Mother of The City

“That’s a lot of dwarves!” a human woman exclaimed, high up from a second floor balcony.

Walking along a road half a dozen meters away, an old dwarf woman, her white hair braided and decorated with 2 silver hairpins, and her body shielded by a thick but loose purple robe, glanced up to see the exclaimer. The dwarf saw the human, and next to this first one, 3 others leaning against a railing. Together, a total of 4 mouths gaped in her general direction. Taking her eyes off the balcony, she glanced behind her right shoulder.

A river of dwarves. That’s what she saw. Up the southern artery of Ermos, too many dwarves to count either marched on their feet, rode giant rams, or sat comfortably on wagons pulled by more rams, in some instances, but donkeys and muels in other. The mighty river of dwarves stretched as far south as her eyes on ground could see.

“Who are they?” Another woman of the balcony asked.

“I don’t know” the first responded, “but I’ve never seen that many dwarves in one place!”

The old dwarf woman, walking ahead of the many dwarves occupying the horizon, smiled briefly up at the balcony. Many dwarves indeed, young human.

“Who is she?” The question came from the other side of the street, from a male urban elf. His eyes were fixed on her. When her eyes moved to meet his, he didn’t move. Rather, he only seemed to get more curious.

“I bet she’s a dwarven princess! Or queen more like it.” Another urban elf eagerly offered, standing next to the first.

The comment stretched the old dwarf woman’s cheeks into a smile, but she continued her walking, saying nothing to the comments.

“I’m more curious what is that!?” The words came from a new young human, a recent arrival to scene.

“Is that from the wilds?” It was another young man’s voice, though this one was anonymized by the now hundreds of people converging from every building and every side street around. Some people were just on their way somewhere, but stopped upon seeing the gathering crowds and the long line of dwarves. Along both sides of the highway, great crowds were forming. A grand audience for an even grander entrance.

“I’ve never seen anything like it” a human woman began, staring out from a first floor window along with another woman and a teenage girl, “though I can’t say I’ve been much outside the city. Is that thing from our countryside?”

“It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen” answered a human man from the window next over. This onlooker was joined by a totally absorbed young boy.

“See all those wagons in the distance?” A woman from another second floor balcony pointed, this time from the other side of the highway. “What could they be bringing?”

Joining the growing commentary, yet another human woman appeared. With her upper body leaning out from a window next to this latest balcony, she took on the task to answer that very question. Hands shielded her eyes from the sun, as she peered seriously into the south. “Looks like bars of metal. A lot of it. Many wagons of it. But there’s also lots of other stuff.” The woman continued peering. “I see chests, lots of chests. And there are racks, stacked on top of each other. I’m not sure, but I think I see weapons and tools. And there, a bit closer this way, that looks like earthenware, and, even closer, that other wagon. Mmm. If I’m not totally mistaken, I think that’s PORCELAIN!”

“Traders?” The woman on the balcony questioned. “But they’re way too many to be just traders. And look at all those dwarves” the woman pointed to near the front of the line, “just walking with their boots, and riding those big goats.”

“I can only say what I see, sister” defended the window looker.

With more such commentary arising from the flanks, several minutes of walking passed for the dwarf woman, with the crowd producing more questions, and more speculations. Eventually though, one moment would stand out to the dwarf, seizing her attention. It was a caned, very old, grey-haired dwarf man, who suddenly exclaimed from the crowd: “IT’S HER! IT’S HER!” The dwarf man pointed with a shaking finger as enthusiastically as his age would allow.

“Really?” The word came from a younger dwarf next to the man. “Are you sure?”

“IT IS! I’M SURE! It is her.” The really old dwarf man waved at the less old dwarf woman ahead of the procession. The woman waved back with a smile, and a nod, the latter of which almost seemed to stop the grey-haired dwarf’s heart. “Mother of The City” the old dwarf man muttered.

“Mother of The City” echoed his younger companion, his mouth coming slightly agape as he joined in staring. “Evenin of Redratall.”

“Evenin... of Redratall” the old man reminisced.

You make me feel old, old man. Evenin walked on, head a little lower. If you are the first to recognize my face... She shook her head. Well, it’s been over 100 years since I was truly relevant here. That’s more than the lifetime of almost any human, I must remember. 2 human lifetimes even. She mused over her own age. Yet, had I been a human, I would only be at the start of my 50s. Just passed my prime. Just at that moment when thoughts start slow, but the real wisdom starts to surface.

Evenin and her procession of dwarves occupied almost completely the left half of the paved highway as they marched toward the city center. On her right though, traffic went on as best as it could. There, humans, urban elves, dwarves, mecha-gnomes, and even the occasional green-elf rushed along the stone. The people she saw were diverse. Not just in race, but in their trade and their purpose. Evenin took notice of it all. There were travellers, vaguely similar to those of Evenin’s group. They’ve got thick capes, headwear of wrapped cloth and sunblocking hats in straw, leather and cotton, and they got luggage. What else would they be? She noticed a couple of affluent humans had also afforded themselves sunblockers in silk. Most people were not travellers though. There were also crafters, easy to spot, not many people would run around with heavy metal tools and leather aprons. Not many of those. However, one group there were a lot of, was the errand runners, at least their sacks, baskets, small backpacks, and affordable attire, speaks to me of such an occupation. And there were farmers, bringing goods into the city, or their empty wagons and carts out of it. The farmers were easiest to spot. When they didn’t ride donkey- or horse-pulled wagons filled with grain, hay or potatoes, or manually pulling carts with fruits, vegetables, or piles of eggs laid on blankets and straw – they were pulling and guiding cows, pigs, goats and sheep, for slaughter, or for sale, she remarked. Of the few people that didn’t fit the marks of either traveller, crafter, errand-runner nor farmer, there were the small groups of armed people, wearing dissimilar outfit and gear. Guild warriors, likely. Their passing she eyed with particular interest.

“Mommy, it has a saddle! Can I ride it?” A human toddler girl, at the side of the pavement, pointed to the space behind Evenin. The old dwarf woman felt her face smile again, as she gave the excited little human female a glance.

“No sweetie” a woman next to the child responded, “that’s not ours to ride. Also, it doesn’t look safe.”

Evenin paid the duo no more mind, and just walked on. She and her procession were nearing the city walls of Ermos. And as they started closing in on there, she noticed a group of human soldiers, waiting in front of the wide open gates.

Behind her, a mass of dwarves slowly came to halt. Meanwhile, Evenin, as the procession’s head, approached.

“Are you the envoy we were briefed on?” asked a man, one of the soldiers. The old dwarf woman did not immediately respond. Instead, she studied him for a second. Brown, half-long hair, young eyes, an open, expectant expression. Probably no older than his early 20s. Like most of his fellows, the man held a spear in his right hand, while a polished helmet was grasped with the elbow of his left arm. At his belt was a shortsword, sheathed, and he had armor – plate – for his wrists, shoulders, legs, and chest. The basics of a city guard platoon, Evenin concluded, her eyes surveying them.

“I am” she confirmed, and came to a full stop right in front of the armed men and -women.

“That’s one interesting animal” a female guard commented.

Evenin glanced a little behind her left shoulder. She was met by the wet snout of a white bear. It sniffed at the air, before touching her cheek affectionately. “He’s fully tame.” The great polar animal’s presence imposed upon the nerves of the guards, capturing the full attention of their eyes, even as it did nothing of remark. “And well-behaved. Or at least, it is, if you are” she smiled back at the guards.

“Oh course we are” the first guard smiled at her, maybe a little nervous.

“What’s his name?” the female guard inquired.

“Snowman” Evenin smiled. The female guard, smiling and her cheeks flushing, held in a snicker. Though some air abruptly did escape her nose and make a sound.

“Please, let us escort you to your lodgings.” The male guard bowed a little and gestured past his own soldiers, through the gate and on towards the city center.

Evenin nodded. The soldiers quickly ran into a frontal escort position, and the procession resumed.

On the other side of the gates, the dwarves were met by the grandeur of The Statues of Heroes. Evenin eyed each stone statue in rememberance of the people she’d met, decades before. They all died to end up here. The were memories of great warriors, great markspeople, great mages, great warlords. Insofar as war can be great. Passing through the grounds of the statues, hundreds of Evenin’s dwarves, mostly robed, and lightly packed, flooded gradually into a large open square. Taking up positions behind Evenin, their caravan leader, the multitudes of dwarves formed an elongated crescent shape. On their left, this mass of dwarves, including Evenin, faced 10 waiting wizards and witches. Representatives of the university, she reocgnized. On their right, the viscinity of 45 other people waited. Officials and politicans. She knew several of them. The larger group mostly consisted of dwarves, though there was also a whole 9 green-elves there, 2 wild-gnomes, 5 mecha-gnomes, and at least half a dozen humans and urban elves.

A dwarf among the 45 or so, with a fat piece of golden jewelry around his neck, stepped forth to greet her.

“Welcome, Mother of The City.” The dwarf bowed, then reached forward and took Evenin’s hand, kissing it in respect.

To their left, some mage stepped forward and started talking to most of the dwarves behind her. She cast an eye towards the mage, but otherwise paid that event little mind. Instead, she faced the dwarf in front of her.

“It is always amusing to visit Ermos, Chief Stonearmor” Evenin responded, “because it always seems like I have so much more status here, than I have in my own mountains.”

The dwarf raised an eyebrow, quickly disagreeing: “Can you really say that, Mother, when you march into our city with over a thousand dwarves on your heels?”

A human man in fine, silver-colored silken pants and -shirt, his fingers full of precious metal rings with large gems, and his back covered by a long red cape elaborately painted, stepped forward to join the conversation. “Speaking of your thousand dwarves: where are they? This surely isn’t a thousand dwarves. It seems more like 2, maybe 3 hundred. And there’s hardly any wagons here.”

“Greetings, Lord Veron.” Evenin replied, giving the familiar man a nod. “The caravan split off during the time just before and just after we arrived the gates. The traders and their people have places to be. And most of them, you must understand, have prearranged destinations in The Little Mountain and The Iron City.”

“Oh” the man responded. “I did hear you brought some of your mountains’ finest porcelain. I was hoping to quickly acquire some for my household, before the other nobles get their hands all over it.” The man gave a small courteous smile, and for a second, the 3 stood there in silence, before Lord Veron continued: “I don’t see any luggage around you. Did you not bring any. Beside this most terrifying beast friend of yours.” The man gestured at Snowman, which sniffed mightily in response, capturing the eyes of the Lord into a wary momentary stare.

“I have my luggage with someone from the homeland. Keil Goatgold, of the Redratall’s Union of Goat Herders. She’s a personal friend, and she’s come to sell our famous goat cheeses. Perhaps” she smiled a little extra at Lord Veron, “you should acquire some of that as well, if you go looking for our porcelain later.”

“Heh” Lord Veron laughed the faintest of laughs, then went into a smile. “I suppose I’ll have to check it out.”

At the left side of the square, the only present wizard not to have beard was concluding his speech. It was an urban elf, with long silver-white hair, green-blue eyes, a simple but fine blue robe with purple collars, a metal badge on his chest, and a huge piece of jewelry hanging from his neck – one that was visibly emanating magic.

“At sunset tonight” the elf proclaimed, “a massive outdoor welcoming dinner for you all will be hosted at the university grounds in our park. You’re all free to attend, and all of us” the wizard gestured at the nearby wizards and witches, “will be there in attendance with you. You’ll have a chance to ask us questions, or get acquainted, either with us, or with many of your senior students, who will also be attending. Now, if you’ll all just follow after, we’ll take you to your dormitories.”

Upon hearing and seeing the last word being spoken, the many dwarves in front of the mage began shuffling their feet forward. Slowly, they, along with the 9 wizards and witches, were moving to follow the urban elf as he turned to march deeper into the city. Evenin stole a moment to gaze at the wizards and witches. She saw 2 mecha-gnomes, a wild-gnome, a dwarf, 2 green-elves, and 3 humans. They were obviously mages. The aesthetic was all there. All robes, with many pieces of jewelry at their necks and fingers. Some had staffs in their hands, some had wands at their belt. Their hats were large and pointy, even their shoes were pointy, for whatever unfathomable reason, Evenin wondered, and they had the kinds of messy hair and half-done beards that spoke to a lack of priority in their looks. They were powerful, though, and Evenin knew all of them. If not by direct acquaintance, then by reading reports of the going-ons at the university. They all had power levels estimated in the few hundreds. Collectively, these wizards and witches are strong enough to defeat an army on the battlefield. So had been the conclusion of her dwarven allies back home. Powerful, very powerful, Evenin told herself. Today though, these powerful people had – and reluctantly so, going by their bored expressions and slow responses – been relegated to greeting a host of new dwarven students. The green-blue-eyed urban elf leading them, she knew him too.

“Erdonom, Head and Master Mage, of The Department of First Year Students.” Evenin said, as Chief Stonearmor, Lord Veron, and the many others that’d waited for her, watched the mages leave. Behind Evenin, dozens of other diplomats and their aides from The Dwarven States were left still standing, and trying to look patient. After the traders and now the mages-to-be had split from what had, until just an hour ago, been a caravan proper, this was all that remained. Us the politicians.

“Indeed” Lord Veron let out, though his word was meant for the name she’d just dropped. The Lord turned to face her. “Shall we perhaps escort you and your dwarven friends to the houses we’ve made available for you? And“ the man gestured at Snowman, “perhaps a stable for the bear?”

The bear in question took a lazy step forward, and Evenin grabbed her bestial friend’s head without looking, pulling his snout in for a casual neck hug. “His name is Snowman. And Snowman is my bodyguard, Lord Veron, and thus: an indoor bear.”

Lord Veron raised both eyebrows briefly, but then questioned the matter no further. “Of course, as you wish.”

What followed next was a brief period of mingling, as the dwarven diplomats were welcomed forward, and the rest of the city officials and politicans approached, and they all got together and started greeting and introducing each other. Politic-ing. Eventually though, this chatting and pleasantry came to a conclusion, and Lord Veron once again took the word: “Should we perhaps escourt you all to your prepared housing? I’m sure more than a few of you must be terribly tired after this very long journey.”

More than a few dwarves agreed to that, and the welcoming committee of 45 or so began guiding dwarves to various places. For some time, many of the diplomats would walk along the same streets, sometimes talking over to each other, but as they began moving deeper and deeper into the city, fewer and fewer diplomats and their aides walked together. This all happened gradually, up until Evenin felt herself guided only by Lord Veron, the city guards from before, and a few of Lord Veron’s personal guards. The latter had inconspicuously merged in with the crowd over time, descending from hidden guard positions along the shadows and corners of the streets. Evenin had noticed them, but not been alarmed. She knew Lord Veron, and she knew how he managed his security.

“You already know this of course from our messenger” the man began another topic as they walked, “but I’d like to tell you personally that the dinner party at my estate tomorrow is going as planned, and we have a large amount of guests attending. We’ve even had to accomodate some from The Little Mountain and The Iron City, who’ve insisted on getting to meet you and your associates before The Yellow Chamber meeting. You know what the gnomes want, I assume?” He gave her a look.

“Their desires and proposals have been made quite clear to us all.” Evenin confirmed.

“Well then, I assume also it’ll be brought up more than once tomorrow. Your guided tour of the university in 3 days is also going as planned, the mages have been unusually excited about your visit. Apparently they’ve encountered some great breakthroughs in their studies.”

“Oh” Evenin nodded with appropriate surprise, “sounds exciting.”

“Indeed.” Lord Veron nodded. “Also, as I understand your plan, The Little Mountain wants to host a grand banquet of their own in your honor, the day after tomorrow?”

“Yes, I’ve received many invitations to parties, but I’ve had to turn most of them down. My priorities for this visit will not be to make new acquaintances – however nice I am sure they all would be – but to assess the state of the city and the land. Next year is the 100th year anniversary of the start of our substantial aid to Ermos, and I’ve been tasked with finding out if the venture has been a full success, and whether continued support for Ermos is...” she took a serious sounding inward breath, “necessary.”

“Oh” Lord Veron let out, suddenly and visibly a little taken aback by the burden that’d just been revealed to lie on his shoulders. He was silent for a little moment as they continued walking north-east, between increasingly luxurious architecture, and cleaner streets, on towards The Marble District. “I hear your mornings for the next 2 days are also taken. And now that I hear you say it, the purpose of those other tours you wish to make seem rather apparent.”

“Yes” Evenin acknowledged, “I wish to see how far Ermos City has developed, since my last visit almost a decade ago.”

The 2, along with Snowman and the guards, continued on and into The Marble District. Their arrival there was immediately clear. They passed among several ostentatious houses with statues and fountains and overdone hedges. Although many people though, Evenin remarked, might not think these homes as houses. I know more than a few who’d probably call these minor palaces. She gazed towards one particularly grand home at her side of the street. There, her eyes followed a well-crafted spiralling wooden stairway, leading up, up a wooden tower built into one of the sides of a house. As her gaze reached the top there, her ears picked up a relaxed chat, while her eyes spied the backs of a human and an urban elf, sitting on dining chairs, drinking from tall glasses, their arms leaning against a wooden railing, with their view probably overlooking the city. The line between house and palace is certainly a little blurred here, she noted. This particular grandeur would not last forever though. Soon, these grandest of homes made way for the slightly less ostentatious ones, and arriving at some new more moderate streets, one particular house stood out there. As this house was waiting – for Evenin. The envoy eyed it. She remarked to herself that it, too, was a grand house in its own way, with a large lush garden, and lots of rooms. But certainly a step down among the wealthiest of the wealthiest. She knew in advance that this house would be at her disposal for the entirety of her mission’s duration. An expensive gift, a sign of respect, and an attempted purchase of goodwill, by the very rich Lord who’d walked her, and which was now coming to a stop right next to her. Evenin stopped as well, and Lord Veron turned to look down, and into her face.

“Here it is. I wish for your stay here to be most comfortable” the Lord gave her a bow of the head. Several human and an urban elf servant waited for her at the door.

“Thanks for the walk, Lord Veron.” Evenin gave a slight head-bow back.

“We’ll see each other tomorrow then, Mother of The City, as the dwarven elders call you.”

“I’ll see you at the dinner party” Evenin confirmed. The Lord gave one last bow, and then turned around, both he and his guards walking away. Away and into a low-hanging evening sun.

“Do you wish for us to stand guard at your door, envoy?” It was the soldier from before, that male human city guard with brown half-long hair.

Evenin gestured with an elegant hand at her Snowman. “I have all the security I need, soldier.”

The soldier gave an immediate and quick military bow. “Then we wish you a good evening, envoy. We’ll take our leave.”

Evenin watched them go for a few seconds. Then she turned back to face her new house. There, she was met by some very white human and elven faces. They looked absolutely terrified. For a moment, Evenin looked at their white faces in confusion, but then she blew air from her nose and shook her head in a smile at them. “Don’t you worry” she stepped back and patted her massive white bear, “Snowman is a very good bear. With him, your safety is only increased. He doesn’t eat either humans nor elves.” Or at least not anymore, the old dwarf mentally added. She stepped forward, and the servants created a very wide space between them, as she first, stepped up the walkway, and entered the open door. Behind her, and lumbering with his great and mighty paws, came Snowman. The bear followed her – in with his companion.

Inside, that is to say, with the Mother of The City.

Celestial Gifts

“I am Senior Mage Nusam, of the Lordship of Basom – Evenin of Redratall.” The urban elf wizard, standing over 2 meters tall, bowed his head while putting a hand to his heart. The sleek pointy-eared man wore a simple blue robe with purple colors, identical to those of Master Mage Erdonom 3 days earlier. Like Erdonom, he wore a badge on the left side of his chest, one which Evenin now could see up close for first time. The thing shone under the morning sun of one of Flip University’s upside-down tower entrances. It was an insignia. A square piece of silver metal, its surface slightly curved outwards. Upon the silver was etched an oversimplified, blocky, horizontal view sketch of the university’s upside-down main building, colored in a contrasting black. Last time she was here, no mage wore this.

“I thank you for meeting me, Senior Mage Nusam. I’m guessing that you all” Evenin eyed a series of mages standing right behind him at the end of the ramp to the tower, “are all here to accompany me for the tour?”

“Quite so” Nusam nodded. “Let me present to you 4 Master Mages, and some of our university’s finest Scholars of Magic.” He turned to face them. “This” he pointed first to the right-most individual, “is Sher, she’s the head mage leading the research project you might already have heard about. The project has us all so very excited, and we hope to tell you lots about it later today.”

Evenin looked at a human witch, immediately notable as she was hatless. No tall pointy hat for this woman. Beyond missing a hat though, this woman was also noticeably short, with a big belly, round cheeks, double-chin, long thick brown hair, and just a single silver ring on her right hand finger. She also wore a diffuse slightly dark red robe. The eyes of the woman though, what intense gleaming, Evenin not just noticed her, but felt the presence of the woman too, on her very being. That woman, she’s like one of those scholars absolutely obsessed with the pursuit of knowledge. Or at least so much Evenin felt compelled to guess, coming face-to-face with this human being. I’d think, with that expression of hers, if my soul was a book: this person would not just steal me, but she’d steal me right here, right now, just to hurry off somewhere, and immediately read me in a corner chair. The old dwarf woman barely contained a smile as the picture formed in her mind. Only a scholar true and through can carry such an intense amount of happiness on their face, just a short while before they’ll have to talk about their research.

Nusam moved to the next person, and Evenin’s eyes followed after, though with a slight tardiness. “This one is Rurf Greystone.” He pointed at a relaxed dwarf man standing next to the intensely excited-looking Sher. “He is the archivist, librarian and professional book-hunter of this research group. His exploits in acquiring rare scrolls and tomes from the far south, and even saving looted treasures from The City of Scholars no less – it has all been invaluable for the work we’ve been doing.” You sure it’s not the woman next to him that’s the book-hunter? Evenin caught another glance of Sher. If there’s anyone giving off book-HUNTER vibes, it’s her.

She returned her glance back to the male dwarf, and gave him a nod of respect. She got the briefest of polite nods back. Rurf had less muscle than most male dwarves, but, now that Evenin looked, that beard, what a magnificent beard, it reached all the way down to his knees. Knees wearing cotton pants, not a robe, Evenin wondered, and his chest, that’s a tight linen shirt. The dwarf man was also bald, and he had decidedly thick eyebrows. Evenin kinda liked his style, he reminded her of Ord. Even if Ord always wore a robe. Her mind touching and reaching into the memory of her tutor, that dwarf girl, and that younger dwarf woman inside her, they both felt a little sad, or long-full. Her dwarf friend had died a little over 20 years ago. But the feelings, the affection, much of it remained inside, lying dormant as life went on, only to be awoken in chance instances like these.

“This one is Metosi.” Nusam’s finger had moved to the 3rd member of the quartet, and Evenin quickly escaped out of her mind’s journey to nostalgia, and shifted her gaze to pay attention. Another human witch, okay. This woman was tall. That’s the first thing Evenin noticed. Second was the brown short-cut hair above a firm, but kind, facial expression. Her body was slender, and her posture disciplined. A stark contrast to Sher in almost every way. “Metosi is our foremost scholar of the gods. Few people could claim to even approach her knowledge in the literature about them. A truly remarkable individual.”

Nusam moved speedily over to the last individual. A third human witch. This one had long, but yet again brown, hair. She was more average looking, with an attempted disciplined posture that was betrayed by an excited smile. “At last”, the elf man raised his finger to point, “we have Sera. She is our Advanced Magic Fundamentals expert. A former student of Irridiklara, she is one of our brightest minds, and one of our most hardworking mages. Another remarkable individual.”

“Good meeting you all.” Evenin gave a another bow, her silver-white braided hair dangling a little as her head went down slightly.

“Is the bear coming with us?” It was Sera who asked the question, her hand vaguely gesturing to behind Evenin, and her face turned unsure.

“The bear” Nusam answered loudly for all to hear, “is Evenin of Redratall’s bodyguard. As we do not wish to deprive the envoy of her security: wherever the Mother of The City goes today, it will follow.”

Sera did not follow up her question, and her subsequent neutral expression did not reveal any uneasiness either.

A few more, mostly useless, pleasantries later, and Evenin and her bear stepped a foot and a paw over the little gap separating ramp from tower. Instantly, Evenin felt the arresting force of the upside-down tower, that colorless magic of the tower window, seizing its hold of her body, as both beings were caught in the effect of an enchantment. Once more in my life, Evenin remarked, I get to have this most strangest of all my experiences. It was the not totally unknown, but still very unfamiliar feeling, of being first lifted up into the air, then brought around in a 180 degrees slow spin, while feeling the entirety of the world’s gravitational force abruptly switch direction. What a totally bizarre experience this must be for my Snowman, Evenin looked over at her similarly rotating bear. She landed gently on the tower’s stone floor, not that the gentleness made it all any less strange. It took her at least a couple of seconds to reorient herself. On her right side, her white companion was also gently landed on his 4 paws. Touching the stone floor though, the furry friend glanced over at his dwarf companion, before putting a paw to his snout and head, as if experiencing a sudden onset of animal headache.

“Haha” Evenin laughed a little at Snowman. “You okay Snowman?” She came over to touch his furry head. “Was that a strange experience?” She spoke the words calmly, nurturing, before lightly wrapping her arms around his neck and head. His paw came down to the stone again.

“Is the bear alright?” Nusam spoke, being landed right next to the duo.

“He’s fine” Evenin replied without concern, “just his first time. I dare say it was a strange experience for me also, my first time.”

“Everyone has a first time!” Sher offered enthusiastically as she landed. “Should we get going immediately?” As her sentence ended, the 3 others: Sera, Rurf and Metosi, all arrived in short order. Giving each other looks, the party of 5 plus a bear did not find reason to delay, and so thus, with Nusam taking the lead, the group promptly began their tour of Flip University’s iconic main building.

“You probably know most of the rooms here pretty well?” Nusam asked without looking back at Evenin. “Since you’ve been here before so many times. You were even present when the first stone was set, were you not?”

“Yes, that’s right” Evenin recognized a few rooms as she passed them by. They were classrooms, some of which she’d been inside, some storage rooms, never had a reason to enter those, and there was a laboratory she recognized. Here, students learned anatomy, and of course, those rare powers which it lead to: The Anatomical Magics. The latter, Evenin had some acquaintance with. Not as a practioner herself of course, she had no magic herself, but as one who’d visited the university several times before, and as a diplomat and politician, who’d had to familiarize herself with the more sinister magics of Aclima. There were 2 gods of The Anatomical Magics which was studied here, though rarer and lesser known ones existed. The first was the goddess Morvee, whose spells cured tissue and ruptured bodies. Morvee The Organister, that’s what they called her. A goddess both saviour and terror, Evenin recalled. Another god whose magic they’d teach was Blouf, God of Sickness and Decay. Known as Rotten Blouf, his magics too, was one of both damage and healing. More commonly associated with sinister war-magic and the magics of assassination – the way Evenin came to know of him – a mastery of the magics of Rotten Blouf also allowed the wielder to attack diseases with counter-disease. Something that was surprisingly capable of saving another person’s life. For instance, Rotten Blouf was also known as The Bane of Cancer. The reason for which was that mastery of his magic could keep a cancer sufferer well and alive all the way through to a normal lifespan, and there existed mages who specialized in Rotten Blouf for that precise reason.

“Envoy?” It was Nusam speaking. Evenin had stopped. She was staring into the lab. As usual, it had spots of blood on its wooden tables, and the remains of animals. Along 2 walls, cages kept rats, frogs and sparrows, alive and weary. The poor beasts had a direct view into the terrible fate that awaited them, any day now. A scene most macabre. Evenin did not respond to Nusam, but merely relaxed her slightly disturbed expression, turned back to the urban elven man, and continued walking, slowly. Nusam continued leading. “I can see how our Student Anatomy Laboratory caught your eyes, normally we’re supposed to keep that particular door closed.”

Evenin did not initially reply. She wasn’t horrified, nor terrified. It was an element of mental disturbance, indeed, but she was old, and had seen many worse things in her life. She tried to give the impression that she was okay.

“I’ve seen it all before” she said after a short while.

“Of course” Nusam replied. “Now” with a hand-motion, he turned her attention to an upcoming room along the stone corridor they were in, “this here on the left is a room dedicated to a most interesting recent artifact that we have unconvered.” The room’s door appeared shut and locked. Nusam stopped in front of it, and reached his large elven right hand into an even larger pocket at the side of his blue robe. His hand soon resurfacing, the elf brought out a large chain of keys. Evenin’s eyes fixed on them. Every key on the chain, at their blade, glowed with differing patterns of blue magic. The things fascinated Evenin’s dwarven eyes. Flicking through a dozen or so keys, Nusam found a key that looked fairly inconspicuous. Staring a bit at it, as if unsure, the elf stepped over to the door, putting the key in the hole. As he turned the key, the keyhole lit up in a minor magical flash of blue. Evenin had seen it all before of course, but the fact that a door may only be opened one of 2 ways: either by a unique magical key, or by blasting it to pieces with massive magical force – this level of security has always fascinated me. The door swung open at Nusam’s gentle push, and the elf, without waiting or saying a word, stepped inside.

Evenin followed, and Snowman, barely fitting the door frame, followed her. Inside, the room was dark. At its edges were a few closets, a couple of chairs, a small table, and a leftover rotten apple on a shiny silver metal plate, that Evenin could see. “Lights” Nusam spoke, and suddenly the ceiling lit up. When she looked up, Evenin saw the signs of enchanted magical patterns visible on the sides of a ball of glass hanging from the centerpoint of the room’s ceiling.

“Are ceiling lights, commanded by words, a new fashion at the university?” Evenin wondered out loud.

Nusam followed Evenin’s gaze up at the ball of glass shining an almost dim orange light. “We’ve made it for a few rooms here. But it’s tedious work, and there’s only one mage here who will, occassionally, take on the task of making them happen. But, the light is not what I wish to show you. Look towards the center.” Nusam pointed with his hand, and in so doing, guided Evenin’s eyes down to look into the center of the room.

The envoy paused, stared, raised an eyebrow, and then asked: “What is it? What am I looking at?”

“A footstool!” Nusam announced, almost prideful. In the stool’s presence, the elf suddenly attained a new level of energy.

“A footstool?” Evenin felt her face grow skeptical. Beside her, Snowman let out a sound that could’ve been interpreted as a mini-growl of disappointment.

Nusam looked at the bear, and then at Evenin. “Not just any footstool! It’s The Footstool of Gardamosh!”

The old dwarf woman responded to his excitement with a blank look and slightly open mouth. Not following him at all.

“The Footstool of Gardamosh, Evenin of Redratall! Gardamosh is the 3rd god of dreams, sleep and leisure! Gardamosh The Relaxed! You know his name, I’d be surprised if you didn’t.”

Evenin blinked. “Yes, of course I know his name. I know he’s the 3rd god of dreams, and so on. But, please explain the footstool.” She gestured at the piece of furniture. It was a good-looking footstool, in all respects. It was made out of 3 thick pillows, stacked on top of each other, sewn together, and carried by 4 short wooden legs, that actually looked like human feet. Disturbingly life-like, really, Evenin mentally remarked. The pillows were all orange, with yellow strips on the edges. An elaborate piece of art was painted on the topmost pillow, depicting a slumbering party of elves if Evenin’s eyes were working right.

“The Footstool of Gardamosh is an artifact of god-level ability. We do not yet know the full range of its power, but written legends say that a person who lay their feet on it, can literally daydream themselves to far-away lands.” Nusam took on a face that seemed to promise mystical wonders. “The way the texts have described it, a person will make a copy of themselves, a ghostly shape by the accounts, which will appear in whatever real place they choose to daydream about. Their consciousness then become this other ghostly body for as long as they dream away. When their dreaming ends, they return to their original body. It’s a fantastic power.” Nusam clutched his fist in front of Evenin’s face. “Imagine all we could do with it.” He opened his palm again, and the elf closed his eyes, appearing to daydream himself away, to some ancient story or whatever. Nusam’s eyes opened again. “Gardamosh used it for many journeys into lands so far away even you, Evenin of Redratall, with your education, your seniority, and your profession, you will most likely never hear of them in your entire life.”

Evenin looked at the furniture with a renewed respect. “Sounds indeed quite powerful. Your people have used this power?”

“Ehm” Nusam responded, faltering some, “sadly, for now, this is legend. Though we very much anticipate one day to figure out how.” His face looked a little uneasy with the question, and his earlier excitement gave way to traces of hidden stress. “In the meanwhile, we have discovered 2 others powers. We know, for instance, that an exhausted mage, who has spent all his mana, may have his mana-pool refilled in almost no time, were he to place his feet on it and rest. And we know that sleeping in a chair, while resting ones feet on it, will trigger powerful vivid dreams that may in fact influence reality all around. But, we’re not really sure” the elf put his head down in defeat and sighed, “we think that a mage can learn to take control of their vivid dream to change the reality outside here, but trials so far have yielded indeterminate results. We know something happens, but not quite how to control what happens.” He sighed again. “Once a wizard sat down in the chair, put his foot on the footstool, and, as if on cue, when his stomach accidentally rumbled, a full fried chicken manifested on a silver plate, on that very table.” He pointed at the table with the apple on a silver plate. “We ate it, of course, for science. And we kept the plate. It seems to be nothing but an ordinary plate, and the chicken did not appear to be magical. The apple, if you wonder, is just one of my colleagues who has failed to clean up after himself.” Evenin thought she might’ve detected a hint of irritation in Nusam’s voice. “But yeah” he gestured at the mighty Footstool of Gardamosh. “It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Or at least it might become amazing, Evenin told herself with more honesty, but until you make progress here, the value of this finding of yours is but a big unknown. For a moment, they all just stood there, silent, staring at the stool. However, Evenin had to eventually break the moment with her curiosity: “Where did you find it?”

“It was uncovered in a dungeon expedition” Nusam responded.

“Indeed” Sher abruptly added from Evenin’s side.

“It was uncovered by my kin” Rurf Greystone joined from behind. “2 of my Greystone brothers found it, with their party, when they were clearing a dungeon that was trying to establish itself close to The Stronghold of Wintershield.”

Wintershield Stronghold, Evenin’s mind echoed, the last dwarven stronghold of The Three Brothers’ Mountains. The dwarves of Ermos send their kin there, to keep holding this last position of their mountains. She stared at Rurf’s face. Their last symbol of hope, for reconquest. She opened her mouth, paused for a second, then spoke: “Your brothers serve at the stronghold?”

“Aye” Rurf closed his eyes in a deep nod.

“We think” Nusam began, and Evenin shifted her eyes to him, “that it was meant as a bribe, from the senior dungeon lords. The target of the bribe was this younger upstart, whom they wanted to assume the risk involved in antagonizing the stronghold and our guilds.”

“A risk he must be regretting, I suppose” Evenin stated the obvious.

“Indeed” Nusam replied. “But now, should we perhaps move to the next item on our tour?”

Evenin nodded, and nobody else said anything, so the group got out of the room, locked the door with the magical key, and moved down the stone corridor. The moderately-sized passage lead into an intersection, at one end of which was a long, broad, stone stairway. They walked down it, getting to the next floor, which of course, since their building was upside down, was technically, at least from the outside perspective, one floor up, even if for them, it was down. We walk down, to walk up.

That completely normal sentence in her mind, Evenin, her Snowman, and the 4 other mages, were all lead down a new corridor by Nusam. Again, Evenin had been here before, so she spotted another familiar classroom, a reading room for students, a faculty meeting room, and a small kitchen wherein stood a witch, frying an egg in a pan on a heat-enchanted black iron stove. The witch, the brief moment Evenin got to look at her, looked tired, and hungry. She didn’t even notice the group moving by.

“Now, when we round this corner, you’ll see–” Nusam rounded the corner, but then, his face full of surprise, immediately jumped to the left side of the new corridor. Evenin, walking closely behind the tall elf, did not see what he’d jumped away from, and thus, it hit her, in full.

THUD-THUD! The old dwarf woman got a tower books right in the face with an absolutely abnormal amount of force. Staggering backwards and falling to the ground, Evenin saw books landing everywhere before her, as a tall bearded man looked to be staggering back himself, though without falling like she’d done.

“RUM WARMHUD!” The face of Nusam flared up instantly with anger. “How DARE you knock over the dwarven envoy to Ermos!”

To the right of Evenin’s vision, Snowman let out a growl of his own, and the great bear’s paws lumbered forward in a couple of sudden steps, interposing himself between this new man and Evenin.

“Oufh” the new mage on the scene uttered. As Evenin got a view of him, she saw him wearing a fresh yellow robe. The mage had just regained his balance, and looked straight across the floor, over at her, in-between giving her lightly growling Snowman a couple of eye-casts. Evenin herself, still splayed on the floor, started collecting herself. She began by pulling her arms together, and rolling over on her belly, whereupon she began pushing herself up. She didn’t have to push much though, as Sera and Sher quickly came rushing over to help pull the old dwarf up. “I’m sorry, everyone” the new mage apologized, before getting down to stack his books again.

Nusam, standing beside the mess of books, breathed out an aggressive sigh, watching the mage pick up the books and bring them back to a newly formed stack. “Rum, I expect you to take considerably more care of where you are going next time. To run over Evenin of Redratall, the Mother of The City, is next to a crime! Even if done on accident. You piece of a dropout should feel ashamed!” Nusam waved over at the rest of the master mages and Evenin, and the group walked around the mage dropout as he collected his books. The last one to follow was Snowman, which growled close to Rum’s face as the human picked up his last book next to one of the bear’s great front paws. In response to the growl, Rum just gave the bear’s eyes and snout a little extra look, before calmly getting back to his now rebuilt tower of knowledge. In a single effortless motion, the man lifted the books up and stood on his feet. Not waiting for anyone or anything, the mage dropout continued on speed-walking down the corridor, as if nothing had happened. Nusam gave the back of the other mage a last look, before continuing their walk, leading the group away from the scene, and over towards their next destination.

“Senior Mage Nusam” Evenin began, “may I ask, just for curiosity’s sake, who that man was?”

“That man?” He shot her a look. “He’s a mage, or former mage that is, of the university. Don’t worry about him. In my professional opinion, he’s nothing but an insignificant, eccentric nagger, who has regained access to our university despite not being a faculty member. Some of the faculty members say they like having him around. They say he’s intellectually stimulating.” Nusam added quotation marks with his fingers. “Though I think he’s nothing but trouble. In fact, there’s a story circulating here about him, one you’d most likely find near unbelievable. But, I can promise you, it is real.”

“Oh, what story?” Evenin felt the prospect of gossip rise her interest. Noticing her own feelings though, she tried calming that interest some. She didn’t want it to lead to behaviour unbefitting of an envoy, after all.

“That man” the elf, without looking, gestured a few fingers over his shoulder, “haven gotten the chance of a lifetime, to hold a presentation for our faculty members: he peed in front of them. In front, of Irridiklara.”

Evenin felt her lips crack a smile. “He did what?”

“The man peed in front of the faces of 3 faculty members, including the esteemed Irridiklara, during his presentation. THAT man, he has zero respect for authority, zero concern for rules and boundaries, and no awareness of his position. He just goes around doing whatever he wants.” The wizard shook his head while swirling a finger around the air for emphasis. “As I said: nothing but trouble.”

Evenin burst out laughing, her cheeks quickly turning ripe tomato. I’m dying, she wished she could’ve shouted the words, someone save me! This laugh – my chest, my arms, my legs! Consumed by the mental image, Evenin rapidly lost all her composure.

“His presentation” Nusam continued, ignoring Evenin’s collapse of professionalism, “was supposed to be for some new magic he claimed to have made, a godless magic. Shuh.” The elf pretended to shudder. “But Irridiklara uncovered that ridiculous claim for the fake promise it was.”

Evenin had to lean on the sturdy back of Snowman as she felt herself nearly falling to her knees, laughing the best laugh she’d had in years.

“He he he, ha ha” A tear slid down her cheek and into Snowman’s fur. Snowman turned to her with his snout, curious at his woman’s behaviour. “It’s nothing” but she laughed some more, “ha ha, heh, it’s nothing Snowman. Just...” she heaved a breath, and turned to Senior Mage Nusam, who was waiting patiently for her legs to start working again. “I find the story indeed nearly unbelievable. I must admit, it’s not a context I ever thought my mind would put Irridiklara in.”

“Indeed” Nusam responded dryly, not sharing in her humor, though not signalling disapproval either.

Eventually, Evenin managed to steady herself and resume her composure, her tomato red cheeks calming down some. “Haaah” she let out a breath, “I’m good, I’m better.”

“Excellent news” the elf responded with more dryness, and promptly turned about. Once more, the group managed to get going. The episode was soon forgotten, and the senior mage guided Evenin and the others towards a couple of other minor artifacts, or “intermediate stops”, as he’d called them, before they’d show her the main event of the day, later.

Nusam unlocked the door to the first such room and stepped inside. Almost as soon as Evenin had gotten inside there with him, he raised his hands wide and open in a dramatized reveal: “Behold!” He paused for effect. “The Needle of Endless Snot.”

“What?” Evenin heard herself asking, as they stood in front of the first minor artifact.

“This tiny thin dagger”, Evenin looked, and the thing lying on a pillow sat on a pedestal in the middle of the room was, indeed, no longer than her hand, and no thicker than a few blades of grass, “–it was also uncovered from another dungeon lord. And, it is a famous weapon. A weapon of gods, in fact. They used it to curse each other. That’s how powerful it is. Enough to give a god nuisance.” He gave her a rare smile. “According to legend, a single stab anywhere on the body, and the victim will experience the symptoms of the common cold – FOREVER!” He paused only to give her the most intense, wide-eyed, close-up, dramatic expression. “Perpetual sickness! And there is no cure – no known to the peoples at least. Only the greatest wisdom and the most secret techniques of another powerful god may dispel the effect. This is what its lore tell us. And we can, at least to some extent, verify that claim. We have experimented with the curse on a minor, former dungeon lord. In Andertun. We promised him the opportunity for probation in 20 years, IF” Nusam raised his finger, and wobbled it, “he agreed to be a test subject. And, from our tests on him, we can conclude that: there is no magic – no magic known to this university or to any of its good contacts – that can dispel the curse.”

“So, this dungeon lord” Evenin sought to clarify, “he will now have the common cold for the remainder of his life?”

“Precisely, Evenin of Redratall.” Nusam nodded.

She said nothing more, but eyed the thing, a mild fear creeping around at the back of her mind. What a curse.

Moving out of the room with the others, Evenin relaxed some. That thing unnerved me. Her eyes gave it one last glance before the door shut and Nusam’s magical key locked it away.

They continued down another corridor for the next minor artifact. After a few minutes they reached its room, and Nusam guided them all inside. Inside to a grand room. Almost immediately, Evenin noted how this looked to once have been an event hall, a place for dance and party. It had, in contrast to the rest of the building, a fine wooden floor. But not just that, isn’t that a whole lot of fine chairs and tables stacked against the walls and corners? Whatever it had once been though, now, this room had gotten a new purpose, though that wouldn’t had been so clear unless she’d known what was supposed to lay in here, vaguely speaking. At its center, there was but a small table, 2 dining chairs, a kettle, and a sealed jar of something small. To the envoy, it just looked like a very small party about to start, but she knew that wasn’t so.

“The Teabag of Solitude!” Nusam announced, gesturing with the whole of his right arm, his legs standing for another pose. At his announcement, nobody said a thing. Evenin just raised her eyebrow, again. I have been impressed before though, so maybe I shouldn’t prejudge this one? She and Nusam, followed by the others, walked slowly over to the small table. The teabag, the envoy could see, was but the size of 3 dwarven or human thumbs. It looked quite like any normal teabag. Its content was some kind of dark red, maybe even purple, grain.

“So. It’s a teabag. But what does it do?” Evenin asked, trying to sound curious, which of course she was, though maybe for other reasons than Nusam may hope.

“The Teabag of Solitude, Evenin, is an artifact created by a great witch of the old times. 2 thousand years ago, more or less. A witch called Hekna.” He dropped the name with some emphasis, and then let it hang in the air for a bit. “As the story goes, she was apparently very popular in a by-gone land to the east and south – past your dwarven mountains.” He made another pause to let her mind search for a bit. “Powerful as she was, she had become quite popular with the locals, who found her able to heal their wounds, multiply their crops during famine, and replant their forests when the deserts threatened to take over – all with magic. However” and the elf almost looked sorry, as if recounting the story of his own life, “with popularity, also came a kind of fame. People, from all the places near this land, would all send her invitations for tea parties. We even know a dwarven clan chief, from your Young Mountains, who sent her an invitation.” He nodded at her, as if she was to be impressed or moved by the statement. She was neither. “In the end, and as might be expected, she became thoroughly tired of all this tea-drinking and gatherings. So, she started to decline their offers. Problem was, people knew where she lived. So when the witch stopped going to their tea parties, they started bringing the tea parties over to her place. And as you can imagine, The Teabag of Solitude was her last and most desperate solution to this problem. She didn’t have the social skills – that is our guess – to adequately communicate her need for solitude. So, she created this item – an ever-lasting teabag. However, before you mind goes anywhere: that aspect, in fact, is the least interesting thing about this artifact.” Nusam paused speaking and stepped half a circle round the table. “When brewed, like in this kettle here” he patted the fine earthenware, “the tea will produce a curse, kind-of. It’s difficult to describe precisely. The texts call it The Face Fright. When drank, any faces looked upon during the minutes that follow will become associated with a kind of shame, or ominousness.” The elf tipped his head side-to-side while looking at the teabag with an uncertain face. “An expectation, more likely, of shame. Or, maybe put it another way, one might say: it affects the individual with a very particular social anxiety, that only triggers in the presence of those other faces. It’s a relatively mild effect, not totalizing at all. It can be resisted, and vanes completely, the texts document, within a year or 2. But its long-term effects are undeniable, and there does not appear to be much of a way to dispel the magic. Only a pure force of willpower, a kind of stubborn self-discipline, may resist it, and only for a short time. Attempts to resist it any further will induce an absolutely crippling attack of anxiety.”

Evenin eyed it for a moment, everyone else staying silent. “Have you tried it on anyone?” she lifted her eyes back to Nusam.

“Yes” the elf nodded. “Another science recruit from Andertun. We chose a low-rank wizard this time. He’d been sentenced to 15 years. We promised him probation in 5. The effects appear to be quite there. He soon wanted back to his prison cell. Well, that is somewhat normal. But when we summoned him for a follow-up check with all the researchers that were present, a couple of hours of exposure did induce something of an anxiety attack. It was at any rate clear that he was very unwell at seeing them.”

“And there is no remedy. But how then” the old dwarf woman pressed, “did the witch manage to not affect herself with the curse?”

“We figured out that as well” Metosi interjected. “Or rather, the texts tell us the answer. Apparently salt, the kind you’d have in your food, works as a neutralizing agent during consumption. It does not, however, work when the curse has already set. The witch would use a personal salt shaker, in which she pretended to add sugar to her tea. All the other guests would have a similar shaker for actual real sugar, and she’d be the only one not to get affected.”

“Clever” Evenin remarked.

“Indeed” Metosi agreed.

“I fail to see how Ermos could take advantage of this one artifact though. I mean, powerful as it is” Evenin acknowledged, with some reservation, “it’s kind-of hard to imagine a scenario in which this thing would find application.”

“We were thinking sabotage” Nesum answered, scratching his forehead.

“But, if you had the opportunity to serve the enemy tea, wouldn’t you have poisoned them with sickness or death instead? What use is a Face Fright?” She looked around into the faces of all the people present, giving them some face fright with her hard question. “We can hardly send enough people from Ermos to have tea with the dungeon lords that this Face Fright would be useful for anything.”

“But” Sera raised her hand, a little awkward and hesitant, “we could use it to sow discord among themselves.”

“Yes!” Nusam loudly approved. “Imagine: dozens of dungeon lords and their minions in one place, and everyone served the same tea. We’d break their unity with one kettle!” He smiled.

“Yeees” Evenin said, her tone careful. “But would we not prefer to eliminate them all instead, in that scenario?”

“They can probably detect most of our poision and curses though.” Rurf abruptly remarked.

“Good point” Nusam pointed at Rurf, as if to identify the man with the good argument. “It will be an up-until-now undetectable curse. And hard to recognize or identify also. They wouldn’t even know they’ve been cursed.” He spread his arms wide open.

Evenin opened her mouth, looked to be thinking, then closed it. She nodded slowly in acknowledgement. “I suppose that’s one use.”

They walked out of the room. That was interesting, she told herself, but a little disappointing. Not sure it’ll look good in my report.

They continued on down another corridor, round another bend, down (thought technically up) another broad stairway, and into one last, extra wide corridor. Before them, as they walked along it, rooms filled with shelves, desks, books, scrolls, and associated items made themselves visible. “Our study rooms” Nusam gestured without looking at the rooms to his left. Many of them had doors that were at least partially open, and Evenin could in at least a couple of instances see a dwarf and a mecha-gnome sit inside, reading texts, not giving them a glance. “And here” he said, turning to offer Evenin a brief smile, “is our presentation room. For the main event.” He stopped at the door, then held out an arm pointing inside, letting her know to go first.

The inside of this last room was like a big office. It had features similar to both a regular office, and a classroom. 6 large desks were present in various parts of the room, with each one backed by an individual large free-standing double-sided bookshelf. The desks were all messy with scrolls, notebooks, paper sheets and open books. The parts that more resembled a classroom were the 2 portable blackboards standing amongst the desks, as well as an open space in the back next to a large wall-sized blackboard. Lists upon lists of was written on it. And as Evenin was guided just a little deeper inside the room, she saw the blackboard wasn’t just a single blackboard, but had layers upon layers of movable blackboards behind it.

“This” Nusam spread his arms about to indicate the whole place, “is The Research Department for Relations Between The Gods and The Peoples.” In one corner of the room was a sky-elven man which Evenin had yet to meet. Behind a desk, the man sat with a scroll in both hands. He’d been reading, but now his eyes was taking in the group. The new elf’s eyes soon locked onto hers. His pupils were a yellow-brown, indicative of his sky-elven heritage, Evenin knew. He wore a sleeveless white robe, cut short just below the knees, with parts of his hairy chest exposed. Along his robe were various golden markings, and on his left shoulder, a tattoo depicting another elven face in crude ink. “Our colleagues from the other departments call us The God-People Studies. You might’ve already heard, or you may someday hear, that name being spoken instead.” The sky-elf shifted over to Snowman, and his eyes became wide for a moment, just staring at the huge beast. “Oh, you’ve not met the last member of this department.” Nusam gestured over at the sky-elf, who detached his stare from the bear. “Meet Olefey, of Sunpeak.”

Evenin nodded at the elf man. “Glad to meet you, Olefey, of Sunpeak. I must admit, it’s rare to see sky-elves, even here in Ermos. Even for me, who do a bit of travelling in my capacity.”

“I am glad to meet you too” he rolled up his scroll. He had a kind of faint smile, which Evenin could not detect if were genuine or faked.

“Olefey is an emigrant.” Nusam explained.

“That is right” Olefey took over, “we sky-elves don’t move down our mountain unless for good reason. Well” he raised the scroll as if it were a prop, “the libraries of Sunpeak do not quite hold a collection like this. In some ways, of course, our collection is even more interesting than what I’ve so far found here. But, my curiosity cannot be satiated by just the sum knowledge of one land.” At the end of his sentence, Evenin thought his smile finally became real.

“And neither can The Research Department. The knowledge you bring with you from Sunpeak, Olefey, has been invaluable to our endeavor.” The sky-elf smiled more, and responded with a head-bow.

“Now. Sher, do you wish to take over?”

The vertically small but horizontally large human woman nearly ran to the front. “Yes!” She exclaimed, and smacked her hands together once, before looking around at everyone, her tongue twisting around in her open mouth like as if to announce her excitement. Finally, having given everyone an eye, she locked eyes with Evenin. “Envoy! Evenin! Please, step over here.” The witch guided Evenin to an open spot near the wall-large blackboards. Then ran back to fetch each of the smaller, portable blackboards, placing them just a little to the side before putting herself in the midst of it all, as if readying herself for a presentation. “Okay. Evenin. Power levels. What do you know about them?”

Evenin raised an eyebrow. “I was personally taught by Tardom in his old age. Tardom, I assume you all know, is author of On The Origins of The Celestial and The Magick. I’m not an expert, but I believe that still counts as the most reliable source of knowledge on the topic?”

“GREAT!” Sher basically yelled. “Saves me so much time and explanation.” She started pacing a bit back and forth. “Now, okay. Hmm.” For a moment, she appeared to think. “Well then.” She smacked her hands again. “You may know, or not know this. But the gods, they have a magical web, a web that stretches across all the corners of Aclima, across all of our world. Not literally every single place, but their influence has no clear limits. Now, Akalios’ Method, it taps into this web. Do you by the way know anything about Akalios?”

The envoy shook her head.

“Well, the story is not really important. So, okay. The important thing is, that Akalios did not create something out of nothing, his method is but a way for the peoples to grasp the secrets of the gods. And” she paused, taking in a deep breath, “there are more methods.”

“More methods?” Evenin raised an eyebrow. “Like Akalios? More ways to measure power levels?”

“Yes–NO! Not power levels. Of course there’s just one way to measure power levels. But there is more to measure! MUCH more! Such a secret of the gods, you may barely believe it!” The room went silent. Everyone was looking at Evenin, most with neutral expressions, their eyes gauging her reaction.

Evenin said nothing. She did move her eyes to briefly meet all of the other eyes aimed at here, but she revealed no emotion. “Okay” she eventually let out, “a secret of the gods. I am as intrigued as anyone to hear it.” She smiled, and the other people of the room smiled with her. The moment was tense, so she relaxed it.

“We divide people by their levels of power, and the characteristics that follow. It’s efficient, it’s objective, it’s divine.” Sher spit the words like a minor fanatic claiming facts. “The weak are separated from the strong, the wise from the unwise, the intelligent from the unintelligent, the healthy from the unhealthy. We even know how to differentiate the strong from the weak even in their mere moment of weakness. It’s science! But what if I tell you, we can differentiate people not just by their present – but by their future!”

“Future?” Evenin narrowed her eyebrows a bit. “You mean, like their destiny?”

“ALMOST exactly like destiny! Mind you, not a single destiny. But a path. A future – or a multitude of futures to choose from. We call this new division: classes.”

“Classes?” One of the old dwarf woman’s eyebrows went up. “That’s not a very specific term I must say. What do you mean by a class?”

“It would nearly be better to ask: what isn’t a class? Right now, it appears to us that almost any way of life is a class, when practiced as a class.”

“Okay” Evenin said, hiding her confusion for the moment.

“Mage, is a class. So is Pyromancer, so is Master of Decay. So is a Herder, so is a Butcher.”

“You’re saying a class, is like a job? A profession?”

“Yes and no” Olefey interjected from the back. Evenin turned to face the sky-elf. The man was standing up straight, and now the dwarf woman was reminded of the height of a sky-elf, because this man towered over his surroundings like no other person could. He must be just short of 2 and a half meters tall! He quite literally dwarfed her, had he not been standing a few meters away. “A profession is an economic pursuit, first and foremost. But a Class is a distinct Path of Life, it is a choice between one of many – abstract – futures.”

“How abstract?” Evenin pushed.

“It’s not” Sher resumed, “a matter of a concrete future with concrete events. It’s a path of personal development, with milestones of achievements. We’ve discovered that power levels are in fact not just levels of power – they are levels of classes. When you walk a path, when you follow a destiny for yourself, you progress within the confines of the class of that path. Some classes, like Pyromancer, is in turn dependent on the class of Mage. So first one walks the Path of The Mage, then: you can walk the Path of The Pyromancer.”

Evenin looked around herself, into the expectant eyes of her audience. “So, you’ve discovered how to divide up people’s levels of power, and give those divisions labels. Am I correct that this is your finding?” She neither looked nor felt impressed.

“No!” Sher immediately replied. “What we’ve discovered is not just labels, Evenin of Redratall. Excuse me, I have given the wrong impression. This is not our work of analysis. These classes, envoy, contain gifts from the gods! Its not the divisions themselves that are interesting, envoy, but what they carry with them. We’ve discovered that along with every class, there are benefits, worthy of my using the word gifts. Trust me, I do not use that word lightly. Spells, Evenin, new powers, new abilities.” Sher was getting wildly animated with her hands and arms. “Progression in a class means more than just another pile of characteristic points to fix. It also means spells and abilities not available to those without the class. Walking the path of a class involves direct access to god-given powers. Imagine summoning forth a dragon made from fire, because inside you, the machinations of a god has connected with you. And that is a real example! One of our finest pyromancers at the university gained access to just such a unique spell, because the gods decided his path was not just that of pyromancer in practice or name, but a pyromancer in essence. A class, Evenin, is a connection between you and the gods, and its a connection which those taught in our newly established art of Class Training may use to unlock an extra power, hidden away, deep inside of us all.” Sher smiled and then paused for just a moment, to let the envoy absorb all the information. “Imagine what hidden powers await you, Evenin? As politician? As diplomat? As envoy? I can’t imagine how many classes you must have, and for all those classes, the potential for new powers. Evenin of Redratall, you have, hidden away deep inside of you – Celestial Gifts.”