[[1493-03-27 - Hour 0|<< Hour 0]] | [[1493-03-29 - Hour 1 - 3|Hour 1 - 3 >>]] ## Hour 1 I heard a distant clock chime once as soon as I woke up. I didn't learn why this was a big deal until later, but it still didn't put me at ease. This was especially true when I found out that it was one o'clock, because it was twelve o'clock when Rictavio checked his watch after we first woke up at Cicero's 'yesterday.' There was also the fact that Nia's watch's hands hadn't actually moved at all, other than with the apparent change of the hour. So we realized pretty quickly that time is definitely fucked here. We just didn't know how much. We also found that our eyes are monochrome now. And there's no sun to be seen, this hour — it's too foggy to see the sky. With no other leads to pursue, we left the inn and headed in the direction of what we hoped was the duchess's crooked house. It wasn't long after that we met something in the street; some kind of swirling mass of elements and furniture, walking toward us with intent. Not wanting to deal with whatever headache that thing was, we ducked into an alley. We avoided it, but found an overturned wagon. It was plain — nothing like Ezmerelda's — but I couldn't help the direction of my thoughts. Back on the streets, we came across a deep gnome. He was pushing a merchant cart, selling flatbread. I don't do merchant carts in the domains — not since that one in Barovia. I felt bad, though, and was going to give him some silver, but... Me and Ezmerelda have talked before about that Barovian...emptiness, that some people had back then. She talked about Rictavio's theory — that there are some people who are just constructs of the domains. I'm not sure what to think about it. But back in Barovia, there were definitely people who just *felt* empty. There was Izek, for example; it was like he was without anything of his own, there to fill a role a nothing more. It was like that in Staunton Bluffs too with the bandits. And it was like that with that deep gnome selling flatbread. But maybe I'm just an asshole. We managed to find the duchess's house; it was in fact crooked. Skoll knocked. No one answered, but the door was ajar. Inside, there was a red carpet leading from the front door and up a staircase. There were pillars stretching to the ceiling, all with patterns of eyes carved into them. Something in this place is obsessed with eyes, I've gathered. Spiders too. I called out a greeting and heard a response in my head. Other than the initial greeting, though, the voice wasn't very talkative, for better or for worse. I'm leaning toward 'better.' We found out pretty quickly that the layout of the house was changing as we were searching it, but there wasn't anything to do but continue. We also found out that the house and everything in it was a mimic. Again: nothing to do but continue. It took us a long while to find the duchess. We had plenty of bullshit to come across in the meantime, starting with a talking, smiling, floating cat that we found in a library. His smile was too wide and had too many teeth. He gave us his name: Cheshire. Other than that bit of information, he had nothing for us, but he definitely seemed amused with himself and the way he was talking in circles. In another room, we found a long table with thirteen chairs mostly occupied by skeletons. Twelve of the chairs had patterns on them, but any pattern that the thirteenth had was scratched out beyond recognition. That chair didn't have a skeleton in it. I couldn't tell if the skeletons were moving or not, and — as good of a time as they seemed to be having — they ended up being my least favorite skeletons that I've seen today. Dozens of sleeping cats occupied the next room. I had a strong feeling that they were hiding something — Nia must've felt so too, because she went for one of the floorboards. When I helped her lift it up, we discovered that our intuitions were correct. Nia held onto the strange wand that we found. We ended up back in the library. Cheshire was gone. There were a bunch of books on the table in his place, which is how Nia and Rictavio figured out that the whole house is a mimic, since our hands came away sticky from everything we touched. Rictavio helpfully gave Skoll — and literally no one else — a handkerchief. The bastard even made sure to mention that he has more of them. I was so stunned by it that I didn't even think to make fun of him. After that, we found a kitchen occupied by a large frog-like man named Feste. He was singing about a "banderhobb"; Nia psychically informed us that a banderhobb is a type of beast from the Shadowfell that tends to kidnap children, and that one was standing in front of us. But Feste didn't seem to be aware that he was a banderhobb; he said that he's the butler and the cook. Skoll was nice to him, and he seemed to appreciate it. Feste told us that we would find the duchess in her sitting room. The room was choked with dust. It was hard to see the duchess under the veil she was wearing, but I could tell that she was gaunt. As soon as we arrived, she started talking about how she's just a "poor old woman" looking for her daughter, Amelia. It seemed theatrical, but I was still having a hard time discerning the truth; the only thing I know for sure is that she was lying when she said that she could get us out of Elysium. The duchess gave us a note written by Amelia. It was water-damaged, but one thing was clear: Amelia stumbled into Elysium just as we had. We departed from the duchess. Skoll talked to the house, I think, and it allowed us to leave. None of us were too keen to help the duchess, but it seemed like a good idea to try to find Amelia, considering she might be trapped here just like us. The note we were given mentioned an appointment at the lake; we hit the streets, trusting that we would find it eventually. We ended up traveling through slums. Like the slums of Waterdeep, there was plenty of filth and grime. There was just a bit more blood and loose bone than I'd expect. As we were searching for the lake, we heard some kind of mechanical noise in the distance. We headed toward it; soon, we came face to face with my favorite skeleton of the day so far. We met Johannes as he was leaning against a lamppost and smoking a short, thin cigar. He was dressed like a mail carrier, and I soon found out why — he's a "skorrespondent" (skeleton correspondent) for the local paper, the Changing Faces. He shook all of our hands. Rictavio wasn't going to shake his hand at first, but he gave in when Skoll elbowed him in the ribs. As we've done with everyone else in Elysium, we tried to get information out of Johannes. As with everyone else in Elysium, he had very little to share. I find it hard to blame him, though, given his "limited autonomy." We found our way inside the building with the printing press. The place was crawling with skorrespondents. The boss, Rosa, was not a skeleton, however. She was pretty rude to us for no reason. And I'm pretty sure that she exploded a skeleton just because she could. Beyond that, Rosa helpfully informed us that no one gets out of Elysium; if you try, you either drown in the rain or choke on the mist. She didn't really seem to understand that staying isn't really an option that we're going to consider. As we were leaving, I caught sight of a few headlines coming out of the press: > DO NOT PICK UP KEYS; THEY ARE DANGEROUS > IABROCHORUM IS MYTHICAL CREATURE, SAYS DRUIDS > DAUGHTER MISSING; DUCHESS PROMISES LARGE REWARD FOR HER RETURN There were also headlines that mentioned a group of scientists that disappeared after going to investigate the lake, as well as someone named Isabella who has a pot of basil (of course). The only other thing worth mentioning is an ad that I saw for the "Phrenological Asylum," a hybrid pharmacy/asylum run by one "Dr. Brains," which is a place that I'd very much like to avoid. That said, I'm not sure that will be possible. So that was another dry well when it came to getting information about Elysium. But at least it's pretty clear that we definitely need to be picking up keys, despite what the headline said. It wasn't long after we left the press that we found the lake. But even before we got there, we could see what we were approaching; there was a large, strange machine on an artificial island in the center of the lake. It stretched tall above the buildings. The island seemed to be made out of the same machinery as the thing atop it. The machine — a clock, we've been told — is made of complex hoops counter-orbiting each other around a platform. The hoops are inscribed with symbols unrecognizable to any of us. As the hoops orbited, I could hear a pulsing noise, and the rain seemed to be bouncing off an invisible sphere around the top of the thing. I didn't like anything about it. I was so busy studying the machine that it took me a moment to notice the boat and the half-sunken pier at the edge of the lake, in front of which was standing an unenthusiastic-looking ferryman. The ferryman, Foulsham, is the one who told us that the machine is a clock. He also curtly told us that it'd be 50 silver each to get us across the lake. We didn't have that, but we were able to work out something of a deal instead. We weren't Foulsham's only passengers. He was also transporting a bag of grain, a fucked up looking chicken, and a man named "Mr. Fox." Foulsham told us that he didn't trust any of them. Foulsham asked us to supervise his other passengers in exchange for free passage. He seemed genuinely grateful that we agreed to help, and he got a lot less curt after the fact. I figured that the chicken and the grain were the biggest concern, so Skoll gave me an apple for feed. The chicken certainly ate it — it did so like a frog, and I could see its needle-like teeth. But the chicken left before the boat even left the pier, and then all we had to worry about was the bag of grain and Mr. Fox. Mr. Fox was strange, to say the least. At first glance, all I saw were his sharp, long features and his wide, enthusiastic smile. But then I looked closer at the man. I got the distinct sense that he's rotting, like he has worms writhing inside him. But he didn't cause trouble, even though he did offer a distinctly red apple to Skoll, and even though the apple that Skoll gave him in return turned into mush the moment he bit into it. We learned that Mr. Fox works at an auction house in Elysium. The auction house is run by two people, Mr. Fiddle and Mr. Blind, and they have a different item up for sale every "day," which Mr. Fox casually equated to every hour. Mr. Fox and the bag of grain were transported to the other side of the lake without issue. Mr. Fox departed, and, when we turned back around, the bag of grain was gone too. I decided that I had other things to give a shit about. Foulsham took us to the clock, then. It seemed like we were moving slower and slower as we approached, but Foulsham didn't seem worried, and we got there eventually. There was someone at the base of the clock. He was cloaked and hard to discern. His shadow was much longer than it should have been. He introduced himself as Damháin. He claimed to be a wizard from Greyhawk and that he was trapped in Elysium after "a bit of a romp." He tiredly told us that — like the clock we were standing before — he was cursed, his magic and memories sealed away. Damháin claimed that the clock is a very powerful device but that he doesn't understand its intricacies. As for who cursed him and the clock, he mentioned a young woman in a well-pressed suit, vaguely about as old as the rest of us. I was reminded of the duchess's description of Amelia. Beyond that, though, was the fact that — as with the duchess — I had a really hard time picking the truth out of Damháin's words. He said that he didn't know if he could trust us, for example. But he seemed like he was lying, somehow. Out of everything Damháin told us, there is exactly one thing I'm fairly convinced of: when the big, fucked up clock strikes 13, Elysium will be gone. We left Damháin. Foulsham claimed to have never heard of him. As we were departing from the island just now, I noticed that Damháin wasn't even there anymore. Rictavio is getting even more stressed. I can't blame him; a time limit definitely doesn't help things. Despite everything, it seems like our best bet might be finding the woman that Damháin spoke of. He gave us two leads: the phrenological pharmacy and the local bookstore. We're on the boat now and heading for the shore. Foulsham said that he'll be at Cicero's if we need him for future passage across the lake. In the meantime, we'll be doing some book shopping, I guess. I feel all out of sorts. But I'm trying not to let this place get to me, because we'll make it out. It's only a matter of time — and not a lot of it. --- ## Page Tags/Properties **Tags:** #Journal **Category:** [[Journals and Writings.base|Journals and Writings]] **Character:** [[Krue d'Avenir|Krue]] **Campaign:** [[City of Eyes]] **Date ([[Calendar of Harptos|Harptos]]):** 03/28/1493