Scrying Faelar

As Deethan sets his mirror down on the grainy sands of the beach, he dips into his spell component pouches as he begins the lengthy casting time. Over the next hour he sprinkles pinches powdered eye of a hawk, plus nitric acid, copper, and zinc out of small vials. Af ter the long and difficult spell causing beads of sweat to appear on his forehead the mirror begins to turn cloudy. Swirls of blue begin to form in its depths which spin slowly in a swirl getting faster and as the speed increases getting larger till the entire surface of the mirror glows blue.

With a thought and a force of will Deethan directs the mirror and the spell tos eek out those he wishes to scry upon. Wishing to be careful he tries to start the scrying at a certain distance from the target and work his way forward quickly so that he may end the scrying if he fears he will be detected. The swirling blue turns cludy again and as the clouds part like mist there is a rushing view of a trees. Broadleaf and needled. Well tended even though obviously a part of a great and old forest. as the view drops to the ground a series of white structures can be seen nestled beneath the mighty boughs of the trees.Slender spires that rise with wooden and rope walkways connecting them. A couple of larger mansions that each have at least one living tree anchoring a wall or built around it as to contain it in a courtyard.

A dozen buildings in all built in harmony with the forest requring no clearing. The stone work is of the purest white and with the stones so tightly fitted that no seam or joint can be seen. Each building is a masterwork of art. Twisting artwork of stone balustrades shaped like climbing vines or dancing sprites or flying griffons and dragons adorn the walls. The windows are tall and thin and liberally spaced allowing plenty of light inside the buildings.

As the focus shifts to the central building it snaps back into a grey cloud and Deethan smiles as recognized that he has hit a magical barrier to prevent scrying.
Faelar does not want to be intruded upon in his 'retreat' / 'improsonment' in the Ardeep mansion of the elven Ambassador to Waterdeep.

Scrying Derrick and Kyle

Witha wry smile he decides to look for Derrick and then Kyle. The blue swirl returns expands and then shifts to grey again. He can not focus in on either of the two even when he tries to start from afar and work his way forward. Something completely blocks his scrying attemtpts on them.

As Deethan begins to give up on scrying of the two he feels a renewed burst of vigor and energy. One that he has only felt once before back in the Sorceror's Hand of Calimport.
His mind fills with ... what can only be described as seeing in infite distance and spaces for a moment ... and a bit of a falling sensation as he is swallowed. He knows he has brushed against a diety or perhaps a diety has brushed against him. As it does so the mirror swirls in a blue radiance again as Deethan regains his concentration as he attempts to scry Derrick.

As the light expands and the mirror clears he can clearly see his former travelling companion and he is definitely in the worse for the wear category. The lighting is dark greys and blacks inside the mirror with apparently all color being leeched away by the environment.

But even so Deethan is able to make out a cellar, or a temple, or some high gothic enclose as the walls are buttressed with internal buttresses intricately worked in gargoyles, demons, and all manner of leering faces of all proportions.
Dark corners litter the room almos as if the room were designed to foster and create pockets of darkness.

On a slightly inclined table of the purest black basalt lies a spread eagled and chained with black metal manacles... Derrick... naked and writhing in pain. Streamers of darkness rise from the floor, walls, and ceiling some as thin as a tendril of smoke others as thick as a man's arm. The darkness has substance at sometimes and at others seems formless and without any material component.... The writhing tendrils push into Derrick's body. The tiniest forcing there way inside via tiny sweat pores the larger forcing their way in through mouth, ears, and nose and all other bodily orifices. From his rigid posture and constant spasming the process must be excrucitatingly painful.

As Deethan pans his view around the room he sees a similar pedestal with Kyle strapped to it in an almost exactly same situation. But he appears to be in far less pain. In fact he appears deadly still but still the darkness invades his body. Arrayed in a seven sided star strangely reminescent of the star of Mystra are other obsidian tables. The other five are empty. But standing in the room stands a shadowy figure. Deethan is unsure if it is a man, a woman, or even if it has a body as it constantly flexes and flows. As Deethan's eyes fall on this figure he feels the connection severed as the other realized that there was a contact in progress and ended the scrying.

Scrying for Rane

With a shrug and wishing to maximize the use of the remaining time of his spell he looks for Rane whom he had met the previous day. The blue swirls clear to form an overhead view of a city street that quickly approaches a series of 2 and 3 story stone houses with red tile rooves. The scene shifts to one of a small kitchen with a hearthfire burning in the corner. A small table with two occupied chairs sits in the kitchen with numerous bundles of herbs and sausages drying from the rafters. Sitting at the table is Rane in an overly nightshirt sitting with his wife. On the table before them is a loaf of bread which they are breaking off large chunks of and dipping into a fire hardened clay pot containing golden yellow honey. As Rane lifts his wooden mug he looks up and directly at Deethan and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment the scene fades to grey.

He has pushed Deethan's spell back.

Scrying for Monthos

Turning to look after the clue of Monthos the priest, he again forces his mind to think of the priest which he has heard about but has never seen.It proves too much as the swirling grey never even shimmers and parts. He simply can not call enough information to mind to force the spell to locate Monthos.

Scrying for Brendan, Floramir and Florianna

Again, gaining as much information from the others as he can, and using all the connections in terms of things like "Brendan, son of Hendrik the Hand, one of the adventurers involved in the distruction of Hellgate Keep 5 years ago" to define exactly who I mean...

As before the mirror swirls in grey patterns that slowly take on a blue radiance which grows and expands... As the blue clears the scene is one of darkness...Pitch black with no source of light to be seen... Deethan pans the view around sure that he has located Brendan, but there simply is absolutely no light to see.

The same grey swirl repears as he looks for Floramir and Florianna. Complete and absolute darkness... Deethan has no idea on if this in on any plane you know of. The darkness is absolute. But he is positive that he found all three of them.

He decides to go back and look at each of them again and cast a detect magic cantrip thru the scrying mirror to see what is blocking his sight. To his absolute surprise there are layers and layers of magics on Brendan’s location. It takes him some minutes analyzing the dweomers of the magics but he finally pieces together that wherever Brendan is he is heavily warded with magics. Deethan identifies the following spells are active. Telepathic Bond, Alarm, Invisibility, Solid Fog, Greater Darkness, Silence.

As he looks to Monthos’ two companions he realizes even without spending a lot of time that they are similarly shrouded in magical obscurements. Perhaps indicating that the three are in the same location.

Scrying for Ennelda

Realizing that he has only a quarter of his time remaining for the spells functioning Deethan chooses to look on Ennelda and then Jewelia.

Again the surface of the mirror fogs over and then fills with the blue swirl which enlarges as it has before and a seen of true magnificence is depicted therein.

The image is of Ennelda sitting in a white open topped carriage with heavy gilded rails and embossings covering the whole. The wood of the carriage has been deeply engraved and is covered in various bas reliefs.
All highlighted in gold leaf and silver enlays. Six matching black stallions rippling with muscles and wearing gilded and gem encrusted leather harnesses and tack pull the carriage along a cobbled street. But most magnificent of all is Ennelda herself. She is wearing a blue crushed velvet dress with a deep cut for cleavage in the front. A formal half cape of what must be silver woven into silk is draped over her right shoulder and arm with a platinum and diamond braided shoulder clasp. A matching set of earrings, necklace and waist belt of sapphires and diamonds completes her ensemble. Her hair has been tightly braided on one side and lays comfortably atop the half cloak where the other side has been lifted in an intricate weaving shaped like the outstretched wing of a swan. The tiara that she wears sparkles of countless diamonds in its platinum band.

Beside her sit her two apprentices there nearly black hair and milk pale skin in sharp contrast to her own blond hair and creamy complexion. They both wear dresses of such a deep deep red as to almost be black and a pair of cloaks that sparkle as if they were made of gems. So much so that they must indeed be some of the fabled gemweave cloaks becoming popular in waterdeep. One wears a cloak of creamy grey and the other of turquoise. As the wheels of the carriage bounce over the cobbles the cloaks shimmer and sparkle as if they were living gems.

Flanking the carriage are a half a dozen mounted soldiers of the flaming fist in shimmering polished full plate armor with bright white tabards bearing the symbol of the flaming fist. The dozen mounted escorts ride smoothly on a dozen matching white stallions as they couch there lances and shields loosely in parade formation with the lance butts stuck easily into the right stirrup.

All along the street are more soldiers of the Flaming Fist holding back the wildly cheering crowds. Flowers stream in rivers as they are thrown by the crowd towards and in front of the carriage.

Up ahead can be seen the great bulking Citadel of the headquarters of the Flaming Fist mercenary company and also doubling as the city center of governance.

Feeling somewhat voyeuristic Deethan changes the image in the mirror.

Scrying for Jewelia

The grey mists return and swirl before slowly clearing to blue as he looks for Jewelia. In a strange occurrence the color turns to a dark deep green and refuses to change colors or even allow Deethan any control anymore of his own spell. The next couple of minutes show beads of sweat on Deethan’s forehead as he is even unable to break his link from his spell.

But as the spell fades so does his concentration as whatever spell trap against scrying that Jewelia has no longer affects him.