Finn watched her as she walked away, trying to process their brief conversation. Kalisha was definitely not what he had been expecting, although Malik seemed like he would provide sufficient surly tension to compensate.
“She was flirting with you,” a voice observed from behind Finn.
He glanced over his shoulder to find Julia standing there. “Uh-huh, sure. I’m what? Twice her age – at least? I’m pretty sure the desert will freeze over before that happens.”
Julia just raised an eyebrow. “Remember, you don’t look your age here – even if you do insist on acting like a boring crypt keeper most of the time.”
Finn snorted, although his brow furrowed in thought, glancing at Kalisha once more. Perhaps there was some merit to Julia’s observation. The merchant had seemed overly friendly – particularly for two competitors. While he doubted her motive was romantic, it did raise the question of why she had tried to ingratiate herself with Finn. After speaking with the Emir, he suspected the reason was more pragmatic.
Perhaps to get him to lower his guard?
“You should be careful with her,” Julia muttered as she followed his gaze. “It’s clear that they recruited Vanessa for more than just her spellcasting talents.”
Finn nodded. Indeed, the ice mage would be a wealth of knowledge about his group’s abilities. It was a smart move. As Abbad had said many times, information was power. He side-eyed his daughter, noting her crossed arms and tense posture. “Ahh, look at you. Are you worried about your dear old dad?” Finn asked with a twinkle in his eye.
Julia gave him a stern glare. “More like I don’t want to see us lose this thing before we even get to the Abyss. I don’t trust that merchant.”
“You know you say that about everyone, though, right? You don’t trust Abbad, Nefreet, the mages, the guards, the Emir, Kalisha…” He ticked off the list on his fingers. “Is there anyone that you do trust?”
Julia’s expression was unusually somber as she answered, her eyes dark and distant. “No, not really. And it’s worked out great for me so far.”
Finn stared at her, about to ask what she meant. However, he was interrupted as Altair’s voice rose over the crowd. “Alright, everyone mount up. We’ve got a long way to go before nightfall.”
As he finished speaking, the city gate creaked open – a massive doorway nearly fifty feet tall. On the other side rested more sand than Finn had ever seen before, an ocean of yellow that stretched outward until it touched the horizon.
Heeding the guard captain’s orders, Julia gave Finn one last glance and then headed for her mount. Finn watched her as she walked away before his gaze flitted to the merchants and fighters – all eyes now on the gate leading out of the city. It seemed the time for small talk and preparations was already over.
Their journey had begun.
Chapter 8 - Learned
Over the last few hours, Finn had learned that “beetle-travel” wasn’t his preferred method of travel. Translation?
He hated the damn things.
Finn had initially found it strange that the creatures’ feet flattened into bony paddles, forcing them to waddle about the city in awkward, jerky movements. Even more odd? Despite these limitations, Altair had seemed confident that their mounts would make great time.
That mystery had been solved within only a few minutes of leaving Lahab. The beetles projected a thin cushion of air mana below each foot, which effectively caused them to hover atop the sand. That quirk of physiology also led to his main complaint with riding the over-sized cockroaches.
They didn’t really walk or run.
They glided.
The beetles coasted across the sands like Olympic skiers, sending out soft puffs of yellow particles as they clumped together around their massive queen. The combined caravan was enough to create a sandy wake, a cloud of particles billowing out behind them. Perhaps if he had been watching the creatures, he would have been impressed with their grace. But he wasn’t just a spectator. He was riding the damn things.
Finn had come to realize that deserts were sort of like static oceans. Instead of water, they had sand. And instead of waves, they had dunes. Add in gliding beetles, and the result was a rhythmic seesawing motion. The creatures would crest a ridge and then coast down the other side – that movement repeating infinitely.
“You don’t look so good,” Kyyle shouted from nearby, his voice muffled slightly by the thick cloth covering his mouth. Meanwhile, Finn could see that Julia was trying and failing not to laugh at him.
He spared them both a glare but couldn’t muster the willpower to yell back at Kyyle. Finn tended to avoid water in the real world. He could handle sitting in a fishing boat in a placid swamp or river. But any larger body of water had him clinging to the railing, sick as a dog. It was something about the rocking motion that did him in.
As though to mock him, the developers had also apparently felt the need to emphasize his weak constitution. According to his UI, he was currently “sand sick.” The bad pun aside, he felt that it was unnecessary to mock him by creating an actual in-game debuff.
As the group crested another dune, Finn groaned and clutched at his stomach. He needed a distraction – something to take his mind off the overly realistic bite of bile lingering at the back of his throat.
His thoughts returned to Abbad’s whispered words. He still hadn’t told Kyyle or Julia the librarian’s final message. He suspected they’d have a field day with it. Besides, Finn couldn’t shake the foreboding nature of Abbad’s tone. He had sounded nervous, and there were very few things that Finn could think of that would make the librarian anxious. Which led to an obvious question.
What the hell was so important about the book?
Finn rummaged in his pack and pulled out the tome. Now that he had more time, Finn inspected the cover carefully. There was no title or other information, but the flap of thick leather appeared almost new – no cracks or wear showing on its surface. He flipped open the cover with careful fingers, making sure to brace the book so that he didn’t accidentally drop it. He doubted that Altair would pause their progress to let him retrieve it.
There was no title or designation regarding the book’s content – only a single word scrawled on the blank page.
Bilel
That name again.
That same man had been responsible for writing the other novice spellbooks that Finn had studied, using them more as workbooks than formal training manuals as Bilel had struggled through the process of forming the spells. The mage’s notes had been intriguing, providing limited insight into this world’s magic and mana systems. Yet this tome didn’t have the same telltale glow of the others – as though simply writing down a spell’s incantation conferred trace amounts of mana.
But if this wasn’t a spellbook, what was it?
Finn’s brow furrowed as he flipped the page, a familiar lilting text filling the paper in neat rows. These weren’t hastily scrawled notes or comments. These were full sentences and paragraphs penciled with painstaking and meticulous care. His curiosity overtaking him, Finn began reading.
I am not certain where to begin. Perhaps by introducing myself…
I may have once had a family name, although it has long since been lost to time. Now I am known by a single moniker. I am Bilel – a name that has come to carry both hope and pain in equal measure.
And perhaps it is appropriate to start by telling my story, although the reason for that will only become evident as we continue.
Finn hesitated.
He flipped a few pages ahead, noting that this narrative went on for a while. Was this a personal journal? Why would Abbad think this would be helpful for Finn? Perhaps it provided some insight into how Bilel had approached Spellcrafting?
There was only one way to answer the questions tumbling through his head. He turned his attention back to the book and started at the beginning.
My tale begins more than a decade ago.
I never knew my parents and like m
any children abandoned by the fates, I was taken into the “care” of an orphanage in the city of Lahab. My earliest memories are of worn sandstone and sun-drenched sand. However, even at a young age, it was clear that I was special… or, as some have said, “cursed.” It started small at first, the occasional spark of magic when I was upset or scared. Yet that soon escalated.
At the age of nine, I accidentally destroyed the orphanage. I have no memory of what happened, but I was later told that no one was harmed. After that, I was taken into the custody of the Mage Guild. I had been deemed to be too much of a danger to myself and others to be allowed to live freely within the city.
It wasn’t until much later that I began to understand how strange those events were. It is rare for children to show signs of magic before they reach adolescence. While young bodies may harbor mana, they lack the mental development to foster the affinities – which, in turn, are a prerequisite to spellcasting. So naturally, my abilities were met with a mixture of fear and clinical interest by the other mages.
Finn shook his head, staring at the page.
So, Bilel had been special among the mages?
Even more interesting, the mage had unwittingly answered a question that Finn hadn’t thought to ask. Although, it now seemed like a glaring oversight on his part. Why were there no children within the Mage Guild? Bilel’s answer seemed to be that young children were typically unable to cast spells. Finn supposed that made a certain sort of sense. If the affinities were tied to personality traits or actions, and children were still developing mentally and emotionally, then they would have difficulty cultivating the control necessary to formally learn spells.
Although, that begged the question of how Bilel had been capable of casting spells…
Finn turned his attention back to the tome.
The mages initially treated me as little more than a specimen to be studied. They kept me locked in the lower levels of the guild hall – for how long, I do not know. However, I do remember my release. The flash of light as the door creaked open. A kindly older man standing in the doorway, offering me food and kindness, both a rarity during my short life.
The man’s name was Renquist, and he managed the guild library and its staff. Renquist pulled me out of the darkness and took me under his wing, perhaps intrigued by my gifts. Unlike many of the other mages, he still managed to retain his compassion. He and the other librarians taught me to read and to write. They gave me some semblance of a home. And it was also Renquist that first taught me how to use my gifts.
I took to magic like a beetle to sand or a bird to the wing. By the age of 12, I was considered a prodigy, having already obtained the rank of journeyman. By 15, I was capable of casting a few of the master-rank spells that had been collected by the guild. And by the age of 20, just a few short years ago, I reached the limit of the guild’s knowledge.
That may seem extraordinary – a man barely past the age of maturity mastering an art that others spend a lifetime pursuing. Yet the lack of family or other distractions served to hone my focus, and I lived among the stacks. I scoured the scrolls and tomes within the guild library daily and devoured my instructors’ lessons.
It was at that point I did something unexpected once again.
I cast something new.
Finn was staring at the page, his brow furrowed. What was so strange about experimenting with spells? Bilel couldn’t have been the only mage to discover various incantations. Weren’t there others? Even Abbad and Brutus had seemed to imply as much.
Even as that thought crossed his mind, Finn hesitated. He knew personally how difficult it was to create something new. And if it were such an easy feat, then certainly the other novices would have figured out the process as well – instead of the guild using spells as a carrot to pit the students against one another.
Maybe the history surrounding the art of spellcasting was a bit more complicated than he had realized…
While the library was a refuge, and I had the protection of Renquist, my life wasn’t without its hardship. As you might imagine, many of the other mages were jealous of my abilities. I was forced to learn to defend myself, sometimes diplomatically – but much more often with violence.
I remember the day I created my first spell vividly. Two novices, already my senior in age if not experience, cornered me in the crafting ward in the northern part of the campus. They demanded to know how I had progressed so quickly – to reveal my “secrets.” They would not listen when I said I had no confidential insight to offer and that my progress was a function only of hard work and natural aptitude.
And so, they sought to pull out the answers by force.
In my fear and pain, I did something new. I created something new. I meant only to defend myself – to ward off my attackers. Yet the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Those in the vicinity tell all sorts of tales – of a multi-headed serpent wandering the halls, of the heavens opening and bolts of lightning descending from the sky, of a tremor that shook the entire guild. Others say I called down a falling star…
Parting the myth, the truth is more simple. I killed those men.
“Geez,” Finn muttered. Although, he supposed he shouldn’t be too surprised with his own introduction to the Mage Guild. They weren’t much for friendly camaraderie, which apparently wasn’t a new development.
Finn also hadn’t missed the reference to the “crafting ward.” He could only assume that Bilel had lived a long time ago, long before the Emir’s reign – since the current regent had clearly stripped the guild of its crafting knowledge. Yet the journal in his hands looked almost new. Perhaps the materials had been warded? That would indicate that the tome was far more important than he had expected.
His attention skimmed back to the tome, and he flicked forward a few more pages until one passage caught his eye.
If you are reading this, you may be asking why I have taken the time to tell my life story. I can assure you that it isn’t mere hubris. My writings to date have all been done in the pursuit of the study of magic – specifically, the study of Spellcrafting. Despite my checkered history, I have now discovered more than two dozen spells and have rocketed to a level of esteem within the Mage Guild enjoyed by few.
Yet the magical well has now run dry. This process has never been easy, as my previous journals have made clear. Despite my best efforts, I have not been able to discover a new spell in more than a year. Between my own fervent attempts and pressure from the guild leadership, I have been forced to re-examine my process.
I find myself facing many uncomfortable questions. Why am I suddenly finding it difficult to form new spells? Am I indeed creating something unique, or, as it sometimes feels, am I merely discovering incantations that already exist? Why was I able to succeed where so many others have failed?
In my writings, I have always attempted to approach my studies clinically so as to avoid coloring my conclusions with my own bias or preconceptions. Perhaps that was misguided. I fear that the answers to these questions rest partly with an examination of myself and my own history. I have long been concerned that investigating those questions may overturn a rock; reveal an uncomfortable truth – one that cannot be put back in its place.
Yet fear is the death of passion. I cannot let it prevent me from moving forward.
So, good reader, we arrive at the goal of this journal.
I intend to investigate the nature of magic itself.
As soon as Finn finished reading the last sentence, a prompt appeared in the air before him, the notification flickering with a soft blue light.
New Quest: A Spellcrafter’s Tale
Abbad has given you a strange tome, purportedly written by Bilel – perhaps one of the few, or only, spellcrafters. The journal tells Bilel’s story and describes his attempt to investigate the nature of magic.
Clearly, the librarian felt this story was one you needed to hear, and perhaps other secrets or wisdom can be gleaned from its pages. The only way to discover more is to
continue reading…
Difficulty: C
Success: Finish reading Bilel’s tale.
Failure: Discard or destroy the tome.
Reward: Unknown.
Finn swiped the notification aside, his forehead wrinkling as he stared blankly at the tome, cradling the leather in his hands as though holding a fragile egg. Even without the prompt, he had an inkling of what Abbad had given him – or, at least, what he might have given him. Finn suspected the talented mage had managed to discover more than his fair share of secrets, secrets that would normally be worth their weight in gold.
His attention drifted to the sands around him, the beetles continuing to glide and coast across the dunes as his thoughts swirled in a chaotic mass. Finn could also relate to much of what Bilel had written. Over the last two days, he had spent a considerable amount of time attempting to develop his own spells… with little or no success.
While he understood many of the rules behind the creation of a spell – syntax, syllables, rhyming requirements, keywords, etc. – there were still hundreds of thousands of possible permutations. And that was just for the novice-ranked spells. For higher-tier spells, the number of possible combinations increased exponentially as the incantations grew infinitely more complex.
If he were able to test the combinations on his personal workstation, he could have possibly “brute forced” the problem in a matter of days or weeks by having Daniel attempt every possible combination. Although, this ignored the fact that each spell also required a unique set of hand gestures, and Finn had concluded that those gestures were performed more by innate feeling than a technical set of steps. Either way, it just wasn’t feasible. He had no choice but to experiment while inside AO, and just a few calculations had indicated that this process could take years.
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