Danzenn awoke with a start. It was another one of those dreams. The kind that made them thank waking up so much that they might as well die happy right then and there. Terrible nightmares had become a consistency.

Was it the paintings? It couldn’t have been. Someone said something about those paintings, though, and there really was something about them. Something otherworldly, something deeply affecting. Like it cut straight into a part of Danzenn that felt more center than the part they thought was the center, producing a vast, cavernous space.

Danzenn could use their hands for a lot of things. One of those things was magic. They could feel the aether. The sensitivity of their fingertips was amplified by the way their nerves attuned to the field. They could tug at it, weave it, turn energy around them into things. It was alchemical. There was always a notion of exchange — there was no pulling things out of thin air. That’s not a thing. Air is full of stuff.

You’ve got to have a real steeled mind for this stuff, and Danzenn found it was easiest when they took a whiff of the good somatics. Not too much, of course. It’s a very qualitative process. There’s no real logic to it other than a deepening of the sensitivity of one's nerves to the surrounding aetherial fabric. Very subtle stuff.

Danzenn allowed a flame to lick from their fingertip and light the candlewick on the oak table across the bed. Their place wasn’t very large — just a laboratory and a bedroom. And a soup kitchen, which was integrated into the laboratory. Soup sustained Danzenn, and Danzenn was like soup in more ways than that. They were one of messy moods and inexplicable melancholies.

They were searching for a tome that they couldn’t find anywhere. There was one place with an impressive library that they hadn’t checked, though — the Lacqeur City. The only problem is that they didn’t intend to sit in the library and read it — they intended to steal it. With magic forbidden in the Lacqeur City, this would be no easy task. They’d need Tolst’s help. They hated needing Tolst’s help.

Tolst was a wiry fellow skilled in every possible way a rogue could be skilled. There wasn’t a lock he couldn’t pick if he had the time. Of course, magic can pick a lock, but it was often exhausting, and Tolst never seemed to get tired.

“Hey, Danny,” Tolst said as he came through the door.

“You have an uncanny way of showing up. Wanna steal a book?”

“Thank you. I thought you’d never leave your lab again.”

“It's in Lacquer City. That’s why you’re coming. Their golems detect magic. I’ll be useless other than skimming the library. Plus, even if I could use magic, I'm no good with a lock. You're the best there is.”

“All this flattery. When do we leave?”

“Now, if you’re ready. The book is about the Greybringers, who are showing up more often. That means there’s not a lot of time. Wait, shit, I haven’t eaten. Want some soup first?”