Entry 3 Part 1: Riloth 19th the 3rd
Dear Spellbook,
Good news, bad news. The bad news is, I feel like death, so we reset again. The good news is that whatever Bond we have means you too are immune to these resets. My entry from yesterday is still here. I hadn’t expected that when I wrote it. I was just trying to put my thoughts on paper. I’m somewhat relieved seeing these words here from yesterday.
Yesterday seems the wrong word. Yesterfore? No, that doesn’t make sense.
Seeing the words is an anchor I lacked yesterday morning. This is happening. The thought of starting each day over with literally nothing to prove my sanity scared me more than I care to admit. Unless of course this too is a delusion, but let's not go down that fruitless road of an existential crisis.
I’ve got a plan of action for the day. I’m going to sit here, and do nothing. Well, more specifically, I’m going to stare out my window and watch the market square. When I requested a timekeeping device from room service, Simon the concierge brought a clock. I’d expected an hourglass or something, but he brought me an intricately geared clock of gnomish design. It must cost a fortune.
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I’ve been staring out into this square for an hour. This is so boring; I can’t stay awake. In an effort to stay up, I ordered some coffee from room service to try to stay alert. It tastes like burnt dirt, but I would drink anything if it made me feel even a little better. The coffee cost a fortune but that's not really a concern. Simon was very professional as he gave me the cup, but I could sense the judgment behind his professional facade.
I need to do something to occupy my mind. Maybe I should go over the days leading up to the reset. I might remember something that might prove useful. Something had to have caused this. Right?
RILOTH 14TH
This was the first day I wrote in you in earnest. We’d spent that day on the road, continuing our trek from Edgewater in search of signs of Bearskin. You’ve met him I suppose, but in case you don’t know who that is, Bearskin is, well, Bearskin. He's a giant tattooed man from some long forgotten island of equally giant warriors. In battle he can best be described as a force of nature. Traveling with me are Daulf who is a Tower Seeker, Roland, a ranger with principles as unknowable as his whereabouts half the time, and Trish, a self-described “acquisitions expert.” Our group fell together in the aftermath of the Fall of Landing, and adventure has been pulling the reins ever since.
Travel from Edgewater to Crossroads—where we are now—should have taken a week. Due to an unfortunate incident with some horse thieves, and a sleeping sorcerer who should have been on watch, we’d been on foot most of the way. The trip had almost been relaxing up to that point, thanks to the troop of soldiers that had left the day before to clear the road and search for more refugees. We followed them closely the first few days on the road, but ever since the theft, the distance between us and the troop had been growing, and the dangers of the road were beginning to make themselves known once again.
That night, Roland appeared out of the bush after disappearing that same morning, and reported the location of a good spot to bed down. The site was in the hollowed-out trunk of a massive tree that could have fit Bearskin comfortably along with the rest of us had he been there. I lit the camp with the Light spell anchored in the air, high in the trunk, and Trish and I built a fire while Daulf prepared to cook up whatever Roland had caught. That night we ate rabbit and wild root vegetables prepared by Daulf. Between Roland’s tracking abilities and Daulf’s field cooking skills, our end-of-day meals put anything I ate on the road growing up to shame.
My family’s own travel rations had consisted of hardtack, jerky, and oats. If I was lucky, my parents would splurge on some apples. My mother had grown up accustomed to eating the meager variety available to life at sea. From my father’s stories of his childhood, he grew up near the ocean eating the strangest tentacled and shelled things that sounded more like demons than food. He even had three different ways to cook rat. Three. Needless to say, I ate as far away from them as possible whenever we arrived in a city.
That night on the road, Daulf had built an oven with a large stone and a pot, and baked the rabbit, before flipping the makeshift oven over and simmering the rabbit in the last dregs of our wine.
Spellbook, this is strange. When I write, the memories of that night become fresh and clear—as if I am reliving them. It's all so vivid, I can smell the food cooking as I write. Are you helping me remember? Yesterday I wrote about my day, and this didn’t happen. Why not? Why now?
Let's try something.
That night Roland "entertained" us with stories from his brief time as the constable of Edgewater. He told the story of how he arrested Tallow Shipwright for drilling holes in boats to drum up more business. It was a boring story then, I hadn’t even paid much attention to it—let alone memorized it. But now, I feel like I could write his tale down word for word if I just put quill to page.
As I sit here unwilling to write it down, I can feel it slipping from my mind.
It seems that if I try to remember something, my memory is unaltered, but as soon as I intend to write it, the memories flood back, and then fade if I don’t write them down. The magical recall is tied to the moment of writing. Thinking back to Roland’s story now, intending to write it, the certain clarity of before is gone. I guess I only get one chance to write it, or it's gone. How far back does this go?
The night before we made camp in a clearing. I think, or was that the night before? Why can’t I remember the day before? What was special between then and now? Could it be? Are you an ensouled item?
Of course you are, how could you not be? We must have Bonded that night when I started writing in your pages.
I can’t believe it. An ensouled item. I’d always fantasized about finding one—who hasn’t? I remember growing up, looking through markets hoping to find one like in the stories. A weapon of expert craftsmanship but free of adornments that would reveal its power in my time of greatest need. But now, to have just been handed one as an afterthought? I almost threw you away!
Sorry. I wasn’t going to tell you that. I suppose that is what you are though. You were some unremarkable book, and now, just like in the stories your power becomes apparent when I face this new challenge.
Honestly, this is a bit of a let down. I’d dreamed of a magical item that would let me fly, or maybe stay up all night without the need of sleep. I could already shoot fire and lightning from my hands, so the combat oriented ones weren’t of as much interest.
Okay, focus. That came off kind of rude. I’m overjoyed to have you, and I am sure you are all I ever wanted and more in a magical artifact, I just need to figure out what you can do. Writing in you so far has revealed much. Let's continue.
After Roland’s story ended he took the first watch. I performed my nightly farce of copying spells into you, while mentally maintaining the mental constructs for my actual spells. The constructs degrade in your mind over time, and the use of magic—sorcery or wizardry—accelerates the decay. Pretending to study a spellbook while actually in a meditative state is rather difficult, but luckily it's common courtesy to leave wizards alone while they study their spellbook to avoid the possibility of the wizard ruining their spell forms. Which was welcome news to me when Daulf ripped into Roland for interrupting me on our first night on the road.
Once I’d finished with the review, I wrote that first entry. Nothing else stands out to me. The tree was nothing special. It seemed to be a regular campsite for travelers, with a ring of stones for fire already set in the center. There were no ancient sigils, signs of power magic or cursed objects hanging over my sleeping spot. I slept until my watch, and sat there bored until it was Daulf’s turn to relieve me. After that I went to sleep.
Writing in you does seem to be the best way to discover your secrets. Already, I found another aspect of your magic. I feel less tired and sick when I write in you. I thought it was a trick of the mind at first. I tend to become focused while doing research and lose track of time, working late into the night to the exclusion of food and sleep. But, when I wrote about sleeping, I felt that extra alertness fade. The sensations of the recollections seem to bleed into my mind as I relive them, and these new sensations partially displace my current exhaustion.
RILOTH 15TH
The next morning Roland kicked my leg to wake me, yelling, "Rise and shine you pampered ship boy! We got road to put behind us."
At his shout, Trish groaned and rolled over, trying to bury her head in her bedroll. If any of the party were a pampered city dweller, it was Trish. Unfortunately for me, Trish terrified Roland. After the incident where he tried to "teach" her the proper way to draw a bow, he went far out of his way to avoid making eye contact with her. As a result, I received the bulk of his attention and teasing—which was quite unfair since I received most of Trish’s teasing as well. Roland was unaware, but Trish was a half-elf, and likely had decades more experience shooting.
Don’t tell anyone that. She doesn’t want it known.
That morning, Daulf didn’t know what to do with himself. Until very recently, Daulf would wake early to spend time with the horses and prepare them for the day. After getting them brushed, watered and saddled, he’d spend the morning chatting to his horse while the rest of us prepared to head out. The man loved horses and since his loss, a part of him seemed to be missing.
We left the hollow tree camp before the sun had crested over the mountains. I summoned a glowing orb of light in my hand and maintained it as we set off on the road. Being a cantrip, Glow hardly requires any Will to cast. Keeping it active only takes my attention, but no Will. Simple nature of a cantrip’s mental constructs are the reason a wizard can cast them all day without tiring, or so my mother said. I suspect if I literally summoned and dismissed Glow all day I would become mentally exhausted, but the strain of a single casting is hardly noticeable, and I can keep it going indefinitely—so long as no one stabs me.
Roland disappeared into the woods on the side of the road shortly after we resumed travel, leaving the three of us to walk in silence. After only an hour, we came across one of Roland’s little presents. The man may be aloof—and, frankly, obnoxious—but he was good at what he did. Due to his Blessings and skills he managed to not only outpace us while traveling through the forest, but scout and gather food while he did so. Every so often we would find bundles of roots, wild fruit and vegetables, and the occasional animal waiting for us on the road ahead. This time, it was a tidy pile of apples.
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The heat that day was scorching, but thankfully dry. There hadn’t been rain in weeks, and the forest was starting to show it in its color. The apples were a refreshing treat on a hot day.
“Theral,” Trish asked, as she shoved apples into the mysterious hidden pockets of her clothing. “How about you rustle us up a breeze. It's sweltering out here.”
Hmmm, I could probably manage it with a Gale.
I looked to Daulf, and seeing no sign of disapproval on his face, began to cast Gale. Sorcery can largely be cast with no more gesticulation than a point to aim the effect. With my mother’s training methods, I could cast all my wizard spells in a similar manner. I made sure to put on a convincing show of concentration and sufficient muttering as to not trigger Daulf’s suspicions—not that he’d shown any thus far. I didn't know the specifics of the needs for verbal or somatic components for spells, but I knew that they were unique to each spell, and that different traditions of wizards had their own. So long as I was internally consistent, I should be able to fool a Seeker
I hoped.
While my body performed a parody of a wizard’s casting aids, part of my awareness reached out to the Font of Air in the Arcane Realm and shaped the power of the Font following my sorcerous instincts and using my Will as a scalpel.
Sorcerous perception of the Arcane Realm is ineffable, but I’ll try to explain just the same. Time does not exist there as it does here. In the Arcane Realm, I can feel the powers present there, but not with anything I could call a sense. The part of my mind I send becomes detached from reality and time and, for a brief moment and an eternity, I exist as two minds. Standing with one foot here and another in the timeless void of power, I sense time rushing by while simultaneously aware that it is standing still out in the world.
My mind in the Realm appears outside a Font, and carves into it with my Will, intuiting the shapes it must take to manifest in the world. The mind in my body prepares for the power to come. Then, after being apart, my two selves once more become one, and the power of the Font comes with the joining, using my body as a conduit to enter Kaltis. While the power floods through me, I have a brief sense of loss, as my eternal self is once more constrained by time.
In casting Gale, I held back while building the spell, which was normally used by Stormcallers to push ships at sea. This is a trick exclusive to sorcerers. Wizards can build spells with levers of control to vary the power of the effect, but they are horribly complex, and it's better to just learn two versions of the spell. A sorcerer is under no such restriction and can alter the power if they have sufficient skill.
Part of my consciousness crafted the spell in the Arcane Realm with the rest prepared for its arrival on Kaltis. My full attention returned to reality, with no time having passed, and I thrust my hands forward as the Font’s power entered our realm. A gentle breeze took hold around us, cooling us greatly, and filling the road with the pleasant sound of rustling leaves.
“Ah, that's much better,” Trish said, as she spun, face turned upward with closed eyes and arms spread wide in the breeze.
Daulf smiled, taking in the breeze in his own way. The dark skinned man’s bald head was damp with sweat and he turned into the wind. I did not envy his heavy armor in the baking sun.
“That, Trish, was a splendid idea.” He looked at me and gave an appreciative nod.
With a breeze and some apples, the walk became a much more pleasant affair.
“So, Daulf, you've been here before. What's it like?” Trish asked with a full mouth between bites. “I’ve heard the Crystal Dragon Gambling Parlor is the best one outside of Lakeside.”
“The building was very beautiful,” Daulf answered, “You can see it from all over the town.”
“Great, but what’s it like? How’s the food, what games are available? Do they play scrimshaw with land or sea rules?”
“Oh, I never went inside. No one with half a wit of math would throw money away in a place like that, I stayed in an inn along the market square. My charge stayed in the Parlor, but I busied myself helping around town while he wasted the Tower’s coin.“
Trish made eye contact with me and rolled her eyes.
Daulf continued, "We better pick up the pace. The last time I passed through town I arrived after dusk and had to camp outside the gate".
"Why didn’t you just flash your insignia at the guards and force them to let you in? I thought you Seeker lot ruled the Continent?" Trish asked with only a little sarcasm.
"Crossroads is a ‘non-chartered’ town and as such, I have no authority in its walls, or at its gates for that matter," Daulf replied, laughing at his own joke. “My charge was unhappy about that, but when the guards said only the proprietor of the Parlor could authorize late night entries, he relented.”
Usually his rank and position in the Tower would grant Daulf some status and privileges in towns and cities across Basin, but Crossroads is one of the few cities of any real size without a Tower presence. For most cities, the Tower provides wizards at a discounted—but still exorbitant—rate in exchange for some freedoms for its members in the town. One of those "freedoms" is the right to apprehend and execute any "confirmed" dragon blooded sorcerers discovered. I’ve never heard of a sorcerer being detained.
In the Tower’s defense—I can’t believe I wrote that—the historical evidence is clear that something drives the dragon blooded sorcerers into a mad frenzy, but they can’t all be bad. I’m not foaming at the mouth and trying to burn the world down.
Daulf continued, "The town exists under the tolerance of the Crystal Dragon Gambling Parlor’s proprietors. As far back as Tower records go, the Parlor has been run by one or more powerful individuals. The current proprietor has declined all recent offers of Tower services, just as his predecessor had. Crossroads is rather out of the way, and the leaders in the Tower never pressed the issue."
I take it that pressing the issue would have involved one party disappearing and being replaced with someone more amenable to The Tower's services.
The next hour was filled with Trish listing off games of chance to Daulf, inquiring if they were present in the Parlor. Daulf didn’t know any of the names and it devolved quickly into Trish teaching the games to him. As we walked, we passed many well-worn cart trails through the forest that Daulf said led to orchards and small farms nested in the woods.
I spent my time practising Conjure. Conjure is the cantrip for the Font of Space, which allows me to teleport an item from somewhere on my person to my hand. It has to be fairly small, I need to know where it is, it must be within a few inches of my body, and I need to be very familiar with the item for it to work. Despite the limitations, when Trish learned I could do this and wasn’t using it for everything all day all the time, she slapped me on the side of the head. The cantrip has drawbacks, but she was right and it could prove useful. Ever since, I’d been working on my timing. That day, I practiced summoning my belt dagger into my hand. I struggled to get a firm grip on the weapon as it appeared, but I was improving.
Roland interrupted the friendly chatter and practice when he burst from the woods and shouted, “Kobolds!”
In sync, the three of us threw our packs to the ground and positioned ourselves to meet the threat. I drew my father’s sword from the bedroll it had been hidden in. Daulf pulled his shield from the back of his own pack and drew his sword as he stepped between us and the forest. To my side, Trish produced throwing knives from inside her jacket.
Roland leaped behind us and drew his bow, immediately loosing arrows into the forest. I couldn’t yet see any targets in the dense foliage, but a loud screech of a kobold in pain followed each shot.
The kobolds burst onto the road from the dense underbrush of the forest—dense foliage that Roland’s Blessing had so easily let him traverse. Their diminutive bodies were covered in muddy red scales and they wore the tattered remains of rags in a mockery of clothing over their bone-thin bodies.
They charged us with rusted weapons and bare claws, letting out a frantic clicking noise that seemed to echo from all around, making their numbers sound greater.
Before they could take a second step onto the road Roland shot the lead kobold through the head with an arrow while Trish took out the two behind it, each with knives to the chest. The first three victims fell to the ground and were trampled by their kin behind them—one stooping low to wrench a pitted dagger from the dying grip of its comrade.
At the first screech from the underbrush, I’d begun building a spell, copying the construct in my mind, for a Lightning Bolt. I shaped my Will to follow the pattern that I kept there in my mental vault. When it was complete, I sent it through my bridge to the Arcane Realm where it would channel power from the Font of Lightning and bring it into our Realm. I felt the energy surge through my body and a blue-white bolt of lightning streaked from my outstretched fingers into the leading kobold. The lightning let out an ear shattering crack that echoed off the trees. The monstrous creatures were packed so tightly that the bolt arced from my target to the two on either side. The trio fell in a twitching mass, and may have lived if they’d not been shredded by the clawed feet of those that clambered over them from behind.
Four paces of road stood between Daulf and the forest, and by the time the kobolds covered the distance, Trish and Roland had taken out four more. The remaining nine kobolds charged at Daulf, their cold empty eyes entranced by the gleam of Daulf’s armor. With a single one handed swing of his bastard sword, Daulf cleaved three of the kobolds in twain, and swept two more aside with his shield. Trish was on the two thrown kobolds before they could regain their feet. She struck one with a throwing knife at one, and impaled the second in the neck with one of her long knives.
The remaining four kobolds got past Daulf’s guard and climbed over his body, biting and clawing as they went, trying to rip the shiny steel off of his body. Roland picked one off when it went for Daulf’s head, hitting it square in the chest with an arrow and sending it flying off the Seeker. I tried to line up a shot, but I didn’t trust my aim with Firebolt, and Daulf’s armor would draw the Lightning Bolt to him, leaving the Kobolds unharmed.
Daulf threw his sword and shield down, and tried to grab and rip the lizardmen from his body. Trish watched helplessly trying to line up a throw while Roland too tracked the kobolds looking for a shot. The thrashing of Daulf and the small creatures' own climbing made the shots too risky for either of them.
An idea struck, and I shouted, “Use your shield!” and began to construct another Lightning Bolt, trusting Daulf to know my meaning..
Daulf complied without hesitation, making a quick hand gesture. A silvery blue light flashed around his body briefly before disappearing. I released my spell and the lightning once more shot from my hand. With another crack and flash of light, I hit the nearest kobold atop Daulf. The energy jumped from my target to the other two on Daulf, causing Daulf’s magical shield to shimmer silver where the lighting arced between the two. The three kobolds let out a collective screech and fell to the ground in twitching masses, where Daulf ended them with a few stomps of his boots.
After the carnage, I took in the scene. The small bodies littered the road, bloody, torn and shredded. I looked down at the unadorned rapier that had once belonged to my father with disappointment and relief.
I’ve been hoping to put my training to use. It’s probably for the best though; I’ve only been at it a few weeks.
Trish riffled through the filthy rags the creatures wore, and turned up a dozen copper coins, a few silver, a metal spoon, a broken sword pommel, a glass marble and an oyster shell. Kobolds were one of the more intelligent races of feralkin. As clever as the races of men in many ways, but with two flaws that set them apart from civilization—the total lack of empathy and the berserker rage they fall into when they see something shiny. Kobolds are known to fight to the death over the sight of any reflective scrap. If they didn’t live in subterranean eternal darkness—or hadn’t discovered pockets—they would have long since wiped themselves off the face of Kaltis.
Sorting through her scavenged loot—and tossing the spoon and other bits away—she asked, “Should we warn the locals about this?”
Roland spoke up, “Kobolds are highly territorial and don’t travel. It's strange that these are out in the day, but anyone who lives in these parts should already be aware of their presence. We did them a favor.”
“How did they get the jump on you?” Trish asked Roland with a mischievous grin.
Roland blushed and said, “I saw the most beautiful hawk in the distance, and may have gotten distracted trying to catch up to her.”
Together we cleared the bodies from the road, piling them for the scavengers and continued down the road, now with more caution. I looked down at my filthy clothes.
I really need to learn Clean.