The summons said the 7th of Eleint, but didn't say where to show up for admission. This is problematic, as the Feytower is a sprawling castle construct: half-university, half-home for most of the city's magical population and (in some cases) their families and children as well.
Glen and Sithani arrive around the same time but find, to their vexation, that the imposing front door is locked and apparently unattended. Shoddy workmanship around here, one might think, but then wizards have never been known for their practical nature. Ignoring each other for the moment, they end up walking around the side of the building looking for another means of entrance and hoping the other stranger knows what he or she is doing.
The walk is a long one. There are doors cut into the sides of the stone structure, but none of them appear to be open. There are ways around a closed door, of course, but both judge it would be wisest to not begin their day trying to break and enter into the most magical structure in the city. Instead, they continue their search until--jackpot!--finding a door which hasn't closed all the way. They slip inside, and jump in place when the door clicks locked behind them. Oops.
It takes a long moment for their eyes to adjust from the blinding morning sun to the torches lining the hall which stretches out around them. Plain wood and gray stone make up this hall; not rich or exciting but serviceable. They must be in a side passage from the main ones, given how lovely the Feytower is supposed to be on the inside. Presumably the apprentices and acolytes travel different corridors as part of their duties; no one, after all, wants to track mud on the nice visitor carpets or spill a tureen of soup on the wall paintings.
None of this helps them, however. They need to find Laerdya Siannodel, and it would be best to not be caught loitering in the servant halls. One of them picks a direction and the other, deciding there is strength in (and shared blame in) numbers, follows.
This seems, however, to not be the right direction. The torchlights become set farther and farther apart and the few windows stop as they trudge along. The hall seems darker and colder as they walk, but they've come too far to go back and the side halls seem even less likely to take them where they want. So they walk on, and if each quietly blames the other for this state of events, that just keeps them focused on walking instead of talking.
Until they reach something that demands attention.
A tank cut into the wall, a glass tank but anything so large and full of water cannot be normal glass. At least, they think it's water; it's so murky and foul looking, the liquid could be anything at all. Runes have been etched in the glass--many of which Sithani has never seen--and these glow with a faint ominous green light. How far back the tank extends into the wall is impossible to tell, but if it's as wide as it is long and tall, Glen could fit his house ten times over inside.
Something moves in those grimy depths, something big. There is an impression of fins, of tentacles, of eyes where eyes ought not be. Then, so quickly they both jump back, an alien face slams against the glass. Eyes, three of them, one on top of another, burning with intelligence and hate. Teeth, rows and rows of them, in a circle inside a circle inside a circle, like a perverse nesting doll. The creature stares at them with malevolence and the green runes flare brightly enough to leave an after-image on the eye. It cannot reach them, but it would plainly like to--and neither are so arrogant as to believe they would survive the meeting.
[Reaction to Glen and Sithani.]
Glen and Sithani arrive around the same time but find, to their vexation, that the imposing front door is locked and apparently unattended. Shoddy workmanship around here, one might think, but then wizards have never been known for their practical nature. Ignoring each other for the moment, they end up walking around the side of the building looking for another means of entrance and hoping the other stranger knows what he or she is doing.
The walk is a long one. There are doors cut into the sides of the stone structure, but none of them appear to be open. There are ways around a closed door, of course, but both judge it would be wisest to not begin their day trying to break and enter into the most magical structure in the city. Instead, they continue their search until--jackpot!--finding a door which hasn't closed all the way. They slip inside, and jump in place when the door clicks locked behind them. Oops.
It takes a long moment for their eyes to adjust from the blinding morning sun to the torches lining the hall which stretches out around them. Plain wood and gray stone make up this hall; not rich or exciting but serviceable. They must be in a side passage from the main ones, given how lovely the Feytower is supposed to be on the inside. Presumably the apprentices and acolytes travel different corridors as part of their duties; no one, after all, wants to track mud on the nice visitor carpets or spill a tureen of soup on the wall paintings.
None of this helps them, however. They need to find Laerdya Siannodel, and it would be best to not be caught loitering in the servant halls. One of them picks a direction and the other, deciding there is strength in (and shared blame in) numbers, follows.
This seems, however, to not be the right direction. The torchlights become set farther and farther apart and the few windows stop as they trudge along. The hall seems darker and colder as they walk, but they've come too far to go back and the side halls seem even less likely to take them where they want. So they walk on, and if each quietly blames the other for this state of events, that just keeps them focused on walking instead of talking.
Until they reach something that demands attention.
A tank cut into the wall, a glass tank but anything so large and full of water cannot be normal glass. At least, they think it's water; it's so murky and foul looking, the liquid could be anything at all. Runes have been etched in the glass--many of which Sithani has never seen--and these glow with a faint ominous green light. How far back the tank extends into the wall is impossible to tell, but if it's as wide as it is long and tall, Glen could fit his house ten times over inside.
Something moves in those grimy depths, something big. There is an impression of fins, of tentacles, of eyes where eyes ought not be. Then, so quickly they both jump back, an alien face slams against the glass. Eyes, three of them, one on top of another, burning with intelligence and hate. Teeth, rows and rows of them, in a circle inside a circle inside a circle, like a perverse nesting doll. The creature stares at them with malevolence and the green runes flare brightly enough to leave an after-image on the eye. It cannot reach them, but it would plainly like to--and neither are so arrogant as to believe they would survive the meeting.
[Reaction to Glen and Sithani.]