Session IV

Welcome dear reader. Last we left off, our heroes were outside the suspect establishment of Dilly Dally's, this scrawled in paint as though a child had written it upon a length of canvas, which was then tied to two poles, haphazardly nailed to the front of a puppet show facade, with a person-sized door cut out of the middle, and a haphazardly nailed together set of boards that acted as the door, but was left fallen on the ground. Though we say 'person-sized', it should be noted that it was not so tall as to allow even the average mortal to pass through the door without stooping let alone Cat.

Inside this establishment, they encountered something for which Anbaerin is famed -- its weirdness. Most other societies might cry "Dark magic!" or "Demons!" upon seeing such a scene. While not entirely wrong, the weirdness is as integral to Anbaerin as Emrine Pastel's corner sausage roll cart, Pastel's Sausage. No, this was more the everyday faire of Anbaerin's weirdness, but, the reader will no doubt be able to ascertain on their own, a villainous twist -- which is also not entirely unusual for Anbaerin, no matter how good of a job the guards do. Therefore, we shan't philosophize overmore, and we shall describe to you our readers of the goings on in this little shop as we know them.

Betwixt two establishments as they were, our heroes entered Dilly Dally's and met a most curious person, Dillan Dallywhack who, upon seeing, them immediately welcomed them and invited them to peruse his wares, and that he was selling everything for a steep discount! Upon the surface this seems a grand opportunity, as many of the items our poor Dillon had to sell were, indeed, magical. However, we have it on good authority, that these items were instead marked up considerably, which is not too much to imagine, since the establishment -- if we may continue to call it that -- was ill thought out and poorly taken care of, our worthy Dillon unaccustomed to his wares and ignorant of their value, and our proprietor seemed, unfortunately, gullible. It is at this time that I believe it necessary to describe Mr. Dallywhack. He was a shorter than average, human male -- apparently. I say 'apparently' because his face was so obscured with white face powder than it was hard to tell too much, an unfortunate consequence of 'sampling' the merchandise, we're afraid. Though his likely human visage was greatly obscured, it should be noted that his eyes were dark, and tired, and his nose enflamed -- red, as though constantly irritated. All together, Mr. Dallywhack looked rather disheveled and comical at once.

But in he welcomes our heroes, and askes them to find what they like, though mindless as to what his wares actually do; he is a most unhelpful retailer. He also makes the stipulation that, "You touch it, you buy it!", which, we conjecture, is because sales were poorly. However, Cobb, ever the optimist -- at least when it comes to selfish ambition -- decides to touch a porcelain frog, of course before he's heard the rule, and something strange occurs. Cobb our dear, and froggiest, hero is stuck. He cannot move, but he can speak, seemingly from the porcelain frog, and see through its eyes. The purpose of such a device? We can hardly say. That would wax philosophical, which we have, as the studious readers among will have remembered, promised not to over do, so we will leave it to our readers' speculations -- which is far more satisfying, for all involved, we're sure.

As it happens, then, the party learns of Dillon's spending his life savings on some Girl Boss marketing scheme, and spends an incredible sum of 500g to procure said goods as he has displayed, and was delivered a large box of ceramic and porcelain figurines and some other knick-knacks. All of which, the party comes to the conclusion, are cursed! A pitiable figure to be sure! That someone would swindle Mr. Dallywhack out of 500g of savings, from a puppet show of all things! That is until our heroes learned that he was recently gifted an inheritance of 497g from his unknown parents, whom he did not know because he grew up in an orphanage. It is a flurry of conundrums, to be sure, but of one thing we can be sure, Mr. Dallywhack is, unfortunately, a witless and gullible individual -- truly pitiable among all people. Or perhaps not, for from a certain other perspective he had decided to use such sudden wealth in the pursuit of more wealth.

The party moves on, after leaving Mr. Dallywhack stuck on the porcelain frog, with a ravenous letter opener in Cobb's frog-hands, and finds a different magic shop, one that looks entirely like an actual magic shop, and is not a psuedo-shop of little inconveniences. No instead, the shop was well maintained and stocked by a human female, whom we presume was an accomplished wizard to own such a store, named Lillan, and was called The Wandering Wand. Here the party stops and chats and finds Lillan a rather companionable person. So much so, in fact, that the party, or rather Aerith, extends the offer to become friends and to join them at the Beggar's Respite, of which Lillan knows nothing of, but is eager to learn of. City life, after all, can be a lonesome existence.

After some deliberations, the party agrees to think on their purchases, at which point, Cat starts to wonder off. Not wishing to find themselves in a similar situation as the events of the previous day, which we can hardly fault such friends for wishing to avoid, they instead make their good-byes with the proprietress, and set out in search of fun -- of the variety that one such as Cat would call 'fun'.

And it is not long before they find a tower of a man, and his fellow guardsmen, at rest beside the Caravan Road that spirals down through the city. It is not our wish to divert our readers' attentions from our principal actors in this history, but as students of history ourselves, we would be committing a great disservice if we did not say but two words about Anbaerin's guards. So, it is without further delay that we will describe to you, our dear readers, the Guard as they were in this day, for the Guard has undergone many iterations, dependent on any myriad of factors that we will not bore the reader with here. Thus, we should start by saying that the Guard of Anbaerin were not a policing force, strictly speaking, rather they were first and foremost a military service, in the service of the Lord Anbaer, separate and distinct from Anbaerin's standing army, or the Naval Corps, and they enjoyed a slightly more leisurely existence, as I'm sure our perspicacious readers have already discerned, as the Guard our heroes have landed in front of seem to be at their leisure, than either of their counterparts, that is save for the Palace Guard, perhaps, which were the premier elite fighting force of Anbaerin that guarded the Lord of the City with their lives.

These worthies that found themselves in the service of the City, and thereby its Lord, were, though leisurely at times -- to be sure, no laggards, otherwise they would have certainly been summarily dismissed from the service, and rightly so. Anbaerin with its some eight million people, by census records, required a diligent eye and an honorable heart to both seek out injustice, whereby they might swiftly punish any villain, and protect the people under their charge, for events are ever churring in the City, truly, without sleep.

It is in front of such gentlemen as these that our party finds themselves, and before them that they put the question of "play" before. Our principal guard in this story, a certain Radden Steinabrook, discerned that by play, the party meant a most sportsmanly kind of play, not the play that many a cocksure miscreant might pretend at when they brandish steel before the guard, figuring -- most incorrectly -- the guard as mere pretenders at play themselves. Rather, our Guardsman Steinabrook, perceived, as was a desirous skill in his profession, that this bandaged man and companion, were merely seeking such pastimes as practitioners of martial arts are want to seek, a friendly fight to unconsciousness.

As such, Steinabrook, which we will take two words to describe, as we are sure our readers would thank us for, having similar proclivities, volunteered himself. Corporal, for such was his rank, Steinabrook was a marked sight among the guards. An almost looming figure, if not for his noble bearing, at 7 feet tall, with a physique that made him look well porportioned, as if the average man were scaled up, instead of his 7 foot frame leaving one looking lean and spindly for their height as is frequently the case. His jaw was well defined, his eyes a brown that gleamed amber in the light, and the brow of a genial gentleman whom found easy friends.

This man, our Steinabrook, offered himself as tribute for our friend, Cat, and, keen as Steinabrook was, for though a warrior, he was sharp of mind -- as we have had the honor to describe that all guards must be -- he ascertained, rather accurately as our readers will soon see, that someone so desirous of play as our Cat might also like to know of a man more deserving of such play for he was one of more villainous lifestyles, one Jules Newcourt, by whom, Steinabrook admitted quite frankly, he had been bested.

With glee, that only Cat could express, a time was made to seek this friendly contest of play, and the party then proceeded with their goal of searching for a remedy for dear Cobb. Which they set out at once to do. In fact, they went straight to the source, so to speak, and found themselves at The Arcanum, of which our readers are certainly familiar with, but we shall take a moment, briefly, to describe, should there be a reader among you that might be left behind. The Arcanum, that famed and prestigious institution, occupied nearly an entire quarter of Anbaerin's Second Tier. the grounds themselves were filled with gardens and forested paths, such that one might forget that they were even within the grand white walls of Anbaerin. Towering above the trees, however, stood the Arcane wrought building, constructed by Feldon Cyrwic himself. The architecture reminiscent of many religious cathedrals, particularly, those of Hedin's bent. The sprawling complex of wings and corridors and dormitories and libraries and classrooms and laboratories spanned deep into the crust of Alar, and high into the sky, dwarfed only by the Silver Spires of the Lord's Palace. Within these storied halls, one would find a wealth of art that would put most museums to shame, cast in the glow of stained glass windows depicting various themes of the Arcane, from important events, to Arcanic formulae that would be used to designate the purpose of the hall one found oneself in, to beloved Arcanists who wrought history from their spellcraft, to simply beautiful representations of the natural world.

And we cannot fail to mention the acclaimed faculty of this momentous institution, one of which our heroes encounter shortly after entering the grand Hall of Promise, as all Arcanists must when they first enter the academy. The faculty, were among the most known and famed Arcanists of their day, eclipsed only by the prevailing fad of Archmages of the day, but perhaps only because these Archmages were louder, not for any deficit of skill, power, or character. It is to these legends of the Arcane, that many would come and entrust themselves to learn and to grow. And grow many would! The Arcanum is not known for producing the strongest mages in all the world, no they are known for producing the best mages in all the world, which we hope our readers will forgive us for this slightest of distinctions -- but one that we must protest is an important distinction, nonetheless. For though, stronger mages have been produced from academies the world over, and even at other academies within Anbaerin itself, power in The Arcane is not the only desirous quality for a mage. Far from it, a mage must also know their limits, must apply rigorous wisdom and knowledge to all arcane tasks, and further more, must know the theories of The Arcane perhaps better than even themselves. All of which provide a control and finesse with spellcraft that other academies have not been able to match, even the spiritual sibling of The Arcanum, The Lightwing Academy in Valla.

Thus, our friends find themselves in the diligent care of one Arawn Valadin, Professor of Illusion and Alchemy. It should be said that Arawn was a principle contributor to the arcanic theories concerning illusions, how the mortal brain interprets magical phenomena, and arcane chemistry, in some ways Arawn was more influential than Archmage Senmai of the academy of his own name in the progress of illusion magic. In Professor Valadin's care, then, our friends were taken back to his study, where he entreated them in an interview, as he had some time before his next class. And it is here that Cobb described his predicament to the best of his ability, for he, only an initiate in the Arcane Arts, relative to Arawn, certainly, and a student of the Sahiradim, who prioritize function over substance, was able to explain for our dear Cobb that it appears that his body, or soul, has been fundamentally changed -- something thought impossible by the Arcane Arts -- to that of a frog, whereby he keeps his mental faculties, though has lost much of his magical potential. Arawn speculates over what could have caused this and hypothesizes that it was likely a consequence of the inherent risks of spellcraft, either due to overconfidence as our worthy Aerith proposed, or by some mistake or lapse in judgement.

Professor Valadin informs the party that most anything is possible with The Arcane, but whether a mortal can harness such power, or even know that the possibility exists, is a much different story, and one that the Arcanic Sciences have sought to overcome for generations. In any case, the party -- or rather Cobb -- should be glad that he did not end existence or explode the laboratory he was working in, or summon some ungoldy monstrosity to terrorize the Sahiradim. Though, it would also have been more preferable for the spell to have simply fizzled -- as is the technical term for a defunct spell without repercussions. However, this is where Arawn's expertise extends, at least where the form of a person is concerned, and instead calls in the estimable Syble Thornwood, whom we will endeavor to explain to the reader in some detail in the future, and calls for tea while the party waits for her arrival.