Seeing Dippy out here, chatting with Zippy, patiently waiting on us, well, I feel like a terrible friend. He’s a great guy. He has a family to get back to, and the Imperium is no place for anybody at this point. It takes some convincing, but he agrees that there isn’t much tracking to do if we’re just going to take a long trek around the east side of the mountains. Delaying his return home wouldn’t put his abilities to use.

Watching him leave hurts because he’s a staunch companion. He never even complained about storming an entire human compound. He commented on it, and even cracked some jokes about crazy humies as he put it. But he has been only a constant companion, his only seeming desire beyond survival appeared to be our success, whatever our quest was. I guess his biggest worry was taken care of, with the Derbrightmine Dominion saying they’d back off.

I’m pretty certain I spy silhouettes in the darkness following Dippy. I’m more worried for anyone that tries to sneak up on him, since he now essentially invented a danger sense spell by copying the basics of mine. The silhouettes seem to be quadrupeds though. Perhaps the wolves and dogs from the other night?

I wonder if Dippy will work with Scrap at some point later, to make a double-barreled wrist crossbow, since he wanted to get a good look at mine. Will the two be able to get it to produce seemingly infinite bolts of pure energy? Or is he just going to use it as a regular crossbow, and carry around quivers of bolts or darts?

I’m not sure what to do beyond what I’ve guessed could be a possible plan. Teuila shrugs when I glance towards her questioningly. My heart still aches for Selunie and Dawn both. I glance at my pair of companions, taking stock of them, and our situation. Dawn is still tireless, but she’s frightened out of her mind at the loss of her senses, and caught in a saddening spiral of despair. At best, maybe a Sister of the Mist could give us some clue as to whose magic might save her soul’s final remnants. That’s the closest I can guess. I don’t have time to find some magical college or academy, chasing around the Imperium searching for one, and then undertaking learning one or more schools of magic. Not before Dawn fades away forever.

I’ve been passing out less over the last few days, whether it’s the effect of Kozzurth’s heart sinking in, now that it has likely been accessed to heal me and keep me alive, I’m not sure. It could be that I’m just so anxious about Dawn’s situation, that my brain won’t agree to sleeping so often, so randomly. Anyway, here’s to hoping that the hermit at the edge of town is some sort of wizard in their tower.

Traveling east along the south side of Victo, there’s no cheer, no pep in our march. Even Teuila’s shoulders sag as she occasionally glances back towards Dawn. We draw up on the tower as it shows up in our sight range suddenly. There’s an odd lack of Luma Tulipa anywhere near it. Perhaps the hermit likes to sleep at times that the Luma Tulipa might otherwise shine on the tower.

It’s vaguely reminiscent of, nah. No way, right? Ugh, genre saviness senses tingling. Vaguely reminiscent of a lighthouse. Keep it together Reggie, massive conclusion jumping. Right. Right right right. Huff. Here goes. There’s at least a clear entrance, so it’s not some magical ‘only the wizard can teleport in’ tower or something. Knocking at this late hour might be rude, but probably better than bursting in unannounced. Hm, the clatter and shuffle from within would indicate our hermit is up.

A paunchy man with that sort-of reverse bowl-cut style hair arrives. The odd hairstyle where one chooses to be balding in a shaven circle at the top, but wear the rest of their hair shaggily at the sides. Between it, and his humble robes, he looks quite like a friar from Fakeworld’s entertainment media, from around the Robin Hood era.

He starts, “My, my my my, who do we have here? Strangers certainly, travelers out and about around witching hours? Is the inn fully booked? Come in, come in, at least leave the rain for a bit to dry off. Come come, this way. I haven’t entertained in, well, ever. Rest your weary souls.”

I bite my brain’s kneejerk reaction as the hermit mentions the word souls. It’s completely out of context Reggie. Keep it together. I rattle my head momentarily, attempting to dispel the thoughts and clear my brain. Teuila shrugs at me, she isn’t sure why we’re even stopping here. I guess I’d better go at it.

I start, “We’re sorry to disturb you. The inn is, well, there’s a somber affair. There’s been a death. It, well, it wouldn’t be appropriate right now, and the details aren’t mine to share. When I asked about town, there were rumors of a hermit in a tower. You know how rumors are, they’re a witch, they’re a wizard, a warlock, an ancient vampire lord, what have you.”

Our host chuckles along, “Oh yes yes, I’ve heard them all. Tell me, seeing my living quarters, what do you make of me?”

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Glancing about, there are texts with odd runic fonts on the covers, a host of alchemy equipment, small barrels of grains and salts and meats, but little else besides the fireplace. A fireplace with no logs nearby, and the ones within the fire don’t seem to be crumbling or spent at all. There’s something to the rumors for sure.

I comment, “Based on the makings of water walking potions over there, and those texts, and your ever-burning log, I’d guess either you’re simply wealthy, or the rumors hold some salt.”

His eyes follow my gaze as I indicate various clues about his living area, and the reflection of the firelight illuminates them eerily. Clapping his hands together, he excitedly asks, “Are you a fellow practitioner? You knew immediately one of the uses for those herbs and lilies. This is exciting, so very exciting. Are you proficient in any schools? Mine is necromancy of course, of course. How could it be anything else. Everyone wants to live forever, right?”

I gulp apprehensively. How much can I let on? Looking at Teuila yields a shrug, and Dawn is doing her best to simply hold it together at the moment. I’m going to need to renew the spell on Dawn soon anyway. I can fib a little. I keep the staff collapsed down to its handle, it doesn’t need to be extended for such a meager display of power. I’m able to hide it in the palm of my hand this way. No need to advertise a magical artifact.

I state, “I can perform some very minor alchemy, yes. I’d guess the closest thing to a specialization that I have would be divination. I’m using this spell to grant our quiet friend additional senses. It, hm, helps them feel safe. I can evoke or conjure a few simple elements. My ability to alter, whether you call it alteration or transmutation is very, very limited. My only brush with necromancy, well, I suppose I could animate a soulless body into a state of free will if I struggled for a few months. Time was, I could do much more, not necromancy obviously, my other schools of practice, but it’s as if the knowledge is barred from me somehow, as if it were locked away on an entirely other world.”

Teuila barely restrains herself as she snorts the faintest snicker. I’m hoping that hinting about the Aasimovian’s practice isn’t enough to cause them any trouble. I don’t know enough about their ritual to actually animate a body, but I’m not going to sit here for several months to prove it to this chap anyway. Our host’s placid countenance doesn’t betray what might be going through his head in response to my statements.

He’s playing it closer to the chest than I am. Crap. I haven’t given everything away. If I start now, I can call a Can’Z’aasian power to defend us if I stall for time, if needbe. It’ll be pretty obvious that I’m casting something though when I start radiating light and bleeding. I suppose I’ve been glowing this entire time, with my crossbow equipped, but this would be more obvious.

After digesting for a few moments, he says, “My my, my my my. You simply must stay the night, I’ve never heard of someone to successfully dabble in so many schools. Nay, never have I heard of such a soul. Perhaps we could compare notes? Have you any curiosities or desires to expand your knowledge of necromancy further?”

I grit my teeth and fight back a twitch as the word soul pops up once more. Hiding my grimace beneath a smile, I answer, “I’d be honored if you could sum up what you know. How life plays into death, the hereafter, what the potentials are of necromancy, the heights you’ve reached with it. Anything along those lines.”

He nods sagely along responding, “Yes, yes yes. Those are very pertinent questions indeed. Solid questions for an eager mind. Quite obviously a student of magic and lore. I’d like to ask you where you studied, but I’m afraid you’d give me the same old answer of self-taught. Please don’t give me that old lie. Where, where did you begin acquiring such a vast marvelous sum of knowledge?”

I gnaw on my lips as I blush with chagrin. He’s right. I don’t even know the names of any schools of magic, other than the warthog school, peccary something or other. That probably wouldn- wait. I can lie.

I hem and I haw, “I’m unsure if my mentors would be all that grateful for their names being out there, but I could tell you where a few of them are located. Would that be fair?”

I make a show of attempting to draw a fake map on my hand, as I count out locations that I know, that aren’t going to send trouble to Aasimovia, especially not The Brook. I’m not even willing to endanger the Colossi of the plains.

He steeples his hands as he nods, greed clearly visible upon his face. I ask, “Before we share though, perhaps we should introduce ourselves? I go by The Scholar. That lovely, incredibly powerful woman is The Valkyrie. Our shy friend I’ll refrain from introducing, shyness and all. I hope you won’t bother them over such trivial matters.”

He frowns, realizing I’m stringing out giving him a clear answer as he quickly replies, “Oh, yes, of course, fine, fine fine fine and all that. I’m Milbert of Navica, no family name of course, of course. Not noble by birth. Who is these days? Am I right? Please, please continue. Where are these masters, mentors?”

I’m pretty sure he couldn’t cause too much trouble for the dwarves, if he even understands what I’d say about them. They’re closing themselves off from the surface entirely anyway. I start, “Most recently, I studied in a location known as the Derbrightmine Dominion. Prior to that, a glade in the Jaggedfen Bog, and before that, Alta Vista of Jeegoobotstan.”

I shake my head sadly. I still can’t believe that’s a place. Our host frowns, almost scowls as he asks, “None of them in the Imperium at all? I suppose it tracks though, if you were headed east in your learnings and travels. Confound it all. I’m sorry, it’s not your fault your mentors dwell outside the safety of the Imperial Light. It must have been difficult, journeying without the Bright Lord’s protection.”

I gulp and gnaw on my lip as my glance flicks towards Teuila and Dawn. Is this just normal Celestial Imperium propaganda, or is he a cultist of the Bright Lord?