Nereus gently traced his fingers over the ancient paper of the tome spread before him. The brittle fibers hungrily absorbed the oily residue from the mage’s fingertips. Almost lovingly, he outlined individual letters that formed words, then sentences, which in their hermetic double meanings whispered secrets of arcane knowledge. Fiery lions and golden maidens populated the cryptic illustrations, challenging only an initiated mind to decode them.
To Nereus, they were nothing less than cerebral walls, obstacles meant to be breached by an alert mind. In their own way, they were harder to conquer than any stone fortress. The ancient material, touched by his fingers, was beginning to change, with some fibers turning brittle and blurring the writing, while other parts yielded their pigment to his touch. Whatever happened, this ancient book’s wisdom would be safeguarded by his actions. Distorted, hidden, and rendered unreadable—yet, in principle, still present. Even the most astute orc would fail to breach this kind of fortress and claim its secrets.
Sure, he could have burned the book. What would have been easier? To deny knowledge by destroying it completely. Simple and effective—the narrow-minded approach. Only someone who didn’t respect the effort it took to extract even the smallest fraction from the great river of knowledge would resort to such means. This book was a vessel, a container for wisdom—and what, after all, was a mage?
How he wished to be so well-protected himself. But Vengard’s walls couldn’t provide that kind of security. His fellow mages were busily preparing the city’s defenses, with Archmage Karrypto gathering everything needed to erect a magical barrier. This barrier was meant to make the city an untouchable island in the orc-infested sea, perhaps even a saving raft. Nereus contributed only what was necessary; he had little faith in the wall’s promise. After all, it wasn’t the first time he’d been offered a magical barrier as protection against annihilation.
Nereus had devoted his life as a mage to absorbing more knowledge, no matter how deep he had to dive to find it. Some of his brothers thought as he did, while others adhered more strictly to the Order’s rules. Nereus was always seen as a bit of an outsider among the followers of Innos. Only his venerable mentor, Catmaol, linked him to his fellow mages. The old man shared Nereus’s taste for forbidden knowledge, and together they explored the darker sides of magic. Both Catmaol and Nereus came under suspicion of heresy, and at one point, the Council debated sending them to reinforce their brothers trapped within the Barrier. Times had grown so dire that even flawed vessels were not to be broken but repurposed.
But fate intervened. Catmaol passed away before the journey could commence and was interred in Vengard’s crypt. After the ceremony, circumstances changed, and a journey was no longer necessary. Instead, Nereus found himself under the watchful eye of Archmage Karrypto, tasked with predicting the enemy’s magical capabilities and devising preemptive countermeasures. It was a solitary duty, far from his brothers who dealt with more practical concerns. Nereus didn’t mind; he rarely had to answer to Karrypto, who was preoccupied with the king.
Gradually, Nereus immersed himself in Vengard, approaching it as he would any text. Towers and ramparts became phrases in his mind, walls and gates expressions of intent. The city’s streets turned into phrases in a language of holding, giving, and reclaiming. It was a hypothetical duel, assuming that the enemy was also preparing to wage it. Where axes and swords would clash, shamans would cast their spells, and the mages would have to counter. In other places, unspeakable forces had already been unleashed without encountering proper resistance.
Nereus sank deeper into the city, this tome of earth, stone, and steel. Night after night, with the help of forbidden knowledge, he shed his physical shell to explore every hidden corner. In one such corner, he eventually found a weakness—one he discovered during an ethereal conversation with the silent remains of Catmaol. The most familiar places are often the ones that surprise you. The sight of the ordinary obscures what is not already expected. There, among the hallowed dead, a tunnel led from beneath the city’s sanctum straight to the seat of power. He had found the weak point that had to be sealed, and he would handle it in his own way.
For hours, Nereus carefully tattooed pigments into his own skin, his arms becoming the parchment for the spells. He felt himself becoming more and more like the tome. He paid no attention to the commotion around him. The drums thundered over the city walls like a storm, but he didn’t hear them. His brothers rushed up to the tower; he kept out of their way. None of them noticed as he slipped into the cellar, a determined gaze in his eyes and a bundle over his shoulder.
In those corridors, he would transform, just as the writing had under his hands. There, in the depths, Mage Nereus would fulfill his duty—securing the city, distorted and unrecognizable, out of life yet still present.
Author: HerrFenrisWolf