City of Andoria
Cottages and townhouses with walls of daub and waddle reinforced with heavy timbers share the winding streets with aged stone towers and brick guardhouses on this hillside city that overlooks a mountain-ringed valley spreading off to eventually give way to the Sea of Omens near the horizon. Reptiloid beasts of burden pulls wagons or carry riders up and down the steep throughways, and hand-painted signs advertise pubs, inns, and shops. Banners hang at the guard towers and gates, displaying the city's emblem of a rising golden phoenix silhouetted against a midnight blue field.

This is a land of monsters and magic, with places of enchantment vibrant with a rainbow of colors to be found in strange forms of life. Many different peoples thrive here, most of them living separated among their own kind in the smaller outlying communities, but in large cities such as Andoria, they come together – At its best, the cities reflect some of the colorful variety of nature in the differences in its many people and even cultures brought together. At its worst, it still has its share of slums and the hazards that come with so many people living in such close quarters.

Andoria is unique amongst the many cities of the land in that it is ruled by a cabal of mages. Indeed, once Andoria was nothing more than a collection of wisened wizards living in a cluster of laboratories, accompanied by their apprentices and attendants. As time went on, people came to seek the wisdom of these workers of miracles, servants started families and homesteads nearby, and eventually, over many generations, a whole city sprang up, its central business orbiting around the whims of the mysterious seers and conjurers who live apart in their crooked towers and walled gardens.

When one of these magi departs from the material plane, it is no small bit of news to the community at large, but even more so with the passing of Archmagus Celesti, a grizzled and gray-haired old wolf who could control the elements with more ease than his own two legs – and in his waning years, this was not to say much about the latter.

Until he was on his deathbed, he was still capable of summoning up storms and quenching forest fires, and doing all sorts of remarkable things, so even though he was known for his increasing eccentricity, he was still a very respected member of the Council.

Even now that he is gone, his very eccentric last wishes have been obeyed: his tower, guarded by magical traps and elementals of his own engineering, is open to anyone who dares brave its hazards. Somewhere in his private laboratory are the papers that will designate some brave (or foolhardy) individual as his successor … and though the Council dearly hopes that this successor will be a mage, nowhere is this stated in any of his instructions.

So it is that many adventurers have sought to brave the tower's hazards … sometimes alone, sometimes in groups. Attempts have been made to scale the tower from the outside, but powerful enchantments make such efforts futile and in some cases lethal, thanks to timely storms that erupt anytime someone attempts to do so. (In fact, the Council has forbidden anyone to make any further attempts to climb or fly to the tower top from the outside, so that the city won't have to weather any more of these freakish storms.)

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The brave adventurers find themselves in the courtyard just outside the Tower of Celesti. The tower itself rises high above any of the neighboring townhouses, and the walled garden encased in the courtyard manages to keep them far enough apart so that they cannot even pretend to compete with the grandeur of this aged structure.

Before the front door of the tower is a wide cobbled path that weaves through the largely overgrown "garden" (to call it such as perhaps too generous, given that there are as many weeds and brambles as flowers or trees), and it leads off to the gate that our adventurers used to enter. Far above, the tower disappears into a low-hanging cloud … one that seems to perpetually hang over the tower ever since the ill-fated attempt of Silverbeak the Great to fly to the top (poor fellow).

The front door itself is a fairly simple affair by the standards of Andoria – a heavy wooden door, large enough for two men to walk through abreast when open, though at present it is closed. A bronze knocker fashioned to resemble the head of a lion (or something very much like one) is set in the middle of the wooden door, with a bronze ring in its mouth, and little ruby insets for eyes. About it are various strange sigils inscribed into the door's surface.

Galen takes a deep breath, and cranes his neck, looking upwards at the tower and its cloud-covered pinnacle. This is going to be one tough customer, He thinks to himself, grudgingly. He lowers his head down enough, so that he's looking at the tower gates in front of them. Then, he looks over to the calico cat on his side. Despite the ominous surroundings, he manages a smile. "Well … ready to go in?"

Wren nods slowly. "I'm as ready as I ever will … "

"Okay, then," says the Mephitian. And so, the two walk over to the door.

The door is impassive to their approach, for the most part, though those with an overactive imagination might suppose that the ruby-eyed door knocker is watching their every step.

Wren reaches for the knocker, more by habit than necessity. He pauses.

Galen grabs Wren's hand and stops him. "Be careful … "

As the calico woodsman reaches for the bronze knocker, he can't help but notice that the ring has some sort of inscription on it.

Wren steps closer to the knocker for a better look. He says, "This whole place as an odd feel to it, and I don't like it."

In very fine scratchings on the bronze, the ring says (and one has to tilt one's head this way and that to follow it all the way around): "Knock with me once, then twice, then three; with the ring in my mouth, I cannot harm thee," in an archaic – but still mostly legible – form of the common script.

Wren blinks, uncertain he has read correctly. "It says knock three times … "

"I know, I know," says Galen. He leans over next to Wren, peering at the knocker, and reading the inscription. "Okay … so, I'm presuming it's, knock once, then knock two times, then knock three times."

Wren grins. "Interesting, a puzzle you think? But what if it simply meant to continue … " He then frowns slightly.

A chill wind blows through the garden, causing the leaves to rustle. One with too much imagination might think they hear a faint sound of laughter.

"Possibly," muses Galen. He thinks, then looks to Wren. "Tell me again, please … what is your specialty?"

"My specialty?" asks the cat, raising an eyebrow. "I'm knowledgeable in the ways of the woods, and I'd like to think I'm good with a bow. But what a time to ask me!" He adds a grin.

Galen nods. "Thank you. I know, it was a funny question … " He looks back at the knocker. " … but I get the bad feeling, that whoever knocks on the door – and knocks wrongly – is going to need to be very, very quick on his feet, afterwards."

Another one of those creepy chill winds blows through the garden.

Wren says, "I'm rather skilled at knocking with door knockers as well, but I agree, and I don't want to be the one who knocks it wrong … " He gives Galen a light push, with a playful grin. "You knock! Or better yet, let's not knock at all." He looks meaningfully up at the walls of the tower.

The tower is at least six stories tall, and shrouded by mists the higher up one gets. There are arrow slit windows visible at intervals, but no obvious alternate entryways. Besides, the Council did prohibit any climbing of the tower, given that in the past, any time someone has tried to do so, a storm pops up, and all manner of chaos breaks loose.

The white-robed Mephitian sighs. "Okay … I'll knock. However … you find a place to hide, and get your arrow notched and ready, please. In case something does try to attack me, you attack it. Okay?"

"No, you don't have to," Wren says as he slinks to the side of the garden. "But if you want to … "

"Tell me when you're ready!" Galen calls after the cat.

Perhaps it's only the Mephitian's imagination, but it almost seems as if the knocker's expression is looking more disagreeable than before, as if its brow were knit a little more tightly. As for Woodsman Wren, however, the calico cat is able to fairly easily find cover in the thick foliage, such that if Galen hadn't seen him head over there himself, he might not even notice the hidden hunter.

"Ready," comes a call from the bushes.

Galen blinks several times at the knocker, then shakes his head slightly. Your mind is playing tricks on you … or no. He adjusts his hat, making sure it's extra-tight on his head, looks over his robe, belt, and digitigrade boots, making sure there are no untied laces, and brandishes his walking staff a little.

In a hoarse stage-whisper, Wren hisses, "Good luck!"

Galen takes a deep breath … then grabs hold of the knocker's ring. He raises the ring. Then knocks once. He pauses. Then, he knocks twice. He pauses again. And, finally, he knocks three times. Then, keeping his hand clasped on the ring, he pauses, and waits.

The door knocker most certainly undergoes a change of expression. The brow stops knitting, and it takes on a quite humorous expression, really, which might be all the more unsettling. However, before Galen has much time to ponder this … the door simply swings open. Voice muffled by the ring in its mouth, the knocker says, "Youf mayf fenter." Yes, it most certainly said it.

And beyond the doorway is the interior of the tower, lit by candles even though it has been abandoned for quite some time, and no one to either of the adventurers' knowledge has been maintaining it.

Wren's head appears from the brush. "I don't like that one bit … but my bow is still unused, which I take as a good sign."

Bookshelves line the walls, a spiral stone stairway leads up along the circumference of the room to the next level, chairs are set out for guests, presumably, and a table sits in the center of the chamber.

Wren steps out into the open. "We should, um, go in, I would assume?" He shakes himself as if disturbed by something, then mutters, in a low voice, "No, nothing… "

Galen slowly slouches his shoulders in relief, and turns his head around to Wren. "Well … he did say we may enter," he states, pointing to the knocker. "Let's go in … but, keep your arrow notched, anyway."

Wren nods, and approaches the door, examining the woodwork as he passes.

The door is most certainly of some imported variety of wood, and engraved with many cryptic runes that even the woodsman and the healer cannot make out the meaning of. There are a few repeated sigils, however, presenting the four main elements: fire, air, water and earth.

Wren says, "Well, I think we have the right place!" He wanders on in, reading a few titles from the bookshelves and getting a feel for the room.

Galen walks around the foyer, busy scrutinizing every stone, candle, and shelf in the place. His ears are alert to the slightest sound.

One of those slight sounds would be that of a little teapot that cheerily says, "You're just in time for tea!"

Wren turns his head, ear flicking at the voice he supposes he only imagined hearing. He spots the bookshelves, and looks them over for tomes. "Maybe there are books here that can help us, somehow."

Set out on the table is a tea service, though the center of the table is taken up primarily by a candelabra, surrounded by a bronze inset ring with what looks like empty gem settings, amidst depictions of the runes of the four elements.

As the teapot moves conspicuously across the table without being pushed, Wren can't help but notice it, and he rubs at his eyes. "That wasn't there before, was it?"

As for the tomes, there are many, mostly dealing with arcane themes … monsters of foreign lands … theories of meanings in the rings of Arcadia … constellations … astrology … magic-working … a history of Andoria …

"Of course not! I only come out during tea time," the teapot insists, its lid wobbling up and down in a fairly animated way that porcelain typically cannot mimic as it speaks.

Wren blinks, blankly … "That, I did not need to hear." Despite himself, Wren approaches the surprisingly talkative teapot.

Galen's ears flick, and his head darts toward the source of the sound. Seeing it's a teapot, he cocks his head. He scans the tomes one last time. " … I think I'll take these two, Wren." He pulls from the shelf one book on monsters of foreign lands, and one on magic-working.

"Sit down, sit down!" the teapot insists. "Come, come, over here, sugar!" No, it doesn't seem to be referring to the cat. Rather, a little bowl of sugar waddles up next to the teapot, along with a couple of teacups. "Would you like one lump or two?" the sugar bowl asks sweetly.

Wren nods dumbly to Galen's call, transfixed by such a display …

I hope I don't need to have to use either of these, later, thinks the Healer to himself, as he walks toward the table. He glances at the teapot, then the bowl, then Wren. "I see you made some friends."

Wren continues to nod, confused. "Um, are you talking to me?"

"Piping hot!" the teapot boasts, and then shoots a stream of steaming tea into a teacup. The teacup slides across the table, taking a roundabout route to avoid the brass insets, and comes to the edge closest to the baffled woodsman. "Of course we are!" the teapot says, as the sugar bowl … nods?

Wren says, "I'll take one lump then."

"Now, you heard the nice fellow, Sugar," the teapot asides to the bowl.

Wren turns to grin sheepishly at Galen, shrugging his shoulders.

Galen looks over the sapient collection of wares. "Excuse me, em, 'Miss' Teapot … do you know anything about this tower?"

Wren whispers to his companion, "What do you make of this? Do you think it wise to drink?"

The little sugar bowl nods, and out comes the silver spoon.

Galen whispers back, "I wouldn't advise it … be courteous, and accept the tea, but don't drink it."

Wren nods, and watches the tea set with curiosity…

Suddenly, the silver spoon, while it's scooping the sugar, grows to enormous size, flips through the air, and pounds the woodsman cat on the head! The blow is so strong that it sends the cat bowling to the ground. "Good heavens!" the teapot shrieks. The sugar bowl sweetly asks, "Are you sure you wouldn't like two?"

Wren rubs his head. He sputters, "No, one will do fine."

Quick as a wink, Galen bolts away from the table. "Run, Wren!"

The sugar bowl titters, "Oh, I've so much been wanting to do that! No one ever falls for that trick!"

Wren stays put, too shocked to move.

"Oh, please, come back! Come back!" the teapot calls out. "Oh, look what you've done now, Sugar! You've scared away our guests! You bad, bad sugar bowl! Why, if the master were here, he'd set you straight, that's what! For shame, for shame!"

The silver spoon, meanwhile, has returned to its normal size, and deposits a spoonful of sugar in the steaming teacup.

Wren stands himself up. "It's okay," he manages, "I'm not frightened." He lifts his hat and rubs a tender spot on his head, feeling if he's actually going to get a lump after all from that. He winces.

"I do so apologize," the teapot says. "Why, what with the master so rarely about, the silverware has gotten downright mean-spirited! Oh, do have nothing to do with the cutlery set, I admonish you!"

"The master is rarely about on account that he's dead," the sugar bowl stage-whispers, and shuffles back across the table.

Wren chuckles lightly, despite how terrible that sounds.

"Oh, say nothing of the sort," the teapot retorts to the sugar bowl. "The master will turn up any time now, I'm sure of it!"

Galen starts to slowly, cautiously, walk back to Wren. "Are you all right?" His tone is very serious.

Wren says, "I think I'll be fine. Just a lump on the head, not too bad." He puts his hat back in place, though now it looks distinctly mashed. "I'm sure you are right (Miss, is it?) Teapot."

Galen looks him over, just to make sure with his own eyes, then looks toward the tea set. "What do you mean, 'master'? Can you describe him for us?"

"Well, it hardly matters with teapots, really," the teapot says to Wren, then looks to Galen. "Why, our master is Archmagus Celesti, Master of Storms – and a great many other things, I dare say."

Wren nods. "I'd say judging by yourself, Miss Teapot."

"He has some sort of enchantment set up," the teapot continues, "which makes it impossible to visit him in his laboratory. Has something to do with the inscription here on the table, I wager, but I can't read, so I can't make any sense of it."

Galen peers over to look at the table inscriptions.

The inset in the table has some depressions with little empty clasps around them such as might hold gems if they were still there, and a number of runes. However, there is also a passage in common script that is visible running around the ring. "Collect and bring here the elements' power, and only then, shall you reach the top of the tower."

Wren says, "Is there any reason for my, um, accident? Or for the cutlery's danger?"

The teapot says, "Well, with the master not about, I suppose all his creations have gotten a mite bit … ah … unstable."

Wren says, "I assume when the master is about you are all quite friendly." He sighs.

"Oh yes, quite so!" the teapot insists … smiling. "Well, except for the door knocker," it quickly adds. "He's terribly hard on solicitors. I've lost count of how many he's eaten."

Wren blinks at this.

After peering at the inscription, Galen looks up, thinking.

The bronze knocker, still visible (since the door hasn't been closed) grins impishly.

Wren says, "Good thing we didn't just knock three times… " Thinking the better of having that door knocker grinning at him, he walks over and closes the door.

Galen blinks, too. "Yes … " He looks over to Wren. "Speaking of the knocker, remember the inscriptions on it? About Earth, Wind, Water and Fire?"

Wren nods. "Yes, I do."

"Oh yes!" the teapot says, "you'll find those little sigils everywhere. It's very much the rage for mages for ages! Why, the tower has four levels devoted to the elements, you know. Or perhaps you don't. Not that I've seen them, myself. I don't get about much, not having legs."

Wren grins, and nods. "I think we should be moving on. Thank you so much, Miss Teapot."

"Oh, no trouble at all! Now drink up your tea before it gets cold!" the teapot insists.

Wren tips his hat, straightening it and smoothing the feather. "Certainly!" He scoops up a cup.

The Mephitian looks back over to the table. "I'm presuming from what I've read here, on this table, we need a 'power' of each of those elements – probably in the form of a gem – and place them here in these openings in the table. Then, we'll be taken up to the top of this place."

"I do believe you are correct," Wren says, "and I'd put money on the fact that they are each at a different floor." He sniffs at his tea.

It smells like … hmm … what's that flavor? Earl Greywolf, perhaps?

Galen nods at Wren. "That's what I think too." He looks at the tea set. "Miss Teapot … do you anything else about these four floors, dedicated to the elements? Anything at all? Like, secret passages, or particular monst- … er, persons, we may meet, or even a general layout?"

Wren murmurs, "It would be rude, if I didn't… And I would not like to upset Miss Teapot."

Galen side-glances to Wren, and gives him the "not just yet" look.

Wren smiles warmly and does his best to savor the scent until the moment is right,

The teapot burbles thoughtfully, then says, "Mmm … no, not really. Though he does so like to animate so many things."

"What things?" asks Galen.

"And you should beware. Some of his creations might have gotten a bit edgy, what with nobody about for so long," the teapot adds. Contemplating, it lets out a few puffs of steam, then burbles, "Well, let us see … I sometimes see the kitchen, you know. I know there's a fire elemental in the hearth. And of course there's the cutlery – I'd advise you not to open too many drawers."

Wren says, "Thank you for your advice."

"Oh, think nothing of it!" the teapot says. "Now, don't let me keep you from your tea."

Wren says, "Oh, it's just a bit too hot still. I want it to cool off first."

"Oh!" the teapot exclaims. "Oh, but of course. Please pardon me. Just a little excited. You know, not having guests for so long and all. It's been so long since I've served tea! You have no idea how much it means to me. Why … it's the whole reason for my existence!"

Wren nods to the healer and whispers to him quietly, "Do you think you could help me if it's poisoned? I don't trust that teapot … but I really must drink it."

The teapot, not hearing the cat, burble-hums to itself cheerily.

The Healer nods gratefully to the teapot. "Thank you, Miss Teapot, for your help." He looks and whispers to Wren, "Well … let me look at the teacup, first. If it's poisoned, I'll do what I can … but I think we can trust her. She's been most helpful." He looks back to the pot and says out loud to her, "You've been a most gracious hostess … despite that spoon. Again, thank you very much."

"Oh, you are so kind!" the teapot whistles cheerily.

The Mephitian holds the teacup close to his face, and carefully, slowly, looks at the liquid … and sniffs, little by little.

"What are you doing with my cup?" Wren asks, awkwardly.

Galen hands the cup back to Wren. "It looks okay … but only take a sip at first, and wait about a minute or so, before imbibing any more."

Wren says, in a stage-loud voice, "Oh, that seems to have cooled it off a bit! Thank you, Galen."

"Oh!" the teapot burbles. "How rude of me! He must smell that delicious aroma and want some for himself!" Without further prompting, the teapot summons another teacup, fills it up, and sends the teacup scuffling over across the table toward Galen.

Wren grins.

The sugar bowl sweetly asks, "Would you like one lump or two?"

Wren says, "Well, looks like we get to enjoy it together, cheers!" He takes a sip, but nearly spits it out at the sugar's mention of lumps …

"Now, now, Sugar," the teapot chides the bowl, "we've been through that before!"

"Oh, well … thank you, Miss Teapot." Galen eyes the bowl. "Em … no sugar. It makes me hyper. Thank you, though." He picks up the teacup, and looks and sniffs it over again, then cautiously sips it.

Wren says, "It's quite lovely, Miss Teapot,"

The tea, for its part, doesn't taste poisoned. Rather good cup of tea, really. Magic must be good for that.

Wren, satisfied, takes another sip.

Galen takes another sip, then sets the cup down. He doesn't finish it. "I do wish we could stay and chat, Miss Teapot, but we really must be on our way. My apologies."

Ah! Good tea. In no time at all, Wren has it finished off. The teapot positively beams with appreciation, so happy that it doesn't seem to notice that Galen hasn't finished his own cup.

Wren nods, and places his cup down as well.

"Oh! So good to have you here! If you see the Master, do tell him that he's missed several tea times, wouldn't you?" the teapot burbles pleasantly.

Wren says, "I certainly will. And I hope to stop by again!" He then leans toward Galen and whispers, urgently, "Let's get out of here. Now! Upstairs, then?"

Galen smiles. "We will, Miss Teapot, we most certainly will. We'll definitely tell him the wonderful service he's been missing." He looks to Wren, and nods. "Upstairs."

Wren starts up the stairs, and wonders when tea time will end…

Galen joins up with Wren at the stairway.

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