Dunshelm Ascending

[Treguard]

*The slight drip of moisture from ceiling to floor. A small, undetectable scuttle as a spider skitters across a wall somewhere in its far reaches. Rooms which may once have been a kitchen, a scullery, a bedroom, a broom cupboard... full of gathering dust and getting no more hygienic than they ever were. Walls have started to crumble; rot has started to set in. There is magic here, but it can't help the passage of time.

Welcome to Knightmare.

The castle itself still seems majestic, even without its former inhabitants. There are few vestiges of any former glories, though. Quests were started here, and victors returned. There were schemes to destroy the place, but none successful. Even more so, its magic bequeathed it numerous ways to enter and exit - maybe crossing a lake, perhaps both descending and acending, even moving backwards at high speed. Although, as its resident Dungeon Master had often said, the only way was onward - there was no turning back.

That rule doesn't seem to apply today. There is someone returning.

Knightmare Castle - Dunshelm - stands on top of a hill. The dusky sky doesn't make it look friendly, although to one weary traveller, the imposing structure is a more welcome sight than he had ever imagined. Taking some gulps of air, and pausing every now and again to compose himself, he struggles up the incline, a few small steps at a time.*

Dragonsblood! What am I meant to be, bent with age? There are surely older and weaker than I in the surrounding parts. Come on, keep going. You've done it however many times before.

*Berating himself doesn't appear to be working very well. Rather than curse the gathering darkness, he carries on, with occasional stops to remove a stone in his boot, check his tunic, wipe the sweat off his brow, or just catch the breath he shouldn't be having trouble catching. Time passes - perhaps ten minutes; perhaps an hour. He doesn't know.*

Aah...

*By the time he reaches the top of the hill, it is dead of night. The moon hangs high in the sky above, with perhaps the faintest cry of wolves in the distance. A huge stone door, guarded by an iron portcullis, bars his way. A brass nameplate, tarnished by years of neglect, bares the legend Dunshelm. He knew where he was, the traveller reasons, but it is nice to be certain. However, a look behind him seems to cement the certainty. Although he had, perhaps, not appreciated it too much in his younger years, here it all is - a panorama of water, woods, mountains on the horizon guarding goodness knows what, and plain ground. At night, it may not be too impressive, but then again, lights twinkling here and there show signs of habitation. Warlock. Holmgarth. Wolfenden. Perhaps more. Even in the forest he can see the occasional glimmer of light. A continuation of the stars across Levels 1, 2 and 3... all for him.

His beard twitches. He hadn't thought of that one before.

Turning back (even though the only way is onward) to the door, he casts an eye over the obstacle ahead of him. His thoughts are slightly jumbled - ever since he left Dabbun Gallow, he has been wondering exactly what he remembered. He saw the deposition of King Dickundom, and had started to wonder whether the same had not happened to him in absentia. But it hasn't. He can feel it. And he knows exactly what to do.*

Ahem.

*Treguard of Dunshelm takes a stand back and holds his hands in front of him. It always made him feel more important when he did that. Maybe it will work again.*

Enter, stranger!

*Perhaps, for a moment, there is nothing. And then, with a heavy creak similar to a groan, the portcullis begins to open - perhaps not in the smooth way it used to, but nevertheless, it opens. The heavy oak doors push apart with a forceful touch, and with a bang! that reverberates throughout the dark halls and corridors of Knightmare Castle, natural moonlight spills through its entrance for the first time in far too long.*

There. Now that was no trouble at all.

*Treguard can't quite see what awaits him inside apart from a cloud of dust. Steeling himself, he moves forwards, his eyes adjusting themselves to see exactly what may or may not be there. A few of his bolder strides of late carry him over the threshold, before the doors slam shut behind him. He had forgotten they used to do that.*

Darkness there, and nothing more.

*For the first time since the start of his return journey, Treguard feels a little scared. It's very unlike a Dungeon Master to feel scared, of course; nobody needs to know this. But just to be sure...*

Spellcasting: L... A... N... T... E... R... N!

*All of a sudden, torches burst into life around him. Treguard would be dazzled, except that's just not in his nature. Never has been... that incident with the Nightsight doesn't count, he reminds himself.

And it's all there. It's been waiting for him. His chair. His table. Benches. Fireplace, which has now apparently re-lit itself. An odd assortment of equipment lies around, plus even his sword, Wyrmslayer, which he notices leaning against a wall. It doesn't look as if it's been touched. With the exception of the fact that things seem a little dirtier than he would care to remember, it's almost as if he never left.

Shrugging off a travelling cloak to reveal a tunic, boots, slacks, a beard to match and a dash of style, the Dungeon Master stands right in the middle of his very own, very familiar antechamber. As he feels it all flooding back into his mind and body, he throws back his head, holds up his arms and shouts to the world...*

Dunshelm Stands!

[Treguard]

*The instant Treguard settles into his chair, he feels yet another rush of familiarity. He had intended to put things in the antechamber into order, but after arranging what little there is into what seems comfortable, there isn't much more to do. It took him all of two minutes, after which he realised his legs were aching. Rather than attempting to rediscover his bedroom, which may or may not be in a habitable state, he chose to see if he still fit into the chair he used to inhabit while watching the proceedings going on.

He does. And he's pleased about that. It makes him feel, for a while, as if all is the same... and those memories come back to him. Not all of them are bad... and he's pleased about that too. He allows himself a small smile.*

Okay, let's see what the damage is, shall we?

*How did he used to do this? He tries gesturing with his hand, and nothing happens. He tried speaking a few phrases - "Game on", "Step boldly forward", "Revelanti!" - but nothing works. After a while, he realises that he's been making shapes with the wrong hand. He concentrates his tired mind, and pushes his right hand forwards. Without a keyword, it almost seems as if it won't work... but this is certainly how magic works.*

Fuzz...

*And the Magic Mirror on the wall lights up. Treguard blinks as he tries to focus on what can only be described as static. The screen used to show him what he wanted to see... yet, right now, it's not showing much. It may be described as remarkable that it's working at all... but that thought hadn't occurred to Treguard. If it worked before, it has to work now. All he needs to do is remind it that he is Dungeon Master... but how does one do that to a contraption?

Feeling rather foolish, and somewhat thankful that nobody else is around to see him, he speaks up.*

I am Treguard. Show me... Wolfenden High Street.

*The picture goes black. Just as Treguard begins to lose patience, a blurry image starts to develop in front of his eyes. It takes a while to sharpen, but as it does, it has certainly tried to show him what he requested. At least, it looks like Wolfenden High Street... not as he remembers it, perhaps, but bits of it are still there. He can't see any people there, but as he reasons, it is midnight - they are probably all in bed.*

I ought to be too.

*But, as he previously reasoned, exploring the castle at night is probably not the best of ideas for a tired person to do. Instead, he continues playing with the Mirror, which he gradually regains control of over time. As he flicks and scrolls through various pictures, he begins to re-familiarise himself with everything he used to know... but he also realises that some things are missing. And some are very different.

Something's changed.*

[Treguard]

*Treguard sits in his chair with arms outstretched, gesticulating as if sketching an invisible mural in front of him. Although he'll never admit it, and wouldn't have done so back in the glory days, this really is quite fun.

He feels his magic starting to return as he gets re-acquainted with his old place, like a small beast curiously sniffing the air. It's not as much as it used to be, say... but it's a start. The torches are burning brighter than ever, the fire ablaze in the hearth, and Treguard can't help but notice how much friendlier the antechamber seems when lighter and brighter. He almost can't wait to see what it will look like in the morning... but then, he reminds himself, he will probably really only need sleep by that point.*

Sigh...

*Although disobedient at first, his Magic Mirror appears to be adjusting quite well to receiving commands once again. No longer needing to speak so much, the Dungeon Master controls it through touch, of a fashion - a distinctly magical fashion, he thinks to himself, his beard twitching with the faintest hint of a smile. It's been a while since he smiled; he quite likes it now.*

Maybe I'm getting softer in my old age.

*But he dismisses that thought.

It's time to put the Mirror to use. Making swiping movements with his right hand, Treguard scrolls through various locations. At night there isn't too much to see. Somewhere in the Greenwood, perhaps? But the Forest appears silent. He hears the gentle roar of the Dunnfalls as he pans past a view of them - cascading through the moonlight looks fairly impressive, he will admit. However, it does ascertain that the sound is working.

There's very little point in checking Marblehead - at least, not yet. There's hardly any chance Lord Fear will still be in residence, and besides, he's hardly who you'd choose for a friendly conversation. What Treguard needs is some semblance of civilisation.

He swipes his way back to Wolfenden. Maybe there will be someone still in one of the inns...*

[Treguard]

Somewhere in the Greenwood...? No. Wolfenden. Definitely.

I wonder if I have left it too late. Maybe I shouldn't announce it at all. I've done enough talking out loud for a lifetime. They do say monologuing to yourself is a sign of senility.

*He sighs and looks up at the overhead view of Wolfenden he's managed to get on the crackling Mirror. There are lights on in some of the buildings, although it's not the Wolfenden he used to know - like small pieces missing from a jigsaw. His memory has yet to fade as to which ones are the public houses, though. He points out to himself the location of the Crazed Heifer and zooms in, but although there is light spilling from the windows, he notices it starting to dim and decides not to intrude upon the staff at closing time.

He scrolls along to the Gateway, but before having a look inside, he does wonder if there is anyone in that place that is anything but an unsavoury character. He doesn't know the staff and there's no sign of the clientèle. That leaves the Wolf's Howl... but he has the same problem. It has a good reputation, of course, and he even remembers some of the names of the staff, but he has no idea if there is anyone inside who he would feel comfortable revealing himself to, especially at this time of night.*

What I need is someone to talk to. Someone who knows me... and whom, to a certain degree, I'd know. And I don't mean Fear - although I shall have to deal with him later. If he's still around, of course. Essentially, I need a hero. And am I really going to find one in the Wolf's Howl?

Stop monologuing. No Watchers here, remember?

*But as he scrolls along to the Wolf's Howl, he sees something which he had not expected to: exactly what he wanted. Out of the front door, and walking down the cobbled streets into the centre of Wolfenden, comes one solitary figure. Treguard doesn't need to focus in to see exactly who it is... the hint of bravado in his walk, and the fact that he's out at night, says it all.

Bingo.*

[ModNote: Continued in A bit of verbal.]

[Treguard]

[ModNote: Continued from A bit of verbal.]

*As the milky moonlight gives way to the vague blue sky of dawn, a veil of cloud blows softly over the Knightmare Realm, coating the sky in white. The few rays of the sun which penetrate through bring an illumination to the lands. Any moment now, the animals in the forest will begin a dawn chorus, the cockerels in Wolfenden will signal the start of a new day, and the villagers will start to think about going on with their business - or whatever passes for it in Knightmare. But, for now, there is a peaceful limbo.

The weak light spills through a window in one of the towers of Knightmare Castle and comes to rest on Treguard's face. He had forgotten, in his time away, that he liked this. When the strangers came, he would wake up every morning with the sun casting an angelic halo around his head - both serving to remind himself that he was a good man inside, and to make him look (in his own mind) radiant.

Now, he just finds it a little annoying.

Treguard of Dunshelm's sleep has been deep, heavy, but brief. He mentally reminds himself that any amount of sleep is unlikely to undo the effects of struggling up a mountainside, breaking and entering into one's own castle, expending a large amount of magic to force life back into a broken device, and speaking to a semi-familiar face in an unfamiliar setting. Having done all this, the Dungeon Master could have easily slept for a few more hours - perhaps even days, if he could do that. But, at his age, he really ought to keep active.

Not that he wants to be. The sun is reminding him to, but Treguard just wants to stay where he is.*

Dragonsbreath...

*The expletive doesn't help; he still feels sleepy. Attempting to kickstart his brain into action, he runs through the events of the previous night. He has a name to check - it begins with a C, he thinks, or perhaps a K. A librarian. Yes. Maybe this will be easier in the light of day.

With a tremendous effort and an equal amount of huffing and puffing, there is an almighty creak as the old man drags his body upwards. He totters slightly, blinking away the residual haze in front of his eyes. His old bedroom looks more familiar in the morning. Almost curious as to what he will find, Treguard begins to hunt around for clothes.*

[Young Grimwold]

*A lone figure is riding towards the castle. He is no knight, more a squire, and his steed is not a horse but a slender metal frame with two wheels.

Suddenly, a stormgeist rears up in front of the lad, snarling and champing. He recoils in shock and seems momentarily defeated. Then, reaching into his knapsack, he pulls out a rolled-up parchment and casts it into the approaching stormgeist's mouth. As the choking creature spins off the path, the parchmentboy rides on.

Soon the rider reaches a chasm. Pedalling his vehicle ever faster, he shoots over the gap and does not fall. But then, he was riding an inch above the ground anyway.

As the parchmentboy progresses towards Dunshelm, a face flashes past: a small troll peering forlornly through a barred window. There is no pity in the parchmentboy's heart - partly because any troll that gets caught must expect harsh punishment, mainly because the boy has no heart - but with a flick of the wrist, he flings a parchment through the bars and rides on. The troll recedes from the window, having been given a reason to look back into his cell for the first time in living memory (if he has such a thing).

Then there is urgency. The boy, one more parchment to deliver, sees that his window is closing. A window, that is, further up the castle wall: alerted to his uninvited presence, a solid portcullis is descending over the window as a safeguard against magical intrusion. With one final exertion, the boy throws the final parchment at the window. He and his bicycle disappear like confetti in a gale, their purpose fulfilled. The portcullis crashes down.

The parchment tumbles down a staircase - its warlock's seal preventing it from unfurling - and comes to rest in the Knightmare Castle antechamber.*

[Treguard]

*The antechamber is quiet, and - in the circumstances - much lighter than it had been the previous knight. Insofar as Treguard is concerned, he has found no reason to magically illuminate the place as he had done less than twelve hours ago: it is quite inviting, though dusty, with the morning light allowing him to see.

Treguard doesn't want to sit in his chair and talk to the Magic Mirror throughout the day. He'd found a collection of tunics and slacks in his room - they looked a little worn through being unworn for long enough; the moths had gotten to them a little. However, Treguard was pleased with what he found, and after carefully selecting what to wear, he feels like a Dungeon Master once more - although, as he reminds himself, one who ought to take life a little more slowly, perhaps.

He is sweeping the floor. Recalling to himself the days when others did this, he does realise what a task this must be; if the amount of energy he happens to be exerting counts on all the other floors, as well as the stairs, he doesn't envy those with the task.*

Thunk.

*Treguard doesn't jump, as it doesn't become him, and he's not even sure if he can. But he is a little startled as this intrusion upon his silent reverie. He mentally reminds himself that he hadn't cared to check the castle entirely for unwanted intruders before trying to get his Mirror to work and collapsing into bed. And yet the severity of the noise he just heard can't have just been a natural creak from the castle. Castles don't creak.

He clears his throat.*

Ahem. Spellcasting: D... I... S... M... I... S... S...

*He expects to hear a few magical notes, and rather fancies that he does, in fact, hear them, in the far reaches of the castle. Comforted a little - although why he shouldn't be, he knows not - by the idea that anyone who was in the castle may now not be, he drags the broom to the wall, leans it against the extinguished fireplace, and trudges through to the room from where he thought the sound emanated. The broom sparkles as it sweeps across the floor - there is magic here.*

Ah...

*A roll of parchment is before him. While he's not sure from where it came, he's pretty certain that it demands his attention, at least for a little while. He bends down with a small, involuntary groan, and retrieves the missive from the floor. The parchemtn is heavy and thick, and sealed with wax. Treguard considers for a moment going to get Wyrmslayer to open the letter with, or even casting DISMISS on the wax - but he finds that his thumb does the job of breaking it quite well enough.

He is surprised. Things aren't meant to be that easy.

Remaining on the spot, he unrolls the parchment, and casts his eyes upon what he reads.*

[Dinosaur Name]

*On one side of the castle left untroubled by parchmentboys on bicycles, a single tower of Dunshelm is in disrepair. Treguard isn't able to remember if he's ever used it for anything in particular; both his and his (former) assistants' sleeping quarters reside in a much larger tower closer to the Dungeon portal. In contract, this slightly crumbling oddity is somewhere that hasn't been touched for a while. Most of the rooms, therefore, are boarded up entities of unknown use. They may even be inhabited - who knows?

Through the window of one of them tumbles Dinosaur Name, who bounces - in a slightly scaly fashion - on the floor a couple of times. He takes in his surroundings.* [ModNote: He was last seen in Fifty Shades Lighter.]

Empty glass bottles... old bits of parchment... what looks like broken bits of machinery. There's nothing here for a dinosaur.

*He has stumbled across Treguard's 'man drawer'. Just as he is beginning to curse himself for the effort he expended to get here, he hears a distant rumble from one of the other recesses of the castle. It sounds human, it may well be human. Dinosaur Name sniffs the air tentatively and divines through scent that it is, indeed, human. Quite a lot of human, in fact.*

And what do I do with human? I bite it!

*Dinosaur Name rushes for the door and immediately falls down a flight of stairs, landing with a painful-sounding smack on each one in turn. Eventually he hits the hard stone floor, and it takes a moment before he can right himself, slightly dazed.*

Whazzapnin'....? Aah! Human!

*Through the door ahead of him, he can see the bottom of two legs, booted but with thin-looking fabric - something to get his teeth into - and the thick end of a broom, sweeping what looks like a mixture of dust, dirt, cobwebs and glitter, which dispenses into the air, informing Dinosaur Name that it is, in fact, magic. Dinosaur Name steels himself, talking out loud.*

Okay, here goes. I am a dinosaur. A strong, independent dinosaur. And dinosaurs bite humans, which I think you'll agree is a very suitable purpose for a dinosaur.

*He charges forwards, at rapidly increasing speed, towards Treguard's legs. He'd yell a battle cry, but he doesn't know any.*

Nov 30, 2014 21:28:54 GMT Treguard said:

Spellcasting: D... I... S... M... I... S... S...

*The second he reaches the door, Dinosaur Name immediately fades out of the castle, leaving no trace of his existence, or evidence of his having been there. Exactly in the spot where he vanished, a sealed parchment topples from the window, landing with a soft thunkon the floor.

Treguard didn't notice a thing.*

[ModNote: Next seen in Onward and Downward.]

[Young Grimwold]

*The parchment is from Hordriss - Treguard may have recognised the seal - dictated to his manservant Hoi Polloi. In it, he welcomes the Dungeon Master back to Knightmare Castle and apologises for being unavailable in person, owing to various critical projects and commitments such as 'Getting One's Daughter Off Tinder'. (Sidriss apparently has taken to standing on flammable material while casting spells, in an attempt to prove to her sceptical father that her magic won't literally backfire, but he is striving to discourage this.)

The missive mentions some of the significant events of recent years for which Treguard has been absent, with a focus on Hordriss' own accomplishments including winning the Knightmare Battle Royale, vanquishing the Serpent Men in the Mines of Gore and helping to extinguish some of the recent terrible fires. Hordriss speculates that the Opposition is behind these fires, and expresses his relief that Treguard has safely returned to help counter any renewed hostilities.

Hordriss ends by offering to provide further information on any happenings that Treguard wishes to know more about.*

[Treguard]

*Treguard is pacing. He notices, but doesn't care, that he paces a lot. It helps him think; when the young ones from other lands sat in his antechamber, bold as brass, he had very little idea as to how much pacing could be done in their presence. Now, he finds it easier to walk in a wide circle, almost enjoying the ability to be alone.*

Hordriss. Hordriss. Now how could I have forgotten about him? Of course, of course...

*He will admit to himself that the concept of fires coming from the Opposition is worrying. He had been putting off spying on the dealings at Mount Fear, partially because he was assuming that nothing would happen upon looking, but mostly through fear of what may actually happen.

Words leap out at him. Some of them make no sense to him. Battle Royale sounds horrifying. Serpent Men more so. And, although the tone of Hordriss the Confuser is comforting, something is worrying him... and it's not just Hoi Polloi's handwriting.*

How did he...?

*He paces again and then takes his seat on the chair, head in hands.*

How did he know I was here?

*He gestures with his hand and the Magic Mirror jumps into life with a burst of static. It eventually solidifies into an image of Mellisandre drawing on a black wall with Folly on her left. Treguard blinks at the soft tone that accompanies that image, and then waves it aside.*

Show me Hordriss the Confuser.

*The Mirror bursts into static once again and starts flicking through locations.*

[Young Grimwold]

*The Magic Mirror has no success. Hordriss did say in the parchment that he was unavailable, and indeed it would seem that he cannot or will not be contacted in this fashion. In the absence of visage-time, Treguard may have to content himself with written correspondence.*

[Treguard]

Hmmmm.

*Treguard is disappointed. He considers blaming the Magic Mirror itself for its failure to find the Confuser, but realises that - with nobody listening - it would be pointless. Hordriss isn't there. He'll have to write back.

The Magic Mirror is still flicking through locations. Treguard blinks - and then stares. For half a second he could have sworn blind that he saw someone he shouldn't have: a bone-headed, metal-armoured someone. It was the quickest of glimpses, perhaps, but it was enough to encourage a sickening jolt through his stomach. For a moment, he forgets about Hordriss and loses himself in a kind of sudden mania he hasn't felt since that moment with the Nightsight.*

Stop! STOP!

*The image stabilises, seemingly at random, on a well near Wolfenden Town Centre. To his surprise, a small figure pops out of it as if boosted by wind from below, and lands deftly on the ground. However, he isn't too perturbed by that.*

Back. Back... back!

*Nothing happens. The Mirror continues to show the well.*

Well well well...

*This only serves to amuse himself. He wanted, of course, to see what he thought he saw earlier, but the Mirror isn't going back. He throws a few hand gestures around, but that doesn't do much. Quizzically, he opens his mouth, to say what he really didn't want to.*

Show me L... Loooooo....

*He steadies himself, before losing his nerve.*

Dragonsblood...

*Treguard strokes his beard. He could have just been seeing things, of course, and if he wasn't, at least it's a more decent explanation than the alternative. He rises from his chair in search of writing apparatus, scrubbing around for parchment and a quill. As the Magic Mirror settles, once again, on the image of a bowl of dragon's blood - although who knows where one may be serving that - he extracts a scrap of frayed paper and a battered old feather from a side drawer. Deciding that it will have to do, Treguard retakes his seat and draws the quill's point across the rough surface of the parchment.

It makes no mark, of course, for lack of ink. Suddenly hitting upon a spot of inspiration he wasn't aware he'd have, he raises the tip of the feather to his lips and concentrates hard. For a few moments, there is nothing; the slightest rush of magic comes eventually, like a heady trail from his brain through to the quill itself. It vibrates for a moment, softly, between Treguard's fingers.*

Let's try that again.

*He puts pen to paper. This time, it makes a mark - in pink, perhaps, but nobody's perfect.*

Hordriss -

*Treguard pauses. What to say, what to say?*

[Treguard]

Hordriss -

I have returned.

Something is awry. I do not see it, but I feel it. I have made contact with Robin and. He tells me there have been a few changes, but I am not aware of their source, or of their nature. I believe it may be Lo dark-magic-related.

Robin tells me of a librarian, but I know of no such person - or, if I do, I do not have the capacity to remember. Your assistance in informing me what the current situation may be would be appreciated.

Treguard

*Treguard scratches his chin, beard and all, with the end of his quill. He feels that there is more that could be said, but as he isn't sure what, and is unsure even where this is going, he gropes in the air for what else there is to be said. He has been forced to amend his letter - he was sure that he had made contact with someone else following Robin, but there is nobody that springs to mind. He is equally unsure about the fact that he had, quite unwillingly, made a possible reference to the lack of mental capacity he may, or may not, possess.

He didn't want to say "Is the Opposition here?". He mustn't show weakness. He must not.*

Humph. This will have to be enough.

*He signs and seals the scrappy parchment, rolling it into as good an approximation of a scroll as is possible and tying it with a red ribbon - which, conveniently, he found in his pocket, presumably as a relic of some time ago.*

Now let me see if I can remember how to do this...

*Crossing to the chimney, he finds his fire frozen in time, bringing a slight nostalgic smile to his lips. His beard twitches.*

Go.

*He tosses the letter nonchalantly into the fire, and it flies off up the flue, magically propelled, presumably towards its intended recipient.*

Sometimes, I impress myself. Fire up!

*The fire burns.*

Okay, and for my next trick...

*Treguard crosses to his chair. The mystery of the librarian to whom Robin was referring troubles him - he has no recollection of this person, although he feels inside that he should. Treguard delves into his mind palace, questioning himself again and again. Librarian? He doesn't feel anybody in the Dungeon fitting that description, although there is a faint, uneasy feeling at the back of his mind - in his gut - that suggests otherwise. Almost like Treguard is in the wrong time.*

Mirror?

*The mirror turns on.*

Show me the librarian.

*Even by its antiquated standards, the mirror takes a long time to respond, almost as if it is as unable to locate this person as Treguard is himself. There are a few flickering, tantalising images - including a half-dressed Robin, an elf-cat-thing in the village, a small lizard tripping and falling onto its face, and a faded picture of the same armoured figure sitting at a pool which had so disturbed him. Eventually, it fixates on one grey, washed-out screen, which eventually sharpens into a picture.

The ruined, dilapidated remains of the KMBS are on screen; presumably, the room the image is focusing on was once used for dining, considering the smashed and filthy crockery on the floor. There is a crack in the ground running through what was once, he presumes, a complete room, with students and staff and everything. The sight makes him slightly mournful.

But there's no librarian here. It's just a ruined school... surely.*

[Young Grimwold]

*Just before the start of the eighth phase of adventuring, Treguard had got Hordriss to (under sufferance) replace the antechamber's Magic Mirror with a viewing pool: his attempt to "fight fire with fire" by matching his communications equipment to the Opposition's. By the time he discovered that Lord Fear had dramatically upgraded, it was too late. Even so, the pool's days were numbered when Majida, while fishing out pencils, fell in and was burned by the aqua veritatis. Her claim that Treguard was deliberately slow to rescue her was refuted by the Dungeon Master, and may have been why the genie left Knightmare Castle. Hordriss grudgingly reinstalled the Magic Mirror.

It was Merlin, however, who had created the Magic Mirror. Wary of overusing technosorcery, and of allowing Treguard the kind of power that might corrupt him and threaten the Dungeon's balance of power, Merlin had sought to place restrictions on the device. It could display the perimeter of the castle; it could show locations a questing dungeoneer was occupying or about to occupy; it could enable two-way contact with certain willing members of the Powers That Be. (And unbeknownst to anyone but Hordriss, asking it the question "Who is the fairest of them all?" would bring up an image of Marta. His doing when he reinstalled it.) Use of the Magic Mirror beyond this was not impossible but it was dangerous.

Treguard's recent use of the device to survey areas and seek individuals of his choice has indeed proved too much. The pane goes dark and, for the moment at least, will do nothing for him.*

[Treguard]

*Treguard swears under his breath. Since he started using the Mirror, he had been wary of some sort of mishap with it, and - now faced with a blank screen - he has very little idea as to how to resolve this issue. Rising from his chair, he begins pacing (noting to himself that he paces a lot, possibly for want of real exercise, although mostly because it helps him think).*

Okay, well, in order to facilitate my knowledge of what's happening in my... er, in the Dungeon... I'm going to need to do something. I can wait for a reply from Hordriss, although that may take a while. Or I can go...

Code! I'm monologuing again! I must stop that.

*Treguard stops himself talking in time to reflect upon the options he is presenting to himself. With the Mirror temporarily disrupted, and his missive to Hordriss only recently sent, he had almost considered walking off into the Dungeon, putting himself into contact with people face-to-face... upon checking himself, he even notices that he was closer to the Dungeon portal - although whether or not it works is also questionable - than he thought.

But no. No, that would be foolish. Powerful though he professes to be, this does not remove the fact that he recently spent a period of time in a cage of metal, and it took the actions of somebody else to release him. This time in Dabbun Gallow may have been monotonous, but the message it gave to Treguard in the longer term is that he is, has been, will be, somebody who can be taken advantage of. His earlier days, too, are beyond him.*

No, no. I can't go out there. Not... not yet.

*What he needs is an emissary - which would be difficult to contact without the Mirror's assistance - or some sort of presence here, from the Dungeon itself.

With nothing else springing to mind, Treguard walks steadily to the other side of the room, and looks out of the window.*