HWD: Talesan's Village - Archive Morning - Sun 20/09/15 18:01 UTC
The Heartwood
Talesan’s Village
The First Cathedral
Hasday, the Twelfth Day of Scholar
Daxia and Brother Llewellyn
The Eye of Hastur was exactly where his Imperial sister had said he would be. Sitting in the cloisters, where they had eaten dinner before, carefully scribing notes into the middle of a scroll.
“Good morning – what is the word, oh yes – Fer-cho-vie Yurisdotter.”
It was a fair pronunciation for someone who didn’t peak Ancient. He did roll up the scroll and collect his inks at her request, his expression becoming a bit more curious.
“The library?
“Why, of course. Though it is a fair walk; we should stop at the kitchen and prepare a basket; not unlike for a picnic, yes? Wait here and I shall return presently. If I see your friend, shall I ask her to join us?”
It was more than a small amount of time before Llewellyn returned. When he did – with or without Kisa Allaine – he had what looked to be a fancy basket in one hand and a lead crystal lantern in the other... a rather odd combination.
“This way.”
He lead them into the cathedral and towards the front, the northern end... and then to the northwest corner, the corner of the ruined tower. There, amidst the broken stone there was one portion of wall remaining and set into a tall stone arch there was a heavy bronze door. He had to lean his shoulder into it to push it open. Beyond there were stairs. One ran a few flights up and into the rubble. The other direction lead down and that was where Llewellyn lead.
In a wide but tight circle the stairs plunged into the depths of the earth. They were worn, the center of each tread now concave from generations of traffic. It was wide enough to carry something large down, like, perhaps, a coffin.
They were finely carved but not exquisite.
They walked in the glow of the Brother’s light until they broke out into a large subterranean hall. It was so tall the light didn’t reach and if one stepped into its middle the sides and galleries beyond would be cast in gray and black shadows. This was old and amazingly crafted, it reminded one of the baths of the Amber Inn.
“That way, east I believe, are the catacombs. If it is a name of importance you can probably it carved upon the sarcophagi. There are Translevs, Kories, Bankorpools, Allaines, Koromovs, Veilliki all interred here.
“And many I cannot place or recognize.”
“This way is to the archives.”
Down the long halls he lead; there were many crossings and turning. Some of the passages were blocked in rubble and for a long distance one side had collapsed in a chaos of broken columns, a shattered arcade and the splintering of huge stone beams. He was certainly correct; this was a long, long walk.
Finally he stepped through a darkened archway. Setting the basket down he lifted his lamp up high and offered up a prayer and simple arcane rhymes; the most basic, the type one would use to light a fire in the rain.
One by on, like a string of regimental fire flies, ahead of them a series of lamps came to light. Once their eyes got used to the brightness they were indeed standing in a library. True, it was only one corridor wide, a single long hall topped with a plastered barrel vault. But it was three galleries high and from floor to ceilings each gallery was stacked with shelves. Every now and then there were stairs connecting the levels, all cut from stone. This end was obviously the most recent; the shelves were filled by scrolls and the big crockery pots that held families of related scrolls. Further down the scrolls gave way to leather bound books.
The books, they were well protected. Their cases had glass doors covering them.
This place was larger, all by itself, than the Korie manor atop the highest ring of Grand Talantal. It made the library of Dawnview Vale look like a market stall.
The ceiling was painted, of clouds and all things aerial, and as one walked it passed from day to sunset to sunrise and then to noon. Odd though.
While the far wall – which one got too only eventually – was finely crafted, with bas relief of columns and arches. It sliced upwards at the end of the stacks like a knife. Above the ceiling had passed into night again.
Again it was something only a Dayalan might notice.
Some of the painted stars, some of the constellations were incomplete, interrupted by this wall.
The Eye of Hastur turned to Daxia.
“Where would you like to start?”
Talesan’s Village
The First Cathedral
Hasday, the Twelfth Day of Scholar
Daxia and Brother Llewellyn
The Eye of Hastur was exactly where his Imperial sister had said he would be. Sitting in the cloisters, where they had eaten dinner before, carefully scribing notes into the middle of a scroll.
“Good morning – what is the word, oh yes – Fer-cho-vie Yurisdotter.”
It was a fair pronunciation for someone who didn’t peak Ancient. He did roll up the scroll and collect his inks at her request, his expression becoming a bit more curious.
“The library?
“Why, of course. Though it is a fair walk; we should stop at the kitchen and prepare a basket; not unlike for a picnic, yes? Wait here and I shall return presently. If I see your friend, shall I ask her to join us?”
It was more than a small amount of time before Llewellyn returned. When he did – with or without Kisa Allaine – he had what looked to be a fancy basket in one hand and a lead crystal lantern in the other... a rather odd combination.
“This way.”
He lead them into the cathedral and towards the front, the northern end... and then to the northwest corner, the corner of the ruined tower. There, amidst the broken stone there was one portion of wall remaining and set into a tall stone arch there was a heavy bronze door. He had to lean his shoulder into it to push it open. Beyond there were stairs. One ran a few flights up and into the rubble. The other direction lead down and that was where Llewellyn lead.
In a wide but tight circle the stairs plunged into the depths of the earth. They were worn, the center of each tread now concave from generations of traffic. It was wide enough to carry something large down, like, perhaps, a coffin.
They were finely carved but not exquisite.
They walked in the glow of the Brother’s light until they broke out into a large subterranean hall. It was so tall the light didn’t reach and if one stepped into its middle the sides and galleries beyond would be cast in gray and black shadows. This was old and amazingly crafted, it reminded one of the baths of the Amber Inn.
“That way, east I believe, are the catacombs. If it is a name of importance you can probably it carved upon the sarcophagi. There are Translevs, Kories, Bankorpools, Allaines, Koromovs, Veilliki all interred here.
“And many I cannot place or recognize.”
“This way is to the archives.”
Down the long halls he lead; there were many crossings and turning. Some of the passages were blocked in rubble and for a long distance one side had collapsed in a chaos of broken columns, a shattered arcade and the splintering of huge stone beams. He was certainly correct; this was a long, long walk.
Finally he stepped through a darkened archway. Setting the basket down he lifted his lamp up high and offered up a prayer and simple arcane rhymes; the most basic, the type one would use to light a fire in the rain.
One by on, like a string of regimental fire flies, ahead of them a series of lamps came to light. Once their eyes got used to the brightness they were indeed standing in a library. True, it was only one corridor wide, a single long hall topped with a plastered barrel vault. But it was three galleries high and from floor to ceilings each gallery was stacked with shelves. Every now and then there were stairs connecting the levels, all cut from stone. This end was obviously the most recent; the shelves were filled by scrolls and the big crockery pots that held families of related scrolls. Further down the scrolls gave way to leather bound books.
The books, they were well protected. Their cases had glass doors covering them.
This place was larger, all by itself, than the Korie manor atop the highest ring of Grand Talantal. It made the library of Dawnview Vale look like a market stall.
The ceiling was painted, of clouds and all things aerial, and as one walked it passed from day to sunset to sunrise and then to noon. Odd though.
While the far wall – which one got too only eventually – was finely crafted, with bas relief of columns and arches. It sliced upwards at the end of the stacks like a knife. Above the ceiling had passed into night again.
Again it was something only a Dayalan might notice.
Some of the painted stars, some of the constellations were incomplete, interrupted by this wall.
The Eye of Hastur turned to Daxia.
“Where would you like to start?”