Mar blinked away the lights that streamed across his vision. When his eyes cleared enough for him to figure out where he was he realized that he was standing the middle of the alchemy lab, with a bewildered looking Grob staring at him in surprise.

“Boss! There be a big poof! And then you there!” The goblin stuttered in surprise. “You sure you, and not one of the creepy crawlies?” Grob was referring to a parasite that infected humans and other sentient lifeforms, eating them from the inside and wearing their victim’s skins as a disguise. If you let the hang around long enough they became fully fledged shape-shifters. There had been an outbreak scare in Orlem a few years back, luckily the mages were able to identify and destroy the imposters before they were fully developed and really started spreading. Unfortunately for Grob, during the extermination process one of the parasites that had identified and obtained for experimentation broke out and escaped by infected a goblin in Grob’s tribe, who were also in captivity for experimentation purposes. By the time anyone had figured out what happened the creature had eaten half their number.

“I’m not a doppelganger, Grob. Or a naaldoshii. Rest easy.” Mar patted the goblin’s head.

Mar took a deep breath, remembering what had just transpired prior to his teleportation. He’d gone to the Pyrastern estate, snuck right under Darrik’s nose, foiled an assassination against Yavin, and then fought his way free with Yavin. Except Yavin didn’t make it. There was no way she would have, not with a mage like Lord Pyrastern against her. It was a miracle that she was even able to teleport Mar away, although that may have had less to do with Yavin’s power and more to do with the warlock totem’s.

Mar reached into his pocket and pulled out the stone. Its bare surface was cool to the touch. He wanted to smash the stone on the ground. He’d been acting erratically ever since he came into contact with it, and it was clear now that this stone was to blame. It had to have been tampering with his mind.

Why had he been so willing to help Yavin, a total stranger? The stone must have been to blame. Why did he go out of his way to introduce her to Verona? Because the stone was probably looking for another powerful mage as a host. Why had he run after Yavin when he’d known she was in danger? The stone wanted the seal binding it fully unlocked, and only Yavin was familiar enough with it to remove it. All those changes were subtle, and Mar probably would have missed them, but that fight with those three guards had been too blatant.

There was simply no way a bookwork historian with no combat experience should have been able to take down three professional guards with such ease. He’d felt as if he had been fighting with a sword for a lifetime. Perhaps several lifetimes. It was well known that warlocks possessed such physical power. The totem contained all the combined knowledge and power of all the souls it had previously absorbed after all.

Mar placed it on the table. What the hell had he gotten himself into? He was safe for now, as far as he knew nobody at the Pyrastern estate had seen his face, but it was only a matter of time before either Darrik remembered his connection to Yavin or they managed to make Yavin tell them what she’d done with the stone. Either way they would be lead straight to Mar. He needed to get out of the city as fast as possible.

Where would he go? East maybe? Into the lands of the Empire? That was where all fugitives from Orlem and its subordinate cities left for. Maybe that was too obvious though. He wanted to lay low, and there was nowhere better than out west.

This wasn’t the first time Mar had thought of leaving Orlem. Each time he had refuted the idea for the same reason. Verona. He’d entertained the dream of a life with her ever since they were children, but she seemed to be slipping further away with every passing day.  It seemed like only yesterday the two had been childhood friends at the orphanage. It seemed only yesterday to him that he and her had promised to build a shining city, like the founding mother and father of Orlem did in legend. Those were beautiful days, but now it often seemed like that girl he used to know was gone.

He doubted Verona even remembered their time together.  She was living the dream.  At seventeen, she was one of the most gifted young mages in all Orlem, a top contender to win this year’s trials. She could be the face of this generations mages, and the highest heights of power were open for her. And yet here was Mar… a mediocre history student and part time tutor.

He’d fretted over what could have been long enough.  They weren’t children anymore and Verona lived in a different world from him. It was time he left Orlem. There was nothing more for him here.

Maybe he could become an adventurer.  Slaying beasts and collecting mana stones for money.  The idea of undercutting Darrik Pyrastern’s family business sat well with him.  And maybe after a bit of training he could sign on with a party and go dungeoneering!

And maybe, if he became a truly successful adventurer he’d collect so much wealth and artifacts of power that Orlem would be in awe of him, magic or no.

“Grob, I think I’m going to leave Orlem soon.”

Grob glanced up from the mold he was pouring paper into. “But boss! Where will be get the candy!” Grob complained.

Mar smiled. “Sorry Grob, you’re going to have to find somebody else to work for. Maybe one of the scribes will want your paper maybe—” But Grob waved his hands to interrupt him. That was very unusual. Goblins had a strict hierarchy and Grob viewed Mar as his tribal leader. It was unusual for him to not show subservience.

“No no boss! I go with you!” Grob nearly shouted.

Mar shook his head. “Sorry Grob, but I need to go underground. I’d stick out like a sore thumb with you following me around.”

“Grob very good at staying underground. Grob lives in the sewers after all. And Grob is very sneaky. Most big clumsy humans never see me. I follow you quiet-like.”

Mar sighed in exasperation. Arguing with a goblin would require more energy than he had. He’d just buy a box of food for the green guy and leave without telling him. He should pack up his stuff in the alchemy lab. He didn’t own much stuff, and didn’t have much in the way of coin, but money went a lot further out on the frontier then it did in the heart of civilization.

But then Mar remembered most of his money was tied up with his current work for Master Warric. He wouldn’t be able to afford the portal fees, let alone living expenses. The old dwarf paid well, but insisted on quality book bindings. Even buying paper making supplies and having Grob make the paper instead of purchasing paper outright cost Mar quite a bit. He’d triple his money once Master Warric paid him though.

Mar would have to put off departure until after he was paid later today. He needed at least five golden denarii to pay the portal fees, and Mar estimated he’d need at least five more to pay his living expenses while he looked for work. He needed to finish the last section of the final book Master Warric wanted so he could get paid. The Pyrastern’s wouldn’t be able to do anything to him so soon. He would be safe for today at least. Besides, he would need to wait for the evening portals to open before he could get anywhere reasonably far from Orlem.

Mar sat down at the table, reaching into his drawer and pulling out his pen. He opened to the page he was writing and flipped open the book he was referencing from. He tried to scribble out some words but nothing came out of his pen. Then he remembered why he left in the first place. He still needed ink.

Mar made a short trip to one of the many shops that lined the street on the way up to Orlem’s school of magic. Many of them were in business exclusively because of the patronage of the wealthy mages who attended the school, and as a result many of the catered to whatever a student of magic would need. Flasks, vials, sulfur, chalk, animal bones, lizard blood, eye of newt, anything a young mage might need. Thankfully paper and ink were also on that list. Although attempts had been made, mages had yet to come up with a spell that would replace taking notes.

Luckily Mar only needed kind of ink that was strictly for writing, and thus was the cheapest available. Just as Mar had finished haggling the price down to three copper denarii and a ream of Grob’s paper, he felt a heavy hand clap him on the shoulder.

Mar turned around, not seeing anyone at first. He looked down though, and there was a burly dwarf wearing gold tinted brass goggles. They were a popular tool for arcanist. They had a magic visualization enchantment active in them, like the one used to allow mundane individuals to perceive unformed spells, except these were used boy someone who was themselves a mage so they could observe spell-weaves with much greater accuracy then they otherwise would be able to do. They were also very sturdy, and have saved many an eye after an experiment went wrong. Arcanists and alchemists sometimes wore them all the time. They were as distinctive a mark of their trade as a battle staff or war wand would be to a battle mage.

It took Mar a second, but he recognized the dwarf under the goggles. It was Master Warric, the teacher who had commissioned the project Mar was currently working on.

“Mar my boy! How are you this fine day?” The dwarf asked in the boisterous voice stereotypically attributed to dwarfs.

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“Oh, just fine Master Warric. I just had to buy some ink.”

Master Warric nodded. “Tell me, how’s that fountain pen working out for you?”

“It’s wonderful. You wouldn’t think it, but not having to dip into an inkwell saves a lot of time. And prevents a lot of smears trying to get the ink to run cleanly. It is truly an ingenious dwarven invention.” Mar commented truthfully.

Master Warric laughed. “I’ll pass your complements onto my cousin. He’s wanted to scale up production of the things for nearly a century now. Could never get the clan to fund it though. It’s always been a low-volume thing.”

“I’m sure if you could get one of the major scribe guilds to start using them there’d be plenty of market space in the human lands.”

Master Warric huffed. “Yes, I have little doubt that you humans would take them up in a few decades. Unfortunately, anything we make has to be popular at home before we scale up to sell abroad, and my people can be remarkably stubborn.”

“Well whatever your people do, it works. I’ve never seen the golden cities of the dwarves, but from the tales it seems the streets a hewn from gold.”

Master Warric snorted. “My people also have a habit of boasting. While it’s true our cities are very rich, they’re not nearly as large as even a decent sized human city. And a city like Orlem, possibly the largest city in the world, probably has as much gold flowing though it every day as even the best dwarven cities.”

“Well, Orlem is an exception.” Mar said in reply.

“Yes, there’s no perfect way to compare, since dwarven culture is fundamentally different from human culture after all. But back on the topic of production, how are those books I commissioned coming along? I assume they’ll be done by this afternoon?”

Mar nodded. “That’s actually what I was picking up ink for. I ran out with just a few pages left. Give me an hour to look everything over and they’ll be ready for you to hand off to the scribes to have duplicated.”

“Splendid. I’ll stop by that old lab you use as a workshop in another two hours.”

When Mar returned to the old alchemy lab where Grob was still busily making paper he sat down and quickly got to work. He finished transcribing the last passage Master Warric wanted in the book, with a few modifications for historical accuracy. Mar finished in a little over half an hour. He flipped through the pages of all his books to make sure the ink hadn’t smudged on any of the pages and that everything was legible.

It didn’t have the flamboyant writing of a proper scribe but the scribe’s guild would take care of that when they copied the book, assuming Master Warric cared for such a thing. After going through all the books and realizing that there were no errors on any of the pages he closed the books and set them aside. Grob was still busily making paper, and since they still had plenty of raw materials Mar let him continue.

Master Warric said he would come by to pick up his books, so Mar needed to stay in the room. It was already late afternoon, but the dwarf still hadn’t shown up.

The brief distraction of work had taken Mar’s mind off what had happened that very morning, and the fear of what Darrik would do if he ever connected the dots reaffirmed the notion in Mar’s mind that he needed to get out of Orlem.

Without thinking, Mar’s hand had found its way into his pocket, and where gently stroking the sides of the gray stone. Mar set it on the table in front of him. It didn’t do anything.

Mar rummaged through the small bundle of things he’d stuffed into a concealed bag in the corner after fleeing the Pyrastern estate and pulled out the Pyrastern guard helmet. He figured he could make some crude arcanists goggles with the enchanted glass on these things. He’d need frames to get them to hang on his face, but if he didn’t mind holding the screen up like a monocle they would work fine as just bare glass. Mar didn’t want to keep the helmet on the off-chance that somebody would recognize the Pyrastern family crest on it.

Mar worked at the glass with his fingers, then with one of his old pens, which he used as a pry-bar to lever the thing out of its slot. Mar tossed the helmet to Grob, who was already working with some powerful solvents to make paper.

“See if you can get that crest on the side rubbed off.” Mar asked the goblin. As a blank helmet, it might fetch some money, especially on the frontier. Things were more violent along the lands that humanity was desperately trying to recolonize after the left-over effects from the cataclysm that destroyed the Remian empire faded.

The dwarves held back because they were allied with Orlem and its satellite cities, and the elves held back because they were associated with the empire to the south east, which claimed to be the remains of the Remian empire, and thus its rightful heir.

However, that didn’t mean that the humans held full sway over the land. With the previously dense human population out of the way, the entire area was prime land for orcs, pigmen, goblins, trolls, ogres, and any other nasty creature you could imagine setting up a camp and wreaking havoc. Needless to say, the adventurer trade was booming in the region, and the mana crystals and soul stones being distilled from the dying auras of the infesting creatures was starting to effect even the Pyrastern family’s monopoly.

While he thought, Mar’s fingers lifted the stone from his pocket. Before he knew it, he was turning the gray rock over in his hands. Examining the stone using the glass pried from the guard’s helmet, Mar became fairly certain that there was little to no mana remaining in the stone. Powerful talisman for dark magic though it might be, without energy it was just a rock.

He remembered the voice he had heard coming from it before, and he briefly considered supplying mana to it just so he could ask the spirit inside some proper questions, but that would be complete stupidity. He remembered how easily the warlock’s totem had affected his mind earlier and knew it was foolish to think he could resist such power through sheer stubbornness. Besides, not being a mage, he couldn’t even use the power a warlock’s totem could provide. Mar simply didn’t have an aura big enough to be manipulated.

Mar briefly considered selling it, but Yavin had asked him to keep it safe. Not that he thought he would see her again. The Pyrasterns weren’t savages. They were fully fledged mages and like most mages saw other mages as something much more valuable than a few mundane guards. The guards were disposable, but killing another mage was taboo. Even if that other mage was a backwoods druid. Having proved herself to be a fourth order spell-caster, the Pyrasterns might very well try to convince her to join them.

Suddenly there was a knocking on the door. Both Grob and Mar looked up. Grob put down the spoon he was stirring with and opened the door. Behind it was Master Warric.

“A damn bloody goblin!” Master Warric leapt back with a grunt of surprise. He reached for something at his hip. It was an arcanist invention. A smooth barrel of metal that contained a ball of lead inside that would be propelled by a magically induced explosion. Mar had seen Master Warric demonstrate its use and knew full well what it could do to Grob’s head.

“Master Warric!” Mar shouted. “That’s just Grob. He’s… my goblin. He makes paper for me.”

“Ah… Yes. I think I remember you telling me about it… him.” Master Warric put the weapon away. Grob bolted and cowered in the corner. “You’re lucky us dwarves don’t have too many grudges against their kind. An elf would have killed the thing on sight. Still though, I never understood why you humans use the little thieves for grunt labor. Too much of a risk. Sure, they’re harmless enough as tiny little goblins but give them food and time and they can evolve into something much more dangerous.”

Mar nodded. “I’ve heard that before. Grob’s been with me for over a year now though and he’s been harmless the whole time. Quite helpful too when it comes to making paper.”

“Is that so?” Master Warric eyed the cowering green creature critically.

Mar decided to change the subject. “Here’s your order, in full.” Mar picked up the small stack of books in his hands.

“Ah! Wonderful. And here’s your payment. Plus, a little extra, since I know you always do good work.” Master Warric handed Mar a small leather pouch.

It felt strangely light for the amount of silver denarii they had agreed upon, so Mar felt obliged to peer into the bag. Mar gasped in surprise when he noticed that there were gold coins gleaming in the light instead of silver.

Mar turned to Master Warric to thank him profusely when he noticed the dwarf was hardly paying attention to him, and instead stood transfixed to something he had picked up off Mar’s desk.

Damn it to hells. Mar had left the Warlock’s totem sitting right on his desk. Warlock’s totems were highly proscribed items, and as a master at Orlem’s school of magic, Master Warric would be obliged to report it to the inquisitors. Even more reason for Mar to skip town as soon as possible.

Mar tried to come up with a convenient excuse for having such an object.

“That’s just a replica warlo—” But Mar was interrupted by a loud exclamation from the dwarf.

“An Eye of the Enchanter…” Master Warric whispered. In amazement, gazing at the gray stone.

“A what?” Mar asked.

“See these distinctive lines running through the stone here? The delicate rune work? This is clearly an Enchanter’s eye. Arcanists term for a tool that allows the user to work with mana like nothing else. With a tool like this, only the final product of a spell-weave needs to be stable, rather than the whole process. Sadly, this one is broken beyond any hope of repair. Otherwise I’d have to steal-err buy it from you on behalf of dwarf kind. In fact, I think it would still be worth quite a bit just as a collector’s item. Only a few hundred of these things were ever made after all, and I only know of three that work and are in use.”

Mar had already decided not to sell the stone, but Master Warric’s identification of the stone caught him off guard. Master Warric wasn’t known for misidentifying things. In fact, adventures came from far distant lands to have the old dwarven artificer appraise their loot from dungeons.

“It’s not mine to trade.” Mar said truthfully. “I’m just holding on to it.”

Master Warric mumbled in appreciation. “Hard to believe somebody would let a beautiful thing like this out of their sight, even if it’s just a paperweight now. You know where it came from?”

Mar shook his head. “The owner told me she got it passed onto her from someone else.”

Master Warric hesitantly handed the stone back. “Well if she ever needs coin, point her my way. My clan would give her weight in gold for that little trinket.”

“I’ll pass it on.” Mar said. Then he asked the question that had been bugging him. “So, it’s not… a mind stone? Or a warlock’s totem or something? Just to name examples.” Mar hurriedly added.

Master Warric shook his head. “No, that’s an Enchanter’s eye, no doubt, though I can see how a lesser arcanist might be fooled. A mind stone is always holding a spell structure to maintain it’s thought processes, and a warlock’s totem would be whispering about how we can use it to kill all our enemies with. It’s an enchanter’s eye, though sadly a broken one.”

“So, there’s no spirit fragments living in it?” Mar asked.

The dwarf laughed. “Goodness, no. Warlock’s totems all have distinctive runes here, which serve as their connection to whatever powerful demon or spirit the totem belongs to. There’s nothing of the kind here. Everything the stone interacts with —or would interact with if it worked— is right here in this very rock.”

“Interesting.” Mar nodded.

“It is indeed, relay my offer though! Alright, I’ll leave you be. You no doubt want to run to the administration office before they close so you can opt out of the tournament tomorrow.”

“Oh no, I won’t be participating in that.” Mar shook his head. By default, everyone at the school was automatically enrolled in the event. However, everyone who wasn’t a mage immediately forfeited, since they had no way of winning such a competition. Many of the non-combat based mages ended up opting out as well, simply to avoid getting crushed. The spells usually saved everyone from death, but not always.”

Master Warric chuckled. “Then ye’d best run quickly. The office closes in another ten minutes. After that you’ll need to get there first thing tomorrow.”