10th of Dust, 1045 - I Must Have It

“It’s a book. I assume some of you at least know what a book is, right? My research suggests it’ll be bound in dark leather with this distinctive symbol on the cover. Study it. Recognise it.” 

Agatha waved a crude drawing on a scrap of parchment to the assembled group, sat or perched in a loose semi-circle before her. They had taken shelter in the largely-intact ruins of a house, tucked away on a back street on the outskirts of the Ruined City. Here they would spend the night in relative safety, subject to boarding up a few doors and windows, before heading into the old city centre in the morning. 

Belinda Twiglet, sitting cross legged on the broken remains of a table, looked intently at the parchment. As if Belinda was capable of retaining such information even with a week to study it, Agatha thought. There is nothing behind those daft, bovine eyes. 

In contrast to Twiglet, Sir Ephraim Bunion completely ignored her drawing and instead surveyed the seven lucky halflings selected for this outing from the coterie that had followed them from St Plumbus. Agatha was fine with Bunion not paying her too much attention: his role was seeing to the “rank and file morons”, as he put it, and making sure they understood the task at hand.

“You got it?” she asked the group, waving the parchment. There was a small chorus of “yeses” and some nods.

“Good” she said, discarding the scrap with a wave of her hand. It caught alight as it drifted to the floor, burning quickly with an intense blue flame. 

“The book itself is written in a magical language none of you will be able to understand, so don’t even try to open it. I dunno, with any luck it might burn your eyes out or something. But I want this book, I need this book, it is the only reason we’re even going to that bit of the city and I am not leaving without it.”

Edna Chuff, one of the group’s thugs, spoke up.

 

“Will there be a reward for the halfling who finds it?”

“What, other than Sir Ephraim giving you your normal pay?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“Fuck’s sake” muttered Chuff.

“If that’s a problem, Edna, Sir Ephraim can point you in the direction of St Plumbus. It’s about sixty miles in that direction” - Agatha pointed - “but first you’ll have to get out of the Ruined City on your own. And as you’ll have seen on the way in, even in the outskirts as we are, that might not be such an easy task. May he rest in peace, poor Norris, eaten far too young…”