HOME | DD

Description
Carwyn wandered the market streets of Bellia, searching slowly through the many stalls and windows of the merchants for something that would catch his eye.  He had the beginnings of an idea that had been forming in his head over the past few days, one that he believed would help his travels out tremendously in the long run.  He had no idea where to begin, however, and so he had come ashore with the intention (besides getting off the boat, of which he was thoroughly tired of pacing) to find someone who could help him with what he wanted.

A particular shop window caught his eye, and he paused, staring through the glass at the assortment of objects on display on the other side.  There was a small black stone sculpture on a faded purple cushion that had been shaped into the image of a horse.  Although Carwyn was sure that the statue itself was immobile, the horse still seemed to move whenever his eyes were not directly on it.  Next to the horse on a flat mat that was likewise faded was a human skeletal hand that had been magically enchanted to perform small tasks such as writing and picking up small objects when commanded.  Next to that was a book whose pages flipped at the reader’s mental prompting, and a mug that would always refill with a specific type of alcohol whenever it became empty.  The objects were not arranged in any sort of order, and there did not seem to be any kind of specified branch to which the maker seemed to have adhered to.

Carwyn smiled and entered.  This was exactly the type of wild abandon that he would need for his dream to become a reality: Someone who could think outside of the box of specialization to which they had clung to their entire life.

Someone who had an imagination.

The shop’s interior was dimly lit, and had an eerily blue tint to it, the source of which Carwyn could not determine.  Two of the walls were lined with bookcases, some of which held books crammed onto their shelves haphazardly, but the majority of which held an odd assortment of small metal objects, bones of various sizes and shapes, and different types of dried plants.  Dusty tapestries hung from the ceiling seemingly at random, one covering one half of a bookcase, one hanging slightly to the left of the center of the room and covering nothing at all, another hiding one corner of the room, and yet another slung across one section of a wall.  Books were stacked to the ceiling in the three visible corners of the room, despite the fact that there was ample space on which to place them on the bookshelves, if the other objects were removed.  A desk piled high with loose papers and even more books was situated at the back of the room.  A black and white tabby cat slept precariously on top of the jumbled mess, while sounds of human snoring could be heard coming from somewhere off to the right, where only a tapestry hung.

Carwyn tiptoed through the room, afraid to make a loud noise lest the stacks of books come tumbling down on top of him.  He came to a halt in front of the wall of paper on top of the desk without incident, then stood staring up at the cat for what seemed like hours, when perhaps only one minute passed.  Convinced no one was going to notice him if he did not make himself known, he cleared his throat.

“Hello?” he called quietly.  He waited another minute, then called louder, then a third time when no one answered again.

“Hello!” Carwyn yelled, finally losing his patience and letting out a bellow that brought the cat yowling and spitting from its slumber and sent it flying into the corner hidden by the hanging tapestry, sending a cascade of papers sliding to the floor.  The sound of snoring was replaced by the sound of coughing, and soon later an old man with wild white hair and singed robes came stumbling out from behind the tapestry, which when flung aside revealed a jumbled and chaotic kitchen, with a single chair next to a small kitchen table under which the black and white cat now lurked, glaring angrily at Carwyn until the tapestry settled back into place.
“Sorry about that,” the man mumbled, appearing somewhat flustered and embarrassed.  He came to a halt in front of the desk, as he would be quite invisible if he were to go behind it, and began picking up the papers that had been knocked to the floor by the cat.  “I don’t get many visitors – I mean customers – these days.  I think I must have fallen asleep while I was having lunch, and I didn’t hear you come in.  This will just take a minute,” he finished quickly.  He muttered a short phrase, then waited as the rest of the papers that he had been unable to fit into his arms rose and resettled themselves on top of those already on the desk, making the whole stack wobble unsteadily.  The ones that he had picked up he carried to one of the corners and let fall to the floor, apparently in an attempt at making the stack on the desk somewhat smaller.  Wiping his hands absently on his already grimy robes, the man sauntered back to stand in front of Carwyn and the desk.

“What can I do for you?”

“I am looking to make something that will help me in my travels,” Carwyn explained.  “I have recently been traveling the land more than usual, and I wish to have a more convenient means of transportation than walking.”

“You could always ride…” the man suggested, but Carwyn shook his head.

“I want convenience.  I don’t want to worry about feeding a horse or having it wander off at night if I don’t tie it up properly.  I was thinking something a little less… alive… might be better.”

“That would certainly cut back on having to worry about feeding it,” the man agreed.  Rather than be put off by what Carwyn was suggesting, he seemed quite interested.  His eyes sparkled with curiosity, and his hair trembled slightly from suppressed excitement.  Carwyn smiled to himself, realizing he had chosen the perfect person for his proposal.

“I had a horse who died several years ago to whom I was rather attached,” Carwyn continued, beginning to pace in front of the excited storekeeper.  “Her name was Ayla.  If I could procure some of her remains, could you perhaps enchant them so that they could traverse the land once more?”

“That is an interesting proposition,” the man stated.  “I might be able to do what you ask.  I have to warn you, however, that it will most likely be rather…”

“Money is not an option,” Carwyn interrupted.

“Well, then, I shall begin researching it immediately,” the man said, smiling happily.  “If you would be so kind as to return in a few days, I should have the list of supplies that I shall need to complete the project.”
Carwyn nodded in understanding.  He then reached into one of the pockets in his loose-fitting, blue robes and brought out a small pouch of gold coins, which he gave to the old man.

“To start you off,” he explained, grinning.  The man grinned back, balancing the pouch in one hand to test its weight and nodding.  Carwyn moved to the store’s front, glancing over his shoulder as he exited to the street beyond to see the old man holding his singed robes up to his knees as he jigged a dance in front of the jumbled desk.  Carwyn started back to the inn he would be staying at with high spirits.

Four days later, Carwyn started back to revisit the old man in his dark and dusty little store, as he had promised.  He was passing through the area of the market devoted to weapons, both magical and mundane, on his way to the area set aside for the enchanters and inventors, when he spied Ingram perusing swords at a stand down a side street.  Curious, Carwyn diverted his initial course and strolled up to the happily whistling soldier.  Carwyn grinned, recognizing the obvious lighthearted and relaxed signs to mean that Ingram’s hand was on the mend.  His suspicions were confirmed as he watched Ingram give the stall vendor a bag of gold coins using the very hand that had been so twisted and deformed a few days ago.

“I see you’re cured!” Carwyn exclaimed, coming up behind the man and slapping Ingram on the back, causing the poor man to choke in surprise.

“Carwyn!  I didn’t see you come up,” Ingram managed.  He gave a nod of thanks to the street vendor, who nodded back, grinning, and ducked away into the depths of his stall.  Probably to gloat over the money that he had just made, Carwyn thought snidely.  Ingram, meanwhile, picked up the sword he had just purchased to strap it to his waste.

Carwyn’s attention was caught in an instant.  The blade was gorgeous, and had a magnificent sweep to it that made it more of a scimitar than the ordinary straight sword that was more common for soldiers.  There was an odd redish tint to the steel, and the hilt shone with a golden brilliance.

“That’s a beautiful blade you have there,” Carwyn complimented, to which Ingram grinned happily.

“I figured I deserved to treat myself to something nice, seeing as I can now wield one again,” he explained.  He clenched his right fist between them, showing off the way the muscles were aligned perfectly and the bones were in order once more.  Carwyn smiled, truly happy for the man. “The merchant said that the sword was brought in from the desert a few years ago by a traveling adventurer who said he found it in an abandoned temple of some sort.  It caught my eye in an instant, despite the fact that I’m more used to wielding a straighter blade.”

“Well congratulations, both on finding such a magnificent sword, and on being able to hold it again!” Carwyn slapped Ingram on the back again, and the two started up the side street together.

“You’ve been spending more time around Weigraf than I have,” said Carwyn.
“Have you heard anything about what’s supposed to be happening next?  Do you know where we’re going to be heading next?”

“I heard Weigraf and Garath discussing it the other day,” Ingram answered, and the two of them started up the side street to the more common market area.  Ingram followed Carwyn as the sorcerer continued on his way to his meeting with the old enchanter.  “Apparently, we are to travel with Weigraf back to Durien, where he will depart from our company to continue his recovery in his home city.  We will be free to either stay to be stationed in Durien until further notice, or we can travel again to Roma, where we will join the ranks of those who will be sent back up to Kirath to make sure no other… surprises… await for future plans of development.”

“I take it no one has been able to discover what those items we found really are?”
Carwyn asked.  He was very annoyed that he had not been able to determine the origins of the two items himself, but if even with the help of the Bellia library nothing had been learned, he did not feel quite as bad.

“No.  Alix, Piper, and Faringoth have had no luck finding information on the items in Bellia’s library,” Ingram answered.

They had reached the old man’s little shop, and Carwyn paused outside of it.  Ingram looked at him curiously.

“This is my stop,” Carwyn explained.  “I’ve had someone researching something for me, and I’m checking up on him.”

“Who did you find to do the research?”

“A kooky old man who is not afraid to stray into other fields of expertise,” Carwyn explained, opening the door and leading the way in.  Ingram followed.

The inside of the shop was just the way that Carwyn remembered it, except that the mess, if possible, seemed to have grown.  New piles of books had appeared in the corners, encroaching on the dwindling open area in the middle of the room.
The two men threaded their way through to the front of the desk, then stood glancing around the room, waiting to be noticed.  Carwyn was just beginning to think that he might have to resort back to yelling again when a fit of coughing from behind the tapestry in the corner stopped him.  A few seconds later, the tapestry lifted to reveal the old man, looking even more disheveled and dusty than ever, and carrying a huge open tome in front of his nose.  He shambled into the room, never raising his eyes from the pages of the book.

The man ambled over to one of the tapestries in front of one of the bookcases and muttered a short phrase.  The tapestry lifted of its own volition, revealing yet another room, this one filled to the ceiling with row upon row of bookshelves, all of which were crammed full of books and manuscripts.  The man was about to enter this new room when Carwyn cleared his throat loudly.  The man jumped and spun about, his eyes blinking furiously.

“Sorry, I’m afraid we’re closed,” he announced irritably.  “I am far too busy at the moment to be waiting on customers.  If you would be so good as to come back another day, that would be fantastic.  Now, run along.”

“Sir, I’m here to check up on how my project is coming along,” Carwyn reminded him.  The man stood blinking at him for several seconds before recognition dawned on his face.

“Oh, it’s you!  Well, I must say that it’s all coming along swimmingly!  There are a few items that will be required before anything can be done, though.  I’ve made a list.”  The man looked around hopelessly for a few seconds, apparently having forgotten where the list of components had wandered off to.

“Do you need help finding it?” Carwyn asked helpfully.

“Good gracious, no!  You have no idea where anything is,” the man chastised him.
“Hyzanthia!” he called.  “Hyzanthia, come here and help me find something!”
No one answered the man’s summons.  After a few minutes the man huffed and dropped the book he was holding unceremoniously on the floor.  He strode over to the tapestry in the corner and shifted the hanging to one side, pushing his head through to the room on the other side.

“Hyzanthia!” he screamed.  An angry yowl answered this time.  Soon the black and white cat from Carwyn’s first visit sauntered through the open doorway, past the old man’s feet and behind the overloaded desk.  A few seconds later the cat reappeared, holding a folded piece of paper lightly between its teeth.  It spat the paper at the old man’s feet, stared reproachfully back at Carwyn, then disappeared into the room in the corner again.  The man stooped to pick up the paper, dusted it off a bit, then handed it to Carwyn, who took it gingerly.

“I will need all of those things before commencing on the project,” he explained.    Carwyn nodded slowly.

“I think I will be able to find all of these,” he murmured.  “Granted, it will take a while to travel there and back again.”

“I haven’t moved from this shop for nearly forty years,” the old man remarked snidely.  “I’ll be here when you get back.”

“I suppose you will be,” Carwyn commented, smiling.  “And with that, good sir, I will take my leave.  I have much to do, and much to find.  Good day to you.”

“Don’t hesitate to stop in anytime,” called the man as Carwyn and Ingram exited his shop.

“Your new friend is rather… interesting,” Ingram remarked as they made their way back to Carwyn’s inn, The Rose and Hare.  Ingram had just been released from the healing wards of the Temple of Sianna, and was therefore looking for a place to stay for the night.  They would be setting out for Durien in a few days, a fact that Carwyn did not look forward to, as it meant more boat travel.

“He is that,” Carwyn agreed.  “I don’t think he gets that many visitors, the poor man.  He seems lonely.”

“I can’t imagine why no one would go to visit him,” Ingram muttered.  “The very air inside that shop was charged with magic.  It made me shiver.  No offense,” he added, remembering Carwyn’s occupation.

“None taken.  Magic isn’t for everybody.”

“There were so many books!  He must be mad, to have read so many.  It’s strange,” Ingram noted curiously.  “You don’t seem to need to read any books at all, and yet your magic is quite capable.  You saved my life, back in Kirath.  And you did it without books.”

“I don’t know where my magic comes from,” Carwyn explained.  “I’ve always been able to make light, and to detect magical auras, and to mend things with magic.  To me, it’s as natural as my skin.”

“I’ve never met anyone else who could do magic without the help of books, though.”

“Neither have I, to tell the truth.”

“It’s rare, then, to be able to do what you do without the help of books.”

“I guess it is,” said Carwyn.  They had reached the Rose and Hare by now, and were now standing in front of the inn’s open door.  Ingram entered to pay the innkeeper for the night, while Carwyn remained outside for a brief time, enjoying the sunlight and thinking on what Ingram had said.

It was true that he had never come across another person who could perform
magic without the help of books.  This did not mean that he had never read books, however.  One of the main reasons he had been chosen by the paladins to come on the journey to Kirath was that he had read many books of history.  He had read plenty of books that told of times when people who cast spells spontaneously, as he did, were more common.  It was said that these people had the blood of ancient supreme beings flowing through their veins, and that this blood enabled them to tap into their very souls in order to cast their magic, rather than the paper-dry pages of spellbooks that were used by most of the magic-casters these days.

Carwyn had always wondered if his ability to cast magic originated from the blood lineage of some extremely magical beast from far back in history, when such beings were also more common.  He had always been a little hesitant to look further into this possibility, slightly afraid of what he might find.  He had been content to remain in the store he owned in his small hometown of Bryn, helping the people there overcome sickness and malady for his living.  When the paladins had come to invite him on their quest to Kirath, he had been reluctant to leave.

Now, however, Carwyn had to stop and think.  Did he really want to travel all the way back to Bryn, to spend the rest of his days helping villagers, doing nothing more than tending a shop and a town that brought nothing but painful memories to him?  These past few months, when he had been traveling with Weigraf, Alix, Faringoth, Ingram, Piper, and even Krass, had made him feel alive for the first time that he could remember.  He had gone to the kooky old man because he wanted a more comfortable trip home… but he would have to travel halfway home and then come back to Bellia again for that to happen.  It would be easier for him just to go home, if home was really where Carwyn wanted to go now.

He was beginning to think that it was not.

He wanted to learn more about himself, and about the world around him.  His curiosity was what had driven him to the kooky old mage.  His curiosity was what was pushing him to continue on and go all the way back to Kirath, despite the fact that his contract with the paladins had effectively been terminated now that their first foray into Kirath had resulted in disaster.  He was too curious to be cooped up in a village until his dying breath.

“Looks like I’m in this for the long haul,” he muttered, before ducking into the Rose and Hare to join Ingram in a toast to the soldier’s fully recovered hand.

Description
Carwyn wandered the market streets of Bellia, searching slowly through the many stalls and windows of the merchants for something that would catch his eye.  He had the beginnings of an idea that had been forming in his head over the past few days, one that he believed would help his travels out tremendously in the long run.  He had no idea where to begin, however, and so he had come ashore with the intention (besides getting off the boat, of which he was thoroughly tired of pacing) to find someone who could help him with what he wanted.

A particular shop window caught his eye, and he paused, staring through the glass at the assortment of objects on display on the other side.  There was a small black stone sculpture on a faded purple cushion that had been shaped into the image of a horse.  Although Carwyn was sure that the statue itself was immobile, the horse still seemed to move whenever his eyes were not directly on it.  Next to the horse on a flat mat that was likewise faded was a human skeletal hand that had been magically enchanted to perform small tasks such as writing and picking up small objects when commanded.  Next to that was a book whose pages flipped at the reader’s mental prompting, and a mug that would always refill with a specific type of alcohol whenever it became empty.  The objects were not arranged in any sort of order, and there did not seem to be any kind of specified branch to which the maker seemed to have adhered to.

Carwyn smiled and entered.  This was exactly the type of wild abandon that he would need for his dream to become a reality: Someone who could think outside of the box of specialization to which they had clung to their entire life.

Someone who had an imagination.

The shop’s interior was dimly lit, and had an eerily blue tint to it, the source of which Carwyn could not determine.  Two of the walls were lined with bookcases, some of which held books crammed onto their shelves haphazardly, but the majority of which held an odd assortment of small metal objects, bones of various sizes and shapes, and different types of dried plants.  Dusty tapestries hung from the ceiling seemingly at random, one covering one half of a bookcase, one hanging slightly to the left of the center of the room and covering nothing at all, another hiding one corner of the room, and yet another slung across one section of a wall.  Books were stacked to the ceiling in the three visible corners of the room, despite the fact that there was ample space on which to place them on the bookshelves, if the other objects were removed.  A desk piled high with loose papers and even more books was situated at the back of the room.  A black and white tabby cat slept precariously on top of the jumbled mess, while sounds of human snoring could be heard coming from somewhere off to the right, where only a tapestry hung.

Carwyn tiptoed through the room, afraid to make a loud noise lest the stacks of books come tumbling down on top of him.  He came to a halt in front of the wall of paper on top of the desk without incident, then stood staring up at the cat for what seemed like hours, when perhaps only one minute passed.  Convinced no one was going to notice him if he did not make himself known, he cleared his throat.

“Hello?” he called quietly.  He waited another minute, then called louder, then a third time when no one answered again.

“Hello!” Carwyn yelled, finally losing his patience and letting out a bellow that brought the cat yowling and spitting from its slumber and sent it flying into the corner hidden by the hanging tapestry, sending a cascade of papers sliding to the floor.  The sound of snoring was replaced by the sound of coughing, and soon later an old man with wild white hair and singed robes came stumbling out from behind the tapestry, which when flung aside revealed a jumbled and chaotic kitchen, with a single chair next to a small kitchen table under which the black and white cat now lurked, glaring angrily at Carwyn until the tapestry settled back into place.
“Sorry about that,” the man mumbled, appearing somewhat flustered and embarrassed.  He came to a halt in front of the desk, as he would be quite invisible if he were to go behind it, and began picking up the papers that had been knocked to the floor by the cat.  “I don’t get many visitors – I mean customers – these days.  I think I must have fallen asleep while I was having lunch, and I didn’t hear you come in.  This will just take a minute,” he finished quickly.  He muttered a short phrase, then waited as the rest of the papers that he had been unable to fit into his arms rose and resettled themselves on top of those already on the desk, making the whole stack wobble unsteadily.  The ones that he had picked up he carried to one of the corners and let fall to the floor, apparently in an attempt at making the stack on the desk somewhat smaller.  Wiping his hands absently on his already grimy robes, the man sauntered back to stand in front of Carwyn and the desk.

“What can I do for you?”

“I am looking to make something that will help me in my travels,” Carwyn explained.  “I have recently been traveling the land more than usual, and I wish to have a more convenient means of transportation than walking.”

“You could always ride…” the man suggested, but Carwyn shook his head.

“I want convenience.  I don’t want to worry about feeding a horse or having it wander off at night if I don’t tie it up properly.  I was thinking something a little less… alive… might be better.”

“That would certainly cut back on having to worry about feeding it,” the man agreed.  Rather than be put off by what Carwyn was suggesting, he seemed quite interested.  His eyes sparkled with curiosity, and his hair trembled slightly from suppressed excitement.  Carwyn smiled to himself, realizing he had chosen the perfect person for his proposal.

“I had a horse who died several years ago to whom I was rather attached,” Carwyn continued, beginning to pace in front of the excited storekeeper.  “Her name was Ayla.  If I could procure some of her remains, could you perhaps enchant them so that they could traverse the land once more?”

“That is an interesting proposition,” the man stated.  “I might be able to do what you ask.  I have to warn you, however, that it will most likely be rather…”

“Money is not an option,” Carwyn interrupted.

“Well, then, I shall begin researching it immediately,” the man said, smiling happily.  “If you would be so kind as to return in a few days, I should have the list of supplies that I shall need to complete the project.”
Carwyn nodded in understanding.  He then reached into one of the pockets in his loose-fitting, blue robes and brought out a small pouch of gold coins, which he gave to the old man.

“To start you off,” he explained, grinning.  The man grinned back, balancing the pouch in one hand to test its weight and nodding.  Carwyn moved to the store’s front, glancing over his shoulder as he exited to the street beyond to see the old man holding his singed robes up to his knees as he jigged a dance in front of the jumbled desk.  Carwyn started back to the inn he would be staying at with high spirits.

Four days later, Carwyn started back to revisit the old man in his dark and dusty little store, as he had promised.  He was passing through the area of the market devoted to weapons, both magical and mundane, on his way to the area set aside for the enchanters and inventors, when he spied Ingram perusing swords at a stand down a side street.  Curious, Carwyn diverted his initial course and strolled up to the happily whistling soldier.  Carwyn grinned, recognizing the obvious lighthearted and relaxed signs to mean that Ingram’s hand was on the mend.  His suspicions were confirmed as he watched Ingram give the stall vendor a bag of gold coins using the very hand that had been so twisted and deformed a few days ago.

“I see you’re cured!” Carwyn exclaimed, coming up behind the man and slapping Ingram on the back, causing the poor man to choke in surprise.

“Carwyn!  I didn’t see you come up,” Ingram managed.  He gave a nod of thanks to the street vendor, who nodded back, grinning, and ducked away into the depths of his stall.  Probably to gloat over the money that he had just made, Carwyn thought snidely.  Ingram, meanwhile, picked up the sword he had just purchased to strap it to his waste.

Carwyn’s attention was caught in an instant.  The blade was gorgeous, and had a magnificent sweep to it that made it more of a scimitar than the ordinary straight sword that was more common for soldiers.  There was an odd redish tint to the steel, and the hilt shone with a golden brilliance.

“That’s a beautiful blade you have there,” Carwyn complimented, to which Ingram grinned happily.

“I figured I deserved to treat myself to something nice, seeing as I can now wield one again,” he explained.  He clenched his right fist between them, showing off the way the muscles were aligned perfectly and the bones were in order once more.  Carwyn smiled, truly happy for the man. “The merchant said that the sword was brought in from the desert a few years ago by a traveling adventurer who said he found it in an abandoned temple of some sort.  It caught my eye in an instant, despite the fact that I’m more used to wielding a straighter blade.”

“Well congratulations, both on finding such a magnificent sword, and on being able to hold it again!” Carwyn slapped Ingram on the back again, and the two started up the side street together.

“You’ve been spending more time around Weigraf than I have,” said Carwyn.
“Have you heard anything about what’s supposed to be happening next?  Do you know where we’re going to be heading next?”

“I heard Weigraf and Garath discussing it the other day,” Ingram answered, and the two of them started up the side street to the more common market area.  Ingram followed Carwyn as the sorcerer continued on his way to his meeting with the old enchanter.  “Apparently, we are to travel with Weigraf back to Durien, where he will depart from our company to continue his recovery in his home city.  We will be free to either stay to be stationed in Durien until further notice, or we can travel again to Roma, where we will join the ranks of those who will be sent back up to Kirath to make sure no other… surprises… await for future plans of development.”

“I take it no one has been able to discover what those items we found really are?”
Carwyn asked.  He was very annoyed that he had not been able to determine the origins of the two items himself, but if even with the help of the Bellia library nothing had been learned, he did not feel quite as bad.

“No.  Alix, Piper, and Faringoth have had no luck finding information on the items in Bellia’s library,” Ingram answered.

They had reached the old man’s little shop, and Carwyn paused outside of it.  Ingram looked at him curiously.

“This is my stop,” Carwyn explained.  “I’ve had someone researching something for me, and I’m checking up on him.”

“Who did you find to do the research?”

“A kooky old man who is not afraid to stray into other fields of expertise,” Carwyn explained, opening the door and leading the way in.  Ingram followed.

The inside of the shop was just the way that Carwyn remembered it, except that the mess, if possible, seemed to have grown.  New piles of books had appeared in the corners, encroaching on the dwindling open area in the middle of the room.
The two men threaded their way through to the front of the desk, then stood glancing around the room, waiting to be noticed.  Carwyn was just beginning to think that he might have to resort back to yelling again when a fit of coughing from behind the tapestry in the corner stopped him.  A few seconds later, the tapestry lifted to reveal the old man, looking even more disheveled and dusty than ever, and carrying a huge open tome in front of his nose.  He shambled into the room, never raising his eyes from the pages of the book.

The man ambled over to one of the tapestries in front of one of the bookcases and muttered a short phrase.  The tapestry lifted of its own volition, revealing yet another room, this one filled to the ceiling with row upon row of bookshelves, all of which were crammed full of books and manuscripts.  The man was about to enter this new room when Carwyn cleared his throat loudly.  The man jumped and spun about, his eyes blinking furiously.

“Sorry, I’m afraid we’re closed,” he announced irritably.  “I am far too busy at the moment to be waiting on customers.  If you would be so good as to come back another day, that would be fantastic.  Now, run along.”

“Sir, I’m here to check up on how my project is coming along,” Carwyn reminded him.  The man stood blinking at him for several seconds before recognition dawned on his face.

“Oh, it’s you!  Well, I must say that it’s all coming along swimmingly!  There are a few items that will be required before anything can be done, though.  I’ve made a list.”  The man looked around hopelessly for a few seconds, apparently having forgotten where the list of components had wandered off to.

“Do you need help finding it?” Carwyn asked helpfully.

“Good gracious, no!  You have no idea where anything is,” the man chastised him.
“Hyzanthia!” he called.  “Hyzanthia, come here and help me find something!”
No one answered the man’s summons.  After a few minutes the man huffed and dropped the book he was holding unceremoniously on the floor.  He strode over to the tapestry in the corner and shifted the hanging to one side, pushing his head through to the room on the other side.

“Hyzanthia!” he screamed.  An angry yowl answered this time.  Soon the black and white cat from Carwyn’s first visit sauntered through the open doorway, past the old man’s feet and behind the overloaded desk.  A few seconds later the cat reappeared, holding a folded piece of paper lightly between its teeth.  It spat the paper at the old man’s feet, stared reproachfully back at Carwyn, then disappeared into the room in the corner again.  The man stooped to pick up the paper, dusted it off a bit, then handed it to Carwyn, who took it gingerly.

“I will need all of those things before commencing on the project,” he explained.    Carwyn nodded slowly.

“I think I will be able to find all of these,” he murmured.  “Granted, it will take a while to travel there and back again.”

“I haven’t moved from this shop for nearly forty years,” the old man remarked snidely.  “I’ll be here when you get back.”

“I suppose you will be,” Carwyn commented, smiling.  “And with that, good sir, I will take my leave.  I have much to do, and much to find.  Good day to you.”

“Don’t hesitate to stop in anytime,” called the man as Carwyn and Ingram exited his shop.

“Your new friend is rather… interesting,” Ingram remarked as they made their way back to Carwyn’s inn, The Rose and Hare.  Ingram had just been released from the healing wards of the Temple of Sianna, and was therefore looking for a place to stay for the night.  They would be setting out for Durien in a few days, a fact that Carwyn did not look forward to, as it meant more boat travel.

“He is that,” Carwyn agreed.  “I don’t think he gets that many visitors, the poor man.  He seems lonely.”

“I can’t imagine why no one would go to visit him,” Ingram muttered.  “The very air inside that shop was charged with magic.  It made me shiver.  No offense,” he added, remembering Carwyn’s occupation.

“None taken.  Magic isn’t for everybody.”

“There were so many books!  He must be mad, to have read so many.  It’s strange,” Ingram noted curiously.  “You don’t seem to need to read any books at all, and yet your magic is quite capable.  You saved my life, back in Kirath.  And you did it without books.”

“I don’t know where my magic comes from,” Carwyn explained.  “I’ve always been able to make light, and to detect magical auras, and to mend things with magic.  To me, it’s as natural as my skin.”

“I’ve never met anyone else who could do magic without the help of books, though.”

“Neither have I, to tell the truth.”

“It’s rare, then, to be able to do what you do without the help of books.”

“I guess it is,” said Carwyn.  They had reached the Rose and Hare by now, and were now standing in front of the inn’s open door.  Ingram entered to pay the innkeeper for the night, while Carwyn remained outside for a brief time, enjoying the sunlight and thinking on what Ingram had said.

It was true that he had never come across another person who could perform
magic without the help of books.  This did not mean that he had never read books, however.  One of the main reasons he had been chosen by the paladins to come on the journey to Kirath was that he had read many books of history.  He had read plenty of books that told of times when people who cast spells spontaneously, as he did, were more common.  It was said that these people had the blood of ancient supreme beings flowing through their veins, and that this blood enabled them to tap into their very souls in order to cast their magic, rather than the paper-dry pages of spellbooks that were used by most of the magic-casters these days.

Carwyn had always wondered if his ability to cast magic originated from the blood lineage of some extremely magical beast from far back in history, when such beings were also more common.  He had always been a little hesitant to look further into this possibility, slightly afraid of what he might find.  He had been content to remain in the store he owned in his small hometown of Bryn, helping the people there overcome sickness and malady for his living.  When the paladins had come to invite him on their quest to Kirath, he had been reluctant to leave.

Now, however, Carwyn had to stop and think.  Did he really want to travel all the way back to Bryn, to spend the rest of his days helping villagers, doing nothing more than tending a shop and a town that brought nothing but painful memories to him?  These past few months, when he had been traveling with Weigraf, Alix, Faringoth, Ingram, Piper, and even Krass, had made him feel alive for the first time that he could remember.  He had gone to the kooky old man because he wanted a more comfortable trip home… but he would have to travel halfway home and then come back to Bellia again for that to happen.  It would be easier for him just to go home, if home was really where Carwyn wanted to go now.

He was beginning to think that it was not.

He wanted to learn more about himself, and about the world around him.  His curiosity was what had driven him to the kooky old mage.  His curiosity was what was pushing him to continue on and go all the way back to Kirath, despite the fact that his contract with the paladins had effectively been terminated now that their first foray into Kirath had resulted in disaster.  He was too curious to be cooped up in a village until his dying breath.

“Looks like I’m in this for the long haul,” he muttered, before ducking into the Rose and Hare to join Ingram in a toast to the soldier’s fully recovered hand.