Mirror of Soul Trapping Vision

Mirror of the Past fades, and you see reflected the interior of Agata’s hut. Dark, smoky. The chair and table all set up as mostly as you saw them. There is an orc sitting in the chair, the big chair that used to be a Dunmari woman. The orc looks battered and bruised, her hands are tied behind her, and Agata is holding a jar of a bubbly brown gooey substance and painting it onto her leg. As she paints, the leg starts to solidify and turn to wood and then she takes an awl and starts chipping at this orc’s wooden leg. Agata is speaking, but the orc says nothing. Agata slaps her, and then turns the mirrors hanging on the wall, says something and the orc vanishes.

Going back in time, you see a Dunmari woman, a strikingly beautiful woman, with high cheekbones, light brown skin, a regal bearing. She has a bloody head, and a surprised look on her face almost too quick to notice, as she vanishes in front of the mirror.

Then another Dunmari. This man looks prematurely aged, bald, weary eyes full of pain. He is kneeling in front of the mirror just kind of looking up at it, the expression on his face is almost wishing it would take him. His tongue has been cut out. His thumbs are cut off, he looks in rough shape. Agata behind him kind of pushes him down, then slaps him on the back of the head and spits on him as he vanishes. 

A brief moment of blackness, then a scarred older man, one eye missing, gray hair, sitting in a chair. It almost looks like he’s babbling, talking endlessly, though of course you can’t hear anything. He’s sitting there just talking and talking and talking, sometimes crying, and rocking back and forth. Agata is standing nearby, listening, growing increasingly angry, increasingly frustrated, and then grabs his hair and forcibly turns his face to look into the mirror, as he vanishes.

The scene shifts, the vision no longer shows Agata’s hut. You are in a fire lit castle made of of dark stone with a very sort of martial look, almost brutalist in style, with hard corners. There are weapons decorating the wall across from where this mirror is hung. It seems this is not a huge chamber, more like a small private chamber, but still filled with accouterments of war. Standing in front of the mirror are two people. One female hobgoblin, wearing well-made armor, arguing, maybe, having some heated conversation with an almost shadowy looking man, standing there with a hood over his face. All you can really see of his features are two glowing red eyes peering out of the shadow. The hobgoblin says something, a command word to the mirror. The man standing in shadow throws back his hood and starts laughing, then snaps his fingers and the hobgoblin vanishes.

Then, just as the image starts to fade, you see another hobgoblin, polishing the mirror, muttering under his breath as he works words of power and magic into the surface of the mirror, creating it, as the scene fades to black.