A sorceress sings her spells. An idiot wizard traces runecharms to no effect. Bones are made loadstones with the weight of old magic. An idiot wizard takes damage. The protective spells ought to have been written down. Somewhere in the stacks, surely, some one wrote the key before succumbing. It is in the marrow. What a dangerous song. There is no remedy in potions, but drink. Drink your stores dry and find your feet another day. It is formidable magic to cast secret wildfire. Reckless nature. Fortify yourself.