"I don't get this," was the first inkling that someone was coming to disrupt Lorenz's joy. The second was the dusty, old tome slung across the sparkling clean pages of his new grimoire.
Lorenz frowned. It had taken him a few days of research to learn that the best mages had their own grimoires to contain the more esoteric of their discoveries and research. He had likened it to a research journal in his own mind, a bit surprised that he hadn't thought of that beforehand. Then he'd gone out and hunted enough bounties to be able to afford the most expensive one he could buy.
He still had the suspicion that the library's store had given him a discount. Lorenz wasn't quite sure since you couldn't see what other people's prices were; the screens that popped up were exclusive unless you chose to share. It wasn't an interesting enough topic to get him to log out and check the forums or ask other players. He was still ducking his coach who was asking him to return to the team.
Lorenz wasn't an idiot. The coach more than likely had set up some scouts for a come see. He would be a perfect foil to the others since he was still under academic suspension because of the Gerald incident. It would be lifted in another week or so, but until then, even if the scouts were interested, they couldn't officially be. The rules were painfully clear on that subject.
Lorenz shoved the dour thoughts of Gerald away. That man was still trying to ruin his life, and he wasn't inclined to give him more of his thoughts than he needed to. It was just another way to mess with Cora and that made Lorenz even more furious whenever he thought of it. If it hadn't been for his advisors, it might have succeeded.
Even his academic advisors had told him to disappear from campus for the summer break instead of helping them with their projects. The potential loss of academic credits and acclaim was only another black mark against Gerald in Lorenz's mind. He'd been planning on submitting his first paper on chemical necrosis, but scientific journals frowned on those who weren't 'clean' academically with their institutions.
In other words, if you were on bad terms with your school, no publication.
"What don't you understand," Lorenz asked, looking up at the young NPC who was staring at him with bright, hopeful eyes.
Orrin Avenholt was apprenticed to one of the more lofty mages in Maraca, otherwise known amongst the players as 'The City of Magic' or 'Mage Town.' Lorenz thought both nicknames lacked intelligence since there were several library towns scattered throughout the land. It was just that this one was the main one that the player base knew of.
Orrin's mentor had the bad habit of tossing research topics to his many apprentices and wandering back to his own tower with its own massive library. Strictly speaking, each of the libraries in Maraca belonged to either a mage or a learning institution. It was part of the reason that while they were massive, they also had ample facilities for living such as commissaries and dorms.
"What don't you get?" Lorenz tried again, eyeing the book. It was so dusty, he was scared to touch it without gloves.
Orrin pulled out the chair across from Lorenz and threw himself into it. His appearance was even more ramshackle than usual with his hair mussed and streaks of powdery dirt scattered over his midnight blue robe and that parted to show an equally dirty light blue shirt over dark blue pants. Orrin reached over and dragged the book back towards him, wincing when it caught on Lorenz's grimoire for a second before coming free.
They peered at the grimoire, both equally relieved that there wasn't any scuffs or tears.
"He told me to research the Midnight Sect. The Midnight Sect!" Orrin repeated when Lorenz just looked at him. He ruffled his hair with both hands before sitting up straight. "The Midnight Sect is a myth, something your parents tell you when you're a kid so you'll go to sleep."
"What sort of myth," Lorenz asked, closing his grimoire, eyes starting to shine. One of his angles of study was myths. His reasoning was that the most interesting spells had been decocted to mythical stories over the years once the people who knew them died out.
"Well," Orrin sat back, staring at the ceiling for a long moment. "Have you heard 'Mage Collins and the Giant Lamprey?'"
"Lamprey? Like the fish?" Lorenz asked, a peculiar expression on his face. "Was the mage a fisherman or something in his spare time?"
"What spare time? We have to keep researching or we'll fall behind our counterparts in other towns," Orrin mocked drily. He sighed. "Let me tell you the story.
"Once upon a time in the olden days, there came an attack from the Others. The Others who were envious and jealous of the Land's prosperity and peace sent an envoy to demand treasure and talents from the glorious leaders of the time. Nay, said the Towers of Midnight, for we love our talents more than life. No, said the Delvers of Vantium, for we love our treasure beyond life itself. Never, said the Council of Kings, for we shall not bow to demands for our lifesblood.
"The Others, enraged at the refusals, organized their armies and descended to the Land, seeking to obliterate all civilization and drain it of all vitality. And so began the Greatest War. Many were the heroes who fell. Many were the cities destroyed. Many were the lands devastated.
"During one of the hottest battles, one of the Others managed to twist some Lampreys into a vicious attack. The fish were set loose on the battlefield, many times their usual size and able to float through air as if it were water. They devastated the warriors and mages, wreaking havoc alongside the Others' troops.
"Then from the Towers of Midnight came Mage Collins. Mage Collins was soft spoken and weary from years of research. He came for the lampreys, having heard of their ferociousness.
"What delicious fish!" He said when he first saw them swimming by.
"And from his sleeve came his wand, a marvel of wood and stone. From his mouth flowed such words that have never been heard since. From the sky rained such light, streaks and streaks galore. And when he was done there stood a chunk of that army never more."
Orrin paused and reached into an inner pocket of his robe. He took out a flask and took a quick swig.
"It gets flowery at times," he explained to Lorenz. "I've heard theories that it was a story poem at one point which does argue that it could possibly be real, but it's still ridiculous."
"There's a modicum of truth in every myth," Lorenz replied. He leaned his head on his fist. "Where I'm from, there was a story poem everyone thought was a myth until they actually found the site of the city it talked about." Lorenz nodded his head. "There might be a bit of truth in this one as well if it started as a story poem of some sort."
"There is that," Orrin said. "It goes on to say that Mage Collins caught the lamprey and had them with a fine wine and fruit." Orrin laughed. "That's what makes it a myth for me. Fruit? With fish?"
"Some people like fruit, and maybe it was a vegetable that's a fruit?" Lorenz said with a shrug of his shoulders.
"A vegetable that's a fruit?" Orrin frowned. "Even a child knows better."
"Sometimes classifications change. Maybe what he ate the fish with wasn't a fruit then, but it's considered a fruit now," Lorenz said. He sighed internally, remembering all the long, drawn out arguments he'd lost against his mother over tomatoes.
"That could be," Orrin sighed. He gestured to the dusty book. "This was supposedly written by a mage who had a great-grandfather in a Tower of Midnight."
Lorenz looked at the book. Despite the dust and grime, the cover had the occasional gleam that signified a magic book. The title had long since worn away over the years though some enterprising librarian had pasted a floating label that proclaimed it 'Sinclare's Thoughts on Metallurgy.'
"What does Metallurgy have to do with your research topic?" Lorenz asked, genuinely curious,
"It doesn't. I'm hoping that the author mentions some nugget of information about their long dead relative somewhere in here." Orrin tapped the book with a finger. "I just don't understand what he's talking about. Though it's Brolim! Brolim! So maybe he does?"
Orrin lifted one eyebrow at Lorenz's puzzled look. He sighed and shook his head.
"Sometimes I forget that you're a Traveler," Orrin said. "Brolim was the best and brightest Craftsmage in the history of forever! He's almost synonymous with great works."
"Did he have a forge?" Lorenz asked, a vague memory surfacing.
"Probably. Can't make things without materials," Orrin said. He sighed. "I know Brolim isn't a myth. My family has an axe that he made. Chops by itself once you set the parameters." He brightened. "That's what made me want to be a mage. Can you imagine a kid seeing an axe chopping firewood all by itself? It was fantastic!"
Lorenz smiled, picturing the scene. He could almost see a miniature Orrin staring openmouthed at an axe chopping a pile of firewood. Then he blinked.
"It moves by itself?" He asked, interest piqued. "Are there runes or something?"
"If there are, then they're all hidden by the metalwork on the axe head or handle," Orrin shrugged. "It's not like someone who owns a Brolim is going to let you take it apart to see. He died so long ago, it's nearly mythical after all."
Orrin pushed the book aside, making a small bit of space on the table. Glancing around to see if anyone was watching, he waited a minute to let a wandering mage pass. Orrin craned his neck after him to make sure he was just passing by. Lorenz frowned at his friend.
"Have to make sure no one's spying," Orrin explained. "No one can figure out what your research line is yet, so people are curious."
"I don't think I have one yet," Lorenz admitted. He glanced at the piles of books on his research table. The titles were varied and vastly different from each other. "I think I might be narrowing it down, maybe."
Orrin shook his head at Lorenz. Then he took out a square of paper and a pen. Pausing a second, he then quickly sketched a sigil on the paper and slid it over to Lorenz.
"This is the 'repair' glyph. It's stenciled on each Brolim, usually at the bottom of the handle, hilt or pommel of the tools. You channel a bit of mana into it and boom! Repaired tools. Did it get broken? Put the tool next to the same type of material as the broken bit, and boom! It repairs itself by using what it needs." Orrin grinned. "This can't be the whole glyph, though."
"Why not?" Lorenz asked, studying the glyph. His hands itched to pick up a pen and copy it, but he wasn't one to filch a friend's research.
"This will just repair cracks and such. I think the whole glyph is somehow infused into the item itself." Orrin studied the paper and then shook his head. "Keep it. I think you need it more than I do for some reason."
Lorenz gently touched the paper. Then he quickly folded it, trying his best to keep the creases away from the glyph at the center of the page. Lorenz tucked it into the inside pocket of the green robe he was wearing.
"Why would you think that?" Lorenz asked.
"Just a feeling," Orrin returned. He glanced towards the far windows, grimacing. "It can't be that late! I have to bring the meal to the main lab today," he explained, scrambling to his feet. "Can you keep watch over the book? Took me forever to unearth it from the archives this morning."
"Sure," Lorenz said, eyeing the huge tome. "You're coming right back?"
"Hopefully, but everybody knows that the librarians love you," Orrin said, standing. He tried without success to brush off some of the stubborn dust streaks. "They won't reshelve your books unless you ask, so it'll be safe here. It's just that everything related to the Towers of Midnight is so hard to find."
"I thought you thought they were a myth?" Lorenz teased, leaning back in his chair. There was a soft chime in his ear, an alarm set to let him know when his mom logged out.
"That was before I talked to you," Orrin said. He reached out and tapped the book with two fingers. "This might have clues, but it was hard to find. Just hold on to it for me."
Lorenz nodded as his friend dashed away. Orrin's master was a stickler for mealtimes, and woe betide the apprentice that violated that precept. The last one who had was still washing the windows of the library towers. He'd been cleaning them since Lorenz had arrived at Maraca, and that'd been ages ago.
Lorenz stood up and pulled out a reserve tag. The librarians had given him twenty to let them know which books to not reshelve even though they rarely did without consulting him first. The reserve tags also served as a checkout item.
He was surprised when the book needed five of the tags before it shimmered and became translucent. It turned into a beam of light and dove into the stack of books set beside Lorenz's chair.
Lorenz shrugged and tapped the logout button on his status screen. He needed to find out just what his mom had been up to in the game.