The dwarf held my eye for quite some time. I wasn't one for split decisions. Finally, I reckoned that I was going to have to find a rogue anyway, so it might as well be the one that stood before me. At least she was an acquaintance.
"Okay, I finally said. But not here. Let's go back to the our room at the inn."
"Very well." Feisty picked up her tools quickly and we headed back up the stairs. Much to our chagrin, there was a third party sleeping there. She was a tiny gnome dressed in wizard's robes, lying on top of the covers as if she had simple collapsed there.
"Mage?" I whisperd, jerking my thumb in that direction.
Feisty nodded. "That's a very nice staff she's carrying. Only seen one other like it. There's a cave full of trolls in the hills outside of Anvilmar. One of them's a big guy named Grik'nir the Cold...really nasty bugger. He carried a staff that looked just like hers. Shot frost bolts at me when I was just a tiny girl. I got sent on an errand into Coldridge Valley which led me to that cave--trying to find some journal that had been left there. Ran smack into that Grik'nir and barely made it out alive. Looks like that gnome had a bit better luck."
Our subject was quite still and didn't appear to be waking anytime soon, so I motioned Feisty over to my bed, which was more secluded than hers. She immediately extracted her paraphernalia and I pulled out the coffer, eager now to acquire the mantle.
Feisty worked at the box for what seemed like ah hour. She used several strange keys and picks in order to work the lock but to no avail. The stubborn clasp was determined not to open.
"Hmmmph," she said disgustedly. "I am a master picker, but this darn thing doesn't want to open." She pulled her dagger from her waist and tried to pry the catch off of the box. The silver blade flashed in the growing daylight and the several jewels on the handle would periodically emit sparks, a sure signe of a magical weapon. This didn't work either. Feisty reached for her mace and I think she would have battered it open in frustration had a voice from the other side of the room interrupted.
"You are not going to open it that way, Dwarf." The saucy looking gnome stood there with her hands on her hips. "That chest is impregnated with the Deep Magic of the Druids. Do you not see the markings across the top?"
Feeling foolish, I turned to the gnome. She was cute as gnomes come, with jet black hair pulled into two jaunty pony tails. Her eyes were as black as her hair and she wore a red and gold tabard that I recognized. She was guilded. A group called The Order of the Phoenix.
You would think that dwarfs and gnomes, being both small in stature, would have developed a common bond over the centuries but these two races merely tolerated each other. The gnomes were had high intellect and were very spirited. The looked at the dwarfs as if they were buffoons. Dwarfs, on the other hand, were agile and had great stamina. What they lacked in knowledge, they made up for in personality. In less important circumstances, their interaction might have been interesting for me to observe. Now, I just wanted to open the box and extract the Mantle of Myriad.
"I suppose you think you can do better?" Feisty challenged.
"Certainly, I can." The gnome replied. "The runes on the top give me the spell."
"Go for it then," said the dwarf and bowed.
"Rexena the Patient, at your service," the gnome said to me, pointedly ignoring the trace of sarcasm that Feisty had shot her. "For the Alliance!" With that, she pulled a golden tipped wand from the pack behind her. Red sparks flew from its tip as she waved it over her subject, muttering words in the gnomish language that I did not understand. The lid slowly began to open. Eagerly, Feisty and I looked into the box. To my dismay, it was empty.
"What the..." my new friend began, looking at the mage with a bit of suspcion, but Rexena was still chanting. As I watched, the contents of the box revealed itself. At first, there was a transparent, gossamer-like dust that clung to the air, and then the objects become more opaque until they were solid. There was a ring with a cracked emerald stone, a common fishing bauble, several unusual looking gold coins and a cloth like none I had ever seen before. It undulated and glittered, changing colors as we watched: blue, purple, pink, silver, green and blue again. I had never beheld anything so beautiful.
"The Mantle of Myriad," I breathed in excitement.
"That," intoned the gnome, "Is NOT the Mantle of Myriad. That cloak is a fake."
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