Hall of Infinite Doors
You strip your muddy boots and stockings off and leave them lying next to the star-embroidered mat just outside the cave entrance, wiggling your six long toes contentedly. Then you heft your basket on one arm and give the brass bell set into the rock a single sharp ring before pushing aside the curtain door and stepping inside.
The interior is dimly lit--the green glowichen that grows from the walls is in rather sorry shape and you remind yourself to tend to it later--and as always every table is covered with piles of books and scrolls inked all over with your master's chicken-scratch, but not quite as usual is the fact that a good portion of the floor is as well, and the books have been carelessly tossed here and there as though someone tore through them in a hurry.
Master Beonard is not in the main chamber, nor in his bed, but you soon find him in his courtyard, or the 'Chamber of the Heavens' as he calls it. Here the rock ceiling curves into a dome, artfully smoothed and carved all over with points and lines similar to the ones on the mat outside and accented with what must be a much hardier variety of white glowichen than that found in the common rooms.
Dominating the center of the courtyard is a large machine that you're told he uses for viewing the overworld, all shining brass and glass, the bulk of which forms a great riveted tube leading up (and up and up, or so you're led to believe) through the ceiling. It is at this machine that the withered old human now hunches in a tattered robe, adjusting a knob here and there and muttering to himself excitedly.
"Master," you say, holding out your basket, the wet bundles of pale green plant matter inside just a shade lighter than your skin, "I gathered the marshweed you wanted. Shall I--"
Here you are interrupted as the Beonard whirls around with a speed you wouldn't think a man of his age would be capable of, his eyes shining with a strange intensity.
"Gusheegi, you're back! Excellent!" Not even bothering with his cane he half hops, half limps to a nearby table, nearly tripping in his hurry. Grabbing up a scroll lying near a fresh pot of ink he rolls it up and hastily seals it. "Here, I need you to take this to the castle, as quickly as you can! Deliver it to the king and--."
"The castle!" you sputter, "The king! Master, you can't be serious, they'll never let me in the gates, let alone near the king! They'd cut my head off for even trying!"
Master Beonard pauses, frowning. "Hmm...now that IS a problem I hadn't considered...but this message MUST be delivered..." He remains silent a moment, deep in thought, then his face brightens. "Aha! I know! Deliver the scroll to my nephew Valincent! He's a respected member of the Overguard, surely HE can get an audience." Thrusting the scroll into your hand, he continues, "There there, go on now, that's a good goblin. There's no time to waste!"
You accept the scroll, but hesitate. You've never seen your master like this, and you wonder what's gotten him so agitated.
"Umm..."
The interior is dimly lit--the green glowichen that grows from the walls is in rather sorry shape and you remind yourself to tend to it later--and as always every table is covered with piles of books and scrolls inked all over with your master's chicken-scratch, but not quite as usual is the fact that a good portion of the floor is as well, and the books have been carelessly tossed here and there as though someone tore through them in a hurry.
Master Beonard is not in the main chamber, nor in his bed, but you soon find him in his courtyard, or the 'Chamber of the Heavens' as he calls it. Here the rock ceiling curves into a dome, artfully smoothed and carved all over with points and lines similar to the ones on the mat outside and accented with what must be a much hardier variety of white glowichen than that found in the common rooms.
Dominating the center of the courtyard is a large machine that you're told he uses for viewing the overworld, all shining brass and glass, the bulk of which forms a great riveted tube leading up (and up and up, or so you're led to believe) through the ceiling. It is at this machine that the withered old human now hunches in a tattered robe, adjusting a knob here and there and muttering to himself excitedly.
"Master," you say, holding out your basket, the wet bundles of pale green plant matter inside just a shade lighter than your skin, "I gathered the marshweed you wanted. Shall I--"
Here you are interrupted as the Beonard whirls around with a speed you wouldn't think a man of his age would be capable of, his eyes shining with a strange intensity.
"Gusheegi, you're back! Excellent!" Not even bothering with his cane he half hops, half limps to a nearby table, nearly tripping in his hurry. Grabbing up a scroll lying near a fresh pot of ink he rolls it up and hastily seals it. "Here, I need you to take this to the castle, as quickly as you can! Deliver it to the king and--."
"The castle!" you sputter, "The king! Master, you can't be serious, they'll never let me in the gates, let alone near the king! They'd cut my head off for even trying!"
Master Beonard pauses, frowning. "Hmm...now that IS a problem I hadn't considered...but this message MUST be delivered..." He remains silent a moment, deep in thought, then his face brightens. "Aha! I know! Deliver the scroll to my nephew Valincent! He's a respected member of the Overguard, surely HE can get an audience." Thrusting the scroll into your hand, he continues, "There there, go on now, that's a good goblin. There's no time to waste!"
You accept the scroll, but hesitate. You've never seen your master like this, and you wonder what's gotten him so agitated.
"Umm..."