0. The Silver Kettle Inn

The accused and owner of the box smiled broadly at Zix's remarks.

"Precisely."

Then, as he prepared to demonstrate the box’s enchantment, one of the others, a rotund man with a graying beard and a faint smell of pipe smoke, leaned forward. His voice carried a conspiratorial undertone as he spoke:

"Pandora's Box," he murmured, his words barely louder than the crackle of the hearth. "Could this be it?"

The room fell silent for a moment. The accuser replied, "You speak of myth. Surely, you don’t mean to suggest this is the Pandora’s Box?"

The older merchant shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps not the original, no. But the story speaks of many such containers, doesn’t it? Not all of them made by gods. Some say skilled enchanters have tried to replicate the fabled artifact—boxes that hold wonders and horrors alike, sealed away from the world until someone foolish or brave enough dares to open them."

"What are you talking about?" asked the accused merchant.

The rotund merchant lit his pipe and leaned forward again, his eyes gleaming with the firelight as he puffed on the carved stem thoughtfully. He gestured toward the box, as if its mysterious aura gave weight to the tale he was about to tell.

"Pandora’s Box," he began, his voice low and steady, capturing the room’s attention as though he were reciting an ancient ritual. "A tale far older than the common folk’s fables about a curious girl and the wrath of gods. The true story—well, the one wizards and witches whisper to each other in darkened chambers—is about ambition. And betrayal."

He tapped the side of the box with his pipe for emphasis, its faint runes flickering as though responding to his words. "Long ago, there were those among us—mages, warlocks, enchantresses—who sought to overthrow the divine. They weren’t content with the gifts of magic bestowed upon mortals. No, they wanted the power of creation itself, the power to rule worlds and shape reality with a mere thought."

"To achieve this," the merchant continued, "they forged vessels—containers capable of trapping the essence of the gods themselves. These weren’t crude creations, mind you. These were works of art, imbued with ancient runes and secrets lost to time. Each one was designed to deceive a specific deity, to lure them in with promises of tribute or devotion, only to seal them away for eternity."

The accuser raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking in a faint smirk. "And I suppose the gods didn’t take kindly to such treachery?"

The merchant chuckled darkly. "You’d be right, my friend. When the divine discovered the plot, their wrath was terrible. They cursed the vessels—turned them into prisons not just for gods, but for anything placed within them. Objects, power, knowledge—it didn’t matter. Once sealed inside, it was beyond mortal reach. Some say the gods left a key, an incantation to open these boxes, but only as a cruel jest. A riddle so convoluted, it would drive most mad before they ever found the answer."

He gestured at the box again, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "They say the vessels—Pandora’s Boxes, as they’re called—still surface from time to time. Not all of them were destroyed, after all. Some were hidden, passed down through generations, their purpose and origins forgotten... until someone foolish enough to open them unleashes whatever lies within."

The room shivered with unease. The accused merchant, clearly growing agitated, slammed his hand on the table, silencing the room with a sharp crack that echoed above the crackling fire. His face, flushed with irritation, twisted into a scowl as he glared at the storyteller.

"Enough of your ridiculous fables," he growled. "This isn’t some cursed relic crafted by power-hungry fools trying to usurp the gods. It’s an enchanted box, made by a mortal wizard. No gods. No curses. Just skilled craftsmanship and a bit of practical magic."

He paused, taking a deep breath to steady himself, and then continued, his tone sharper and more deliberate. "I bought it fair and square from a traveler in Cliffport. The man claimed he acquired it from a Valgredt artisan—a place that still holds weight in certain circles, for those of you who know anything about magic. Their enchantments are renowned for being both practical and reliable. Nothing sinister about it."

Dorian looks at the other merchants, and says, "What do you think? Should we try and open it? If you think it might be cursed, I can make the attempt."

He's using his charm and obvious curiosity to side step the accusations that have flown about. After this he'll want to ask the box-owner more questions, as his curiosity about magic had been recently heightened.

Zix pondered for a few moments.

"I vaguely recall some scholars pointing out that in the Pandoric tales, the word used referred not to a box, but to large corked vessels for liquid, and that construction of intricate boxes was not typical for the crafters of the era from which the story hails. So presumably this is not it. But of course, that doesn't prevent the box from having a curse ready to spring on whoever mishandles it."

The box’s owner let out a long breath, his gaze darting between Dorian and the gathered merchants.

"Fine," he said, his tone clipped but firm. "By all means, try your hand at it. Let’s put an end to this chatter and prove once and for all there’s nothing to fear." He slid the box across the table toward Dorian with a deliberate motion.

The other merchants exchanged uneasy glances, their earlier accusations momentarily forgotten as the allure of the artifact took hold. One of them said, "Are you certain about this? It’s one thing to wager on its value, but opening it could... well, you’ve heard him."

Dorian will attempt to solve the box as if it is a puzzle. He'll secretly cheat of course, by using Amplifico to heighten his intellect in solving the puzzle.

"Come, we're all good friends here, let us investigate this mystery together!"

Dorian focuses his inner might and attempts to use the magic to enhance his mind. "Yes, let's see what we have here." He takes a deep breath.

The merchants leaned in closer, captivated by his confidence and charm. Dorian, however, was already working his own subtle magic. As he placed both hands firmly on the box, he whispered a barely audible incantation under his breath, channeling Amplifico to sharpen his intellect and heighten his problem-solving prowess.

Yet as he cast the spell, he felt a subtle resistance within himself—a lack of precision in his execution, an unfamiliarity with the finer details of the magic. The energy faltered, slipping away like water through his fingers.

He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to remain calm. It wasn’t just his inexperience with Amplifico magic that was the problem. There was something else—a barrier woven into the box itself. As he studied it further, the answer became clear: a Tutela spell.

The enchantment wasn’t merely locking the box; it was actively guarding it, cloaking the mechanisms of the puzzle in layers of obfuscation. No amount of cleverness or magical amplification would penetrate it without first dismantling the protective spell.

The realization left Dorian both intrigued and irritated. A Tutela spell of this strength was no simple ward. Whoever had created the box had gone to great lengths to ensure its contents remained inaccessible. Dispelling such a barrier would require an Excidium spell—a specialized form of magic related to Entropy and destruction that he had yet to learn.

For now, the box would remain sealed, its secrets tantalizingly out of reach. Still, the experience had only deepened his curiosity. If the answer to the puzzle lay beyond his current knowledge, then perhaps Misthaven University would provide the tools he needed to unlock this or similar objects. In the meantime, he could only wonder what secrets it might hold.

He suspects that these Arts are beyond him, and in fact, takes some small pride in having discovered that. However, he has a show to put on, one way or another. He glances at Zix the real showman, and has an idea.

Dorian leans closer and says, "I see a thin line. Do you? Look, closely, I think it's opening. There's a sound, high pitched." When the others lean in, he kicks the bottom of the table.

"Hahaha," he laughs as they jump, and pushes the box back to the owner. "True magic protects that box. It will take a man more clever than I to open it. A fantastic treasure my friend."