Sodas, the 24th of Lost Speed, 4E 201

Master Arnie had been surprised that Poorthorax had told them how they might learn the Dragonbend Shout, but, like his leader, had no idea where the Elderly Scrawl might be. So they’d decided to seek out Usborne to see if he knew. It was worth a try. As no one particularly wanted to descend the seven-hundred-and-thirty-two Steps, much less take the Thrill of the World ride back down the mountain a second time—and as Draloth insisted Bessie go with them—they decided instead to exploit the ‘return journey’ Sprint back to the area outside Ski Haven Temple.

As they entered the unroofed chamber with the blood seal on the floor, Darleen appeared from a small tunnel, a couple of plank-like objects in her hands, curved up at the ends and almost as tall as her. She also carried, bundled with the planks, two sticks of similar length. Darleen’s cheeks looked rosy, her eyes bright, her hair wet.

“You’re back?” said Darleen. “How did it go? Let’s walk and talk.”

As they made their way up the stairs Kharla explained what had happened.

“So we now need to find this Elderly Scrawl?” asked Darleen as they continued past Alun’s Wall and the stairs beyond it.

“Yes, that’s why we came back here. To ask Usborne if he knew where it might be,” said Kharla.

“Good idea. He does a lot of reading. I’m more the practical type. Speaking of which…”

Kharla and the others followed Darleen through a door at the top of yet another flight of stairs to find themselves at the top of the mountain, a great courtyard before them holding two large stone buildings of strange design. Both had curved rooves and colonnades, but neither had walls.

“I’ve got some solid ideas as to what we could do with this,” said Darleen.

“What a wonderful view,” said Mell as she looked at the landscape around the mountain.

Darleen led them over to the smaller building where, at its end, the ground sloped down abruptly—ground that looked like short, tightly-packed grass of some kind Kharla hadn’t seen before. Darleen strapped the planks to her shoes and stood at the top of the slope, a stick in each hand. “We call these Snow Blades. Found them in the Temple. They were used by the Blades of old to traverse the snowy mountains quickly. One of the purposes of this Temple was to train Blades in the use of them, hence this ‘dry’ training slope.”

She pushed off and went sliding down. “Usborne’s in the large building!” she shouted back before she disappeared around the bend.

“How fascinating. I think I should very much like a go at that!” said Mell.

They found Usborne leaning over several open books on a stone table in the larger building. He looked up as they approached. “Ah, you’re back. I hope you’ve made some progress on tracking down this Shout we need to defeat Alun.”

“Sort of,” said Kharla. “We need an Elderly Scrawl though.”

“Ah, indeed? There’s a pretty puzzle. Not the kind of thing you’ll find in your local bookshop.”

“There are bookshops?” asked Mell. “Books that sell books?”

“Oh yes, my dear,” said Usborne. “But you won’t find them in Skewrim. Not enough demand. The books here seem to always end up getting burned anyway. So, what was I saying? Ah yes, I think the College of Wintercold is your best bet. They won’t likely have one, but they might be able to put you on the trail of one. Here, let me show you where it is on your map.”

The College of Wintercold is a school where the arcane arts are studied. In the 122nd year of the Fourth Era, in an event known as the Great Crumble, the city of Wintercold fell into the Sea of Gusts leaving only the Jarl’s longhouse and a few other buildings standing. Yet the College survived with minimal damage. This led to the belief among the local Nords that the College itself was responsible for the destruction. To this day the local Nords are deeply suspicious of the College despite the College’s efforts to win the natives around by offering flower-arranging classes and enchanting services for those afflicted with dull old blades that wouldn’t even cut through butter.

Kharla sighed inside as Usborne marked her map. It looked as if they would have to travel to the other side of Skewrim to find this College.

“Did I tell you, I used to have this recurring dream?” Usborne began. “I was standing… someplace high up…a tower, or a mountain. It was always just before dawn.”

“Who’s Dawn?” asked Ti’lief.

“No, just before the break of day. The whole world was in darkness. Then came the flash of light—just on the horizon, within the clouds that mark the border between our worlds. It could have been lightning, but there was no thunder.”

“Are you sure?” asked Mell. “Sometimes you have to wait a while before you hear the thunder. You can count to see how many miles away it is, too. My father taught me that.”

“Well, yes, but as I said there was no thunder. In the dream, the sense of foreboding grew, but I could never wake up.”

“I’ve had that,” said Draloth. “You can’t wake up even though you want to. What really freaks me out though is when you think you’ve woken up but you haven’t.”

“Oh yes,” said Eilgird. “I’ve had that. Did a full day’s patrol before I woke up and realized it was just a dream. It was very discouraging— doing a patrol twice.”

Usborne frowned. “Yes, anyway…then it came again, this time more distinct. Closer. Definitely not lightning now. It was orange—brilliant orange.”

The Khapiit cocked his head. “Like carrots?”

“No, I don’t,” answered Usborne. “I get bits stuck between my teeth. Now, back to the dream—orange, the color of hearth and dawn. And a sound, too. Distinct and indistinct.”

“How can it be distinct and indistinct at the same time?” asked the merchant, scratching his head through his cap.

“Not thunder…something else. Something I should recognize, but in the dream I cannot place it. I want to leave my high place, to seek shelter,” continued Usborne.

Draloth sat down on one of the stone seats. “I’m often seeking the latrine in my dreams.”

Usborne either ignored him or didn’t hear. “From what, I don’t know yet. In the manner of dreams, I cannot escape. The dragon is upon me—fire and darkness descending like a thunderbolt. And not just any dragon, but the Dragon—Alun, the World-Sleeper, the dragon who devours both the living and the dead.”

“What about the undead?” asked Mell.

Usborne shrugged. “I must admit, I’ve not thought about that. Anyway, then I would wake up. And hope that it was just a dream…but know that it was not.”

“Weird,” said Ti’lief.

“Yes, it was wild,” Usborne responded. “Very wild.”

“Right,” said Kharla. “And this is important to know because…?”

“Oh, not important at all, really. Just thought I’d share because it’s been a bit lonely up here what with Darleen fooling around with this dry slope stuff. Anyway, shouldn’t you be off to the College of Wintercold?”

***

Marmaladas, the 25th of Lost Speed, 4E 201

They met early the next morning on the highland above Craftspire where Bessie had been left to graze under the supervision of the guard posted at the mine (where the Daughtr rave had apparently not yet ended). Eilgird wanted to give the guard some gold for his troubles, but Draloth had persuaded her that they needed to keep the sponsorship money and all their funds for future use. The guard ended up with some sample scented soaps and several beard-grooming products Draloth had received from High Healthspa.

Moments after the guard had opened and sniffed the first fragranced soap, they were in the street outside the Frozen Heart, Wintercold’s inn. A new guard stood staring at them.

“So you can cast a few spells? Am I supposed to be impressed?” The guard went back to his patrol.

“They’re used to weird things happening here.” Eilgird drew her furs about her. They’d all brought them from the Thrill. Master Arnie had said they’d need them if they were going to the College.

After a brief mug of mead in the inn, made all the more brief after a wizard renting one of the rooms decided to summon some creature that turned up inside out and oozed blood and guts all over the floor, they departed for the College that sat at the end of the settlement. They left Bessie tied up outside the inn.

“There’s a stone bridge beyond the arch,” said Eilgird. “It leads to the College. That’s about all I know.”

The stone arch sat at the top of a stone walkway that sloped upward. As they reached the top they saw a High Elven sorceress making her way toward them, as of yet unaware of their presence as she sang to herself:

“I love to go a-wandering

Along the bridge track,

And as I go, I love to sing,

My spellbooks in my pack,

Falderie, Faldera

Falderie,

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Faldera-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha

Falderie, Faldera.

My spellbooks in my pack.”

The sorceress stopped as she saw Kharla and her companions. “Cross the bridge at your own peril! The way is dangerous, and the gate will not open. You shall not gain entry!”

“Why’s that?” asked Draloth.

“I’ve not had time to put the salt down yet,” the sorceress replied. “And the gate’s frozen shut again. Still, nothing a good flame spell won’t fix.”

Draloth and the others introduced themselves.

“I’m Faldera,” said the sorceress.

“May we enter the College?” asked Kharla.

“Perhaps. But what is it you expect to find within?”

Kharla frowned. “Hmm. Wizards?”

“Yes, wizards, but what else?”

“Books?” said Mell.

“Yes, wizards and books, but what else?”

“What about clutter for this one to tidy up?” said Ti’lief.

“Yes, wizards, books, plenty of clutter, but what do you expect to find within?”

“Food?” said Draloth.

“Yes, yes…wizards, books, clutter, and food—”

“A nice fire, I hope!” interrupted Eilgird, pulling her fur tighter around her. “Which I’d really like to get in front of as soon as possible.”

“Mead!” said Thral.

Faldera sighed.

“Actually, we were hoping to find an Elderly Scrawl,” said Kharla.

The High Elf laughed. “Ha! Humor is often in short supply here. But I sense that perhaps you’re after something more…It would seem the College has what you seek. The question now is what can you offer the College? Not just anyone is allowed inside. Those wishing to enter must show some degree of skill with magic. A small test, if you will.”

“What sort of test?” asked Draloth.

“Multiple choice,” replied Faldera. “Ten questions. Half an hour to answer them. You won’t be allowed to consult any books during the examination.” Farelda laughed. “Just kidding!”

No one laughed.

“Well, yes…Light spells are always useful, not just to those specializing in Altercation. Can you cast one on the seal on the ground?”

Kharla looked down to see a round black seal on the floor of the bridge. “Mell?”

Mell stepped forward and cast a ball of light upon the seal. It pulsated through the whole color spectrum, while shifting from small to large to small again, finally whizzing around Faldera’s head and winking out of existence.

“Impressive for a Breton,” said Faldera. “Good control. A stunning manipulation of light. I think you’ll be a superb addition to the College. Welcome! I’ll lead you across the bridge. Once you’re inside you’ll want to talk to our Master Wizard, also a Breton woman. Please, follow me.”

Faldera led them across the bridge, igniting blue fires from stone wells as she went.

“This bridge is in a right state,” muttered Ti’lief, peering over the edge as they passed a section where the walls and some of the stone underfoot had broken away.

“It reminds me of my patrols on the Whiteruin walls,” said Eilgird. “Except we didn’t have the ice.”

Flames shot from Faldera’s hand as they reached the gate, the fire wrapping around the hinges and melting the ice. The High Elf pushed the gate open and bid them enter. Then she turned and headed back across the bridge, singing more of her song as she went:

“I love to wander by the edge,

That glistens in the snow,

So perilously it calls to me,

‘One slip and down you go!’

Falderie, Faldera

Falderie,

Faldera-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha

Falderie, Faldera.

My spellbooks in my pack.”

A large statue of a mage stood in the snow-covered courtyard and, beyond that, a Breton mage stood talking to a Tallmor wizard. Kharla hoped he didn’t have their descriptions. All the same, she pulled the fur a little closer about her as did some of the others.

“Tallmor,” Draloth muttered as they drew near. “They’re everywhere.”

“You may be used to the Empire bowing to your every whim, but I’m afraid you’ll find the Tallmor receive no such treatment here. It’s simply out of the question that we extend the height of all the doorways by four inches…”

The Breton woman turned on seeing Kharla and the others. The Tallmor eyed the newcomers warily.

“Welcome to the College,” the Breton said. “I’m Miserabell.”

“Sorry to hear that,” said Mell. “I struggle with depression myself, so I know what it’s like.”

“No, my name is Miserabell. I’m the Master Wizard here.”

“Ah, right,” said Mell before she and the others went on to introduce themselves.

“So,” Miserabell began, “can I give you a brief tour of the College?”

“Yes,” said Kharla, eager for them to get away from the Tallmor wizard.

“To be honest, we were looking for someone who might know where we could find an Elderly Scrawl?” Kharla said to the Master Wizard when the Tallmor was out of earshot.

“Hmmm…well, you might try our Orcanaeum—run by one of your kind, as a matter of fact. I’ll take you there.”

Miserabell led them through the large main door of the College and then through a door to the right and up some steps to a large chamber. A library.

“So many books!” said Mell, looking around at all the shelves and bookcases. “This place must contain every work ever written!”

Miserabell smiled as she led them deeper into the Orcanaeum.

A bearded Orc in robes stood from his seat behind a large desk as they approached. “Who have you brought to my little plane of Oblivious, Miserabell?”

“Everyone,” announced the Master Wizard, “this is Chief Ushud Gro-alibree—Chief Librarian, that is. You’ll find him most helpful. Knows the title and topic of every book in here. He’ll also have you torn apart by angry Acrobats if you so much as spill a drink on them.”

Draloth frowned and looked at Kharla. “Do you think they are the ones from the circus?” Only the acrobats had escaped the Legion’s ambush on the circus due to their speed and agility.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have matters to attend to with the Arch-Mage. I want to speak to him about lowering the archways in the College. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“So how can I help you today?” said Ushud as Miserabell left the Orcanaeum.

“We’re wondering how we might get our hands on an Elderly Scrawl,” said Kharla.

The Chief Librarian’s eyes widened. “An Elderly Scrawl is an instrument of immense knowledge and power. To read an Elderly Scrawl a person must have the most rigorously trained mind, or else risk madness and some pretty nasty headaches. Even so, the Divas usually take the reader’s sight as a price, though I have heard of cases where some other sense was taken instead, such as in the instance of one poor scholar in Sorrydill who had his entire sense of social decorum taken from him. Didn’t go down too well with the Impeccables, of course. Ended up going to the block after he turned up naked at some feast the Emperor was attending.”

“So what is in these Scrawls exactly?” asked Mell.

“And how much would someone pay for one?” asked Draloth.

Kharla gave the merchant a withering look.

Ushud put a hand to his bearded chin. “The simplest way to put it is ‘knowledge,’ but there’s nothing simple about an Elderly Scrawl. It’s a reflection of all possible futures and all possible pasts. They’re also written in first-person present tense, which takes some getting used to. Each reader sees different reflections through different lenses and may come away with a very different reading. This is why you’ll see some give the Scrawls glowing five-star reviews while others assign them one-star and don’t even deign to leave a review. But at the same time, all of it is true. Even the bad reviews. As to their price—well, it fluctuates, but generally about half the value of the entirety of the continent of Tamarind.”

“So, do you have one?” asked Kharla.

Ushud laughed. “I wish! The best I can do is give you some books to read. Two spring to mind on the topic. I’ll get them for you.”

The Orc disappeared behind some bookshelves but was soon back with a couple of books. “These are the best two on the matter. If any books can help you locate an Elderly Scrawl, it’d be these two. But don’t get your hopes up. They’re mostly lies leavened with rumor, gossip and tittle-tattle, with a little dark humor thrown in for good measure. Give them a read and come back if you’ve any more questions.”

Kharla looked down at the two books. Effects of the Elderly Scrawls read the title of one, Ruminations on the Elderly Scrawls read the other. “Right,” she passed the first to Mell and the second to Draloth. “You’re the fastest readers. Sit down and read these.”

“Well this one,” began Mell, flicking through the pages, “is about how the Scrawls can affect people when read. Seems those who know next to nothing about how to read them should be all right. The Scrawl will just be inert.”

Kharla grunted. “I guess that’s a good and bad thing. Good because we’ll not go blind or mad, but bad in that we might not be able to use it. Still, maybe bringing it to the peak of the Thrill of the World and opening it there will be enough.”

“This one makes no sense. Acorns and birds flying upside down. The author’s touched in the head if you ask me.”

“Ha!” said Ushud, overhearing them as he sat at his desk. “That’s the work of Severus Cygnet. He’s the world’s master of the nature of the Elderly Scrawls, but…well. He’s been gone for a long while now.”

“‘Gone’ as in ‘disappeared’ or ‘gone in the head’?” asked Draloth.

“Both. Went somewhere up north, in the ice fields in the Sea of Gusts. Said he found some old Dweeber artifact, but...well, that was years ago. Haven’t heard from him since. Maybe he’s also gone in the sense of ‘dead’ now too.”

“Do you know where in these ice fields?” asked Kharla.

“No, but you might ask Faldera. She’s often out walking in them with her ‘spellbook in her pack’. Maybe she thinks being out in the snow and ice will improve her elemental powers. Of course, I think she’s bonkers.”

They found Faldera under the arch near the end of the walkway before it sloped down into Wintercold’s single road.

“Faldera,” asked Kharla. “Ushud tells us you wander the ice fields sometimes?”

“Yes, it sounds a bit unsociable really, doesn’t it? But the Arch-Mage assigned me to be the face of the College, to build good relations with the local Nords or at least stop them from scribbling offensive words on the stonework. Admittedly, I have some skill with fire magic that allows me to keep warm out here, but the bridge gets kind of boring after a while, so I traverse as far as the edges of the ice fields, yes.”

“We were wondering if you had any idea where Severus Cygnet might be?” asked Draloth.

“Now there’s a name I’ve not heard for a long time. He was always concocting something or another.”

“Bit of a troublemaker, eh?” asked Eilgird.

“No, I mean concocting potions. He used to be Potions Master here. I was one of his students. I mention it because sometimes I think I smell his concoctions when I’m on the edge of the ice fields when the wind is blowing in a certain direction. The aroma of freshly baked bread with a hint of rotten eggs. Probably just my imagination—Memories mixed with the smells of the sea.

“And where would this be exactly?” asked Draloth.

“There’s an island just north of the island that the College sits upon. Its northern edge has a spit that leads out into the ice. That’s about as far as I go. You can get there by foot when the tide’s out if you’re careful and willing to do a bit of scrambling. It’s not far. The ice is thick enough to cross as long as you don’t fall down the gaps. There’s a few small islands, no more than rocks really, out there. I can’t believe anyone would be out there, but well, that’s all I know. Take the path to the left at the bottom of the slope, it works its way gently down to the shore.”

“This one will keep an eye on Bessie,” said Ti’lief.

“Cold feet?” asked Draloth.

“No, but Ti’lief will have if he crosses these icy fields. Wet feet too.”

Less than half an hour later they were all, minus Ti’lief, standing on the floating ice, the two islands behind them. Their feet were wet and cold, but their furs kept their legs and bodies warm.

“Can anyone see anything?” Kharla asked, looking around.

“My eyes aren’t as good as Ti’lief’s,” said Draloth, staring out.

“Hmm…what’s that smell? asked Eilgird who was a little ahead of the others.

They moved toward the Nord guard and started sniffing the air.

“My nose isn’t as good as Ti’lief’s either,” said Draloth, “but that sure does smell like freshly baked bread with a tinge of rotten eggs.”

“Look there,” said Mell, pointing almost directly ahead. “Is that a boat?”

Kharla strained her eyes. Mell was right. It was a small boat moored next to a large icy rock about the size of a house. It looked as if they could get to it by way of the ice sheet if they were careful. “Let’s check it out.”