As It Crumbles

There was a loud thud when Morsephius landed on the dusty floorboards of his pocket dimension. As a cloud of dust arose and filled the room he began to cough and wheeze, barely being able to lift himself up and find footing. Still staggering from the impact as well as from the gateway sickness, he managed to get a hold of his senses and rushed to the nearest door to the best of his current abilities. The possibility of saving all of his scrolls and writings was long gone from his, now cloudy, mind, but the thoughts of salvaging the ones he held as of the greatest importance were prevailing above all others, even above preserving his own well being. The gust of air from the door he opened with such tremendous force was enough to clear the room of its dusty fog and to raise another, albeit smaller, cloud which now stood in its place. 

His trained eyes were exceptional at spotting minute details and finding even the tiniest of errors, yet his befuddled gaze ran uncontrollably from one shelf to another, vainly deliberating and arguing against himself which tome was necessary and which he could allow to be taken or burned. The amount of space in his, aptly titled, sack of endless storage was starting to run low, as he reluctantly picked a book after book from his grand library, allowing himself a moment here and there to revel in his ability to properly memorize the locations of all of the thousands of volumes he had agonizingly sorted out to perfection. He would often let out a word or two, summarizing the contents of what he held in his hands and, as if convincing himself, declare in a comically official voice if it was worth saving or not. The bottomless well, which was at the center of the room, was the final stop for all things he considered superfluous, although he seldom used it. He had a knack for sorting and a peculiar love of overkeeping books, even when they were more of a nuisance to keep than to discard.

Whilst in a middle of a particularly heated monologue about a codex of the artic plants of the Frostgale Cavern, he felt a faint tremor in the ground, which greatly disturbed him. 

“Oh no, oh no, oh no”  - he uttered visibly distressed and dashed quickly to the nearest door before the quakes started intensifying. He was well aware that his power was waning, but he had hoped that it would last a bit more. The spiral staircase he has just entered had seemingly no end to it, as it was taking him considerably longer than before to reach the bottom. He was pondering why he made it that way, especially while he used to descend it quite intoxicated, but alas, this was a topic for another time, if such should ever arise.

After a few moments, he was standing in a room entirely built out of perfectly cut stone with shelves upon shelves of neatly stacked bottles, flasks, beakers, and decanters, some containing liquids of the most wondrous hues. A large and sturdy alchemy table stood beside the northernmost wall upon which a small wooden pedestal held up a large jewel-encrusted tome of alchemy. Quickly, he rushed towards the table, but as he was nearing it, a sudden vibration from the ground made him lose his balance, and soon he was lying on the stone. The flasks and bottles started to topple, and the colorful liquids inundated the ground as it turned into a canvas of blending shades. Their volatility made the terrain impassible, and the fumes were starting to build up, transforming the room into a picturesque albeit deadly place. Faced with such an insurmountable obstruction, Morsephius covered his mouth with a handkerchief he kept in his front pocket and ran to the nearby exit. During his sprint towards salvation, he glanced at one of the far-away shelves and remembered that he had left one of the most important objects behind; his casting focus. Sparing mana was imperative for him, but he could not forgo such a valuable item.

“Res Apporto!”- he screamed as he raised his hand and pointed towards a small intricately designed lockbox. His pale blue irises turned a more intense shade of blue and dense clouds of air started swirling and dancing around his body. With a vigorous thrust of the arm, he pulled the lockbox towards him, splashing the liquids everywhere and creating a rainbow of peril. The lockbox landed out of arm’s reach but continued to tumble until it stopped beside him. Relieved, he fell to his knees breathing heavily and panting; he had almost no power left.The world started to warp and distort itself, shelves and cupboards became elongated, perforated, or oblique, rapidly changing colors and shapes. His breathing was more profuse, and his grip on reality was starting to dwindle when he felt a strong shock that ran up his spine. It was enough to bring him back from his vapor-induced delirium, although the realization of what was happening was far more unnerving; someone was entering his pocket dimension. Even though he knew that it was inevitable, he was not prepared. Chills and coldness he never felt before enveloped his entire body and he froze up, unable to move a single muscle in his body. Sweat was dripping down his pale white face, and even his eyes were trembling with fear. He had yet to dance with death so intimately, as he always kept himself safe and sheltered. Out of nowhere, his body acted on its own and he raised his hand and brought forward a gateway right beneath him. It knew that if he used this spell once more, he would lose consciousness due to an absolute loss of mana and that he would fall, which is exactly how it unfolded. Everything after that point is a blurry mirage.

“Hey, hey, hey - There is someone lying in our field”

“What?”
“Come, take a look.”
“This couldn’t be any of our neighbors, could it?”
“I don’t think this man is from around here”
“We should probably get him to somewhere safe where he could regain his senses.”
“I’m not sure about letting him into our house, what if he’s dangerous or if he tries something strange?”
“I doubt he will be able to do anything, he’s all skin and bones. I bet he wouldn’t be able to lift a sack of potatoes to save his life, let alone something more dangerous. Anyway, we can put him in the barn, he can’t do much damage from there, ye?”
“I hope so.”
“Haven’t you heard of the proclamation? I’m sure the heroes have done their job well.”
“Someone always slips by, I’m afraid for Joanne and Arthur.”
“We can’t abandon him, especially when he is lying in our field. Someone might take that the wrong way. “
“We can take him in until he wakes up and explains himself; if he does anything strange he’s out”
“That’s fair, I’ll watch over him.”