The steps echoed across gleaming tiles like a drop of ink blotting out history. High Scribe Lionguard moved through the Hall of Heroes, a great underground complex of bookcases that reached far into the darkness above, towers that magically drew excess moisture from the air hummed softly as if a lone bee managed to find its way in, and copper chains and rails grounded brilliant bolts the color of Famill, the color of magic.
Here in these sacred halls, the Scribes researched, compiled, and pieced together bits of the past. He passed safety lanterns that cast forth an abyssal watery light, scurrying figures in brown robes with white sashes marked as research staff, and the sashless of the Underscribes. He approached the dais that rose from steps into three platforms, one the highest, where he, Editor of the Tomes, High Scribe Groth the Binder of Covers, and Master of the Hall Witherward had their desks so they could keep an eye over their subordinate scribes.
A short little elven woman in ruby red robes appeared at his side, her feet clad in silk slippers that made no noise on the hard stone. She had bright eyes and long hair that matched her robes and carried herself with inhuman poise. He gave a simple bow of his head. “Miss Zei.”
She smiled and offered a tray of steaming mugs. “Coffee? I have your acquisitions here, too.” She glanced back. “Master and Groth?”
“Master Witherward went with Master Hybori to have some drinks in private. Groth is eating at the mess hall, and I believe plans to take a nap.”
“Wonderful, you guys seriously don’t take enough time off. Oh, coffee or packet first? The research you requested is heavy.”
“Can you please take it to my desk, Miss Zei. I accept that your definition of heavy is far greater than my own.” The little woman nodded and followed him up the stairs, leaving a hefty packet wrapped in parchment on his desk as well as a mug that said ‘Zei’s Favorite Scribes.’
“Anything else I can help you with?”
Lionguard carefully opened the packet, looking over a preserved stone tablet, tomes, and scrolls. “It looks good.” He took a brief glance, handling a vellum journal with care; it bore an ancient bloodstain. “Master Hythe kept a journal on vellum? I hear he was the vain, glorious type.”
“Speaking of which, I feel like some of the records I looked through are contradictory. I brought a few extra third-party notes to hopefully give a broader perspective. Though many records seem to have been purposely destroyed.” She tapped a far more modern book. “The recorded words of Dreite storytellers.”
“I don’t use things so far removed from the source. Don’t give me that look… I have records far closer to the period here.”
“Yes, sir, it is, however, the closest source to what happened before your people arrived.”
Lionguard sighed, taking his spectacles off. “Fine, fine, I’d hate for you to waste your time and not use it.”
“Thank you.” She reached over and gave him a big hug, leaving the old magi blushing. “I will be about if you need further assistance.” The little elf trotted down the stairs with her tray in one hand.
Lionguard put his glasses back on and sorted through the research notes, struggling a little with the stone slabs coated in a thin wax. He looked over the records of the Dreite and decided that he had to start there chronologically. He drew ink into his pen and spread thin, orderly lines from which worlds are made.
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