The path from one pile of rubble to the next was short. Each glance around at the leveled town gave one more reason to fight on, one more reason to keep his word. Despite the darkness within the walls, the sun cast its beams upon the man. Each ray twisted about his body, and they gleamed out in each direction, turning his form into that of a beacon. Perhaps the gods saw fit to watch him, or perhaps they taunted a futile pursuit. Regardless of who watched, his steps were for himself, not for some far-off spectators.
Despite the destruction all around, a single structure stood. The unknowing would chock it up to luck or chance, but those who knew the magister knew why this house stood. The enchantments on that home held more power than even some gods had seen elsewhere. Not to say that the magister herself was among them, but her order defined an era. The now old bridge creaked with each step as the man, even with senses for such things as untuned as his own, could feel the weave whispering around him. Everyone knew what was beneath that home. Some called it the worst-kept secret in all of Templehelm, but a secret it still was. Not because nobody knew of it, but because the legends grew beyond what most dared believe. A god was born beneath those halls.
Nothing here could kill the man, but one wrong step could slay the knowledge within the walls. Nobody was here now, nobody could be. Still, his fist reached up to tap the door.
“I am Zaigucrenth. I have come to learn from the magister.” He announced, as though someone might hear him. The man never stopped offering respect, even for those who could not accept it any longer. It isn’t as though respect is only for the recipient anyway; the man believed that to honor another was to make yourself stronger. He stood firmly for a great length of time before lifting his hand towards the handle of the door.
“Come in.” The door opened itself before the man could do it; something beckoned him inside. It wasn’t quite a voice. It was something strange. It was almost a feeling, the knowledge that he was welcome without anyone there to greet him. Still, to him, it became a voice.
“I wish I had more gifts on hand to make up for the intrusion, but things are not going well outside.” He admitted to the empty room. His eyes scanned the walls of books; there was nearly no end to the knowledge that could be contained within them. His feet marked the path to the flourishing tree at the center of the room. He reached into his satchel and pulled out one of his more treasured possessions.
“I have nothing of great value for the magister, so I give something of great value to me.” He knelt down and relinquished a small gem to the roots. There was nothing of intrinsic value about this gem; it was little more than a pretty rock to the world. To the man, however, it was a treasure. “I grant you a gift given to me by a good friend. May the thoughtfulness of its delivery to me bring peace to the resting magister.” He retreated from the tree.
“Search these halls.” The man could feel the house accept him by the way the wind brought a creak to the walls as it blew, the way the petals danced from the tree. Despite the immense knowledge contained just in this room, each hall somehow led to more. The man sifted through the shelves, uncovering tales of heroes, books of laws, accounts of diplomatic relations, even detailed recipes. Even he knew that what he needed wasn’t going to be found so quickly. His search had to go deeper. He needed to find the way down, but the house had not invited him to it. Zaigucrenth was resolved not to intrude on a path he was not invited down, so he began with what he had been granted. He returned to the entrance of the home and reached for the first book on the first shelf.
“I will start where the magister must have begun.” He announced.
