Hundreds of years have passed since the birth of Valeryia. Since then, it accumulated leagues of land, nurtured a prospering population, and amassed volumes of annals. As the country grew, so too did its needs. It needed officers for times of war. Doctors to tend to the sick. Architects to build cities. Mages to grapple with the arcane. The kings of old saw these needs, and so they pooled the Kingdom’s resources and established a college in the heart of Valeryia, an institution without equal for hundreds of leagues. Named after the old Valeryian hero Efrain, it stood as a beacon of knowledge, guiding the Kingdom’s youth.

Years ago, to accommodate its growth, the Efrain College of Valcadia was split into two campuses: The Efrain College campus for general studies and subjects and the Mage College of Valcadia campus for magic and arcane subject matter. Reginald led the group to the Mage College. His friend – described as an archaeologist of sorts – was a professor and academic employed there.

The atmosphere changed. Suran noticed more and more young adults out on the streets. The stores and scenery seemed more vibrant and full of a color – a clear contrast to the rest of the city. Standing above the youthful district was a clock tower. Reginald led Suran through the buildings and into a clear and he saw that underneath the clock tower sprawled an open campus with green fields and building complexes.

“I wonder if this is the right way…” Reginald muttered as he walked through the open green under the tower. “It has been a long time since I last visited him,” he said jokingly. Eventually, he stopped aimlessly searching and asked someone for directions, leading the group to an old, almost run-down, brick building.

They entered the building and were greeted by a typical, stuffy, old administration building. Reginald found a directory and scanned through it before heading off through musty halls. He led everyone up two flights of stairs past offices, past the odd classroom or two, and through several workspaces. He stopped in front of an old wooden door decorated by a dingy gold plaque that read ‘Mortimer Schachtschneider’.

“Let me go in first and talk to him if he is here,” Reginald said. “He will need to be warmed up a bit before he will talk to anyone.”

“Will there be a problem?” Suran asked.

Reginald popped a half smile, “Well… he’s just a little odd.” He knocked on the door and heard a ‘come in’. Opening the door, Reginald slipped in, leaving Suran, Natalya, and Iylia waiting outside. They waited patiently outside and Reginald came back out a moment later with a pleased smile. “He’s willing to hear you out, come on in.” Stepping to the side, Reginald let Suran walk past and into the room.

Sitting in a chair just too little space, wearing glasses that fit one size too big for his eyes, sporting a pointy hat with a circumference a hair too much, an old man with the most skeptical of beady eyes eyed him from behind a wooden desk that was an inch or two too high. One by one, everyone filed into the room.

“Here they are,” Reginald announced to Mortimer.

Mortimer slunk into his chair and said in a low whisper, “You didn’t say there would be this many people…”

“Oh it’s fine! You’ll only being dealing with him,” Reginald pointed Suran out.

Suran nodded his head as a greeting and said, “The name is Suran.”

“I know,” Mortimer said. “I’m Mortimer. So did you want something?” The man pushed up his spectacles.

“Didn’t Reginald tell you why I was here?”

“He did, but I didn’t get what he was saying.”

“…You want me to tell you?”

“Sure.”

Suran walked over and pulled up a chair in front of the desk. He took a seat and began. He quickly explained, telling Mortimer only the most relevant information. From his world, he was forcibly evicted and sent to a different realm. It was hazy from there, but he next found himself here.

Mortimer listened to the story intently and then said, “So what do you want me to do?”

“I need help getting back.”

“Okay.” He just looked at Suran and shrugged, “Just go back the way you came.”

“I don’t know how I got here?”

“How don’t you know? If you don’t know, then how am I supposed to know?”

Suran, confused, looked over to Reginald, who was as amused as he was confused. “Reginald said that, with your line of work, you’d be able to help.”

“I’m an arcane archaeologist. All I do is research old magic spells and items.”

“Mortimer,” Reginald called out, “He wants to know if you know any magic spells or magical items that could help him get back to his home.”

Perplexed, Mortimer asked, “Why didn’t he just say so?” He rustled through his overly large desk and began pulling out dilapidated notebooks that look as if a non-artistic child made it into a scrapbook.  The man opened one up and cursed silently as random piece of papers fell out and began stroking his bushy white beard as he perused his notes. “I know of some stuff, but it’s not helpful.”

“What do you mean?” Suran straightened out and shifted towards the edge of his chair.

 “It’s called archaeology for a reason; all the stuff I find is super old so it’s either incomplete in nature or left ineffective due to time. You learn a lot of cool stuff though.” He stopped at a page in his notebook. “For example, many records show that the Demon race pioneered summoning magic – a masterful extension of normal teleportation techniques – and used it to great effect, bringing forth strange beings and creatures from different realms.”

“Is there a reason that can’t work?”

“You wouldn’t know, but the Demon race is extinct. Or have been for the last 2,000 years. Much of their technology and magic went with them. What’s left is the bottom of the barrel we get to scrape off and use, so summoning magic is something that’s far off. Not to mention, you would be looking to reverse such a process, which could make things complicated.”

“Okay, what else do you have?”

Mortimer whipped out a large, encyclopedic book and began sifting through it. “Good news: there’s one more thing.” He stopped at a page. “Bad news, it’s a lost Sacred Treasure.”

“Sacred Treasure?”

“That’s right, you don’t know. Sacred Treasures are items of unparalleled power and ability – only other Sacred Treasures being able to properly match them. Their origins are literally divine; no race, no craftsmen in history, has ever created anything that could resemble a Sacred Treasure in all ways. Get close in one aspect, and you fail in another.”

Items of divine origins put Suran in thought. Was this world really such a place, a place where gods existed? “Why would the item being a ‘Sacred Treasure’ be bad news?”

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“There’s only one of it. And it’s been lost for probably several hundred years.”

“What is this ‘Sacred Treasure’ you are talking about anyways?”

“Freymar’s Gate. It is said to open doors to new worlds, new possibilities, and to bring the user to whatever it is that they seek.”

“That sounds… too good to be true.” Suran wanted to believe this could be his solution, but he couldn’t help but be skeptical.

“Well, no one has found it for the past hundred years. The amount of information on it could fit one paragraph. And, it’s entirely possible that the Sacred Treasure won’t do as advertised; their abilities can vary with the wielder.”

Suran thought for a moment and asked, “Are there any other options?”

“Don’t know. If it is, it’s lost, and the only way to find it is to go looking for it. As for contemporary solutions, I wouldn’t know. Then again, I’d imagine any sort of summoning magic or ability would be widely discussed if it was out there.”

“Would it be possible to find this gate?”

“A possibility exists.”

“Alright, tell me what you know.” What other option did he have but this one?

Mortimer looked down at his notes, read them for a moment, then looked back up to Suran and said, “Freymar, the original wielder, was a Dwarf that lived during the Kath-al-Ur period, over 2,000 years. In the proceeding wars in chaos of the period, it was lost. There are sparse collections over the centuries of claims of it being found, but no claims could be verified and were consequently written off.”

“Is that it?” Suran inquired after waiting for me.”

The old mage plainly said, “I said it would fit in one paragraph.”

“What would it take to find the gate?”

“You wouldn’t be able to find it. Someone like me would have to help.”

“Then can you help me find it?”

“Not for free.”

“Fine. What do you want?”

“I want you to help me find Freymar’s gate.”

Tilting his head, Suran looked around in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I’m an archaeologist. My job is to find old stuff, research it, dissect it, and modernize my learnings so other people can use it. Problem is, the college hasn’t given me – or anyone – any funding. I haven’t been able to a dig site in years. I am unable to do what I want to do. So here’s the deal: help me do what I want to do, and I’ll help you look for whatever it is you are looking for as long as I know I can look for it.”

“So you’ll help as long as you can do your archaeology work?”

“Yes, but you have to handle the logistics. Funding, travel, protection, so on.”

“Deal. Where do we start?”

Mortimer whipped out a scroll and spread it out on his desk. “We start with this!” Before everyone was a massive map a continent with red X’s and notes scribbled all over it. “I may not have been able to go out, but I keep track of what’s going on.” He began to point out various locations on the map, “These are the sites related to Dwarves from oldest to newest. If we want more information, our best bet would be to look through Dwarven literature and records.”

Suran analyzed the map, finding where they were located on the map and comparing it to all the markings. “Is there any site you think would be the best?”

“How about this one,” he said while pointing to an X on the map.

“Alright,” Suran said. The X was relatively close compared to the others, situated in a mountain range in a territory marked as ‘Nosirion’. “Any reason why?”

“Not really. It’s close. It’s a joint dig in the area controlled by the Dragons and Dwarves. Reports say the site is at least 1,500 years old. Only issue is, people have been saying bad things have been happening there.’

“Bad things?”

“It’s normal to find monsters and stuff in ruins, but I heard some bad monsters are being found there. Not the normal zombies, skeletons, critters, or whatever.”

Suran nodded his head, “That’s fine. I think we can handle it.” Depending on how dangerous the inhabitants are, Suran thought it might be a good idea to get extra muscle. There was no reason to cut corners and risk everyone’s lives.

“Great. Then all we need is the supplies. We will need transportation of some sort like a horse, a carriage or wagon, digging supplies, food and drink to last the few week journey, funds to continually stock up while we carry out the dig, and anything else you may need like weapons, guides, or extra arms.”

“Alright,” Suran mentally noted the list, “how much do you think we will need?”

“I don’t know; I never messed with money. A couple gold at least. Maybe a dozen?”

Reginald whistled from the corner, “That’s no amount to laugh at.”  Running the numbers and conversion rates in his mind, Suran confirmed that the amount wasn’t small by any stretch. He found himself, again, in a spot where money was a problem.

He frowned in his seat. So far, the only way he knew how to make money was to go through the Adventure’s Guild and complete their requests. From the few requests and tasks he saw, someone like him accumulating that much gold wasn’t going to be easy. It would be time consuming and almost certainly a bother. Suran got up from his chair and asked Mortimer, “If we need you, will you be here?”

“Yes.”

“We don’t have the funds right now. When I do, I’ll come back.”

“Okay.”

Mortimer sat in his chair and despondently looked at him. There was a discomforting emptiness and bleakness in his gaze. Suran motioned to everyone else in the room and left the aging wizard to his own devices. When they were outside Mortimer’s office, exiting the building, Suran asked Reginald, “I must know: how did you get to be acquaintances with such a man?”

The lord chuckled. “When I was your age, did you think I sat around all day?” Reginald gazed ahead, fixated on something far off. “Once upon a time, I was quite the traveler, and I found myself with Mortimer many a time.” He sighed, “Now I’m old and the most I can do is watch others.”

“Such is life,” Suran blandly reassured him. “Anyways, do you have any idea where we can find the money?”

“Try the guild? Other than that, I can’t help. You’re on your own for this one since my wealth is stretched thin, even with the King’s reward.”

Suran clicked his tongue in annoyance. Always needing money was frustrating, but unfortunately, that is how this world works. One could bet nearly every world, every society, would work that way. They left the college office building. He was ready to grind it out if needed. But, he also flirted with the idea of just selling the house and hopefully being done with it so he could move on.