Fury of the Storm

[Charles]

Bardic legends tell of several spells of amazing power. Winterborn, a spell that might cheat death at terrible price to the user. Invocation of Apocalyptic Evil, a series of chords that cause horrendous agony and flay flesh from bone for hundreds of yards. The Fury of the Storm, summoning a mage storm of incredible intensity, lightning, hail the size of catapault stones, and winds of hurricane force at the casters call. Two of the spells were Edmunds goal at the library today. With the Legion of Light on the march to meet the army of Xem'zund, they would need a great deal of support, and while Edmund certainly couldn't cast any of the magics he sought, he would likely be able to find the help he needed to complete either casting when he arrived in Anebrilith. The first step was to determine what the filing system was like. Or find help. If he could find anyone who worked there, or was even familiar with the sections of the library, he might be able to get the tomes he needed. This was a rarity in the Bardic school. Most spells are either passed down or created by the bard himself, very few are recorded in any manner, and fewer still are easy to find. These would be in that final category.

He stepped through the western door, after having been deposited on the doorstep of the library with the aid of a helpful mage from the Legion. He would have to find his own way back, but he already had a few ideas wandering through his head. He had promised Arminas he would meet them at Anebrilith within the month, no matter his findings. It would take some time for the Legion to reach a port, and yet longer still to reach the city itself. He wouldn't have quite a month, but he did not think he would need it.

"Now, if I were a directory, where would I be?"

"The central reading room. The main directory is there. For things not found there, check the vault directory, on the lower levels." The dark elf spoke politely, but it was so polite as to be nearly arrogant. They had that ability though, as if to imply that by that simple knowledge, he was superior to everyone around him.

"Many thanks then." The library was so massive, Edmund very much suspected he could become lost within its stacks for all time if he was not careful. He walked directly towards the central portion of the dome, keeping a careful eye out for the mentioned directory. Hopefully it would be by subject or author, and not title. The subject was obvious, and the author he knew, but its title was a mystery to him. Many things written by Stefen had been lost to the ages, but he hoped at least one copy of this particular book would remain within the library here at Ankhas.

[Edmund Talbott]

Big was an understatement. The "directory" was massive beyond comprehension. It could take him days simply to discern that what he wanted just wasn't in the directory for the accessible portion of the library. Maybe there was some magic to the Directory, it seemed insane to think this would all be manually done, but he wouldn't put it past the Dark Elves. "Bard Stefen." He said the words softly, but aloud, hoping beyond hope that what he sought would leap out at him like the mythical power it was. And it almost did. ALMOST. The Directory, as mentioned before, was massive. As he spoke, a drawer slid open above his head, and a tome dropped, also, unfortunately, on his head. "Fuck fuck fu..." He trailed off, rubbing his head and reaching down to grab the tome from the ground. He had to stop rubbing his head, and instead use both hands to lift the tome. It was massive. He was lucky his neck was still intact, but he had what he wanted, and turned to a nearby table to peruse the find. He sat down, laid the tome in front of him, opened it up, and nearly despaired. The first page wasn't a sheet of music. It was a table of contents. It listed more than forty works. He turned the page, forty more. He repeated this act nearly ten times before he reached the end of the contents section. Three hundred and fifty six entries. Each and every one written, editted, or referring to Bard Stefen. It wasn't so bad. Some he knew immediately were biographies, others were stories he was aware of, more still he knew had other authors. He rummaged through his pack, emerging with ink, pen and a slip of vellum. He started writing down titles he didn't recognize. He was still writing an hour later as he began to get hungry. He had barely a hundred titles he didn't know so far, but he was still on page three. At this rate he'd be writing unknown titles all night. He stopped writing for a bit, put away parchment and pen, and left the library. He would be back, but he needed food first