Tarmid arched an eyebrow. "You too? I've felt like I'm being followed for months now. Every time I leave the office, something shadows my footsteps. Whoever it is has given no sign of themselves, left no trace that I can identify."
Tarmid began to pace around the room, hands clasped behind his back. "I am beginning to think we have an enemy within these halls, though who it might be I haven't the slightest clue. Best ask Vlad to keep watch over you, lass. Who knows, he might get lucky."
"Don't you worry about old Tarmid. I don't think our stalker will be able to catch me."
"Now, about the book." He paced back toward the desk, hands once more upon the small volume sitting on it. "This tome, while abridged from a larger text, still contains many details regarding political regimes and factions dating all the way back to the Old World. It leaves out some things which are pure conjecture in favor of historically confirmed facts. If you are to read this, you must first take the Student's Oath. It is not exactly a binding contract, but is merely there to ensure you do not betray my trust or go babbling to all your friends when you learn something you shouldn't."
"So. What say you, Thane?"
Not one hour after Thane had left, and already someone outside was running for the entrance of his office. Such a busy day, the scribe reflected. Before he could move to open it, the heavy door swung inwards, and in stepped Sir Brenzen, looking none too pleased.
Tarmid bowed his head, set down his quill.
"Blessings be upon you, Sir Brenzen. Before I deliver the bad news, I should tell you that my research has been going along faster than I'd planned. I have dug up a few names and was cross-referencing them just before you entered."
"Now, the unfortunate part." Tarmid scowled, began to pace. "A copy of the Codex has been missing for some time now. Specifically, my copy. Uncensored and unabridged."
"I would have gone to you earlier with this, were you not so busy. The problem is, six months have gone by. I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but six months is the amount of time necessary for the dwarven mind to begin to adapt to thaumaturgical flux."
"We need wood opals, Sir Brenzen," the scribe intoned, urgency dripping from every syllable. "The sooner, the better."