Mayor Nihala Dies – And Then Lives – Here is the Curious Tale

Mayor Nihala died – and Enestrie has quite the story to tell.

http://bit.ly/2B4wmnW

Category: Towns
Topic: Icemule Trace

Date: 12/08/2017 12:59 AM CST

From: THIRATA1

Subj: The Death of Nihala

Day of the Huntress, day 8 of the month Eorgaen in the year 5117.

I suddenly realize that Mayor Nihala is dead. I rush to her cottage only to be met by an attentive Halfling sentry. I attempt to gain entrance to the cottage and the sentry blocks my path. I attempt to look into a window of the cottage, and I cannot see in. I ask the sentry to let me into the cottage to tend to the body of Nihala, and she bars my way again. Trying not to let desperation and fear take me over, I pray for Lorminstra’s guidance and help. My soul screams inside–<I MUST help her!>

After a few moments, a crowd gathers, attempting to enter the cottage to no avail. It is only after Mayor Hibbitts arrives and has a word with the sentry that I am finally allowed to go into the cottage.
Rushing to her side I touch her and my heart beats erratically as I feel two things: the touch of death, and a foreboding sense that this death was purposeful, related somehow to that tome.
That tome. I try to grab it. It eludes my grasp.

Fighting the urge to bind and capture the tome, I assess Nihala’s injuries and am puzzled.
She has severe head trauma, bleeding from the ears, deep lacerations across her chest, and uncontrollable convulsions.

I think to myself “she has been alone.”
I eye the anxious sylvan apothecary who can only offer me a blank look when I ask what happened.

I tend Nihala’s wounds as gently as I can. Nihala melodically says, “My dear… what… I feel so strange.” I tell her, “no worries, I am tending you, and will have you up and right as rain”.

Nihala melodically says, “I was having the strangest dream…”
I ask “what sort of dream?”
She says “Walls and sigils and halls and thieves…, “Jumbled faces and phrases and then falling from such a high distance…”

I ponder a moment on what she has said, and then, by Lorminstra’s grace, Nihala is once again living. My soul is once again joyous at the restoration of life–but that joy is fleeting.

Hibbits is pacing nervously about threatening to fire the apothecary.

I turn back to Nihala. An overwhelming need strikes me again.

Speaking softly to Nihala, I say, “There is one more thing.”
[
Nihala melodically asks, “What is that, kind Priestess?”

I quietly whisper to Nihala, “The tome. May I take it for safekeeping?”

I do not know why I need to safekeep this tome, but I find my question rushing forth before I have even thought of it.

Nihala says, “I’m not quite finished reading it, but take it if you must.”

I once again attempt to pick up the tome, and it eludes my grasp yet again.

Nihala melodically says, “That’s strange. It’s never done that before.”

I briefly consider casting bind at the tome again, and decide I will not bring anymore danger into this home.

As I am pondering how to best capture this tome, Nihala whispers, “Please do keep an eye on Hibbits. A dear friend, but something’s not quite right.
She continues to whisper, “I prefer to keep it here to finish reading it. I’m just about done. But I did pull this page out from the second to last chapter. It’s a riddle of some kind, and I thought it’d be important…”

She offers me a torn yellowed page. There is writing in Common on the page.
It says:

Primeval power long ago forbidden
With simplest words can be unhidden

I carefully secure the page and assure Nihala I will keep it safe and confer with others to try to solve the riddle.

Nihala melodically says, “But how strange to die from a dream.
And to have my own head bashed in with not an assassin in sight… I wonder what kind of power could do that.”

I stare at the shadow which has been in this cottage since the first day we came to see the mayor.

I ask, “Do you know there is a shadow in this room?”
Nihala glances at an elongated shadow near the fireplace.
Nihala melodically asks, “Yes, dear, is that not from the fire in my fireplace?”

I tell her that the shadow has been here, and has not moved with or without the fire.
I touch the shadow, but nothing happens. I examine the shadow and see nothing unusual.
Nihala goes on to tell me “Please have the experts look into the shadow, too.”

We chat a bit longer and I tell her to rest-she immediately closes her eyes and drifts off to sleep.

My heart aches for Nihala, I know not why, but suddenly I feel an immense burden for her, and I find it hard to think of anything else but Nihala, and that tome.

I turn to Hibbitts, who is puffing away on his pipe. I chide him about smoking in this house, and as usual he sees nothing wrong with his actions and goes on to exclaim, “I love her dearly, but these accusations… over the top!”
Frustrated at both the burden I suddenly feel for Nihala, and the Mayor’s antics, I finally am able to leave the cottage.

Outside, I find the concerned citizens and friends of Icemule waiting anxiously.

Hibbits says, “NO ONE is to enter or unlock the door or window without my permission.”
Before I can even respond to the questions swirling around me like snowflakes, Hibbits says, “We must discuss what transpired, but first we should go to the Festival.”

I have no choice but to meet with the concerned citizens later, but our discussion is waylaid.

Suddenly we all felt drawn to the penitentiary, and Joness bravely pulled citizens from the meeting area to search and vanquish any threats. This resulted in injuries and loss of life, but no answers about the strange sensation pulling us to the penitentiary, or anything relative to what happened to Mayor Nihala.

In light of tonight’s events I shall confer with my elders, and with other knowledgeable students of magic.
I have great fear about what will happen if we do not secure the tome. I am fearful for Nihala. I am fearful for Icemule Trace.

I have no answers. For now, I have the page. The one page of the tome.

Enestrie High Priestess of Lorminstra