entertaining!’
The excitable little man leaves the room, still chuckling to himself, and you follow close behind. Soon, he ushers you into a dim room, which is dusty and full of cobwebs. The air is stale and thick with tobacco smoke and seated opposite in a large armchair is a thin, straggling man, roughly Spittlethrift's height, with bulging, shadowy eyes. Reclining in various positions around the room are several others, all approximately Spittlethrift's height, and all similarly dressed.
‘Gentlemen, gentlemen, we have guests, brave adventurers who have solved the complications of our dark abode. May I introduce … ’
He casts a questioning glance in your direction and, hesitantly, you say, ‘The Wizard, Grey Star, and the lady, Tanith.’
‘Yes, yes, Grey Star and Tanith,’ Spittlethrift repeats, unnecessarily. He turns to face you. ‘And we are the Academicians. Welcome.’ He bows politely, as do the remaining scholars in the dingy room. After shaking hands with more than twenty Academicians, all with very curious names, you are led from the room to Spittlethrift's study. There he explains to you the cryptic nature of the Crystal Tower and the Academicians' purpose on the Daziarn Plane.
‘We are scholars, my dear boy,’ says Spittlethrift. ‘Inventors, scientists, inquisitors of the unknown. Here, on the Daziarn Plane, we have been able to turn our dreams, our ideas, our very thoughts into reality. It is the nature of this place. Time, space, the fundamental laws that govern existence in the material world — all can be adjusted, altered, ignored even! That is why we choose to live here. Others have changed their world within the Daziarn to suit their purpose. The demons and devils of good and evil reside here, creating their surroundings as best it suits them. There are gods and their ilk, and stranger forces beyond all imagining. Their thoughts, hopes, fears, and intentions weave the fabric of their realms. We do not seek to dominate or master the realm we inhabit — we live only within our tower. The Neverness — the unformed cloud that surrounds us — is the fabric of the Daziarn, unclaimed and untainted. It is this that we use for our … experiments.’
‘You mean the black holes that surround the tower?’ you enquire.
‘Yes, yes,’ Spittlethrift replies.
‘But why is the tower so dangerous?’
‘Ah!’ says Spittlethrift. ‘Let me assure you that it is not for our simple amusement, nor is it due to a malicious dislike for visitors, that our tower has been built to test the cunning, the wits, the wiles, and the bravery of those who dare to enter.’
‘And those who fail?’ asks Tanith, scornfully. ‘What happens to them?’
The little man clears his throat, uncomfortably, dismissing Tanith's question with a wave of his hand. ‘No matter of importance. You have succeeded; you've triumphed. You have proved yourselves capable of fulfilling a great quest.’
‘I am already upon a quest,’ you say. ‘I have no time for another.’
‘That is what you think, m'boy,’ says Spittlethrift. ‘But you've yet to understand. You are in the Neverness. The Neverness leads nowhere, borders on nowhere, is nowhere. Without our help you will never leave it. Embark upon our quest and we will grant you the means to travel freely about the Daziarn. Refuse, and you will remain here, perhaps forever.’
‘You threaten me?’ you say menacingly, rising to your feet.
‘No, no!’ splutters the scholar, hastily. ‘I merely state the facts. The Neverness is a wilderland between the realms of the Daziarn but it does not connect the realms as the mountains, seas, and roads in your world do. We, however, have found a way to travel the realms and can grant you the means to do so if you will perform a simple task for us.’ You say nothing, and Spittlethrift goes on. ‘There is a place, a city of glass, called the Singing City, inhabited by a race called the Elessin. We wish you to journey
The excitable little man leaves the room, still chuckling to himself, and you follow close behind. Soon, he ushers you into a dim room, which is dusty and full of cobwebs. The air is stale and thick with tobacco smoke and seated opposite in a large armchair is a thin, straggling man, roughly Spittlethrift's height, with bulging, shadowy eyes. Reclining in various positions around the room are several others, all approximately Spittlethrift's height, and all similarly dressed.
‘Gentlemen, gentlemen, we have guests, brave adventurers who have solved the complications of our dark abode. May I introduce … ’
He casts a questioning glance in your direction and, hesitantly, you say, ‘The Wizard, Grey Star, and the lady, Tanith.’
‘Yes, yes, Grey Star and Tanith,’ Spittlethrift repeats, unnecessarily. He turns to face you. ‘And we are the Academicians. Welcome.’ He bows politely, as do the remaining scholars in the dingy room. After shaking hands with more than twenty Academicians, all with very curious names, you are led from the room to Spittlethrift's study. There he explains to you the cryptic nature of the Crystal Tower and the Academicians' purpose on the Daziarn Plane.
‘We are scholars, my dear boy,’ says Spittlethrift. ‘Inventors, scientists, inquisitors of the unknown. Here, on the Daziarn Plane, we have been able to turn our dreams, our ideas, our very thoughts into reality. It is the nature of this place. Time, space, the fundamental laws that govern existence in the material world — all can be adjusted, altered, ignored even! That is why we choose to live here. Others have changed their world within the Daziarn to suit their purpose. The demons and devils of good and evil reside here, creating their surroundings as best it suits them. There are gods and their ilk, and stranger forces beyond all imagining. Their thoughts, hopes, fears, and intentions weave the fabric of their realms. We do not seek to dominate or master the realm we inhabit — we live only within our tower. The Neverness — the unformed cloud that surrounds us — is the fabric of the Daziarn, unclaimed and untainted. It is this that we use for our … experiments.’
‘You mean the black holes that surround the tower?’ you enquire.
‘Yes, yes,’ Spittlethrift replies.
‘But why is the tower so dangerous?’
‘Ah!’ says Spittlethrift. ‘Let me assure you that it is not for our simple amusement, nor is it due to a malicious dislike for visitors, that our tower has been built to test the cunning, the wits, the wiles, and the bravery of those who dare to enter.’
‘And those who fail?’ asks Tanith, scornfully. ‘What happens to them?’
The little man clears his throat, uncomfortably, dismissing Tanith's question with a wave of his hand. ‘No matter of importance. You have succeeded; you've triumphed. You have proved yourselves capable of fulfilling a great quest.’
‘I am already upon a quest,’ you say. ‘I have no time for another.’
‘That is what you think, m'boy,’ says Spittlethrift. ‘But you've yet to understand. You are in the Neverness. The Neverness leads nowhere, borders on nowhere, is nowhere. Without our help you will never leave it. Embark upon our quest and we will grant you the means to travel freely about the Daziarn. Refuse, and you will remain here, perhaps forever.’
‘You threaten me?’ you say menacingly, rising to your feet.
‘No, no!’ splutters the scholar, hastily. ‘I merely state the facts. The Neverness is a wilderland between the realms of the Daziarn but it does not connect the realms as the mountains, seas, and roads in your world do. We, however, have found a way to travel the realms and can grant you the means to do so if you will perform a simple task for us.’ You say nothing, and Spittlethrift goes on. ‘There is a place, a city of glass, called the Singing City, inhabited by a race called the Elessin. We wish you to journey
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