“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 same interest some. Don’t want myself acting in ways 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 the 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 the influence they wield have 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 under 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 me 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 attribute 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 of 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 that 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.”