The Grandmaster’s tower is a somewhat grand and ostentatious title for something that is almost humble in its appearance, were it not positioned in such a dramatic and impossibly inaccessible place. A title, moreover that it does not truly possess for it is, as far as Hood is aware, a title only bestowed upon it by Hood himself. It is true that there is a tower as such, but it is a short squat element that rises from a larger building - larger in terms of extended area - that appears to be more of a home than a ‘tower’ per se. The tower element seems to have been constructed mainly to give the dweller a suitably breathtaking view across chiselled and split ridges and sheer faced escarpments that pale and fade into the mountainous distance. The effect is somewhat inspiring and to sit and gaze upon that view seems to distill within the viewer a certain reverie both for nature and for life itself that can only be described as conducive to support the studies of the deeper mysteries. Strangely, however, more inspirational, is the kitchen. Inspirational in the sense that Hood has never been one particularly enamoured of or desperate for food yet having discovered what must have been Albo Pomegranite’s recipe book, apron and cooking utensils, along with a fantastic array of iron pans and a remarkably efficient range cooker, he has been teaching himself the finer arts of cooking. In the words of the grandmaster himself: ”Wizardry begins in the kitchen.” an adage cross-stitched and embroidered into a glass-framed piece of linen, signed with the moniker A.P. and hung by the side of the cooker. It seems that Albo Pomegranite pursued many arts and confined himself to none. So it is no surprise then that we find Hood, the following morning, apron on, busying himself about the kitchen. And so we must forgive ourselves, if the steaming appearance of the most delicious plum pie, pulled from a hot oven, placed upon a doily covered old wooden tray, and carried through to a comfortable living room, accompanied by an earthenware teapot and matching mug, plays havoc with our sense of narrative style, in that this seemingly anachronistic scene of domestic bliss fits not with what we may have inferred to be a tale of darkness and daemons.

Hood, however, is not concerned with keeping up appearances and has, over the last couple of moons, learnt that life is only worth living if creature comforts are observed, and that the ability to relax and occasionally indulge oneself is not necessarily an indulgence but a necessity.

Decisions should not be made without tea, at least that is what Hood has decided, a decision incidentally he made whilst drinking a heavily honey infused cup which helped alleviate the constant pain that besets his throat. And so, having to carefully consider his future options and actions, Hood has quite rightly baked himself his favourite cinnamon infused plum cake and brewed a deliciously fragrant tea and is sitting gathering his thoughts amidst the comfort of what he now considers to be his home.

Now dear reader, as Hood settles down upon the patched brown leather couch, pulling his legs up, wrapped as he is in a blanket, and enjoying his honeyed beverage, one may be wondering how in the world if Hood’s home is located in such an inaccessible place does he have access to such worldly goods such as tea, plums, sugar, cinnamon, flour, wood etc. etc. in a home that we presume has been abandoned for countless years? Well, with a little imagination one should be able to understand the thieving potential of portal magic. Portals are not a one size fits all type of affair. They can be made large enough for someone to step through, perhaps large enough for an entire army to walk through but also as small as one should wish. They can be opened and left open, or opened and closed. So imagine the effect of opening one at the base of a granary store, or within a mountain stream, or almost anywhere. One should soon perceive the vast array of uses that one can put these things to, and we may assume also that Albo Pomegranite, being a master of such magic and original constructor of the house, has installed several instances of these portals and where they no longer work, perhaps Hood has managed to find a work around...or simply visited some shops.

So whilst Hood balances a plate of plum pie upon his drawn up knees, having set his tea upon the table beside him, he wonders not only about his future actions but the potentially nefarious plans that Grumpini and Mordette may be enacting with their new found skill set - assuming that they have made much headway with the instructions contained within the Book of Portals. Which brings Hood back full circle to the recalled conversation that his mind reminded him of the previous evening…the lair of the Shindewigs. Having been caught in the web of Grumpini and Mordette, manipulated like a bound fly across its surface, Hood is cautious and careful in his thinking. This might be just another twist of a strand, another false sign that will lead him astray, but it may be something that they had to reveal in order to draw him in - a piece of information that could be detrimental to whatever they are up to.

A gnawing urge to know claws at Hood’s mind and he ponders the wisdom of what he is considering. Surely it cannot hurt? He thinks to himself. At most it will be a distraction. He leans over and picks up his tea. Sipping it carefully, staring at the carved mouse on the handle of the wooden tray - it seems to stare back at him. He sips his tea again, before making a decision, and placing his tea and pie plate back on the table, he stands and pads back to his bedroom, to retrieve a deck of cards from the drawer of his bedside stand, then to the kitchen, for a sharp knife and pestle, and then returns to the living room.

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Kneeling before the table Hood performs the ritual for the reading of the Allegoricals, using a bit of fabric pulled from a tear in the couch as a means to absorb the blood from the base of his fingers. He ‘washes’ the cards and his hands in the rising smoke and reveals the first card: The Wayfarer. Then deals out the twelve periphery cards and letting his subconscious mind sort them into four piles of three and place them at the compass points, he reveals the past - the west set - The Poison Chalice,The Forge, The Wood Cutter. Reveals the north and south, the active forces at play in the present: The Fool, The Waterfall, The Lake to the north, The Executioner, The Library, The Banquet to the south. He scans the cards before him, carefully trying to elicit the meaning that may or may not be present within them and catches himself whilst performing this task and laughs at himself. Really? Has it come to this? The diversions of a third rate purveyor of magic tricks? He closes his eyes and smiles to himself…Proceed. Proceed you have committed to this course of action, do not doubt yourself, no matter how pathetic you may now judge it. He looks again at the cards - a decision needs to be made. His eyes flick to his tea and he begins to laugh lightly to and at himself. Hood slides only one card, that of The Executioner and then, drawing two from the remaining deck, places The Braced Gates in the space just opened and in the remaining space east of The Wayfarer he places The Child. He carefully considers the cards before him then picks up the east pile - the future - and carefully turns them over. The Musicians, The Gravediggers and The Nest. Hood sits in quiet contemplation, taking in the whole arrangement of cards, before returning to the comfort of his couch and blanket. If there is something to be learnt it will come to him in time.

Now it is not just the Allegoricals, nor The Book of Portals, that Hood has been studying these past moons, since he was left forsaken in the chamber beneath the Library of Aspartemane. Four other tomes were bestowed upon him that morning and, with one exception he has studied them all - and one in particular. For The Crowlooms of the Arkenites seems to be of particular relevance to the ‘gift’ given to him by Grumpini. A gift that now sits in a lead lined box on the table by the side of the couch. Safely contained thus, it cannot reveal the location of the owner unless it is removed, but the temptation of removing it is great, for its link with its contrary is not a one way conduit. If Mordette could track him then he can track Mordette and there, there is the gateway to the path of revenge…except…did she leave it with him by mistake or was it deliberate? Hood will not entertain any thought that is not ceded with doubt for to do so, as he has learnt, when dealing with Grumpini and Mordette, will cost lives. To use the Crowloom is a gamble, and although Hood is now wholly conversant with the powers and abilities that it bestows upon the user, and desires ardently to practice and utilise them, it is a gamble that he is, at the moment, not willing to take. Hood looks regretfully out of his living room window, desperately imagining for the umpteenth time what views and revelations he would experience if he could just fly out above his new home and take in the surroundings of the mountains from a bird’s eye perspective.

Hood chews thoughtfully upon the last mouthful of his slice of plum pie, and sips his tea. The image of Madeleine’s mask comes to mind and his mind and soul darkens somewhat. Much as Pomegranite’s house is a haven, it is not somewhere where Hood can hide for the rest of his days. The past will haunt him, will always be staring, smiling ironically at him, and so must be contended with, for without doing so, the haven will become a prison and the faint offer of tranquility that Hood on occasion perceives will be nothing more that an elusive ghost chased by a more disturbing apparition. The decision then was never a decision…but the tea was nice.

Having confirmed what he already knew, Hood sets his cup to one side and rises, walking to the large bookcase at the far end of the room. It is an object of intense interest to Hood and at some point he will avail himself of the literature that the previous owner has amassed or perhaps even written, but for the moment Hood selects only three slim volumes and from within them selects three strangely vibrating pages for his intuition tells him that there is something present within each that is necessary for his journey ahead. He tarries awhile with the idea of removing the fourth book from the shelf but even the idea of touching the book is enough to make him feel queasy. No, that is something that will stay. Hood says to himself. Even if I regret not taking it. I shall be happy. Having made that decision he rips the vibrating pages from the books he has selected and in doing so is surprised to find that the vibration stops almost immediately. He stands for a moment non-plussed - he is still puzzled by the behaviour and meaning of this, but has his suspicions. But accepting his ignorance, he places the books back upon the shelf and folding the pages goes to find his satchel and pack it with all the other things he believes necessary for the journey ahead.