Words of Power, Words of Magic (closed)

[Scarovese]

OOC: Closed to Luned

At first glance, one might think the great library of Ankhas was actually a royal palace. Its giant domed ceiling was a grand mosaic of colored glass, painting those within in calming shades of blue, purple, and red. Ornate archways flowed down the sides, supporting the massive structure by connecting to the staircases that led up to the library. The courtyards overflowed with flora of all varieties; some of which I had seen nowhere else in Alerar. Giant weathered wooden doors guarded the building on four sides, restricting access during the night and swinging open to stand guard during the day. I had been here before, but I took the walk up the stairs slowly to relish the sight once again. It was still early in the morning and so the dew on the leaves of the ferns had yet to fall away. The moss cushioning the small pond behind the ferns made the man-made courtyard smell like a forest glen. It took me back to the times I had spent camping with my father near our family home in the Appalachian Mountains.

Bret had been a firm believer in the religion of the out-of-doors. While my mother had tried to raise me inside her Catholic ideology, I had connected much more with my father’s lines of thinking on the matter. Every Saturday we would take our backpacks, our tent, and some food and hit the trails outside the town where we lived. We’d talk about nature, chat about what was going on in school or the neighborhood, or just enjoy being together under the canopy of trees above. As a steel worker, the man rarely had any free time. He worked nearly 60 hours each week to put food on the table and pay our bills. But he made sure that each Saturday we got to go for a hike. It was one of my first routines as a child.

The stars are never brighter than when you look at them while laying out in a field in the middle of nowhere. There were so many nights of star gazing that I had memorized each and every constellation along with the story for each. Orion and his belt, Cassiopeia and her chair, the Gemini twins, Ursa Major and Minor; each related to a weekend spent with just my dad and me. Such beautiful memories of such simple times. It wasn’t until after college that I had realized just how special those weekend camping trips had been.

Nevertheless, school eventually pushed its way in between me and my dad. He had dropped out of high school to work in the factory with his father; I was pursuing academic scholarships to some of the most prestigious schools around. While the man knew a lot about everyday life and labor, he was useless when it came to double integrals and ionic bonds. As a teenager, I turned to my mother then for guidance. And it was she who started my love of books. “If she could only see this place,” I muttered as I crossed the last few steps on the courtyard. I turned before walking through the great doors though, stopping for a moment to glance wistfully up at the sky. Even though it was morning, the ever-present smog over the city clung to the air, blotting out most views of the sun, moon, and even the stars. Dad and I would have to walk to another nation to renew our routine, it seemed. A half-smile played across my face as I ducked into the great library; it mattered not for my father was worlds away. I shook the twinge of homesickness from my mind and focuses once more on the future. Or rather, on the grandeur that was Ankhas.

The centerpiece of the room was an ornate librarian’s desk at the center. Hand-carved by the most skilled woodworkers in the nation, this desk told tales of progress among the drow who called Alerar home. It chronicled the greatest achievements of the race and stood as the keystone to the entire room. Emanating out from the center in spokes, massive bookshelves took up the majority of the interior space. Ladders wove their way in and out of the upper levels of each row, allowing for access to the least used tomes. A balcony wrapped its way around the inside of the dome nearly thirty feet overhead. At that level, one could find most of the practical books on alchemy that the library put on display. These books were so incredibly popular in Ettermire that they were not allowed to be signed out. But the real heart of the library was beneath my feet. Stone staircases descended into the underground levels, where one could find large tables for research, study rooms for silent work, and restricted sections only accessible with express permission from the Graf. It was like a city within the city; each section had its regular inhabitants, tourists, and those who clearly belonged somewhere else. And on this trip, I hoped to find my place among the books.

[Scarovese]

With my satchel at my side and a specific task at mind, I strode purposefully up to the head librarian sitting at his place behind the desk. “Excuse me sir,” I inquired in Common, “I have some research to do on a strange manner of transportation. Is there a section dedicated to that?” The dark purple of his skin stood in sharp contrast to the white hair cascading down to frame his face. His eyebrows barely peaked over the top of the parchment he was reading, his eyes buried further down the page than I could see. Unlike the younger workers stationed here who mostly looked like they were just biding their time until they could go home, this man seemed eager and excited, as if the prospect of so much knowledge hidden away just out of sight gave him untold energy. After a few moments, he suddenly lowered the parchment and smiled gently at me.

“Welcome to Ankhas, child of learning,” he began, giving me a half-bow as he did. His ice-blue eyes twinkled with a kindness that I had seen in few people since arriving in Alerar. Not to say the other inhabitants were mean, but the city had the feel of New York; everyone had somewhere to be ten minutes ago. Few made time for the idle stranger or the wandering tourist. However, as this man placed the parchment he had been reading inside the desk, I felt as though he wouldn’t rest until my query was answered. “Hmmm…. Transportation is a bit tricky, you see. If I am remembering correctly-” he gave a loud fake laugh, “And I always do!- there are two sections that would give you the most information on transportation. You’ll find machine-based books down on level three, but the books on magical/ethereal transport won’t be until… level seven, past the incantations section, behind the display on familiars.” His hands illustrated every twist and turn I would need to make to reach my destination, and I couldn’t help but smile at his high energy. Clearly, he loved his job.

“Thank you,” I attempted to return his half-bow, but felt too awkward and instead lowered my head to examine the carvings on the desk in front of me. My face burned a bright red that I hid from sight until the feeling fled.

“Is there something else I can help with, sir?” the librarian questioned, straining his neck to see over the desk. “A guide perhaps, or one of our acolytes?” From my place below the front of the desk, I saw his fingers curl over the edge of the counter, obviously he was wondering where I had gone and what I was doing. I took a deep breath and pushed the embarrassment away as best I could.

“What’s an acolyte?” I asked as I slowly rose from in front of the desk. I cautiously met the man’s gaze and saw his bushy eyebrows raised quizzically at my actions. Nevertheless, he did not make mention of them. Instead, he walked out from behind the desk and gestured at the room around him in a grand, sweeping motion.

“You may have noticed that this is everything we Alerarians have learned over many generations,” he spoke like a tour guide and I followed him as he continued. “While it is my job to help direction knowledge-seekers to the proper location within the library, the knowledge contained here is too vast for me to remember every word.” We walked to the end of a nearby row and he gently slid his finger down the spine of the nearest book. “I wish that I could know everything contained here, but alas it is simply not possible. That is why we have the acolytes.” He turned on his heel and strutted away across the center area once again. I rushed to keep up. “An acolyte choses one of the many floors here in Ankhas and is tasked with learning as much as they can about the secrets held there. They are experts in their field with knowledge unmatched by the guides or even myself. If research into a… strange mode of transportation is what you are after,” he turned his head over his should and arched one eyebrow in my direction before settling his featured and turning to face me. His voice lost the tour guide quality and he addressed me plainly, “then I would encourage you to start your search with the acolyte on either level three or level seven.” Giving me one last half-bow, he walked briskly back to his place behind the desk and turned his attention to the group of young drow who had wandered in.

I gave the upper floor one last glance before heading for the spiral staircase which curved down into the underground vaults. Level three’s vast array of mechanical transportation held little interest to me, I highly doubted anything physical had wrenched me from my home on Earth and thrown me headlong into Althanas. Descending deeper into the underground, I set my sights and my thoughts on level seven and its promise of a more mystical solution. As I walked down the lazy stone staircase, I pulled a great leatherbound tome from its security in the satchel at my side. The cover had elaborate designs carved into it and the pages, though old, had been kept in very good shape. As I idly traced one of the designs, my arm twinged with pain. Nearly dropping the book and falling down the stairs, I instead caught myself on the landing just outside level six. Two older humans sitting at the table inside gave me angry looks and I smiled apologetically. I hastily stowed the book in my satchel and darted down the stairs away from prying eyes. Rolling up my sleeve, I saw the one word that had brought me here glowing faintly red against the scar on my skin. Drizaghar. I knew nothing of what it meant or what is was, but that word had snaked across my body from inside the book and pulled me into its pages. I had no idea what latent power might remain in the book, but it was mostly the reason why I had taken this journey to the great library of Ankhas. Mercifully, I saw the placard to level seven and sighed; my questions would have answers soon.

[Luned]

Luned was a kid in a candy shop in Ettermire and she spent her days visiting holed up in the Library of Ankhas, consuming far more information than she could ever hope to absorb. Yesterday was history of Alerar, hours pored over dynasties and the growth of the capital city, including the centuries of construction from which their endlessly complex sewer system took life beneath the feet of its inhabitants. She'd spent an entire day losing herself in an atlas of the city and the surrounding wastelands, having found an entire cavernous room of the library dedicated to the curation of oversized, meticulously detailed maps that lined the walls in fans between pressed glass that you could move around as you pleased. Ankhas, in short, was heaven for knowledge-addicted souls like Luned, and she wasn't quite sure if she'd ever find the motivation to leave.

Today, Luned was researching magic –– or, more specifically, scribe-relevant magic. She'd learned some from her mentor, basic spells to create various types of special inks, but even Bleddyn's scope of skills in that department were rather narrow, barely encompassing basic enchantments on other writing supplies. At least, that's all he'd betrayed to her of his expertise in magic, and she was ambitious enough to hope for more in her own scholarly career.

The scribe was in the midst of investigating her own tip from an acolyte when she walked by the stairs and spied a man about her age on his own mission, bearing an inquisitive look as he glanced around and pulled a rather peculiar book from his satchel. Being versed in appraisal and craft of such things, herself, Luned could immediately tell from the binding alone that something about it was curious.

"Excuse me," she spoke up, unable to resist taking a look at such an artifact for herself. From Scott's point of view she was fairly nondescript, the only thing about her that really stood out in the current setting was her humanness in contrast with the colorful dark elves and stocky dwarfs that generally populated the Aleran demographic. She was average in most ways, and when he looked down to see who'd interrupted his search for the desk, he was greeted by a set of blue eyes, wide on a pale, freckled face. "Is this yours? May I ask about it?"