Acclimation had been the name of the game over the last two weeks. Thankfully, the young man currently surrounded by all manner of book, scroll, map, and parchment was very, very good at acclimation. In this case, however, he might have taken things a bit too far. His life had for years now been dominated by a map and therefore, not surprisingly, his only lasting hobby to develop in that time was amateur cartography. Copping, expanding, and understanding one map, although perhaps the most frustrating one the world had ever seen, and creating his own were, as he was coming to learn, two very different things.
Thankfully, his aptitude in acclimating was serving him well, even in this. His first job had gone without a hitch and already THREE more had lined up to follow it. And of these three two would be relatively easy. The youngest son of Elias Burnie was in the peak of his physical condition, although that was not saying very much. Still, his wiry, average, positively uninteresting frame was well suited for marching up and down paths and meandering through woodlands. Add in the harder-than-it-seems ability of walking and writing at the same time, and a well-developed sense of direction, and you had yourself a particularly good budding mapmaker, one that could map out Myrken for knights searching for a Fiend or figure out exactly the best route for a tubby Councilor's carriage.
For this third task, undoubtedly the most interesting and with the most satisfying rewards, much more needed to be done than looking, walking, and writing. The swordswoman wanted him to draw her a map showing the most direct route to a place neither of them had been. Given enough resources, it should have been simple. Unfortunately, THESE were his resources.
"How, how in the name of all that is holy," Glenn's voice was soft, yet that drained none of the frustrated passion from it. "How can there be a LEAK here, in the middle of a drought!" But there it was, and there it had been, plaguing him all day with the nearly constant dripping noise. Somehow the roof was leaking. He wished he knew where the accursed water was coming from. Forget being a mapmaker. With that sort of knowledge, he could bottle it and make a small fortune in this weather. The leading theory bouncing around his skull involved the oak pillars and framework consciously absorbing water, waiting until a hapless researcher was there doing his work, and then unleashing their full fury upon him. If there HAD been rain anytime recently, he would likely be kneed deep in floodwater now, bombarded with floating books.
A more accurate cause would stem from the library being direly understaffed. This was the fault of the Fiend. EVERYTHING seemed the fault of the Fiend as of late. It would surprise no one, Glenn assumed, if the Fiend was to blame for the heat itself. Given the message he had heard in the Dagger less than a week before, he was almost certain that the Fiend had been an indirect if not a direct cause of his current assignment. Well, he would just add "enforcing tolerance of infernal dripping" to the next wanted poster he saw.
Despite all of this, hard work, as was generally its nature, was paying off. He had found three maps which showed at least one area of 'r Chyr'laud. Unfortunately, all of them were positively ancient, and only one, when mixed with a great deal of complimentary texts, gave any hint on how one might get there from Myrken. If he had not asked for such lofty compensation, this would be enough. As it was, he needed something more, even if it was only verification of the sketches he had made.
Slamming the last of the books shut, Glenn rose. It would be another hour helping to put all of them back, but he wouldn't sleep too easily tonight if he just left things this way. This library needed more than extra help. It needed a minor miracle. Unfortunately, he had none of those to provide. Instead, he began to put things back and undo the mess made by his research. All the while, he pondered his next move. Another talk with Miss Emory, and from there perhaps they would travel together to a place chilling enough to make goosebumps climb over his arm at the mere thought of it. And he thought this was a better idea than designing toys for the old tax collector?! A terse laugh to himself, and back to putting things away. It was, and he knew it.
Stuck in the Mudd
5 posts
• Page 1 of 1
Stuck in the Mudd
by Glenn » Fri Jul 06, 2007 8:10 am
- Glenn
- Co-Founder
- Posts: 3258
- Joined: Fri Jul 06, 2007 4:00 am
Three Letters from the Mudd
by Glenn » Wed Jul 18, 2007 3:16 am
"Does no one ever write anything down in this insane town?!" Why was it so hard to learn about Myrken's recent past in the library? Why was it that everyone here had so many blasted secrets? Why wouldn't anyone just TELL him anything? Why didn't anyone take the time to repair this horrific building?!
"Breathe, Glenn. Breathe. You're getting somewhere." Oh, the only place where he was getting himself was mad, and quickly at that. Talking to himself, now, at full volume and in a LIBRARY. Still, his words to himself WERE somewhat reassuring. "You're getting somewhere."
The area in which he was working seemed to have been hit by some sort of tornado, or at least a minor storm. Papers were everywhere, on the table before him, on the floor below him, even wedged under the legs of the chair he currently sat upon. Currently, it would seem to any outsider that he was working on at least three things.
The first was a map, a map that he was putting a great deal of effort in perfecting, a map that he was putting his entire soul in to. It took about that much work when all you had as sources were current yet tiny local maps and detailed yet long, long obsolete regional maps. No, most of his edits and redrawings came from written record, from his own (rather lacking) ingenuity, but the hard work WAS paying off. He would soon be done.
The second of his toils involved research. Over the last week or two, he had spent hours in these murky hallways learning about great myths, about ruined manors and far away places. Now, he attempted to learn of somewhere a bit closer, though apparently just as ruined. Here were strewn books and pamphlets and rolls. None of them seemed to have exactly what he needed.
It was that very frustration that turned him to his third task, his current task, the writing of letters. He had quickly come to learn, especially during the last few days of aiding Councilor Treadwell in preparations, that there was a surprisingly organized system of urchin couriers in the streets. It took very little coin to have a message delivered with surprising speed and accuracy. He assumed these children to be orphans (how topical) and meant now to make use of them.
First, a letter to Alastir Savoy, to be full of the talk between friends, and of important matters. It was in a neat hand, a relaxed hand, but the words were hardly ornate. Glenn's training in scripting words was practical, no more, no less.
-------------------------------------------------------------
To Alastir Savoy,
Alastir, I hope that today finds you well. Having seen Miss Emory walking without difficulty last night, I am rather confident that you too have recovered from the troubles we experienced in the Dagger. We will have much to talk about, regarding that night, but only in a private setting and only when you are ready. I can assure you that no crazed women have killed me, as of yet. Still, it would be good to hear from your own lips that you are fully recovered, so I hope to be able to see you soon.
The purpose of this letter, past checking in on the matter of your health, is to inform you that I had the dubious opportunity to take the measure of Sin'Vraal last night. In fact, I was able to ask a number of questions of him, the man thinking me an uninformed stranger. Unfortunately, I do not seem to have your skill for this sort of subterfuge and plotting. He saw right through me the second that Miss Emory walked in and my eyes fell upon her.
Still, up until that point, I had learned a number of potential truths about the man, which I will bestow upon you, when next we speak. I hope they will help you in your own investigations regarding the Fiend. As always, you did not tell me nearly enough. Even after finding me out, I felt at little immediate risk. He merely mentioned the Priory of Snowstill, claiming that we, surely you included, are to find more answers there, presumably the place where we are meant to encounter the man next.
A bit of research turned up quite a lot on this Snowstill. Much of it, however, that was not merely mundane, makes little sense to me. It would be easier to explain to you in person, or even better for you to have someone closer to the situation explain. Try Miss Emory. I can report that the priory was ruined by fire. I shall inquire with Councilor Treadwell tonight if Sin'Vraal has, in fact, purchased the land the ruins sit upon, an action that would fit with what I know of him.
A final and certain assurance that I will quite certainly not do anything this foolish again anytime soon. It was an advantage to all of us that men like Sin'Vraal think little of men such as I. Still, that is no reason for me to put myself in undue danger, and I know you would advise me of that exact point. If you have need of me, I shall likely be either here at the Library, continuing my work, or at the Councilor's shop. I know you have some misgivings of the man, but he has shown me nothing but kindness. Partly, I think, that is because I have not given him any opportunity to do anything but.
Do stay safe, Alastir. We need you here, alive and well. For some odd reason, the lot of us here seem to keep getting bruised, battered, and stabbed.
Yours if you have need of me,
Glenn
---------------------------------------
The young mapmaker brought the letter outside and delivered it to the nearest eager scamp along with the proper fee. Somehow he knew it would reach Alastir. If it did not, well, he had made sure not to let anything too important slip, especially when it pertained to what he had seen Alastir do.
It was on his way back in that he noticed something peculiar not far from the entrance, something very strange on the nearest stack of books. "What?" It had been something he had only before seen in the most fleeting sort of way, but oh, he had HEARD about it, more than enough to recognize it before him. He had been there when Alastir spoke to others of it, and he had listened. "The Fiend!" That was what the frost before his eyes, in the middle of summer, had to mean. The Fiend had been here, and recently!
Glenn ran back to his seat, sprawling out his next message, which had both a more formal and a more rushed look than the previous letter.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
To Ser Malaroth Deucalios of Zachea
Grand Master of the Shepherd Knights
Ser Malaroth,
I am writing to inform you that my previous commissions are almost at an end and I am hoping to report to begin my work with your order within the next few days. My sincerest apologies for how long it has taken me to reach this stage. I hope that my meager talents can serve the knights, and through them, all of Myrken Wood. As for my compensation, I assure you it will not be extraordinary. At most, I will require room and board while I work with you, a small stipend, a horse to borrow, and then one other request that is better made in person.
As this is written, I am currently conducting research in the library of Mudd. In passing by the entrance just now, I fear that I have discovered a fresh sample of the frosty residue left behind by the Fiend. While I do not know the exact properties behind it, it does seem clear that he has been here, recently. I thought it best that you were informed.
For the next few days, I can be reached through Councilor Treadwell. Again, I look forward to working with you,
Glenn Burnie
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Glenn had failed to tell Malaroth anything about Snowstill. He did not know what the man knew and what he did not. He did not know what of Sin'Vraal was common knowledge. He did not know if telling Malaroth too much would interfere with Alastir's plans. He knew none of these things because Alastir did such a poor job in keeping him informed.
Also, he made a quick decision not to inform the Constables about the frost. They had heard from him twice recently. Anything else, Glenn thought thought, and he would seem like a boy who cried wolf, even if there was something tangible to report this time.
While the letter would have farther to go than the one sent to Alastir, Glenn knew full well that there were a few letters going to the order of knights everyday now that the war preparations had begun. His letter would merely be tacked upon one of these shipments.
Now, tired and slightly harrowed over what he had just seen, over how much time he had been spending in a place where the Fiend still seemed to frequent, well, Glenn decided it would be a good time to gather up his things. Still, one more letter had to be sent first.
This one was brief, with simple language and very clear writing. It was meant to be short and to the point. The point, naturally, was to explain what Ariane had seen last night, update her on his progress, and perhaps forward a question or two in the hope to finally get some answers.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Miss Emory,
Tried to get information out of Sin'Vraal. No one suspects a mapmaker, right? Map is almost done. Promise not to be foolish again until map in your hands. Promise. Sin'Vraal mentioned Snowstill. Library says you would know. Mentioned a future encounter there. With Treadwell if you need me. Glad you are not hurt. Hoping you killed crazy woman.
Glenn
--------------------------------------
With these last two letters written, Glenn gathered up his things very quickly. He would put the messages into hands that would see to their delivery and then scury back to Treadwell's shop, back to relative safety where he might be able to finish up this map without specters of Fiends hanging over his head.
"Breathe, Glenn. Breathe. You're getting somewhere." Oh, the only place where he was getting himself was mad, and quickly at that. Talking to himself, now, at full volume and in a LIBRARY. Still, his words to himself WERE somewhat reassuring. "You're getting somewhere."
The area in which he was working seemed to have been hit by some sort of tornado, or at least a minor storm. Papers were everywhere, on the table before him, on the floor below him, even wedged under the legs of the chair he currently sat upon. Currently, it would seem to any outsider that he was working on at least three things.
The first was a map, a map that he was putting a great deal of effort in perfecting, a map that he was putting his entire soul in to. It took about that much work when all you had as sources were current yet tiny local maps and detailed yet long, long obsolete regional maps. No, most of his edits and redrawings came from written record, from his own (rather lacking) ingenuity, but the hard work WAS paying off. He would soon be done.
The second of his toils involved research. Over the last week or two, he had spent hours in these murky hallways learning about great myths, about ruined manors and far away places. Now, he attempted to learn of somewhere a bit closer, though apparently just as ruined. Here were strewn books and pamphlets and rolls. None of them seemed to have exactly what he needed.
It was that very frustration that turned him to his third task, his current task, the writing of letters. He had quickly come to learn, especially during the last few days of aiding Councilor Treadwell in preparations, that there was a surprisingly organized system of urchin couriers in the streets. It took very little coin to have a message delivered with surprising speed and accuracy. He assumed these children to be orphans (how topical) and meant now to make use of them.
First, a letter to Alastir Savoy, to be full of the talk between friends, and of important matters. It was in a neat hand, a relaxed hand, but the words were hardly ornate. Glenn's training in scripting words was practical, no more, no less.
-------------------------------------------------------------
To Alastir Savoy,
Alastir, I hope that today finds you well. Having seen Miss Emory walking without difficulty last night, I am rather confident that you too have recovered from the troubles we experienced in the Dagger. We will have much to talk about, regarding that night, but only in a private setting and only when you are ready. I can assure you that no crazed women have killed me, as of yet. Still, it would be good to hear from your own lips that you are fully recovered, so I hope to be able to see you soon.
The purpose of this letter, past checking in on the matter of your health, is to inform you that I had the dubious opportunity to take the measure of Sin'Vraal last night. In fact, I was able to ask a number of questions of him, the man thinking me an uninformed stranger. Unfortunately, I do not seem to have your skill for this sort of subterfuge and plotting. He saw right through me the second that Miss Emory walked in and my eyes fell upon her.
Still, up until that point, I had learned a number of potential truths about the man, which I will bestow upon you, when next we speak. I hope they will help you in your own investigations regarding the Fiend. As always, you did not tell me nearly enough. Even after finding me out, I felt at little immediate risk. He merely mentioned the Priory of Snowstill, claiming that we, surely you included, are to find more answers there, presumably the place where we are meant to encounter the man next.
A bit of research turned up quite a lot on this Snowstill. Much of it, however, that was not merely mundane, makes little sense to me. It would be easier to explain to you in person, or even better for you to have someone closer to the situation explain. Try Miss Emory. I can report that the priory was ruined by fire. I shall inquire with Councilor Treadwell tonight if Sin'Vraal has, in fact, purchased the land the ruins sit upon, an action that would fit with what I know of him.
A final and certain assurance that I will quite certainly not do anything this foolish again anytime soon. It was an advantage to all of us that men like Sin'Vraal think little of men such as I. Still, that is no reason for me to put myself in undue danger, and I know you would advise me of that exact point. If you have need of me, I shall likely be either here at the Library, continuing my work, or at the Councilor's shop. I know you have some misgivings of the man, but he has shown me nothing but kindness. Partly, I think, that is because I have not given him any opportunity to do anything but.
Do stay safe, Alastir. We need you here, alive and well. For some odd reason, the lot of us here seem to keep getting bruised, battered, and stabbed.
Yours if you have need of me,
Glenn
---------------------------------------
The young mapmaker brought the letter outside and delivered it to the nearest eager scamp along with the proper fee. Somehow he knew it would reach Alastir. If it did not, well, he had made sure not to let anything too important slip, especially when it pertained to what he had seen Alastir do.
It was on his way back in that he noticed something peculiar not far from the entrance, something very strange on the nearest stack of books. "What?" It had been something he had only before seen in the most fleeting sort of way, but oh, he had HEARD about it, more than enough to recognize it before him. He had been there when Alastir spoke to others of it, and he had listened. "The Fiend!" That was what the frost before his eyes, in the middle of summer, had to mean. The Fiend had been here, and recently!
Glenn ran back to his seat, sprawling out his next message, which had both a more formal and a more rushed look than the previous letter.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
To Ser Malaroth Deucalios of Zachea
Grand Master of the Shepherd Knights
Ser Malaroth,
I am writing to inform you that my previous commissions are almost at an end and I am hoping to report to begin my work with your order within the next few days. My sincerest apologies for how long it has taken me to reach this stage. I hope that my meager talents can serve the knights, and through them, all of Myrken Wood. As for my compensation, I assure you it will not be extraordinary. At most, I will require room and board while I work with you, a small stipend, a horse to borrow, and then one other request that is better made in person.
As this is written, I am currently conducting research in the library of Mudd. In passing by the entrance just now, I fear that I have discovered a fresh sample of the frosty residue left behind by the Fiend. While I do not know the exact properties behind it, it does seem clear that he has been here, recently. I thought it best that you were informed.
For the next few days, I can be reached through Councilor Treadwell. Again, I look forward to working with you,
Glenn Burnie
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Glenn had failed to tell Malaroth anything about Snowstill. He did not know what the man knew and what he did not. He did not know what of Sin'Vraal was common knowledge. He did not know if telling Malaroth too much would interfere with Alastir's plans. He knew none of these things because Alastir did such a poor job in keeping him informed.
Also, he made a quick decision not to inform the Constables about the frost. They had heard from him twice recently. Anything else, Glenn thought thought, and he would seem like a boy who cried wolf, even if there was something tangible to report this time.
While the letter would have farther to go than the one sent to Alastir, Glenn knew full well that there were a few letters going to the order of knights everyday now that the war preparations had begun. His letter would merely be tacked upon one of these shipments.
Now, tired and slightly harrowed over what he had just seen, over how much time he had been spending in a place where the Fiend still seemed to frequent, well, Glenn decided it would be a good time to gather up his things. Still, one more letter had to be sent first.
This one was brief, with simple language and very clear writing. It was meant to be short and to the point. The point, naturally, was to explain what Ariane had seen last night, update her on his progress, and perhaps forward a question or two in the hope to finally get some answers.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Miss Emory,
Tried to get information out of Sin'Vraal. No one suspects a mapmaker, right? Map is almost done. Promise not to be foolish again until map in your hands. Promise. Sin'Vraal mentioned Snowstill. Library says you would know. Mentioned a future encounter there. With Treadwell if you need me. Glad you are not hurt. Hoping you killed crazy woman.
Glenn
--------------------------------------
With these last two letters written, Glenn gathered up his things very quickly. He would put the messages into hands that would see to their delivery and then scury back to Treadwell's shop, back to relative safety where he might be able to finish up this map without specters of Fiends hanging over his head.
- Glenn
- Co-Founder
- Posts: 3258
- Joined: Fri Jul 06, 2007 4:00 am
by Alastir » Sun Jul 22, 2007 10:09 am
He'd recieved the letter after having come back to the tavern, and had written a reply - to be sent to the Library of Mudd by swift courtier.
--------------------
To Glenn Burnie..
I am glad that you are unharmed and out of danger. Indeed, we've much to talk about. This is alarming news, to say the least, and I have taken it upon myself to inform Constable Calomel of some details that I've learned of the Fiend. I am still trying to investigate it upon my own, and quietly if I can. With the advent of this new threat from Zayken, and what sort of monstrosity it is - I have taken it upon myself to find a mentor to teach me to protect myself. Much the same as you've done with Miss Emory. If this Priory is in ruins, and he's come back to do something there - we must find out his plans for it, and the reasons why. And if we can - give them to Messer Calomel and the fiend himself. Let them allay against each other. And, as far as the Councilor is concerned - he is a shrewd man, and perhaps a just one even admist his gluttonous natures. But, be wary and careful all the same. I was at the council meeting the other eve - and things might become quite violent sometime soon - and which has nothing to do with fiend or the invading foe. If this reaches you, please send response. I've found a suitable safe place and I can advise you in person where it is - so you too can stay there in safety. I dare not put the location in writing. Just in case.
Your Friend,
Alastir Savoy.
--------------------
To Glenn Burnie..
I am glad that you are unharmed and out of danger. Indeed, we've much to talk about. This is alarming news, to say the least, and I have taken it upon myself to inform Constable Calomel of some details that I've learned of the Fiend. I am still trying to investigate it upon my own, and quietly if I can. With the advent of this new threat from Zayken, and what sort of monstrosity it is - I have taken it upon myself to find a mentor to teach me to protect myself. Much the same as you've done with Miss Emory. If this Priory is in ruins, and he's come back to do something there - we must find out his plans for it, and the reasons why. And if we can - give them to Messer Calomel and the fiend himself. Let them allay against each other. And, as far as the Councilor is concerned - he is a shrewd man, and perhaps a just one even admist his gluttonous natures. But, be wary and careful all the same. I was at the council meeting the other eve - and things might become quite violent sometime soon - and which has nothing to do with fiend or the invading foe. If this reaches you, please send response. I've found a suitable safe place and I can advise you in person where it is - so you too can stay there in safety. I dare not put the location in writing. Just in case.
Your Friend,
Alastir Savoy.
I'm gonna suture up my future, I ain't jaded, just hate it hard to explain, done & buried all I carried.
all my evils, through a needle, as I pull through the eye, of what was & what will, are now gone,
don't sweat it, thread it to forget it,
to feel like you've already gone on, to the rest of,
the rest of the life that you've got,
tie loose ends & bury it all away.
QotSA.
~ If it can't be healed; you're already dead. ~
all my evils, through a needle, as I pull through the eye, of what was & what will, are now gone,
don't sweat it, thread it to forget it,
to feel like you've already gone on, to the rest of,
the rest of the life that you've got,
tie loose ends & bury it all away.
QotSA.
~ If it can't be healed; you're already dead. ~
-
Alastir - Member
- Posts: 35
- Joined: Wed Jun 20, 2007 2:02 pm
- Location: The Inn.
by Malaroth » Sun Jul 22, 2007 10:41 am
Master Glenn Burnie,
Greetings,
I thank you for your correspondence, sir, in light of all that has beset you this week. I thank whatever powers were at work to keep you safe.
Your apologies, though, are certainly not necessary. I understand that your rather unique services are in high demand and trust that you will honor our agreement at the nearest available opportunity. I am most willing to grant all that you ask and require of us, Glenn, and am eager to discuss this unnamed service you will require of me.
I also thank you for this latest news regarding the Fiend's activities.
May time and fate keep you safe from harm and, failing that, may your friends - myself included - do the same.
I would also be interested in discussing what you remember of distant Zachea, Leshgaul and the Mul Wastes. Though I understand there is great tragedy for both of us in such memories it would, yet, prove a boon to me and I hope for you all the same.
Sincerely,
Sir Malaroth Deucalios of Zachea
Grand Master of the Shepherd Knights
Greetings,
I thank you for your correspondence, sir, in light of all that has beset you this week. I thank whatever powers were at work to keep you safe.
Your apologies, though, are certainly not necessary. I understand that your rather unique services are in high demand and trust that you will honor our agreement at the nearest available opportunity. I am most willing to grant all that you ask and require of us, Glenn, and am eager to discuss this unnamed service you will require of me.
I also thank you for this latest news regarding the Fiend's activities.
May time and fate keep you safe from harm and, failing that, may your friends - myself included - do the same.
I would also be interested in discussing what you remember of distant Zachea, Leshgaul and the Mul Wastes. Though I understand there is great tragedy for both of us in such memories it would, yet, prove a boon to me and I hope for you all the same.
Sincerely,
Sir Malaroth Deucalios of Zachea
Grand Master of the Shepherd Knights
I wish I had a reason
My flaws are open season
For this I gave up trying
One good turn deserves my dying
My flaws are open season
For this I gave up trying
One good turn deserves my dying
- Malaroth
- Member
- Posts: 285
- Joined: Tue Apr 10, 2007 4:00 am
- Location: Massachusetts, USA
A New Librarian
by Rattrap » Mon Jan 28, 2008 3:58 pm
The Library was understaffed; it, like many staples of Myrken Wood, shared the territory's history of violence. It, like many other structures, had suffered loss and renewal: the Rememdium Edificium was blown up by a kobold and rebuilt; the Broken Dagger has been virtually destroyed and repaired endless times; countless estates are burned to the ground in less-than-innocent circumstances; the entire Lothbury estate was firebombed by a goblin-flown zeppelin. All this considering, the Library of Mudd got off easy.
But that's relatively speaking; absolutely speaking, nothing and no one gets off easy in Myrken Wood.
However, as with the examples mentioned, things have a manner of turning around. And so it would be for the Library of Mudd, as refugees from bordering territories worked to rebuild, if not maintain, the damaged structure.
Now it also has a new face to haunt the aisles of books on a seemingly permanent basis. This new face, a librarian evidentially as she knows her way around books - and specifically, these books - carries a dark demeanor, and rarely does much around the building to dispel any such feeling. Her eyes are a dark green so dark they can easily be mistaken for black in the shadows; she looks older than she should, and though her hair is a long, golden dirty-blonde, it is offset by the black, feature-less uniform she always wears. It has been altered, as one might be able to see in the contrasting skill of seam-work, with a simple square patch crudely sewn in over her chest.
The original area of fabric with which this shoddy black patch had replaced wasn't far; as a matter of fact, the woman used it as a bookmark. Why this is of any mention is two-fold; the first being that the woman kept it discreet, shooing anyone who might decide to examine what a librarian likes to read, and the second being that this odd piece of cloth had a simple, but recognizable silver figure of the goddess Straka.
But that's relatively speaking; absolutely speaking, nothing and no one gets off easy in Myrken Wood.
However, as with the examples mentioned, things have a manner of turning around. And so it would be for the Library of Mudd, as refugees from bordering territories worked to rebuild, if not maintain, the damaged structure.
Now it also has a new face to haunt the aisles of books on a seemingly permanent basis. This new face, a librarian evidentially as she knows her way around books - and specifically, these books - carries a dark demeanor, and rarely does much around the building to dispel any such feeling. Her eyes are a dark green so dark they can easily be mistaken for black in the shadows; she looks older than she should, and though her hair is a long, golden dirty-blonde, it is offset by the black, feature-less uniform she always wears. It has been altered, as one might be able to see in the contrasting skill of seam-work, with a simple square patch crudely sewn in over her chest.
The original area of fabric with which this shoddy black patch had replaced wasn't far; as a matter of fact, the woman used it as a bookmark. Why this is of any mention is two-fold; the first being that the woman kept it discreet, shooing anyone who might decide to examine what a librarian likes to read, and the second being that this odd piece of cloth had a simple, but recognizable silver figure of the goddess Straka.
-
Rattrap - Member
- Posts: 1072
- Joined: Tue Dec 10, 2002 5:00 am
- Location: Oregon
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