Minutes later Amez sat next to his drawing board, thinking about Rum, when he heard a hard knock on his front door. His attention went immediately to the door, thinking about who it might be. Then the hard knock came again, louder and more aggressive this time.

“Master Kash!” Amez suddenly remembered, and jumped up from his seat. He’d forgotten the wealthy merchant’s son in all his occupation with Rum. He hurried to the door and pulled it wide open.

“I’m really sorry Master Kash! The issue has been resolved, though. Just a bit of magic-” he paused, thinking to himself for a moment. It was Rum’s magic right, that shook my shop? “-Yeah just magic gone a little wild. Please step inside and I’ll show you the beginnings of a sketch I worked on yesterday.”

Amez worked with Master Kash for the several hours that followed. A little exhausted, and not really performing at his best, he still did a decent enough job. The commission was already contracted, so a little underperformance on the first day wouldn’t kill the deal. Amez spent the day completing his previous day’s sketch, his customer sitting next time, patiently waiting with his two guards on either side. Occasionally Amez would invite the merchant’s son to have a look and offer his opinion, but Master Kash said little to necessitate any changes on Amez’ part. As the hours passed into mid-afternoon, Amez wanted to finish off early, and Master Kash politely accepted his suggestion. The main part of the sketch had come a long way, but would have to be finished the next day.

With Master Kash finally gone, Amez stretched out thoroughly in his chair. I’m so exhausted. I just want to use the shop bed, just for a little while. He gazed lazily over at the bedroom door. “Yeah, if Rum is there my brother will have to vacate for the time being.” Amez stood up. “It’s my shop, and I’m exhausted!” As he knocked on the shop bedroom’s door and waiting for a reply; he yawned - a big tired yawn. Nobody replied so he knocked again, harder this time. He leaned his tired head against the door for a moment. Just for a little moment. As the door remained unanswered, Amez pulled his tired head away and opened the door, entering the room with yet another major yawn. No Rum to be seen. The bed was empty too, not even a grandma on it. He glanced over the room again, making certain that White Rose wasn’t hiding somewhere. Ze wasn’t. Whatever Rum was doing, he’d taken White Rose with him. Amez zombied over to Rum’s - no, his - bed, and fell into it with a half-rolling motion. He kicked off his boots and enjoyed the darkness of an unlit room, and the relative quiet afforded him. He snoozed.

An hour or two later Amez awoke as he suddenly felt his hand being squished. His eyes shut up and in front of him was Rum, back facing Amez, and sitting on his fingers. “RUM! MY FINGERS!” Amez shouted, and Rum jumped up from the bed.

“Oh I’m sorry brother” Rum turned around to look at Amez, slightly worriedly. Amez on his side noticed a book under Rum’s right arm. “I was just reading a little while you slept.” Rum added.

Amez sat up, and complained with an “Aaah!”, before shaking the pain out of his hand. It was a rude awakening, but at least he felt more or less properly rested by now. He moved his feet from the bed and put them on the floor, his eyes searching for his boots. He found them behind Rum, and got him to step aside while he leaned over to fetch.

“A book” Amez said while dressing his feet.

“Yes” Rum commented, a little enthusiasm in his voice. “It’s about bone carving. It was actually difficult to find. Most bone carvers learn their stuff directly from the crafters, but one bone carver managed to direct me to this book, which an acquaintance of his had once shown him. I bought it from his acquaintance, and even got a bone carving knife on the bargain!” Rum fished out a small knife from his side pocket, the blade and handle of the knife didn’t look like an ordinary knife, instead it was clearly made for making small detailed cuts and slices. Amez was perhaps not a bone carver, but he’d carved wood in his child- and teenage years, and recognized a tool’s utility when he saw one.

“That’s good” Amez replied. He stood up. “Why don’t you get a head start on reading the book, finding the most useful parts for me. If the time is what I think it is, I have an appointment with Ildunir a few blocks away.” Amez started to move towards the door.

“Ildunir?” Rum asked.

“My weapons’ trainer” Amez responded bluntly.

“You’ve started training with weapons? Is it a sword?”

“No!” Amez rolled his eyes, “Why does everyone think it’s a sword everytime I mention my practice? No it’s a light halberd.”

“Halberd?” Rum stroked his beard. “That’s an interesting choice for a weapon. Brother, are seeking to go dungeon diving with me some time? Is that why you train in a weapon of war?”

Amez put his head to one side, mimicking White Rose’s habit, who now that Amez let his eyes slide from Rum he noticed were standing at the other side of the bed, having watched him sleep. He put ze out his mind. “Maybe. I’m not quite sure yet, but...” he paused for a little moment. “I want to experience adventure, if only once. Also, it sounds a little lame to tell people my big brother is an adventurer, while I’ve never fought anyone except with fists and hurled tankards at the tavern.”

Rum didn’t say anything more, he just smiled brotherly. The implication swirling in the air between them being that little brother wanted to spend time with big brother.

“Anyways” Amez said, not taking the silence anymore, “I’ll have to get going. See you later!” And he went. Out into the work room, and then out into the dirt road outside his shop. He began walking it, downwards and away from the city center.

Amez passed several dirt streets, before coming to a dusty cheap tavern. He didn’t stop, but stepped right inside it, and then almost as quickly as he’d entered, he was out through the other side. Amez arrived at a small backyard, a space recently cleared of excess storage to make room for training.

A man made out of an old, dirty, ragged, straw-stuffed shirt, with a straw-stuffed bag for a head and broken button eyes, stared figuratively at Amez as he positioned himself in the dirt yard. It was a training dummy. The dummy was nailed to a pole. Behind the dummy, leaning on top of a couple of barrels, lay two light halberds. The first of these looked like a good halberd. It was slightly decorated, made out of fine wood, and armored with a metal trail leading a third of the way down to defend against enemy attempts at chopping the long handle. This halberd also had an axeblade both stylish and practical, the pointy spear-tip of it long and deadly. The second other light halberd looked more like a generic stick with a small rusty old axeblade impaled on it, and a short almost blunted spear-tip. It would be quite clear to anyone which one belonged to his trainer. Curiously there was also a sword in a scabbard present.

Amez glanced at the weapons for but a moment, before he started shouting: “Ildunir!?” Amez tried to figure out if she was close by. “Ildunir! You there?”

“Coming, coming!” Ildunir said from within the tavern, and before long stepped out of it, carrying a tankard in her right hand, and giving Amez a wave with the other. Ildunir was a tall elf, with brown half-long hair, permanently worn black leather armor, and a small smile to her face. Ildunir liked Amez, that’s perhaps why she was smiling. She found him sweet. Amez on his side found Ildunir a little whimsical perhaps, and with a questionable reliability. After all, she was a customer who’d gotten Amez to make her a fine rabbit tattoo enchantment granting her life-saving speed bursts in combat, and then when she couldn’t pay for the job because - apparently - an important dungeon dive had been postponed, she’d asked if there were alternative methods of payment Amez would accept. Amez remembered Ildunir having leaned forward to him that time, a perfume smell on her face, and she’d given that knowing smile. Amez was at the time pursuing Miss Marine, a fact that hasn’t changed, and he felt pretty loyal in that pursuit. Thus, he had to pretend not to know what Ildunir was thinking of. Instead he’d gotten the bright idea to start taking weapons lessons. If Ildunir could make him a half-decent fighter: her outstanding debt would be forgiven.

Ildunir went over the two light halberds, grabbing the barely useful one with her free hand, and throwing it to Amez, who had to dive forward in order to catch it.

“I’m late I guess” she said, putting her hands in an open display of guilt, and smiling deviously. “I suppose you’ll have to punish me with a little stab. If you’ve learned to use the pointy end yet, that is.” As if to mock him she began loudly slurping and gobbling down her drink, probably a cheap, watered down beer, salted to keep customers thirsty. As she stood there slurping, with her eyes shut and her face covered in tankard, she winked her hand at him to come attack her.

Amez shook his head. He wasn’t sure if what she was doing right now was flirting, unorthodox training, or just a sudden masochistic desire born out of boredom. This elf woman is nuts, was all he could conclude. But with a concentrated effort he decided to play along with it, reasoning that stabbing people was good practice for the real deal, even if done with a half-blunted weapon against a mad woman.

Amez lunged forward, not aiming exactly to kill though, as he was prepared to pause just in time if she didn’t actually move. But she did move: in a brief series of swirling drunken-like steps she danced away from Amez’ lunge. As Amez turned around to face her again, he raised one eyebrow at her, which she didn’t see. Still, he let her know his thoughts: “I didn’t think such cheap beer could really make a practiced drinker drunk, Ildunir? I’d rather think you’d be stuck squatting in the backyard, your entire butt on display, peeing it all out from the sheer volume of drink it takes to become drunk.”

Ildunir burst laughing into the tankard she was drinking, spraying and spilling cheap beer on herself and her surroundings, before she let go of drinking, and was forced to lean forward on her knees from all laughs. “Yeah. No I’m not drunk” she eventually said, “what ever makes you say that?” She stood up, smiling expectantly at him.

“Well, your dance kind-of did.”

“Just a little fun” she said, and went over the barrels, finally putting down her tankard. She went back, positioning herself near the center of the free space in the yard. “Now try again, a little more enthusiasm this time! You’re supposed to stab me - punish me” she winked, “not play jokes with me. So come on, give me Amez’ best stab! THRUST THAT THING INSIDE ME!” The last sentence was said with a kind-of playful aggression.

Amez didn’t exactly know how to respond to that, so he just shook his head, sighed a little, and then put his halberd up, preparing for another lunge. When she winked her hand at him again, he sprinted forward, less careful this time. She excellently sidestepped him, spinning around and smacking the back of his head lightly. “That hand could’ve been a blade” she said, almost disappointment in her voice. Amez went into a halt and turned around. “Now try again, and remember what I told you about follow-ups: in battle you may fail 10 times in a row - you must be prepared for that! Don’t expose yourself to unnecessary danger, keep a follow-up ready, either a second attack or even third attack. At the least you should have an escape tactic to avoid the enemy seizing an opportunity.”

Amez breathed out frustration. This wasn’t like drawing. Drawing he could do. Tattooing and even enchantments he could do. It wasn’t like hurling a tankard in the tavern either, he’d become pretty good at those throws. No this was a frustrating experience of inadequacy. But he felt determined - if only to make Ildunir pay what she owed - he was determined to see this through.

He lunged forward again, Ildunir being engaged in some kind of lame traditional dance practice. Of course she sidestepped him. But Amez did something unexpected. Suddenly he leaned sideways and backwards, sidestepping Ildunir’s punishing smack, and bringing his light halberd around in a swinging arc as he moved opposite direction of her, putting her current position on collision course with his halberd’s outstretched axeblade. Ildunir put on a mildly surprised expression as she dodged by suddenly bending backwards at high speed, landing with her back and butt towards the ground. Amez’ wasn’t finished though, instead he decided to go with the flow of his swinging arc, and bring it all the way around for a second fly by cutting motion, this time aimed at Ildunir down on the ground. Ildunir however rolled to the sides quickly as the axeblade came down and got stuck in the soft yard earth.

Ildunir rose up on her feet. She looked at him, a smiling pride on her face. “I guess I’ll no longer be able to practice my dance moves while training you.” She laughed. Amez smiled a little, infected by Ildunir’s smile, but mostly he just sighed, like a brother watching a sister acting silly stupid. The practice went on for nearly an hour from then on.

That early evening, when Amez came back to his shop, he was tired enough to go for another round of rest. So he did, shooing Rum and White Rose into the work room, he rested for over half an hour. When he once more emerged from the bedroom he saw Rum had undressed White Rose. He was currently studying zes bones, while simultaneously casting long glances into the bone carving book.

“Found anything interesting?” Amez asked Rum. Rum turned around, and pointed at White Rose’s skull forehead. “That’s probably the best spot. My magical studies and bone studies concur that this spot is probably best for tightest and most enduring connection between zes magic and the carved enchantment. I’ve encountered a problem though; zes current magic makes zes bones particularly hard to penetrate or break, which means the tool might break before we’ve even etched a single curve into zes skull. However, I think that I can weaken this spell enough by magical manipulation, that I can temporarily make it an inconsequential issue.”

“Great” Amez said, sitting down next to his drawing board. “Do it, and show me the passages that were useful.”

For several more hours, going way into nightfall, Amez read passages detailing the correct use of a bone carving knife, and instructions on bone carving patterns. Rum meanwhile figured out the magical issue, and ran an errand for Amez to find some bones, preferably human skulls, that he could practice on. Disturbingly enough Rum did return with three human skulls, which he swore he’d bought from a graveyard caretaker in The Raven’s Slum after his recent contacts there had guided him and vouched for him. I wonder if they thought him to be a necromancer, Amez wondered as he made his first attempt at carving a mark into a human skull. Wait, is Rum a necromancer? Amez shook the thought out of his head. He’d also come up with a design in the time it had taken Rum to return: a human hand latching onto a thread in a large chaotic web of threads. Making it small and simple enough required several iterations, as bone carving was difficult and Amez was used to making more detailed tattoos, since those generated a deeper mana absorption and storage capacity. But this time he had to deal with a hard inflexible surface. Amez was also wondering if it was possible to put ink to the bone, and have it stay there, like a tattoo. Even the detail of colors empowered the magical potential of a tattoo. Eventually though, he put that thought aside, and instead worked on making the bone markings work. It took him a lot of skull surface to decently perfect his new craft, but in the end, he made a working prototype mark on one of the skulls.

The prototype done, the two brothers got White Rose to position zeself on the tattooing table, variably staring into the ceiling or the nearby Rum, while Amez’ crafty hands worked zes skull bone. Amez laboured for half an hour at least, careful not to mess up this one chance to get White Rose’s skull mark working correctly. In the end he got it though - he made it happen. That only left the magic. This time the two brothers had to cooperate. Rum had the magic that nobody else possessed, that strange new magic of his, the “people magic”.

Amez listened long and hard to a lecture Rum gave on the use of people magic: “People magic is born of irreverent blasphemy.” Rum started. “You must be willing to put aside most of what you know about the magic of gods. Instead, you should think about magic as akin to a second body, overlaying your own body, and connected to it in a manner similar to threads sown deep into your tissue; whether it’s the tissue of your heart, your kidney, your skin or your brain – ALL of it is RELEVANT! Let’s call this your mana body. Mana is magic unrealized, it’s a kind of clean magic stuck to your body and waiting for an organization into a spell, enchantment or similar. Ambient dirty magic, the residue of previous magics in this world, are absorbed by people – and more efficiently for those of high power levels and who are strong in the standard attributes of intelligence, wisdom and willpower. Arguably also luck, though that’s my own theory to be honest. I can’t prove that yet.”

Rum began walking and talking in a circle around the center of free space in Amez’ work room. “This web of magical potential, this mana body, is connecting your physical body with an invisible machinery of natural transformation waiting to be assembled and put into action. That’s a spell by the way; a part of your mana body assembled into an ethereal machine triggered by words. The gods usually perform the task of assembling this machinery for you, which is why you evoke the power of the gods. The gods, through their own globally present autonomous machinations, take control of your mana body and transforms it into a machine for natural transformation. With this you make frightening fireballs, saving heals, and fun party tricks for your little nephews. Now, back to your mana body: the ambient dirty magical residue is captured on this second body’s outer threads, where it latches on if it can. The latched on dirty magic is then dragged into your web where it’s stretched with other threads, and ground against yet other threads, producing a form of standard thread of magical potential. Potential in the way that since it all kind-of have these same new properties; it can all be treated in the same, simple enough way. Thus we can quantify mana: mana quantified is the accumulative length of thread available to be transformed. There are also complicated factors of mana logistics and ethereal geometrical factors of efficiency we can introduce, but I think your head, my little brother, might undergo a headache if I start explaining that. And ultimately it’s not a necessary subject for our task.”

Amez just smiled, a little insulted, but also a little in on the jest, as his big brother was quite right. Amez was already building up towards a headache so shortcuts were welcome.

“So, where was I?” Rum stopped for a second in his circular walk. He looked over at Amez, who shrugged a little, not knowing what to respond. “Oh yes!” Rum restarted his circular walk. “That was some basic mana fundamentals. Now, over to a subject I will just call mana machinations-” he paused and put up a finger, smiling, “-an introduction.” He continued walking: “You’ll have to make the spell - or rather the enchantment, which is akin to a spell as you already know - by yourself. That’s the power and the downside of people magic: when you make it all yourself your possibilities can appear limitless, but it’s also a complex and heavy burden. It took me several years before I figured out how to automate the process with my mana ghost technique, which I of course recently made into a spell. Mana ghosts allow me to seize, copy, and then release particular portions of the essences of people, and of things too when I apply a variation of the spell’s magic. But before one can do that; what one has to learn, and what one has to become proficient at; is the intimate knowing of one’s ethereal self. To feel one’s own mana body - to know how to stretch it out, expand its reach, and to drive its webbing into complex networks of shapes, and systems of reverberating energy channels. The web, the mana body, is just the macroscopic shape of your potential magic. On the microcosm your magic takes the final and deciding forms that allows you to transform the world. The tinier the detail here, the more detailed and more likely powerful your results. Remember though that your magic is only supposed to take your decided form for the moment of its unfolding power, trying to reuse a newly created magical form can have bad consequences, as it falls into dirty magic pretty quickly. When in this form of magic - the spell as we may call it - your final task is to begin the reverberation of magic. Because really all your magic, all of yourself, and all of the world in fact is little but dense clouds of reverberating, imposing existence. Your second mana body is an extension to that existence, a tool for the ejection of reverbs into a systematic pattern that ultimately transforms the world, bending it into the will of magical machinery; to your tool of worldly transformation.”

“Okay Rum.” Amez yawned. “This is starting to become a bit much. Continue tomorrow, evening?”