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   Chapter 87 No.87

The Book of Deacon By Joseph R. Lallo Characters: 4993

Updated: 2018-01-19 19:02

"He entered the cave in hopes of conjuring up an illusion of the mythic beast so that he could chase it outside to kill in the view of all around, thus stealing the position of the world's finest warrior. He became lost on the return trip and ended in this place. Before long, he began to irritate the other people here. When I was growing up, I found him to be the most entertaining thing in my life. By the time I was old enough to know why he had no respect among us, I was already hopelessly addicted to his brand of magic, " Deacon reminisced.

"Have you managed to add any respect to the field?" Myranda asked.

"I am only twenty-five. Gilliam died six years ago--and, unfortunately for me, he never recorded a single page of his methods. He resented the lack of respect that the others showed his work, so he kept his ways secret. Over the eight years that I studied under him, I managed to memorize the majority of what he had to teach, and I have been spending the years since his death scribing everything he taught. I have barely had time to develop a single spell of my own, " he said.

"That spell you used on me, to help me after I got out of the water. What about that one?" she asked.

"That is one of mine. . . well, a variation on one of his. It is a specialized form of transformation, " he said.

"Why does everyone seem concerned when they learn you tried it on me?" she said.

"Oh, don't listen to them. They want to chide me about the fact that I have been toying

nter of the room was a desk with a crystal for light, an open book, and the only chair in the room. The immaculate room was in stark contrast to its resident. Deacon's dark brown hair was in a constant state of chaos. His clothes were in a terrible state of disrepair, and the side of his left hand was apparently permanently stained with ink.

He walked up to his desk, where a book with blank pages lay open.

"This is your hut?" she asked.

"Indeed it is, " he answered as he led her inside. "Oh, no."

"What?" Myranda asked.

"I failed to refill the ink. I have to write at least a dozen pages over again, " he said, selecting a canister from one of the shelves.

"What do you mean? How could you fail to notice that you had run out of ink until after you'd written pages?" she asked.

"Oh, I wasn't writing in this book, I was writing in this one, " Deacon explained, pulling the ubiquitous tome from his bag and laying it on the table.

Myranda gave a long, confused stare.

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