The Theran war was over, and Noolitia finally had the time she wanted to do a bit of travelling. She was moving across the land visiting sites that she had always wondered what they might have looked like. She had travelled quite a bit during the war with her companions of the Luroovian Cult. It wasn't really a cult. Simply the name they were called because Noolitia always used the shape of the Horror Lufroo, that they "met" in their early travels, for her Monstrous Mantle spell. A fine group it was.

"It's been a long time… " she thought to herself partly nostalgic. She would be at At'kinas' house, or mansion according to the description, by sundown. Five years is a long time by Troll standards. She had been told that this mansion was a sight to see. Alone in the foothills of the Tylon Mountains, it stands against all.

In his invitation, At'kinas mentioned that this house would surprise even her. At'kinas was a member of the Luroovian Cult with her for over nine years. "He must not have changed a bit" she told herself, thinking that this time must have seemed like one of her weeks to him. Obsidimen are amazing that way!

As the sun was setting in the west, she reached the house. Walls nearly twenty feet high and a huge metal gate were partially blocking from her sight a building at least three stories high. At the feet of the door was the beginning of a pathway made of flagstones. As she set foot on the stone closest to the door, she heard a booming "Yes?" out nowhere.

When she recovered from the shock, Noolitia did her best to state her purpose. With little class she let out "Uh … yeah ... uh. At'kinas? It's me … uh … Noolitia … how do I get into this place of yours?" Then, she waited.

As her patience was running out, she saw something coming over the wall. It was her friend sitting on a throne of air. He looked like a huge spectre with his back to the setting sun. All he said was "Please come in. Nagolimissi Ka Lor." Following the incantation of those words of power, the doors opened.

The sight beyond the doors was something Noolitia was not ready for. A beautiful manor with a tower that must have been five stories high was set on an island. But the island was floating nearly fifteen feet above a pond of boiling water. The pond went up to the foot of the walls. The pathway that seemed to start outside the gate, did not continue inside. It ended abruptly right inside the door, falling to the pond. Only three little islands with great gaps in-between them lead to the house.

"At'kinas!" She screamed. "I can't jump that far!"

"Believe in your heart and walk to the house" is all the answer she got.

An illusion, of course! So being as skilled as she was, she put her mind at seeing the truth. She tried for long moments but what she saw was the truth. Then she heard a chuckle from the mansion.

"Can't get yourself to believe in your heart anymore?"

"Trusting your heart is for fools! Training and experience has thought me that" she answered.

Going for a different approach, she took a handful of dirt and threw it towards the first island. Some of it fell to the water down below, but some stayed in mid air.

"Permanent sky lattices" At'kinas chuckled.

"Now come on in. We have a lot to talk about."

They talked for hours while visiting his house. Tales of old battles and adventures were brought back to life. The mansion was a magnificent construction. Rooms were well decorated and the obsidimen heritage was at the heart of each room. He showed her his pride and joy: the Hall of Name-Givers. A hall that had a statue of a representative of each name-giver race, even the dragons.

At'kinas had requested her presence before the week of celebration of the Earth, and they were a month away from that. Having some spare time, Noolitia spent a month with him helping and learning. During that entire time, he never mentioned the reason for her being there.

His house was home to three helping hands and two apprentices. She saw his laboratory and participated to some of his current research projects. One day he said "Come, I have something I want you to see." He took her to a secret level of his tower. There, Noolitia saw four orichalcum tubs and one smaller box of the same material hanging from the ceiling. Each one was filled with one of pure elements and the box, kernels of pure wood. This was worth a fortune.

"You have not asked me yet how I came into the means of having such a mansion. Let me explain. I have been in the market of pure elements. I trade with mining companies and then find buyers for these resources. This is my storage room. There is enough pure elements here to build a small kaer or if all sold, to buy a little army."

"Why so much stock?" she asked.

"I have been doing some research of my own and I am trying to get a piece of the enchanting business."

"Have you started?"

"A little. All of the weapons I have in my lab are to be enchanted. They come from the finest weaponsmiths in Barsaive" he said with pride.

"I am expecting a visit from Rhupart in the next couple of weeks to …" he attempted to continue when Noolitia interrupted him, totally astonished.

"Rhupart that old grumpy weaponsmith?"

"Yes that would be him. He makes a trip here at the end of every month and that is when I do my best work."

"Why?" she asked, "does working with old friends bring up your morale?"

"Illusionists!" he let out in disgust. "Enchanting after a weapon is finished does not give the quality of the a weapon enchanted while it was being forged."

"Hasn't that old dwarf been doing business with the Therans since that fateful day?"

"Not really!" he answered. "His shop is in Kratas and he never wanted to have anything to do with things that were even remotely Theran. One day though, some troll from the Theran secret services offered him some illegal goods from the Theran Empire in exchange for his services. Being the fateful questor of Chorrolis that he is, that kind of profit was too good to allow to go by, even over principles."

Noolitia walked around those great tubs admiring the glow that was emitted by those pure substances.

"So, do you work on a new weapon each time he comes? And I guess he must bring them back with him when he leaves to sell them?"

"Well we try to make one every time he is around." At'kinas answered "As for the selling, we actually alternate in keeping the weapons. Lately we've been working on larger projects. Two weapons that took us five of his visits each to complete. The first he kept and we are to finish mine on his next visit."

"Is it two copies of the same weapon?" Noolitia asked, very interested in this piece of news.

"No, not really. The one he kept is a broadsword, the Junumaar, and the one that is to be mine is a spear, I will call it the Yakun'imaar (Gar-no-shi). With the knowledge I have acquired since we finished the Junumaar and with your help, if I may be so bold to ask, my Yakun'imaar should be a far greater weapon."

She did accept to lend her powers to his cause that day and for the next week started to work on her part of the project. She kept on working after Rhupart got there but they kept her implication a secret because the weaponsmith had always thought of illusionists as charlatans. Unexpectedly, a message arrived urgently requesting her presence back home. Her part not finished, she promised At'kinas to return to put the finishing touches on this great work.

Noolitia did return three months later. The mansion was in poor shape and her friend was dead. Infuriated, she casted two permanent spells: one on the hall and another on the house itself. The one on the estate was to give it an everlasting look of perfection. When she left the mansion, she made a blood promise to find the who and why this was done.

Rumours have it that the jealousy of Rhupart over the power of Yakun'imaar and the perfection of a weapon that would not be his drove him mad. The help of the Therans and even Raggok might also be part of this whole mess.

Story from Puoli, Air Sailor adept member of the Lugroovian Cult,
taken by Romik Lightworker for the Great Library of Throal

More information for Game Master's only

Copyright 1999. Eric Campeau