Inception (Angmor, Darek)

[Akilinia]

Rohiriel

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Her feet trod soundlessly across the cool stone floor of the Citadel's Grand Library. Although at one point it must have been grand like the rest of the library, the polished ivory that coated the floor of the immense room had long since been worn smooth and dull by thousands of feet traversing endlessly up and down the aisles it paved between the towering book shelves. Here and there she could see slightly different shades of ivory that marked where the ladders used to reach the highest rows of books slid back and forth on their wheels. The shelves themselves constructed of tremendous glossy panels of black cherry. Rohiriel knew that if she ran her hands over the smooth expanses of wood, she would feel knots here and there where the tree had once tried to form branches when it still lived, and that she would be able to trace the grains of the wood. Of more interest than the structural details of the shelves were what the shelves contained. Books, scrolls, knowledge; a treasure's worth of knowledge all in one place so that those who wished to learn would be able to.

Rohiriel inhaled deeply, reveling in the familiar scent of the library. It smelled of dust and old paper, slightly moldy, but pleasantly so. There was something calming about that scent. She exhaled and raised her fingers to run them along the spines of the books as she walked. Most were smooth and well taken care of, but when the tips of her fingers passed over some, their frayed bindings ruffled and clung to the old calluses that layered her hands. The mark of a well loved book was not how stiff the binding was or how flat the pages were. Well loved books were stained and filled with crumbs from a late night snack as a person stayed up late to finish it, and their pages were dog eared with graffiti layering the white spaces on the pages like the beginnings of a new novel. Those were the ones worth reading.

Rohiriel's questing fingers stopped on the worn and faded green binding of one such book. The spine of the book had been carefully reattached and the carefully rendered curving golden letters that gave the array of pages assembled within its two covers a name were barely legible. She slid her first finger along the top of the book and carefully pulled it from its home on the shelf. The books on either side of it sagged inward as the books cleared the shelf, suddenly bereft of support on one side. Not wanting to make anymore work for the busy librarians that she could help, Rohiriel carefully removed one of the ribbons that she had painstakingly woven into the white-blonde braid that stretched down the length of her spine, and placed the ribbon in the book's spot on the shelf. It was a length of bright red silk that would be easy to find when she returned later to put the book back. She tugged the ribbon until it dangled visibly between the book's two leaning neighbors then turned to seek her favorite reading spot.

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Since coming to Ilirea, Rohiriel had come to the Grand Library every day to peruse the library's seemingly endless store of knowledge. It was always the same routine, but despite the feelings of restlessness that had plagued her earlier in life, she never tired of it. Every day she would wake, run through some dances with her weapons, brush and saddle Datia, then she would ride from her little cottage at the edge of the great city to the Grand Library where she stabled Datia. She then entered the library through the western door, chose a book to read and proceeded to her favorite spot in the northern most part of the second floor. Tedious to some, boring to many, but to Rohiriel, who had spent the majority of her life drive by impulse, it was a nice change of pace. The quiet of the library reminded her of the peaceful solitude of her home in the forest of Du Weldenvarden, of a time before her hands had been stained with blood and her mind sullied by the intrigues of the Grand Game in the elven capital of Ellesmera.

Rohiriel held the little green book to her chest, and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. All of that was behind her. She reached the bottom of one of the many spiral staircases in the library and began to climb. She slid one hand along the worn marble railing as she climbed, holding the book close with the other. The stairs were steep, and a slight burning began to build in her thighs and calves. She relished the pain, and leapt up the last of the stairs three at a time, balancing on the tips of her toes on each step only long enough to leap up the next three to the next. She slowed herself as she reached the second floor and made herself walk even as she wanted to flit to her spot like the wild forest-born creature she was. It was foolishness of course, to regard herself as such anymore. Rohiriel had changed since her birth on her parents' farm in the wilderness of the great forest. A smile graced her lips despite the chiding she gave herself. It was nice to know, all the same that she had not changed all that much.

Rohiriel rounded the last corner before her self proclaimed area of the library, and halted before the large panes of glass that stretched from floor to ceiling. They were magnificent in themselves - only in Ilirea had she seen glass so smooth and clear - but the view the glass afforded was why she had claimed that spot in the library. The library was not so populated that it was difficult to return to one place day after day. Mostly the citizens of Ilirea only visited the Grand Library when they were in search of specific texts, and after obtaining those texts they rarely lingered to appreciate the magnificence of the library itself. It was a beautiful building. She imagined no expense had been spared in its construction. Although all of the buildings in Ilirea were glorious, the library's glittering domes of marble and crystal rising above the rest of the city gave it a timeless feel, like it had been there before the rest of Ilirea and it would remain long after.

From the northernmost part of the second floor, the whole city stretched across the horizon. The brown of the city's main road could be seen winding through the city like an enormous snake would slither through a meadow. However, in Ilirea, the great city, buildings that would have been simple grass were glittering jewels. Rohiriel could see slate roof tops of bronze and gray that glimmered in the bright sunshine. The white washed buildings that lined the streets shone like stars and the fountains sprinkled throughout the city sparkled like precious gems. In her youth, Rohiriel had believed Ellesmera to be the most beautiful city in Alagaesia, but now she could see that had been youthful folly. Having lived in Ellesmera for nigh on two decades, she had become disillusioned to the capital's beauty. A city's beauty was not just in its buildings, the people were a large part of it.

Shaking off thoughts of Ellesmera, Rohiriel frowned a bit, and slid down the wall framing the left side of the window. She looked down at the book in her lap and examined the title for a moment. Treasures of Alagaesia was inscribed in gold, flaking letters across the cracked leather of the front cover. She slid her fingers beneath the front cover and opened it. Inhaling the scent of old book, she began to read.

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When Rohiriel finally closed the book, the sunset stained the clouds bright shades of purple, pink, and orange, spilling across the sky like a rainbow that a child attempted to finger paint with; little splashes here and there radiating from the sun in neon rays. The city looked even more beautiful at dusk than it did in the brightest noon day sun. The white buildings seemed to mimic the hues of the sky, taking on the color of oranges, pinks, and purples rather than their normal white. Rohiriel allowed herself the simple pleasure of admiring the beauty of it for a moment before she levered herself to her feet.

She retraced that path she'd travelled only that morning, her mind swimming with images of the glorious treasures she'd spent all day reading about. As lost in her thoughts as she was, she found herself standing before her own bright red ribbon much sooner than she expected. She ran her hand fondly over the old book's cover, memorizing the creases in the aged leather, and then she slid it back into its spot on the shelf. She pulled her ribbon from under the newly replaced index of Alagaesian treasures and tied it around her wrist. It was too much effort to weave it in her hair again when she planned to take the braid out so she could feel the wind in her hair on the ride back to her cottage. Rohiriel ran her hands across the spine of the book and its neighbors, appreciative of the way they held each other up, and then began to make her way back to the library's west entrance.

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OOC: Didn't like the last part so I chopped it off. It wasn't going to fit in with the way the thread's going.

[dantieduurden]

Artemis had spent her whole week looking for the key to winning the shades respect and she had finally traced it down to the city-state of the riders. After all the book contained as much evil objects of history as it did good. " Such a pity that I won be able to enjoy my stay with those who betrayed me, and see my brother." Artemis smirked as she stepped into the library. It was a little before noon, meaning the library should be packed and she could move around unnoticed, but her luck was not so. For when she asked the attendants where the treasure she was looking for was she was showed an empty space where it should have been. " Dam did they really beat me here?" Artemis asked herself before she saw the red ribbon. " Ah so brother we are destined to see each other on this visit after all." Artemis smiled as she began searching the library for her brother and the book.

After hours of searching every single nook and cranny of grand library if the riders she finally came to find the book, but it was not with her brother as she had thought when she saw the ribbon. With the ancient green book in hand was a woman seated near a glass window. " What to do?" Artemis thought for she did not want to make to big a scene in the center of town next to the riders. " Lets just wait till she puts the book away." Artemis finally decided as she traversed back to the first floor in a corner of to the side were she could get to the book easily after it was put back before anyone knew.

Dantie

Dantie entered the grand library for the first time in weeks, today he wanted relax after all his training and so he came to bother the scholars who reside there to question them on all manners of things, and that is when he saw The elf woman look down to some sort of commotion.

Artemis

As Artemis sat there and waited she began to grow bored and began to recite true names of metals and trees in the ancient language. Finally as the sun was setting down the woman with the book placed it back. " Its about time." She grumbled, her once happy mood, ruined by spending so much time in the library. The hand of Leon could have come any time for the book, and she did hate competition. Slowly Artemis got up from her seat and took the book, placing it under her cloak and began walking out the door. That was when she heard someone telling her to stop. " Dam it." Artemis growled as she began to run towards the doors which closed. " You shouldn't have done that." Artemis said to herself as she waited for the person to catch up to her, she would teach him a lesson for interfering.

[Angmor]

Vaoris always had a hard time deciding what his favorite time of the day was. After all, every day was different, and Ilieria was situated on a place where most of them managed to be resplendently beautiful. Nighttime had a cold beauty to it, a feeling of crushing blackness alleviated by soft light of the stars. Morning and noontide was much more subtle, like the beat of a song that underscores the melody. And sunset… Vaoris had heard many different descriptions of sunset, and all of them equally poignant. But for him, he was especially drawn to how the light changed, how it seemed to take on a liquid quality just before the onset of night. It flowed rather than shone, forming eddies and pools of red and gold among the shelves and pillars of the archive that was his home. He took a long breath of the musty-scented air, looking out over the main rotunda of the Grand Library as he stood amid a pool of light flowing down from the glorious crystal dome above his head.
Yes, He decided, smiling as he felt the warmth seeping into the folds of his robe. Sunset is my favorite time of the day. It’s been happening for time uncounted, and yet it never gets old. Perhaps because it’s always so short-lived…
It was true; the sunsets in Ilirea never seemed to last long, especially in the winter. Even as he watched, the burning disk of the sun touched the horizon, seeming to distort in shape like it really was a thing of liquid gold. When he was younger, he had often wondered the reason for this, until a book had told him that it was caused by the sheer amount of air that lay between his eyes and the sun. The distances involved in such a phenomenon were staggering, even now. It reminded him just how small he truly was, in the scheme of things.
Finally, the sun receded to a thin sliver of light, just barely managing to cling the horizon. Just before it went under, it sent out one glorious parting ray, as if a heroic shout to be remembered through the long watches of the night.
And then it was gone.
As if someone had tapped a bung into the world, the light drained from the edges of the room, leaving only the grey twilight of the late eventide.
Vaoris gave one last deep sigh, feeling almost like he had awoken from a trance. He shook himself mentally, his smile remaining. The time for admiring the beauty of the world was over. Now it was time to get on with his work.

Tonight, it had fallen to be his turn for night duty. Despite its usual aura of peacefulness, the life of a scholar in the Grand Library could often be quite busy and demanding. After all, even though it helped to settle the curiosity of the Ilirean public, it was first and foremost a mechanism set up to be a support for the Riders. And the sort of crisis’ and brushfire situations the Riders were often called upon to deal with almost never kept business hours. And so, in case of the event of a Rider requiring research done in the middle of the night, there was always a lease one scholar awake and on-hand for the eventuality. Tonight, that scholar was him.
Not that he minded much. He found he would much rather spend the night in the library than to go home to his modest apartment to waste the night away sleeping. He wasn’t sure why, but night duty always carried with it a sense of excitement. And yet, it was conversely peaceful as well. Things rarely happened on night duty, but it still very well might at any time.

He strolled along one of the upper balconies of the Library’s main rotunda, watching the twinkling stars appear through the crystal dome. The rotunda, the main hub of activity within the library, was an awe-inspiring sight. A huge round chamber that delved straight down through the building’s seven stories, ringed by the balustrades of each floor. Capping off the shaft was the largest of the archive’s crystal domes, held up by six pillars of white marble, each of them easily as big around as an ancient tree. Around these pillars were wrapped the wide spiral staircases for accessing each floor, which was how Vaoris got most of his exercise. As he walked, he saw movement on the staircase opposite of him, a figure in a grey robe descending the steps in an easy lope. It was too far away for Vaoris to make out a face, but he could recognize old Gyvar’s distinctive limp anywhere. An old soldier for the elven army, he had been severely wounded several years before the Blue Divide, and since then had retired to being the Grand Library’s foremost expert on botany. Vaoris paused to watch the old scholar make his way across the wide flagstones of the rotunda floor, skirting the grove of trees that occupied the center of the floor. The grove was perhaps the favorite place in the entire library. Tastefully transplanted from Du Weldenvarden, the trees provided shelter for a surprising variety of songbirds, and shade for the exquisite rock-garden beneath. Patrons of the library often enjoyed their favorite books from the comfort of the many benches, surrounded by the beauties of nature without having to be subject to the vagaries of weather. Now however, it stood empty and silent, awaiting the coming of day to brighten it again. Ever as he thought this, the great stone doors of the library were shut behind Gyvar, giving a final boom that echoed throughout the library like the beat of a tribal drum. With that, he was the last one in the archives.
At least, probably. It was not actually a rule that anyone need leave the library during the night, it was merely the hour that caused the place to empty out. But still, Vaoris didn’t truly care if he was alone or not. He had an entire messy etymology section to straighten up, and nothing would change that.

By now, the library had fully surrendered to the night, creating deep shadows interspersed with smaller lines of light from the many city lamps and fires outside. Vaoris stopped amid one of these, frowning. He had forgotten to take one of the erisdar lamps with him on the way up, leaving him only to make a werelight with magic. With a sigh, he reached for the magic.
This was, for him, a much more difficult operation than it was for most. He wasn’t sure why, but the small, alien part of his mind that allowed him to channel magic always seemed to flee from his mental touch like a drop of oil on the surface of a pool. He could get it eventually, but it always took him a few moments.
Finally, with a deep frown of concentration, the barrier in his mind broke like a thin canvas, flooding him with the familiar electric tingle. He was about to utter the spell that would single a golden light to hover above his head as he moved when suddenly, a sound caught his hear. A scraping sound of wood on stone, evoking in his imagination of a chair being pushed back, echoing out of the first room of the history section. For some reason, this made him stop. When he had last looked something like an hour ago, the history section had been totally empty. Curious, he let the magic fade back behind the barrier, starting toward the doorway on his right, his slippers making no sound against the stone. He smiled at this. He had just finished reading a spy thriller the other day, and his mind was still filled with the afterglow of stealthy thoughts and silent knives in the dark…
He very nearly jumped out of his skin when he caught a moving shadow, just out of the corner of his eye.
Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself flattened against the wall, just beside the doorway into the history section. Holding his breath, he very slowly peeked around the edge of the doorway, making sure only one eye was visible.

It wasn’t quite a shadow, but it was close enough. A slim figure in a dark cloak was lingering with one of the shelves, pale fingers visible as they probed for a certain book. Right then, they seemed to find it, removing a weathered text from the shelf. Inherently, there was nothing really wrong with this. There was no reason why this person should not be here at this hour. And yet, something in the person’s manner made him reluctant to reveal himself. There was a furtiveness there, as if the person in the cloak was up to no good, and knew it. Even as he thought this, the figure tucked the book covertly under the cloak before turning away, the hood darting around as if the occupant was looking for something. Voaris ducked back instinctively, suppressing a gasp. Right then. He calculated silently. I think it’s safe to say this person is up to no good. The question is, what should I do about it?
Some rational part of his brain knew that what he was about to do probably wasn’t smart, but this time, he did not heed that warning. Whoever this person was, they were messing with his Library, and he would rather break his own leg than allow that to happen. This thought buoying his confidence, he stepped confidently around the corner, presenting himself boldly to the intruder.
“Excuse me, can I ask what you’re doing?”

By the time he had finished thinking, the figure had turned away and was heading toward the door further into the history section, probably heading to the smaller staircase at the far end. At the sound of his voice, the figure increased its pace, very nearly breaking into a run.
Definitely up to something. Then I guess I won’t feel sorry for this…
Concentrating hard, he reached for the magic, scrambling to keep a hold before the intruder got too far away for his spell to be of any use…
There. Flooded with magic, he uttered a quick spell of closing, causing the door the figure was heading for to swing shut with a decisive bang, arresting all further progress. Stymied for a second, the figure turned slowly to face him.
“Excuse me,” Vaoris repeated, stepping closer. “I’m afraid I have to ask your business here. And may I see that book that you have so surreptitiously hidden?”

[/blockquote]

[Akilinia]

OOC: Máni :: moon in old norse

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Rohiriel

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As the last pale ray of golden sunshine faded from the pink tinged sky, a rush of blue light washed over the library as twilight fell. She felt her pupils dilate in the decreased light. The library was magnificent during the day, but twilight tended to afford things more mystery; it gave them a surreal, dream-like quality. The books were all different shades of black and blue, like many ripening bruises of varying ages and degrees of severity. Rohiriel could see some that might have even warranted a healer's attention if they had been inflicted upon the delicate skin of a human being. The previously ivory floor reflected the array of blues arranged in the sky; nearly white where the sun had just dipped beyond the distant mountains, to almost black in the east. If she had been afforded a clear view of the eastern sky, she imagined she would see stars begin to wink into existence in the sky's black blanket. It would have been just like when her mother had painstakingly sewn a tapestry depicting the night sky and its constellations. Her mother had always been fascinated with the travels of the stars. If she had not been a horse merchant's wife, Rohiriel expected she would have pursued a career in astronomy in the Grand Library.

She fantasized about what it would have been like for a moment, to see her mother daily as they both explored the library. She could almost hear her mother's footsteps. She could almost see the glossy waves of her mother's blonde hair, sashaying back and forth as she walked and falling into her bright golden eyes. Of course, her mother would have grown irritated by the offending strands and would have raised long, artistic fingers to impatiently brush them away. Her mother had been all golden warmth and glittering smiles. She was the kindest woman Rohiriel had ever known. If she knew what her daughter had been doing with her life, her heart would have been broken. Yes. Rohiriel thought. Now we come to the heart of things. That is the very reason I cannot return to her. Childish fantasies would not change that, and she had forgone the right indulge in them when her hands had become stained with that first drop of blood. Better to let her mother imagine her daughter partaking merrily in parties, sipping spirits and laughing gaily with shallow nobles. Anything was better than revealing what she had become.

Rohiriel thrust such thoughts from her head. She had made her choices. There was not time for regret, only repentance and atonement. Perhaps there was a better way to atone for her sins than immersing herself in whichever book happened to strike her fancy, but until she discovered it, she would continue to educate herself in order to avoid making such a mistake again. It was the very least she could do after the things she had done. Monster. Abomination. Demon. She could not think of a word to describe the condition of her immortal soul. Perhaps if she believed in a higher power, a god, then she would have condemned herself to a life of worship. However, such human follies were denied her. She had been raised to be above such things. Even if there was a god, what sort of afterlife could there be for a race as long lived as the elves? The humans believed in their god, because of the comfort the belief in eternal life provided. What would be the point of their short lives if there was not something more, something beyond the realm they inhabited? They needed to believe that when they died there would be more to their existence. It was a foolish human custom to put store in something intangible and inexplicable. They were fleeting beings. There was nothing more to them.

If their god existed, would he not deliver them from mortal suffering? Why would be not gift them with immortal life in this world? Why would he not offer some shred of proof to support his existence? If the human god did exist, it would not have allowed the human empire of Broddring to fall into such ruin. Humans would not be slaughtered daily. There would have been no pain, no suffering. The humans believed suffering conditioned them for the afterlife. In a perverse sort of way, it allowed them to appreciate the idea of a world free of physical toils. What would a world be like that had no suffering or pain, where no one sinned? Rohiriel allowed herself to assume the mentality of a human for just a moment. She predicted it would be like lying in the sun's rays all the time. Like being constantly bathed in warmth and goodness. Certainly it would not be a bad way of life. In such a world she would never have become a murderer. She would never have spilled the blood of innocents. She would have been able to return to her mother unburdened by the guilt that plagued her mind and soul. She would have been able to fly without such a burden. But alas, such a place did not exist. To her sinning soul it was dead even if it did.

Rohiriel banished such thoughts from her mind. It did her no good to yearn for a thing that would never come to pass. The library had become enshrouded in darkness while she had been busy pondering pointless philosophy. Over the years, she had become used to operating in the dark. Assassinations rarely took place in the light of day. She made her way to the nearest window, deftly avoiding a chair helpfully placed at the end of a bookshelf. The stars completely covered the sky, and she could see the silvered shadow of the moon horizon. She waited completely still, like the moon's personal sentinel, as the shining orb rose into the sky. "Máni." She whispered when it had cleared the mountains' shadow. The moon had none of the sun's harsh beauty. Its appeal was more subtle; the way it gilded everything it touched in fine silver, and the way it smoothed imperfections. The moon was forgiving where the sun enhanced flaws and threw them into bright relief. One could look at and appreciate the moon while the sun jealously burned all eyes that turned towards it. It was the simple pleasures in life that made it worth living.

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A voice, carried across the vaulted ceilings of the library, reached her ears. It was merely a distorted echo of the original sound, but Rohiriel was unused to hearing any noise in the library at such a late hour, let alone speech. The library had no determined closing time. Scholars were a wholly different species, ruled by odd urges that no normal elf would pay heed to. It was not uncommon to come across one or two of them strolling through the aisles of the library at night. She would not have been surprised to discover if they had become nocturnal in order to study the advantages and disadvantages of functioning at such hours. In spite of the rationales that her mind provided for hearing voices in the library at night, she pricked her ears to hear more.

Rohiriel frowned in concentration, her brow wrinkled as she strained to hear more. Slowly, another noise ricocheted into hearing. It sounded like a door slamming. A scholar leaving the library. Certainly a plausible explanation for the noise. One could have been informing an apprentice of a task that needed to be completed before the sun appeared once more in the east. She knew that sometimes masters grew tired of observing the tedious toils of their apprentices and left them in solitude to complete the task. She had no personal experience to compare it to, having sworn against passing her bloody arts on to another, but she had seen such things before. She realized that if she continued to learn at the rate she had been, in the future it would be possible to take on an apprentice of her own. However, it would never be an aspiring assassin. She refused to taint the innocence of another with blood. It had been her own ignorance and belief that she, young as she had been, could have made a difference in a city as old as Ellesmera that had led to the loss of her own innocence. She would not allow such a tragedy to befall anyone else.

There was nothing but silence for a moment, and Rohiriel moved in the direction of the noise hoping to hear more. She did not know what possessed her to take such an interest in the nighttime occurrences of the library, she was no scholar, but her instincts urged her to pursue the source of the noise. Having lived on her instincts even before she had become an assassin, they were the one thing she had always relied on. They had saved her from the rampage of a sickened boar in her youth, and had allowed her to avoid the sharp knife of many who wished harm on the person that had slain their loved ones. Her fingers rose unconsciously to the scar that stretched from shoulder to shoulder across the base of her collar bone. She could not feel it beneath the cloth of her tunic, but she could recall how the knife that made the wound had felt slicing through her skin. It had been meant for her throat. Only luck and instincts had saved her.

That decided her. She turned towards the noise and began to move towards it swiftly. She reveled in the smooth motion of her muscles as she ghosted across the library floor. Through the thin soles of her shoes she could feel every crack in the marble floor as each foot made contact for the briefest of moments at the beginning and end of each of her long strides. She made no noise as she moved. Years of skulking in the shadows of Ellesmera surfaced, and muscle memory took over. A sense of urgency rose within her, and when she reached the banister that marked the end of the second floor, she vaulted over it in her haste. She landed on her toes to absorb the impact of the fall, and was satisfied when it only caused a dull thud. She was off running immediately, and the sense of satisfaction was washed away by the increasing tide of urgency she felt.

Just as she was wondering where in the library the noise had originated from, another sound pierced the suffocating silence that blanketed the library. She was close enough to understand what it said. “Excuse me,” A young male voice intoned. “I’m afraid I have to ask your business here. And may I see that book that you have so surreptitiously hidden?” Hidden. Hidden. Hidden. The word echoed mockingly throughout the domed chamber. Rohiriel sped up, almost flying across the ground in the direction of the noise. The young man's voice was bold, assured of its role in the proceedings. She assumed the owner of the voice to be one of the scholars charged with watching the library for the night. The people of Ilirea were not too paranoid as to post guards in order to prevent thieves from stealing from the library. Scholars were usually on duty in the library at night in the event that a rider needed immediate access to some obscure scroll. In Rohiriel's opinion it was foolish to be so trusting. A library scholar was hardly qualified to question the actions of those with less than good intentions.

She slowed as she reached the area where she judged the voice to have come from, instinctively cloaking herself in the shadows that were cast by the moon's faint glow. Stealth spells had always come naturally to her, and the one she used was one of only a few spells she dared to perform without the verbal assistance of the ancient language. As always, she felt a perverse sense of security as the darkness settled around her like a warped kind of cloak. She was not familiar enough with the library to tell what section of it she was in at night, but if she had to hazard a guess, she would say it was somewhere close to the book she had been reading earlier. She wondered for a moment if that book was the cause of the commotion occurring in front of her and then discarded the notion as foolish.

Silently, she ghosted along the edge of the bookshelf obstructing her view of the action. She peered around it and attempted to make sense of what she saw.

Two cloaked figures were facing each other. The one closer to her wore the gray habit that scholars preferred and had his back to her. She assumed that the gray one was the scholar in charge for the night. The other figure was near the door and was swathed in black. If she had been anything other than an elf, the figure in black would not have been discernible from the darkness behind it. As it was, its face was too heavily cast in shadow for her to make out any of the features concealed beneath its raised hood. Recalling the words she had heard from the scholar earlier, she attempted in vain to discern the shape of the stolen book from the dark shape of the person by the door. Unable to, she tried to decide whether or not to interfere. It was not in her nature to jump into things she did not understand. Or at least, she preferred not to make that jump consciously. Leaps of faith made in ignorance were another story. What if the scholar was mistaken? Then she would have gotten herself involved for no reason. Rohriel mulled it over for a moment, and then decided to wait. She could still assist the scholar if the need arose.

[dantieduurden]

Artemis looked at the foolish scholar as he told her what to do." Why of course O great scholar, I hope you are adept at catching." She laughed as she threw up a rock in the air that she had masked t look like the book she was hiding on her person. Then without further delay Artemis took into acknowledge meant the flux in magical energy off to the side and said in the ancient language " Nángoröth " sending out magical energies in all directions, blasting everything backwards. Books and shelves. As this happened Artemis Shot another blast at the door which splintered. " Have a good day now." And with that she began to run.

[Angmor]

If there was one common denominator among heroes of legend, it would probably have to be fearlessness. Sheer courage in the face of adversity, never faltering, enduring to the end.
As the figure he had pursued turned to him, face shrouded in shadow by the deep hood, Vaoris quickly discovered that he was not a hero of legend.
The confidence that had welled up within him moments ago was now gone, replaced with a strange, spiky sensation squeezing the pit of his stomach.
Ah, an adrenaline rush. Commented the absent, analytical part of his brain. Interesting. The agent of the fight or flight instinct, increasing my physical performance, and allowing me to think and process much faster. Which is, I suppose why I have time to think about things like this.
All of his senses seemed to coalesce together into one focus, darkening at the peripheral, but providing a kind of breathtaking clarity of the intruder.

While most details were still obscured by the darkness, Voaris guessed the occupant of the cloak to be female. General height and build suggested this, as well as the subtle mannerisms and stance. He supposed he might have been wrong about this, but he doubted it.
Just then, the figure spoke.
“Why of course O great scholar,” It said, in a light, breezy voice, confirming his assumptions. It was the sort of voice better suited for singing, Vaoris thought. It would have been disarming, if not for the hard edge of gleeful mockery underlining the words. “I hope you are adept at catching."
Vaoris was, actually. For as long as he could remember, he possessed the odd skill of being able to keep his hands and arms unnaturally still, without the slightest twitch or vibration. There was a popular game among the local youngsters that involved balancing a stack of coins on one’s elbow, and then removing it suddenly, trying to catch the coins before they hit the ground. Vaoris was the undisputed master of this game, easily able to catch a stack twenty coins high, and holding the current city record of thirty-six. Because of this, as the woman’s arm shot from under the cloak, he was already moving, dashing forward to catch the object before it had even finished its upward arc. However, what his precise fingers closed around was most definitely not a book.
He cursed inwardly, realizing he had been duped. He realized that he was very close to the thief now, less than an arm’s length. In his adrenaline-heightened state, his free arm shot out of its own accord, reaching into the figure’s cloak. His fingers closed on pages…
Before he even could begin to guess what happened, some invisible force took him full in the gut, sending him flying violently backwards. It was an oddly surreal experience, sailing through the air, watching absently as the world seemed to fly past without his feet having to touch it, spinning through a whirlwind of falling shelves and tumbling books. His shoulder impacted with something hard enough to make an interesting crack, sending his backward flight into an uncontrollable tumble. There was a second impact to his legs that he realized belatedly was the balcony rail, and suddenly he was watching, as if in slow motion, the floor of the rotunda rise to meet him five stories below.
Hmm… This is bad...

[/blockquote]

Ok, sorry I took so long. This past week has been absolutely insane.

[Akilinia]

Rohiriel

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Rohiriel could feel the tension in the air like it was a physical presence. It rippled off the two figures, undulating and flowing across the distance to where she hid behind her bookshelf in almost visible waves, pricking her skin like invisible lightning bolts and making her hair stand up on end. The phrase "a storm is coming" came to mind. The same heaviness that precedes a storm could be felt in the Grand Library's air. She could almost smell the rain and feel the rumble of the thunder in her bones. She knew it was simply an illusion fabricated by her mind to suit the malignant atmosphere of the scene, but the shadows near the door seemed to darken, enveloping the dark figure in their black embrace as if attempting to hide it from view. She clenched the wood of the bookshelf sheltering her from view. The hard corner of the shelf bit into the tender undersides of her fingers, and she used the pain in conjunction with the tangy scent from the wood that permeated the air near her face to anchor herself and dispel the illusion. The shadows receded a bit and she focused on the dark figure as it replied to the scholar's order to relinquish the book.

"Why of course O great scholar, I hope you are adept at catching." It was immediately apparent to Rohiriel that the thief was a woman. Her voice was high and might have been pleasant if it were not for the undertone of sarcasm that coated her lilting voice like a poison would coat an assassin's blade. Rohiriel would know. She had always been adept with poison. To an assassin poison was insurance. Even if the target escaped a killing blow, the tiniest scratch could prove to be their undoing. During her time in Ellesmera she had never once left on a job without the comfort of one or two poisoned blades on her person. Upon her arrival in Ilirea she had forced herself to become comfortable without them. She could not afford to be startled into drawing a poisoned blade. Such carelessness might result in the death of an innocent. Despite any reasons she had to forgo her poisoned weapons, in the darkness of the library, faced with possible combat against an opponent of unknown strength, she keenly felt the absence of their weight on her limbs.

The woman by the door made a sharp motion with her arm, and the blade Rohiriel had strapped thoughtlessly to her wrist that morning was swiftly in her hand. She traced her fingertips over the worn strips of leather that layered the knife's silvery hilt. The familiar feel of a weapon in her palm was immensely comforting even as she berated herself for her hasty actions. How did she expect herself to settle into a normal life if she could not refrain from drawing a dagger every time she was startled? Then again, what was normal? Normal was relative. It changed from person to person like a clear crystal refracted light differently from every angle. For her, normal was a life without the violence that had plagued her since her arrival in Ellesmera when she was merely eighty years old. For others, it was different... She had had similar conversations with herself before, and refrained from allowing herself to tread that train of thoughts in such a dire situation.

She exchanged her own eyes for a pair of cat eyes in order to see what the woman had thrown. It was a spell she had cast on herself at the suggestion of her noble friend in Ellesmera prior to her first outing as an assassin. It was particularly useful, because it allowed her to see better in the dark than she could have with her own eyes. It was a common misconception that cats could see in the dark, but their eyes required only a fraction of the light that human, or even elf eyes, did. The magic was very simple and became easier every time she performed it. After so many years of casting it, the exchange was almost effortless and the cat eyes had become nearly as familiar to her mind as her own eyes were. It was a bit different to see through the eyes of a cat than those of an elf. Things were a bit warped by the vertical pupils, stretched wider than they were in actuality. Additionally, everything was a bit blurred and the colors were a bit duller that they might have appeared in bright daylight. Such small sacrifices were worth the ability to see with the smallest amount of light and to view things that would normally only be shadows as if the sun were still up.

With her new eyes, she focused on the object flying through the air towards the scholar. If the spell on it had been directed at her, it might have appeared to be something other than a rock. However, as it was, it was obvious to Rohiriel that the woman was trying to buy herself time enough to escape from the scholar without any unnecessary violence. A thief with a conscience? She wondered cynically as the scholar lunged foolishly towards the woman in order to catch the rock. She could see the spell shimmering around it like a mirage as it arced through the air. The rock blurred slightly as the spell fought to convince her it was something else. She frowned, exerting a bit of will to overpower the spell. Or maybe this thief just wants to lure the little scholar in so she can dispose of him easier. She thought as she realized how close the woman's ploy had brought the young man. If she had been in the woman's place, it would have been sickeningly easy to reach out with the knife she held in her hand. She could have tilted it up slightly to penetrate under the man's rib cage into his heart, or she could have slit his throat. If she had been feeling particularly merciful, she might have even considered employing the solid silver of her dagger's hilt against his temple to knock him out cold while she made her escape.

Bile rose in her throat at such thoughts. They were the assassin's thoughts, not her's. They no longer had a place in her mind.

In any case, she would never have considered doing what the woman did. For one, such a spell required too much energy. Maybe the woman was a greater mage than Rohiriel. Regardless, unleashing blasts of energy like that in all directions was not an efficient use of energy and it was messy. An assassin learned early on not to leave any unnecessary remnants of their presence. Even something as minute as a hair or the bookshelves the woman demolished with her carelessness. Rohiriel, half way out from behind the bookshelf in an unconscious attempt to prevent the scholar from losing his life over a rock, barely had time to dive back behind it as the woman shouted "Nángoröth."

Although she had never been in a hurricane, Rohiriel imagined that the damage inflicted by the woman's spell could be compared to a miniature version of one. Books and scrolls flew through the air in all directions, scattered by the force of the woman's spell. The cracks and groans of splintering wood pierced her ears as several of the monstrous bookshelves were shattered by blasts of magic. She felt splinters from the nearest bookshelf impale themselves in her arm like dozens of tiny stingers, and she stumbled into the bookshelf flanking her own as a leather-bound volume slammed into her skull with surprising force. Spots danced across her vision for a moment before she made herself search for a sign of the scholar in the miniature maelstrom the thief had unleashed. She was sure that the woman had already made her escape. All she could do was search for the scholar. She hoped he had managed to avoid the worst of the onslaught, but decided that he had most likely received one of the woman's haphazard magical blasts directly because of his close proximity to her. With that thought it mind, Rohiriel turned to scan the aisle between the shelves, eyes narrowed against any stray splinters and searching for a glimpse of gray.

In the periphery of her vision she finally spotted the young man. He was being propelled helplessly through the air by one of the blasts not more than ten feet behind her. She could not see his face through the haze of books and wood, but she imagined that it would be a mask of terror or pain. Maybe both. She had escaped the worst of the spell by sheltering behind a shelf. He had been the recipient of a direct blast. Rohiriel questioned if he was still conscious. Before she could pursue her thoughts any further, the young man seemed to stop in mid air for a moment. Puzzled, she only realized a bit too late that he had been hung up on one of the railings that lined each of the floors to prevent unwitting citizens from wandering over the edge while caught up in a book. With her cat eyes, she was able to see into the dimness beyond the young scholar well enough to recognize the main dome of the library. That meant that the railing the young man was about to go tumbling over did not protect people from the small drop of twelve or so feet in between single floors in the library, but a deadly fall of five stories to the first floor.

Rohiriel did not hesitate. She threw herself from the cover of her bookshelf, heedless of the books and airborne pieces of wood that pelted her frame, in pursuit of the scholar. She had hardly taken a step when he cleared the railing and disappeared into the open space beyond it. Even looking back on the event, she would not be able to explain how she managed such a feet, but somehow Rohiriel managed to launch herself the last ten feet or so to the railing fast enough to seize one of the scholar's flailing arms. Her hand immediately cramped with the weight of him, and her shoulder screamed as it arrested his headlong fall. She was surprised it did not pop free of the joint. Using the sturdy marble of the railing to brace herself, she managed to lever the young man painfully on to the solid ground of the fifth floor. As soon as she had managed the feat she sagged against the railing in exhaustion. In the sudden absence of adrenaline, all the bruises and scrapes she had sustained from that woman's spell became apparent. She turned a cringe into a frown as the arm that had taken the splinters throbbed painfully. She spared it an appraising glance and noticed that her white sleeve was stained red with pinpricks of blood and a large splinter protruded from her upper arm. Rohiriel set her teeth against the pain, seized the jagged piece of wood, and pulled it swiftly from her arm. She let it fall to the ground and then put her hand, padded with a strip of fabric she ripped from her sleeve, over the wound to slow the bleeding.

She felt anger rising in her breast like a wild fire, scorching her and yearning to be let free. She knew most of it was fueled by the pain that surged throughout her body, but she was unable to contain herself. "Young fool." She said, fixing the young man with a glare from her white eyes. "What were you thinking confronting her? A scholar of all people. You had no chance, and now she has escaped. I assume it was with whatever book she had under her cloak." The words lashed out before she could consider them and were more scathing than she intended, but she meant them and would not allow herself to regret rash words spoken to someone who had just acted without thought to the consequences.

[dantieduurden]

Artemis was out the door to the library before the scholar was even in the sky, running out of the city to the humans safe haven. There she could easily hide and copy the books contents down, and then sell the originally copy of the book, thus leading all pursuit of her trail, making it look like it was a hired job. As she neared the city gate she let her hands roam the book and then let out a sharp curse, half the book was missing. " Go back and finish the job." One half of her mind told her, but the other half, that was in the survival instinct of a panther said, " If you return for the book we will never escape this blasted hell hole of the riders. Let us leave and come back another time when we are better suited for this. In a few years time they will have forgotten this and we will once again show the riders that they still have much to fear. That all do not bow to there blind justice." And with that Artemis cleared the gate of Ilirea. It was a long way to the nearest human settlement and she had to do it quickly, it would not take more then a day before pursuit began.


As the scene unfolded underneath Dantie on the highest floor of the library he mentally called to his master, " Call the riders, we have a problem at the library." And with that Dantie looked as the young scholar went flying up to his balcony. " I got you." Dantie said only to miss the man by inches as he went tumbling down to the ground. " Geuloth Du Vindr." Dantie said in the ancient language envoking the air around the scholar to dull so that the fall would not kill him. Then Dantie ran down the spiral staircase, a spell of shielding around him so that the books and scrolls never hit him as he came to the first floor.

[Angmor]

Faced with the prospect of his own death, Vaoris found the oddest thoughts flitting through his head. He kept thinking of his apartment door. He had locked it that morning, and the key was in his shoulderbag in the archive cloakroom. No one would ever find it. If he died, his apartment would have to remain sealed until someone broke the lock. In short, it was a funny thing to be thinking about right before he plunged to his doom. Still, he supposed absently, it was probably better than running through all his regrets. Of course, his only real regret was that he didn't manage to live a bit longer than his scant eighty years. Still, if he had to go out, he decided that there were few better ways then to die instantly in his favorite place in the world. With this thought, he closed his eyes and waited for the end.
Which was why he was completely unprepared for a hand shooting out from nowhere and clamping viciously around his right hand, stopping his fall.

He gasped, the jolt of pain through his limb jarring him out of his stupor. All of his survival instincts activated belatedly like a sleeping sentry kicked by their commanding officer, allowing his own hand to grasp his savior’s wrist with strength born of panic. Looking up, he found himself looking into a grimacing, sweat-lined face, partially obscured by a thick braid of moonlit white-blonde hair. He found that the face looked rather familiar, but he could not quite place it. But then, the current circumstances were so far removed from the norm that he might not have recognized a good friend.
There was an oomph of effort, and he found jerked upward. He winced in pain as his kneecap banged against the archway of the floor below. Another jerk, and he was high enough to start an ignominious scramble up the balcony rail. Finally, with a last jerk, he was pulled clear over the balustrade and dropped without ceremony onto the hard, blessedly solid floor.

He couldn't tell how long he lay there. It could have been hours. It was probably seconds. He couldn't move. Every muscle in his body seemed to have turned to water, leaving him a trembling, boneless pile of flesh.
I'm alive. I'm alive... I'm alive... I'm alive...
For a long time, he could do nothing but lay there and breathe, trying to quiet the forge-hammer of his racing pulse. Finally, fraction by fraction, he calmed himself enough begin taking in his surroundings again. Although it was the same balcony he had stood on mere seconds ago, the scene was entirely different. The previously pristine marble floor on which he lay was now strewn with leatherbound volumes and jags of wood, draped over here and there by scrolls and loose parchment. This end of the history section looked like it had been the playground of a young whirlwind in the middle of a tantrum. He surveyed the wreckage, still breathing hard as he considered what had happened.
And that woman was willing to do all this just to get away with one book? Gods, what was I thinking? I'd be dead, if it wasn't for-
With a start, he realized that he had not yet identified his rescuer, much less given them proper thanks. His limbs trembling violently as the adrenaline left his veins, he levered himself up on one elbow, looking toward the sound of heavy breathing from beside him...
Bathed in a pool of moonlight, his savior could be seen slumped against the balcony rail, pressing a piece of cloth against her upper arm. Now that his mind was not preoccupied with falling to his death, he recognized her immediately. Of all people, he had been saved by the Quiet One.

This was the name given to her by the younger apprentices, partially for her lack of conversation, partially for her stealthy way of moving around. Many a scholar around the archives had been startled by her silent steps. Vaoris recalled that she had begun to appear here about thirty years ago, always coming and going quietly, never initiating conversation with anyone. As far as he knew, no one had ever managed to glean anything about her past, which was strange, because Grand Master Vanir made it a point to know the people who came regularly to the library. All attempts to speak with the Quiet One were always met with polite but firm coldness, and eventually, the scholars had more or less gotten the idea to leave her alone. For Vaoris, his interactions had been mostly limited to glimpsing her in the isolated corners, poring over some text or other. History, poetry, epics, novels, she never seemed to have any particular preference. Some of the more snobbish archivists grumbled about her haunting the library, but Vaoris had always thought that anyone wanting to pursue knowledge was welcome among the shelves of his home. And if she wished to be left alone with her thoughts, and slide through the currents of life without leaving a ripple, that was her business. And now here she was, standing over him after literally pulling him from the brink of death. He was unsure how he felt about that, but he hoped he would decide in enough time to frame a suitable statement.

She seemed to notice him looking at her. Even in the dim light, the scowl that etched her face was perfectly evident as she turned to fix him with her gaze. Vaoris noticed suddenly that her eyes were a very odd shade, almost white in the moonlight that gave her glare a thoroughly unsettling coldness to it. Was the Quiet One blind? He wouldn't have thought so, considering the catlike grace he had seen her use, especially just now. But still, he had seen blind elves manage perfectly well on their own- The thought was cut off suddenly as, for the first time in his memory, the Quiet One spoke.
"Young fool." She bit out, her glare feeling like it was burning into his eyes. Vaoris understood instantly why few spoke to her these days. Her voice was hard and cold, and harsh as flint. It was a voice that had lost all traces of gaiety or tenderness, singing and merriment.
A voice that had forgotten how to laugh.
"What were you thinking, confronting her? A scholar of all people. You had no chance, and now she has escaped. I assume it was with whatever book she had under her cloak."
He felt himself cringe under the cutting words, unable to meet her gaze. Even now, he knew that she was absolutely right. His confrontation with the thief had been spectacularly foolish, a product of too many tales of intrigue and adventure. It would have served him right to die for his lack of sense and forethought, and this woman had saved him from that, at great cost to herself. Even now, he could see the dark stain spreading across the sleeve of her long white tunic, under the pressure of her fingers. With an effort, he met her eyes again, his mind scrambling.
"It seemed like a good idea at the time," He said, his trembling voice sounding pathetic even in his own ears. "She was making off with a part of my home, and a just felt like I needed to do something. You're right, I was ignorant and foolish."
The Quiet One seemed to huff in amusement, dismissing him to examine her wound. Vaoris felt a lump of guilt settle in his stomach.
I did that to her. It was my fault.
Slowly and carefully, he rose to his feet, fighting his protesting muscles. "I'm Vaoris, ever at your service." He said, bowing to his rescuer as best he could against his uncontrollable trembling. "If you ever need anything, anything at all, know that I am in your debt. I offer you my apology and... my thanks for saving my life." As silence descended, he sighed inwardly. It had sounded so much weightier in his head. Whatever he said, it would not be enough to communicate the depth of his gratitude. For the first time in his life, he realized the inadequacy of words.

[/blockquote]

Sorry Aki, I wasn't sure how long it was since Rohirial came, so I pulled out a number and hoped it was close. I'll change it if you like.

[Akilinia]

Rohiriel

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

The young man at her feet glanced up at her, and for the first time she could see his face in the dim light afforded by the moon, now high in the sky and pouring silver light through one of the upper windows. His skin was pale, even by the standards of the Fair Folk. Rohiriel would almost have gone so far as to consider him sickly. He certainly appeared to be in poor health with the sheen of sweat that coated his face and his wide, frightened eyes. His eyes were the eyes of a dreamer. They were a beautiful shade of silver, much like the moonlight that bathed his face, but had a vague, unfocused look in them that she had come to associate with scholars. It was inevitable, really, seeing as they spent the majority of their lives pouring over novels depicting faraway places. Their thoughts never lingered long in the city of Ilirea, and as a result, all of the scholars had the same distracted feel to them. His youth only accented this feature. She knew immediately that he was young, and an elf. His face was smooth, unlined and unmarked by the emotions accumulated by a person who had faced trials in this world. His black hair, which he wore back in a braid, only made the innocence in his face more prominent.

He seemed to wilt a bit under her gaze, shrinking down into the ground in the face of her displeasure. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," He finally managed to stammer. "She was making off with a part of my home, and a just felt like I needed to do something. You're right, I was ignorant and foolish." It was a weak excuse, and she could see in his face that he realized it even as he voiced it. Foolish, but perhaps not stupid, she thought, feeling her anger soften slightly. She was never one to hold on to her anger. Her anger was fleeting, much like a wildfire. It burned brightly, but went out as soon as it ran out of fuel. It rarely settled into her breast bone as a grudge. More often than not, she found herself expressing forgiveness before the object of her anger could feel properly chastised. To prevent the sudden disappearance of her anger from showing on her face, she turned to examine her wounded arm.

The bleeding had nearly stopped, but the white sleeve of her tunic had a large blood stain on the upper arm. It was centered on the place where the large splinter had been and was swiftly turning rust-brown as it dried. Rohiriel flexed her bicep to make sure that the splinter had not caused any damage to the muscle. Luckily, it was not a deep wound. Other than a twinge of pain, everything seemed to be functioning correctly. She would live. it was not like she was a stranger to wounds. Rather than relive her past injuries, she lifted her head to survey the carnage caused by the thief's spell. It was devastating to behold. The marble floor was covered with wreckage from the shelves that had been hit, and loose sheets of paper were strewn haphazardly throughout the room. She could see that quite a few books had sustained severe damage. There was one near her feet that had been torn right down the binding. She saw the matching half lying on the remains of a bench she vaguely remembered passing in her pursuit of the noises. Soil and leaves from a broken potted plant that had been in a windowed alcove were mixed in with the chaotic remains of the section of the library.

Rohiriel's attention was drawn back to the young scholar as he got to his feet. He moved gingerly, and she realized that he had not been spared in the woman's rash attack either. She could see his body trembling, his legs shaking with the weight of his body. A stab of pity lanced through her heart, and she nearly offered an arm in assistance, but decided against it when her own muscles protested the slight movement she made towards him. He was small for an elf, the top of his head only reaching her eyes, but it had been no easy feat to lever his entire body over the railing. Her arm muscle twinged a bit at the memory. She stayed where she was. It would be no help to either of them if she tried to help him and fell down in the process. The image amused her, and a small smile tugged at her lips. Exhaustion. She thought. It did funny things to one's mind.

Her wandering mind snapped back to the young man before her as he spoke. "I'm Vaoris, ever at your service." He told her, offering a courtly bow despite his apparent exhaustion. She was impressed that he managed to stay upright. "If you ever need anything, anything at all, know that I am in your debt. I offer you my apology and... my thanks for saving my life." Words were such empty things, and she did not care for his gratitude. She had saved him simply because it had been the right thing to do. She had never spoken to the scholar who called himself Vaoris prior to that moment, but she believed that any death was a waste of life. It had taken her a long time to come to that realization, certainly much too late to save the lived of the countless people she had murdered, but at least it had allowed her to save the scholar. It was a small thing, but it was a step towards atoning for her many crimes.

"Save your gratitude." Rohiriel said at last, breaking the silence that had descended over the two of them. "I did not save your life so you would be in my debt. I gave up the right to such promises a long time ago." She offered him a small smile, hoping to make up for the frostiness of her earlier words. She had not meant to be short with him, and she could see that he was uncomfortable with her because of it. "I am called Rohiriel." Her childhood name rolled off her lips before she could consider what she was saying, echoing comfortingly in her ear. Yes, she was Rohiriel again. Lomiel, the assassin was no more. Her noble "friend" in Ellesmera had given her that name to protect her from those who might wish harm on her because of her occupation. It was the only thoughtful thing the man had done for her. She rejected Lomiel, contemplating the young elf she had been before Ellesmera. She would try to be that elf, daughter of a horse merchant, for this man. "Now, if you have no injuries that require immediate attention, would you oblige me by telling me about the thief? What did she steal?" Her own interest in the events that had led to this strange meeting surprised her. Was it not enough to save his life and return to her home like every other day?

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OOC: Don't worry Ang. I didn't have a specific amount of time in mind. She's just been there since leaving Ellesmera. That's all I know. xD

I like the Quiet One thing by the way. It made me laugh.

[dantieduurden]

Just as Rohiriel said her name Dantie came out of the frame work, like a white haired shade. " well met Rohiriel, I assume you are only helping this man, and did not cause...this." Dantie said as he held his hands out emphasizing the mess that was inside the library, for he had not seen the whole situation, only a cloaked figure blasting the scholar out of the way along with all the other things in its path. Dantie then saw the bruise and said to her, " You should heal that. If you allow me I will then I can go chase after the thief while you two go tell the riders of what has transpired here for I was to high up to see any fine details." Dantie then held out his hand as he walked up to the woman and scholar and held out his hand. " The name's Dantie Du Urden and I'm the top of my class so far in the academy." Dantie said with pried as he pictured what he looked like in his gleaming armor, with the sword his father had bought him over 75 years ago strapped to his side.

[Angmor]

Rohiriel. How very interesting. Vaoris thought, rolling the name around in his head. It had a very pleasant sound, almost incongruously so. It was difficult to reconcile such a beautiful name to be the verbal shorthand referring to such an outwardly prickly individual. Still, he tried his best to read between the lines of her hard tone, and decided to take it as an honor. The way she had said it, he could readily believe that she had not shared her right name for decades.
As soon of the revelation of the Quiet One's name processed fully, he felt his hungry intellect stir within him. He suddenly found himself wanting to know her history, her origins, her beliefs. The reasons for her coming to the library, and those behind her preference for solitude. He suppressed a welter of questions, instead concentrating on the coldness of her eyes.
Now is not the time, not standing on the spot she saved your life. There probably won't be a time later, either. If history holds true, she'll probably just take her good deed and disappear into the night...

Just then, her humorless voice rang out again, as if fate had suddenly taken a fancy to proving his predictions wrong.
"Now," She said, her voice marginally warmer than before, though in a somewhat forced sounding way, as if it was out of practice with polite conversation. "If you have no injuries that require immediate attention, would you oblige me by telling me about the thief? What did she steal?"
At the word injuries, his body seemed to suddenly remember all the abuse it had just taken. His left shoulder throbbed painfully, deeply bruised by the impact with the shelf, and his right wrist pulsed with a friction burn inflicted when Rohiriel's hand clamped around it. His knee didn't feel too clever, either. But, as far as he could tell, there was no damage that wouldn't heal completely with time and magic. Probably time. He would leave most of them, as a reminder to the consequences of acting without thinking. His quick mental stock complete, he opened his mouth to speak. "Well... She was-"
"Well met, Rohiriel." Came a sudden voice from behind him. Startled, Vaoris turned toward the sound, casting about for the owner.

He was not very difficult to spot. Walking swiftly toward them, or rather more like swaggering, was a male elf. That much was obvious, from his pronounced height to the sharp angles of his handsome face. While he looked to be about Vaoris' own age, but it was there that the similarity came to a jarring halt. This elf was his total opposite in almost every way, from the his pale blue eyes and shimmery white hair to his great height effortless grace. Even more, he was dressed in a polished suit of elegantly simple armor that enhanced his image of a warrior, and his gloved hand rested on the hilt of a rather impressive looking sword. Vaoris couldn't help but stare. The apparition before him was so unexpected, he would not have been more surprised to be greeted by a dragon in an evening gown.
"I assume you were merely helping this man," The elf continued, gesturing imperiously to the wreckage. "And did not cause... this."
Vaoris blinked. This elf had been standing in the shadows eavesdropping long enough to catch Rohiriel's name, but not long enough to see her part in events?
Somewhat slow on the uptake, this one... Vaoris thought in the privacy of his own head. The elf stopped directly before them, looking down on them both from his imposing height. The arrogant blue eyes barely swept over him before moving on to Rohiriel, settling on her wound. "You should heal that." He pointed out breezily. Vaoris felt his lip twist. Who did this person think he was, coming in here and questioning her integrity, and then deigning to give instructions to an elf of much more age and experience? While this newcomer might have been taller and more impressive looking of the two, Rohiriel definitely possessed a palpable aire of quiet competence around her that this stranger certainly did not. One that the tall one obviously didn't notice, carrying on gamely.
"If you will allow me I will, then I can go chase the thief while you two go tell the Riders what transpired here, as I was too high up to see any find details."
The gloved hand lifted from the sword-hilt, extending in invitation. "The name's Dantie Du Urden, and I'm the top of my class so far in the academy."
And got there by virtue of your humility, obviously... Vaoris almost blurted out. Careful, before you choke on your own arrogance.

Dantie Du Urden. He had heard this name mentioned before, mostly in overheard tavern conversations of the younger academy students. Apparently, Du Urden was something of a rising star in the ranks of the students, managing to excel in nearly everything he tried. Despite this, Voaris had never heard of anyone who claimed to be his friend. He had gotten the idea that Dantie was something of a recluse, the quiet and shy type, liking to keep to himself.
Obviously, he had gotten the wrong impression.
The elf before him did not have the slightest trace of shyness about him. The confidence and self-assurance seemed to flow off him like reflected moonlight, ready to take on the world all by himself.
Aye, I felt that way about five minutes ago. Maybe I should throw you off a balcony and see how long that lasts. By all means, go chase the thief...
Unsurprisingly, Rohiriel did not speak, merely continuing to stare calmly at the newcomer as if compiling a mental dossier of his strengths and weaknesses. Vaoris sighed inwardly. If civility was to be maintained in this conversation, it would probably fall to him.

He stepped forward, clasping Du Urden's proffered hand. "Vaoris, apprentice scholar." I'm so far the most dedicated apprentice in the archives. He resisted adding. "I can handle the healing, if you truly want to chase the thief, but I wouldn't recommend it. Look around you, friend. I think the only reason she didn't kill me outright was that would not have been worth the effort."
He turned back toward Rohiriel, not quite excluding Du Urden, much as he might have liked to. "Back to your question, I didn't catch many details. But I do know that she was slim, petite, very athletic. I got to hear her voice, too. Perhaps a singer at some time, but obviously, that's just conjecture." He sighed, feeling his spirits fall. That really wasn't enough to provide anything useful, and he knew it. He cursed himself for not paying more attention, or conjuring that werelight to illuminate her face, or...
Or, or, or. Either way, you messed up monumentally. No point in dwelling on it.
"As for what she stole," He continued. "There's really no telling. We do have many rare, one of a kind texts up here, some of them incredibly valuable. To find out, we'd have to run an inventory, which..." He gestured ruefully to the literary massacre spread about their feet. "Is going to take a while. It's going to take a month, at the very least..." He trailed off, his attention suddenly shifting to something else entirely. For the very first time, he noticed that in his jittery after-effects, his left hand had remained rock-steady, clenched firmly around...
A slow smile spread across his face as he brought up the slightly crumpled ream of parchment that he had been hanging onto all this time, running his eyes across the title printed across the top of the first one. "...Or not. I amend that. She actually stole Treasures of Alagaesia, pages one through fifty-eight.”

[/blockquote]

WIP, perhaps. Should I add a part about an NPC Rider coming in and doing the whole "cop" thing, maybe a timeskip? We really should set up a discussion thread for this...

[Akilinia]

Rohiriel

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Rohiriel never got to hear the answers to her questions. She was distracted by movement behind the young scholar, and his words reached her ears without meaning. They were just meaningless noise that buzzed through the air like a lone bumble bee; a minor nuisance in the face of a threat. Her eyes focused on a young elf as he stepped from behind one of the few book shelves remaining. He was tall, nearly a foot or so than her, and moved with the languid grace of a fighter. However, it would have been no challenge at all to determine his profession without having seen him move. He wore brightly polished metal armor that glittered dimly in the dark library, and a sword was strapped to his waist. Although he rested one gauntleted hand on the sword’s pommel, she sensed no violent intentions from him as he approached. In spite of herself, she fingered the hilt of the dagger in her sleeve. She had no doubt that she could protect herself if forced to, but she was hesitant to blindly jump into a fight against an opponent of unknown skill. She decided to err on the side of caution and only resort to violence if he did.

As he passed into the moonlight, she could see that his face exhibited the sharp angles common to their race, and that his eyes were a bright blue color. His hair was a bright blonde, a similar shade to her own, that glowed white in the moon’s sullen glow. His skin, however, was not the usual pale white, but a golden brown; additional evidence to support his occupation. During her endeavor to master the art of assassination, her skin had darkened to that same golden hue as a result of the many hours she spent sweating in the sun, laboring against the hardened leather of the practice dummy and inhaling the dust that her swiftly moving feet kicked up. "Well met Rohiriel, I assume you are only helping this man, and did not cause...this." The elf said when he was closer, gesturing to the carnage of the library. His gaze flickered over Vaoris and then flashed to her face before settling on her shoulder wound. The blood on the sleeve had darkened to rust brown and she could feel soreness setting in as the muscle tightened. "You should heal that. If you allow me I will then I can go chase after the thief while you two go tell the riders of what has transpired here for I was to high up to see any fine details."

Without waiting for a response to either of his statements, he offered one gloved hand to her in greeting. "The name's Dantie Du Urden and I'm the top of my class so far in the academy." Rohiriel was not sure of how to react to his rudeness and his boasts. She was torn between amusement at his youthful boasts and anger at the rudeness he showed people he had just met. She was, after all, not accustomed to partaking in such interactions. She had not made an attempt to create or maintain any relationships since before her time in Ellesmera. Her occupation had not been particularly conducive to friendship, and she had confined herself to solitude after leaving the elven capital. Even in her youth when she trained in magic and combat in Ilirea, she had kept to herself. She had never been a particularly outgoing person, and her time had been taken up with dreams of what her life would be like in Ellesmera after she graduated. She had been seduced by the very thought of all the changes she would make when she got there. Rohiriel decided on indifference. It was a safe option, considering she had little to no prior experience at interacting with others.

She ignored Dantie’s proffered hand, knowing that Vaoris was intelligent enough to intercede on her behalf. It was useless to offer her opinion or any courtesy she possessed to a person who was not willing to listen to what she had to say, especially when she was his elder by quite a few years. A part of her knew it was childish, but she had never cared for interacting with others, and even if she had spoken with the scholar a few moments earlier, she had no desire to further upset her habits by going out of her way to politic with a young elf. Vaoris did not disappoint her. “Vaoris, apprentice scholar.” He said, smoothly intercepting Dantie’s offered hand with his own. "I can handle the healing, if you truly want to chase the thief, but I wouldn't recommend it. Look around you, friend. I think the only reason she didn't kill me outright was that would not have been worth the effort." If she had to choose which one would win, Dantie or the thief, she would have bet on the thief. Then again, she had always found it difficult to judge a person’s proficiency with a blade just by looking at them.

“Top” of the class was relative. Every year a new bunch of recruits arrived in Ilirea for their training in magic or combat. Some classes were more talented than others. Dantie could have been the best of a class of weaklings, or his boasts may been justified. In any case, as far as Rohiriel was concerned, he was inexperienced. Staged combat in no way prepared a person for the reality of killing. She knew from experience. She had spent over a decade learning the assassin’s art, but when the time had come to kill her first target, she had hesitated. It was not human nature to kill another living creature, to end a life. No one was born innately cruel. People were shaped by circumstance, and until Dantie had felled his first opponent, he would be weak, a liability in battle, in her eyes. No amount of staged combat could prepare a person for the desperation of a battle to the death. The rules were completely different when one’s life was at stake. When faced with death, people fought desperately; there were no rules, no honor. Fighting was a primal thing, only the strongest survived. Only the one willing to win no matter the cost, to water the earth with the blood of their foe at the first chance, could be considered adept at combat. It was harsh, but reality was not kind. Combat created monsters, and Rohiriel would not let a young elf claim to be one when he was not.

Her reverie was broken by Vaoris describing the appearance of the thief. A woman, petite, and a voice that could have belonged to a singer. Vague. Such a description could have applied to nearly every woman in Alagaesia. Unless he remembered something more distinctive about her, they would be forced to pursue other search strategies. “As for what she stole,” He continued, oblivious to her pessimistic musings, “There’s really no telling. We do have many rare, one of a kind texts up here, some of them incredibly valuable. To find out, we’d have to run an inventory, which…” He motioned to the chaotic mess that dominated the section of the library they stood in as if to explain how impossible such a task would be. “Is going to take a while. It’s going to take a month, at the very least…” His voice trailed off. They could not afford to wait a few days, let alone a month. Unless they could come across more concrete information in the next few hours, the thief would go to ground and be impossible to track down. Rohiriel was astonished to see a smile spread across Vaoris’ face. “…Or not. I amend that. She actually stole Treasures of Alagaesia, pages one through fifty-eight.” He announced triumphantly, and his voice, which was louder than the quiet tones in which they had been conversing, echoed around the library.

If she had been paying attention to the noise, she might have been concerned that someone had heard the noise. Her heart thudded in her chest as if to punctuate the end of the scholar’s sentence. Was that the book I was reading earlier? She wondered. Instantly, she denied it, but a closer inspection of the pages clutched tightly in the scholar’s hand made her reconsider. A wooden chalice with precious jewels around its rim and a stem carved into the appearance of many animal legs had been faithfully depicted on the top crumpled piece of parchment. She recognized it. She had seen it earlier when she had been perusing the old book of treasures. It was a lost treasure rumored to have given the ability to transform into any animal to the person who drank from it. It was coincidence, surely, that the book she read had been stolen shortly after she’d finished reading it. She fingered the red length of silk tied around her wrist that she had used to mark the book’s place on the shelf. She had been drawn immediately to that book when she arrived in the library. Prior to that day, she distinctly remembered passing the worn green binding with the faded ornate gold letters over without a second glance. She did not believe in coincidence. There was only the guiding hand of fate. Resolve hardened in her chest. She would answer destiny’s call and do whatever it took to retrieve the book.

The sound of approaching footsteps startled her from her ruminations. Without even realizing she had turned to face the person coming towards them, and her dagger in her hand once more. A tall elf stood about ten feet from them. He was not quite as tall as Dantie, but still a good head taller than her. His hair was black like midnight and the top half of it was in into elaborate braids that had wires set with gems woven throughout them. His face was stern, and frown lines marred his otherwise smooth visage in between his eyes and at the corners of his mouth. He wore a simple tunic and loose breeches with leather armor strapped across his chest. He had arm guards on his forearms despite his lack of a bow, and she could make out the imprint of several knifes through the thin material of his clothing. A magnificent sword was strapped to his waist. It was unlike anything she had ever seen. It was long and slim with an ornate hilt that was wrapped carefully in black leather strips and had a green gem set in the pommel. The sheath was a dark, forest green color and had a symbol she did not recognized embossed on the side. On a chain around his neck, a large diamond in an elaborate gold setting hung suspended from a delicate gold chain.

Rohiriel had never seen anything like the man before, and an inexplicable sense of foreboding began to rise in her as he stared over her head at the destruction of the library. His face was unreadable as he turned from the scene to stare first at Vaoris and then at Dantie. He was completely silent, and she felt the urge to fidget like a child caught doing something she was not supposed to be. She crushed she urge and met his gaze solidly when he shifted his head to stare at her. His eyes were the brightest green she had ever seen, and as she stared into them, she felt as if he could see into her soul. She had heard the phrase “the eyes are the portals to the soul,” but until that moment, she had never believed it or even stopped to consider the meaning of it. Memories slowly began to trickle from the deepest recesses of her mind. She was not sure whether it was some sort of magic, or her own unconscious that was doing it, but the memories were the ones she had forcefully tried to forget. Memories that caused her shame and pain and sorrow flickered through her mind like a mutilated parody of a play. It was as if everything about her life that she abhorred had chosen that moment to display itself for her recognition. There was the first time she had ever stolen something, when she lied to her mother about her life in Ellesmera, and most horrible of all: her first kill.

She tried to wrench away from the memory, but it overwhelmed her like a tidal wave and threatened to drown her in sensations from that night. A feeling of cold satisfaction at the feel of her blade cutting through flesh and bone, of hot blood staining her arm crimson, and falling to the ground in a mockery of rain, killing everything it touched instead of nourishing it. Painfully, she relived the memory, helpless to escape it despite her struggles. She finally became aware of the pair of green eyes that were still staring at her, and she was sure he’d seen it. She felt dirty, exposed, worthless, and pained all at once. She knew then that she had been fooling herself. Condemning herself to a life of solitude had been a choice made out of cowardice. Not killing anyone would never bring the people she had killed back to life, and she would never be able to atone for the atrocities she’d committed.

Suddenly, she realized that her hand was clenched tightly around the hilt of her dagger and it was pointed at the heart of the man in front of her. A surge of revulsion rose within her and she dropped the dagger to the ivory floor where it lay, mocking her weakness. She looked up from it to meet the gaze of the elf, speechless. As soon as she had released her hold on the knife, all the feelings spawned by her memories of the past disappeared like mist in the face of the sun. She glanced back down at the knife, noticing the fine detail of the blade and the small inscription at the base of it. Over the years it had been covered in blood so many times that creases where the words had been carves were stained red. It was the knife she had used to make her first kill. It had been given to her by the noble that had introduced her to the world of assassins. Why had she kept it? It was then that she knew why she had been plagued by memories from that night. The man's eyes were the same color as the first man she had killed.

The man nodded to them as if acknowledging them, and said, “I am Hendalacon, rider of Ilirea. I know not what has transpired here, but I am afraid I will have to ask you three to come with me. I have some questions that I need to ask you.”

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

The room that Hendalacon led them to appeared to be some sort of office. It was on one of the highest floors of the library and constructed of the same ivory that the rest of the building was made of. On one side of the room a large set of glass doors that led to an enormous balcony of dark gray stone dominated the wall. The moonlight illuminated the flat expanse of stone and Rohiriel could see white lines all across the balcony that appeared to be scratched into the surface of the hard rock. She wondered what could have caused such a thing as she followed the elf past the doors. They were made entirely of glass and were easily over forty feet in height and the same again in width. Cool night air drifted in bringing the scent of wet grass and pollen from the flowers that only opened in the moonlight. It caressed her skin with gentle fingers, ruffling her hair. She could hear the chirrup of crickets and she saw fireflies flashing in the open space beyond the railing. She could see clouds drifting lazily across the face of the moon, and the city of Ilirea sprawled like a sea of stars across the horizon.

“Please, have a seat.” Hendalacon offered. Rohiriel turned reluctantly from the balcony to see him gesturing to three chairs that had been placed in front of the hearth where a small fire blazed merrily, casting flickers of orange, red and yellow across the room’s walls. Another chair faced the three, and it was that chair that the rider lowered himself into after the three of them had seated themselves. The chairs were comfortable leather ones that had been stuffed with wool for padding. The chair curved around her and filled in the dip in her spine when she sat as if it were embracing her. She was not sure if she was fond of the feeling. It made her feel trapped, like she would be unable to move if the need arose. Ignoring her discomfort, she stared down at the dagger in her hand. She had picked it up before following Hendalacon, and it shimmered magnificently in the firelight. She tilted it and the glare travelled along the blade’s keen edge until it reached the hilt and then began again at the tip. She stared at where the letters engraved near the hilt distorted the glare like ripples in a pond would reflections. Lomiel She had meant to dispose of it, either magically or physically, on her way to the rider’s office, but somehow she had been unable to. Maybe it was what the blade represented. It would have been unfair to the memory of the first man she had killed and all those she had killed since to dispose of it so easily. She could not just forget the memories, so why should it be any easier to part with the blade that she had made them with?

Vaoris’ voice finally penetrated her thoughts, and she realized that he was relaying the events that had occurred in the history section. “Now, will one of you please explain to me how the history section of our library came to such ruin?” The rider had asked. The tale was not a long one, and she watched incredulity build in the man’s face as the story unfolded. “Well.” He said, when Vaoris had finished speaking. “This is certainly unexpected. You say the book stolen was Treasures of Alageasia?” He asked the scholar. Vaoris assented and handed the part of the book he had managed to prevent the thief from stealing to Hendalacon. The rustling noise the pieces of parchment made during the transfer were comforting, reminders of time spent in the library, and Rohiriel felt muscles she hadn’t even known were tense relax. “I don’t know much about this. I will let Aldanion tell you. He is well versed in all the old stories.” Aldanion? Rohiriel thought, surreptitiously searching the room from under her lashes for someone she had missed when she entered. She had just concluded that there was no other person in the room when she heard a sound that immediately solved the riddle of who Aldanion was. Wingbeats.

They sounded like giant claps of thunder, and she swore she could feel the ground shake beneath her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Hendalacon rise from his chair and move towards the balcony. She followed his gaze and could not help but release a gasp. A dragon was landing on the flat stone surface of the balcony. Its massive wings stirred the air with every flap, sending loose papers flying around the room like panicked birds that had caught sight of a hawk. Although he appeared black in the dim lighting, Aldanion was a dark forest green in color. His scales shimmered with his movements and refracted the silver moonlight across the dark stone in white pin pricks of light. He had sharp, bright green eyes the size of round shields and his cheek was lined with four ivory spines that curled back to protect the tender expanse of his throat which was slightly lighter in color than the dark scales that lined his back and tail. Two large horns of the same ivory color as the spines on his jaw protruded from the top of his head to frame a row of large spikes that lined his spine. He extended paws with deadly talons protruding from them and landed heavily on the balcony, adding another row of scars to the abused surface. He folded his large, webbed wings until they were flat against his sides and then lowered his head to converse with his rider. After a moment, he looked over at the three of them and fixed them with one great, green eye.

Greetings, I am Aldanion. His voice thundered in her mind, and she barely refrained from putting her hands over her ears, knowing it would make no difference. I am told you seek the treasure whose location was hidden by Draidin Longfellow himself in the pages of the book that was stolen from us.

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OOC: It is quite possible that I might have gone a bit overboard with this, but I was hit with muse and couldn't resist. I also wanted to make sure I conveyed his personality, as there's no bio to refer to. xD

Edit: Small change. Just forgot to add the detail that her knife had Lomiel engraved on it.

[dantieduurden]

As Dantie was facing the door he saw the rider walking in first and quickly showed one of his masters his well deserved respect. Then he listened intently as the rider told them to follow him.

As they got to the private study Dantie was in even more awe then he had been before, but sadly could not answer a single thing the rider had asked. " I'm sorry master, but I was to high up to see anything and then only noticed when the scholar came flying up to the balcony. " Dantie admitted telling his part in the story right before Vaoris.

When the rider spoke again it was about the book. And then with a mighty beat of wings he heard the dragon approaching. Yet again he bowed to his master, " What is in this book that was so important?" Dantie asked looking at both the rider and his dragon.

[Angmor]

When anyone in Alagaesia so much as mentioned the Riders, there was always a certain aura, a certain mystique that was inseparable with the term. An involuntary vision of high towers and bright eyes, of strong warriors and aged wisdom. Even for the denizens of the Ilirea, for whom the Riders were a daily reality, there was a certain romance about then.
As he lowered himself into the enormously comfortable chair, Vaoris was reminded instantly why he harbored secret ambitions to become a Rider himself, someday. Who would not turn down such an opportunity, to become a part of all this?
Even with his long experience in the Archives, Vaoris had only ever seen the interior of this room once, and that had been a fleeting glimpse. This was the private study, reserved specifically for Rider use. No scholar was allowed to enter, unless summoned or granted special permission. Suddenly, it hadn’t been so bad, being blown off a balcony and nearly plunging into oblivion.

As their esteemed host took his own chair opposite, Vaoris took the opportunity to study him a bit closer, now that they were cast in the much brighter, warmer light of the fire. Oddly, he was unable to tell how old the elf was. His body was that of a young man, tall and fit, without the slightest trace of a stoop. The face, however, was old and sagely, and his brilliant emerald told a silent tale of many long years. But then, most of the Riders he’d met were like that, simultaneously old and young. And who could blame them? Upon becoming bonded with a dragon, a Rider’s lifespan increased beyond even the generous years afforded to the elves. Vaoris wondered just what this one had seen over the course of his life, and what kind of stories he could tell. But then, it was not Hendalacon’s time to tell stories. It was his.
With exaggerated ease, the Rider lowered himself gracefully into the chair opposite them, his piercing green eyes giving them each a searching glance in turn. “Now, will one of you please explain to me how the history section of our library came to such ruin?”
For several moments, the silence in the private study was total. Vaoris, for his part, had been fully intending to be the one to relate the story, seeing as how he had been on the literal blunt end of events, but now that the time came, he suddenly felt the weight of his humble rank descending on him, keeping a lid on the words. He did his best to suppress the makings of a squirm, looking to Rohiriel. After all, she was definitely the senior of the three, and even beyond that, her aura of quiet confidence was fast becoming a legend in his mind…

Strangely, he found that she did not even appear to be engaged in the situation, gazing into the blade of a simple, highly used looking dagger. In fact, now that he thought about it, that dagger had not been sheathed since Hendalacon had first appeared. Although his attention had not been centered on her at the time, he had caught a glimpse of something, just a flash sentiment behind her eyes, there and gone. While it was just a glimpse, it was enough to unsettle him, although he wasn’t quite sure why. It was like… like there was some inconsolable sadness hidden within her, a deep pain that she was used to keeping long buried. Since then, she was back to what he had begun to consider normal, save for a distinct look of discomfort that managed to protrude above the surface of her otherwise glacial manner. Once again, he felt himself overwhelmed with curiosity, wishing fervently to know just what it was that drove this woman…
"I'm sorry master,” Came Du Urden’s sudden voice, ringing out loudly enough to snap him out of his reverie. “But I was to high up to see anything and then only noticed when the scholar came flying up to the balcony."
Vaoris blinked. So, that solved the mystery of where Dantie came from, which meant he hadn’t even seen the thief. Strangely, it was the thought of knowing something that the self-claimed top student did not know that caused his shyness to evaporate, allowing him to lift his eyes to meet those of the Rider.
“I can tell you, ebrithil.” He said quietly, drawing the emerald gaze back to him. “It’s something of a complicated tale, so bear with me as I try to order it even as I tell it. To begin with, I am the scholar assigned to night duty here in the archives…”
While the story was somewhat intricate, it did not actually take very long in the telling. As he related the tale, Vaoris tried not to be discouraged by Hendalacon’s growing expression of disbelief. But who could blame him? The story sounded more and more farfetched even as he told it. Midnight visitors, stolen books, magical destruction, last second salvation by a mysterious stranger… it was all crazy. He could only hope that it would be, as the saying goes, just crazy enough to be true.

Finally, he uttered the last necessary syllable of his story, he closed his mouth with relief, settling back in his chair. Now that the brief nervousness of relating the events was gone, he felt exhaustion stealing over him again, and the comfortable down cushions were not helping. Fortunately, the silence did not last long. After a moment of contemplation, The Rider leaned forward, an enigmatic expression on his lined face.
”Well,” He pronounced. “This is certainly unexpected. You say the book stolen was Treasures of Alageasia?”
Vaoris nodded dumbly, handing Hendalacon the papers he had managed to snatch before his unexpected flying lesson, watching nervously as they were scanned briefly. As he did, Hendalacon seemed to deflate slightly, as if some weariness was settling on his shoulders. The eyes that rose from the paper again were different now, guarded, revealing nothing.
“I don’t know much about this. I will let Aldanion tell you. He is well versed in all the old stories.”
If Vaoris had been on the verge of dozing before, he was wide awake now. He felt his back straighten as if he had been jolted, sitting bolt upright in his chair.
Aldanion? Could that be…

It was.

Vaoris had seen dragons before. In fact, he was even on fairly good terms with one, although Consul of Defense Ikehr could hardly be called anyone’s friend. But dragons, by their very nature were impressive, especially a fully grown, huge dragon. Especially one such dragon flying, framed by the background of the breathtakingly beautiful Ilirea skyline, landing on a platform so that his foreclaws were less than a stone’s throw away.
This, of course, was precisely what was happening.
Being so enchanted by the vision before him, Vaoris didn’t remember rising to his feet. As the dragon turned his gaze on the small band, it felt something like a spotlight being turned on his soul. Completely at a loss, Vaoris found himself bowing deeply before the dragon, partially to show his respect, and partly to avoid looking into that huge reptilian eye that seemed to pierce his heart like a spear. This, he thought, was an incredible moment, and he was sure that there was no way it could become any more exhilarating.
And then the dragon spoke.
Greetings, I am Aldanion.. Came the mental voice, seeming to reverberate grandly off his knowledge and feelings as it boomed through the corridors of his mind, sending his thoughts whirling in its wake. I am told you seek the treasure whose location was hidden by Draidin Longfellow himself in the pages of the book that was stolen from us.

The silence that followed this time was no less deep, but decidedly more full. Vaoris never realized it before, but the sound of a dragon’s breathing was thunderous in such a confined space. He desperately wanted to speak, to offer some sign of comprehension, but he could not. His intellect was still struggling valiantly to wrap itself around the wave of new information carried by Aldanion’s concise words and as yet failing miserably. In an action that was quickly becoming predictable, however, Du Urden was the first to speak.
"What is in this book that was so important?" He said, ostensibly as humble as Vaoris had yet seen of him. Yet again, his mental gears caught with a clunk, latching onto the familiar.
“Draidin Longfellow…” He murmured, looking back up at the dragon. “I’ve heard of him. He was a scholar here. Although, he died sometime before I was born, but they still talk about him. Master Gyvar says that he was ‘stark mad.’”
Master Hendalacon tilted his head fractionally. “You realize you’re referring to an old and very dear friend to both Aldanion and myself.” He said quietly, his tone inscrutable.
“Er… I’m sorry, I meant no disrespect…” He backpedaled swiftly, before he was stopped by the Rider’s upraised hand.
“Be at peace. As it happens, I would also grant him that description. And if he were still alive to be here, he would no doubt smile and laugh upon hearing it. Yes, Draidin was a scholar here, at one time, and the writer of this very book, at my asking.”
Vaoris felt his mind regain its spin.“At your asking? I’m sorry, but I don’t-“
I shall explain, if you would kindly be silent. Aldanion rumbled, causing the young scholar’s mouth to shut with an audible click. The dragon huffed, creating a thin stream of smoke that drifted lazily across the room.
The treasure my Rider refers to is the armor of the Karzin Demons. The tale is rather a long one, so you may do well to retake your seats.
Vaoris needed no further bidding. As quietly as he could, he lowered himself into his seat, preparing to listen to the Dragon’s story.

Many hundreds of years ago, long before any of you three were born, there was a certain elven mage by the name of Celebglin. He was very strong in magic from an early age, and his lifelong study of the art unearthed much previously unknown knowledge into magic and its potential uses. Eventually, after many years, he was able to devise a way for spells to draw their power from the light of the sun and stars You know what this means. Using this method, any spell could essentially become infinitely renewed.
Vaoris felt his excitement deepen. These days, it was impossible to do what Aldanion had just described. He had sat in for several debates on such subjects, and many theories abounded that the power of light was the source of many examples of Wild Magic throughout Alagaesia. This nearly unlimited power however remained staunchly out of reach to the world at large, and the fact that any mage had once achieved it was staggering.
As I’m sure you guess, however, the knowledge was lost. In his later years, Celebglin took to wandering the land, exploring the places that very few would dare to go. Because of this, he was happened upon by a large group of bandits in the far reaches of the Hadarac desert, and was captured. This band was lead by a very dangerous man in deed, as clever as he was cruel. And his cruelty could almost be legendary. The bandits quickly learned of their prisoner’s powers, and were eventually able to exploit them to their advantage, forcing Celebglin to cast many wards of protection upon their armor and weapons, using his arcane knowledge. Think of it. A ward that is infinitely renewed, not relying on the strength of the wearer.
Vaoris did think of it, and he did not like the directions it took him. He himself had never been in combat, but he could vividly imagine the effects it would have on a defender to be hacking away at his opponent for hours on end without leaving a single wound.
Invincible.
He shuddered.
The bandits immediately began a rampage across Alagaesia, burning and destroying as they went, taking whatever they pleased. They became known as the Karzin Demons, after the large town of Karzin. They leveled the city stone by stone. It is not even remembered by history now. Protected by their enchanted armor, none could stop them. Not even the Riders. Not even us.
At this point, the dragon grew silent, turning away from his listeners to gaze out at the sparkling plain of Ilirea as if deep in thought. Hendalacon, who had up to now been leaning back his chair contemplating his steepled fingers, stirred as if rising from a trance. “I’m sorry.” He picked up smoothly. “It is painful for him, even after so long. We both lost several good friends in those days, as we foolishly attempted to attack the bandits while they slept. We paid for our rashness. To continue the story, no direct solution could be found, and bandits grew bolder. Soon the city of Teirm itself was threatened, despite its high walls and staunch defenders. Even they could not stand against barely a hundred men, if such men could not be killed. It seemed the city would fall, until Aldanion was struck by a sudden inspiration.”
The dragon turned back to them, a barely detectable rumble vibrating from the back of his throat.
More a thought brought on by desperation. It occurred to me if such men could not be killed, then they needed to be contained. Over several weeks, we began disseminating the rumor among the nearby towns and villages that all the treasures of Teirm had been moved to a hidden system of caves in the foothills of the Spine. This spot was selected very carefully, for reasons you will soon see. Eventually, the news somehow made it back to the Bandits. While their leader was no fool, and suspected a trap, his confidence had grown to the point that he did not heed his instinct. They marched blindly into the caves, and we collapsed the entire system on top of them.
There was a pause, allowing the words to sink in. Vaoris could not help but frown at this. Of course, they were responsible for many deaths, but still… What a horrible way to go. And for a Rider to have to make that decision… He shuddered. From the look in Hendalacon’s eyes, he did not appear to have the slightest from of regret.
The ploy worked. The Bandits never emerged from there again. Teirm was saved.Killed in the collapse, Celebglin’s knowledge of unlimited power died with him, and the world more or less forgot the entire incident. Having such an improbably happening be recorded was perhaps too much to believe, and eventually the Karzin Bandits were forgotten by history. But, that was not the end. Eventually, my Rider and I were the last to know of that time. We did not wish for it to be entirely forgotten, so we approached our friend Draidin, humbly asking if he could write up the account in a book. Knowing that such knowledge would be dangerous in the wrong hands, however, he wrote it as a part of a much larger volume, accounting the origins of many other famous treasures. Where else to hide such a story, but among a collection of the same? Many of the treasures don’t even exist, fanciful creations of Draidin’s eccentric mind, disguising the grain of truth within. It is this book that has been stolen, and this treasure that is now in danger. Now do you understand?

This night seemed destined to contain every possible variety of silence. The latest incarnation; stunned.
Vaoris did his very best to take it all in, feeling as he was tumbling down a long, dark whole. What had started as a simple night assignment had suddenly spiraled into an intricate and sinister adventure, so far over his head that he felt he was drowning. He almost didn’t notice Aldanion’s head swing gracefully around, pinning Rohiriel with his eyes.
You have heard all this before, I sense. Why do you doubt my words?

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Done!

[Akilinia]

Rohiriel

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

A stifling silence descended after the Aldanion’s announcement. Rohiriel could hear the breath of everyone in the room, gusting like a small tornado in the absence of speech. She had never been one for conversation, and did not find the pause awkward in the least. She took the opportunity to take the measure of the others. Vaoris, who had hastily risen from his chair in order to offer the jade dragon a polite bow looked stunned by Aldanion’s words. His face was a mask of confusion and desperation with a slight hint of frustration. He seemed slightly befuddled by the implications of what had been said and Rohiriel could see his scholar’s mind working swiftly in his attempts to unravel the mystery. She had the upper hand in solving the riddle. She had read the book. If she hadn’t, she surmised that Vaoris would have been the first to understand the significance. Dantie had, for the moment, lost all of his self-assuredness and was staring with a slightly awed expression at the magnificent pair framed in the glorious arch of the door frame, with the black of the night behind them. Both of them were slightly illuminated by the faint light the hearth and the one torch near the entrance to the grand room provided. The orange glow from the two fires had lent Hendalacon’s ageless face a golden glow and the sparse wrinkles that lined his eyes and the corners of his mouth were thrown into sharp relief. Aldanion’s forest colored scales had been given highlights in the flickering light, and shades of lighter green shimmered across each one with the light.

Aldanion had obviously assumed that since they were attempting to recover the missing half of the book that they already knew why it had been stolen. Rohiriel was certainly as confused as the Dantie and Vaoris. There had been many treasures in the book, why would Longfellow have written it to disguise only one? Were any of the other treasures even real, or were they all just planted to hide the true one? Unsure how to phrase her question, she allowed Vaoris to voice it for her. As if reading her mind a moment later the scholar asked, “What is in this book that was so important?” Even as he voiced the question, he seemed to reach an epiphany. Rather than wait for his first query to be answered, he forged ahead. “Draidin Longfellow…” His voice was only a quiet murmur and she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to have heard. She decided he had meant for them to hear it, however, when he looked up from his musings to catch Aldanion’s unsettling green gaze. “I’ve heard of him. He was a scholar here. Although, he died sometime before I was born, but they still talk about him. Master Gyver says that he was ‘stark mad.’” In a typical scholarly fashion, Vaoris allowed everything he knew on the subject to flow from his lips without consideration for the ramifications of his words. Rohiriel had been staring intently at the dragon and his rider, and knew immediately that something the young scholar said had been offensive.

“You realize you’re referring to an old friend to both Aldanion and myself.” Hendalacon’s voice was as emotionless as his face, and Rohiriel was unable to glean anything from either. If she had been able to say she knew him better, she might have thought the unidentifiable emotion that lingered at the corner of his mouth was amusement. She frowned a bit, trying to lift the rider’s opinion on his friend from his mind through pure effort of will, and then gave the task up as futile. As an assassin, her life had rested more than once on her ability to accurately discern a person’s reactions to her questions or to the mention of a certain subject. How else would she be able to tell if that person were going to strike out in blind rage, or if they were going to become completely defenseless in a round of tears? It was all about being unflappable. Assassins couldn’t afford to be surprised by anything. They had to anticipate and be able to react before or as soon as their target did.

Vaoris was instantly contrite. Chagrin flashed across his face and he swiftly tried to take the comment back. “Er… I’m sorry, I meant no disrespect…” Hendalacon raised a hand to halt the scholar’s flow of apologies before he could get started. He did not appear to be upset. His face remained smooth, and no frowns darkened his brow. She glanced to Aldanion. She was unsure if dragons even exhibited emotions the way humans did having never come in contact with one before. His green eyes stared unwaveringly back at her for a moment and then flickered to his rider. “Be at peace. As it happens, I would also grant him that description. And if he were still alive to be here, he would no doubt smile and laugh upon hearing it. Yes, Draidin was a scholar here, at one time, and the writer of this very book, at my asking.” Rohiriel had never even heard of the man. She only recognized the name after reading the untidy signature of the author on the title page of the book under where the title was embossed in neat black calligraphy. She imagined the book had to be very old. She studied Hendalacon again, trying to determine his age, but just as she was unable to identify his emotions, his age remained a mystery. She deduced that he had to be very old to have commissioned such an ancient text.

Vaoris’ next inquiry reminded her of her own questions. “At your asking? I’m sorry, but I don’t-“ Before she could begin to ponder the role Hendalacon might have played in the turn of events that had lead to the creation of a treasure book in which the majority of the treasure might possibly be intentionally misleading, Aldanion’s thunderous voice filled her ears once more, piercing her eardrums. I shall explain, if you would kindly be silent. The dragon’s voice was ripe with impatience, and Rohiriel gathered that of the two, Hendalacon was the more tolerant of the two. It supported the rumors that dragons and riders were more often opposites than similar, especially the more powerful pairs, which these two seemed to be. The treasure my Rider refers to if the armor of the Karzin Demons. The tale is rather a long one, so you may do well to retake your seats. Vaoris, properly chastised resumed his seat immediately. Rohiriel realized that she had stood in response to Vaoris’ quick rise from his seat. Rather than suffer the stifling embrace of the chair, she took the opportunity to settle herself on the stone in front of the hearth with her back to the flames feeling like a child settling in to listen to one of her grandmother’s many fairy tales. The gray stone in front of the fire place was warm, and she felt her tense muscles loosening as the heat massaged them.

The name of the treasure struck a chord within her, but she couldn’t quite recall the details of the tale. The tale began like any other classic legend. Many hundreds of years ago, long before any of you three were born, there was a certain elven mage by the name of Celebglin. He was very strong in magic from an early age, and his lifelong study of the art unearthed much previously unknown knowledge into magic and its potential uses. Eventually, after many years, he was able to devise a way for spells to draw their power from the light of the sun and stars You know what this means. Using this method, any spell could essentially become infinitely renewed. Rohiriel could feel the story struggling to rise from the recesses of her mind as the dragon’s deep baritone voice gracefully reiterated the tale. The mage’s name, Celebglin sounded familiar to her, as did his ability to harness the power of the stars. She couldn’t help the shiver that coursed through her body in spite of the heat from the fire at the thought of such power. With such an ability, a mage would truly be unstoppable. The only thing that put limits on a person’s magical ability was their own bodily restrictions. Lacking those, the world would fall into chaos as mages struggled for supremacy. Of course, they would all have limitless power, and in their attempts to best each other they likely would destroy the world. The cynical thought pierced Rohiriel like an icicle, and she returned her attention to the tale rather than ponder such atrocities.

As I’m sure you guess, however, the knowledge was lost. In his later years, Celebglin took to wandering the land, exploring the places that very few would dare to go. Because of this, he was happened upon by a large group of bandits in the far reaches of the Hadarac desert, and was captured. This band was lead by a very dangerous man in deed, as clever as he was cruel. And his cruelty could almost be legendary. The bandits quickly learned of their prisoner’s powers, and were eventually able to exploit them to their advantage, forcing Celebglin to cast many wards of protection upon their armor and weapons, using his arcane knowledge. Think of it. A ward that is infinitely renewed, not relying on the strength of the wearer. Yes! Her mind finally managed to recall the illusive tale. The bandits had then proceeded to raid and plunder villages across the continent of Alagaesia, invincible even to the dragon riders. Their name originated from their especially appalling destruction of the city of Karzin in which they slaughtered all the villagers and leveled the entire city to rubble. The book said that they were finally stopped when a dragon and rider had lured them into a cave in the Spine with tales of a large store of treasure, and then buried them alive, saving Tierm which had been their next target.

Rohiriel became aware that Aldanion had stopped speaking, and glanced up from the ovular stone she had been staring at while lost in her thoughts. The dragon was staring in silence over the city of Ilirea, apparently as lost in thought as she had been herself. Could it bed? Could Hendalacon and Aldanion be the dragon and rider the book referred to? The ones who trapped all the bandits? She wondered, studying the dragon’s majestic profile. Somehow, the thought did not surprise her. They had already admitted to being involved with the affair just by telling the tale when asked about the book’s author, who it turned out they had commissioned. She also knew that they were old, but old enough to have participated in a tragedy at least half a millennium old?

“I’m sorry.” Hendalacon said, stepping in smoothly as Aldanion’s silence became too pronounce to be a pause in the telling of the story. “It is painful for him, even after so long. We both lost several good friends in those days, as we foolishly attempted to attack the bandits while they slept. We paid for our rashness. To continue the story, no direct solution could be found, and the bandits grew bolder. Soon the city of Teirm itself was threatened, despite its high walls and staunch defenders. Even they could not stand against barely a hundred men, if such men could not be killed. It seemed the city would fall, until Aldanion was struck by a sudden inspiration.” Her theory had been proven. Hendalacon and Aldanion had indeed been the heroes to save Teirm and the rest of Alagaesia from the bandits. She stared at Hendalacon’s face as Aldanion continued the story, disturbed by the lack of remorse she saw there. It was one thing to kill and quite another to never feel regret for your actions. Even though she had not killed to protect anyone, but in manipulated cold blood, there had to be repercussions to killing that many men even if they deserved it. Rohiriel unintentionally pricked herself on the sharp edge of her blade. She stared at the drop of blood as it beaded on her fingertip and then blotted it on her stained sleeve just before it dropped to the floor.

She looked up when she felt the dragon’s gaze settle on her. You have heard all this before, I sense. Why do you doubt my words? He asked her when she met his gaze. Maintaining eye contact with a dragon was difficult. His overly large green eyes and vertically slit pupils disturbed her, but she refused to back down or show any weakness. She ignored the burning of her stomach and firmly held his stare. “I do not doubt the truth of your words. I have read them for myself in Draidin Longfellow’s novel. I simply wonder how you can fail to feel remorse after murdering a hundred men.” The question dropped from her lips like lead, and for a moment she wondered if Aldanion would breathe fire on her for her impudence. Who was she to question the motivations of a dragon and rider after all? After a tense moment had passed, however, the dragon released his breath in a stream of smoke which scattered across the gray ivory ceiling and was swept out the door by an errant breeze. She waited for a response to her question, but it was Hendalacon who finally answered.

He stared at her silently for a moment with his piercing green eyes, and she was sure that he knew she spoke from personal experience. Suddenly she wondered if she asked the question, because she wanted to know their reason or wanted to find a way to escape the burden of her own consciousness which weighed heavily on her as she considered the deaths that troubled her soul. She felt like she was crippled by the weight of her sins, hunched like an old woman whose spine had been bent by gravity over time. Each time she killed, her spine bent a bit more. Was it selfish of her to watch to be free of her past if only to lighten the load on her soul? Did she even have the right as a being to wish for such a blessing? She saw a deep compassion enter his green eyes and she wondered what flashed across her face while she’d be considering her crimes. “You never get over something like that,” He told her kindly “but I remember that I killed to protect others, not of my own volition and it makes my conscience feel a bit lighter.” Rohiriel’s heart sank at the news, but she grasped on to the idea of protecting others to lighten the burden like a drowning man would clutch a life preserver.

Well, now that any doubts are quelled, we have a request to ask of you three. Aldanion said, breaking into her thoughts tersely. We cannot pursue the woman who is responsible for stealing the book ourselves. Over the years we have lost our power here in Ilirea. It happens with old age. The young rise up, thirsty for power, to seize it from their elders. It is the pattern of ambition. Hendalacon and I felt the stir of it in our blood long ago as well, but now it settles. As things stand we do not have the sway to send other riders to search for the thief, because the young believe themselves to be infallible and do not believe in an old tale of magical armor any longer, and we cannot leave our duties here in the city. We request that you go in our stead. Silence ensued once again, and Rohiriel marveled at the dragon’s bluntness and ability to catch her off guard at every turn. He certainly did not waste any time getting to the heart of the matter. She suspected that Hendalacon would have been more polite in his appeal for their help, but who were they to refuse a dragon? Rohiriel considered the offer in any case, and then realized that she had been determined to retrieve the book since she discovered that it was the one she’s been reading earlier that day. How much more difficult would it be to track the thief a few extra steps to the treasure?

“I will go.” She said firmly as Hendalacon opened his mouth to attempt to smooth over the sharpness of Aldanion’s tongue.

[dantieduurden]

As the rider and his dragon told the story the part of him that was buried deep inside a dark prison of his own making his other half awoke, interested in the story that was being told. " You know with them weapons, and a set of that armor no one would be able to stop us from protecting our loved ones Dantie. No one could hurt you ever again. Not even the riders could take away what you loved." The evil chaotic part of his mind told him from behind its locked prison deep inside his mind.

The normal part of Dantie listened intently to his darker half as it explained what they could do with such a set of items and could not argue against it. " I will join, if that is you give me leave master, for I am still on my last year of training with all of you riders." Dantie said bowing intently.

The darker part of Dantie grinned evilly as his plan became to take a hold in Danties mind. " Finally I have found something to use against the boy and turn him from this lawfulness." it said to its self from its dark prison. Soon it would be his turn to shine.

[Angmor]

“I do not doubt the truth of your words.” Rohiriel was saying, her tone as terse as ever. “I have read them for myself in Draidin Longfellow’s novel. I simply wonder how you can fail to feel remorse after murdering a hundred men.”
He had been correct about his analysis of the night’s course. The latest incarnation of silence most definitely came in the stunned variety.
Vaoris felt his breath catch in his throat as a mix of emotions welled up inside him. The first of these was incredulity. Did she honestly realize that she was questioning the motivations of a Dragon Rider? Who was she to question these two on the nature of morality. Surely, it was a terrible thing, slaughtering so many with a single blow, but they had it coming, didn’t they? He could not think of any other way that such a rampage would be stopped.
The second emotion, he decided finally, was admiration. The reasons behind this one was very simple. He had just watched the woman who had saved his life literally stare down a fully grown dragon.
And the dragon took it, with only a breath of smoke to show his anger.

Vaoris felt himself breathe again. He had honestly been expecting a blast of flame to be the end of the matter, and then he would never found out just what drove this inscrutable woman to take such terrible risks. After another moment, Hendalacon rose, walking to Rohiriel to place a kindly hand on her shoulder. As he did, Vaoris noticed something flit across the eyes of his rescuer, there and gone. It was the same thing he had observed before, that same unbridled sadness that was so reluctant to show itself. For the first time, he considered that there might have been another reason for her pert question. Perhaps she was not questioning the morality of a powerful figure.
Perhaps she was questioning her own.
“You never get over something like that,” Hendalacon said quietly, his voice soft. Vaoris felt that his theory was born out as the smallest ghost of a hopeful expression touched Rohiriel’s face... “But I remember that I killed to protect others, not of my own volition and it makes my conscience feel a bit lighter.” The Rider finished heavily.
And just like that, the touch of hope was gone. Her face faded back into its usual impassive self, and for some reason that he could not pinpoint, Vaoris mourned for its loss.

Well, now that any doubts are quelled, we have a request to ask of you three. The dragon rumbled again, breaking into the quiet moment as if he couldn’t stand it. We cannot pursue the woman who is responsible for stealing the book ourselves. Over the years we have lost our power here in Ilirea. It happens with old age. The young rise up, thirsty for power, to seize it from their elders. It is the pattern of ambition. At this statement, Vaoris glanced at Du Urden, looking for some sign of the words striking home. Strangely, the young elf didn’t seem even to notice, simply staring unfocusedly as if he was thinking about something else entirely. Was he even paying attention here?
Hendalacon and I felt the stir of it in our blood long ago as well, but now it settles. As things stand we do not have the sway to send other riders to search for the thief, because the young believe themselves to be infallible and do not believe in an old tale of magical armor any longer, and we cannot leave our duties here in the city. We request that you go in our stead.

Yet more shocked silence.

Vaoris felt his mind reeling at the speed of events on this night. How had this come about? How could the dragon even ask this, without consulting his Rider? But then, he supposed, they had probably been discussing it for some time, ever since learning of the book’s disappearance, via the silent mental connection that they shared. He’d heard the stories, of course, but… It was truly an amazing thing to see in action. He had never had that level of unity with anyone in his life.
One day. He thought. One day soon, I shall have a dragon of my own, and we will be united over all things. No knowledge will be out of our reach.
With an effort, he wrenched himself back to the matter at hand. Aldanion had just bluntly asked Rohiriel and Dantie to undertake a quest to recover the book. This would now probably take a while. They would need time to think over such a request, after all. He knew he would, if it was extended to him…
“I will go.” Rohiriel pronounced, cleanly breaking off the thought in his head. He blinked. By the stars, she possessed a manner that was just as blunt as Aldanion’s. He could just imagine the scraping sounds they made when they collided. Vaoris felt the urge to laugh, but the determined look on the face of his rescuer quickly put paid to the idea. Suddenly, he felt sorry for the thief. Even more so when Rohiriel caught her.
“I will join, if that is you give me leave master,” Du Urden said immediately afterword, probably not liking to be upstaged. “For I am still on my last year of training with all of you riders."
“I will arrange it.” Acknowledged Hendalacon, nodding smoothly.
Well, that’s that. Vaoris thought. I’m sure Rohiriel can find some use for him out there. I’m glad at least that…
It took him a moment to realize that there was now silence again in the room, this one of the decidedly waiting kind.
It took him another minute to realize that every eye in the room had shifted to look at him.
And another before he realized just what such a gesture could mean.

“Now, wait a moment here…” He sputtered before he could even begin to settle is whirling thoughts. “Me? You want me in on this?” Both dragon and Rider nodded in unison, the slightest quirk of a smile touching the elf’s lips. “That is what my dragon said, is it not? He did not exclude you.”
“But… But I’m just a scholar!” Vaoris blurted, briefly forgetting the titanic gulf between his rank and theirs. He felt agitation starting at the base of his stomach and working its way up, causing his throat to constrict. Unable to find an outlet, he rose swiftly from his chair. “Not only that, I’m an apprentice scholar. You heard the story. I encountered this thief once before, and I bungled it. I mean, of course, Dantie’s the top of his class, combat and magic. Rohiriel is…” He stumbled for a second. What was she exactly? “…Competent. What possible use could I be on this kind of quest? I’m just… I’m not…” A hero. He finished silently, unable to say the words. He looked away from the eyes on him, feeling his face burn with shame at his cowardice.
“Now, wait a moment here…” He sputtered before he could even begin to settle is whirling thoughts. “Me? You want me in on this?” Both dragon and Rider nodded in unison, the slightest quirk of a smile touching the elf’s lips. “That is what my dragon said, is it not? He did not exclude you.”
“But… But I’m just a scholar!” Vaoris blurted, briefly forgetting the titanic gulf between his rank and theirs. He felt agitation starting at the base of his stomach and working its way up, causing his throat to constrict. Unable to find an outlet, he rose swiftly from his chair. “Not only that, I’m an apprentice scholar. I can’t just get up and leave! I have responsibilities and duties here! Besides, you heard the story. I encountered this thief once before, and I bungled it. I mean, of course, Dantie’s the top of his class, combat and magic. Rohiriel is…” He stumbled for a second. What was she exactly? “…Competent. What possible use could I be on this kind of quest? I’m just… I’m not…” A hero. He finished silently, unable to say the words. He looked away from the eyes on him, feeling his face burn with shame at his cowardice. “I’m sorry.” He said. “I wish I could help you, but I would just be a liability. This… It’s just not what I was meant for.”

Suddenly realizing just my much he had babbled on, he shut his mouth hurriedly. He wished that he could raise his eyes to look at them, but he found the way the shadows danced on the floor between his feet was absolutely riveting. Because of this, he heard rather than saw the kindly set of Hendalacon’s tone.
“With respect young one, I beg to differ. There is a purpose at work here, although you might not see it.”
Vaoris said nothing.
“It is true, none can truly see the workings of destiny, but when you get to be my age, you begin to learn something about its course. Aldanion and I have discussed it, and we both agree. Our hearts tell us that you are needed on this quest. I cannot say why or for what. But we cannot deny that it is there. You… All three of you, brought together seemingly by chance, have been appointed this task, and far be it from me to question why. Or you, for that matter.”
Vaoris frowned, pondering the Rider’s words. Destiny was hardly a foreign concept to him, or anyone in Ilirea. The Riders had pioneered the concept, but Vaoris had always gotten the idea that it was merely a word, just a conversational substitute for something that was not and could never be fully understood. This was the first Rider he had ever thought actually believed in it. Slowly he lifted his eyes to the group, looking for some kind of sign from them that this wasn’t just some kind of quasi-religious babble. Dantie, as ever, was no help. His vacant expression had returned, giving no sign that he had even heard what was said. Rohiriel, however, was different. She was looking straight at him, her strange eyes engaging squarely with his as if she was looking for something. He could not pinpoint her expression. What was that, pity? Kindness? Disgust? A mix of them all?
It might have been his imagination, or some trick of the flickering firelight, but he thought he might have seen her offer a miniscule nod.
“I know that it can be difficult to accept.” Hendalacon said, drawing the reluctant scholar’s attention back to him. “A long time ago, I felt much the same. My first adventure, as you might call it, was one of the most terrifying times of my life. But in the end, it was merely the first step in my journey. How can you say that this venture is not the first step in yours?”
Vaoris looked away again, his head swirling with emotions. Yes, it was true, he decided. He was not objecting to this for selfless reasons, not because of concern for his liability to the others, or for forsaking his duties. He was objecting out of fear, pure and simple. A selfish fear for what might happen to him if he dared to step outside the comfortable, familiar confines of his beloved Library. The more he considered it, the more petty it sounded. After all, he was just a lowly apprentice. If a Dragon Rider was telling him that he was needed on this mission, who was he to say otherwise?
He was still afraid, though.
With an effort, he raised his head, drawing in a deep breath, then slowly nodded his assent. “You are right, ebrithil.” He said. “Please, accept my humble apology for my cowardice.”
The Rider merely smiled kindly, waving aside you apology. “There is no need. And as for your duties, I can square it with the scholars easily. Master Vanir is an old friend of mine.”
Despite the gravity of the situation, Vaoris couldn’t help but smile at this. He was beginning to wonder if there was anyone in the city over the age of one-hundred who wasn’t an old friend of Master Vanir. “You’re right, master. The messy anthropology section can wait until after the quest for the mystical treasure.” He quipped lightly, trying to settling the greasy twisting sensation in the pit of his stomach.
Well, now you’re in for it, kid. He berated himself. Next time, keep your nose in a book where it belongs…

To Be Continued...

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