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| The Dawncaster Chronicles; Chapter X: A Locked Door | |
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| Topic Started: May 18 2009, 12:27 PM (316 Views) | |
| redsrock | Jul 9 2009, 06:43 PM Post #21 |
Jefe el Heffalump
  ![]](http://209.85.117.197/static/1/pip_r.png)
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Caught up today. Good stuff, as usual. I liked this chapter because it was all stealthy-like and stuff. And I always love your use of vocabulary. With this chapter you don't fail. Nice job. 
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| Illydoor | Jul 15 2009, 05:55 PM Post #22 |
Slaughterfish
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Thanks Reds . Next chapter up soon.
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| Illydoor | Aug 6 2009, 05:37 AM Post #23 |
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Slaughterfish
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Here be the ninth chapter: Chapter IX: The Corkscrew Staircase Silvery moonlight danced amongst the paved promenade, lustrous and glittering as Nathaniel slinked through the University walkways. It panned off the drab grey stone and bejewelled the cobbles underneath until they appeared more like unhewn diamonds than coarse, worn rock. The midnight air was calm and still, cooling on Nathaniel’s sweat-misted forehead as he traversed the courtyards, sticking to the edges of the pathways and using what little scrub and shrubbery that presided in the dark garden alleyways to conceal himself. Everything was eerily silent under the ebon skies; no noise disturbed the tranquil serenity of the University grounds except the soft murmur of Nathaniel’s own footsteps, padding gently through the undergrowth, his over-gown trailing behind him. He had twice thought about taking the unruly garment off, but decided against it after realising he neither had the time or patience to find a suitable place to hide it where he could find it again. He moved noiselessly but at a swift pace across the promenade, avoiding the revealing yellow glows of any sconces hung upon the building walls and using the shadow to cover his movement. The claustrophobic fear that had possessed him inside the dormitories to look round every corner and passage had lessened now he was outside in the open, not constricted to the cramp confines of the corridors. The danger of being caught had pretty much passed over, he’d escaped from the two Wardens inside – albeit narrowly, but as far as Nathaniel was concerned the hard bit was over. However, he still kept a wary eye ahead of him just in case. A faint musical clangour of ringing bells suddenly sounded across the University, permeating the midnight silence. It had been roughly one hour since he had woke up in his bedroom and set his plan for revenge into motion, Nathaniel speculated. He was making good progress. All that was left now was to get the last, final ingredient, and the plan would be set. It was so close now he could almost taste it. The tolling of the bells soon faded away into quietness as Nathaniel continued to slink in the shadows of the night, the Mystic Archives, his destination, nearing with every passing second. He was about to round the final corner when all of a sudden, a new sound began to echo across the promenade. At first Nathaniel took it for the ringing bells again, but discarded the notion as he realised all too quickly that they only sounded every hour, and it was way too soon for them to be tolling again. What in Zenithar’s name could be in the University at this hour? Nathaniel hissed under his breath. All the Wardens should be inside by now. He quickly receded further into the relative darkness of the bushes, seeking to lose himself in the knotted leaves and branches of the vegetation, all the while listening to the noise as it steadily got nearer and nearer. It wasn’t long before the sound was more distinct, and Nathaniel could discern what it was. They were footsteps – but not the soft whisper of shoes on the ground, they were much heavier, a clinking and clanging sound like metal upon metal or steel striking stone. Those weren’t the footsteps of normal Wardens. They were armoured. Nathaniel gulped, feeling the trepidation blossom in the pit of his stomach as he reached forward and pried open a small viewing hole in the mess of twigs and brambles that served as his camouflage, eyeing the promenade with growing apprehension. The noise drew ever nearer, soon followed by a pair of fully-armoured Imperial Battlemages rounding the corner and coming into view. They were resplendent in silver-steel plate armour, carapace-like cuirasses polished to a glimmering sheen that, even in the midnight darkness, shimmered like mirrors in the luminous moonlight. Long, blue-coloured hoods concealed their faces, while each carried a huge, menacing sword sheathed at their hip; the blade almost as long as Nathaniel was tall. They patrolled the courtyards in grim silence, hooked steel-capped boots clattering on the cobblestones and playing out a staccato rhythm as they marched in unison, hands firmly grasping the wire-wrapped hilt of their weapons as if ready for any action. What by Greymane's whiskers are they doing here, in the University? Nathaniel wondered, somewhat bemused. He hadn’t even expected a single warden to be out patrolling the grounds at this hour, let alone two, armed Battlemages. It looked like he’d certainly picked the right night to exact his revenge, Nathaniel joked ruefully. The pair of Battlemages passed Nathaniel in seconds, oblivious to his presence, their noisome march fading to a distant echo that disturbed the silence of the night as they continued their patrol. Nathaniel took a few, hesitant moments until they were out of sight, and checked the coast was clear again before setting off and resuming his surreptitious journey across the courtyards, fervently hoping that they weren’t any more Battlemages up ahead. Sneaking past the two wardens in the dorms was hard enough; he had no wish to go through the whole terrifying ordeal again. Constantly on the path at all times, Nathaniel kept to the edge of the cobblestone promenade where the shadows were deepest and darkest whenever he could to avoid any chances of being seen. He was as stealthy as an assassin in the night, using the shrouding darkness as hidden passageways to his target. So concentrated on staying invisible and unseen, Nathaniel failed to realise how quickly he had covered the distance, and in surprise, soon found himself standing in the shadow of a huge, foreboding building, at least four storeys tall and a testament to the might of Imperial Architecture. Its sheer, intimidating face was wrought in cold grey stone, painted with the silver hue of the moonlight, where illuminated by a single flaming lamp hung above a solid, iron-banded door there read – in clear black paint: ‘The Mystic Archives.’ Without hesitation, Nathaniel grasped the iron-cold handle of the door before any further doubt could cloud his mind and swung it inwards, slipping into the gloomy shadows within that were more than willing to embrace him in their veiling depths … *** Having entered the Mystic Archives, Nathaniel found himself in peculiar-looking room filled with all-sorts of strange furniture and amenities. It appeared to be a long, rectangular shaped room, made cramped and small due to the furnishings arranged inside it. Tall, lengthy bookshelves lined the two walls like fortress barricades, crammed with different books of varying size, colour and language, each tome thicker and older than the last. Fixed in the far corner of the room was a semi-circular desk, sat alongside an assortment of various-shaped cabinets, cupboards and drawers, tall and short, that Nathaniel presumed were full to the brim with even more books. A spiral staircase, wrought in grim iron, spun round a stone pillar in the other corner of the room and disappeared above into the ceiling and an unknown darkness, like a stairway into the abyss. By the desk and littered on the floor piles of scrolls wafted gently in the breeze, lisping quietly in time with each breath of wind, their surfaces scribed with symbols and letters that Nathaniel had no hope of comprehending. The room was eerily dark and the air strangely chill – suffused with a heavy, musty scent of age-old parchment and melted tallow. Expecting to be back inside the relative warmth of a heated room after traversing the Universities courtyards under the breezy midnight skies, Nathaniel was surprised to suddenly find himself in a deathly, bitter cold. The Mystic Archives’ walls apparently provided no protection at all from the night time chill and to Nathaniel, it seemed the temperature hadn’t changed at all; in fact it felt like he had become even colder since he’d entered the murky room. How that was possible he didn’t know, but Nathaniel continued regardless, rubbing his arms under his sleeves and pleased with himself for having the foresight to bring his over-gown out with him. Suppressing a shudder, he walked through the unnervingly quiet library room, examining the hall from head to toe with wary, observant eyes. Mirroring the tomb-like silence that choked the room around him, Nathaniel too was as quiet as a mouse as he walked, not wanting to disturb the unbroken stillness of his surroundings. He made his way noiselessly across the freezing stone floor, pulling on the collar of his gown to wrap it closer around his shivering body, whilst above him; the stuffed heads of different woodland animals hung upon wooden braces stared at him intently with blank, glassy eyes. Stags and boars and even wolves watched him in silence as he crossed the room, appearing strangely animate and aware despite their motionless state. Frightened, Nathaniel was quickly forced to avert his gaze somewhere else before an uneasy feeling of discomfort made his stomach quail. Once he reached the rear of room Nathaniel noticed that there were three huge arches cut out of the grey stone of the back wall, that moments before he had thought to have been just windows. The three archways were big enough to be doors, and let a gentle breeze waft through the open niches and into the room, explaining why it was so cold in the Archives. Through the vista that was framed in the hollow Nathaniel could discern the stars against the midnight sky outside, sparkling like dewdrops upon black glass. Casting a quick glance down, Nathaniel precariously reached over the large, curved desk beneath him, careful not to disturb the pile of manuscripts and empty inkpots scattered upon its smooth wooden surface. Breathing in to stretch his arm out to the longest possible distance, Nathaniel then plucked a small candle from the sill of the archway, and putting a hand to its tiny, flickering flame to protect it from the breeze, returned to the tall, imposing bookcases to begin his exploration. Checking that nobody was around in the dark, gloomy room of the Mystic Archives, he began scanning the surface of the ceiling-high bookshelves, running a finger along the spines of the tomes as he read off the titles in the dim report of the candle, searching for his desired item in the weak yellow light it provided. He worked his away along the many rows and columns of books as quick as his eyes would allow him, stretching on his tip-toes as he inspected the uppermost rows and bending over double like a withered old man to check those on the bottom. Despite his concentrated demeanour while he hunted, he found himself thinking hard about what he was about to do and whether it was worth it or not. If he got caught, he couldn’t begin to imagine what kind of punishment could be inflicted on him. Whenever he felt his resolve fail or his focus wane however, he only had to think of the harsh words of Miss Harpfeather and the leering face of Arch-Mage Greymane, and his resolve would return with renewed vigour. Determined as he was, several minutes of frantic searching had passed but with no such success. Before long he had completely scoured the first wall of books, and it became annoyingly apparent to Nathaniel that whatever he wanted was not going to be on the first floor of the Mystic Archives. All the books and scrolls here provided no use to him whatsoever, what he needed was obviously more valuable to be put in the bookcases on the ground floor. He accepted the naked truth of the fact though; he wouldn’t have needed to steal Damyond’s chameleon potion if he thought it was going to be that easy. It’s never that easy, Nathaniel mused ruefully, chuckling to himself before retaining his indomitable grimace. To get the last component, the final item Nathaniel needed on his treacherous quest for revenge; he would have to go where no other student had ever gone. Up the twisting, spiralling iron staircase, past the locked door and into the chamber where the Mystic Archives kept their most precious and important documents, barred to all but the curator and the most trusted scions of the University. Not even some of the teachers were permitted to set foot there; such was the significance of its purpose. The highest, very topmost level of the building. The Restricted Library. Nathaniel gulped as he accepted this ominous realisation. It was by far the most difficult part of his plan, mainly because unlike the corridor and the dormitories, Nathaniel had no clue what was up there on the secretive top floor, except strong warnings from the professors about what would happen if a pupil was caught up there. It was completely unknown what was kept on the highest level of the Archives, except that it contained the most valuable – and dangerous – items in the entire University. For all Nathaniel knew, there could be magical wards and all sorts of traps to deter unwanted thieves and invaders, let alone an associate student who was not even an apprentice yet, and could barely cast any spells above a novice level. Nathaniel realised with a great degree of fear that when he broke into the Restricted Library, it was the point where he turned from just a revenge-fuelled student prankster into a true, genuine criminal. There’s so many things that could go wrong, so many things that are uncertain, Nathaniel thought, and shook his head. It was a dangerous all right, there was no doubting that, but the question was whether Nathaniel would have the courage to do it. Did he really want revenge that badly? Heart beating loudly, Nathaniel set down the flickering candle back on the desk, where the flame wavered for a moment before diminishing. He walked over to the winding, iron staircase and placed a hand onto its thin rail. The metal was so cold it immediately sapped all the warmth from his bones. Cautiously, he peered upwards, blood hot in his ears and his heart pounding. He could see nothing, only the warped ironwork of the stairs disappearing into the thin darkness above, consumed by a maw of shadow. Nathaniel gulped. Whatever was up there on the top floor, he would have to meet it head on. Here goes. Nathaniel whispered to himself, setting a foot on the first rung of the staircase. The cold iron clanged loudly as he did so, echoing around the room and up the stairway. He waited for the clamour to die down before climbing the twisting flight of steps in the darkness, using the curved railing as a guide as he made his way to the awaiting chamber of the Restricted Library… Edited by Illydoor, Aug 6 2009, 01:49 PM.
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| vanir90210 | Aug 6 2009, 12:51 PM Post #24 |
Budding Lyricist
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Me likey. As descriptive and entertaining as previous chapters. However, the first three paragraphs, though short, are primarily concerned with how he is sneaking through the courtyard; this seems to be over doing it to me.
Should be 'are' as they currently are still in the university. Also, Restricted Library seems a bit... disappointing. I mean, I'm no one to talk, as I couldn't come up with anything better, but I thought someone of your skill could come up with something more interesting. I suppose, however, the average person that is naming something like that would just name it to serve it's purpose. I dunno, just my thoughts. |
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Spoiler: click to toggle  "I look at the eyes, straight to the soul doorway"
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| Illydoor | Aug 6 2009, 01:48 PM Post #25 |
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Slaughterfish
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You mean the name is disappointing? Or the concept of it? Hmm I don't know what else to name it though. The 'forbidden library' perhaps? Or the 'Secret Archives'? |
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| vanir90210 | Aug 6 2009, 02:00 PM Post #26 |
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Budding Lyricist
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The name. Concept is fine, there's bound to be certain books that are 'for your eyes only.' But as I said, I couldn't come up with anything better, so don't really worry about it. |
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Spoiler: click to toggle "I look at the eyes, straight to the soul doorway"
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| Illydoor | Sep 15 2009, 11:15 AM Post #27 |
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Slaughterfish
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Sorry about the immense wait guys, the new school term has hit me like a bomb this year. For those of you who know what writer's block is and experienced how frustrating it can be, try getting it in the middle of history, english and physics investigation essay. I'm trying to get back into to writing now, so except something up in the near future. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten this  . Toodles. |
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| Illydoor | Oct 27 2009, 06:41 PM Post #28 |
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Slaughterfish
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It's been a long time I know, but I've finally got round to posting this chapter. Sorry for the very long wait, and here, ladels and jellyspoons, is the tenth chapter. Chapter X: A Locked Door Nathaniel ascended the winding, creaking corkscrew staircase for what seemed like an age in the eerie darkness. The rusted iron frame groaned like a restless ghost in protest as he climbed, threatening to collapse under his weight, the haunting echoes that wailed from the old metal chilling Nathaniel to the very core. He had no idea how high he had climbed or for how long, time and space seemed to be nonexistent in the pitch blackness that enveloped him and the stairs in an inky opaqueness and obscurity. There was nothing to do but hold onto the cold, twisted rail of the staircase and keep climbing, into the enveloping gloom and the insidious unknown. It was so dark Nathaniel could barely see his hands an inch from his own face - he had twice tripped on the rungs in the blackness, barking his shins painfully on the sharp metal edge of the stairs. The perpetual darkness seemed to make his every fear and nightmare thrive, and any second Nathaniel expected a step to fall away and he would plunge into the empty gloom, or a ghostly hand to brush against the bare skin of his neck. His heart hammered in his chest and his thighs burned and throbbed from fatigue, but he knew he had to continue. There was no going back now. I can do this, Nathaniel whispered, gritting his teeth and thinking of happy thoughts, trying to ebb away the fear that the darkness fed into his terrified conscience. He gripped the rail ever tighter, and continued his treacherous climb into the abyssal blackness ahead, one, wary, cautious step after the next… *** Finally, after what felt like an age of traversing the winding steps in the unfamiliar gloom, Nathaniel arrived at the summit of the corkscrew stairway, panting with effort as his lungs burned and his mind raced. His gown was soaked in sweat and where he had scraped his shins, a crimson stain had seeped through the fabric from the painful wound like a dark blot of red ink. Every muscle in his body was aching from being rigid with apprehension; his breathing tearing out in harried rasps. It was only after Nathaniel had taken a moment to compose himself and restore some of his strength that he could eventually take in his surroundings. He had little go by however; the landing he had arrived on was only meagrely lit by the waning glow of small oil lamp, resting in bract set into the stone beside him. Wishing it could have been brighter and wishing even more that he knew the correct incantation for a luminosity spell; Nathaniel reached toward the miniscule lamp and carefully took it out of the sconce’s protective wire bracket, holding it in front of him to ward off the encroaching shadows. By the yellow globe of light that emanated from the candle, Nathaniel made his way forward, eyes constantly ahead of him and his tread wary. It wasn’t long before he came across an obstacle at the end of the small room atop the stairway, barring his path. Sweeping the lamplight across Nathaniel found himself standing before an ancient, decaying doorway, its whorled surface coated with a thick layer of dust and by the weak light of the flame, revealed to be succumbing to years of dry rot. Despite the door’s condition, Nathaniel had no doubt that the thick, iron-reinforced wood could withstand all but the strongest of onslaughts. He moved the lamp down towards the handle, which was encrusted with dull red rust and tarnished with blackened scorch-marks. Nathaniel could only wonder who or indeed what could have made such marks trying to gain access to the Library. It only made his fears worse. He lifted the candle-flame upwards again, inspecting every inch of the grained wooden surface. When the fading report of the lamp touched the top of the door, his attention was suddenly drawn as something caught the light and a glimmer flashed past Nathaniel’s eyes. There, hammered into the rotting lintel of the door with crude nails, was a wooden sign reading the ‘The Restricted Library’, the words ‘NO ENTRY’ painted under it in bold, capital letters. A small grin escaped his mouth as he realised he had found it. The locked door. All that remained now was to unlock it… *** Careful not to spill the oils that were pooled in the brass dish around the flame, Nathaniel set the small lamp in his hand on the hard stone floor beside him, where it burned quietly beneath him as he moved to examine the lock on the door. By its feeble light, Nathaniel placed two hands onto the deeply whorled surface of the door, and pressed his ear to the panel near the lock, just as he had done to Damyond’s door. He turned the handle experimentally and listened carefully as it clicked and whirred beneath the wooden surface, like some kind of restive insect contained within. Nathaniel had picked a lock many a time during his years at the University, and was experienced enough to deduce from the various sounds that despite the aged appearance of the door, this lock in particular was of a very good quality. No surprise there. Out of all the doors in the University, Nathaniel doubted there was a lock more difficult than this one, and Nathaniel had lived in the school since he was born. There wasn’t a single nook, cranny, chest or container in the student’s section of the University that hadn’t been searched or unopened by Nathaniel. At least it’s a challenge, Nathaniel sighed, flexing his hands and wrists. He’d gotten this far, what use was their wasting the opportunity. This was just another obstacle on his path to revenge, and he would reach that goal, no matter what. He would keep his promise. Enlivened by this new measure of determination, Nathaniel cracked his knuckles and from within his pocket, procured a brass lock-pick, about as long as his middle finger and wire-thin. Whispering a short prayer to whatever divinities he could name, Nathaniel held the pick between his forefinger and thumb and by the light of the candle beneath him, inserted it carefully into the keyhole. After a few seconds of manoeuvring the wire pick experimentally around, Nathaniel found one of the tumblers, and used the hooked head of the lockpick to raise it with a deft flick. There was a slight winding sound as the spring compressed and then relaxed, returning the tumbler to its original position. Breathing coolly, he flicked tumbler up again, and quickly pressed the catch in. He heard a clink and snapping noise as the thin metal wire of the lock-pick broke. He cursed under his breath, he had pressed the lock in too fast, and the pick had broken under the pressure. He pulled the useless pick out of the pad-lock and stuffed it into his other pocket. Wiping his palms of the sweat on his jumper, he shook out his wrists in an attempt to calm his nerves. He had only seven of these lock-picks, so he couldn’t afford to rush things. His mission would be compromised before it had even started if he couldn’t even get in to the restricted library area. Concentrating hard, he pulled out a pick and slotted it once more into the lock. Another chinking sound and Nathaniel withdrew a second, broken lock-pick. In his cautiousness not to repeat the first error he’d made, he’d pressed the latch in too slow this time and the tumbler had already fallen back into place. He cursed again, this time louder, and the sound echoed discordantly in the darkness. Below him, the candle flickered, threatening to snuff out. He took out another lock-pick. A moment later and Nathaniel growled as he stuffed the two halves of a third snapped pick into his pocket. He was beginning to panic, beads of sweat forming beneath his brow and anxiety gripping his guts tightly. He broke a fourth, and then a fifth, and finally a sixth. Frustrated and fearful at the same time, Nathaniel could feel nervousness and panic beginning to cloud his harrowed mind. He tried to block them out, for he knew that the more agitated he got, the less he would concentrate and the more chance there was of making a mistake. Sweat now flowed freely from his forehead, following the edge of his sideburn and trickling down the side of his head. He wiped it off with his sleeve in annoyance. Come on Nathaniel. You can do this.He said to himself quietly, gritting his teeth in determination and balling his fists. He procured the seventh and final lockpick from his pocket, stared at it hard as if willing it to be unbreakable, and then inserted it into the rust-rimmed keyhole. He closed his eyes and wriggled the lockpick deeper and deeper to the various meticulous clicks and whirrs of the catch, the bolts rattling in Nathaniel’s ears as he fought to discern the different noises. Even though his heart hammered heavily in his chest and his breath came out in short, shaking rasps, Nathaniel heard the last tumbler lock into place and without a moment’s hesitation, instantly pressed in the catch. Then, heart in mouth, Nathaniel heard a sudden clack, accompanied by a squeal of brass scraping against brass and finally, the catch slid smoothly back. His whole body slackened as relief passed over him like a wave, and he soaked in every ounce of it. He was in. *** The ancient door swung open silently on its corroded hinges despite their defective appearance, and a rush of chilling air swept over Nathaniel, cooling the perspiration on his misted forehead and spreading goosebumps across his the bare skin of his forearms. Gulping nervously and rather too loudly than he would’ve liked, Nathaniel picked up the still glowing candle at his feet, breathing on it gently to keep the dying flame alive. If he was going to enter this mysterious library, he’d prefer to see what he was doing, and more importantly, what everything else was doing. He bit his lip with fearful excitement and stepped into the room, silent as a ghoul, eyes wide and attentive even though every fibre of his body wanted to turn and run back, down the winding stairs and back safe to his bedroom. He fought the urge. Willing his hesitant legs to move, one terrified step at a time, the dark corridor he had entered suddenly widened and gave way into an enormous, grand vestibule, its shrouded interior promising unknown secrets of old and forgotten terrors. The forbidden library of the University. Huge, colossal bookcases, six times the height of Nathaniel and towering towards the ceiling like castle walls were arranged in neat rows across the entire breadth and length of the room, creating a maze of aisles and corridors that was almost unfathomable. Books from what seemed like the entirety of Tamriel filled each shelf, some huge, bronze-clad leather tomes the size of flagstones and other miniscule books that could barely fit on Nathaniel’s palm. Books with golden-laced spines and jewel-encrusted binding, intricate titles and beautifully grotesque pictures, whilst others wrapped in ancient, rotting scraps of yellowing parchment millennia-old and delicate to the point of disintegration at a mere touch. Books that were as thick as Nathaniel’s torso and so lengthy they just looked like cubes of paper. Books with runes, with puzzles and pictures, written in blood, ink or sweat, some with text so small Nathaniel could barely read off the titles whilst other books with nothing in them at all. Dictionaries and encyclopaedias, codices and catechisms, atlases, hymnals, missals, ledgers and logbooks, albums, abstracts and almanacs, journals and grimoires, every type of script you could name, it was there. Nathanial was awed by the sheer amount of literature contained with the Library. Surely nobody could ever read all this, not even the greatest mage with all the time in the world. There were at least several thousands of books to each case, and there were twenty book cases in the entire room. Nathaniel had never been good at arithmancy, but he didn’t have to be to know that the number was very, very large indeed. How could he ever hope to find his item of revenge amongst the tens of thousands of different books? The answer escaped him. He would just have to get lucky. Problem was luck wasn’t really Nathaniel’s best fortitude. Worried by this ominous new prospect, Nathaniel continued regardless, eager to explore the rest of the Restricted Library. Remembering his need for stealth, he crouched into the shadow and sneaked forward, cupping a hand around the candle’s flame to obscure its light. He suddenly found himself entering into a wide, spacious aisle, a passageway directly in the centre of the antechamber where the colossal bookshelves ended and created a sort of gorge amidst the library. The carpeted pathway was wreathed in an azure-silver light, which tinted the shadowy hall in a moon-coloured shimmer. Pools of the hallowed, pallid brightness culminated in glittering pools on the red-rugged floor of the bookcase valley, dappling the surface and providing enough light for Nathaniel to forego the candle. He kept it anyway, just to be safe. The blue-white light gave everything in the vestibule a bluish tinge of silver, making every object caught in its beam appear cold and unforgiving, like dull crystal. The stone walls seemed more drab and lifeless than ever, even Nathaniel’s own arm, when he dared stretch it out into one of the rays, appeared statuesque, frozen in the cold blue luminosity. Walking forward Nathaniel discovered that the source of the ethereal illumination were the magnificent arched stained-glass windows that were placed at each interval of the bookcases, spilling the light in through the patterned panes, each depicting a different divinity. The aisle through which he sneaked was littered with allsorts of different desks and display cases placed at the ends of the bookshelves, each flaunting a considerable variety of different treasures, oddities, artefacts and other of the Restricted Library’s most valuable items on their tabletops. Hewn jewels the size of his fists caught Nathaniel’s eyes, along with various amulets and talismans and rings that sparkled with magical energy almost palpable through the cold, tension-choked air. Skulls and bones, stone tablets and even, to his great surprise, a fork, a worn paint-stained apron and even a pair of seemingly ordinary scales were included amongst the display. Nathaniel knew better than to open the cases and take any of the items. He was afraid of getting caught with them, but not nearly as much as he was frightened of what the objects would do to him – Nathaniel knew not all enchanted things were for the benefit of the user. He would have to search for a less dangerous and risky mode of vengeance if he didn't want to end up being a murderer, or worse, dead himself. At the back of the chamber and at the end of the long passageway, he spied more bookshelves, smaller than the rest, almost concealed by the shadow. However, even with the encroaching darkness Nathaniel could see that the books and items contained on those shelves were far more interesting looking and unique than the previous ones. Nathaniel grinned. He would start his search there. Edited by Illydoor, Oct 27 2009, 06:41 PM.
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11:40 PM Nov 24
