Burning the midnight oil.

I hear the song of the celestial heavens, and the music is cacophonous.

“Kiddo,” John recognized the familiar voice as he lay on an uncomfortable stone floor. “C’mon, kiddo. Rise and shine.” He opened his eyes to look up into a pair as pale as the full moon and a face he almost knew way too close to his own.

Panicked, he scrambled backwards from the owner, a kneeling man in an archaic suit with dark skin. Once there were a few feet of distance between them, John recognized him as Solomon, the self-proclaimed mentor he’d encountered two nights before. The name clicked into place, a missing piece to a puzzle he’d only just discovered.

John relaxed, leaning backwards to rest his weight on his outstretched arm… which set down onto empty air. He tried to throw himself forward, to catch the edge of the platform as he tumbled over it but to no avail. All he could do was barely manage not to scream as the stars below approached at increasing speed.

He fell into and through the field of brilliant pinpoints, miniature stars streaming around his body like a flow of fireflies. Well, if this was how he died… at least it’d be pretty. As a dozen flickered past, he tried to reach out and grab one, only to have it slip through his fingers and out of arm’s reach in an instant. They were just a bit too far away now, forming a shimmering sky above… and around…

Seconds later, he landed with a painless thud back on the platform.

“If you’re finished using my home as a playground…” Solomon said with a soft sigh, “perhaps we can begin?” The elder magus snapped his fingers, and a translucent wall momentarily flickered along the edges of the onyx stone.

John pushed himself up and looked over at Solomon. It wasn’t possible that he could have just forgotten someone that looked so unique, was it? He had to know why, “Hang on a second, I have a few questions first.”

“Oh? What is it, kiddo?”

“Yesterday, when I woke up, I couldn’t remember you at all, just the things you taught me. Why?”

There was a moment of silence as the tall man stared past him and out at the sphere of stars. He closed his eyes and sighed softly, “Of course. I should have told you. Forgive me, it’s a… sensitive topic.”

“What is?” John demanded.

“I’m cursed,” Solomon said bluntly, though he held out a hand in a placating gesture. “Ah, don’t worry, kiddo. It isn’t contagious.” He chuckled, a grim mockery of laughter that echoed with deeply held pain.

“I’ve been around a long, long time… and you’ll find that as the years pass you accumulate both companions... and enemies. The latter of whom were quite dedicated to killing me, if not for a slight complication; I’m immortal,” the man paused and looked back at John with a hint of a smile. “A puzzle for you: Consider someone you cannot stab, shoot or otherwise injure, and who will outlive you by a thousand years. How would you deal with such a foe?”

John thought about the question. There was a clear answer, but it felt too simple, “Imprison them?”

“Correct. However, as always, the devil is in the details. You see, I am a patient man. I will outlast the walls and bars of any cell and have no need to breathe or eat. So, my enemies were **** to get creative, and I must say… I do admire their handiwork.” The smile spread across Solomon’s face at a distant memory, and he continued, “Outside of this, my workshop, any concept of who I am is erased. Neither you nor anyone else can remember my name or face, and even I would lose any sense of who I was. That’s my curse, kiddo. I don’t exist.”

The idea took a few seconds to set in, and the implications were terrifying. John couldn’t even begin to parse what it’d be like to live with that sort of weight on his shoulders… Yet, it also planted suspicion in his mind, “What do you want with me then, to help free you?”

Solomon looked at him and raised an eyebrow with amusement, “Honestly, you couldn’t. You’ve got potential, but it would take centuries of polish to even begin to unravel my affliction, and trust me… I’ve spent longer than that at it.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I got bored, kiddo,” Solomon’s answer wasn’t anything like what John was expecting. “The first hundred years were manageable enough, but eventually, you come to crave social interaction. More than that, I simply loathe the idea of my knowledge being forgotten too.” There was a tension to Solomon’s voice, and John could feel the frustration in his words.

“Enough ancient history for now. You finished your homework, and that deserves a reward,” the elder magus gestured in John’s direction, and his Progress Screen involuntarily opened, scrolling to the quest his ‘mentor’ had assigned on Monday night. The window expanded into a reward-selection screen.

Everwarm: This item exudes a comforting heat in even the coldest of places.

Kindling of Souls: Once per day, the Ember may be ignited, purging all impairment effects and burning for a number of rounds equal to your character level. While burning, you gain a 50% reduction to the duration and potency of impairment effects.

Impairment:
Status conditions such as immobilization, stuns and mind control that deprive the Gamer of the use of his body.

Soulfire: This attack deals damage in the form of mana drain, or 50% physical damage to targets with an empty mana pool. If the target has no mana pool, this attack deals no damage.

John considered each option, balancing them against each other and came to a decisive and clear decision. More than increased health or another powerful spell, what he needed most right now was more mana. He selected the Boon of the Arcane.

Immediately, his fingers began to glow, then his hands and arms. Power surged within John, as though he were reaching inwards, into a deep, deep wellspring of energy. For an instant, he felt like a god. Electricity crackled at his fingertips, fire rolled along his cheeks, his breath crystallized into volatile ice; then, it was gone.

He let out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding.

Solomon seemed pleased, congratulating him with, “Good choice, kiddo. You’ll be a proper mage in no time.”

John replied with a silent nod, his mind still caught in that momentary taste of true power he’d just experienced. Though it was gone now, if he concentrated, he could still feel the wellspring within, only… he could barely brush his fingers across its surface now.

“So, you read through The Master and Margaritas. What did you think?”

The change in topic threw John off-guard, and he needed a minute to recollect his thoughts. Eventually, he settled for, “It was interesting. Confusing, but interesting.”

“Indeed, the story of a brutally oppressive regime retold through fantastical impossibility! Ah, but… that ship has sailed. The Soviet Union is no more and, regardless, has no place in this lesson,” Solomon began to pace as he spoke, walking back and forth with slow, measured strides. “Ignoring the theological aspect of the situation, what would you say about Bulgakov’s presentation of Pontius Pilate’s dilemma?”

“You mean to have Jesus executed?”

Solomon nodded, “Yes, but more specifically, to do so despite a certainty he was innocent. Should Pilate, knowing his own actions were wrong and possessing the power and influence to change them, have intervened?”

John considered the question. It was unconscionable to send an innocent to the slaughter, wasn’t it? “It was wrong,” he answered, but with hesitation.

“So, you would stand against the law, against the Emperor to impose your own will in his place?” One of the stars behind Solomon streaked down the faux sky, disappearing underneath the platform. He spoke again, voice booming, “And what, then, would become of Rome?”

With a wave of an imperious hand, images appeared on the rock they stood on, flashing for only seconds before being replaced. Riots, ****, looting, buildings burning. Lawlessness. The uncertainty in John’s heart grew.

“What is one life against the sanctity of the law?” asked Solomon.

“Or…” now his voice was humble but sharp, “how can there be a ‘greater good’ if innocents still die? Is there really any such justification?”

New images appeared: money changing hands, men and women of color in chains, silhouettes smoking cigars while discussing the fate of the world. Abuses of power and people choosing cowardice or self-interest when faced with it. John watched in silence.

“Kiddo, I’ve lived longer than you can imagine, and here’s the truth. There is no answer to that question, because it’s a matter of perspective,” Solomon’s usual quiet tone cut through the slideshow, and the stone went black once more. The elder man looked at John with an expression of sorrow, “Everyone thinks they are doing what is right,” he began, “assuming their cause is just and their ideals pure. That’s a fallacy.

“There is no arbitrator of intent, no singular metric to which actions can be held. Ask Hell what they think of Heaven, ask Loki what he thinks of Thor, or Hades’ opinion of the thrones of Olympus. Conquerors believe themselves infused by the same righteousness that the rebels and natives who fight against them cling to. In the end, only the victors remain to convince the world of their perspective.”

“So, then what?” John struggled with accepting his mentor’s deconstruction of the basis of morality. True, there were two sides to everything, but surely, there had to be something one could use to define good and evil. “Everyone’s wrong and nothing matters?”

The elder magus strode out to the edge of the slab, gesturing John to his side. Solomon stared out at his prison for a moment before answering, “Not exactly. The simplest solution is often the correct one. In this… it is that a subjective decision can be made by one person and one alone.”

John intrinsically knew the answer, “Me.”

“Precisely. There are a lot of people in this world that would tell you what is right or wrong, kiddo. When they do, consider for yourself what you believe in and use your power to fight for that… no matter what others might think of you.”

They were both quiet for a time after that, staring out at the stars together while John digested his mentor’s words. Although he could see Solomon’s reasoning, accepting it as a fundamental truth of the world… he wasn’t sure about that. Useful as the advice might or might not be, it was hard to swallow.

Eventually, Solomon drew out his watch and glanced at the time, nodding to himself before pocketing it again, “Good, we still have a few minutes. How about something more practical?”

John set aside his consideration of subjective morality for the time being; he was curious about what Solomon meant by ‘practical’, “Sure, I’m interested.”

His teacher smiled, “Then let us discuss one of the fundamental tools at a prepared mage’s disposal: their workshop. To some it is a safe haven, where they can seek refuge from their enemies, to others it is a place of creation set on lines of power. Ultimately, a workshop should contain the materials and tools needed for its master to practice their craft. For example.”

Solomon turned from the edge of his prison and walked back to the center of the onyx slab as he spoke. When he reached it, he waved one hand in a circular gesture, as though stirring the air. Something shifted, and a ripple spread out over the solid surface as if it were a liquid, then blobs of glistening black began to rise from the stone. They merged and flowed, reshaping into a latticework table. On it was an assortment of glasswork, piping and other alchemical objects.

“As I mentioned earlier in passing, this space is my workshop: a place outside of reality where I can be myself. You won’t be needing anything as elaborate, kiddo. Not at first,” he reached a hand into his jacket and drew out a roll of old-looking parchment. “I’ve given it some thought and decided the best approach would be to give you my old workshop. You’ll find it rather easy to maintain and adapt to your needs.”

Solomon offered the parchment to John, who crossed the distance to take it. He cautiously unrolled the scroll. The words written on it were indecipherable, written in a language he couldn’t recognize at all… except the bottom. For a second there was a scribble of a name, but as he watched, the ink evaporated and was replaced with a signature he recognized as his own.

Deed to Solomon’s Workshop
This document proves the ownership of 1292 Sycamore Avenue, located in Ulthar, the City of Cats. It also functions as a liquor license in thirty-seven demesnes.
[Owner: John Newman]

“Okay… what now? How do I get there?” John asked, as he looked back up at his teacher.

“You’ll need a… key, if you will. Repeat after me: ‘Azoth, kaph, oi and nun: Patrons of wandering moons and dreaming stars, awaken this lamb to the endless sleep.’”

John did as asked, pronouncing the foreign names and words as best he could. No sooner had he finished than the markings along his arm began to glow an iridescent rainbow of colors. He was caught between panic and fascination, leaning towards the former, when a window appeared.

Spell Adapted: Stellar Dive [Dreamwalker]
You may now utilize Stellar Dive to awaken at a known location in the Dreamlands.
(Subdomain - Somnia)

Spell Empowered: Stellar Dive ~ 1 -> 2
Abyssal Map unlocked. Stellar Dive may now be used to visit previously discovered Abyssal locations.

The Deed to Solomon’s Workshop has added Ulthar, the City of Cats to the map!
The Crystalline Cave has been added to the map!
Eden has been added to the map!

Alright, so I’m not about to explode. That’s a relief.

Solomon glanced at his pupil’s arm with interest, “That will open the way; the rest is easy. All you need now is a bit of imagination.”

John looked from him back to his tattoo then to the paper he still held in his fist. In his panic he’d crinkled it somewhat, so he smoothed it back out. Then, he nodded, “I think I can handle that.”

“Good,” Solomon said, though he was interrupted from speaking further by the sound of a chime from his coat pocket. He pulled out the watch within to check the time, and his dour expression spoke volumes. “Pity. That’s all the time we have tonight. Ah, but don’t let me forget about your homework before you go.”

A new quest popped up, and John looked over the details. Solomon wasn’t asking much of him this time. He accepted it.

Good luck, kiddo.