Knobblyville University is very proud of the fact that they have a large number of well accredited profassurs among their staff. I don’t much like them. Their usually pompous and self involved and treat me like a peasant. There is only one profassur that I can really stand the sight of which is probably why he’s the one who comes to my HoK most often. I bet the other profassurs are always asking Cromvik to bring back their loans, ask their research questions and so on and so forth. I’m not sure how Cromvik thinks about that arrangement, but for me it works just fine. I only have to talk to the one profassur I like.
When I looked up from my reference desk yesterday to see Cromvik enter the HoK, a rare smile came to my lips. His bold features and charming smile were a welcome sight.
“Hi Venimalia,” he greeted me while pulling a form from his bag. “I’ve got a delivery for you.”
One glance at the form and I knew what kind of delivery it was. He had created a new level four stone. See, there are three common levels for memory stones: the easy to open first level that sport a blue color, level two stones for the medium magician in green, and the red level three stones that are hard to handle. Those three levels are shelved in my HoK and freely accessible. But there is the rare ability or piece of knowledge so powerful that it has to be put into a level four stone. Because of their great value and the enormous amount of magic locked inside them, these stones are kept in a vault specially designed for holding them.
Cromvik accompanied me to the heavy duty door that separated that section of the HoK from the rest. Only there, away from prying eyes, he took the iridescent black stone out of his bag. Even through it’s casing, I could feel the magic inside the stone pulsing.
I took the case carefully and left Cromvik to guard the door while I opened the vault with the magic spell only I know. I don’t trust anyone else to enter this special room.
Before I stepped inside, I put up a shield against the magic diffusing out of the stones in the room. Unfortunately, level four stones hold such great amounts of magic that some of it always escapes into the room around them. That is why I have to keep a power collector in the room at all times.
I put the new stone into a shelf and went over to look at the level of the power collector. It was almost full, so I took it with me to give to Cromvik. They can always use some extra magic at the university.
As I got to the door, I heard a loud yell and realized too late that it had come from Cromvik. He was shoved backwards by a strong ball of magic. When Cromvik crashed into me, I lost the grip on the power collector and fell, hitting my head on the stone floor. Through hazy eyes I saw the power collector had broken and tried to get my weary brain to channel the escaping magic.
I couldn’t do it, but Cromvik reacted quickly. He was back on his feet within seconds, channeling the magic from the power collector and hitting the attacker right in the centre of his chest. As hazy as my gaze was, I still saw the silver sheen on the attackers eyes before he went down. He was an Ishta, an imp who had taken to much magic and knowledge into his body, thereby frying his brain and getting addicted to magic.
Cromvik knelt down next to me and helped me sit up. “Are you alright? I…” His words faded away when he looked into my eyes. Most of the time I don’t care if anyone sees the silver flecks shading them, but for some reason it felt bad to have Cromvik know how close I was to becoming an Ishta myself.
When I looked up from my reference desk yesterday to see Cromvik enter the HoK, a rare smile came to my lips. His bold features and charming smile were a welcome sight.
“Hi Venimalia,” he greeted me while pulling a form from his bag. “I’ve got a delivery for you.”
One glance at the form and I knew what kind of delivery it was. He had created a new level four stone. See, there are three common levels for memory stones: the easy to open first level that sport a blue color, level two stones for the medium magician in green, and the red level three stones that are hard to handle. Those three levels are shelved in my HoK and freely accessible. But there is the rare ability or piece of knowledge so powerful that it has to be put into a level four stone. Because of their great value and the enormous amount of magic locked inside them, these stones are kept in a vault specially designed for holding them.
Cromvik accompanied me to the heavy duty door that separated that section of the HoK from the rest. Only there, away from prying eyes, he took the iridescent black stone out of his bag. Even through it’s casing, I could feel the magic inside the stone pulsing.
I took the case carefully and left Cromvik to guard the door while I opened the vault with the magic spell only I know. I don’t trust anyone else to enter this special room.
Before I stepped inside, I put up a shield against the magic diffusing out of the stones in the room. Unfortunately, level four stones hold such great amounts of magic that some of it always escapes into the room around them. That is why I have to keep a power collector in the room at all times.
I put the new stone into a shelf and went over to look at the level of the power collector. It was almost full, so I took it with me to give to Cromvik. They can always use some extra magic at the university.
As I got to the door, I heard a loud yell and realized too late that it had come from Cromvik. He was shoved backwards by a strong ball of magic. When Cromvik crashed into me, I lost the grip on the power collector and fell, hitting my head on the stone floor. Through hazy eyes I saw the power collector had broken and tried to get my weary brain to channel the escaping magic.
I couldn’t do it, but Cromvik reacted quickly. He was back on his feet within seconds, channeling the magic from the power collector and hitting the attacker right in the centre of his chest. As hazy as my gaze was, I still saw the silver sheen on the attackers eyes before he went down. He was an Ishta, an imp who had taken to much magic and knowledge into his body, thereby frying his brain and getting addicted to magic.
Cromvik knelt down next to me and helped me sit up. “Are you alright? I…” His words faded away when he looked into my eyes. Most of the time I don’t care if anyone sees the silver flecks shading them, but for some reason it felt bad to have Cromvik know how close I was to becoming an Ishta myself.
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