Blasted fools’ve done it again. Dreafus an’ Shadowstep—caught behind some invisible wall, flailin’ their arms about like drunk goblins tryin’ to swim. Then they vanish up a spiral stair like it’s all part o’ the plan. I swear by Moradin’s beard, if I have to pull those two outta danger one more time…
I bark at Gerhard an’ Icarus, tellin’ ‘em to keep watch at the door. Me an’ Istrum head off to sort this mess. We give the tower a once-over—no doors, no secret ways in, just four wee windows barely wide enough for a snake’s fart. Looks like we’re goin’ in.
“Aye, where in Moradin’s name have you fools gone!?” I shout as we step through the front.
The room lights up—torches flarin’ to life on their own. It’s like a bloody welcome party. Nothin’ else inside but that cursed staircase, so up we go.
But halfway up, I feel odd. Shorter. I look down—by the Stonefather’s hammer, I’m wearin’ Shadowstep’s getup! Frilly sleeves! And I look up to see me, standin’ there already. This tower’s messin’ with our heads.
Turns out Istrum and Dreafus’ve swapped bodies too. They manage to get themselves sorted—for a moment. The room’s got four mirrors, some odd seaweed-lookin’ plant, and vials o’ clear liquid. Windows are barred up tight, even though the tower looked half-smashed from the outside. Somethin’s not right.
Dreafus pokes at the liquid—it’s just water, he says. Istrum heats up the plant with a torch and it shrivels up like old boots, but splash it with water and it perks right up again. Nothin’ useful, so I stomp upstairs, only to find the same room… and the same lot already there!
We’re stuck in some loop. Each mirror shows our true selves, but when we look at each other, it’s still all jumbled. Shadowstep, true to form, smashes one in frustration and gets flung across the room for his trouble. Istrum tosses some glass down the stairs—it lands back on the first floor. He tries tossing some up, and it bloody well comes up from behind us! We’re stuck in a damned mirror maze.
Eventually we all take a whack at a mirror. When the last one breaks—smashed by Dreafus—we all black out, waking up back on the lower floor. Still not in our own skins, curse it all.
We try again. Dreafus pours water on a mirror—it runs down, but won’t drip off the bottom. I stand next to Shadowstep and suddenly I see myself in two mirrors. I pour the water over me—nothin’. But the mirror now shows Shadowstep instead o’ me. Illusions, curses, tricks—whatever this is, it stinks o’ wizardry.
We smash ‘em again. Room resets. Again.
Then Dreafus, mumblin’ like a mad alchemist, mutters, “Mirrors retain water. Plants absorb water. Mirror shouldn’t be wet.”
By Moradin’s calloused knuckles—we’re thinkin’ backwards! We grab those spongy sea-plants and start soakin’ the water off the mirrors. As the water vanishes, so does the curse. Finally, we’re back in our own bodies.
Up we go, to the third floor. Glowing tiles on the ground, glowing globes from the ceilin’. Yellow, purple, orange, blue. We each grab a color, stand on the tile—POP—the room spins like a tavern after ten ales and starts shrinkin’.
We try it again. POP. And again. Until—bam! Blackness. We all pass out.
Bah, I hate magic.
Next time, I’m bringin’ a keg and lettin’ the tower sort itself out.