II

Preparing to craft the Grafica required more work than Orleon could ever have imagined. The Notar took his time moving the furniture about, giving the Grafica enough room to grow from its established center. Working diligently and patiently, Templeton prepared his mind for the diligent and careful caligraphy demanded by a permanent portal, a eternal Grafica.

Already the Notar had scrawled upon the slanted overhang of his porch, a growing multi-colored hex-sign. Its shape radiated from the center in concentric diamonds each with its own hew, with the passing of time, the symbol circled another layer of design. Slowly it had grown from a center, taking space and shrinking to accommodate as needed. One of the last lessons of the Notar, and one of the most valuable, proving the initiate to be a formidable sacred scribe, was the ability to design this self- scribing lotus symbol. With but a central shape perhaps in the form of a symbol or rune, the lotus would evolve as the need arose.

Other preparations included the right stylus. Orleon master stylus would not work and he looked upon the three dozen or so styluses resting on his roll-desk. 'The Indigo Cream would do well," he thought to himself, feeling the smooth surface of the piece. With the instrument the chalk-like crystalline ink used to form the Grafica would write like butter.'

At first, the image of the dungeon room did not come visually, it came by scent. Orleon suddenly inhaled the spore of dank ancient death. In his nostrils the odor of the sweating Warven rose in his mind. Templeton remembered that before his imprisonment he had sent his employee to find one of his artifacts. But for all that he sought in his mind, he could not think what it was. Obviously the Warven, deep within the confines of Esculos Keep, cast his rune to contact him. Contact would only occur in case of emergencies. What could the emergency be?

Orleon found the edge of his bed, and had to sit down. His senses overwhelmed, the image of the dungeon took form. Surely the portal opened to Rivermoon served as a conduit for the spell, a figment of the connection still remaining. With that in mind Templeton began to work even faster, but this time on a minor Grafica directly to C'ang.

The image of Uruz loomed in Orleon's mind. If the Warven had Uruz, why would he have to worry?

At last the ink congealed in the tray, accepting and allowing the possibilities to grow and bloom. Orleon smiled, it appeared to be centuries since he had done so. Only few things, and fewer people made him smile. But the Notar could not resist to allow this moment of emotion, and he relished in it despite the urgency. His comrades, those doing the work for him, deep in the bowels of an abandoned lair, currently unknown to him, reached out for aid.

Templeton had to contact them, and fast.

Placing the tip of the pen upon the air took such precision, careful to touch the right movement of air and moisture about the floating currents. The Notar traced the space before him with the tip of the ink, about to draw a precise rune with great deftness. It had been a long time since he had contacted C'ang in this way, and a long time ago the scribe could do it with such ease- simply a signature in the world around him. But this time there appeared to be some difficulty, or at least he felt the a presence, something odd that could not be disearned. Apparently someone approached the small cabin.

For the second time in one day, Orleon felt a deep smile overtake his features. "Kairee," Templeton whispered to himself, the long drip of ink at the end of his stylus retreating back into the instrument. "Surely, it had to be you. Come and I will show you something...." the Notar said, feeling also that perhaps Kairee too was curious about the sacred calligraphy

The interior of the shack, primitive as it once had been, changed dramatically since Orleon began the intricate process of grafting the Grafica. Icons of pillars had been scrawled at six points. The symbols, expanding into figments of real pillars, supported the shack in the event of any catastrophe. The accidental alchemist put so much effort into that minor security feature, that the shack of the ?Accidental Achemist? would be the only thing standing if Rhydin were to be accidentally or purposely obliterated.

The Notar, long abandoning the construction on the floor, concentrated on a giant three-dimensional spherical icon in the center of the room. Only a quarter of the piece completed, it spread out in a triangular cone. Scribed hinges, levels, symbols, and calculations constructed it. Surrounding the piece a dozen formulas slowly faded as the Scribe used the very air as scratch paper. At places the ends tended to connect themselves, as if taking a life of their own.

Templeton stood at the center of the opus, more an artist than an alchemist or scribe, he continuously wrote then banished, then tried again. Never frustrated, Orleon simply worked WITH the piece, moving toward a satisfying conclusion, a conductor among his music and instruments. The Notar felt at piece, doing his life?s work, proving that doing what one loves is no work at all.

The hex upon the shack shimmered, feeling a disturbance, but this did not disturb Templeton. The man only smiled, calmly placing his stylus upon the floating rack filled with its companions.

?Kairee,? Orleon said unable to react with more than a pleasured smile. ?The Divine language is no spectator sport, and besides you don?t seem to be the type who liked to watch.?

Templeton, without feeling the usual fury upon being disturbed from his work, turned to face his guest (with anyone else being called an intruder). Orleon loved to look upon Kairee, few not only appeared so wondrous as she, but even fewer could stand the Scribe?s constant flow of thoughts and information. Despite their diverse backgrounds, it was Kairee that could settle his uneasiness and his only hope was that he could do the same for her.

Reasons like her, made it oh so difficult to be a constant traveler of the planes.

V

The house felt more familiar with her in it. Looking at her form, anyone would find it easy to see why. Kairee glowed with the forces that held magic together. Rather than being a mistress of magic, Orleon perceived the woman (and was that her true form, well at least the knee felt like a woman, and was not illusion in Rhydin more important than reality?) as not a master of the arcane arts, but rather a divine authority on the interconnections between the forms of magic. Kairee appeared to understand what made magic tick, and for that reason, and many more, Templeton loved (loved, yes true, love) to hear her tick.

Orleon's path understood magic as a grandeur scheme. The Notar felt like the only one in Rhy-Din to see simple magic, the act, a part of the greater whole, arcana, the art. Not simply a matter of conjuring or moving words and fingers about. No, that was simple magic, more illusion than an art- a cheap bastard of arcana- the art of the universe.

Kairee before him, was the only one the Notar had met, even among the academics and scholars, which saw it in the same way, as a part of something bigger. Templeton only cursed that realization, for had it not been that only a few months before he had mistakenly given his memories (but not his knowledge) to a trollop? Her only worth, the amount of degrees she had warmed his bed? No that 'apprentice' had left him without as much as a word, seeing into his life without his permission. A shallow wench of an even shallower magic.

Orleon could give Kairee another copy of his 'eperiencius', but he knew her well. She would want to learn not be given. In showing her the divine tongue, the sacred art, the presumed debt (though I believe that between us there are no debts) repayed with an entire realm and power opened to her. Opened to them both. But to complete it, would he not need Mit- Cuid, his mansion in Rivermoon, and all its resources?

"Ah Kairee," Orleon said placing his stylus in a rift made in the air. "Rather than be distracted, I think you can help me in this endeavor. For a Grafica of this size has always been best forged by two Notar, and I think..."

Before Templeton could complete complete the sentence, the break came. The break that exploded in the central core of his senses. The image of the communication rune bursting before his eyes (and would Kairee be able to see it) with the power of a sharp eclipse.

"DAMN YOU BOOKLOVER!" came C'ang's scream through the void, and Templeton suddenly knew that all his efforts had to be to open a corpol back to his loyal compatriots.

"But first there is a more important matter, how skilled are you in dispensing with the undead and porting your magic to another world?" Orleon said summoning a desperate smile as he sweated the vision away.

In that blinding moment, before Orleon could brng up any defenses- his stylus did not even get to his hand- he saw her one rune.

All people, no matter origin, creed, or even species, carry with them their one rune; infinite in its complexity and originality. There floating above his eyes, just within his point of view, shimmered Kairee's rune. The cartouche, magnificent in its share of arcs and dazzling curves, also proved to have a vital symbol, before unknown to the Notar, that pointed the way to where his companions fought bitterly for survival.

?Oh thank you so much for that,? was all Orleon could muster from his mind. Deep in concentration, the scribe noted beside them, that sacred piece of writing. ?Fartou?, the ancient symbol for the core, or as Kairee called it, the Nexus. With that one symbol, it appeared that all the other symbols within Templeton?s life curled into one string. With the ?Fartou?, Orleon and Kairee had access to the place of danger- but for how long? That would take some study.

The moment the symbol had been scrawled, the walls of the shack appeared meld with those of the far-off buried temple and numerous undead. No one could be sure of the two had traveled to the dungeon or the dungeon had traveled to them. One thing was certain, no one would visit the ?Accidental Alchemist? on this day.