Lómë -- the Jewel of the Desert; Lörennia-- "Coldwater Reflections"

[GameMaster]

Lorennia had been plagued by the same nightmare for as long as she could remember. In it, she was a slave, broken and battered, determined to rebuild her body and mind. The dream was always far too lucid, always felt far too real, and when she awoke it took her long moments to remember that she was free and safe, and that life wasn't real, and she had never been hurt or enslaved.

You awaken to find yourself lying on a thick, plush carpet within the Grand Mosque. Confused, you struggle to recall how you got there. You remember wandering through the endless desert, searching for a way to escape those who would hunt you to the end of the world. As consciousness returns, however, the memories slip away.  The more you attempt to hold onto them and study them, the more fog seems to obscure them from your mind.

An attendant approaches you, offering a small cup of steaming tea. "Are you having those night terrors again?" he asks, his melodic voice gentle and concerned.

[LorenniaNailo]

Standing up, I accept the tea.  "I'm afraid so."  Depositing the tea on my desk, I pull out my sketchbook and let my mind wander over the contents of my desk as my drawing hand wanders over what used to be a blank page.  It's always interesting to see what comes out.

[GameMaster]

When you come out of the trance, you look to your notepad to see this:

[LorenniaNailo]

"Huh," I grunt.  "Symbolism.  That's new."  Well, she has good company on the opposite page, where there's a rather arresting half-orc in front of a reed pond with an evil-looking axe on his back.

I tuck the sketchbook back into my pocket and pick up the tea, remarking, "It's too bad I'm normally a terrible artist.  If I could always draw like this, I'd make quite a nice living."  I continue eyeing the rest of my desk - what's on it?

[GameMaster]

Other than your tea, no longer steaming and likely not even hot, there is some sort of tall statue or something, completely covered covered by a dark brown cloth.

"More tea?" you here someone asking, from accross the room.

[LorenniaNailo]

Well, now I know this isn't my desk, but without confirming that it's supposed to be, that doesn't mean much.  In answer to the tea question, I lightly chide "Too much of a good thing is still too much."  Coming to a decision, I stand up from the desk.  "I think I need a walk."  It's time to test just how much I can get away with, so I'm looking for:

• How much of a fuss the attendant(s) put up
• How many times I am dissuaded from going (which isn't going to stop me)
• A mirror, so I can actually check out my reflection (never hurts to be sure)
• How richly they insist on clothing me (if anyone does) or how rich the clothing is that I find
• Where they actually let me walk (a roof versus the street would say quite a lot)
• If they actually let me walk alone

For the purposes of this experiment, I'm not going to fight anyone over anything except whether I should be taking a walk.  That is a fight they will not win.  [So, you know, feel free to fast-forward a bit.]

[GameMaster]

Well, now you know this isn't your desk, but without confirming that it's supposed to be, that doesn't mean much. In answer to the tea question, you lightly chide "Too much of a good thing is still too much." Coming to a decision, you stand up from the desk. "I think you need a walk." It's time to test just how much you can get away with, so you're looking for how much of a fuss the attendant(s) put up as you try to walk around the mosque. As you start to move towards the door, you notice that your feet feel heavy and your movements are sluggish. It's as if the air around you has thickened, making it difficult to walk.

As you reach the door, you notice two attendants standing guard. They look at you with concern. "Are you feeling alright, miss?" one of them asks, taking a step closer to you.

"I'm fine," you reply, trying to sound confident. "I just need some fresh air."

The attendants exchange a worried glance, but ultimately decide to let you go. "Please be careful," the other one says, as you step outside.

As you make your way out of the Mosque, you look around for any mirrors to check your appearance, but you don't see any out in the open. You continue walking down the street, keeping a lookout for anything that might help you understand what's going on.

No others stopped you or interfered in any way.

As you look around the oasis, you notice that you are wearing the same clothing everyone else is: Plain, practical white fabric is lightweight and breathable, perfect for the hot desert climate. The cut of the clothing is loose and flowing, allowing for ease of movement.

You are allowed to walk freely throughout the city, and you imagine that if you wanted to walk on the roofs, the only protest that anyone would have would be for your safety.

As you observe the people going about their daily tasks, you notice that the clothing is also very practical. Some wear long sleeves and pants to protect themselves from the sun, while others opt for shorter sleeves and shorts to stay cool. Everyone seems to be comfortable and at ease in their simple white clothing, embracing the minimalism and practicality of their lifestyle in the desert oasis.

It's all very familiar to you, the same clothing and world and people you've known your entire life. You observe them going about their daily tasks, helping one another with farming, cooking, and other chores. They work together harmoniously, with a sense of community and mutual respect. They laugh and smile happily with one another, sharing stories and jokes, and enjoying each other's company.

What's more, you notice that none of the people here carry weapons. There are no swords, spears, bows, or any other form of violence. It's as if they have no need for them, as there is no threat of danger or conflict in all the world.  The last remaining bits of your paranoia from the dream start to fade away.

Taking in the peaceful surroundings, you suddenly hear the sound of children's voices. Two young kids, a boy and a girl, run up to you, shouting your name excitedly.

"Mika, Mika!" they exclaim, their faces lighting up with joy. You know them before you see them.  It is Zaid, a young boy of 165 Moon Cycles, whose name means "Abundance", and Aisha, his younger sister of only 140 Moon Cycles.  You've watched them grow their entire lives, and happily played with them often.

"What kind of new toy is that?" and "What does it do!?" they ask at once, unable to contain their excitement.

It takes you a moment to realize they are talking about your longbow.  It seems strangely out of place here in this world.  You stare at it hard for a moment.  You know what it is, as though it were a part of you.  But you can't remember why you made it?  There is no purpose for such things in this world of peace, where crops are grown and livestock raised.  No need for fighting, no need for war, no need even for hunting.

Did you make it during one of your fevered nightmares?  How terrifying,that you would be able to do such a thing and not notice. What if you were to actually kill someone during such a state?  It would likely be the first murder ever committed in this perfect place, and would shock everyone-- nevermind the endless guilt you could not possibly live with.

Perhaps you should get rid of it now?  Cut the string with rocks, and cast the whole thing into the water?
Zaid and Aisha wait with genuine smiles, but can barely contain themselves any longer.

[LorenniaNailo]

The thought of destroying a part of myself brings back the paranoia, full force - and with it, the beginnings of a plan.

Kneeling down, I hold out my bow, deliberately holding it any way possible except the intended way.  "This is a puzzle I found this morning - not just for you two, but for me too.  See, I have no idea what this is."  I go through everything I can possibly think of that isn't shooting (which is easy since I have no arrows), and when it doesn't do any of those things, I shrug and let the kids try for a while as well.  When I first sense interest flagging, I oh-so-casually mention that I heard this wasn't the only puzzle found this morning (a complete lie), and ask the kids to let me know if they spy any other puzzles.  Of course, there's no way to tell what the other puzzles might look like, so anything out of the ordinary is worth reporting.  "Maybe if we find enough of these puzzles," I point out, "we can make sense of this one!"

[GameMaster]

As you continue your walk with Zaid and Aisha, they suddenly remember something exciting they discovered earlier. "Mika, we found a strange puzzle in the library this morning!" Zaid exclaims, his face lighting up with excitement.

"Yeah, it's not like anything we've ever seen before!" Aisha chimes in, her excitement lighting up her little face.

Following the children as they lead you to the library, you return to the grand building you have spent more time in than most. It is a+ testament to the wisdom and knowledge of the people of the oasis in the past, has always been a place of solace and quiet reflection for you.

As you enter the library, Zaid and Aisha lead you through the vast, open space filled with shelves upon shelves of books and scrolls, the accumulated knowledge of generations. They excitedly pull you towards a secluded corner, where they point up to the strange puzzle earlier.

They point to The Tower - the tallest bookshelf in the library, stretching some 100 feet into the air-- 90 feet, it is said. Old hen tales claim that the most ancient and powerful texts are kept there, their secrets guarded from those who would misuse them.

"See?" Aisha whispers.  "It's like us, like little kid size, but it's some kind of animal or monster."

"I'm not a little kid!" Zaid corrects her, far too loudly.

"Shhhh!" she shushes him harshly.  Then, more polite and proud to you, she continues, "It looks like one of the demons that Cera warns us about!"

Zaid angrily hushes her this time.  "Don't blast feme, Aisha.  And there ain't no such thing as demons."

Asiha was staring up at the thing.  "Then whattayoucall that thing? shet asks.

Finally, you see it:  A small, reptilian creature perched high up on the top shelf. The creature seems familiar to you, as if you have fought it many times in your dreams, but this one seems more calm, cool, and collected in its movements than you would imagine.  It makes to put one of the books from the top shelf in its bag, but then thinking better of it instead opens and begins to examine the book.

Very few read anymore, that's why the library has always served as a kind-of quiet sancuary for you.  The Tower was no doubt once a glorious and wonderul thing, but now the wood is rotting and fragile.  How the creature will make it down after stealing its treasures isn't clear to you.  It's hard to imagine how it got up there, when the ladder only reaches about halfway.  Was it so good a climber?

And even if it was, there is still the same question.  How can it get down?  Especially carrying those heavy books, which must encumber it with a good portion of the monster's own weight?

[LorenniaNailo]

Surprisingly, both me and...other me...are in agreement on this one - the creature's life is more important than any book.  Without telling the creature (and therefore without startling it), we move into position below such that we can catch him if he falls - or the book if he drops it (though creature first).

[GameMaster]

It occurs to you that he is some 90+ ft in the air.  You may not survive attempting to catch the creature if it falls.  Even the book could hurt you from that height.

[LorenniaNailo]

Sure, but what do you expect me to do?  Let him die?  I'll take a quick look around, but I very much doubt there are enough cushions in the library to make that fall otherwise survivable for him.

[GameMaster]

As you watch, the determined little creature never even looks down at you.  Instead, he begins taking all of the other books on the shelf, and stacking them on top of one another.  Once you realize what he's doing, he's already standing on top of the huge stack and reaching toward the stained-glass ceiling.

Using his backpack, he punches out a section of the stained glass.  Instead of the sound of shattered glass-- and none seems to be falling-- instead a low, dangeorus growl from some large and truly dangerous something reverberates off the walls.  It's difficult to know where it comes from with the echoes of the stone walls and floor, but perhaps the books absorb enough sound for your sharp ears to detect:

The threatening, primal sound definitely came from the shadows itself.  You konw the sound from your night terrors.  In those dark and painful memories, it is the voice of Evil itself.

When you focus your gaze upward again, the little kobold has already climbed out of the missing plane of glass and onto the roof!

[LorenniaNailo]

Now that the spectacle has passed, I turn my attention back to Zaid and Aisha.  I've decided that it's time to ditch the kids - they need plausible deniability for when I start pissing off Malgrathor or Evil Itself (whichever comes first), and they're also more useful to me out searching for other puzzles.  After I quietly admit that I have no idea what that was supposed to mean, I let the kids point out that the kobold is outside somewhere - at which point I ask them to follow up with that while I check on a smaller puzzle - that of where the Librarian is. (That old bat?  Bo-o-o-o-oring.)

If I'm one of the few regulars at the library, then she and I must know each other pretty well (even if we only spoke to each other out of boredom).  There's no possible way that she wouldn't know what just happened, and she's nowhere to be seen.  That is not normal, and I'm going to find out why.

[GameMaster]

Free from the children, Lorennia begins searching the entire Library for the Librarian.  Turn after turn around the bookshelves and desk, she is nowhere to be seen.  Finally, Lorennia sees candlelight coming from a room in the back.  It must not have ceiling access, no natural light in this place.

You creep silently into the dimly lit room, your sharp eyes scanning for any signs of danger. The room is cold, far colder than natural air.  As you make your way deeper into the room, you see a woman lying in her bed, her breathing shallow and labored, steam shooting up from each small exhale. 

Drawing closer, you see that it's the old librarian, her face drawn and haggard with pain.

"Ghar?  Come hither, Little One," the old woman rasps, her voice barely above a whisper.

The instincts of a caretaker of the wounded and dying take over your movements moentarily.  You kneel beside the obviously dying woman, in these, her final moments.

"Ghar, I need you..." She falters, coughing.

Her eyes obviously no longer see in this world.  You reach the back of her hand to feel her forehead, it's almost painfully hot.

She reaches toward your face, "Ghar, I need you to know..." and her hand catches your ear, gently. It is in no way threatening, but the simple tug of someone asking you gently to come closer.

A sharp intake of breath.

"Ahh, come close..." she says, "My voice fails."

After another coughing fit until she can gather another clear intake of breath, she continues with only the barest of whispers, "These are my final moments, and I will no longer be able to send the memories during the night."

Another sharp intake of breath.

Withdrawing her hand from your ear, she continues, "Without the memories, all will be lost."

She struggles to breathe for a long moment. Ever-so-slowly, so weakly, she lifts a knife in her other hand, held by the blade, offering you the hilt.  It looks absurdly familiar, "The map...is in the book. The keys... are for the sky.  The memories... are in the blade."

Your mind barely hears the words, so focused on the knife you have become.  You find it in your hands, and its fit is familiar and perfect.  You turn it to inspect the edge, and the connection to the hilt itself.

The light from the candelabra reflects off the dagger at the perfect angle, and you see that the light reflected from the blade burns away an invisible fog that permeates everything around you.

In that reflection, you see cold, hard truth: