15.10 The Loremasters Guild.

You return home from the fields of battle once again, and slam the heavy oaken door shut behind you. Your gem-spangled robes whisper about you as you lean your staff of lore to one side, and sit before your desk of alchemy.

Pouring the last few drops of a sparkling potion down your throat, you rest the empty bottle in front of you on the desk. Reaching into the folds of your robes, you pull out a couple of pouches and begin to pour the spicy contents into the bottle, a s
mell of brimstone filling the air about you. Adding a drop or two of viscous essence, you smile wryly as the sparkling liquid reforms itself in the bottle.

You look beside you. A few delicate files lie in disarray, around a tiny, but magnificent silver rune, carved into the effigy of a tightly clenched fist. You hide the rune within the folds of your robe - one enemy will succumb to its mystical effects
tonight. You also pick up, and slip on a thin golden ring. It appears plain and simple, but only minutes before did you charge it with a powerful magical incantation to aid you in the face of adversity.

You stand, and leave the hall, the heat of the nearby furnace warming your skin briefly. Outside you hear the cries of the Thakrians for your name, for they need your assistance - they need a Loremaster.