“Little elf man! Some help here!” Boss lady shouted.
Solon glanced over the top of his book.
Oh.
Right.
They were fighting.
Solon carefully put his book away. The party was being swarmed by goblin mobs. Mob gobs? Gob mobs?
“Solon!”
Solon shrugged. He chose one of his crest’s spell channels. “Tol Kok!” Four magical darts flew from his palm and plunged into four of the mob gobs. Three of them dissolved. Relatively weak then. Solon repeated his spell, clearing out the remaining gob mobs.
He pulled out his book and started reading. It was a fascinating theory about the origin of magical languages. The author theorized that while developing separately, they all had an ancestral root language.
Solon’s book was slapped from his hands and skidded across the floor.
“No more reading.” Boss lady stated.
“What?”
“No. More. Reading.”
“I’m a wizard. Reading is what I do.”
“No. Casting spells is what you do. Especially in the middle of a fight for our lives!”
“It was under control.”
“You call our healer going down under control?”
Solon glanced over at the healer. He was bleeding out. The warrior was trying to save him.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh. No more reading.”
Boss lady stomped away.
Solon made sure his book wasn’t damaged. He would leave once the run was over. Unless she had damaged his book. Then he would leave now, and they’d have to figure out how to get out by themselves.
The tome wasn’t hurt.
Lucky them.