Marked Chapter Eighteen

The feel of the cavern is different when I arrive this time; there's a buzzing sensation across my skin as I come to awareness of my surroundings. The smell of the cavern is more visceral, and intense. Moss, damp earth, damp stone, and something that brings to mind starchy roots invade my senses, and I take an unsteady step to land awkwardly and painfully on my butt. My pained cry brings a response of a scaley rasping across metal.

"Ah. There you are, Taylor." The voice is somehow more sonorous than I remember, more viscerally real. I don't just hear her speaking, I can feel the rumble in my chest, my bones. Naxylotriam seems to slide into the chamber I'm in from deeper down, but as her predator's eyes land on me, she hesitates, almost freezing. Then she speaks, and her voice is whip sharp, angered. "You are wounded. I can smell the pain on you. What happened?"

"A close call with some bad elements back home," I reply, leveraging myself up with my right arm to a sitting position. "My dragonmark sort of got me into it, but it also got me out again."

"We should have more time than before, time enough for you to relate to me the specifics of your circumstances. But you will not be needlessly damaged or pained in my presence." Like last time, she makes some strange gestures and muttered words; I'd swear they were the same ones she spoke before. I try to commit them to memory, something like 'obidai verdua vaikat'? but she plucks a length of leather, studded with a trio of milky white stones, from empty air, and straps it around an upper arm that's thicker than my waist. "Where are you injured?" she asks.

"Upper left arm," I reply, glancing to where my arm hangs in its sling. It seems at first like such an obvious answer, but then, assuming a magic using dragon even knows what a sling is for, its presence still only indicates 'an injury somewhere arm related'. "It's already been splinted, but we're planning to see a doctor in the morning."

"That will be rather unlikely, I think," she comments mysteriously.

The sparkle drains from one of the gems in the leather band, and she touches my shoulder with the back of her claw. I can feel the difference; the pain recedes immediately. "Okay," I finally manage after a couple seconds. I try lifting my arm, turning it, rotating my shoulder, each in the tentative and experimental way one does after an injury. "Okay. That, that feels a lot better."

"I should hope so," Nax rumbles at me. It takes me a second to register that the rumbling is a laugh of sorts. "It's a good tool. I rarely have occasion to use it, though, given the isolation of my lair, both before and now. My minions and agents find it much easier to seek healing closer to home."

Healing superpowers are really rare, some of the rarest powers, in fact. But Naxylotriam seems to regard them as ubiquitous. Or else she's trying to impress me by being dismissive of what should be a rarity? "Are those sorts of tools common in this world?"

"For a certain definition of common, yes," she answers, peeling the object from her arm and returning it to wherever it came from. "They tend to be, if not readily available with a little effort searching them out, at least relatively easy to commission. Lesser magical items such as that belt can be completed by any competent crafter in a day or less, given material availability."

She settles down on the floor of the cavern ten or so feet from me, and I'm suddenly keenly aware of the sheer difference in size between us. I don't know if she could eat me in one bite if she wanted to, but I'm almost positive she could manage it in two. "You're enormous," I blurt out suddenly.

Whatever I'd been expecting, Nax throwing her head back and roaring laughter wasn't it. It rings off the walls in our enclosed space, and my heart skips a beat at the volume. "Yes, yes I am," she replies after a few seconds. "It is gratifying of you to notice. Have you made any attempts at your book yet?"

"I've looked it over briefly, but I have no idea what any of it means. I haven't developed that power you were talking about yet." I shrug. "It's only been a day, you know?"

"Yes. The time differential between us." The mirth is gone, quite suddenly, and she eyes me. "I have consulted with a few of my agents and even another dragon, all of whom can be considered experts in the field of plane theory. It is well known that other planes occasionally become coterminous with our world, Mabar, Kythri, Xoriat, and so forth-- and none of these names means anything to you, I see. But what you may understand is the orbital theory, the concept that planes drift in and out of contact with each other according to a higher dimensional motion of orbits as all other planes travel around ours, your plane of existence included."

I take a moment to consider what she's implying, and it sounds very much like she's trying to inflate the importance of this world over Earth Bet. "Okay, so what you're saying is my world is sort of like a moon of yours?" I finally venture.

"Yes, precisely."

"How do you know your world isn't the one orbiting mine in a fourth or fifth dimension pathing?"

"Because in a system of large bodies, typically the central focus will have the most objects surrounding it, and while you only know of here and Earth Aleph, we have charted more than a dozen about Eberron and it looks like you might be from a minor one that has not been researched yet. Oh, this is a gross simplification, of course, but I doubt you have a heavy grounding in cosmology for a more detailed description, and it suffices well enough for our purposes."

Nax manages to sound both condescending and confident in her assessment, and it annoys me. Perhaps unwisely, I respond, "Well, if it's a matter of sheer numbers, our solar system has either eight or nine primary planets, depending on whether you count Pluto, including Jupiter which has something like twenty of its own named moons, and Saturn which has I think sixty-three. And of those moons some of them are large enough to maybe be habitable some day when we develop the technology to get there. Which, with tinkers, might be in my lifetime." Okay, I confess, my ego is getting the best of me. "So maybe it's Eberron that orbits Earth Bet on your fourth or fifth dimensional path."

Naxylotriam gives me an indecipherable look for a few seconds before nearly stopping my heart as she says, "You speak very boldly for a human within eating distance." Her posture relaxes after a moment, and she continues, "But you are too valuable to handle so roughly, and I rather like you too much for it even despite that. Also, I find that an interesting bit of knowledge, and would greatly like to know the devices which enable such information gathering without the use of magic."

"Uh, telescopes and a lot of math, mostly," I answer, feeling a bit more subdued now. "I guess I could get some books for you on it."

"Ah, yes. On that matter; it occurred to me that your progress on the tome I have procured for you will be severely hampered by your circumstances, and that unless your talent for artifice is somehow even greater than the uncommon strength of your dragonmark, providing you with adequate instruction would prove to be next to impossible without a greater amount of time per visit you make." She gestures about the cavern with one arm in a sweeping motion. "Which is why I have taken certain measures; after consulting one of the experts in my employ, we have devised a method that SHOULD enable you to remain here for longer than a handful of minutes at a time."

"Oh?" I find myself perking up a bit; the short visits have been kind of cool but, well... limiting. "How long?"

"At a guess, perhaps two days from appearance to departure; it should not impact your time in your world, if the approximately seven to one time differential holds fast."

Two days? At seven to one, assuming a twenty four hour day here, that would be a little less than seven hours. Which means I SHOULDN'T be missed. But staying here two days from my perspective? That's not a small investment. And what's it going to do to my sleeping schedule? Is it going to affect how long it takes for my mark to recharge, or am I going to be limited to what I have at this very moment-- amounting to a single Manifest Minion, in fact-- until I get back home? And that's assuming that nothing goes wrong. "What if the time differential doesn't stay the same?"

"If it does not, I will find a means to eventually return you back to your homeworld. But by all accounts, you do not have much holding you there, so it should not be TOO troublesome." At my shocked facial expression, she continues, "Oh, do not be so concerned. I take good care of my agents and minions. You will not want for comfort, health, or entertainment while in my care. And I imagine you would enjoy the ability to learn of my world even as you tell me about yours, would you not?"

'Her' agents and minions? I get the distinct feeling that I've been shanghaied. Still, getting to see a completely unfamiliar world with none of the baggage of mine... "That DOES sound kind of fun," I say after a few moments.

"Indeed. But a word of caution: take care to never show your dragonmark here. It would be... problematic, to display it, given the tensions and political implications of bearing a mark so completely outside your race."

Or maybe more of its baggage than I would have guessed. Great. Racism is a thing here, too? That feels like a major let down. You'd think people would have better things to do in a world with magic and dragons than to hate each other over the color of their skin. "I'll, uh, keep that in mind."

That does sort of bring up a question I had about the mark, though. "You mentioned a House Ghallanda, before. Said that was what mark I had."

"Yes. The halflings have two marks in their bloodlines, the mark of healing, and the mark of hospitality. Ghallandan halflings bear your mark, hospitality."

I could facepalm right now. Hospitality is the theme of my powers, all about feeding and sheltering people. Making them feel rested, clothing them in clean or even new clothes. "I swear the more I learn about my powers, the more I like them."

Nax gives a dragony laugh. "Most such bearers of a dragonmark come to feel the same. But as powerful as your mark is, I believe this to be merely the beginning of what it will eventually be capable of. Speaking of which..."

Nax trails off, waiting expectantly. It takes me about two seconds longer than it should to realize what she's waiting for. "Oh! Right, the clothes. One second." I unshoulder my haversack, marveling a bit at the fact that there's not even an ache in my arm. I begin pulling out the outfits I picked out.

"This was all I could fit in the bag," I say a few minutes later as I pull out the last of the shoes, a strappy pair similar to the ones Mom would wear when I was younger, and she and Dad went out to dinner.

"These satchels are rather small," Naxylotriam comments as she picks up one of them and eyes it critically.

"They're as much accessories as anything else; back home we don't usually have to carry a lot of super big items or anything." I pick up a purse, examining it, while wishing that I had Emma's talent for outfit assembly. If anyone could have been world class with my powers, she probably could have done it with the Clothier's Closet alone. "You find one that looks good with the rest of your outfit. Like, a purse that goes well with your shoes, and doesn't distract too badly from the rest of your outfit. I was never that good at this, though."

I look back up at Nax-- and there's a completely naked, human looking woman there, examining a pair of jeans. "Wh- what the hell?!" I yelp, turning away. Okay, so shapeshifting is a dragon power? And I groan a little as the image burned into my brain is much prettier and bustier than I'll ever be. Even a gigantic reptile is more feminine than me. How utterly humiliating.

"Hmm? What is your problem, Taylor?" she asks with a hint of annoyance in her voice. "How else am I supposed to see how any of these will look on me?"

"A little warning, maybe?" I protest, mostly from embarrassment. "What, do humans not have nudity laws here?"

"To my knowledge, they do not," Nax relies acerbicly, "although customarily I suppose it is unneeded as I have never seen any of the races casually accept public nudity. Setting aside that I had not reduced the amount of clothing I was wearing before I polymorphed myself, and I can not emphasize this enough, you are in my house, in my former bedroom."

I wince. She does have a point; I AM the guest here, through no fault of either of us. I don't suppose I'd be half as capable of accommodating her needs as she has been mine. Well, perhaps not entirely true, with my dragonmark--

--which, as I'm paying attention to it, I realize has recharged. But not only has my mark recharged, I realize, I also can use my Hidden Hotel one extra time, AND there's something new. "Maybe I can give you some underwear to go with that stuff, then?" I suggest.

"Small clothes?" she answers back from behind me. "Perhaps. The clothing you've brought appears to be designed for something other than the casual bodice most of the races use here commonly. There's no support."

I sigh. Support has never been a problem for me. "I can help with that. Seems I have all my powers back."

"Ah, that is convenient."

"Should I use my Hidden Hotel so you can have a changing room? And maybe food, too. Then you can try the foods from my world, too."

"That would be enjoyable. I accept."

---

I open up a Clothier's Closet with my second gem, watching it wisp away into a faint powder; it turns out that any doorway works and Naxylotriam apparently has had visitors here before who have this ability because she has among her possessions an actual door and doorframe for me to use. If I didn't know better I'd swear that her interest in outfits from Earth Bet are personal rather than financial. The first thing I give her is a long, fluffy robe, which she seems inordinately pleased with.

Once she has it on, it becomes much easier to look at her without feeling really uncomfortable. Thankfully, she doesn't press the issue of 'my house, my skin' and the two of us start fishing through the closet as I put my memory and imagination to work. She doesn't take any of the fanciful lingerie I remember, which is just as well, because I never did get into that sort of thing and the best stuff I could come up with from a practical sense was the plain, comfortable stuff I normally wear, although I have to modify a few things to account for her noticeably larger bust and hips. I think she's cheating, personally, but who am I to call a dragon out on something like that? I just fill the order while trying to be a professional saleswoman.

After the initial outfits garner more of her interest for the fabrics they're made of than the designs, I stop trying to remember, and start trying to create. Within a few minutes I'm coming up with far more interesting things than any of what I brought along. More than a dozen outfits have been assembled to keep from those I came up with, but these get set off to the side for later. To wear immediately, she picks out a pair of grey mottled denim jeans that fit her legs almost like a second skin, with a sky blue blouse and one of the filmier shawls I selected. I have to help her a little with the strappy shoes she chose.

"Now, all we need is a mirror," I comment. "One Hidden Hotel with dressing mirrors and a changing room, coming up!"

"Changing room?" Nax asks as I try to concentrate. "You have rooms that change?"

"Well, technically, any room is a room that changes if you have furniture and an interior decorator on hand," I mumble. Her raised eyebrow pulls a blush from me. "Never mind. Uh, it's a room where you can change outfits. Usually in a department store so you can try on stuff you pick out."

"Try on?" she says. "Do the tailors of your home fit clothing to people so poorly that a dedicaated room is a given?"

"Most clothes back home are mass produced to a given set of sizes," I reply. "It reduces costs by making things... standardized. Usually there's lots of brands to choose from, so even if one brand doesn't tend to make clothes that fit you well enough, another will. And, well, it's just... uh, efficient that way. Custom tailored clothes are sort of a rich person's thing."

"Hm. I am beginning to see why clothing is so inexpensive on your Earth Bet," she says with a haughty sniff. "Still, the designs are novel enough. Also, 'Hidden Hotel'?"

"My newest power. It's really cool!" I gush enthusiastically. "I can create a huge place, with its own servants, and any kind of room I can think of, any furnishings, and any food I imagine. In... rather huge amounts."

"Ah. What you call 'Hidden Hotel' is actually known as a 'Mage's Magnificent Mansion'," she informs me.

"Oh. Darn it, that's actually cooler than mine. What about Manifest Minions?"

"What does that do?"

"It calls up a programmable, invisible minion that can do pretty much any tasks I tell them too. Kinda slow moving, can't go too far from me or it stops existing."

"Sounds very much like Unseen Servant."

It's my turn to sniff. "I think Manifest Minion sounds way cooler."

"Perhaps," Nax says with a shrug. "I am not the one who originally named the spell, and you are, of course, free to call it whatever you like so long as you care not whether another knows what you are talking about."

I spend a few minutes solidifying in my head what the floor plan of my Magnificent Mansion (it really is a cooler name) while Nax puts all the clothes she selected and that I brought into whatever magicky storage place she keeps things. After I've finished mentally arranging my layout, the two of us walk inside.

"So, what do you think?" I ask, gesturing around the room's white polished marble, the hanging chandeliers of multicolored crystal, the high vaulted ceiling that I deliberately made large enough to accomodate even her normal size.

"Considerate of you to adjust the scale of the layout, although it could be wetter for my tastes. All this dry stone is pretty enough, but more suited to dwarves than such as me."

I blink. Right. Her bedroom was underwater before I made that inconvenient for her. I alter the layout, retaining the size, but replacing the marble columns with greenery surrounding a wide pool, with rocks and clean moss on the ends. "This better?" I ask, turning to face her-- and she looks rather dumbfounded.

"How did you-" she stops, looking at the room, then back at me. "You changed it after you created it?"

"Is... that not normal?"

"Mages for a thousand years have been limited to the initial layout they envision when casting or calling up a Mansion, regardless of whether the magic fuelling it was born of a dragonmark, wizardly studies, or sorceror's innate magics."

I bravely choose to NOT imply or outright state that maybe they're so used to this miracle ability that they simply lack the imagination. Instead, I suggest, "Would you like to try some of the foods from back home?"

---

"And this? What is this one?" she asks, pointing to a bowl of thick, creamy white soup with her spoon.

"New England clam chowder," I reply, taking a bite of my shrimp fried rice, which she had NOT been impressed with.

"Clam?" she says questioningly.

"Ocean animal, shell fish," I answer. "Has a hinged shell it can clamp shut to protect itself, not very mobile." I nod towards the bowl. "Makes famously good chowder. Also good other ways, but usually a hassle to eat because they're not very big so you have to eat lots of them in a meal."

"Clearly not a barrier here, though," she comments, taking the step to try the soup. She takes the spoonful, looking thoughtful as she chews, obviously having gotten a piece of the clam. "... Meatier than I would have thought," she says after a moment. "Flavorful for so small a morsel."

I nod. "Yeah, it's why it's so popular."

That, and it's got a lot of thickness to it, holds the heat, and is great for warming up after a cold day. But that's more than I really want to get into. Although it DOES beg the question. "What, ah, season is it here?"

"Early summer, twenty-fourth day of Nymm, so a Zol."

"A... zol?" I ask.

"Indeed. Just a Zol." She glances in my direction, then sighs, shaking her head at herself. "Which means nothing to you. Third day of the week. Sul, Mol, Zol, Wir, Zor, Far, Sar." She rattles them off easily, and I frown, mentally engraving the days on the wall so I can hopefully study and remember them later.

"Ah. Not... too different from ours, actually. Sunday Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday."

"Curious." Her tone indicates she's anything but; given we're in her world rather than mine, something like calendars would probably seem pretty superficial and trite. Since I'm only supposed to be here two days, I can't muster up a great deal of interest in her calendar either but I don't want to be impolite. She might look human enough right now but that 'eating range' comment still rests firmly at the forefront of my mind. As does the old joke from back home, 'dragons find you crunchy and good with ketchup' and we don't even have real dragons back home. Even counting Lung, although I'd never say it to his face either. Although it makes me wonder if other people have slipped across the boundary between our worlds in the past. I mean, stories of dragons have to come from SOMEWHERE, and since I'm fairly proof positive that it can happen in the first place, that suggests strongly it probably happened multiple times before.

"Since you know little of Eberron, I will set the list of places we visit rather than give you a list of names with no meaning or context." She says this like it's a foregone conclusion. I can't find any reason to argue with her, either-- I don't have any knowledge to give context to a list of places she might suggest to me.

"That sounds good."

"Which reminds me," she adds, pulling a pouch out of the silver and black leather purse she selected to match her shoes. She sets the pouch in front of me.

"What is this?" I ask.

"Payment for services rendered," she answers. "As you have mentioned the limited use of gold in your world, I have included other forms of payment for the goods you have provided."

I take the pouch. It's surprisingly heavy. Pouring the contents out, I see a scattering of gemstones, and a small, lustrously golden bar of honey toned metal. I stare at it with admitted awe, before I try to dig my thumbnail into the corner of it. It leaves a very faint mark.

"Yes, it is gold, pure enough for dwarven tastes," she says with an amused smile. "One pound of it, in addition to gemstones for more clothing. Whether it is easy for you to use is irrelevant, so long as it is not impossible for you to convert into Federal Reserves. If nothing else, you could perhaps have it melted down into saleable jewelry or something."

"Dollars," I say faintly. This is a staggering amount of wealth. I can't begin to guess how much the gems are worth but it's a lot. "The money is called dollars."

"Dollars, then."

I look at the pretties for a few more seconds, before sticking them back in the pouch and putting the pouch into a side pocket of my haversack. Nax has finished eating and is lounging dragonlike despite her current condition of being human looking. I straighten up with a smile. "So! Where are we going to go first?"