Dear Spellbook,

Last night after I stopped writing, Dagmar tried to get me to try a “mild” dwarven ale. He explained the stuff I had back in town was the garbage they sold to the surface, and it was no wonder I grew ill. After assuring me the premium ales in the Dahn would be safe, we shared a drink. He either lied or was wrong. I suspect the former. With no more clarity potions, I just woke up from an entire day of rest.

Riloth the 19th the 67th

The moment I woke, my thoughts were racing. That dirt eater murdered me! He’s insane. I’m trying to help him, and he kills me? Well, if he thought I was a demon before I’ll show him.

Leaving the Parlor the next morning, when the security noticed Dagmar I acted as if I had only just then seen him. Feigning shock I told the guards, “Oh my gods, that’s him! That’s the dwarf that robbed me on the road into town!”

Looking from me to the dwarf, the taller guard, whose name I really should bother to learn, asked, “Are you sure?”

“How often do you see disheveled dwarves on the surface?” I replied.

Nodding, the two guards approached the dwarf. Pulling restraints from their pockets, they roused the dwarf with less sympathy than before, “Wake up, vagrant!”

“Alright, I’ll go, just leave me alone!” the dwarf shouted.

“You won’t be going anywhere but to a cell until we get this theft business sorted out,” the shorter guard said, reaching to restrain the dwarf.

The dwarf’s face, seeing me behind the guards, turned from irritation to rage. He pulled the short guard to the ground and then stole the sword out of the scabbard of the other. Prepared for something like this, I summoned a Gust, pinning the dwarf to the wall. He fought it, but the two guards were able to restrain him and drag him to a holding cell in a room set behind the baths.

After the guards had left him, I activated Arcane Armor and sat outside his cell. “Are you ready to talk?” I asked through the bars.

“Go shtup a cave troll,” he responded, spitting at me to emphasize the point. The spit was deflected off the armor.

“My name is Tal, can you tell me yours?” I asked, ignoring the spit.

“Go shtup a cave troll, Tal.”

Since he didn’t feel the need to talk, he could listen. “Fine, don’t talk just listen. I’ve been stuck here for months now. I lost count exactly. As far as I can tell, the only person aware of these resets so far—besides me—is you. Also, possibly some pack rats. I was hoping we could work together to try to figure all of this out.”

He didn’t respond. I tried for another hour to convince him I was in this situation the same as he was, but he refused to speak. Eventually, I gave up and left, determined to try again tomorrow. Not having any other plans for the day, I visited Ren for another training session. Getting beat by the dwarf lit a fire under me to learn. The golems were not something I felt the need to gauge my ability against, and everyone else I’d faced so far in this place I had defeated... eventually. The dwarf was something else. He was clearly very skilled in combat, I could have beaten him had I kept my distance and not underestimated him, but it would have been close.

Ren’s training was nearly identical to the last time. Until I exhibited noticeable increases in ability, I didn’t expect the training to change much.

On the way back from Ren’s, I poked my head into the Dragon’s Den and bought their only bottle of Dwarven Fungal Wine. Yeah, it didn’t sound good to me either, so I also got him some of the strongest rum they had and some mushroom stew that was said to be popular amongst the dwarves.

When I entered the detention area a new security guard I had never seen before greeted me, "Master Theral I presume? We have some questions for you about the prisoner if you wouldn't mind."

Handing the man a gold coin I said, "Actually I do mind. Can you give us a moment?"

Nodding and accepting the bribe, the guard stepped outside.

The dwarf was sitting on the floor, still staring at the wall. In a gentle tone, I said, "I brought you something. I'm sorry about ruining your, uh," I paused trying to think of a word to describe his manic dash, "plans for the day. I hope this can make up for it." I placed the alcohol and food on the floor, where he could reach, and walked out.

Passing the guard I said, "You know, it’s the strangest thing. There must have been another dwarf out on the road robbing people. What are the odds? Do you mind letting him go?"

The guard did as I asked, but I went into the Parlor while he did so. I didn't want to risk another incident in case my peace offering was rejected. I spent the rest of the night at the baths rereading Halflings, Full Hearts.

Riloth 19th the 68-69th

The next morning I woke to the sense that something was amiss. Without opening my eyes, I could tell that someone else was there. A smell like onions and unwashed feet filled the room. Focusing in an effort to not show that I was awake, I cast Arcane Armor. Casting without moving is possible, but is hard and requires focus; not something I could normally do in my hungover morning state, but could when given five minutes undisturbed.

Opening one eye the barest crack revealed a blurry figure, inches from my face.

“Good morning Tal, I wanted to repay your hospitality from yesterday,’ he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. I opened my eyes fully to see him standing between my bed and the window, my rapier in one hand and fake-spellbook in the other.

“I came here planning to murder you in your sleep, so I could move on and be done with you. Actually, I did that yesterday,” he paused to let that sink in.

My mind raced, trying to remember. Could that be true? Would I have noticed if I had died before even waking up? But there was nothing, the last thing I remembered was going to bed the night before.

He smiled, “Imagine my surprise while rifling through your bags next to your corpse when I found a book with the Sigil of the Wardens on it. So Tal, tell me, where did you get the book?”

I weighed my options. If I attacked him, I might be able to surprise him, but what then? Even if he didn’t really kill me the day before, he is clearly able to wake up before me in the reset and could (I later confirmed that he had in fact done so). If I was honest, maybe he’d listen. If I lied? I didn’t even know what this man wanted, so lying seemed unwise.

“I have no idea what the Sigil of the Wardens is, but what you are holding is Spellbook, er, my spellbook,” I said, going with honesty.

He put the tip of my sword near my face, “You’re telling me you have this spellbook, and you don’t even know what it is? Bah! I don’t believe that for a second.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t know what the spellbook was,” I replied, trying to ignore the sword. “I said I don't know what that sigil is. How do you know what that spellbook is?”

"You have this and you don't know the Hardune?" he asked, waving you around.

I should mention, we had been speaking in Torcish the whole time. When he said Hardune, it was a word I didn't know, but most Torcish words are often just other words mashed together. “Har” meant guard and “dune” prison so, I heard it as "guardprison".

I tried parsing it aloud in Rilith, "Guard-prison? Prison guard... Warden?"

He lowered the sword, "Slag. You really don't know what this is? The Hardune? Either that or you're a great liar."

He started pacing around the room, muttering to himself, "He's just a shortbeard. Not a demon... probably, unless this is a long con. But that's not their style. So why's this meddling ferret here. Hmmmm," he kept pacing, lost in thought.

I sat there in my bed, hoping wherever his thoughts landed it would not result in my eternal deaths. After a minute of this he stopped, turned abruptly to me, and said, "Alright, so. You are probably not a demon. Sorry about killing you."

"Don't mention it."

"I was under the assumption that I was in Fauell, but your appearance makes that less likely. If this isn't Fauell, I was not forsaken by Torc, and if I wasn't forsaken I don't have to stay here. I can possibly escape. So, you're going to help me do that."

Relief flooded me and I spoke without caution, "Okay, great. I'm glad we are past the demon thing. And I'm really glad you've come around on trying to escape. Believe me, but you are going to have to explain a few things first. Namely, what do you know about that spellbook.”

“You really are a shortbeard. You tell me where you found this book, and I’ll tell you about this.”

Emboldened, I pressed on, “No. The way I see it, the only thing I have of value to you is the origin of that spellbook. So as soon as I tell you that, what's to stop you from killing me each morning to keep me out of your hair? I only locked you up. You killed me. I think you owe me.”

As I spoke, I could see his grip tighten on my sword as his anger began to build, but when I mentioned that he killed me, he winced. “Aye, that's fair. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

Taking advantage of the shift in mood, I asked, “Do you mind if we don’t do this here? I feel terrible. I drank some dwarven ale... yesterday? A few months back? Either way, I have been paying for it every morning since.” He smelled terrible, and I needed to get out of this room.

“BAH HA HA!” he bellowed, “That explains the sorry state. It took you ages to cast that armor spell. Sure, let’s go.”

“I need to pick up a few things, why don’t you head down to the baths here and clean up. Is that something dwarves do? Clean up? I know you worship Torc, but it’s okay to, you know, bathe right?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of my caution.

He continued laughing, even harder now, “Aye we do. I have to admit, I have let myself go.”

I gave him directions to the baths and told him to charge it to the room of Theral Stormcaller. Bringing my sword, I went to Levar’s, got my potions—with extra for the dwarf who still hadn’t told me his name—by leaving my sword as collateral, and picked up some coffees on my way to find the dwarf outside the baths. He was not ready when I got there, so I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

After an hour had passed, I gave up and walked in to find him passed out in the changing room, thankfully clothed and bathed.

I kicked him off the bench to wake him, “I brought you some pick-me-ups. Here,” I said, handing him the potions and coffee.

He gave each potion a perfunctory sniff before downing them, unfazed by the foul taste. “You Waatin sure are a backward folk, but one thing you do right is potions. The gnomes come close. They’ll never admit it, but you found yourselves a marvel here.” he said, reveling in the absence of fatigue.

I didn’t want to have any conversation where Tilavo could hear, so we headed out to the Sleeping Owlbear Inn to have a private chat. By then it was past two and most of the patrons were out and about, so the tavern was empty. I ordered a roasted duck, and the dwarf ordered an “Etney” of ale, which the barkeep, to my surprise, understood and gave a broad smile.

“Etney, the inverse of ‘end’?” I asked, “What's that?”

Surprisingly, he seemed eager to explain my inquiries into dwarven culture, “Endless. They bring me ale until they run out, or I stop. Though the piss water you Waatin have can hardly be called ale. Where did you get that mushroom wine anyway? It was halfway decent. The best thing I've drunk in months.”

“The Dragon’s Den.” I answered.

To which he slammed his mug on the table and shouted, “That racist bastard! I knew they had the good stuff. They said I couldn’t come in because of my appearance, but I knew what that prissy man at the entrance really meant.”

Not wanting to argue or explain dress codes, or remind him of his odor of a few hours past, I just nodded. “So you were going to explain some things to me. Can you start with your name?”

At that, he began his tale. “My name is Dagmar Har’Tokar, and I am the only surviving member of the Hardune, the guardians of the Avatar, and I fear that Kaltis is doomed.”

Spellbook, I need to stop here. I think it might be best if I have him tell the story anyway. I’ve been meaning to get him to write it down. We are preparing to bring everyone into the Dahn, but we need to make sure we found and “disabled” all the security measures first. Which, unfortunately, involves a lot of dying. Dagmar just returned from waking up outside the Dahn, so now it's my turn.