It was within one such third-floor room that Forgath sat behind a desk, writing in black ink upon paper formed from mushroom pulp.  It was perhaps not fine paper; Forgath yearned for vellum, but as with meat the ponies turned out to have little taste for parchment.  Still, it could carry ink and so the room around him held shelves of the simple paper, both free and bound.  Forgath thought as he wrote, carefully considering how much to write and how to hide what he meant.  In the fine tradition of mages across the apparent multiverse, he was writing notes - and writing them so that no one uninitiated would be able to understand.  Knowledge was a form of power; important to give to your allies, essential to keep from your enemies.