No. Also, that was definitely a compliment. Stay focused, you can satisfy your curiosity later.

"So," I asked, squishing down my temptation to go off on yet another tangent, "why do we remember these resets? Is this the Hardune’s doing?"

"Aye, but I know not how. This is bigger than anything I know of. It could be the failure or some fail-safe around the Avatar’s prison and this resetting is a safety measure to allow us to defend it. But, if that were the case, I expect they would have succeeded by now. Or, they activated this in a hopeless situation and we are doomed to repeat this day until the wards give out and we all die to the Avatar," she paused for another sip and was silent for a moment.

"If it's not that, then I don’t know. None of the imprisoned Primordials or monsters I know of are around here, but I hardly knew of them all. Some were only shared on a need to know basis and I needed to know very little to fulfill my duties. If it's not a localized magic, we may be too far from the origin to effect any change. Fauell, this could be the failure of a prison that's been submerged for hundreds of years that was triggered by some deep whale."

Dagmar finished her glass and flipped it over on the table, signaling that she was done. She then turned to face me and said, "Alright, your turn to answer some questions. Why was your father going to meet a dragon?"

"Wait," I said, waving my hands in front of me as if to block her questions. "I still have so many more to ask."

"Too bad, it's my turn. You can ask later when I've had more to drink. Explain."

Her face set stolidly, and I knew this was a battle I would not win.

"I have no idea," I answered honestly. "He said something about funding an expedition. I don’t know where or what for. I searched through his papers after his death, but it had no clues. It was only his current research on pre-Flood cities. If there was some secret topic he was planning to discuss, it was kept in his head alone."

"That's not helpful at all. Tell me about your experience in the Dahn."

I laid out the series of successive deaths as best I could recall, leaving out only my poor mental state through it all. I also redacted the names of Timothy and Jimothy, sensing they would not be appreciated.

She listened in silence—for once.

When I was done she spoke, but it felt more like she was speaking aloud to herself than to me, "So we have a spatial anchor golem, very rare to see one of those. That means the other is probably an earth or force anchor. I doubt we will be able to guess the passphrase, with an incorrect guess marking you as an intruder."

"An anchor?" I asked.

"You are the least educated wizard I have ever met," Dagmar sighed before explaining. "An anchor is a ward that disrupts a specific Font’s magic when manifested in the Realm. Anchor is a bit of a misnomer. The spatial anchor was designed first, to disrupt teleportation into the Torack by the forsaken, by drawing all spells using the Font of Space to the anchor. The rest were developed using similar runes and the name stuck."

"Fascinating. You can disrupt any spell? From any Font? What if—no," I stopped myself, "carry on, we should stay on topic."

And I already have so many other lines of inquiry. I wish I had Spellbook to write all these questions down.

"Thanks for the permission," she said dryly. "As I was saying, none of your magic is going to do diddly shite. You need Force or Earth magic to affect them, and one of those is going to be anchored by the other golem. We need weapons. The acid idea was smart, but the regeneration built into the spell is going to outpace it. We need to do more damage in an attack than they can recover in a day. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, and we can head out to the Dahn." She hopped off her stool and started to walk away.

"Wait, where are you going?" I called after her.

"What? You think we are going to hang out and talk all night? We have nothing more to discuss, so I am going to go enjoy some peace and quiet away from your barrage of inquiries."

That hardly seems fair, she did most of the asking today.

"One more question. Please! And about the drag—person my father was to meet."

Without turning around, she shouted "No," and walked out.

Flood, I should have asked more about the anchors while we were still on the topic.

I watched her leave, holding back another question that would only prove her point. I don’t talk that much. Do I? No, she’s just a mad hermit.

I left the bar with the rest of the bottle of wine I’d purchased and headed to Levar’s. I’d been interested to see if he discovered anything from his investigation of my father’s sword. He hadn’t, but we went through the rest of the wine and had a fascinating discussion on ensouled items.

Riloth the 19th the 74th

The next morning I woke to another new experience. Dagmar sat in my room—thankfully bathed—eating a large plate of glazed ham and eggs.

She turned at the sound of my stirring.

"Oh good, you're awake. Take these," she said, tossing two potions—which I did not catch. They hit my chest and fell onto the bed unharmed. "The breakfast in this place is some real top shelf stuff. Get dressed, let's get ready for the Dahn."

She left, and I prepared for the day in a hurry, downing the potions she’d somehow acquired. I arranged for Simon to procure a wagon and food, and met Dagmar on the steps of the Parlor.

"How'd you get the potions?" I asked.

"I stole them."

"Oh, that makes sense. I never tried that. How about the bath?"

"I told them to charge it to your room. The pinched face man protested, but I told him we were lovers,” she said with a grin before breaking out into laughter. “Bah, Ha!”

When she caught her breath, she continued, “How could he believe something as ridiculous as that? Me with you? Bah! You can’t even grow a beard! Alright, we need weapons. Let's see what passes for metal work in a Waatin town."

Unconsciously, I rubbed at my face, free of stubble. I held back my retort, in part because she was right about the beard, but mostly because I didn’t want to argue my qualifications as her potential lover.

I led her to Hilroy’s shop. The big hairy man was awestruck to be visited by a dwarf. When Dagmar took a look at a short sword and called it "adequate," Hilroy couldn’t have looked prouder.

In the end, Dagmar purchased a pair of war picks for us, and helms, explaining, "Against a golem, the blow will pulverize your bones, even with armor, so it’s best you don’t let armor slow you down. But anyone who goes into battle without a helmet deserves a bonk on the head."

Memories of my deaths filled my thoughts, and I did not need convincing that armor would serve little use. We brought the weapons to the Parlor where a sweaty Simon waited with our requested supplies. He gave me a shocked look when we approached together.

“Ah, um, Mage Theral. I see your... lady companion has found you. I hope all is well and you find everything in order.”

“Yes, please. Thank you. Bye,” I said to him as I dropped my weapon and helm into the cart and climbed onto the driver’s bench.

Dagmar ran to catch up, laughing once more as she sat next to me.

When she saw my face, she exclaimed, “Wow, your face is redder than a redcap’s bottom. Are you embarrassed? By him thinking we— Bah! I’m the one that should be ashamed that he thought I’d settle for one such as you.”

“How about we agree to just use a different lie next time. Okay?”

She let out a sigh, “Aye, fair enough.”

I turned back to see Simon, walking back inside with his head down and shoulders slumped.

“He looks so sad,” I remarked. “What did I say?”

“You didn’t say anything,” she said, “You just barreled past him without compensating him for his fine work.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “All my expenses go on a tab.”

“Aye, which goes to the proprietor, from which Simon likely draws a wage, but exemplary service like that fine weasel faced man performed deserves exemplary compensation.”

“What do you mean?” I asked again, not grasping her point.

“A tip!” she nearly shouted. “He was expecting a tip. That man is a fine example of duty and servitude, and would never be so presumptuous to ask, but it is customary to tip those who go above and beyond their duty to serve you.”

“Oooooh,” I said, at last putting the pieces together. “That explains a lot. I didn’t know that. I’ve tipped bar maids and such, but concierges? I’d never even heard of them before this place. Why do you know so much about this?”

“A concierge is a role held in high esteem amongst Torc’s people. What better way to exemplify our god than to put yourself at the service of others, faithfully fulfilling duties so that a greater whole can function seamlessly? I got to say, if that Simon grew out a beard, I might have to pay him a visit one of these resets.”

My mind stopped. Literally, I could not parse what I just heard.

Simon. Dagmar. Simon and Dagmar? Riloth no, don’t think about it!

“You called him a weasel face!” I said, speaking the first thing that came to mind.

“So? Weasels are fine creatures. Smart, agile, lithe.”

“Questions! I have more questions!” I suddenly remembered, desperate to change the topic.

“How about we just stop talking?” she suggested.

“Deal!”

A small delay in getting answers was well worth ending that line of discussion.

Simon? Lithe?

I shuddered.

The rest of the cart ride passed without note, or further conversation. When we reached the landmark in the road for the Dahn we disembarked, and Dagmar followed me through the woods. The hike took over a half hour with her in tow, complaining all the way.

When we reached the door, Dagmar stopped to take it in. The sun was shining through the clearing in the trees, wreathing it in light. Reverently, Dagmar approached it. She tentatively reached towards it, her hand shaking as she traced the faint outline of the Hardune symbol with her finger.

After a careful examination, placed her palm firmly on the smooth stone surface. And I cast Lightning Bolt into the air, causing an echoing crack. Dagmar jumped backwards in panic and tripped. Her arms pinwheeled as she fell and landed in a patch of mud.

I laughed so hard I collapsed on the ground clutching my ribs. I couldn’t breathe and feared I wouldn’t be able to catch my breath. Distantly, I heard Dagmar cursing as she stood and marched towards me.

"You are a child! No, that’s an insult to children everywhere. You are like one of those incessant gnats that keep getting into everything in this bug infested wasteland! I should just throw you in through the Dahn, and be done with you!" she towered over me, yelling as I tried to rein in my hysteria.

I was eventually able to settle down, but the thought of her flailing arms brought a grin to my face as I struggled to school my expression.

"I’m sorry," I said, trying to affect contrition. "I couldn’t help it. That's for this morning. And for saying ‘lithe.’"

"Of course you couldn’t," she scoffed. " You have the impulse control of an epileptic ghoul."

She left me where I stood and walked to the door. Without waiting for me, she grabbed the handle, pushed it open, and stepped into the Dahn.