As the sage carefully applied ink to the map, copying from an ancient codex, Gavin flitted like a butterfly, going from shelf to shelf variously looking and touching the menagerie of miraculous objects the sage had collected in nearly a century of life. He picked up a bottle with an inky black liquid and a stopper in the shape of a tiny human skull with eyes painted red. The old man looked up from his intense endeavor and caught Gavin in his piercing gaze.
Gavin’s curiosity made him immune from optic intimidation. “What’s this?” he said.
“It is nothing you should have your hands on,” scolded the sage, “in my day, an unknown liquid with a bottle stopped by a skull with fiery eyes was a notable signal to keep away.”
“Things change. So what is it? A potion of madness, poison of instant death?”
“It is an elixir of ectoplasmic essence,” the sage said matter of factly.
“And, what does it do?” Gavin said.
“It turns you into a ghost. For twenty four hours if you’re lucky, though some wizards fabricate them with an effect that is more...permanent. I don’t suggest you try and see which it is.”
In truth, Gavin would be daring enough to try, just for the experience of being a ghost for a day. But there was no point in doing it now, for no reason. He replaced he bottle on the shelf, in the spot he thought was the same as from where it came. There were so many objects on the shelves, he couldn’t be sure. His eye caught a bauble hidden behind an ivory statue of a griffin, and Gavin carefully retrieved it.
It looked like a seashell, but was made of bronze. It had weathered and oxidized into a dull green, but the detailed patterns of etching in its surface remained pristine and bold. The inscription was in an ancient language he could not read. He had seen the characters before, in one of the sage’s manuscripts.
“Is this a relic from the old empire?” Gavin knew some history. The ancient civilizations possessed knowledge lost to the Four Kingdoms. Their wizards could cause earthquakes, burying enemy armies under rock. Their priests could call upon the ancient gods to raise the dead. And in the learned arts, they were far more advanced than anyone alive today. Navigation, Astronomy, Medicine, Geography, Natural Philosophy, Economics, and so much more was known to them, and shared with all their citizens. They shared knowledge with everyone so that no talent went wasted.
They built mighty cities, thousands of miles of roads, many still in use, mighty aquifers, whose ruins still criss cross the landscape. And they left ruins. Ruins everywhere. Skeletons of their once mighty cities. And these ruins, though long ago pilfered by enterprising lootes, still had secrets and treasures left to be uncovered. The new adventuring economy sprang into being some two decades ago, when a pair of dwarves filled carts of ancient coins, artifacts both magical and mundane.
Gavin wondered which of those this seashell represented. “What does it do?”
“I’ve yet to decipher it. The runes might be magical formulas, or it could be a broach for fastening some seabound knight’s cape,” the old man said. “I’ll get around to it someday. But for now, these maps are the only thing paying the bills.” He motioned for Gavin to leave.
“See you tomorrow,” Gavin said as he waved goodbye. The sage sighed, and commenced copying once again.
Gavin’s curiosity made him immune from optic intimidation. “What’s this?” he said.
“It is nothing you should have your hands on,” scolded the sage, “in my day, an unknown liquid with a bottle stopped by a skull with fiery eyes was a notable signal to keep away.”
“Things change. So what is it? A potion of madness, poison of instant death?”
“It is an elixir of ectoplasmic essence,” the sage said matter of factly.
“And, what does it do?” Gavin said.
“It turns you into a ghost. For twenty four hours if you’re lucky, though some wizards fabricate them with an effect that is more...permanent. I don’t suggest you try and see which it is.”
In truth, Gavin would be daring enough to try, just for the experience of being a ghost for a day. But there was no point in doing it now, for no reason. He replaced he bottle on the shelf, in the spot he thought was the same as from where it came. There were so many objects on the shelves, he couldn’t be sure. His eye caught a bauble hidden behind an ivory statue of a griffin, and Gavin carefully retrieved it.
It looked like a seashell, but was made of bronze. It had weathered and oxidized into a dull green, but the detailed patterns of etching in its surface remained pristine and bold. The inscription was in an ancient language he could not read. He had seen the characters before, in one of the sage’s manuscripts.
“Is this a relic from the old empire?” Gavin knew some history. The ancient civilizations possessed knowledge lost to the Four Kingdoms. Their wizards could cause earthquakes, burying enemy armies under rock. Their priests could call upon the ancient gods to raise the dead. And in the learned arts, they were far more advanced than anyone alive today. Navigation, Astronomy, Medicine, Geography, Natural Philosophy, Economics, and so much more was known to them, and shared with all their citizens. They shared knowledge with everyone so that no talent went wasted.
They built mighty cities, thousands of miles of roads, many still in use, mighty aquifers, whose ruins still criss cross the landscape. And they left ruins. Ruins everywhere. Skeletons of their once mighty cities. And these ruins, though long ago pilfered by enterprising lootes, still had secrets and treasures left to be uncovered. The new adventuring economy sprang into being some two decades ago, when a pair of dwarves filled carts of ancient coins, artifacts both magical and mundane.
Gavin wondered which of those this seashell represented. “What does it do?”
“I’ve yet to decipher it. The runes might be magical formulas, or it could be a broach for fastening some seabound knight’s cape,” the old man said. “I’ll get around to it someday. But for now, these maps are the only thing paying the bills.” He motioned for Gavin to leave.
“See you tomorrow,” Gavin said as he waved goodbye. The sage sighed, and commenced copying once again.