Inside, the fire elemental was quickly dispatched with some measure of cooperation. The gorgon, Torg, had been conjured by Wynn—the metal sphere that summoned him had been given to the party by Elidac's wizards, and she decided the lightning rail battles were the best place for it appear. Normally, close quarters combat isn't the best place for a steel-plated bull, but Torg didn't care. He seems perpetually cranky, and would fight on their sight, if not with subtly.
Wynn prompted Torg to ram the door into the present cart—and the fire elemental had come into its path. The two contended, but ultimately the elemental could not endure the onslaught of Torg and the PCs.
Once all enemies were dispatched, the party continued to the next cart. Just inside the door, they found a corridor leading up to a red, velvet curtain. They sent Warlaz through it first, then Torg. Both seemed to vanish in the dark and did not return. Something was odd about this particular rail cart. After deliberating, Magnus strode on and disappeared beyond the curtain. Izzeth followed.
The rest of the party hesitated at this, and Clarion even sent a Message to Magnus. Based on his reply, the part decided to follow. One by one they entered, most grudingly...
As told by Magnus of the Island of Seren / Zarantyr 26th, 999 YK
I’m not used to this, but I am no longer completely startled. Blast all these wizards and their magic. They can’t just meet by a fire or in a tavern. It seems they like to have meetings in little spaces they design themselves.
In the middle of our battle to get to the front of the lightning rail, to save Sharn from the barrel of poison at the front of it, we stepped through a door and through a curtain and are suddenly not on board any long. It’s what my companions have been calling a “pocket dimension,” whatever that means.
Izzeth and I entered first and were cut off from the rest of the group. Only a few seconds passed
before Clarion sent me a spell-message asking where we were. I told him that I didn't know but we couldn't go back and we were safe; they should come through (there was nowhere else to go).
Here, I had no armor, only fine clothes (someday I will buy some). I had no weapons (I could not sense Storrgrim the giant or his winter wolf), only a bouquet of small blue flowers. And we were in some fine apartment somewhere with soft music playing. I will say, it was at least a welcome relief from the massive battle, and my wound did hurt less. I should have bled right through these fine clothes, but somehow I did not.
It wasn't long before the rest of the party made it through to this place, all dressed in fine clothes. For most of us it made some sense, dresses and capes and hose and doublets. The women wore dresses and gowns, though only Aleae looked comfortable enough in this form. I have grown accustomed to seeing Wynn as a battle-hardened soldier clad in metal armor. Here she wore a dress of black and looked as unaccustomed as I was to such finery. Each was carrying an object: a cup, flowers, a cane, a fan, a comb, a harp, a book. Regular party guests, that was us.
Clarion and Cypher, on the other had, did not look normal, or even quite like warforged. They looked like men wearing a warforged costumes, including graven silvery and gold masks and matching gloves. No flesh was visible. We all seemed a bit confused, and each spent a few minutes experimenting with the new forms ( I imagine that all the magic-using folks were working hard to figure out what this place was). I hung back, hoping that they will have some guidance. I wasn't planning to bash someone with the bouquet of blue and white flowers in my hand.
It wasn't long before Aleae and Cypher moved forward in the hallway where we had appeared. To the left was an open door, and to the right, another. There were people within, and they started speaking with them. Having already noticed that the rear door was just a painting (no going back that way), I investigated the real-looking door at the opposite end of the hallway, and found it locked.
I could see that the conversation was with a bunch of other well-dressed folks, most of them wearing masks. On was wearing a red dragon mask. “Garcerix?” I whispered, but he only looked back at me and said nothing.
It didn't take long to see the heart of the problem. A robed human, with the tiger's head, and the backwards hands of a rakshasa, sat comfortably on a sofa. Dressed in a smoking jacket, he puffed away at a pipe.
I said out loud, “Avashad?”
“Yes, it would.” I say.
Aleae came forward and used the harp she had in her hands to play an elvish song of some kind. The words were in a different language, and the rakshasa did not seem pleased with it. Eventually I asked him why he was here.
“I believe it is time for civility, he said. When we asked about this place, he admitted it was not real. We already suspected this place will somehow the work of illusions, and even on Seren we have heard of rakshasas. They are masters of deception. Even copper dragons, who love trickery, do not stoop to the illusions of these fiends.
"It is designed to delay you with nonviolence," the rakshasa, who never gave his name, went on. "You may not understand this now, but it is really for the best. Some of my associates would like you to survive, and so I would ask that you simply sit down, relax, have a drink. Wait and see what’s to come. It won’t be all as unpleasant as you imagine.”
But we refused, and so the rakshasa sighed. “Very well. The rules are quite simple. For your sake, friends, let us hope you are not. Each guest here has a quandary." He indicated the masked party guests and introduced them by their "names."
"Solve it for them, politely, doing no violence, and they may give you one clue. Find all the clues and you will have the key to your only way out of here.” He indicated the front door, and that would make sense. If we were still, in truth, aboard a lightning rail cart, then that door would be facing the front. We were very close now to reaching the engine car.
I again asked the rakshasa why resort to this deception.
"Playing for time, of course,” he answered.
“Time we do not have,” I said, to him and to my friends. "This rail must not reach Sharn. We have to stop it."
So, the party gamely sets about talking with all the masked guests, gathering riddles as we try to answer. It was made clear that we could provide only one answer to each "quandary." And these quandaries were mostly riddles. Stinking rakshasas!
The woman named Lady Cockatrice indicated a painting on the wall above her: “I have neither brothers nor sisters, but this woman’s mother is the daughter of my mother. Who is the woman in the painting?”
“Your daughter” we answered after some debate.
This was correct. She gave us a piece of paper with the letter N on it.
The Chimera Brothers each had their own riddle.
The riddle of Master Lion was: "A humble seamstress is in love with the queen’s son. She goes before the queen and asks to marry her son. The queen, who has become paranoid and wishes to curry favor with her court by showing how generous she can be, considers the request. Then she makes a deal. The queen, who loves her son and wishes not to lose him to a commoner, says publicly that she will write ‘Yes’ on one scroll and ‘No’ on another. In the morning, the seamstress will have to choose one scroll randomly in front of the court. That night, the seamstress learns from a spy that the queen plans on writing ‘No’ on both scrolls. How can the seamstress be sure she gets to marry the queen’s son?”
We debated this one a lot. We answered that the seamstress must claim one scroll and open the other, showing “no” to the queen proving that the one she holds must be “yes.” That was not the answer, or least was not acceptable.
The riddle of Master Goat was: "A murderer is condemned to death. He has to choose one of three methods of execution: The first is a pit filled with the fires of Fernia. The second pit is filled with Talentan lions that haven’t eaten for three years. The third pit is filled with the blade-wielding assassins from House Phiarlan. Which pit is safest for him to enter?”
We quickly answered this one. "The pit with the dead lions in it," for not eating for three years means they would be dead.
This was correct. He gave us a piece of paper with the letter E on it.
The riddle of Master Dragon was: “A foolish thief attempts to steal from the hoard of a mighty dragon. He is caught, of course, and is brought before the dragon to receive punishment. The dragon feels merciful and tells the thief he may choose the manner of his own death. When the thief replies, the dragon lets him go free. How did the thief wish to die?”
We also solved this one after some talk. Talk that was taking much too long. "Old age” was our answer.
This was correct. He gave us a piece of paper with the letter A on it.
The riddle of Lady Drow was a game of Conqueror, the Karrnathi game of strategy which only Clarion and Wynn knew how to play. She said, “I wish to win this game. Will you let me win? If I win, I will give you what you seek. If you win, I will banish this illusion altogether.”
We agreed to let her win, and with Wynn's help Bale played her and lost.
Shee gave us a piece of paper with the letter C on it.
The riddle of Lord Griffon was odder: “I am a very jealous man. I would like you to give something to me. Give me one of your possessions—whatever you deem the most valuable. Whatever you give me, I will not give back."
It seemed as though we were meant to choose from among the objects we had carried into this illusion: a cup, a bouquet of flowers, a cane, a fan, a comb, a harp, a book. Or perhaps not. It might have been something more abstract? We were stumped.
The riddle of Lady Dark, who seemed nothing more than a pair of green slippers behind a black curtain—blocking our view of her: “Because beauty is my right and power my wage / You will not live and you will not age / Hold fast, my love, if only you will see / For only darkness can protect you from me."
We had many answers in mind: the dawn, time, a paintbrush, but we could not agree on any, so we did not yet give an answer. I think the answer might be a medusa, but I didn't say anything yet. These folks are much smarter than I am.
And somewhere, the lightning rail we are on speeds towards Sharn, and the death of a city looms.
Time. Playing for time. I hate Avashad.
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