Posted 09 March 2002 - 11:08 PM
The Scribe put down his quill, and sighed. For once, he didn't feel like writing; but there was little else he had to entertain himself. His gaze swept idly about the tavern, occasionally alighting on something that looked like it might be worthy of his attention. It seldom was, and his gaze moved on. Even Brianna was too occupied to provide him with any entertaining conversation.
As his line of sight passed across one of the windows, he noticed a small group of people heading for the tavern - several of the adventurers that had set out on a quest to some tower or other, a few days before. "Ah, now this might be interesting," he thought to himself. A few minutes later they entered the tavern. Most of the group dispersed, but Flynn, Moonshadow and Trinias saw him watching them, and wandered over to his table.
"Welcome, youngsters! Please, join me!" he exclaimed warmly. "Tell me all about your little trip!"
They returned his warm smile, and sat down. Brianna wended her way over, also glad to see them. "Welcome back. I'm glad you two have made up," she beamed, indicating Flynn and Moonshadow's entwined hands. "What can I get you?"
"The usual, thanks," Flynn replied, after a quick glance at the other two.
"As I recall, Flynn," the Scribe began, after the drinks had arrived, "you didn't initially join this quest. Might I enquire as to what happened?"
"Sure. But I guess it'll make more sense if you get it all in order, and you'll have to ask these two about all of that - I didn't arrive until after it was all over."
The Scribe turned his enquiring gaze on Moonshadow and Trinias. "Well..." Trinias began.
---------
The Scribe pondered the new story long after his young friends had departed. Brianna was already closing up for the night before he stirred; she wasn't entirely surprised, he often remained deep in thought for extended periods of time.
"I think it's time I visited Pnyx," he commented as she approached, intending to take him home.
"What, now? It's after midnight!"
"No, no, the morning will be soon enough. It's a short journey, and I'll borrow a horse from young Flynn. No need for you to come, I'll be all right. I used to be quite a horseman, you know."
"But why do you want to go there at all?"
"Because it's the foremost centre of magic and learning in the land, dear girl. Just possibly, I might find something to help with your little 'problem'." Brianna's cheeks burned red. "I might be there for quite some time, so don't worry - I'll send word when I get there, just so you know I arrived safely."
Brianna chewed her lip uncertainly; but she knew it was really his decision - and she knew how difficult it was to dissuade him, once he'd made up his mind.
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In the early evening of the next day, the guard on the gate to Pnyx stirred himself to greet the rider he could see slowly approaching down the road. As the man approached, he could be seen to be an incredibly ancient elf, something the guard had never before encountered.
"Here, let me help you, old timer," he said, as the elf drew up beside him and began to dismount.
"Thank you," the elf sighed, relieved that his journey was at its end. "I'm just not as young as I used to be."
"What can we do for you, sir?"
"I'd like to speak to someone, about archives, and ancient texts and things. Who should I see?"
"Lindus first, I'd say. My relief is just arriving, so I'll take you to see him."
"Again, you have my thanks."
Before long, the Scribe was comfortably ensconced in one of Lindus' deep armchairs.
"Well, I must admit, it's an unusual request," Lindus was saying. "While we've had many people here conducting research over the years, they usually give us some idea of what it's about. However, you've become a well respected individual in these parts, so I suppose I could make an exception." He paused, then came to an abrupt decision. "Very well, our library and archives are at your disposal."
"Thank you, Lindus, I'm sure it will be of great benefit to my studies. In return, if you ever find I may be of some assistance to you, please feel free to seek me out."
---------
The Scribe spent many weeks searching through old and musty books and scrolls, seeking out the smallest snippets of wisdom that might have a bearing on his topic of research. On occasion he returned to Cademia, to visit Brianna and fulfil other obligations, but for the most part he was content to remain and read; he was in his element.
One morning, as he was settling in for another long session of poring over ancient manuscripts, he was disturbed by a young woman (relatively speaking, of course) carrying a bundle of scrolls.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," the grey-haired woman said. "I didn't realise anyone would be in here."
"I'm known as the Scribe," he said in introduction, standing and kissing the back of her hand in a gallant fashion. From anyone else it might have seemed comical, but from him it was the most natural thing in the world. "And who might you be?"
"Doria," the woman replied. "I'm just delivering a few more items from the Sorcery Tower archives, to be sorted through and filed later. I'll just drop these in the corner and leave you in peace."
"No need to trouble yourself about me," the Scribe replied, then looked curiously at the scrolls. "Would you mind if I took a look at a few of those?"
"Not at all!"
"Thank you." He selected a couple that looked the most interesting, and sat back down to read. After a while, he picked up another book from the Pnyx archives that he'd been reading, leafed through the pages, and compared a section to something he'd just read in the scroll.
"Interesting," he murmured. "Both seem complete; yet together, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts." He looked up at Doria, who was sorting the scrolls into the appropriate places on the shelves. "Are there many more scrolls or books like this still in the Tower archives?"
"Oh yes, many more."
"I see." He stared into space, thinking deeply. "I really must visit the Tower. Would you think of it, please - its location, how you travel from here to there, anything like that."
"I'll try," Doria replied, looking somewhat bemused.
The Scribe closed his eyes and muttered an incantation in an elven tongue. Into his mind flowed images of the tower, nestled in amongst the mountains. He retraced with Doria the path through the mountains and forest, until it reached the pyramid of Pnyx. Although it was at least two days journey on foot, the mental journey took only seconds.
"Thank you Doria, that should give me all I need." With that, he rose and left the room.
Doria stared after him for a moment, shaking her head slowly. "What a strange man!"
The Scribe returned to his room, gathered a few possessions together, raised his staff and brought the tip down hard on the floor. With a flash of white light, he was gone.
---------
Alaric was sitting on his throne, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His eyes were closed, and he was rubbing his temples, as if he had a headache.
"Something is wrong, Bahoudin."
"What sense you, my son?"
"I'm not sure - it's as if a blank spot has suddenly appeared in Cythera - a place into which I can no longer see."
"Bad this could be; bad!"
"Yes; and worse - it seems to be growing."
---------
The Scribe continued his search in the archives of the tower each day, returning to Pnyx at night. He found many small pieces of knowledge, that combined with knowledge he already possessed, brought him closer to his goal; all-in-all, it had been a most worthwhile trip.
"What's this?" he exclaimed one morning, as he pored over yet another book, some kind of journal from the early days of the Tower.
"... I entered the room to find several of my more advanced students deep in discussion, questioning why we should take orders from the Tyrant when we are so much more powerful than he. I took great care to explain to them about the Tyrant's paranoia about magic and mages, and his countermeasure of anti-magic, against which no magic can stand; but I fear they will not believe..."
The Scribe thought for a moment. As important as his own researches were to him, he had a feeling that this small piece of information could be of even greater importance to all of Cythera. He gathered his things together, including the book, and teleported back to Pnyx.
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"Most odd," Lindus said to the messenger from Alaric. "I've never heard of anything like that. A blank spot, you say? And getting larger? Most odd indeed."
"It's his Majesty's hope that you will solve this problem for him," the messenger replied.
"I really don't know what -" Lindus was interrupted by a blinding flash of white light, as the Scribe appeared without warning in the middle of his chamber.
"Oh, I beg your pardon, Lindus," the Scribe apologised. "I didn't realise you had company."
"That's all right, my friend." He looked tiredly at the Scribe for a moment, then his eyes lit up with a small spark of hope. "Actually, you might be just the person. Listen to what this young man has to say."
The messenger repeated his missive; the Scribe listened intently, then opened up the book he'd brought back. "read this," he instructed Lindus.
Lindus read the short passage, then looked up sharply. "You think it's connected?"
"I've lived a very long time, Lindus. One of the many things I've come to believe - there's no such thing as coincidence. This discovery, at this time, must be significant."
Lindus nodded. "I agree." He turned and addressed the messenger. "You may return to Alaric, and assure him that we are looking into it."
With that, the young man turned on his heel and left.
---------
The scribe didn't waste time by riding back to Cademia; he teleported directly to the Alraeican Tavern. He ignored the grumbles from several of the patrons about direct teleportation, and quickly scanned the room to see who was present. He saw Trinias sitting at a table to one side, and made his way over.
"Is Flynn around?" he demanded, without his customary polite preamble.
"No," Trinias replied, somewhat surprised. "We don't expect them back for a couple more weeks, yet, the wedding was only two weeks ago. Surely you remember that - you gave away the bride!"
"Oh yes, of course," the Scribe murmured, rubbing his temple. "I've been distracted, and I lost track of the days."
"Is there something I can help with?" Trinias queried, after a moment's silence.
"Yes, perhaps you can." The Scribe slid into a seat opposite Trinias, but before he could begin, Brianna came hurrying over.
"Grandfather, is everything all right? You look distressed!"
"Distressed? Yes, perhaps that's the word for it. You'd better sit down, child - you should hear this as well."
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"So you believe this 'anti-magic countermeasure', whatever it is, is getting out of control after being left unattended for hundreds of years?" Trinias queried, more to get the facts straight in his own mind than in any hope of gaining further information.
"That's correct, young man. Someone needs to go and seek out this 'blank spot', and determine the level of danger - perhaps even destroy whatever is causing it."
Trinias nodded. "I'll go, of course. But I'll need a lot of help; most of the Ronin are unavailable or unreachable, right now."
"Well, you can count me in," Brianna responded, the first she'd spoken since she joined them.
Trinias smiled at her. "Right. Now we just need a few more volunteers..."
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I will classify my lieutenants in three categories: untrusted, trusted, and completely trusted. Promotion to the third category will be awarded posthumously.
[This message has been edited by Overmind (edited 03-13-2002).]
I will classify my lieutenants in three categories: untrusted, trusted, and completely trusted. Promotion to the third category will be awarded posthumously.
Help
)
Oh well, maybe she came back.
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