Salt ran, and as he ran, he permitted himself a small measure of pleasure. Pleasure that his plan conceived in desperation and executed with the discipline of a rat on a sinking ship was holding together some of its pieces. Then pleasure waned as pressure waxed, and Salt ran faster.
Through a defunct corridor and telekinetically lifting a stasis box the size of a man he hurriedly vaulted into a side entrance of a small library mainly dedicated to the concept of fire magic, seeing it near barren at this hour he jogged to a corner of the thirteenth stack before panting hard while cursing his smaller frame. Framing feather light spells Salt wove small perception dampening and light mind-bending not my problem cantrips around himself. Having regained the use of his lungs Salt searched the lower portion of the nearest shelf until his hand brushed past a familiar Sigel. Erasing the Sigel with, a small fire cantrip Salt counted 3 rows up and to the left 5 books, settling a small third circle warding over the book he broke the spine of the tome and found page 6.
Intoning words of power Salt cast a name out near silently, the mana of his ritual was unmistakeable, but the words were left to its secrecy. “Aracaroges barrister of the court of true justice hear my call.” Sweating from the run and the spells, Salt Held the tome close and waited, and waited and waited. “Soil or do you go by Salt now my friend.” Came a voice from the tome, “I go by Salt now and wish to enter into specific contract 133 with you as bartered for in contract 132.” Salt replied, hoping the minor Devil lawyer of high stature would not have sunk or risen since two weeks ago when the contract was negotiated. “Indeed, though your frame has shrunk this time I can still feel that threadbare and abused soul of yours, now any changes to the periphery of our contract.” Shaking his head Salt replied, “only what changes we allowed to flexibly be put in, this is not the expected metal focused library so put a minor book of heat spells as payment instead.”
Salt then put his hand out gesturing towards the stasis chest and spoke. “I was thinking I would start payment on contract 134 if you would, it is nothing special just a fool who thought to disguise himself as one of my first years.” Salt could see that the lawyer was intrigued, many a payment had flown between them but rarely a student. “Salt are you sure you would take the chance that we would need a new contract after this. I am not saying I am too familiar with Nersinian goings on, but even I hear things. They say a certain underclassman has a flair for transmitting comprehension to new students, not a talent that would get one the protection it deserves. But certainly, a talent that would pay well if someone enslaved and sold his services.”
Trying not to raise his hand to massage his temple Salt answered, “and what would a lawyer seek with such a find. Mayhap a smart Devil would manufacture a way to send a third party his coordinates when contacted by such a talent?” Laughter and a heavy sigh from the tome followed his hypothetical accusation. “You truly have been run ragged boy, give me the idiot and I shall put it on my retainer. And please remember I do not ask such pleasant questions to all whosoever avail upon my services. Although I am a Devil I am not a soulless one, and even a Devils friendship is better than none.”
Feeling a complex mana construct take hold Salt found himself holding little more than white ash, looking behind him he saw the same spill from his stasis casket. With practiced ease Salt compressed his stasis equipment onto a small ball which he hid in his cloak, the only thing left was a book accentuated with flames. Picking the book up Salt slid it in the hole the tome previously occupied, casting a hastily made ritual spell Salt intoned “I donate this book to the library for its excellent register and mercy.” Feeling the ritual intent take hold as the library spirit ruminated on his mana signature and his many, many high-level spells cast within its walls Salt rose to his feet and started running.
Breathing out tension and stress Salt found himself at last outside his room. Shedding his conjured clothes and burning them with a routine cantrip Salt stepped into the for-room of his sanctuary and laid his bag and equipment down in a prepared stasis casket. Stepping back, he activated an inscribed rainfall dispel ritual laid on the roof of his small decontamination chamber. First the shower turned the blue of mana erasure trough saturation. Then red trough cleansing fire, followed by black as the ritual letting go of all chains and commitment trough death, whisking away traces of compulsion or suggestion Salt might have invertedly walked through. Then at last the water stopped, and a shower of green spores and white salt flecks dried himself and the chamber off. All the while the pressure forcing the used magic components aside and into sealable glass vats sat in the drain of the room which Salt might investigate or reuse as he wills.
Casting some quick investigation runes and nullification spells on his standard equipment. He left them in the stasis casket and walked into the room proper, the light of his Eldering tree shining down on him. As the tree sat in the centre of the room surrounded by enclosures of animals and ritual circles. A visible current of mana wrapped itself around the tree's leaf's changing their colour like oil on water. Just past the tree on the other side of the doors was a pond with a prominent root in it, walking over salt murmured as he conjured an overall and a shirt. “What was the fishing like today I wonder?” Shifting a cable to the side Salt looked into the pond, “Ho the fisherman” he shouted. “Shut yer fecking pie hole” Came the reply. Hearing scrambling Salt backed up out of reach, as a long gangly hand lifted out a long gangly old man from the pond. Setting down a spear filled with what can only be called abominations of fish shish kebabbed on it. The tall man started mumbling words of power before casting a third circle identify trough his own eyes. Seeing the tall man shrike in pain while still somehow mumbling and cursing Salt did nothing for several minutes before the man spoke again. “So, hello me Salt looks like shite this small.” Salt replied, “hello me, Soil looks like shit always” “anyways” said the tall man “yer you and I am you so help me by getting the rest of the catch in from the pond.”
Sitting down after having descaled and slaughtered the void fish and planted the netted soul shards, salt said. “I took down 4 third circle mages today, backed up by 3 two circle mages and a classmate, I think. I did do it by counter ambush though, so I am still not sure-” Soil interrupted “stop fuccin braggin. We designed Salt as a durn combat chassis, of course it cuts through ner-do-wells like carrots afore a bunny swarm. It can't grow things for shit though!” Raising himself to his feet Soil said “under this here feeking time tree this night will last 7 Yars. But you will remember if it bites grass 100 hours of it and if it bites stone a scant dozin and I will be dead as we merge again. Perhaps you will remember pieces of me in the soil chassis as I remember the mees in the Silt and Stone chassis. Well, get to it you won't learn to be a feeking bookmancer sitting in the feeking grass pity jerking it to wat could have been. Now get!”
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Bookmancer or scribe or wordfinder or Contract conjurer, call it what you will to Salt it was fun. Having no facility with his previous profession that of a Growth specialist, Alchemical provider or Herbologist having sacrificed all of that for magical punching power and stamina. There was nothing to say that he could not pick up a new profession, in fact with a deeper mana spring he could channel a concept for longer leading to increased comprehension from the reader. Faster comprehension of a deeper concept = more expensive books/spell scrolls and less rebound on the maker if you built a flaw in. There was also the fact that few mediums could hold spells or concepts well, and if they could they were expensive. Having not been able to move the pelts, scales and other ephemera from his animals and fishing due to being hunted for his skill for the last 2 months, a backlog had naturally formed. With his material consumption being met he could teach himself further along the path of a scribe, and at the end of 7 years as the Eldering sacrifice scoured the learned skill from his mind. Could teach himself with his own scrolls and tomes anew.
Having done this before though mostly when the chassis being Soil and another Soil it did not take long for Salt to get up to speed on Bookmancery though the speed was almost halved due to having excised so much of his comprehension ability and hidden it. Even so the former Soils scrolls, and nascent tomes were concise and helpful, the former seven years a month ago also helped where Salt after 7 years had written and curated the 100 books of the little book of read me first his students hopefully used. He truly missed having two Eldering trees, but only with their sacrifice or one's own can we get 7 years of time. It must seem crazy to give up a natural treasure like an Eldering tree for a profession, but without an income source your as good as dead in this place. How can you take a contract to work to get wealth without paying someone to look the contract over, so you actually get paid. If you cannot hire muscle to ferry you safely to the place where you get the most for your product, wealth will leave you fast. You do not have to go silver to see wealth begets wealth.
Salt and Soils speciality might be completely different, but they had the same secondary mastery. Conjuration of a thing that was not there a moment ago, to reach out and tap the several sources of mana, concepts and background radiation. To form an image of something from near nothing, binding it to the ideal form of itself, forcing that form to a purpose not necessarily natural to its form or image. To do such a thing required a will that few had. To do such a thing while in Nersinia a place of chaotic magical eddies and swirls in mana required a will that had seen death daily. But to do all that and imbue it into a scroll of void fish scale using Hearth finder hart blood well it was almost more than Salt could bear. Not a day went by without Salt passing out at his growing workshop after making just a single scroll, Soil had taken to chucking the finished scroll into a fortified stasis box after a faulty scroll had near blown-up part of the room in the night.
Now people would say that the real money in bookmancy lay in wizard tome crafting, but not only would it probably take months and an enormous amount of magical reagents to create such a self-learning tomes to sell, the real answer why lay in this hypothetical: “Hey guys lets rob the wizard tome seller we could sell those easily and what's he going to do, brain us all with his massive books.” Or “Hey guys lets rob the weapons grade conjurations scroll seller, we could sell those easily and what's he going to do, use his scrolls to summon a menagerie of terrifying monsters to rip us to shreds.” No Salt would stick with scrolls to sell for now. That is not to say he would not make and upgrade his own tomes, He currently had seven nescient Tomes in Growth specialist, Alchemical provider, Herbologist, all that Soil could provide and would provide by the time the 7 years were up. The four other tomes were Scribe, Book mancer, Conjurer and of course Tome mastery, some of the pages were from the Salt from a month ago, some pages where even from the Silt chassis.
The plan where always to go into Bookmancy, but never this fast, never forced as he was now. Not for the first time Salt contemplated an 8 tome, one in evocation. But he knew this was too serious an undertaking as he was now, he would wait until he was whole again. One person instead of two, he thought better, he planned better, he was better. The only true upside of splitting himself was the soul growth, the pain of abnegation of oneself grew the soul like no other. Well, it also polished the will to a fine sheen, two upsides, years of torture. The only way he had found to grow the Eldering tree consistently was to excise a sliver of his own soul graft it to the tree, then split his own soul in half. Grow strong under its 7-year boon and tend to the tree giving it the blood and flesh of captured and bred creatures, before sacrificing the body and parts of the soul of one of himself and most of the memories of the 7 years of both. Thus, growing the tree in both radiance and power.
Though Salt hated the tree slightly he would miss it, for the tree was not his, it belonged to the school. Growing it was his tuition payment. Six months ago, Soil had succeeded in growing an offshoot of the Eldering tree, a small sapling sized plant. His hope had been he could finally pay with the grown tree stopping the interest accrued on the tuition. Forced him to constantly make the tree stronger to up its value commensurate with the tuition.
Two months ago, a disaster happened, Soil had taken a Nersinian mission to teach a first-year class for an N-point. However, while teaching the class and casting a rudimentary comprehension spell on the room an ability that had been growing within burst out uncontrollably. Unknown to himself the constant circle of teaching himself, forgetting and reteaching himself while his soul had been split open had inured him with the ability to teach himself and others what he had mastered and comprehends at a staggering rate.
The students of the class, at least the ones who did not go unconscious right away, came out with a solid understanding in conjuration, with was strange since it was a class in alchemy. This comprehension ability being coveted by many kicked of a sort of hunt royal when the fact spread that Soil was a weak nature mage who kept to himself and had no backing. The tone went from “what an interesting guy I wonder if he would help me” to “what an interesting potential slave I wonder who will capture him first.” The Salt chassis would put a stop to that he hoped, as would the fireworks he had planned so meticulously for tomorrow.
It took 2 years of fumbling in a woollen stage of half-life, before he got it, before he actually GOT Tome mastery. It was not as it was set down in the books, he had borrowed. Decidedly different from what he had cobbled together from summoned and dead Book-mancers. He was just outright wrong about most of his assumptions, Tome mastery was not the static gathering of knowledge he had come to know or suspect. But a constant battle of searching collating and questioning, imbuing the owner with the ability to slot his own half-formed ideas of spells, concepts, laws, professions, perspectives, anything really. To sharpen, to fail, to abandon, to mistake, to blunder in hours instead of days but still hold to your central ideas. As he suspected bookmancy was dangerous all right, there was a reason most if not all bookmancers went Blue.