of magic had its positive and negative sides—even, I had to admit, necromancy.
My imagination careened at this suggestion that Ygresta’s codex had a connection to the runelords of Thassilon. Yet it was Illyria who arrested my attention. Her girlish demeanor put me on my back foot. Accustomed if not immune to the designs of women drawn to my wealth and title, I found myself quite unable to determine Illyria Ornelos’s motives. Was she attempting to manipulate me? Or were her flirtations as genuine as they were obvious? As though caught in some transgressive act, I cleared my throat. “There is no need—”
“Wrath, envy, greed, sloth, lust, pride, and gluttony.”
As she pronounced the final word, I found myself with another tart in my mouth. A sudden intuition caused me to choke. Setting aside the uneaten portion of the pastry, I scanned the library books for a particular volume.
“What are you looking for?” said Illyria.
“Gluttony is the sin of necromancy.”
“That never made sense to me,” she said. “Most undead don’t eat anything.”
“But the exceptions are striking. Vampires crave blood, for instance. And ghouls crave rotting flesh.”
“Zombies eat brains.”
“That is a myth perpetuated by penny dreadfuls. How could you credit such a ridicu—?”
She was laughing again. “For such a clever man, you are rather easily gulled.”
“Only by—” I stopped myself before concluding, “alluring young women.” Instead, I tossed aside a copy of an old volume of the Pathfinder Chronicles and found what I had been seeking: Anders’s The Fall of Thassilon . “Only when distracted.”
“Distracted by what, pray tell?”
She could fish for compliments all she wished, but I would not bite. “By the thought that the runelords were all wizards, and all wizards collect their spells in grimoires.”
“You don’t think honestly believe the professor left you a runelord’s spellbook, do you?”
“I recall a reference to a Gluttonous Tome in which Runelord Zutha collected all of the spells known to the necromancers of Thassilon.”
“That sounds familiar. I think it was one of the lost texts in the lecture.”
“What do you remember about it?”
“Not much, I’m afraid.”
I found the relevant chapter in The Fall of Thassilon and summarized for her. “The runelords foresaw Earthfall, the terrible meteorite strike that destroyed their empire and ushered in a thousand years of darkness. They devised various means to survive the event, or to instruct their followers how to return them to life. Karzoug was one. And here, Zutha was another. He compiled the Gluttonous Tome , an enormous volume of leathered human flesh bound in bone and inscribed with the blood of a thousand slaves.”
“Charming.”
“There is little here to describe its contents, except that it contained ‘both his knowledge and a portion of his power, that it might never be stolen from his person.’”
“It doesn’t seem likely that a wizard as powerful as a runelord would worry about burglars.”
“Must I remind you that one of the most fearful aspects of necromancy is the power to steal one’s life essence?”
“Oh, don’t worry. I hardly ever use that sort of thing. Not unless a boy tries to get fresh.” She went to the desk and leafed through the codex.
I found no further reference to this Gluttonous Tome in The Fall of Thassilon . I set the book aside and envisioned my memory library. From the imagined shelves of my past readings I drew a slim volume. History retains little of the cataclysm known as Earthfall, when the Starstone fell to Golarion, its impact leaving the crater that became the Inner Sea. The collision destroyed two great empires: Azlant, which sank into the sea, and Thassilon, much of which remains buried beneath mountains and steeped in swamps across northwestern Avistan, where we now stood.
Much of the information in my imaginary library involved the survivors of Earthfall, most
My imagination careened at this suggestion that Ygresta’s codex had a connection to the runelords of Thassilon. Yet it was Illyria who arrested my attention. Her girlish demeanor put me on my back foot. Accustomed if not immune to the designs of women drawn to my wealth and title, I found myself quite unable to determine Illyria Ornelos’s motives. Was she attempting to manipulate me? Or were her flirtations as genuine as they were obvious? As though caught in some transgressive act, I cleared my throat. “There is no need—”
“Wrath, envy, greed, sloth, lust, pride, and gluttony.”
As she pronounced the final word, I found myself with another tart in my mouth. A sudden intuition caused me to choke. Setting aside the uneaten portion of the pastry, I scanned the library books for a particular volume.
“What are you looking for?” said Illyria.
“Gluttony is the sin of necromancy.”
“That never made sense to me,” she said. “Most undead don’t eat anything.”
“But the exceptions are striking. Vampires crave blood, for instance. And ghouls crave rotting flesh.”
“Zombies eat brains.”
“That is a myth perpetuated by penny dreadfuls. How could you credit such a ridicu—?”
She was laughing again. “For such a clever man, you are rather easily gulled.”
“Only by—” I stopped myself before concluding, “alluring young women.” Instead, I tossed aside a copy of an old volume of the Pathfinder Chronicles and found what I had been seeking: Anders’s The Fall of Thassilon . “Only when distracted.”
“Distracted by what, pray tell?”
She could fish for compliments all she wished, but I would not bite. “By the thought that the runelords were all wizards, and all wizards collect their spells in grimoires.”
“You don’t think honestly believe the professor left you a runelord’s spellbook, do you?”
“I recall a reference to a Gluttonous Tome in which Runelord Zutha collected all of the spells known to the necromancers of Thassilon.”
“That sounds familiar. I think it was one of the lost texts in the lecture.”
“What do you remember about it?”
“Not much, I’m afraid.”
I found the relevant chapter in The Fall of Thassilon and summarized for her. “The runelords foresaw Earthfall, the terrible meteorite strike that destroyed their empire and ushered in a thousand years of darkness. They devised various means to survive the event, or to instruct their followers how to return them to life. Karzoug was one. And here, Zutha was another. He compiled the Gluttonous Tome , an enormous volume of leathered human flesh bound in bone and inscribed with the blood of a thousand slaves.”
“Charming.”
“There is little here to describe its contents, except that it contained ‘both his knowledge and a portion of his power, that it might never be stolen from his person.’”
“It doesn’t seem likely that a wizard as powerful as a runelord would worry about burglars.”
“Must I remind you that one of the most fearful aspects of necromancy is the power to steal one’s life essence?”
“Oh, don’t worry. I hardly ever use that sort of thing. Not unless a boy tries to get fresh.” She went to the desk and leafed through the codex.
I found no further reference to this Gluttonous Tome in The Fall of Thassilon . I set the book aside and envisioned my memory library. From the imagined shelves of my past readings I drew a slim volume. History retains little of the cataclysm known as Earthfall, when the Starstone fell to Golarion, its impact leaving the crater that became the Inner Sea. The collision destroyed two great empires: Azlant, which sank into the sea, and Thassilon, much of which remains buried beneath mountains and steeped in swamps across northwestern Avistan, where we now stood.
Much of the information in my imaginary library involved the survivors of Earthfall, most
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