“We cling to the primitive notion of physical might as a means for enforcing our will upon Telara. We hide behind our warriors to shield us from our enemies. We are fools, blinded by our traditions. Knowledge is the only tool we need, knowledge of magic.”

Voradrin closed the ancient tome and carefully put it back in its place in the Library of the Runemasters and pondered the words of the sage. “A bit arrogant,” he thought, “Especially since he never wrote down these spells that would make one as tough as a knight in their armor.” As his mind pondered the various runic equations, he wandered back to his desk to grab some parchment to jot them down. As he rounded the stairs he tripped over the little corgi dog that stood in the stairwell.

“What are you doing here boy?” Voradrin asked, scratching the dogs head behind the ears. “Dogs aren’t allowed in the library.”

The dog seemed to glow brighter and grow larger as the dwarven mage looked at him. The little dog now towered over him, and yapped. The foundations of the library shook.

“Voradrin, Arbiter of the Runemasters, build me an Athenaeum so that the knowledge of my people will survive the coming troubles.”

Voradrin lay down upon the marble floor, he dared not look upon the manifestation. He had read extensively the fates of mortals that gaze upon the divine. Although it now occurred to him a spell that could bolster his fragile endurance. “Next time,” he said to himself, “next time I get a divine audience I’ll be prepared.”

“As you will mighty Bahralt! But this library is within the very heart of Hammerknell, what could happen to it?”

But when he looked up there was no glowing giant corgi, not even the more traditional kingly dwarf, just a dark library, and he was at the bottom of the stairs, his nose bent out of shape, with a little blood. “Yes, one could definitely craft a spell or two to increase the density of the flesh. That should make a good side project as I build this secret library.”

–

“We must strike quickly,” hissed the dwarven mason, placing down her tools and pulling an Abyssal mask over her face. “But the Arbiter is a mage, we will only need seconds to drop him.” Her conspirators nodded in agreement and cloaked themselves in darkness they waited to strike. The Athenaeum must not be completed, the insane dreams they shared were insistent; the knowledge of the ancients must not survive.

The assassins leapt upon and surrounded the old scholar. The Abyssal mason plunged her dagger into his back and whispered “Hammerknell will fall Arbiter! And your knowledge will be forgotten.”

“I believe you have bent your dagger.” Voradrin chuckled.

The assassin looked down in horror, her weapon was indeed bent, icy crystals clung to it. But it wasn’t broken, and there was still time to finish this mage.

She lunged again at the mage and a gust of wind tossed her aside. One of her minions swung his club at the old man’s head, the wood shattered on contact, and the mage countered with his staff, electrocuting the cultist.

“I can hold off these ruffians for a little while longer, but I am being assaulted! Some help would be appreciated!” shouted Voradrin.

The assassin leaped back and assessed the situation. “Change of plans, kill the help!” The abyssal cultists sprinted towards the other mages, who were
paralyzed with indecision on whether to assist their Arbiter, or handle the cultist themselves. This indecision was broken in a gust of wind and crackle of electricity.

“No, you will not. You will face me, only me. I’ve spent my life building this Athenaeum to safeguard the knowledge of the ancients. You’ll not murder my staff before my work begins.”

The Abyssal cultists struggled, but the wind and lighting were leading them inexorably back to the Arbiter. They scrambled desperately against the pull, and then realized there was no escaping it. They launched themselves against Voradin, intending to smother him with their numbers. They bounced off the old dwarf, who was as cold and immobile as a block of ice.

The other sages, freed from threat of attack, unleashed their most powerful spells, magical bolts blazed down the hallway, illuminating the new marble. The Abyssal assassins fell quickly to the combined might of the scholars.

“How will we finish the Athenaeum without the masons?” Asked Aleksei the Chloromancer.

“Knowledge is the only tool we need, knowledge of magic.” Replied Voradrin