Books, books, and more books, Abeyal sighed with a mingling of exhaustion and pleasure. Its too bad this shipment of books on Ursian lore arrived late. Now Ill never have them all catalogued and properly put away in time to see the performance at the Pig & Potion tonight.
I hear those Players from Talanta are wonderful, too, Wren, a fellow librarian here in the Library of Darkwell, said as he brought in another stack of leather bound tomes and set them on the table. Well, maybe theyll still be here tomorrow.
We can only hope. Abeyal stood a moment, put her hands on her hips and straightened her back, and looked about her. She never grew tired of looking at the vastness of the Library. The main chamber was a full three stories in height, and the arched, vaulted ceiling covered close to ten thousand volumes. From the main floor one could look up and see the railings and upper shelves of the floors above. All of the woodwork in here was done in ebony, which contrasted nicely with the cream colored stone. Shelves upon shelves lined the walls. Some were only reachable by long ladders. Histories, lore, anecdotes, poetry, and biographies they were all here. The bright hues of the leather added the perfect amount of jeweled toned colors; scarlet, lapis, emerald, amber. When the sunlight entered through the clerestory windows just right, the Library was more beautiful and more magnificent than any other building she had ever seen. In fact, it was more beautiful than anything she had ever seen, anywhere.
You should get out and see them anyway. You work too much. Getting out and seeing the Players will do you good, Wren admonished her with a twinge of fatherly concern in his voice. I know, she sighed, but I want to make sure this shipment is logged correctly.
I think Im capable of handling it, Abeyal, Wren mumbled. Hed been here for two years, and was more than competent at his job as Librarian, 7th Tier. Abeyal sometimes overlooked this. Shed practically grown up here, after all, running in between the aisles and always underfoot. Shed been a Librarian since she was 15, although she half suspected it was more because the elder Librarians wanted to put her to work and get her out of their hair than because she had any superior aptitude.
Thats not what I Oh, Im sorry, Wren. Youre right. Ill finish this stack and thats it. Abeyal couldnt decide which was worse leaving the books unfinished or missing the performance tonight. The truth of Wrens words pushed her towards the latter, however. She had been spending too much time in the Library of late. Even her mother, an Earth Mage in the Academy, was worried that shed been spending too much time cooped up with tomes and dust.
The Pig & Potion is a noisy but homely tavern just northwest of the center of town. It is nestled in an area known for lively entertainment of all sorts and comforting inns, between the Zephyrs Breath to the east and the Blue Feather to the west. Abeyal approached just as the sunlight disappeared behind the buildings behind her. She gathered her cloak about her shoulders before gently pushing open the dark purple door. Immediately smells of roasted mutton and fresh bread assaulted her nose, along with the ever-present odor of spilt or stale stout. A large fire crackled in the hearth and a large crowd had already gathered in anticipation of the Players upcoming performance. The atmosphere was pleasant and inviting, while still retaining just a hint of hidden anticipation and excitement. She was glad she came.
She chose a seat on a bench between an aged gypsy-like woman and a young man who looked like a merchants son. She had to carefully move some of the folds of the womans skirt as she sat or she would have stepped on the long, motley fringe. She looked about. Yes, this would do nicely. She could easily see the performance dais in the corner from here. Some children had already begun setting out some of the performance gear.
Suddenly, the common room grew dark. Near the performance dais, a bluish glow emanated from the wall behind. Five shadowy figures appeared, seemingly holding ancient and fine daggers. The daggers themselves seemed to radiate light, a sickly ruddy glow to contrast with the background blue.
The Players danced with the daggers, the daggers seeming an extension of their bodies rather than mere props. By their gestures it was obvious that these characters were the villains.
The young merchant leaned over and whispered, Ah, they have recreated in dance the story of the Five Daggers and the Wardens of Dawn. Abeyal had heard this tale, but only told by firelight by random tavern goers, never by a proper Player, yet she could see the similarities.
Once their dance was done, another group of Players emerged on the stage. These were dressed in lighters shades of green, blue, silver, and white, although their figures will still rather indistinct in the dimmed light. In their hands they each wielded a sword that shone with a silver sheen. The choreography suggested chases through an unseen forest, and turmoil both of the mind and the body.
Then, as that dance wound to an end, a new, final dance sprung up. Here, all Players took the stage: a final combat ensued. Their bodies rushed through unbelievable poses and intricate footwork. The battle dance ended in a rush of movement, good triumphing over evil in the end. The common room erupted with their approval. Abeyal thought she had never seen such a wondrous rendition of battle in dance. She placed a few silver coins in the hat as it was passed around.
Just as Abeyal was about to leave, the old gypsy-like woman to her left spoke up. You know, dearie, this is a true story. In fact, I hear tell that the very same adventurers are currently staying at the Blue Feather here in Darkwell.
Truly? Abeyal could not imagine the Wardens being so close. It would truly be something to travel with them, to see and touch the things I only read about in books, or hear about from Players, she thought. Ideas of taking up the adventurers hat jostled about in her mind. Why not? she thought, my father has done it, after all.
Why not indeed?, spoke the old woman. Your father wasnt a bad adventurer really, and its likely youd prove yourself worthy of it as well. Odd. Abeyal didnt remember speaking those last thoughts aloud.
Abeyal looked at the woman closely. No, she had never seen her before this night. How is it you know of my father? she asked. I know him not, young one, but I know you, and your type. You shall grow stale if you remain where you are. The Mists tell me so. The firelight caught her eyes in that moment, and for a second Abeyal wondered if she was truly human.
Later that night, as Abeyal prepared for bed, she considered the gypsy-womans words. Could she have been Curi? Likely. But was there truth to her words? Also likely. Abeyal had risen quickly through the ranks at the Library. It wouldnt be long before she learned all that that place had to offer. Besides, Wren was capable of most routine tasks at the Library now. Hed soon make 6th Tier, she considered. He would manage well enough without her for a time, and no doubt benefit from my not standing over him each morning.
Climbing into her bed, she pulled the quilts up to her chin and rolled to her side. The waxing moon filtered in through the shutters and made slatted patterns on the quilt; patterns overlaying patterns. It would be something to make the history of books, rather than being the one to simply read and catalogue it, she mused. A great historian is one who lives and breathes history itself, not one who simply writes down the deeds of others. Thoughts began converging on thoughts as sleep drew near. And I will be a great historian, she mumbled as sleep finally conquered her.
I hear those Players from Talanta are wonderful, too, Wren, a fellow librarian here in the Library of Darkwell, said as he brought in another stack of leather bound tomes and set them on the table. Well, maybe theyll still be here tomorrow.
We can only hope. Abeyal stood a moment, put her hands on her hips and straightened her back, and looked about her. She never grew tired of looking at the vastness of the Library. The main chamber was a full three stories in height, and the arched, vaulted ceiling covered close to ten thousand volumes. From the main floor one could look up and see the railings and upper shelves of the floors above. All of the woodwork in here was done in ebony, which contrasted nicely with the cream colored stone. Shelves upon shelves lined the walls. Some were only reachable by long ladders. Histories, lore, anecdotes, poetry, and biographies they were all here. The bright hues of the leather added the perfect amount of jeweled toned colors; scarlet, lapis, emerald, amber. When the sunlight entered through the clerestory windows just right, the Library was more beautiful and more magnificent than any other building she had ever seen. In fact, it was more beautiful than anything she had ever seen, anywhere.
You should get out and see them anyway. You work too much. Getting out and seeing the Players will do you good, Wren admonished her with a twinge of fatherly concern in his voice. I know, she sighed, but I want to make sure this shipment is logged correctly.
I think Im capable of handling it, Abeyal, Wren mumbled. Hed been here for two years, and was more than competent at his job as Librarian, 7th Tier. Abeyal sometimes overlooked this. Shed practically grown up here, after all, running in between the aisles and always underfoot. Shed been a Librarian since she was 15, although she half suspected it was more because the elder Librarians wanted to put her to work and get her out of their hair than because she had any superior aptitude.
Thats not what I Oh, Im sorry, Wren. Youre right. Ill finish this stack and thats it. Abeyal couldnt decide which was worse leaving the books unfinished or missing the performance tonight. The truth of Wrens words pushed her towards the latter, however. She had been spending too much time in the Library of late. Even her mother, an Earth Mage in the Academy, was worried that shed been spending too much time cooped up with tomes and dust.
The Pig & Potion is a noisy but homely tavern just northwest of the center of town. It is nestled in an area known for lively entertainment of all sorts and comforting inns, between the Zephyrs Breath to the east and the Blue Feather to the west. Abeyal approached just as the sunlight disappeared behind the buildings behind her. She gathered her cloak about her shoulders before gently pushing open the dark purple door. Immediately smells of roasted mutton and fresh bread assaulted her nose, along with the ever-present odor of spilt or stale stout. A large fire crackled in the hearth and a large crowd had already gathered in anticipation of the Players upcoming performance. The atmosphere was pleasant and inviting, while still retaining just a hint of hidden anticipation and excitement. She was glad she came.
She chose a seat on a bench between an aged gypsy-like woman and a young man who looked like a merchants son. She had to carefully move some of the folds of the womans skirt as she sat or she would have stepped on the long, motley fringe. She looked about. Yes, this would do nicely. She could easily see the performance dais in the corner from here. Some children had already begun setting out some of the performance gear.
Suddenly, the common room grew dark. Near the performance dais, a bluish glow emanated from the wall behind. Five shadowy figures appeared, seemingly holding ancient and fine daggers. The daggers themselves seemed to radiate light, a sickly ruddy glow to contrast with the background blue.
The Players danced with the daggers, the daggers seeming an extension of their bodies rather than mere props. By their gestures it was obvious that these characters were the villains.
The young merchant leaned over and whispered, Ah, they have recreated in dance the story of the Five Daggers and the Wardens of Dawn. Abeyal had heard this tale, but only told by firelight by random tavern goers, never by a proper Player, yet she could see the similarities.
Once their dance was done, another group of Players emerged on the stage. These were dressed in lighters shades of green, blue, silver, and white, although their figures will still rather indistinct in the dimmed light. In their hands they each wielded a sword that shone with a silver sheen. The choreography suggested chases through an unseen forest, and turmoil both of the mind and the body.
Then, as that dance wound to an end, a new, final dance sprung up. Here, all Players took the stage: a final combat ensued. Their bodies rushed through unbelievable poses and intricate footwork. The battle dance ended in a rush of movement, good triumphing over evil in the end. The common room erupted with their approval. Abeyal thought she had never seen such a wondrous rendition of battle in dance. She placed a few silver coins in the hat as it was passed around.
Just as Abeyal was about to leave, the old gypsy-like woman to her left spoke up. You know, dearie, this is a true story. In fact, I hear tell that the very same adventurers are currently staying at the Blue Feather here in Darkwell.
Truly? Abeyal could not imagine the Wardens being so close. It would truly be something to travel with them, to see and touch the things I only read about in books, or hear about from Players, she thought. Ideas of taking up the adventurers hat jostled about in her mind. Why not? she thought, my father has done it, after all.
Why not indeed?, spoke the old woman. Your father wasnt a bad adventurer really, and its likely youd prove yourself worthy of it as well. Odd. Abeyal didnt remember speaking those last thoughts aloud.
Abeyal looked at the woman closely. No, she had never seen her before this night. How is it you know of my father? she asked. I know him not, young one, but I know you, and your type. You shall grow stale if you remain where you are. The Mists tell me so. The firelight caught her eyes in that moment, and for a second Abeyal wondered if she was truly human.
Later that night, as Abeyal prepared for bed, she considered the gypsy-womans words. Could she have been Curi? Likely. But was there truth to her words? Also likely. Abeyal had risen quickly through the ranks at the Library. It wouldnt be long before she learned all that that place had to offer. Besides, Wren was capable of most routine tasks at the Library now. Hed soon make 6th Tier, she considered. He would manage well enough without her for a time, and no doubt benefit from my not standing over him each morning.
Climbing into her bed, she pulled the quilts up to her chin and rolled to her side. The waxing moon filtered in through the shutters and made slatted patterns on the quilt; patterns overlaying patterns. It would be something to make the history of books, rather than being the one to simply read and catalogue it, she mused. A great historian is one who lives and breathes history itself, not one who simply writes down the deeds of others. Thoughts began converging on thoughts as sleep drew near. And I will be a great historian, she mumbled as sleep finally conquered her.
