Prologue – The Scholar

In the shadow of the city’s mighty Flametower, Johann Georg Bombastian von Agrippin strolled leisurely through the cobblestone streets of Agrippin toward the inconspicuous entrance of an establishment called Zum Goldenen Band. The building was deliberately hidden behind an unadorned facade in a side street of the merchant district. Not even a sign drew attention to its existence. Either you knew about Zum Goldenen Band, or you didn’t.

Johann smoothed his deep green doublet and entered. A discreet servant in black livery bowed wordlessly and led him through a corridor lined with thick carpets.

“Your guest has already arrived, Meinherr,” murmured the servant as he opened a door to one of the private dining rooms.

Johann just nodded and entered. His trained eye immediately noticed the Essence patterns woven into the thick walls and heavy velvet curtains, which together made it almost impossible to be overheard.

The fireplace was also burning, despite the warm summer evening, so that any written evidence could be quickly destroyed. At Zum Goldenen Band, they knew their craft.

A middle-aged man was already seated at the polished oak table. Fifty, perhaps, Johann estimated as he approached. He wore the expensive but unobtrusive garb of a successful merchant, the kind of clothing that showed quality through cut rather than embellishment. The boots were made of the finest leather, but without buckles or ornamentation.

“Meinherr,” said the man with a slight Clairmontine accent, rising and bowing politely but not submissively. His hands trembled slightly, which Johann only noticed because he was looking for signs like that. “I am Florentine Austrois.”

“Meinherr Austrois.” Johann returned the bow with exactly the same degree of reverence. “I assume you represent someone who appreciates my special talents?”

Austrois smiled slightly. “Indeed. My client, who prefers to remain anonymous, has heard of your discretion and your results. Through mutual acquaintances whose names I will not disclose.”

“Of course not.” Johann sat down in his chair and watched as Austrois placed an expensive leather briefcase on the table. “In our business, anonymity is often more valuable than gold.”

The merchant relaxed slightly. “I’m glad we understand each other.” He opened the briefcase and took out a folded parchment. “My client is looking for a very specific object. An artifact of… let’s say, historical significance.”

Johann raised an eyebrow but said nothing. After a moment of silence, Austrois unfolded the parchment and slid it across the table.

Johann leaned forward, his eyes widening involuntarily. The drawing was detailed and professional. It showed a bronze cube, each side decorated with engraved eyes that seemed to stare in different directions at the same time. The exact proportions were indicated, as were the small details of the engravings. Whoever had drawn this had either seen the original, had access to exceptionally good sources, or had a vivid imagination.

“The Eye of Deceit,” Austrois said quietly, as if afraid the name itself might bring bad luck. “An artifact that many believe to be only a legend.”

“But your client doesn’t believe that,” Johann noted, without taking his eyes off the drawing. He knew the stories, the fragmentary mentions in ancient texts. An artifact of the Rumenekamat from Darak. Most scholars indeed considered it a myth. Johann himself though had never been sure.

“No,” Austrois confirmed. “The last confirmed trace led to Sommerland, in the Bridgewater area. That was about fifteen years ago. Then the trail went cold.”

“Until…?” Johann looked up, fixing his gaze on the merchant.

“Until recently. There was an incident in Bridgewater. The Illumination was involved because it had to do with demonic corruption. During the chaos, the artifact was reportedly found briefly, in the hands of a student who had been experimenting with it.”

“And then?”

Austrois shrugged. “It disappeared. During the commotion. It’s possible that the student, who escaped the Illumination, took it with him when he fled, but that’s not certain. The Illumination is keeping quiet, which means they don’t have it.”

Johann leaned back, his hands folded on his stomach. “What exactly does your client expect from me?”

“That you find and procure the artifact.” Austrois made a vague gesture with his hand. “We leave the methods to your discretion. We are only interested in the result.”

“We?” Johann smiled thinly.

“It’s just a figure of speech.” Austrois blushed slightly. “My client is only interested in the result.”

“And the payment?”

The merchant reached into his briefcase again and placed two bills of exchange on the table. Johann read the amounts and had to suppress his surprise. The first bill, payable upon acceptance of the assignment, was equivalent to what he normally earned in a good year. The second, payable upon successful delivery, was five times that amount.

“The Feuerbrandt and Sons banking house,” Johann remarked. “Very solid.”

“My client values reliability. In all things.”

Johann studied the nervous man in front of him. “A few questions, if I may. Why hire someone from Othal? Sommerland has its own specialists.”

“Who have already failed,” Austrois replied promptly. “Discreet inquiries have been made. Without success. My client needs someone with your specific expertise, someone who is familiar with Essence artifacts and has no reservations about… let’s say, areas of knowledge not sanctioned by the church.”

“I see. And how did your client come across me?”

“As I said, you have been recommended several times. By people in your professional circle.” Austrois’ smile became a little more confident. “You have a reputation, Meinherr. Discreet, effective, and above all – successful.”

“Is there any competition? Others who are looking for the artifact?”

“As far as my client knows, no. But,” Austrois shrugged, “that could change, of course. So speed would be desirable, even if thoroughness takes priority.”

Johann nodded slowly. “This is not a trivial undertaking, but a rather comprehensive one, I would say. I need time for preliminary research to assess the feasibility. I only accept assignments that are actually achievable.”

“How much time?”

“Two days,” Johann said after a moment’s thought. “The day after tomorrow, same time, same place. Then I’ll give you my answer.”

Austrois seemed relieved. “That’s acceptable. I’ll be staying at the Zum Fremdenmann inn in the merchant district, in case you need to reach me beforehand.” He stood up, but left the drawing on the table. “For closer inspection. I don’t need to emphasize how important absolute discretion is, do I?”

“Of course not.” Johann also rose. “See you the day after tomorrow, Meinherr Austrois.”

The merchant bowed once more, cast a final, searching glance around the room, as if expecting eavesdroppers hiding in the shadows, and then hurriedly left the room.

Johann waited several moments, listening to the receding footsteps. Only when he was sure he was alone did he allow himself a satisfied smile. He pulled the parchment back toward him and studied every detail of the drawing.

The Eye of Deceit. If it really existed, if he could get his hands on it…

The possibilities were fascinating.

Most scholars considered it a myth, at best a wildly exaggerated legend, but Johann had a unique method to make sure.

~

Night had fallen over Agrippin by now as he walked through the cobblestone streets of the scholarly quarter near the two universities. One for Essence Weaving and the normal one.

His townhouse rose above a small square with its own well, a privilege he had afforded himself after a particularly lucrative commission three years ago. The three-story half-timbered house seemed inconspicuous among the more opulent residences of his neighbors, but Johann valued discretion over pomp.

He climbed the stairs to his study on the third floor and stepped in front of the heavy oak door, which was adorned with subtle protective patterns that even among Essence Weavers only an exceptionally trained eye would recognize. Johann placed his hand on the hidden identification pattern, a complex interweaving of Lieht and Schate Essence that responded to his specific sigil.

Dark wood shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with books, some of which could get him burned at the stake. The Martyr and the Threefold Coercion of Hell, The Black Annals of Darak, and Forbidden Arts, of course. All were hidden among more innocuous tomes.

Johann lit the Essence lamps with a casually woven pattern, activated the privacy patterns in the walls, and locked the door from the inside.

He kept the large, polished walnut work table neatly organized. It contained Essence Weaving instruments in velvet-lined drawers, a considerable collection of Distilled Essence in various degrees of purity, and precise measuring instruments for the more complicated geometric patterns.

Johann opened an inconspicuous wall cabinet and took out a small box made of blackened iron. The protective patterns on it were vicious. Any careless attempt to open it would burn the intruder’s fingers to the bone. He routinely dissolved the patterns one after the other.

Inside lay a simple silver ring. To the untrained eye, it was completely ordinary, with neither decorations nor gemstones adorning the matte metal. But to someone with Essence vision, its true nature was revealed. Layer upon layer of weave patterns, so dense that they looked like a woven basket.

It was an entire Bankreizh, collapsed into a single object. And trapped inside was a demon named Narzoz.

Johann carefully placed the ring on the table and arranged the sketch of the Eye of Deceit next to it. He sat down, took a deep breath and spoke the Amplifying Incantation in Altothal:

“Entlôs dich!”

The first layer of binding loosened. It did not dissolve completely, only enough for the demon to perceive its surroundings and communicate. Physical interaction or Essence manipulation remained denied to it, of course.

Nevertheless, the loosening of the first binding layer was not without consequences. The air pressure in the room seemed to rise, as if an invisible weight were pressing down on Johann. The temperature dropped several degrees, his breath condensing into small clouds. The shadows in the corners of the room deepened, seeming to move sluggishly, as if they had developed a life of their own.

And then the presence was there. Ancient and full of malice, filling the room like a disgusting stench. Invisible, but palpable and observing from every angle at once.

“Master.”

The word came from the ring but seemed to fill the entire room. The voice sounded like millstones grinding against each other, inhuman and pressed by the constraints of the binding, yet it still pierced through bone and marrow. The word dripping with barely concealed contempt.

Johann did not respond to the hatred. “Good evening, Narzoz. I need your knowledge.”

“Of course you do,” the voice gritted. “When have you ever wanted anything else from me?”

“Your feelings on the matter are irrelevant,” Johann said, tapping the sketch next to the ring. “Look at this.”

A moment of silence, then a surprised hiss. “The Eye of Deceit. Where did you-“

“Is it real?” Johann interrupted. “Not a myth, not an exaggeration?”

The binding forced Narzoz to tell the truth. “It’s real. The Rumenekamat of Darak created it millennia ago under… guidance.”

“Under demonic guidance, you mean.” Johann leaned back. “Tell me everything you know.”

Johann felt the demon’s malice flash as he began to enumerate. “Let’s start with the first element, hydrogen, and its distribution in the space between the…”

“Everything you know about the Eye of Deceit,” Johann interrupted the demon angrily. “In a summary that is useful to me.”

An ugly laugh echoed through the room. “The artifact was created to alter perception. Its main use is to create illusions, but it goes deeper than that. It can also help the wielder seeing the Essence patterns themselves differently and promote their understanding of the true nature of things. With proper guidance, it can easily turn even a mediocre Weaver into a master.”

“Can it be destroyed? Could I destroy it?”

“Theoretically, it can be destroyed, but in practice, for most people, it would require the reacquisition of knowledge that has been lost since the fall of Darak. You could destroy it under my guidance.”

“What kind of person could use it safely?”

“Safely?” That grinding laugh again. “Anyone with Essence Weaving abilities can use it, but the corruption is subtle. It creeps in.”

Johann tapped the sketch thoughtfully. “And the dangers of studying it?”

“The demonic principles that went into its construction sing to you. They sing a song that the scholar eventually hums along to without even realizing it. You know the phenomenon.”

“Could it improve my own abilities?”

“Oh yes,” the voice became almost gleeful. “Significantly, even. If you master it. If it doesn’t master you first.”

Without being asked, the demon continued: “But of course you want it anyway. Because you believe you are immune to corruption. Yet you are already corrupt. Why else would you seek such an artifact?”

Johann smiled thinly. “Such a cheap attempt to provoke me, Narzoz? After all these years, you should know me better.”

“Oh, I know you, Johann Georg Bombastian von Agrippin. I know the hunger inside you that will never be satisfied. The Eye of Deceit will devour you, from the inside out. And I will enjoy every moment of it.”

“Fascinating,” Johann said dryly. “But I didn’t ask for your opinion. I have one last question. How far has the corruption progressed in its current owner?”

“That depends on how long he’s had it and how often he’s used it, how often he’s heard the whispering. But even with passive possession, the dreams begin at some point. After a few months, the paranoia. And eventually…” The voice fell meaningfully silent.

“Excellent. That’s all.” Johann stood up.

“Wait a moment-“

“Verslîz dich!”

The binding layers contracted again, stifling Narzoz’s protest. The oppressive presence disappeared like fog in the midday sun. The temperature returned to normal, the shadows returned to their usual behavior. Silence descended on the study.

Johann took the ring and put it back in the box, renewed the protective patterns, and then turned to his bookshelves.

It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for. A history of the Kingdom of Sommerland and a detailed map of the region. He spread the map out on the table, his fingers gliding over the parchment until they came to rest on a town in the interior of the island.

“Bridgewater,” he murmured. A university town. The perfect place for a well-known scholar from Othal to conduct research without attracting attention.

A satisfied smile played around his lips.