Bathus Libretto's page

About Bathus Libretto

Bathus Libretto is a small, weathered creature. His sky blue skin is wrought with deep creases. The only thing youthful left about him are his bright, curious eyes. In what seems like a lifetime ago he disguised his goblinoid nature, but as his reputation grew as an eccentric, even a wizard, it seemed like the people of Magnimar lost interest in the blood he shared with his wild cousins. His bald frame is swathed in a huge deep purple shawl-necked cardigan so ugly it somehow becomes more comfortable. A breast pocket holds a pair of scratched brass spectacles that he needs to see anything smaller than his fist any closer than his arms length away.

Bathus currently works at the Tomb of Tomes, a thirdhand bookstore in the Old Town of Magnimar. Bathus spent ages here in his sideshow days, squandering his meager earnings on the kind of priceless grimoire whose title has been worn away and is sold because no one remembers what's inside. Now he goes to the old homes, delves into the damp cellars, and buys the artifacts who no one else will because their meanings are forgotten.

As a young man he had feigned a mundane magician, keeping himself fed while he took company in books with masters of traditions that will always be forgotten. As the time passed Bathus grew in friendship with Oliver McDunnigal, the aged owner of the Tomb and who also lives in the loft above. The shopkeeper led Bathus into the darker and dustier corners of the bookstore that even he hadn't been in decades, heaving out volumes of mighty oak that once would have been forests deep enough to sway the most swarthy adventurer. McDunnigal provided Bathus a home and a job, and Bathus has kept almost all aspects of the business in order now that Oliver has reached his advanced age.

Several weeks ago Bathus recieved a large letter in the mail. The parchment was heavy, sealed soundly in crimson wax. Inside was a piece of rich vellum scribed with expert calligraphy: a list of books. A shopping list. Bathus scoured the shelves, attended every estate sale in the city, even visited his competitors in disguise. He managed through painstaking effort to gather the strangest collection of books he has ever seen; all but one. Bathus managed to track the book's printing to a town that had unfortunately been the sight of a terrible witch trial, accompanied by the inevitable purge of written knowledge, and he doubts even a dozen remain. He delivered the packages to a side entrance of a grand estate, still puzzled to how they could be connected, and conveyed his apologies towards the last request. Today he received another letter, wrapped in the same heavy parchment and sealed in the same crimson wax. It sits on his scarred kitchen table, illuminated by a single flickering candle as Bathus sits pondering its contents, and implications, through large glasses and furrowed brow.