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As part of Morgan’s agreement with The Council he had a room at the Mumford Inn paid for so long as he was an escort in The Council’s service. This included an evening meal, too. Caspus threw in a couple of mugs of mead at no extra charge.

Most evenings, Morgan sat quietly and drank his mead until dinner was served. After dinner he headed over to the bath house to clean away the day’s grime from the Wasteland before heading up to his room. Today was no different.

The room was tiny but it was Morgan’s haven. Growing up he had lived amongst the children and young adults in the Skutter like rats. Each night was a scramble for the choicest nooks to sleep in and there was no place to remotely call a space of your own. Compared to that, his small room in the corner attic of the Mumford Inn was like a palace. Barely eight-by-ten, but those 80 square feet were his throne room. Morgan sat down on the bed cushion – for he had no bed frame – and pulled his backpack across over between his legs.

Rummaging through it, he pulled out another prize he had found in the Wasteland earlier that day. It was a book; a thick, hardbound book that was still in fair condition. Morgan ran his finger over the raised letters on the cover and then opened it to flip through page upon page of the magical symbols printed row upon row of each page.

Morgan couldn’t read. The Readers had died out hundreds of years ago and, as far as Morgan knew, those magicians were extinct. But still, he was fascinated by the old books and parchments that still existed. They were very rare and most people didn’t hold the same interest in them like Morgan did. Pointless was the main opinion expressed by most when the topic arose. A dead magic that had disappeared from the world.

Morgan held the book for several minutes as he flipped through it and studied the lettering. How did the magic work? What sort of knowledge was contained within those magic runes of old?

Having finished inspecting his knew treasure, he placed it beside the three other books on the small, make-shift shelf beside his bed. Of the four, this one was by far the best preserved. One book was barely a book any more, having been burned and mutilated, it now was only a quarter of its original girth. One was a paperback book that had deteriorated so bad that the letters were barely present any more. The third one was his favorite. It was a torn, thin book, but it had pictures on the few remaining pages. From these pictures Morgan was able to venture guesses as to the meaning of the runes. One picture showed a Pre-Cataclysm woman running. Morgan guessed that the knowledge conveyed through the runes were a magic spell for speed. In reality, it was a magazine ad for running shoes; but Morgan had no concept of any of this.

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