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His meeting with Isla had been productive in a number of ways. He’d gained a friend who was also a healer, made plans to meet her again, and to begin learning a bit of hands-on medicine of his own – something he rationally knew was wise, but emotionally struggled with, as it meant a resumption of responsibilities he’d been running from for several years. Too long? Perhaps. But in the meantime there were other things to consider.
The dangers of Caido had largely passed him by in his first few weeks, give or take the gourds of unusual ferocity. Isla had warned him of a particularly interesting beastie, though – a demon, or something similar, that guarded the strange obsidian spire at the center of their little world. Jigano had instinctively given the place a wide berth without questioning his impulses to first explore the edges of the barrier and the dwellings and buildings of civilization he could find, but now his curiosity was scratching at the back of his thoughts, insistent and driving.
The notice board had said to stay away, that the beast was extremely dangerous, and while he was occasionally a fool, the bard tried not to be stupid. Before he went to attempt a personal reconnaissance he wanted to see what he could find in the Atheneum’s extensive depths. He was working on several of the languages in the books he’d found, some of which he could read, others of which he was puzzling through with frustrating slowness, relying on books that had pictures – like the little herbal Samuel had shown him – to begin sorting out concepts. Words. Basic letters, in some cases.
He hoped information on the spire demon would have been written by a native, in a common tongue he could understand, but if he had to rely on pictures he would. First, though, he had to find such a book, and that was proving a far more daunting task. Thinking he was alone he let his usually-amiable mask slip, scowling at the shelf in front of him as he raised his covered lantern to peer at the spines in increasing frustration.
”Why the hell, in all these years, has no one organized this damn place?”
His meeting with Isla had been productive in a number of ways. He’d gained a friend who was also a healer, made plans to meet her again, and to begin learning a bit of hands-on medicine of his own – something he rationally knew was wise, but emotionally struggled with, as it meant a resumption of responsibilities he’d been running from for several years. Too long? Perhaps. But in the meantime there were other things to consider.
The dangers of Caido had largely passed him by in his first few weeks, give or take the gourds of unusual ferocity. Isla had warned him of a particularly interesting beastie, though – a demon, or something similar, that guarded the strange obsidian spire at the center of their little world. Jigano had instinctively given the place a wide berth without questioning his impulses to first explore the edges of the barrier and the dwellings and buildings of civilization he could find, but now his curiosity was scratching at the back of his thoughts, insistent and driving.
The notice board had said to stay away, that the beast was extremely dangerous, and while he was occasionally a fool, the bard tried not to be stupid. Before he went to attempt a personal reconnaissance he wanted to see what he could find in the Atheneum’s extensive depths. He was working on several of the languages in the books he’d found, some of which he could read, others of which he was puzzling through with frustrating slowness, relying on books that had pictures – like the little herbal Samuel had shown him – to begin sorting out concepts. Words. Basic letters, in some cases.
He hoped information on the spire demon would have been written by a native, in a common tongue he could understand, but if he had to rely on pictures he would. First, though, he had to find such a book, and that was proving a far more daunting task. Thinking he was alone he let his usually-amiable mask slip, scowling at the shelf in front of him as he raised his covered lantern to peer at the spines in increasing frustration.
”Why the hell, in all these years, has no one organized this damn place?”
