Welcome to the Gryphon

Darvil was large man, the ladder he was currently balancing on was not. The air was heavy with moisture and had a hint of the fall weather to come on it. Everything would be covered in dew in the morning, still several hours off. In the near blackness he was slowly removing the bolts holding a faded wooden image of a phoenix from the rusted iron hanger over the door to the tavern. Jolf the cook was waiting, safely on the ground, with an equally faded placard of a gryphon in his hands. Darvil carefully passed the phoenix down and took the gryphon in return. Jolf, with a certain petulance to his voice asked " why not just leave both up and call the place the gryphon and the phoenix?". Darvil looking down from the ladder answered "Its not a bad idea, but I'd need a new bracket and with the coin I won from the smith last week at cards, he'd surely charge me three times the price. Besides if the phoenix was on top when House Haverlith was in charge, there'd be trouble, and the same if the gryphon was on top when the Graflynn's were in power. So we' be doing as much work swapping them back and forth. This way everyone will wake and know for sure that the nephew of the former Duke Haverlith has beaten the current Duke Graflynn. We are doing a public service."

"But isn't Chelwith a  freecity?" grumbled Jolf.

"No such beast" answered Darvin," the city elders pay off whichever house is currently in charge- there is nothing free about it."

"Why of all the cursed luck did Haverlith and Graflynn both have to end up here when the shatter occurred?" Asked Jolf.

"Shatter? Is that what people are calling the thing these days? I have no idea but perhaps its a question the scholars should consider. Why did certain places travel together when the world turned upside down?" Darvin wondered. "All I know is that the land has mostly been stable for the last decade, so I doubt either is going anywhere. Phawh, as long as their coin is good and they spend it in my place I don't really care. Take the phoenix sign up to the attic. I'm sure we will need it again one of these days."

What do you do with a deity....

Darvil was working his way around the common room of the inn with a heavy tray full of tankards of ale balanced on one hand. It was a good evening at the Gryphon. The weather had been fair of late and in the lands around the city the harvest was well underway and the yields were strong. He glanced into one of the darker corners of the room. Still sitting deep in the shadows was a new customer. He had been drinking for  hours now, barely speaking, just nodding and passing over his gold when asked if he required more ale. The gold was good, at least as far as Darvil could tell. An itinerant thaumaturge wandering through years ago had taught him a charm to test his coins. Behind the bar he kept a small box with true gold, silver and copper along one edge. Throw a coin in the box and say the charm and it slid to the corresponding metal. As a rule Darvil didn't care much for magic, but business was business, and for the last 10 years there were so many different kinds of coins showing up in customers pockets that he felt it was necessary. Darvil set a new tankard in front of the .... well, he wasn't quite sure if the customer was man or woman. To be honest he wasn't quite sure that the customer was human. The androgynous figure had a lithe body almost too thin and too tall for a human, and he certainly wasn't an elf. As he collected the empty tankard, Darvil heard the creature muttering over and over to himself " but I'm a god, a god..."

Darvil shook his head and laughed. "Well, maybe you've had enough of my ale for today?"

The customer looked up at him, waved his hand, and looked expectantly around the room. A slight breeze moved through the room and the candles flickered on their holders. "I am Lothnek, I control the winds, I shape mountains, men worship me." he said in confusion. "I heard my name being exalted by my followers, lead by one of my priests, begging for my intercession. Being a loving and benevolent god I chose to answer. Wouldn't they delight in my notice and glorify me all the more. I appeared before them and set the winds in motion to move a fire threatening their fields in another direction. Suddenly another being materialized, Iotholar, claiming he was the god of the winds. Long has it been since I had been in battle but my anger was aroused and I called my windlords to battle! But they didn't appear. I had but this small group of followers, one village. How their pleas even reached me I don't know. Iothaolar has thousands for every one of mine and he just laughed. Suddenly the winds would no longer do my bidding. I don't understand, I don't understand. Why am I here? What am I to do...." Lothnek had let his head dropped into his hands on the table. His body racked with ...a sob? Looking up with deep unhuman eyes he wimpered" Would you like to worship me?"

Darvil had some sympathy for the creature, not that we had any thoughts of falling to his knees in front of him." You should be thankful" he told Lothnek. "have you heard the tale of Sarna? No? Well let me tell you a story that came through here last year." Darvil set the tray down and pulled up a chair. "Somewhat like you, Sarna the Sky god in the kingdom of Hroff, chose to answer a call from his faithful. Hadn't been heard from in ages so imagine their astonishment. As they were asking for his aid he started glowing, getting brighter and brighter. Some say he began yelling out in pain as his form started shifting. The light got so bright everyone had to close their eyes and look away. When the light dies down there are two beings present. Sarna and some woman no one knows. Claims to be Celenath the day god, god of the sun. Sarna now claims to be the night god, god of the moon and stars and acts like nothing has happened. Well imagine the priests confusion. And it gets worse. Next to Hroff is a large elfland of King Imlarhan, and the elves well they have their own sun goddess -Galairidon. Now Celenath and Galairidon don't like each other and started struggling for supremacy. Miles of territory between Hroff and the elflands get plummeted into darkness as they struggle over who controls the sun. Finally Celenath demands that Hroff raise its troops and march to war, and Galairidon demands the same of Imlarhan. Now for years the Men of Hroff and the Elves have been friends, but the two armies assemble and head to battle. The fight rages,men and elves are littering the battle field, but the land between Hroff and the elves had been dark for months and before the battle's  been won by either side a huge force of goblins and orcs attacks them both. Why not? since they are perfectly happy with the darkness. Well, the men and elves end up joining forces to fight the goblns and send them running, but what a mess. After that Galairidon and Celenath reached a compromise. Galairidon kept control of the sun while Celenath choose to specialize in weather. Of course one of these days those northern barbarians and their thunderer are going to find out and where will Hroff be then? Not to mention the fact that Sarna's consort, Fairedorn, the earth goddess is feeling more than a little confused at the moment. So you see, it really could have been worse for you." Darvil chuckled as he picked up the tray and headed back to the bar.

Cursed Wizards

The evening crowd was lighter than usual thought Darvil. Even in Chelwith, about as safe a small city as you could hope for, as the days get shorter customers tended to head home earlier. The door to the main room opened and Darvil could feel the cold air even behind the massive bar. At least it was someone coming in and not leaving. Looking towards the door he saw the short stocky figure of a dwarf. A well armed dwarf, not that he was particularly worried. The city guards at the town gates did a fair job of keeping those intending on trouble out of the city. This dwarf was looking mainly tired and a bit...distant. In fact it took Darvil a moment to realize that he knew him.

"Nerglin! That is you. So you're back from whatever adventure lured you from the Gryphon."

The dwarf looked up, shook his head his eyes widening slightly as he became more aware of his surroundings. "Aye, Darvil. This is still your place? I wasn't sure what with the new sign."

"Just good business" said Darvil, " now that the Haverlith's are back in control of the surrounding territory"

The dwarf slowly worked his way to the bar before shrugging off his pack and sitting down."So there's been war here too? Eh?"

"As long as there are Haverlith's and Graflynn's there will be war around here. And since the only thing they seem to do more often than fight is to breed, I don't see that changing" answered Darvil. " but too? I figured you were off chasing gold, not blood."

"Generally true, but there are times a dwarf has to do what a dwarf has to do. Besides I owed Kailar a debt and honor demanded I repay it. Even if the cost was high, and it was high. At least for Kailar and many of my companions. But pour me some of your ale first, before I tell the tale of our struggle against the Cursed Wizards"

Lights Fantastic?

Jolf rolled over and slowly climbed out from under the thick covers of his bed. The cold crept into his joints as he carefully stood. Setting a hand to the wall he felt for the warmth of the kitchen fireplace on the other side. Years of experience told him all was well, there was still a good amount of coals keeping the base for todays stew slowly cooking. Slow cooking was the secret to all good stews and his were as much a part of the reputation of the inn as Darvil's ales. Pulling on his trousers, shirt and boots Jolf headed out of his rooms, well one large room that he had divided into sleeping and sitting rooms, next to the kitchen to begin his morning preparations. The three private rooms upstairs all had guests last night, and at least 4... or was it 5? people had paid the lower rate to stay the night in the common room. Lets see Darvil, Danby, himself, and it was Tuesday so Jessine would be here to clean this morning, he'd best use the bigger pot for the porridge today. This early in the winter Jolf still had a fair supply of dried fruit to go into it, and he'd make some sweet corn bread. That would work. First though he headed out into the courtyard to make use of the outhouse. It was still dark as he opened the door, but there was a good sized moon and he didn't bother to light a candle. Looking up into the early morning sky Jolf could see pale ripples of red and green light off to the north. While it was a little early for the winter lights he didn't think much about them. On his way back to the kitchen though the colors had changed, still pale but yellows and blues. The hairs on his neck were standing up and he had the feeling it wasn't because of the cold winter air. He'd be sure to mention it to Darvil at breakfast, but it was probably nothing.

Magik's Price

Jolf heard the splashing of water from the bucket he kept outside the kitchen door and looked up as Danby entered. " Stables are full already, I'm going to let Darvil know"

"Hold on, lad. I'll tell Darvil, I need you to go to the butcher for chickens. I want to make the stew for tomorrow. You know the one, right? On Market, not the one on Main St. The butcher on Market keeps some birds special for me" Jolf told the young man," and when you get back, start a fire for Darvil in the brew house. He needs to get another batch of ale brewing this afternoon." Jolf set down his knife as Danby headed back out the kitchen door, wiped his hands on his apron, and went out front to talk to Darvil. The color storms had returned this winter as hadn't been seen in decades. The rainbow colored lightning was the harbinger of changes to the land and even twenty years wasn't enough time to forget their effects. Travelers had been stopping earlier and earlier in the day for weeks now. No one wanted to risk being caught outside in one of them. All though, for now, no major change seemed to have happened anywhere near Chelwith. The common room was quite full for this early in the afternoon, even in winter when there was less work to do in the fields. Darvil was weaving his way through the crowd with a tray of tankards that seemed certain to go crashing to the floor at any second, but didn't. For all his grumblings about magik, Jolf again wondered if Darvil's abilities with a serving tray were completely natural."Stables full." He shouted to the inn keeper, over the noise of the room. Darvil nodded and waved one hand to let Jolf know he heard, and still everything stayed on the tray.

At one of the long benches a group of younger customers were gathered around Old Lelnard. Lelnard had served in the army of the Dukes of Haverlith In his youth, before the shatter, and before he lost his arm to the wars that had followed. He had become a talented storyteller in the years since then and clearly had this group of youngsters captivated. Jolf detoured past on the pretense of checking the pot of soup warming at the common room fire to listen in.

"Demons? Demons are just tales mothers tell to scare their children into behaving" scoffed one of the young men.

"Tell that to my right arm lad. And hope that you won't find out the truth for yourself one of these days. You've seen the lights and the lights always bring change. Rarely is that good for anyone. Twas a demon, a creature of fire and brimstone that took my arm. Burned it away in an instant with a crack of his whip. It surely was no mothers tale" spoke the storyteller. "They came during one of the worst periods of change. There was near to no stopping them at first. Herrolus, the archmage of the city of Verlyn was the one who kept them in check. It was he who created the spell to bind them to men's will. It was he who realized that the only chance was for all mages to learn the means of the binding. Rather than keep the secret to himself, he taught all who came the spells."

"Verlyn? Were is that asked one of the young men."

"It stood about two hundred leagues west of Chelwith" answered another veteran of the wars who had also moved closer to hear the conversation.

"We came from the west" challenged one of the travelers "there is no ruined city where you claim"

" I didn't say it was destroyed, like so much then, it was just gone. A casualty of the storms."

At the next table, sitting with his back to the group around Lelnard, a thin bald man in a heavy homespun tunic and hood had been listening carefully to the conversation. "Herrolus, did more than just that" the man injected into the talk."The demon plague was due to some slice of their hell being brought to this land. Simply binding them and pitting them against their brethren was just a stopgap, not a solution.  It was Herrolus who convinced all the mages he had taught, white and black, the naturalists and the ritualists, all of them, that a permanent solution was needed. It was he who lead the great work that sunk the hell land into the earth and bound the demons from freely walking the lands" spoke the stranger. "Magik must be paid though, and many say the loss of Verlyn, was the payment for their actions."

"Phaw... magik... no good comes of it. Lads do like I do and keep it as far away from you as possible" spat Darvil, who was collecting coins and replacing tankards around the table. "Jolf! Whose minding the roast in the kitchen?"

Startled, Jolf shook his head, smiled and headed out of the common room.

The man who had spoken was named Pharnyll, though no one in the Gryphon knew that. He settled back into his chair and pulled his hood tighter around his head. Perhaps it had been foolish to speak he thought. But the more time he spent in the room the more convinced he became that this time his spell would work. That here, where stories of the land had been traded since the great demon set the world on its current course, his spell would finally find a foundation to anchor it. Pharnyll would have the fame he had sought for so long, that would ensure that in years to come the storytellers would tell tales of him. And he had learned that the Inn keeper would not likely be a willing participant. So he had saved himself the blunder of asking or trying to pay for the use of the room. No it would have to be in secret, and by stealth. Finishing his ale Pharnyll pushed his chair back from the table and started for the stairs to the private room he had secured. Luckily he had paid for three nights. He would need to adjust his plan, and secure some additional supplies in town tomorrow.

It took visits to three apothecaries to find all the items Pharnyll was looking for, but by mid afternoon he had completed his preparations. That evening Pharnyll came down to the common room late. He sat, mostly by himself, listening to the conversations around the room. While he appeared to be drinking Darvil's famous ale all evening, had anyone paid close attention they might have heard the murmur of the mage's voice  and observed the golden liquid, prized by most in the room, vanishing from his tankard without his drinking it. While it was too much to hope that no one would be renting a bedroll in the common room for the night, Pharnyl was pleased that it appeared only three or four would be in the room. Not that it truly mattered, as his preparation would render any number of guests irrelevant. Heading up to his room, he listened for the sounds of the doors being barred and the inn keeper retiring for the night. Pharnyll carefully checked his equipment in the small trunk at the foot of his bed. When sufficient time passed to ensure all in the Inn were asleep he was ready. Casting a simple charm to muffle sound he opened his door and carried the trunk down to the common room. From the trunk he removed a small container of an ointment he prepared earlier in the day. He applied a generous portion of the thick paste under his nose before moving to the fireplace and throwing a bag of herbs and other ingredients on the embers. A thick smoke began to billow from the bag as he recited another incantation. Rather than traveling up the chimney as it should, the smoke poured out into the room. As if it was a sentient being the tendrils of smoke moved throughout the inn seeking it's targets. Soon everyone in the building would be in a deep sleep from which they would not awake for several hours. Finally Pharnyll was ready to begin his great working. He shivered with an excitement he could barely contain. Opening the trunk he began removing items, crystal lenses, a polished silver bowl, a small brazier, bottles of ink, bags of soil and wood, brushes, pens and more. Aligning the lenses with the four points of the compass he then placed a small glass prism at their center. Water from a leather bottle was poured out into the silver bowl. Gathering coals from the fireplace, Pharnyll carefully fed small pieces of wood and pinches of earth into the brazier and began his incantation. Over his shoulder, unnoticed by the mage, the flickering of the multicolored aurora began to condense into sharp bolts of multicolored lightning. Still he continued chanting, adding more pieces of wood, some clandestinely carved from the common room tables earlier in the evening to the brazier. His low chant continued unbroken. Finally a thick blue smoke began to form over the fire and a small whirlwind formed over the water in the bowl. Pharnyll carefully unrolled a piece of new vellum and spread it on the table top, his chant never wavering. The whirlwind gathered the smoke, the yet unused earth from its bag, it sucked in ink from the bottle and water from the bowl growing larger and larger. As he was about to release the whirlwind to complete his creation a bolt of purple lightning burst through the window of the common room knocking Pharnyll to the ground.

"Darvil, Darvil, wake up" shouted Danby while shaking the innkeeper to rouse him from his slumber. "Something is wrong, everyone is still asleep and its well past breakfast. No one has come to claim their horses! I don't know what to do. Please wake up."

Darvil slowly crawled up to consciousness as Danby continued to shake him. Finally fully awake he and the stablehand went to see to Jolf. This time a dunking in the bucket of water outside the kitchen door sped the process. The three of them went to the common room to see to the guests who had rented bedrolls for the night. Best to get them on their way before dealing with the customers in the private rooms. Entering the commons they found the remains of Pharnyll's equipment scattered across the  room. The mage himself was curled in a ball on the floor, laughing softly to himself, eyes focused on nothing and drool dribbling from the corner of his mouth.

"Magic!" snarled the innkeeper. "What has the fool done?"

"Darvil" said the stable hand excitedly pounding on Darvil's shoulder and pointing. "What's happened to the wall?"

Looking in the direction the lad was pointing Darvil saw the results of the nights work. Clearly emblazoned on the wall, rather than the vellum, was a huge map. Darvil could see Chelwith, the keeps of the Dukes of Harverlith and Graflynn, and further to the east were the mountains of Nerglin the dwarf 's clan. Beyond them were the Kingdom of Hroff and the Elfland of Imlarhan. All this occupied but a fraction of the map.

"Do you think its real?" asked Danby.

"Everything I know of looks right, but all this other land? I suppose. What I do know is this is dangerous. Who knows what trouble will come when people find out of its existence." As Darvil was speaking on the far left of the map it started to blur. Lines rearranged themselves and slowly where before the map had shown hills now a forest began to spread. Danby's face drained of color watching the map change. "Danby, I think this wall is in need of some fresh paint. Go mix up a bucket of whitewash."

Three coats later, Jolf, Danby, and Darvil gave up. No matter how much they tried the map reappeared on the wall. Instead they tacked up an old tapestry to cover part of the painting. Then they spent the next hour moving the bar and its shelves full of tankards to the wall to cover the rest.

"I always thought the bar would work better on this wall anyway" said Jolf.

It was nearly noon by the time they bundled up the mage and left him on the doorstep of St Ingvie's monastery. The monks, they figured, would do what could be done for him. Finally they woke the rest of the nights guests, served them a lunch of chicken stew (on the house), and sent them all on their way.