Dear spellbook volume 1.., p.1
Dear Spellbook, Volume 1: Sorcerer - A Time Loop Progression Adventure, page 1
Dear Spellbook
Volume One: Sorcerer
Peter J. Lee
Thanks for checking out Dear Spellbook, Volume One: Sorcerer.
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This book is dedicated to Bologna and Papaya, without whom this book would have either been written much faster, or not at all.
Contents
Foreword
1. I think I’m an Adventurer
2. Dear Spellbook
3. Perplexed Polyglot
4. Again?
5. Kobolds
6. No Vacationsies
7. Have You Seen My Giant?
8. Clean at Last
9. Is This Dirt?
Supplemental Document #1
10. The Goat
11. Salvation
12. The First “Today”
13. Count Your Blessings
14. Memories
15. The Cure
16. The Report
17. Minions
18. Goblins
19. Bearskin
20. Benchmark
21. Sorry!
22. Excrement?
Supplemental Document #2
23. Mysteries
24. Will Poisoning
25. The Fall of Landing
26. Debted
27. Revenge is Okay Warm
28. Breadth-First
Supplemental Document #3
29. Love-Struck
30. A Second Chance
31. The Best Defense
32. Infiltration
33. Preparation
34. Hunted
35. Descent
36. Stone Eyes
37. Teshiv
38. Downtime
39. Murder Most Accidental
Supplemental Document #4
40. Ensouled Artifacts
41. Death and the Door
Supplemental Document #5
Author’s Note
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Foreword
Dear whoever you are,
If you are reading this, then I am dead.
Probably.
I suppose it’s possible that you—whoever you are—acquired this book prior to my death, but that seems unlikely. Let’s just assume I’m dead. I hope you didn’t kill me, but I’ll have to trust Spellbook’s judgment if you did. Maybe I deserved it.
Anyway, I’m probably dead, and you’re the new owner of this book. Probably. Treat it well, and it will return the favor. It has saved my life more times than I can count and—if I’m not being modest—has even helped me save Basin a time or two.
I’ve used this book as a spellbook, notebook, research journal, and confidant on my journeys. I considered having Spellbook erase my writings upon my death to keep the more embarrassing tidbits and more powerful discoveries secret. But if you’re reading this, obviously I didn’t do that—or my commands don’t persist past my own final death. I should find a way to test that…
In the end, I decided I needed to trust Spellbook’s judgment. If it thinks you are worthy of Bonding with it, then I should trust it and not fear you would use my knowledge for ill. This book’s previous owner was far more selective than I when it came to writing in these pages, and I can’t help wondering how many lives I could have saved if he’d been less miserly with his secrets.
In this book, you will find the sum total of my life’s study and a recounting of my adventures, along with any work of note I let the book absorb and some recollections of events that were recorded at my request. I’ve shared most of my discoveries with the world for the betterment of all, but many more were kept secret for the world’s sake. Maybe I should have torn those pages from the book to prevent the possibility of them getting out. But, be it hubris or foresight, I couldn’t bring myself to destroy the knowledge. If it fell into the wrong hands, it would lead to mass destruction, but in the right hands, that same information could save lives in the fight against a great evil. In the end, my scholar’s heart won out, and I couldn’t bear to see the knowledge lost.
Please be mindful of which secrets you reveal. I can’t stop you from doing anything—I’m probably dead—but I beg that you read the sum of my entries before sharing any of my discoveries. I hope that once you have seen the dangers of the world as I have seen them, you, in turn, will learn that not all knowledge is meant to be shared.
In anticipation of this, I have gone through my entries and prepared them for eyes other than my own. I never redacted, despite the temptation in regards to some of the more embarrassing moments, but instead added some annotations where Spellbook exhibited one of its abilities and reordered some of the entries for a “more compelling narrative,” as one of my companions would put it. I’m sure from reading you will quickly guess who I mean.
No matter how you choose to use this book and the secrets within, I am confident Spellbook will be an invaluable asset in your endeavors. I used it differently from its previous owner, and I suspect you too will find new ways for Spellbook to aid you. Over the years, I tried to train it to be more intuitive to use, so hopefully your journey through its pages will involve less fumbling than my own.
-Tal
Spellbook, show this page first to the next person you Bond with.
I think I’m an Adventurer
Entry 1, Riloth 13th
We pitched our mounts out in a meadow
To find they were gone on the ‘morrow
Distraught from the loss,
Daulf asked, “Who had watch?”
And then saw the mage asleep under a bough
That needs work. Why am I doing this?
Gods I’m bored. Riloth save me from this tedium. If I have to feign studying this spellbook one more night, I’m going to lose my mind. I’ve spent the last two weeks pretending to copy my “spells” into this bulky monstrosity, and now I’m just staring at the gibberish in it and penning limericks.
Maybe I should journal. I had a research journal until a few months back, but I don’t exactly have a library at hand to continue my work. I suppose I could call it “field research.” I have encountered a lot of… unusual things of late.
I’ve been risking my life with these insane adventurers for two months now. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve almost died. Less than ten, but definitely more than four. It’s hard to believe it’s already been two months. Living under the constant threat of execution punctuated with moments of intense terror really makes the time fly.
How is this my life now?
Despite the fact that I’m on what could generally be defined as an “adventure,” I am not an adventurer. I happen to be traveling with adventurers, but we’re nothing alike—they’re insane! I’m just a sorcerer masquerading as a wizard in search of answers about his parents’ mysterious death.
Flood.
I think I’m an adventurer.
Well, that gives me a topic to write about, I suppose. Riloth, my father would be so disappointed. Mother would be proud, though.
Should I start at the beginning? No… I’m not ready to recount that night. Speaking of beginnings, I wish I could start at the beginning of this book. I tried taking the binding apart and removing all the pages of gibberish in the front, but the next morning they had returned.
Stupid magic spellbook with no spells in it.
I wish I could at least get them to move to the back of the book.
Future Tal note: Hey, sorry to interrupt my past self’s pity party. Bear with him, he gets better. This is future-probably-dead Tal. Sometimes Spellbook did some weird magic stuff while I was writing in it. I didn’t always write out an explanation of what had just happened because… why would I? So, in consideration of whoever found Spellbook after my possibly tragic possible death, I added in some notes to help you understand the context of some of the things I didn’t comment on at the time. Here’s the first one. You can tell they’re notes because they’re written like this, not like this.
Note: The pages of the book began to rustle as if blown by the wind. When they settled, the first page contained the sheet I’d been writing on.
What in Riloth’s name was that? Can this book understand me? I guess it is magical after all…
The book is still rather large… Hey… book… Can you make those pages disappear?
Note: The book shrank before my eyes as the pages at the bottom disappeared, leaving the book at half its original thickness. The binding also s
Wow. That’s handy. If more books were like this, my father would be out of work. Who needs a bookbinder when the books bind themselves?
Can you make those pages come back?
Note: The book returned to its original thickness.
Get rid of those pages again.
Note: The book shrank once again.
While you’re at it, can you be a bit smaller?
Note: The book dwindled from an unwieldy twenty-inch square to a more manageable eleven by eight-inch notebook.
Much better.
Amazing, the text resized to fit the pages too.
Can you answer questions? Are you sentient? Sapient?
Nothing. Okay, that’s a no, but maybe you’re just shy. I’m going to hedge and say shy. Should I call you something? You need a name. You probably have a name. What’s your name?
Looks like it’s up to me.
What name do you give a spellbook? Grimoire? Paige?
No, that’s terrible.
Spellbook? Can I call you Spellbook? Spellbook it is.
I’m Tal, but I’ve been going by Apprentice Stormcaller Theral Elmheart. I know, it’s a mouthful and hand-cramp-inducing to write. Call me Tal, if you can write back. Tal Binder. Binder wasn’t our real family name, we didn’t have one, but… that’s odd. I’d never considered that before.
I recall asking my father what our last name was, but he said not to worry about it and… I just let it go. That is very unlike me. How has this never occurred to me until now?
There’s nothing I can do about that now. Hopefully, if I find out who my parents were going to meet, they will have the answers I seek.
Let’s start over.
Get rid of all those doodles and limericks I wrote.
Note: A dozen pages disappeared.
Dear Spellbook
Entry 1: Riloth 13th (continued)
Dear Spellbook,
So, to begin again, I’m Tal, not Apprentice Stormcaller Theral Elmheart, and—if I am being honest with myself—I think I might be an adventurer.
And, if being honest is what I’m doing when I write in you, I should probably confess that I am a sorcerer. And also, technically, a wizard. And if I’m being technical and honest, the Apprentice Stormcaller title is only mostly true.
My mother is—was—a Journeyman Stormcaller before she was cast out from her ship clan. Fauell, it’s still so easy to forget that they’re gone.
This is dangerous… I should erase that. But it would be hard to keep an accurate account while constantly worrying about revealing too much. How about…
If anyone besides me opens this book, hide everything I’ve written and only show the gibberish text.
I’ll need to test that with Trish later.
As I was saying, I probably shouldn’t write this down, but hopefully you can keep a secret.
The Stormcallers are all sorcerers as well as wizards. Maybe the Tower knows, but if they do, they’re exhibiting a lot of self-control. Ostensibly, the Tower’s remit is to hunt down dragon-blooded sorcerers, but they haven’t shown themselves to be too concerned with that distinction. If they know the Stormcallers are sorcerers, they certainly don’t know that dragon-blooded sorcerers are among their ranks. I don’t see how they’d resist.
I suspect if one of their Seekers found out I was a sorcerer, they wouldn’t ask too many questions before drowning me in the nearest creek, horse trough, bucket, or deep puddle in a pinch. That’s why I’m carrying you around, actually. To keep up the ruse that I need to review a spellbook each night like a regular wizard.
It takes a lot more than a fake spellbook to fool a Seeker, especially since some can literally smell untruths, but it does the job to deter the casual bigot. When they witness magic, they just look for a spellbook and move on if you have one—or gather a posse if you don’t. Luckily for me, no one would dare actually look in a wizard’s spellbook to confirm that it wasn’t a bunch of doodles and to-do lists. If I was actually a wizard—a wizard of the Tower—I’d have the right to kill them on the spot for snooping. Well, “right” isn’t the best term. Let’s just say if a wizard killed an overly curious villager, no one is going to bring the case to the attention of any ruling body.
Sometimes I wish I was a real wizard. Then I could learn a useful spell like Clean. Instead, I spontaneously manifest new spells in life-or-death situations. Sure, it’s useful, but that kind of danger doesn’t come up every day—unlike getting covered in road dust. Don’t even get me started about doing one’s laundry in a stream. I want to learn Clean.
Note: Ink began to appear on the paper, quickly settling into a complicated geometric pattern inset in a circle that filled the page.
What is this? Is this a spellform? Why did you show—is this Clean?
Why do I keep asking you questions?
Do you have more hidden? You are a spellbook. I should have thought of this as soon as I made those pages disappear.
Show me all your spells.
Note: Spellforms accompanied by text in the same unknown language appeared on dozens of pages. The ink seeped from the pages like blood from a wound and raced across the page, leaving characters and symbols in its wake.
Amazing.
I can’t understand any of it, but still. Any book with this many spellforms is a priceless treasure.
On the other hand, this is another reason for the Tower to want me dead.
Great.
Hmm, does that language explain how these spells work? If I translate it, could I learn how to cast them? Decoding languages is something I am very well-equipped to do. I need to find a library.
My mother never saw a spellform in her training, but she knew enough to describe them to me in case I should ever find one. Maybe if I find one for a wizard spell I know, I could reverse engineer it.
Show me the spellform for Light.
Note: A spellform appeared on the next page.
Well, this changes things.
Perplexed Polyglot
Entry 2: Riloth 14th
Dear Spellbook,
I am exhausted. I can’t wait to get to town and sleep inside. I stayed up way too late trying to decipher that Light spellform you showed me and wound up with nothing for my efforts.
Maybe I was being big-headed, but I really thought I’d be able to figure it out. Until now, the main thing holding back my wizardry had been a lack of capable wizards or spellbooks from which to learn.
I really thought I could do it. Maybe I need to decipher that language. While my father would be ashamed of my role in recent events, he might approve of that. You see, while I am a sorcerer by blood, by training I am a researcher—but that may run in my blood a little too. Before I was on this adventure, I traveled across Basin with my parents.
Tamyl, my father, was an itinerant scholar. His life’s work was to unravel the history of the pre-Flood world, but I never saw him pass up a chance to investigate any mystery he came across. I definitely inherited that from him. Actually, I inherited most things from him. If I wasn’t also a sorcerer, I’d doubt my mother had anything to do with my birth.
