Sharpening an athame was hard work, especially one made out of obsidian. Delicately chipping at bits and pieces here and there without compromising the entire blade could take hours, even weeks, just to finish half of it. And even then, it was possible for there to be minute imperfections one couldn’t notice until a ritual blew up in your face and you had to mint a new blade entirely.
So Derrin felt reasonably angry when, mid strike, someone had the absolute gall to blow the outside courtyard up.
“Fucking hell.” He muttered, throwing the small flint striker off from the branch to the ground in disgust. “If you’re going to fuck around with explosives, you have to tell me first! I’m going to have to toss this now!”
Aria ignored him, too busy focusing on the small fire which had resulted from whatever experiment she had been performing.
Small vials lay shattered in the dirt, and the table she kept notes on was letting off a noxious smoke. “Help me get the fire out and I’ll say sorry later!”
Derrin lurched off of the tree, letting gravity pull him back on the ground. It looked like a chemical fire, but given the nature of their work it was entirely possible that the fire wasn’t even fire at all.
Rummaging around in his back pocket, he found a stub of green chalk left over from some casting circle or another he’d left back in realspace Birmingham. “How’d this even happen, you pyromaniac?”
Running a hand through the mess of curls in her hair, Aria started to explain. “I was trying to calculate the amount of mannic fire that it needed to be animated and I must have miscalculated the number, because right now it looks like the phosphorous did not like whatever it was that I did wrong!” She awkwardly tried to pat out the fire with a spare folder, to no avail. “Could you just please help me put this out?”
Manna wouldn’t be too tricky, all things considered, as it was a relatively calm force in the grand scheme of magic. “You didn’t cross manna with anything too volatile, right? Anything involved with sacrifice or antireality.”
“I don’t think so. Jani let me borrow her manual, but there was nothing related to nihilistic theory or the corruptor.”
Derrin scratched a rough water rune onto the part of the table which had yet to burn, then spit on it, trying to channel the element on the fly without a water bottle handy.
The flame reared up higher, glowing intensely.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a water bottle, would you Ari?” Derrin asked. “I think the fire’s a bit miffed about us putting it out.”
“Let me get my purse!” Ari replied, snatching at a vial which hadn’t yet been consumed by the small disaster on the table.
The fire puffed itself up further in the sky,then leered down, letting out a shrill sound like a kettle on for tea.
Derrin knelt down, torn jeans already stained with dirt, and started scribbling out a containment sigil on the bottom of the table.
“Well, I’m not going to say that you’re not interesting, at least. Let’s see if we can get you to bugger off.”
Practically in response, the fire lowered, smoke obscuring Derrins vision. It roiled under the table, spilling over the few marks Derrin had sketched out as he started coughing.
“Jesus, you’re stubborn!” Derrin muttered, scrambling back away from the table.
The fire hissed, letting off sparks in agreement. Derrin glared at it for a few seconds, trying to show it that messing with him was absolutely the wrong idea.
“I’ve got it!” Aria called out from behind, her words accompanied by the sound of water sloshing out of a bucket. “Are you ready to take care of it?”
“Hold on.” He answered, continuing to stare at the fire which was starting to turn in a circle, resembling a fiery tornado. “Shit, Ari, I think you actually did get the result you were looking for! Isn’t that something?”
“Does that mean I can put down the bucket of water?” She asked quizzically.
“You made this thing obedient, right? You should be able to scoop it up somewhere. Got any of those acid phials?”
“Always carry at least one,” Aria confirmed, putting the lime green water bucket down to rummage through her jacket. “I was hoping it’d be a bit more… corporeal.”
“Magic, love. Always turns out different than you expect it to, even with the little things. At least he didn’t kill you!”
Taking out a small phial with a gold cap, Aria grimaced. “Just wish we could get a little more consistent results is all. Would be a bit nice.”
She gently scooped up the fire into the phial, which gladly complied with it’s maker to fill the flask with an ashy red flame.
“Whoa, careful there mate! Putting supernatural stuff in containers, trying to replicate your results? You’re not turning back into a janitor now, are you?” Derrin’s voice was thick with sarcasm, but Aria could see his eyebrows narrow a fraction in suspicion.
“Couldn’t turn back even if I wanted to, boss. That’s what happens when they figure out you’re behind a containment breach. You still don’t trust me?”
“You’ve been with us for a pretty long while now. I’m maybe 99% sure you’re not a Foundation plant.”
Aria glared at Derrin.
“You look at me like that it’s going to dip down to a 98% pretty quick! Opsec, mate. It’s important. I’ve been held in enough normal jail cells to know not to trust people.” Derrin said, smiling at her. “You don’t stay alive long in this line of work without some paranoia.”
Aria rolled her eyes. “At least not all of that work was for nothing, anyway. Was there anything left to salvage from the mess?”
Derrin gestured to the charred pile of papers left on the blackened desk. “You tell me.”
A muffled beeping sound came from the depths of Aria’s jacket. “Shit, that’ll be Jani then. You think anything happened out there?”
“Nothing big. This pocket hasn’t been used since the 70’s, doubt anyone’s thinking to look for us here. Doubt anyone even remembers this place exists!”
“Except us.” Aria pointed out drily.
“A remarkable exception to the rule.” Derrin replied. “Only other person who’s been here decided to go full time with the bookworms, anyway.”
“Shit.”
Aria threw her phone into the grass, which started to grab at it with green tendrils.
“You might want to get that out of—” Derrin started, but Aria interrupted him.
“Seeing Red. That’s the message.”
The words hung in the air for a second before they really hit Derrin. Wordlessly, he overturned the table, brushing the soot off onto the ground.
Aria, working on the same unspoken plan as him, ran back to the hill they’d been making into a storage cache for the group, ready to collapse it. Derrin looked for anything else that might have been left out, and noticed the grass trying to eat at Aria’s burner phone was starting to smoke.
“Fuck.”
He snatched it off the ground, the metal having heated due to whatever thing had managed to break into the bracken. The plastic was already starting to slag off, but the screen was still readable. Two words.
Found You.
He cut it in half with his athame, which hissed angrily as it severed the various wires and charms Aria had put into it.
“Aria!”
A shudder in the soil confirmed she’d done her part. Aria hurried over to him, her boots kicking up dirt as she went. “Everything we didn’t need, gone. I’ve got passports, phones, and books in my bag.” She lifted up the leather purse in her hand.
“They have Jani.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Aria nodded, bringing a hand to her chin as she thought. “Do we know who they are, exactly? What they want?”
“Red King cultists, and they only want one thing, to hurt people. The only question is the specific how.” Derrin said, shaking his head. “I don’t even know how they got in here. Fucking redheads.”
“So what’s the plan?” Aria asked. “We’re not leaving Jani to that, right?”
Derrin nodded. “At the very least, we’ll try and kill her before they do anything to her. First we have to see what we’re up against, though.”
“Right. Where d’you think they are, then?” Aria started. “I remember telling her we were going to meet up at Abbotsford, with the entrance by the mosque. They must have got her on the way there.”
“No.” Derrin said. “They sent a message. Found You. That means they must have followed her in.”
Aria looked up to survey the wooded reflection of Birmingham. “You mean they could be anywhere in here, with us.”
Derrin nodded. “If I had to guess, I’d say they’re coming towards us right now.”
“How many, would you guess?” Aria asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Great.” Aria said bitterly, her lips pulling into a grimace. “Just when I thought we were done with running from one group of super powerful crazy people, we have to go on the run from another group of super powerful crazy people!”
“That’s the life.” Derrin replied calmly. “Only place that’s ‘safe’ is the Library, and you’ve still got some big risks there.”
“Fuck that.” Aria replied. “We’re human. We belong on Earth, and we belong here, at home. I’m not running.”
Derrin took a deep breath. “So you want to end up dead?”
“I didn’t say that.” Aria said sharply. “I just don’t want to run. This is our turf— this is Serpent’s Hand turf! That means something!”
“Staying alive also means something.” Derrin started. Aria fixed him with a glare. “But you’re right when you say it’s our turf. We know the terrain better than they do.”
“Damn right.” Aria said. “Let’s start by setting this place up. We know they’re coming here, we can take advantage of that.”
The woods twisted in many directions over the ruined edifices of buildings, the verdant reflection of a Birmingham which had long been abandoned. Still, the reflection wasn’t perfect— partially due to the vegetation, but also because some parts had just been copied wrong.
When the cell had reoriented itself in the bracken of Birmingham, they’d chosen one of these places which was off. What had been a car park in the real world had somehow been flipped over into a mansion long covered in earth, with the group setting up camp nearby. The mansion refracted into dozens of rooms which shouldn’t have fit into the space allotted to it, according to the maps, but it was still navigable if you knew the rules to it.
The red heads, whoever and however many they were, didn’t know the rules. Easy pickings, then. Derrin thought to himself. As long as we aren’t dealing with anyone too powerful.
But that was the issue. The lack of information meant that this was an incredible gamble, and although Jani wasn’t the strongest in the group it still would have taken a lot to bring her down. But could they have just gotten lucky?
Luck was always the question. Derrin had seen people far more talented than him taken out by stray bullets or improperly managed spells.
“Well?” Aria stood at the threshold of the manse. “I’m waiting on you.”
“I’m coming.” He replied.
Stepping over the threshold gave him a sudden wave of invertigo, distorting the rotted floorboards creaking under his boots. Whatever had made residence in this house before still left echoes of its presence after it had left.
“Go to the attic, and make it obvious that’s where you are.” Derrin told Aria. “I’m going to try and follow behind them when they enter.”
“What if they see you?” Aria asked.
“Then I’ll fight them, and either my death will be noisy enough you’ll know to run or they’ll turn out to be a bunch of pussies. One or the other.” Derrin said nonchalantly. “If it sounds like I’m dying, try to set up some nasty surprises for them before they get to you.”
Aria nodded and bolted up the grand staircase, casually dropping a small charm as she did so to leave a trail.
The entry room was vast, and dirty, and dark. This made it excellent for hiding oneself in the small crevices and corners it contained, but had made marking it out in the past difficult.
One of the less noticeable features was the grand grimoire just a few feet to the side of the main entrance, carved out of black oak. And, luckily for Derrin, large enough for a man of his stature to comfortably hide inside with enough slats poking out to keep a watch on the main room.
He gingerly swung open the doors to the interior, filled with musty coats and some cobwebs. Brushing aside a particularly garish mink coat, he settled in and strained his ears, waiting for their pursuers to burst in.
It took a surprisingly long time before he could hear the sound of footsteps outside. Long, excruciating minutes, listening to every creak of the floorboards, the dripping of water to the floor, the sound of his own breathing.
In a way, it was almost a relief when he heard the front door crashed open.
“They must have set up in here.” A posh London accent spilled from the doorway which had been so rudely opened. “You bunch really know how to liven up a place, don’t you?”
They’re talking to Jani, Derrin realized, which means she’s still alive.
Jani refused to reply. “Aksin! This is it.”
The voice sounded closer, the sound of loafers clipping against floorboards echoing through the dusty hallway into Derrins ears.
“You sure?” Another voice, this one more northern, chimed in.
“Absolutely. It’s the only place we’ve checked where the bitch hasn’t had anything to taunt us with.” The Londoner replied.
“Could’ve just been that after you stuck her for the fifth time she finally learned what was good for her, eh?” Aksin pointed out. “People start to sulk after you prod’em long enough.”
The Londoner didn’t reply, instead moving further into the hallway to survey the surroundings. Derrin could make out some bits and pieces— somewhat long brown hair, formal dress suit, red tie, and glasses. And tall, as well. Too tall to fit right.
“They dropped something.” He said, noticing the charm Aria had purposely dropped earlier on the stairs. “Looks like they were going to clear their base out upstairs.”
“Well, girl?” Aksin asked, presumably to Jani. “Have you been setting up your little dallies into the mystical up them stairs?”
“Go throw yourself off a cliff and die.” Jani answered. Derrin heard the sound of her hocking spit at her interrogator.
“Ah, there’s blood in that one, love.” Aksin replied, oddly nonplussed. “Best be careful before we give you another taste of the steel, yeah?”
Jani cursed, which trailed off into mumbles.
“She’ll learn to apologize properly one day.” The Londoner said with an edge in his voice. “Either way, the idiots she was with are upstairs. Let’s get this over with already.”
Aksin didn’t reply, unless he’d nodded or given some other signal Derrin couldn’t see from the wardrobe. The trio started to shuffle up the stairs, and as they did Derrin made out the form of Jani, hunched over, her blonde hair dyed red with blood.
“Fuckin’ bastards.” He whispered under his breath.
The northerner, Aksin, paused as he said it.
“There a problem, Aksin?” The Londoner asked impetuously.
“Ah, no problem.” Aksin replied. “Just thought I heard something.”
They continued to climb the stairs, and Derrin watched, hardly breathing, until the last step was crossed.
Fuck. He thought to himself. This is going to be a lot easier than I thought.
There were only two of them, and only one of them seemed really experienced, despite the damage they’d managed to inflict on Jani. It must have been an ambush— one quick attack, and then something to keep her down with.
Smiling with relief, he quietly pushed out of the grimoire out into the open, being careful to not disturb the floorboards too much. Londoner, whoever he was, seemed more like an edgy prick than a dedicated redhead. And Aksin was pretty reserved, but still sounded young. Most likely he’d survived a little longer than the average cultist, but given that was a time measured in weeks, that wasn’t particularly impressive.
And besides, Derrin had been in the game for years now. He could handle two kids who thought they were on top of the world because they’d stumbled onto some ancient tome of unknown powers.
Skulking up the stairs, he kept his ears pricked for more noise from them, until a turn in the upper halls emitted Jani’s laboured breathing.
“Which way! Where are your friends hiding, hm?” That was the Londoner. “You’re only making their deaths more excruciating the longer you try to hide them from us.”
Wet, hacking coughing came from the room they’d ducked into to interrogate her, followed by the sound of skin against skin.
“Someone sounds like they don’t want to cooperate, huh? Well, you know what that gets you.”
“Fuck you, and the red horse you rode in on.” Jani said it so quietly, Derrin barely heard her, silently stepping over the carpet which layered the floor on this level..
“Can’t say we didn’t warn you.” The Londoner said. “But I always was curious when it was used on a person more than 7 times.”
“Wait.” Aksin said, grabbing his companion by the hand. “Someone’s coming—”
Derrin ripped through the oakwood door like it was paper, reaching out to stab at the posh prick who’d been threatening Jani as he was snatched back just in time by Aksin. The athame hissed with a dull green glow at the presence of the two interlopers.
“What the hell.” The Londoner grunted out as Derrin slashed at him again, this time drawing blood from his forearm.
Evidently, they’d been holed up in a bathroom. The blood which fell stood out against the dirty white tiling.
Aksin was more weighty than his southern friend, and his neck was folded in an odd way against his skin, almost like a frog. When he smiled, his teeth were fangs.
Derrin switched his focus, making his next lunge towards the stodgy northerner. Aksin contorted in response, folding his knees and collapsing under the blade. As Derrin’s hand overshot, that awful neck unfolded, fangs rearing up to take a piece out of his intended victim.
Derrin had been stabbed plenty of times before, and it was never a pleasant experience. This was a thousand times worse. The instant the teeth broke skin it was like something had set his nerves on fire, or poured poison into his veins. Realistically, given that it was the Red King’s cultists, most likely Aksin just had.
No time to focus on the pain, Derrin thought, bringing his knee up as fast as he could in response, lodging it in his opponents throat.
Aksin’s teeth unlodged quickly as he choked in reaction, and Derrin brought the knife down into the toadies shoulder. The cultist let out an awful shriek in response, crumpling again to the floor like an empty coat.
“Fuck!” Londoner cried out from close behind, and when Derrin turned around he saw why— Jani had bit him on the leg before he could get the drop on Derrin.
The Londoner swiftly kicked Jani off, but it was already too late. Derrin gripped him by the collar of his suit.
“I bet you have questions about what we’re doing here,” the Londoner started, smiling. “Well, if you really—”
Wordlessly, Derrin slammed him head first onto the bathtub.
“What—” The tall cultist grumbled out from a mouth full of blood, to which Derrin promptly slammed him into the bathtub again, shattering a piece off of it.
He didn’t speak up again after that.
Aksin was still wordlessly shrieking in the corner, clutching at the athame which had been shoved into him.
“You okay, Jani?” Derrin asked. Jani looked back at him bitterly.
“I mean, will you live. Obviously you’re not okay.”
“I’ll be fine after some tea and a nap.” She replied blankly. “Just fine.”
“Don’t suppose there’s anything in the medicine cabinet.” Derrin said, looking at where the mirror had been busted open. “We’re going to need a lot of bandages.”
“Where’s Ari?” Jani asked.
“In the attic. Still waiting for us.”
The shelf didn’t have anything in it other than broken glass, unfortunately. “Looks like we’re going to need to find Ari quick, eh? God knows she’s got more healing capabilities than I do. Medic and all that.” Derrin slammed the cabinet door shut.
Jani let out a shuddering breath. “What’re we going to do about these pricks, then?”
“Nothing much. Interrogation. And then, quick funeral.” Derrin answered.
Aksin let out another hissing shriek, which slowly contorted to laughter. “Think that you’ve finished us off, eh? That we’re the only ones who served the Red King?”
“Only ones in Birmingham, sure. You lot tend not to last long.” Derrin pointed out. “I mean, your posh mate there’s about bled out.”
“There will always be more. Always. And we will chase you, yes. Chase you to the ends of the earth. I will be rid of this awful thing you’ve trapped me with, and we will hound you.”
Footsteps rang from outside the bathroom door, boots hitting floorboards. Jani looked toward the door wildeyed, then towards Derrin, as if begging him to do something.
“Relax love, it’s just Ari. You remember Ari, aye? Nice girl who’s gonna stitch you up.” Derrin assured her, dropping into a crouch all the same.
“Such paranoia from one so self-assured.” Aksin hissed out. “The only thing you should be certain of is that we’re going to kill you in the most terrible way imaginable. It’s practically too late already for the blonde bitch you’ve got there!”
Aria burst through the bathroom door screaming, knife held at the ready, only to be disappointed by the actual scene waiting for her.
“Couldn’t’ve knocked?” Derrin asked.
“You said you’d try and die loudly, and you’ve been plenty loud. Didn’t exactly want to be giving away my ambush to the redheads.” Aria replied indignantly.
“We heard you coming like 10 meters off, love.” Derrin said. “But good to know you came to avenge us, at least.”
Aria was about to snipe back at him when she noticed the state that Jani was in. “Oh my God. What the fuck did they do to her?”
“Something you folk will see as a mercy when we’re done with you.” Aksin replied with venomous humour. “Oh yes, something you’ll be thinking quite fondly of.”
“Shut it, you old git. Ari, I need you to patch up Jani. I’ve got questions for this miserable piece of human garbage I want to get through.”
“I mean, I can try, but what did they even attack her with? What’s the extent of her injuries?” Aria asked, tying her curly hair back. “We have limited supplies right now and they might not be enough to save her with.”
“They’ve been sticking her with that awful mess of metal on the bathroom floor over there.” Derrin answered, kicking at the jagged shape of iron on the tiles. “And for your sake, you froggy fuck, it better be reversible.”
Aksin just smiled in response as Aria picked up the metal device from the floor. “At least it looks like they didn’t stick it too far inside.” Aria said, running a finger over the tip of the metal. “There’s probably a ton of bullshit magic with this thing, but other than that she should be able to survive with any non-anomalous wounds it would’ve given her.”
Derrin grabbed Aksin by the man’s tattered jacket, dragging him out into the hallway. “Well, lucky for you. Your death just got a lot quicker.”
“Been through worse than you, grass eater. You and your bunch of so-called freedom fighters over there are a joke, have been for years. Serpent’s Hand is a washed up version of what it was, and it weren’t ever much to begin with.” Aksin croaked out.
“Aye? Well, we’re more than enough to deal with you.” Derrin replied coldly, stalking down the stairs.
“Prove it.” The git croaked out again, smiling.
Derrin stopped talking and shut the door behind him.
It was 2pm on a lovely Thursday, and Pavlovna would have been enjoying her tea if not for the man rudely slamming his fist down on her desk.
Well, come to think of it— no reason to let good tea go to waste. Pavlovna took a sip of tea as the wreck of a man in front of her vented his frustrations.
“I don’t care what you or any of you fritzy wordsmiths say, there’s nothing good that can come from letting those cultist sickos in here! People have started to have nightmares, Pavlovna, and recently we’ve heard rumours of people being kidnapped right as they come out of Ways to go back home. Do you really think just because those scarlet pricks wait for people to step a few feet outside the Library before killing them means that they’re following the rules?”
The man, one Derrin Irondwight (not his real name, of course, the inkstained groups never seemed to use proper names— so embarrassing) grimaced through a chin full of stubble, holding his muscular arms across as if he was trying to intimidate her. As if he could, she thought to herself.
“Are you done?” Pavlovna asked coolly.
“Depends how you answer.” Derrin replied curtly.
“I’m sure you’ll be disappointed by my response no matter what I say.” She said, rolling her eyes. “Do you have any actual evidence that it’s the cultists who are up to this?”
“Not hard evidence, no, but I’ve got witnesses enough I think.” Derrin answered, furry eyebrows knitting together as he gathered where the conversation was going.
“Well, do you have testimony from someone who’s a member of the group? Or better yet, do you have anything that doesn’t go off of mere hearsay?” Pavlovna continued.
“We have people who’ve lost family and friends, Christ’s sake, Pavlovna.”
She sighed, bringing a hand up to rub her temple. “Yes, yes, I know. There’s always bodies, there’s always a reason, and it’s always a pressing matter which you’re definitely right about. Can you at least give me a specific name, a specific cult member I can question?”
He started to grumble, but she cut him off before he could say anything clearly. “I thought so.”
Silence reigned in the makeshift office, the small clock (more decorative than anything, given how time in the Library tended to flow) ticking to fill the gap in the conversation.
“Listen, Derrin.” Pavlovna started. “When you have something that’s good, it’s really good. And I appreciate that, and I appreciate you as a source. But I can’t risk my reputation, or kicking out people who haven’t technically broken any rules, on hearsay.”
Derrin tsked. “But you’re always willing to kick someone out who stands up for what’s right, aren’t you?”
“I kick out people who break the peace. The Library isn’t supposed to be a warzone, and it’s definitely not supposed to be a personal fortress for the Serpent’s Hand, or the Winged Griffins, or the Chanters of Samothrace or whatever group kicks down my door asking me to take up their pet cause!” Pavlovna replied, adjusting the rim of her golden glasses to see better. “I understand this is something you’re passionate about, but you’ll need more convincing evidence for me to bring to a meeting.”
“Meetings? Whatever happened to brawling things out?” Derrin asked, smirking. “You’ve mellowed an awful lot since you left.”
Pavlovna tucked a strand of blonde hair which had fallen out of place during their conversation. “I realized that not everything can be solved by punching. Maybe you should too.”
Derrin breathed in deeply, rubbing his scarred knuckles. “But if I do bring evidence, hard evidence, you’ll get them to look into it, right?”
“Of course.” Pavlovna replied, letting some of the tension out of her shoulders. “I’m not insane. I don’t like that they’re here anymore than you do, it’s just that I can’t go around tossing them out for no reason whatsoever.”
He nodded. “I’ll bring you back proof. Solid proof, yeah? But if you don’t do anything after that, I’m going after them directly like.”
“Well, until you do…” Pavlovna waved her hand at the makeshift door to her “office”, an alcove made out of stacked shelves and artificially lit with a fey oil lamp.
Derrin made a disgusted face and stooped under the doorway to get out. “The next person, would you please come in! And you better be nice, because I am not in a good mood!”
The next issue was a young corvid, couldn’t have been older than 8, nervously pecking at their feathers. “Are you lost?”
“I— what?” The corvid startled, ruffling their cobalt blue feathers with the sudden movement of their head.
“Do you need help finding your parents? You don’t have to be ashamed about it, it happens all the time. The children’s secti—”
“I’m not here to find directions.” They said quietly.
Pavlovna’s lips thinned. If it was a child and didn’t need directions, then most likely she was about to be bombarded with a series of incredibly inane questions. “Well then, what can I help you with?”
Nervously digging claws into the floor, the corvid replied “I want to ask about the page program, actually. I want to apply.”
Well, that was a surprise. Pavlovna adjusted her glasses, trying to get a better look at the bird. “I see. How old are you, again?”
“12 this month, sir.”
“It’s ma’am, but don’t worry, I can’t tell the difference between corvids so it’s not entirely fair to expect you to tell with hominids.” Pavlovna said. If they really were 12, they didn’t look it, but she still could never tell. The corvid’s beak was definitely marked with scars, however, and although they weren’t large they’d definitely been through something.
“Name and gender, please?” She asked, abruptly turning to look for a file in her desk. “Oh, and any prior experience you may have had with writing, researching, organizing, secret service or protection work, and so on.”
“Quill, ma’am, and I’m a man, although some people won’t believe it.” He replied, his voice trembling somewhat on the last part. “I’ve fled from my home recently and I really don’t have anywhere else to go.”
There it is! Pavlovna snatched an application form from between two thick tomes (one on astromancy and the other on necrolography) to primly position it on the wooden surface of her embroidered desk. “Well, survival in unfortunate circumstances is a good interview story if nothing else. Do you have any previous job experience? This is important, now.”
“I was a musician.” Quill replied.
“Oh, excellent! We have the most openings available in the music department right now, and we always need people to document songs. You’ll do wonderfully.”
Quill hesitated. “… There aren’t… only musician positions, are there?”
Pavlovna thought to herself for a second. “Well, there are other openings, but they’re much more competitive.”
Quill nodded weakly. “Well, if it’s all the same, I’d rather do something else.”
“I see.” Pavlovna said. “Are there any particular areas you’d want to apply to? We have
plenty of space in the science department, the engineers are really itching to get some new blood. I could set you up there?”
“Well,” Quill hesitated again, shuffling his feathers together. “Are there any openings available for protecting people?”
Pavlovna blinked. “I’m not sure I understand. Do you mean as in magical wards, healing, or something like our Research Safety Program?”
“I guess what I’m trying to say is…” Quill searched for the right words. “Well, on my home world, I always wanted to be a knight. But it was never something that could happen because of how I was— well, I was born wrong? But I figured I could find something like that here! To protect seekers of knowledge, or something?”
Pavlovna took that in for a second.
“I’m sorry, it was a stupid idea, I’ll just leave, I don’t know wha—” Quill began, turning to head out of the office until Pavlovna cut him off.
“Don’t you leave, I’ve still got to figure out how to resolve your problem.”
“You don’t think it’s stupid?” Quill asked earnestly.
“Well I can’t let you run off now,” Pavlovna said. “If I do you’re just going to run into some inkstained gang and they’ll go and get you killed somehow, and we don’t want to have that happen, now do we?”
She passed the form over to the young corvid. “Fill this out while I think of something, and be sure to be detailed. If you leave something out it might end up being important.”
Quill nodded excitedly, his coal black eyes shining like obsidian from admiration. “I absolutely won’t let you down!”
Pavlovna nodded. But where to put him? It wouldn’t do to put him in serious danger, even if he was 12 (which, to be quite frank she highly doubted). But it was clear that he wanted to do something that involved some danger, which the Library was overly fond of already. Research Safety required too much arcane knowledge as prerequisite, even for an acolyte, and Research Retrieval was far too dangerous for a beginner. This might be more difficult than I thought.
She returned to the various shelves in her desk. Who still has openings? Mad Science was an option, but he was far too likely to end up on a slab instead of actually learning and being useful, and the doctors gave her the chills anyway. Theology wouldn’t take anyone without a strong sense of faith, and Quill seemed earnest but not in the religious way.
She almost missed, being so deep in thought while flipping through the various papers in her files. A measly scrap of paper, poorly designed, emblazoned in red ink with the words For the Chivalrous Among You! And a crude picture of a knight.
It’s almost absurdly perfect. Nobody trusted the Chivalrous and Righteous Acts Group with anything resembling seriousness, but they still focused on physical training which would strengthen Quill up so he could apply to something else later and not have it be ridiculously lethal. And not only that, but it was only a few sections down so she could make sure he was developing well. Plus, wasn’t there still that novelty coffee shop there?
“Quill.”
The bird looked up from his form. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Earlier you said you wanted to be a knight, correct?” She asked.
“Oh, more than anything ma’am, but I’m not stupid. I doubt that any knight worth his salt here would be willing to take me!”
“Mm. Well, I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” Pavlovna replied, smiling. “How would you like to go with me to see the Chivalrous and Righteous Acts Group?”
Quill stared at her with an expression she guessed was awe. It was always so damn hard to tell with nonhumans. “Really ma’am?”
“Sure, they’re just a few sections down. They’d be easy to walk to.”
Quill nodded along before hesitating again. “But, don’t you have a lot of work to do today ma’am? I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”
Pavlovna pursed her lips. “Good question. Let me check.”
She stalked out the alcove to see if anyone was there, which there wasn’t. She turned her head from side to side.
“If anybody needs the Wordsmith Guild’s assistance, I’ll be back in 20 minutes!” she called out, not that anyone was really listening to her.
She turned back to the hatchling in her office. “C’mon, if anybody gets pissy about it I’ll just wait them out.”
Pavlovna’s office was located in the Romantic Literature section, something she was certain was done as some kind of joke on her by the higher-ups. Still, with the warm lighting and the heart shaped shelves, there were certainly worse places to hole up. Stained glass windows shone iridescent light from nowhere onto the floors, enchanted to move as images in famous love stories.
Obviously, Pavlovna didn’t keep track of any of the childish nonsense, but occasionally when she had nothing to do she’d sneak a peek.
“So, Quill.” Pavlovna started, trying to fill the air with something other than the clicking of her work boots on the wooden floor. “How did you end up here, again?”
“Oh, it’s something of a long story, ma’am.” Quill said. “But to keep it short, I was banished by my broodmother from the nest after I told her I didn’t want to be a— well, I didn’t want to be bard, or sing praise.”
“Interesting.” Pavlovna remarked. “What world are you from again?”
“It was called Icthys, ma’am. But you probably haven’t heard of it, since the Library is still kept secret there. I was surprised to learn that the old legends were true!” Quill replied.
“It is a surprise to learn, isn’t it?”
Pavlovna gingerly took a hold of the stair rail which led down to the Chivalry area. Some idiot had decided to replace the old, safe stone stairs and replace them with a rickety death trap in order to “suitably test” those who wished to retrieve anything from the area.
“Everyone here seems so cool and confident. I don’t even know how to make myself useful to anyone else.” Quill said, dejected. “I’ve only been here for a few days and I feel like I’ve just been bothering people.”
“That’s certainly a possibility. It happens with plenty of newcomers who don’t know how this place works, especially ones which have kept the truth a secret.” She replied, testing the first rotted wooden step with a slight application of pressure. “But don’t worry, plenty of people come from closed worlds. I did too, actually! Came from a planet called Earth.”
Quill nodded. “If you came from a planet called dirt it must have been full of soil, right?”
The moss coated board snapped under her foot. Well, I’m not going to have much fun that way. She looked through the rest of the stairway, seeing the various boobytraps which had been set up to surprise the unsuspecting visitor.
“You can fly, right Quill?”
“Excuse me, ma’am?” Quill stuttered out.
“I asked you if you can fly.” Pavlovna reiterated, lifting a hand to her chin to contemplate what else was on the stairwell. “The idiots made this thing a complete deathtrap so only the worthy could enter. It’s a bit of a nuisance.”
“Of course I can fly ma’am! I’m not sure I’d be able to carry you, though, if that’s what you’re thinking. No offense.” Quill answered sheepishly
“None taken. And don’t worry, I only need you to fly.” Pavlovna said evenly, starting to stretch her arms out.
“But then what are you going to do, ma’am?” Quill asked.
“I’m going to run like all hell, obviously.” She answered, sitting down to stretch out her legs. “And I swear, if there’s anything on here which is actually dangerous enough to hurt me, I’m going to disband that group before you can even join it.”
“Oh, but that doesn’t seem terribly safe, ma’am.” Quill said. “I mean, those stairs are an awful long drop, and if you don’t have the right wing capacity before hitting the ground I think you could really hurt—”
Pavlovna bolted down the stairs, making sure to not lean into too much weight on any particular one. It’d been designed so weight would trigger most of the traps, but as long as I don’t stay in any one place for long, I should be safe until the end, right?
With a scraggly shuffling of wings, Quill took to flight over head. “Are you okay? Let me know if you need any help!”
Pavlovna ignored him, skipping over a step which had been filled with spikes. These jackasses are actually going to kill someone, she thought to herself, but only if I don’t get my hands on them fi—
Lost in vengeful thoughts, she hadn’t noticed the (to be quite frank, almost comically obvious) roped tied over one of the steps. With just enough time for one last thought of I’m genuinely going to kill them, Pavlovna was sent flying into the air.
Before she could start her descent, she felt a pair of cold talons pluck at her shoulders, Quill desperately trying to pick her up. “I really don’t think I can hold you for too long!”
Wordlessly, Pavlovna lifted her hands up to clutch at Quill’s wings. “Stop flapping and start gliding! If you waste your energy we’re both going to crash!”
“Yes ma’am!” Quill replied obediently, immediately holding his wings out straight. “But we’re not going to have a terribly cushy landing!”
Pavlovna scanned the stairs beneath them. She’d made it about halfway through, but the traps got more and more difficult towards the end. Some of them were firetraps, others were acid cauldrons, and the stairs got narrower and narrower the further you went down.
They definitely didn’t mention the fire traps in their petition, Pavlovna thought to herself idly. She pulled her legs up under her to make sure she didn’t actually trigger any more traps when she suddenly sagged further down.
“I don’t think I can hold on to you for much longer!” Quill gasped. Pavlovna looked down to where she could land.
“Let me go, now!” She cried out, eyeing a small portion of boards which seemed to not be rigged with any traps. With any luck, she’d be able to replan from there.
Quill tore off of her, leaving her to fall some 10 feet onto the stairs. Here’s hoping they’re not rotted out like the first ones, she thought, and then braced to hit the wood.
With a heavy thud, the boards proved steady. She looked down the stairs to see how much further she had to go.
“You’re doing great, ma’am! Only 37 steps to go!” Quill called from above.
Right. She could do 37 steps, easy. Pavlovna breathed in deep, steeling herself for another run. The steps ahead looked quite small, so she’d have to be careful not to trip yet again. She gingerly put her foot on the first step.
Which immediately let out a great crack. Pavlovna felt the eerie sensation of weightlessness that came before a fall, heard ropes untangling and snapping apart, and sniffed the vague must of moss which must have been eating away at the foundations.
I’m really going to kill them, she thought to herself just as the great mess of a staircase completely collapsed beneath her.
Quickly, Pavlovna tapped the protection charm she’d tattooed onto her left hand. It wouldn’t absorb all the damage from a fall this big, but it was certainly better than nothing at this point. Feeling the comfortable feeling of warmth spreading over her body, she braced for impact against the wooden slats which had held the vaguely collected pile of stairs together.
The first blow came straight to her face, cracking the lenses of her glasses. The second came from below, jabbing into her left leg with force that would have broken something if not for the charm she had. She felt something else knick at her arm, scraping through it in a way which would definitely leave a mark, before finally crumpling into a heap on the floor.
Pavlovna took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain some of the wind which had been knocked out of her. She’d landed in the middle of a pile of scattered sheet paper, most of which were emblazoned with the obviously misspelled word congratulasion!
“Are you alright, ma’am!” Quill called from somewhere above. “That looked like quite a nasty fall!”
Sighing, Pavlovna slowly extricated herself from the pile. She tested putting her weight down on the leg she’d hit and was rewarded with the dull pang of a twisted ankle. “I’ll live.”
She checked where the charm had been on her hand, only to confirm what she’d suspected. The entire piece had been used, only leaving bloody welts behind to mark the protection it had left her. Still, better to tattoo my hand again then figure out how to fix a snapped spinal column.
“Quill?”
“Yes ma’am?”
“I am going to get you onto the Chivalrous and Righteous Acts Group, just to make damn sure that they never pull anything even remotely like this ever again.” Pavlovna seethed through her clenched teeth.
“They say they want to make their staircase a gauntlet, sure, that’s one thing! But none of the designs they showed to me were anything resembling this threatening towards the patrons! In all my time working to make sure people aren’t going to get swallowed up and killed, looking for something as innocuous as a simple history book, I have never seen anything this ridiculously harebrained!”
Pavlovna turned her angry stare towards Quill, who’d perched on one of the few scaffolds that hadn’t completely snapped from rot.
“I went over the design with them! They didn’t show me any of the firetraps, or acid pits, or how absolutely rickety this entire thing would have been! And I told them, oh did I tell them, that if they did this they had to make sure that the average patron could make it through here! I’m completely amazed this floor isn’t absolutely littered with skeletons!”
Quill nodded along sincerely. “Yes ma’am, absolutely horrendous ma’am.”
“And another thing!” Pavlovna continued, angrily plucking her glasses off from her face. “They definitely expanded the depth here, which is absolutely off limits! We’re going to have to completely readjust our maps of this section in order to accommodate for this idiotic, self-serving death trap! And don’t even get me started on asking how on God’s earth they even managed to accomplish that in the first place if they couldn’t even build the damn staircase!”
Quill was paying less attention now, his head turned to look off into the distance as he blithely nodded to what Pavlovna was saying.
“When Platinium comes here I swear to Christ that I’m going to force him to beg, absolutely beg for my forgiveness before I even introduce you. I’m going to kick him off of that idiotic high horse of his and make him weep at my feet!”
Quill, still nodded, piped up. “Ma’am, I think there are people coming.”
Pavlovna piqued up at that, folding her broken glasses and placing them carefully into her pocket. “Oh, fantastic! Well, maybe they can explain what on Earth even happened here!”
Her eyesight blurred, Pavlovna heard Platinium before she saw him, the characteristic clipping of his hooves ringing out against the stone.
Bringing his full 8 feet up to bear, silver pelt embellished with iron chain armor, Platinium the war horse trotted over to the duo. “What ho there, Dame Pavlovna! It seems you’d had quite the trouble with our little gauntlet!”
“Your little gauntlet?” Pavlovna demanded incredulously. “That damn thing nearly took my head off!”
“Well that can’t be right,” Platinium said, “we were certain that it wouldn’t be trouble for the average patron, after all. Didn’t you help us draw it up?”
Pavlovna’s was rendered speechless for a moment, reduced to merely staring at the old stallion in disbelief.
“When I helped you draw it up,” Pavlovna started after regaining some composure, “we hadn’t included any spikes.”
“Of course not! That would be uncharitably dangerous!” Platinium agreed instantly, nodding his shaggy head along.
“There definitely weren’t any firetraps!” She continued angrily, to which Platinium assented just as quickly.
“We couldn’t risk burning any books, after all! It was quite wise of us not to.” He said sagely, flicking his tail as if to emphasize his point.
“And I definitely don’t remember us discussing any of these!” Pavlovna tried again, gesturing towards the crudely written flyers she’d landed in.
Platinium followed her gesture. “Well, of course not, I think I’d remember writing out all those little flyers.”
Pavlovna clapped her hands to her head in frustration. “So what are those all doing there, then!”
Taken aback for a moment, Platinium pondered the question, then stomped a hoof in realization. “I haven’t the slightest idea whatsoever!”
Pavlovna slumped to the ground, defeated. “You mean you didn’t put any of this here? None of it at all?”
Platinium chortled as if he was positively delighted by the question. “Why of course not! We’re absolutely not going to build something hearty enough to take out a member of the Wordsmith Guild. Are you mad? We had just built something with a set of swinging pillows.”
Exhaling, Pavlovna flopped onto her back. “Do you know what this means, Quill?”
“No, ma’am. What does it mean?”
Groaning, Pavlovna screwed her eyes shut. “It means that I’m going to have to fill out the paperwork on this and send it to the council.”
“Ah, now who’s this young gentleman, then?” Platinium asked, shifting his focus to the azure corvid above.
“Quill, sir!” He replied quickly, contorting his wing into something that might have been a salute. “Is it true that you’re a knight, sir?”
“Well, I have been ridden into battle, it’s true.” Platinium confirmed. “And I do lead our fine band of chivalrous companions, as they are.”
Quill’s feathers puffed up in excitement, turning his silhouette into something more resembling a blob than anything. “Could you teach me how to be a knight, sir!”
Before the old horse could answer, Pavlovna mumbled from the ground.
“What was that?”
“I said, could somebody please lift me up?”
Quill and Platinium looked at each other for a moment, until the horse said “Well it obviously can’t be me, I don’t have anything to grab her with.”
“Oh, of course!” Quill remarked, fluttering off his perch. “Should I just lay her on you then, sir? I’m not going to be able to carry her all the way.”
“That will be fine! A slight little thing like her will barely register.” Platinium replied kindly.
“Just kill me.” Pavlovna stated dully, willing herself to teleport back to her office. “It’s not like it’ll feel worse than I do now.”
Quill carefully plucked her with his talons, making sure not to catch them on anything important. “It looked like quite the nasty fall, ma’am.”
“It did, didn’t it?” Platinium remarked. “I could have sworn that the stairs were only 20 or so when we restructured them.”
“Do you have any idea who might’ve messed with this area?” Pavlovna asked as Quill gently lowered her across Platinium’s saddle.
“Not at all!” He replied, beginning to trot away from the mess of broken wood. “But the Library is prone to changing on odd whims. Perhaps it wanted to present those who’ve decided to join us with more of a challenge to get here?”
Pavlovna shook her head softly. “The Library very rarely changes in response to specific groups like that. And when it does, it’s usually groups with a large amount of arcane power.”
“Doesn’t it change for the Wordsmiths too, though, ma’am?” Quill asked. “I’ve seen them open new pathways before, and rearrange areas.”
“That’s… different.” Pavlovna replied, clinging to Platinium’s mane. “The Council has some sort of contract with the Library, and they can… speak to it isn’t the right word, but they can make suggestions, certainly. It’s why we can ban people, as long as our goal is to keep the patrons safe.”
She reached into her pocket, pulling out her golden Library I.D. with the red Wordsmith Guild symbol emblazoned at the bottom. “As long as we follow by the contract, keeping the Library safer for the patrons, the Library generally lets us do what we think is necessary.”
“It’s an incredibly important task!” Platinium added. “Although oftentimes the Library works in it’s own ways, the Wordsmiths are critical caretakers who ensure its stores of knowledge are open to all who seek them.”
“Well, not all knowledge.” Pavlovna clarified. “There are some things best kept secret, even from other members of the Library.”
“What’s the worst that could go wrong from someone reading the wrong book?” Quill asked. “I mean, the most dangerous thing I can think of is papercuts.”
“Knowledge is power.” Pavlovna answered darkly. “About 600 years ago, a member of the Council tried to warp the Library into their own dark image. It nearly tore a hole into the membrane of reality, and it let thousands of things from the nihilistic space between spaces loose to wreak havoc on countless worlds.”
“What, the neverwere?” Quill scoffed. “Even I can take care of them.”
“No.” Pavlovna countered. “The neverwere are like rats in the ecosystem of the void between spaces, only dangerous in large numbers. What we’re talking about are like the elephants of that ecosystem. Dread things which could drive a civilization mad without even noticing they’re doing it. Without even trying to do it.”
Quill was quiet at that.
“Say, whatever happened to the dreadful chap who did that anyway?” Platinium asked.
“The Council stripped their name away and sealed it in the vaults, along with most of the renegades arcane power.” Pavlovna replied. “Although they couldn’t stop patrons from researching the things that this person did, they made sure to keep a much closer eye on all of the people who were looking into similar subjects. It’s part of where our modern Research Safety Program comes from.”
Platinium shivered, which only provoked Pavlovna’s sore muscles. “Scary thing to think about these days, isn’t it? Fortunately, the good people of the Chivalrous and Righteous Acts Group are always ready to fight against the forces of evil!”
“Oh, I’m sure one glimpse of you lot would send all the renegade’s forces running.” Pavlovna said, rolling her eyes.
“Of course!” Platinium replied, undeterred. “We’ve banded together to keep the good people of the Romantic Literature section safe for decades!”
“Decade and a half, more like.” Pavlovna corrected him.
“Why, without us, who would’ve taken care of the magpie breakin last winter!” Platinium exclaimed, ignoring her.
“That was me, actually.” Pavlovna pointed out.
“Who else could have stopped the notorious Bogeroll, who constantly swindled other people’s belongings while they were invested in a good book?” Platinium continued.
“Was that you who tied him to the chandelier without any clothes on? Because I can tell you, getting him down wasn’t pretty.”
“And of course, one of our most important functions, who could properly instruct the young romance writers on the proper ways of chivalry? So many terrible misconceptions in the world, I tell you, and so easy to dispel.” Platinium finished his list of accomplishments. “Yes, I tell you that with the Wordsmiths and our band of knights, the Romantic Literature section will remain secure for decades more to come!”
“Wow.” Quill said, completely taken in by the old horse’s speech. “And you’re willing to show me how to be one of you?”
“Of course!” Platinium exclaimed. “A young man such as yourself will be a welcome addition to our ranks! Speaking of which, there’s our camp now. What ho, fellows!”
The campground was quite large, all things considered. The Chivalrous and Righteous Acts Group had set up shop in the Knights section, which resembled a classical castle hall more than anything else. In the middle of the hall they had pitched three tents, all rather large and painted in red and gold.
In the center of the tents was a small, motley group of four, made up of two men, a woman, and someone who didn’t appear to fit in either category. The men both wore silver suits of armour emblazoned with a horse head motif, while the woman wore black plate with a red dragon painted on the chest. Meanwhile, the other person wore a slight, sea green chain outfit, with a small porcelain dagger at their side.
“Ho, good sir Platinium!” The woman called out. “What guests do you bring with you?”
“The good dame Pavlovna and a young new recruit!” Platinium replied. “Fresh blood, isn’t it exciting!”
Pavlovna turned her head towards Quill. “Are you sure you want to hang out with these absolute dorks? I can always find you something else.”
“Oh, more than anything ma’am!” Quill exclaimed. “I always dreamed of becoming a knight back on Icthys, but they never would have let me. This is more than I ever thought I could have asked for!”
“Well, to each their own, I suppose.” Pavlovna said. “Say, Platinium, that stairway wasn’t the only way down here, right? I can still find a way back up?”
Platinium chuckled. “I’m afraid so! It’s going to take us at least a week to salvage something and get you back up there!”
Pavlovna inhaled sharply.
It’s going to be a long fucking week.
Discera Multiversity
Discera Multiversity is one of the Libraries oldest institutions, dedicated to the pursuit of all kinds of knowledge across all worlds. As the name implies, Discera Multiversity is not just one university, but rather a collaborative effort between universities from all kinds of worlds. At Discera, you can study anything from the anthropological cataloging of Kindeler to the archaic magical system of the Khanates, all from the relative safety and comfort of the Wanderer’s Library. Although the Multiversity has absorbed literally hundreds of guilds, knowledgeable organizations, and truthseekers, the largest colleges you can enroll in are listed below.
Aetheric Society of Indric: This ancient college was the premiere college of its homeworld before it was chased off planet by the rise of an anti-intellectual dictator. Although no longer bound to Indric, they retain the name as a recognition of their roots. The Aetheric Society is primarily dedicated to the study of magic, and they use the more traditional “Master-Apprentice” system which some students may find new to them. The school is headed by the Grandmasters, identifiable by the light blue symbol on their Library Cards. With the Society you can study Apothecary Healing, Runelore, Metaphysical Binding, Numerology, and all kinds of knowledge seeking activities. The Society does not care for the Dark Arts, so if you dabble in Necromancy or the like you may find yourself given quite a cool reception.
Guildsman Trade School: The Trade School was established by the Wordsmiths shortly after their founding, focused on giving students the learning they need to excel as a Wordsmith, sorcerer, researcher, or other type of protector for their world and the Library. Where the Aetheric Society is primarily focused on acquisition of knowledge, the Trade School has a much more practical focus on using information for people. However, just enrolling at the Trade School isn’t a guarantee that you’ll become a Wordsmith, although most who enroll do end up as one of those. The Trade School freely teaches combat alongside literature, spelunking as well as archaeology, and all kinds of things besides. You never know what you’re going to run into as a Wordsmith, so the training tends to be quite eclectic.
Herbalists League: Dedicated to the study of plantlore and healing, the Herbalists League is based in the gardening section of the Library and dedicate themselves to its maintenance. The Herbalists League grew out of an orc caravan on the world of Carrow in 842 BG, and moved into the Library in order to escape a pogrom against orcs. Now, they’re the pre eminent school on agriculture, gardening, herbology, plantlore, and interspecies relations focused on plants and animals interacting. The League is headed by their Matron, elected from the teachers by students and faculty alike. Each Matron has a term of 50 years, after which another election is held. The current Matron is Aelza Greenwood, a firtree who’s held the position for 3 terms and whom many suspect will be going for a 4th later this century.
Institute of the Cabal: The Dark Magic school, I.C. isn’t a school for the light-hearted. Focusing on Necromancy, Blood Magic, Nihilomancy, Eldritch Studies, and other less than pleasant activities, the Cabal is still one of the greatest resources in countersorcerery in the Library, and many of their students go on to help with the Wordsmiths Research Safety program, ensuring innocent patrons don’t get ensorcelled by Dark Books or Eldritch tomes. They’re also a voice for many patrons of the Library who have less-than-stellar reputations, and while this doesn’t always work out, many patrons have been grateful for their assistance when it seemed the entire world was against them. The Cabal is led by a council of 13 witches and warlocks, all of whom cast votes on important matters. The 13 council seats corresponds to the 13 subjects the Institute teaches: Necromancy, Blood Magic, Nihilomancy, Eldritch Studies, Demonology, Hexing, Beastswork, Poisons, Mad Science, Voidscaping, Unknowable Knowledge, and Ancient Linguistics.
Headacre’s College of Archaeology: Founded by Whittock Headacre centuries ago, Heacacre’s College focuses on the study of ancient civilizations and their ruins. Plenty of the work that goes into archaeology is perfectly mundane, and so is most of the school. They do collaborate with more magical schools when they run into societies which cursed their own ruins or fell into magical decay. The college is run by Gertrude Headacre, and is inherited as a position from the previous dean.
Pruttock Art School: Pruttock is the preeminent art school of the Library, and does classes on art, literature, creative writing, art history, anart, sculpture, and the like. Pruttock prides itself on its student union led structure, leading to a sort of wild democracy in the school. The union is currently led by Annabella Hutch, an anartist sculpture from Backdoor SoHo who looks almost exactly like a 32 year old woman with green hair despite technically being 10 years old, Pruttock is also home to plenty of traditional artists more used to drawing portraits of kings and the like, and there’s two parties generally vying for control of the student government. The Traditionalists, focused on art as a pure form which must be kept clean and blinkered, and the Experimentalists, who believe that art’s boundaries must constantly be pushed past anything you can think of (Hutch is in this camp). As with most two party systems, there are plenty of students who don’t truck with either party and can’t be bothered with student government.
Siren-Bard Performance School: Most Wanderers have heard of it, all students serious about enhancing the Library and their worlds with performance apply to it, and very few would argue that it doesn't deserve its reputation. Known for making future jesters, musical mystics, tragedians, and much more, the Siren-Bard Performance School features creative methods for enabling students to master their crafts, and make sure to incorporate practical and cultural aspects into every student's education. Guest performers, otherworldly literature, and frequent culture trips are only a fraction of the Performance School's solutions to cater to individuals and art styles throughout the multiverse. Once every year, a selection of the student body adapts and performs "The Symphony of the Serpent", a multi-media free-form outline for creativity—The exact delivery changes each year, from orchestral performances with comedy mixed in, to musicals featuring illusionists and dancers. The performance is open to the public and is managed by the current head of the school, Miss Luna.
Fischer’s School of Finances: Established on an Earth, Fischer’s School is strictly a business school. All sorts of bankers to be, numerologists, mathemagicians, and future small business owners flock to Fischer’s school, although the competition can be quite cutthroat. Teachers tend to wear suits and fine clothing, and the school is headed by their CEO, Alonsius Fischer. The head teacher of each subschool is a member of their Board of Directors. They have an internship program in Extraplanetary Affairs with Marshall, Carter, & Darke for human students, and work with the dwarven Bankers Guild on metallurgy, coin printing, and forgery.
Student Life
Although Discera is made up of many different schools, they’re all united in some of their extracurriculars. Discera has plenty of sports teams, usually under the name Discera Basilisks, which recruit from all of the schools at their leisure. The student newspaper, Discera Daily News, is distributed across all campuses along with Planasthai Press. Student activities such as pranks, although frowned upon, make their way through all of the schools.
The Discera dormitories are all cross school, located in a Turn of the Great Hall with enough beds for all students. As such, even if a member of Fischers and an apprentice of the Aetheric Society might never meet otherwise, they could still share a dorm.
Student research also fills volumes of the Library with papers, essays, and random ideas about the Library. A student project could be anything from a summary of an ancient ritual, to the exploration of an ancient archaeological site, to a personal story about why they became a student at Discera. Get to know your fellow students, and your predecessors, by wandering the halls of the Library and seeing the marks they’ve left.
Money makes the world go round, but it could stand to go a little bit faster. Sergio thought to himself as he tapped the bar table impatiently. The bar was a dismal hole in the wall, not that he would have wanted anywhere else. Illicit goods tended to require illicit locations, and there were about a dozen building violations he could catch just by looking.
The bartender walked up to him, but Sergio fixed such a look on them that they promptly turned around for a more friendly face. The tacky establishment was done up with typical tourist trappings, featuring flags and pendants and the like. The yellow and green flag his contact was supposed to be standing under was pinned up over an antique jukebox, gilded with neon tones.
The bar’s single door rang as it was opened by an absolute mass of a man, his beard a tangled mess of greys and yellows that Sergio didn’t even want to contemplate the origin of. When their eyes met, the old mess of a man brightened as he sauntered directly over to the same damn flag Sergio had been watching for an hour by now.
Scowling, Sergio made his way over to the stranger, clutching protectively at his bag.
“The pink dragon howls at midnight.” He mumbled, looking at any place other than the man he had just walked up to.
Instead of giving the reply phrase, the old man had the audacity to belt out a harsh laugh. “Is that seriously what they’re forcing you to say these days? Paranoia if I ever heard it, good lord.”
Sergio reddened, his back somehow becoming more stiff than it had been.
“Ah, well I guess I better help you out. The howling monkey screams at midday, there ya go. So, what can I do ya for?”
“I need about as much money as I can get in exchange for providing you with this kind of… service, as you might say.” Sergio said, completely unfamiliar with the kind of service they wanted him to provide. He unhooked the clasps on his bag, pulling out some papers. “Here’s all the paperwork you need for your operation, along with details on how to send the money.”
The man rudely snatched all the documents from Sergio’s grasp, giving a low whistle. “Damn, that’s a lot of little words. You a lawyer or something?”
Sergio’s eyes widened visibly and he stuttered out a few noises before managing to bring out something along the lines of “Please don’t say that in public.”
“Alright, big man, I won’t say nothing. So, what kind of cash you looking for in exchange for solving our little problem?”
“I’m not looking for just cash.” Sergio said darkly. “I’m on the run from some accountants, and I need fake financial information. Listen, I need you to ask your boss to make it look like I’m as deep in the red as possible, you understand? The people I’m talking about are ruthless, and they only do debt forgiveness if they think it will let them own you.”
The man sighed. “Listen, kid, just because we’re not the most legal of affairs doesn’t mean that we can do all that fancy stuff. I can give you a warehouse and make people think you’re dead, but I’m not gonna be able to do accounting for you.”
Sergio was silent, his heart beating faster and faster in his chest. “You— I— what good is a crime syndicate that can’t fake their accounts? What do you tell the taxman when he comes around?”
The old man laughed at that. “We give him a nice little bump in his bank account and he writes whatever the hell we want him to! C’mon kid, you know as well as I do that the cops and bureaucrats around here are only looking to protect their own pockets.”
Sergio’s shoulders slumped. “What am I going to do?”
“I mean, how much do you even owe? Maybe we can help you out.” The old man asked. “It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve broken some sneaky bankers legs before, I can tell you that.”
“I owe 40 million, 300 thousand, 265 dollars.” Sergio told him. “And 35 cents.”
The man let out a low whistle. “Jesus, kid, what’d you need the money for? Trying to buy yourself an island? A small country?”
“School loans.” Sergio said simply. “Always pay attention to the compound interest, my friend, and read through all the fine print. They wrote into the contract that I’d have to pay a fee for paying off my balance, a fee for every time I got a new job, a fee every time I was fired— I went from having 40 thousand in debt to 40 million in 5 years, and I never missed a payment.”
The old man barked out a harsh laugh. “And here I thought that we were some cruel sons of bitches! What school did you even go to?”
“I went to Fischer’s.” Sergio replied simply, and the old man’s blank stare showed how little he knew about the world outside of where he lived. “I figured coming here would make them less likely to chase me. I mean, no offense, but this place is kind of a hellhole.”
The old man nodded sagely, most likely thinking that Sergio meant the country of Brazil rather than the world known as one of the most ferociously anti-magic dictatorships in the universe. “Well, I’ll tell you what. We know some guys who can give you a place to hide out, get you a new identity, and maybe even set up some poor schmuck to take the fall for you. And in return— well, this is a big favor already, but I know the boss would love to have a full time accountant on our side. What do you say?”
Sergio scoffed. “If faking my own death would have made them leave me alone, believe me, I would have done it already.”
“Some school you went to there, huh? Look, kid, if they’re not gonna leave you alone after you fled the country, I don’t think they’re going to leave you alone ever. No offense. I think you could do a hell of a lot worse than this offer here.” The old man said. “And I’m not heartless— I mean, I’ve got a kid around your age almost out of college, and you’re plucking at the old heartstrings. Do an old man a favor, huh?”
Sergio took his Library card out from his suit pocket. “Does this mean anything to you?”
The old man looked over it, then back at Sergio as if to ask if he was serious. Sergio’s hard eyed stare told the old man everything he needed to know about that. “No, I can’t say that it does. Is it important?”
Sergio pocketed the card. “No. No, it’s not important at all.”
“You’re either really good at bullshitting or there’s something big here I’m missing.” The old man scratched at his pale beard, wrinkles contorting in concern. “Look, I’ve got the best deal I can offer you. There’s no way we can get you forty mil for this, no offense.”
“Then do you know where I could get forty million dollars quickly?” Sergio asked. “If there was one job I could do where I could just pay it all off, what would you suggest?”
“I mean, if you really wanted to, you could hold up the Brazilian mint. Come the fuck on, kid, you can’t just get the money like that.” The old man said impatiently as the juke boxes rendition of Hound Dog shuddered to a stop.
Sergio thought about that. “You’re right. I would need more experience holding up other banks before I even went through with that.”
“Ha! Yeah, all the experience in the world wouldn’t give you the ability to call in everyone you’d need to pull off a job like that. Come on, kid, be real here. Just let me help you and you can put this whole mess behind you.”
Sergio thought for a moment. “You know a lot about heists, right? Criminal element and all.”
“Kid, I wouldn’t even dream of touching the mint without calling the cops and telling them who all my accomplices are. The cops are corrupt and stupid, but they’re not that corrupt and stupid.” The old man said. “But if you wanna learn how to make a good scam on some wealthy fuckhead with too much money to keep, then I can definitely help you out.”
Sergio was silent, still pondering.
“Listen, kid. If it’s not just school debt, then that’s fine, you just gotta be honest with me. We’ve all had the trouble of dipping into our own supply and pissing off someone we really shouldn’t have. But believe me, if you keep thinking that you can just pay that debt off, you’re deluding yourself. If you’re that deep in the pit with someone like that, they’re not gonna stop coming after you ‘til you’re dead.”
Sergio laughed. “Knowing these people, they’ll keep coming after me even if I am dead. No, I’ve gotta pay this off. This isn’t some drug run gone bad, this is real finance— some of the most resourceful people in the world.”
Which was technically true, even though Sergio knew that the school was actually one of the most resourceful in multiple universes.
“You’re in some real deep shit, huh?” The old man said, and then whistled. “Y’know, I think the boss does have some people who can help you with that, but I gotta warn you, they’re not the nicest people.”
“I think I’m well past the point of dealing with nice people, believe me. You know what? Fuck it. I’ll take your offer— everyone can use an accountant, right? And you’ll keep them off my back for at least a little while. Might as well take charity wherever I can these days.”
The juke box shuddered to life, playing a rendition of I’m Waiting for the Man.
“And then, after I’ve done a good enough job to convince you I know what I’m doing, you and I are going to rob the mint.” Sergio said seriously. “And you and I are going to make enough money to live like kings.”
“Oh, of course. Well then, we might as well get to know each other better, seeing as how we’re now involved in a conspiracy together.” The old man extended his hand, smirking. “My name is Joao.”
“Pleased to meet you, Joao.” Sergio said. “You can call me Sergio.”