View source for Baldir BW XXXI

“So, my Lord, you ask that we move the Gate that our cousins discovered in the deep, protected woodlands of the ancient west to an ill-conceived and vulnerable hole in the ground.”  The elf’s eyes burned with a fierce intensity.  His long blond hair fell straight, like a golden waterfall, beyond his shoulders and was loosely held in place by a platinum chain that was attached to a white gold circlet adorning his head.  Strong cheek bones and a sturdy, fixed jaw added to his resolute appearance.  His challenging words were backed by his righteous countenance.  Dressed in the brightly coloured, highly polished ceremonial armour of his race, he took a pace across the marble floor towards the half-elf that stood opposite him.

Leaning casually on a white staff the young wizard replied, “I would not put it so, my friend…” He returned the gaze and defused the atmosphere with a gentle smile of friendship and twinkling blue eyes.  His black hair was well kept, combed into a centre parting and held in place with an intricate gold and sapphire chain. It was as if the mage had thought through every possible argument and came to the same conclusion each time. It was not possible for the elf to have the same insight, and the mage knew it. For his part, the wizard would play the game – he needed this friendship. Turning slightly, he opened his arms in a demonstration of sincerity and trust.

Standing still, bronze encased arms folded across his golden breast plate, the elf pressed, “But the answer is yes, is it not?”

The mage nodded and took a pace towards his friend before saying, “We must protect ourselves from invasion; we cannot withstand yet more evil on this Prime.”

“And what of the gate nearest the Gnomes?” The elf raised his right arm and pointed out of the window in a swift stabbing motion.  “They have not served us well in this endeavour.” 

“No, that is true,” replied the younger half-elf slowly, moving his head from side to side whilst maintaining his and gaze and gentle smile, “you must trust me – Unglak is repentant.”

“That he might be, my Lord, but regret is of little use against such wickedness.”  Arms re-folded and head finally bowed, the elf’s tone was less confrontational. A shadow passed across the elf’s face as though he recalled some deep sorrow.

“Really?” replied the mage, stretching an arm and raising the elf’s face so that their eyes met once again, “I think it is a powerful tool.  We will not be surprised again, my friend.”

“I understand your intent, Lastar,” stated the elf without emotion, before turning away to look out of the high-arched open window.  After a moment of thought the elf continued, “We have the tools to further confuse our enemies; however, it will only be of use for those of the inner planes – Gates we understand.”

“Go on,” said the mage as if he were hearing this for the first time.

“Well,” the elf turned back to face Lastar before continuing, “we need a sequence – something involving time, as it seems to be unaffected by the existence of the Inner Planes; however, if we decide that time governs the sequence, we will be unable to affect the access to the Prime from the Outer Planes.”

The mage gave his friend the dignity of at least pondering his findings; “I understand,” he said pretending to consider it deeply, “it is a start.”  

It was Lastar’s turn to examine the white-blue marble at his feet, “I think it impossible to govern the Astral, through which we are subject to the divine influences – nor should we perhaps.” Now deep in thought, the mage strode rhythmically across the cold floor, his soft boots making the slightest patter as he did so. “Instead of governance,” he said mostly to himself, “we must seek to reduce the risk.” Lastar took a pipe from one of his long, blue, ermine-trimmed sleeves and lit it from a small, thick candle that was perched on a high table in a corner of the room.   

As if unwilling to interrupt the mage’s thought, the elf spoke in whispered tones, “We have become aware of other influences – not divine per se – but probably caused by fait and time.” 

That piqued the younger, half-elf’s interest, “Oh?” he asked, interrupting a draw on his glowing pipe to exhale and examine his friend once again through the writhing, pale-grey smoke.

“Yes, my Lord,” the elf began again and this time it was his turn to pace, “there have always been influences on the Prime – not just good and ill,” he stated, logically setting out the background. “Influences over the natural order of things – some beneficial, some very much less so – without which the Prime would cease to be.”

“I understand: all life comes to an end on the Prime, even yours Gelmir,” came the smiling response, obscured by a belch of thick white smoke.
Stationary now and nodding his agreement, the elf faced the mage and continued, “It does, and not all genesis is for good or demise for ill.  We believe a new bourn is neither good nor ill: it is innocent of such things. There could be hidden forces at work that govern the Prime’s tendency (over time) towards life or death.”  Gelmir brushed a stray hair from his face and began to pace again, “There is no evil in the destruction created by natural events - a volcano or a violent storm for example, though some would have us believe differently.  And there is no good in the sun coming up after a dark night, although we tend to hope that there is.”  Looking out of the window into the bright morning light, Gelmir finished wistfully, “Even Frey has no control of that supernatural force.”

“Thank you,” the mage replied absentmindedly, “I thought as much.” Rubbing his stubble, the half-elf moved next to his friend at the window and stared out across the rolling green pastures beyond the silver river. “I guessed there was little we could do about the natural order of things on the Prime; however, what can we do about foreign influences that choose to affect us?”

“Well,” Gelmir decided against challenging the mage’s lack of gratitude, “we should harness part of the force that governs us – time.” He let that hang, like a work of art. Surely the mage would not have grasped that.  

“Really?” ah ha, Gelmire had his interest now, “How?” asked the mage turning to face the elf, pupils dilating to cope with the difference in light. 

Gelmir spoke rapidly, not wishing to miss the opportunity to say something that the mage might not have considered, “Orodruin tells me that his folk can make such powerful contraptions that would sequence the movement of the location of all portals such that their alignment to the natural gates, to which they were subject, can be moved physically.  This sequence is aligned to our narratives of each Age.”

Lastar began to pace again, considering the permutations, “How so?” he asked, once again coming to a halt next to the elf.

Meeting his gaze, it was the elf’s turn to smile, “Well, as you know, our greatest scribes and scholars recall the passing of time: the greatest deed – for good or ill – is recorded in our codicils.  The Eldar of each Elven House, in consultation with their own Gods, proclaim the passing of eras – an Age in common. This judgement is not aligned to a single act or deed but more where many events tally, are grouped and indicate a change over time.  We have done this since the Creation on our own Planes and have continued to do so since our ships came ashore on the Prime.”   

None of this was news to the mage, who looked at the elf impassively before asking, “And this will do what?”

“Once we have recorded the passing of an Age, Orodruin has assured us that he can change the portals to face a different gate in sequence – like the passing of seasons in a solar year.” The elf smiled at the mage with genuine mirth.

Lastar was less joyful, “But just for the Inner planes?” he asked, showing his real concern lay elsewhere.

Smile gone, Gelmir replied, somewhat haughtily, “Yes; as I have said, the portals are less controllable where they interact with Planes of greater power or those influences that affect all Planes.  Indeed, we believe these Natural Gates are uncontrollable.”

“But the Astral is multifarious,” mused the mage, “Is not some of it controllable?”  Turning back to look out the window, he let the question float on his exhaled smoke that gently wafted toward his friend.

“Yes,” thought Gelmir out loud, “but we have little knowledge of where all access to the Prime is revealed.” The elf stretched out his right arm and shifted his weight to lean against the window arch, half turned to face the mage.

Lastar copied him, using his left arm and half turning inwards towards Gelmir, they framed the window.  “That is why I need your folk, indeed all folk, to look more carefully.  We have seen what happens when great powers access the Prime from the Astral – witness Orcus’ rampage from Rodrus.”

“Yes, my Lord, we have – the second born suffering most,” Gelmir nodded solemnly, looking at the marble once again. 

Standing up straight and with more purpose now, Lastar patted his friend’s shoulder, “Indeed, then we need the second born to do more.” Gelmir’s quizzical look prompted the mage to continue, “We must entreat them also to protect the Gates, and accept that Orodruin will change them in accordance with your Calendar.  In return, we must give their Lords strength against that which might arrive on the Prime, despite our protection.”  Lastar’s thoughts were finally released, tumbling from his mind in quick succession, “We should also encourage them to move beyond the Prime and parley with the greater beings on the Inner Planes to dissuade them from offering aid to those that would align against us.  Finally, we all must have a way of communicating rapidly, such that the Council might be informed if such defences are lost.”

“Yes, my Liege,” agreed Gelmir realising that the mage had known all of what he had been saying and had already decided on several courses of action; however, one of the things the mage had just said bothered the elf the most, “What additional ‘strength’ had you in mind?”

“Well, that is the crux, is it not?” Lastar drew on his pipe again and took a pace away from his friend, seemingly in thought once again, “Well, as the second born made its defence against the third – man – the dwarves should do so again, but this time against external and internal assaults.” 

The mage paused, waiting for some indication from the elf that he had, at least in part, answered his question, but nothing came. “We must have the dwarves build Minas – the like of which we see at Tiris – to provide physical protection of the portals.” 

Gelmir nodded but said nothing, waiting for the mage to reveal the true extent of his thinking, “Furthermore, I saw the power of the treasures that your folk used against Orcus.” 

Gelmir’s eyebrows raised in unison, giving him an almost comical, clown-like appearance as the mage pressed, “And I too saw the dwarves use their bands of gold against the devil, Dispater.”  Lastar’s plan unravelled slowly, and to the growing concern of his visitor, “I felt that they drew upon the forces of the Planes.  So, perhaps the Council will consider allowing Orodruin to combine their powers, in such a way to have much greater dominion over the elemental planes.” There it was: the mage intended to combine the power of the first and second born to defend these portals.  

Eyes widening with each revelation, Gelmir failed to regain his composure as the final part of Lastar’s plan was made clear, “These the Dwarves could then have the combined power in exchange for building these Minas.”

“And what would my folk receive in exchange for the surrender of their inheritance?!” Gelmir struggled with his emotions, “What could replace such a loss?” A warrior, Gelmir instinctively took up a defensive stance: legs apart, arms loosely at his sides and keen eyes set on his target, “No, my Lord, I do not think the Council will agree to such a bargain.”

“Let me think on that, my friend,” smiled Lastar in attempt to defuse the atmosphere. “I digress,” said the mage, as if nothing had happened, “I have another question concerning control of the gates.”

“Go on,” Gelmir said carefully.

“Well,” Lastar began delicately, realising (somewhat belatedly) that he had touched a nerve, “how do we close a portal?” Partly to ameliorate the situation with Gelmir and partly because Lastar too had a keen sense of self-preservation, he moved away from the elf, further into the room where the morning light had yet to reach. “I acknowledge that we cannot close a Natural Gate,” he recapped adopting his absent-minded tone again, “that is a task for the Divine, but we should be able to at least move a portal in the same way as the Drow has done at Nagrad, Tiris and Morgul.”

“Yes,” Gelmir’s tone was frank, cold – he had seen the mage’s plan and did not like it - he continued, “the way to close a portal is by destroying the codicil that pertains to it at that time, using an opposing element.”  Gelmir turned his back to the mage to again face the morning sun and carried on, “to close the portal to the Plane of Fire, for example, and send it back to its origin, one must stand before it, using the Pentagram for protection, and dowse the Book of the Plane in water, until the ink is illegible.”

“I see,” replied the mage looking at the elf’s silhouette, “and the link will return to the Natural Gate?”

“We believe so, although Orodruin was less certain when pressed.  He believes that his contraption might prevent complete closure of the governed portals – instead the sequence might be accelerated and all portals moved in accordance with the specified pattern.  We have no way to be certain.  Uncontrolled portals will close, returning to their natural origins.”

Stepping back into the light but with head bowed, deep in thought, the mage continued his questioning, “Does one close an ungoverned Gate in the same manner?” The room was suddenly plunged into near darkness as a cloud passed across the sun.

“Well,” Gelmir began slowly, considering the question carefully whist moving towards the mage to see him better, “we are not sure how to close a Natural Gate, or even if we can.”  

The elf stopped, looked at the mage intently and continued, “That said, we believe we can move the Gates, provided they meet the desirable criteria of their origins, water in water for example.” It was the elf’s turn to unfold his arms in a gesture of reconciliation, and clarity of thought, “The Drow created a portal in Tiris, not a Natural Gate - that remained at Nagrad.”  

Resting his hands on his hips once again, Gelmir broke the bad news, “We do not have a clear understanding of how they did that.”  He paused as Lastar met his eyes, “Furthermore,” the elf stammered under the intense scrutiny, “the link to the Astral is very complex…we believe there to be several ‘limbs’ from the Astral to the Prime and…not all are accounted for.”  Gelmir finished more confidently, “Closing one portal will merely open another somewhere else – all Planes have a set number of access points to the Astral, which we do not believe can be reduced or exceeded.”

Not deterred, Lastar pressed, “Can I close one and open another in a preferred, more defendable location?”

In the gloaming, Gelmir’s smile was radiant, “Ahhh this is the crux! You know it is possible, Lastar, but you also know that we have no idea how.”  

Somehow sensing victory (though not sure what the contest was about), Gelmir carried on, “And you know that my cousin, Sorien, has found a link to the Astral in the Efferendil.” This assertion brought about a nod from the mage who otherwise regarded the elf impassively, “So,” Gelmir concluded, “I believe you want Orodruin to experiment: moving the gate somewhere ‘safe’.”  Another nod from the mage confirmed what Gelmir knew, “and that is a hole in the ground!” he said incredulously.

“Well,” Lastar said as the sun came bursting into the room once more, temporarily blinding its occupants, “you’re right.”  The mage paused, blinking in the white light, seemingly considering how much he should impart.  “There is legend of a gnomish endeavour in a hole called Yarlug, to the South of Sorien’s lands,” the mage said plainly enough.

“Really,” the elf said sarcastically and asked, “have you consulted Unglak?” already knowing the answer.

“Yes,” smiled Lastar happy that the penny had finally dropped, “his son, Icshoos, is apparently its creator.”

“So this is how much Unglak is repentant.”