Murphy put his book down, unable to ignore his stomach's song anymore. He was reading a tome titled “The Fireball Analogy Part 5; A Primer to Runecraft”. It was a painfully boring book, and he found that he already knew most of the information inside. Though since he had mastered his letters, his teacher had insisted he make his way through a large stack of books. He decided to take on the dull titles first, knowing himself well enough to understand that he wouldn’t bother with them if he found something to interest him. The next book in the stack glowed with aspect. He looked over the title of that tome, and shivered with excitement. “The Fireball Analogy Part 6; Practical Casting of Rune Structures”. He looked forward to pouring through that one.

He made his way downstairs for breakfast. He had been living with Callus in his tower for some time now, and he had gotten a hang of navigating the place. When he first arrived, he found it impossible to find his way through the ever changing rooms. One time he had spent a whole week lost, only surviving thanks to the food he found in the various pantries he had to camp in. He would have been lost longer too, if it weren’t for Callus stumbling upon him on a wine fuelled search for cheese. No door in the tower went to the same place twice, making mapping the place completely impossible, and the place seemed endless in its unique rooms. After that week, he determined himself to learning the tower's cardinal secrets. He came to realise that each room had an accompanying, and equally unique tone to it. The tone was inaudible in normal circumstances, but when he unfocused his mind, he could listen for it. He would listen for the tone of a room he was looking for, and follow the doors that he heard the sound coming from. With that method, he would only have to travel through no more than three other rooms to find his destination.

Uundah joined him, leaping onto his shoulder as he left his own room. He grunted when the O'jin landed. The little bear thing had grown to the size of a small dog, and weighed twice as much. Even though Murphy had filled out a bit, it was still an abrupt sensation for the morning.

“I’m going to have to get a bag to carry you with soon enough” he said.

Uundah made an adorable attempt at a roar, clearly offended by the suggestion.

“Its either that, or you do some walking yourself” he replied, patting his friend on the head.

Uundah didn’t seem pleased, but was placated quickly with a scratch behind the ear. He made a trilling sound, and settled himself into Murphy’s hood. The cloak pressed on his neck when the growing O'jin did that, but he didn’t mind, since it was Uundah. They had grown rather close, He could even understand the little guy now, though he couldn’t quite explain how.

He walked into the dining room, the only room that he knew for sure was grounded in the tower, only because the big door on the curved stone wall actually led outside every time. That and the room was the width and shape of the cylindrical tower. Callus was standing by the hearth, stirring a big iron pot of something that smelled amazing.

“I thought you were in Creeden” Murphy said, interrupting the old man’s blissful sniff.

“I thought I told you to shave” Callus grumbled without bothering to turn around.

“You have a beard, I don’t tell you to shave that” He replied, grabbing a wooden bowl and spoon to take a portion of the mystery stew.

“I do have a beard” he said, slapping the young man’s hand away. “What you have is gross.”

“Come now” Murphy said, quickly scooping his bowl anyway “No need to be cruel and starve me at the same time”. He grabbed a steaming roll of bread and shoved it into his mouth. “You can only pick one” he said through a muffled mouthful.

“I can do what I damn well please” Callus scoffed. “I might just rip the weeds from your chin if you don’t do it yourself” he threatened.

“How will you do that from Creeden?” Murphy said, changing the topic again. He was looking forward to having the tower to himself again. It was rare, but the old man occasionally left him on his own and it was blissful.

“You just want to walk around the place naked again” Callus said, rolling his eyes.

“That was only one time” Murphy assured him.

“I only caught you one time” the old man groaned. “No I will not be going to Creeden” he said, finally answering the young man. “You will”.

Murphy lowered his spoon slowly, and looked seriously at the old man. “Don’t play with me old man, I still have feelings” he said. As much as he liked his time alone in the tower, he had been wanting to get out of it even more. The old man had been his only company for what he was certain was years.

“I don’t want to go myself, that’s why you’re here” Callus said, waving Murphy’s concern away. “The journey is too far and I can’t be bothered”. He punctuated.

“When do I go?” Murphy asked, excited. He was already on his feet, looking around the room for things he might need.

“Calm down” Callus interrupted. “You won’t be going for some weeks” he declared.

“Why wait?” Murphy asked.

“Logistics, you wouldn’t understand” the old man said, shoving a spoon full of stew into his mouth.

“I don’t know what that word means” Murphy said, slumping back into his chair.

“Of course you don’t” Callus complained. He summoned a book into his hand and tossed it to him. “Add it to your reading list” he demanded.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Murphy checked the title. “The Skirmish of Jundal-Ful”. It didn’t glow with any aspect, but historical tomes were something he had been curious about.

“I want you to be through it before you go” Callus continued. “Don’t do that slow reading thing, its boring”.

“I can’t help that” Murphy defended.

“Poor excuse” the old man said, looking uninterested. “There are some things you will need to see to before you go”.

“Like what?” Murphy asked, his excitement returning.

Callus smiled, and summoned a tankard into his hand. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled. Soon after, a small keg floated to the table. He filled it, never taking his eyes off of his apprentice through the whole thing. “It’s a tavern day” he said with a merry smile.

“You’re taking me to a pub then?” The young man asked.

“Don’t be stupid” Callus reprimanded. “We’re going to a tavern”.

“That’s the same thing” Murphy insisted.

The Merlin sighed. “Sometimes I forget just how uneducated you are” he complained.

“You’re the one that’s supposed to educate me”.

“Please don’t remind me” Callus groaned.

“So how is it different then?” Murphy asked impatiently.

“The Tavern” the old man said, standing to his feet for a pacing lecture. “Is an institution you could say. There are many of them, and they represent safety and neutrality”. He stopped for a long gulp of his ale.

“So why do we have to go to one?” Murphy asked the moment Callus stopped talking.

“I’m getting to that” Callus said. “Why aren’t you drinking yet?” He asked impatiently. Appearing another mug, he tossed it to Murphy. The young man quietly filled his mug while he continued. “The Tavern is where you will get your medallion” he declared.

Murphy thought on that. He had only seen two medallions before. One was the medallion Callus wore, he often let the trinket hang around his neck on the outside of his cloak. The other was that of the dead ferryman that he had seen some years ago now. He wondered what the significance of the medallion was, and was eager to have an answer to that particular question. “What are medallions?” He asked.

“It’s proof of your patronage to the Tavern” the old man said, showing his own medallion to his appearance.

“You carry that so other people know where you drink?” Murphy scoffed.

“No you moron” Callus snapped. “You take an oath when you become a Tavern patron. You make a promise to abide by the medallions honour”.

“That sounds stupid” Murphy said.

“You sound stupid” the old man snapped back. “The medallions honour isn’t something to be sniffed at, it keeps order in a world without any” he said. The old man looked seriously at Murphy while he spoke.

“What even is the medallions honour?” Murphy asked.

“Its a promise that you won’t break your word” he responded simply.

“I’ve seen plenty of people promise a thing” Murphy scoffed sarcastically.

“This is a promise that you don’t dare to break, going against the Tavern is not recommended.” Callus said sternly.

“What would they do, cut me off?” The young man laughed.

“They would kill you” he replied without a hint of a joke. “That’s if you’re lucky, given what you can do, you wouldn’t be that lucky” he said. He seemed angry in a cold way. Murphy hadn’t seen that kind of rage in his master's eyes before, it terrified him. The aspect of something dark filled his aura, and Murphy felt the air in the room change in some way.

He sipped at his ale before asking his next question. “How do they know when someone breaks the oath?” he asked quietly.

“The Tavern always knows” Callus said grimly, before downing the rest of his mug. He slammed it onto the table, and shook away the sensation. “No need to worry about that though” he said as he refilled his mug. “You’re too stupid to lie properly, so there’s no chance you would break it”.

Murphy sighed, and the tension building in his shoulders eased. “I was just curious” he complained. “No need for you to get all scary like”.

“Nonsense” Callus said, waving his hand. “It’s the only way you’ll listen to me”.

Murphy simply nodded to his master.

“First things first though, you need to remove that thing from your chin” Callus declared. “I won’t be accused of not having my students washed”.

“I wash every day” The young man defended.

“If that’s what you call it” The old man sighed.

They continued their bickering throughout breakfast, with Murphy eventually resigning to removing his attempted beard. They wouldn’t be going to the Tavern until midday, leaving them both plenty of time to be ready. With twelve hours of sunlight to kill, he decided to spend a little bit of time in his laboratory, after a shower of course.

The room he had been using as a lab was huge. It was at least three times the size of his also quite large room. When he found it, it was empty of any contents. There was a mezzanine that wrapped around the circular room, with a subtle staircase to the side for access. Lining the walls of the second floor was an array of heavy book shelves. He had been making sure to start filling the shelves with the books he finished. Over the years he had managed to fill the top floor out with furnishings he found in unoccupied rooms of the tower, allowing him a comfortable sitting room. The bottom floor of the room was now occupied by a large work bench and a few scattered cabinets that he was using to store ink and ingredients, as well as a stone fireplace set into the wall. The fireplace was functional, though he had no clue where the smoke was going.

His goal for the morning was to continue on his ongoing project, making another bigger on the inside pouch. He pulled out what was quickly becoming his favourite book, and turned to his marked page. The journal he received from the beggar ended up being rather significant to him. The colours of aspect that he saw within the pages didn’t seem to have natural counterparts growing in the wilds. Referred to as queer aspects, the descriptions surrounding the dried plants were incredible in their detail. They described the process of rendering the plants down into their most useful aspect, most pages had the process for alchemy, but a few detailed how to derive an ink from the specimen. Alchemy was a topic he hadn’t taken on yet, its complexity was far beyond his own skills, though he didn’t use it for its recipes.

He would spend his time instead, mixing different inks he had to try and match the colours in his book. So far, he had only successfully replicated one of them. It was the aspect of catching wind. Originally he wanted to make it for the obvious joke, though he ended up finding the ink to be quite powerful. At first he thought it wasn’t working, when he held the bag in the wind and empowered the ink stain inside, it seemed to just flap about. It was at breakfast one morning that he discovered the trick to it. If he were to focus on pushing his magic through the ink in the opposite direction to what came naturally to him, the ink would release the pent up wind energy it had stored away. Callus was furious upon this discovery, due to the fact that it ruined the whole room with the pungent scented fart wind, and covered him in jam.

Today he felt he was ready to finish his project. He had managed to replicate the colour of the primary aspect on his pouch. The journal had a reference to it as well, which is where he learned it was called folded space. The only remaining hurdle he had, was figuring out how to replicate the colour on the outside of it. He was getting nowhere, until recently. While cleaning out a room for his master, he found a small animal trap with acquired prey. The trap had the massive beetle paralyzed by a rune. After taking it to his master, he learned it was the queer aspect of containment. To his delight, the old man had the right ingredients to make the ink. Now he was ready for the final stages of brewing it. The mix of leaf and rock had been boiling on his workbench for several days, it was now a thick bubbling sludge. He made the mistake of overcooking his last batch, finding a dried and crusty substance in the beaker when he checked it. This time, he was confident he got it right. He took it off the boiling rack, and went through the procedure of filtering it into vials. At the end, he had eight vials of it.

“It’s time to really get to work” he said to Uundah.

The little O'jin had been helping him through the whole process, given that he was really quite dexterous with his boney little fingers. Uundah made a noise in response, and scurried away to shelter behind a cabinet.

“I’ll remember you said that when I’m famous” He replied.

He lugged a travel chest onto the workbench, and prepared his pens. First, he drew the boundary circle. Then he drew two lines into the centre. He took the shavings made by his pen, and dropped them into a vial of water. He shook it, and used one of his pens to draw the water into the rune first. It was something his grandfather had taught him, the old Demai told him it helped the rune know what to enchant. Callus had told him it defined an object at the base of an enchantment, so he figured it was prudent to include it. After that he painted each of the inks he needed into the lines, and managed to remember to draw a mix into the boundary circle. He dried the ink all at once with the help of a gentle gust from his nearly empty wind bag, and smiled gleefully at the glowing rune on top of the box.

Uundah growled from behind his cover.

“I’ll make a believer of you yet little friend”. He stepped up to the rune, and started to empower it.