Knights of Anathaeum To Delve Familiar, Perchance to Read

[Valborast Valchek]

Contained within the pages so bound and protected were myriad ways to knowledge's grace, arranged by category and placed just so to tempt the curious and studious mind to peer deep upon their matters. From all manner of arcane practice, to swordplay, cooking or medicine, all kinds of academic pursuit could be attained with enough time and dedication to the literature within the library of the Monastery.

The day had a scant hour left before daylight did become strained to the task of reading and scribing, a recent shower of rain still marked the windows with thin droplets that streaked across their arched window panes. The candelabras were soon to be struck into life by a gesture by Parshen, who presented attended to a spine of a well loved book of oaken hue with bolstering weave of magic layering carefully upon it's cover. His elven hands did apply faint pressures of blueish hue weirdness to the book that did concern a weirdness all it's own, a mass of mouths that did gasp and wheeze as it was tended to.

“Hush now, strange one, you'll be fit be to read again soon enough,” Parshen said, as if tending to a scraped knee of child scuffed by rambunctious play. The mouths of the book did gurn and provide subdued chuntering as it was brought up to the proper standards of books that dwelled here in this sanctuary of knowledge.

Valborast cast a frown at such assurances from librarian to book, but then Crimson Knight saw the faces upon the covers that did sour and mock in his direction, a series of rude words silently mouthed. Parshen's fingers did thrum with arcane repair, which seemed to make the mouths all the more smug and comfortable with their lot.

Never a good omen, Valborast did think, moving behind a lane of bookshelves to avoid such jeering. He was used to such texts making feature horrific at him, but upon finding what to Valborast seemed like coddling from Parshen, such did unsettle him so.

He drifted by books which he had read and scribed from in his pursuit of his own academic work. Today wasn't the day for such studies or scribing about issues of kindred and cursed mindsets. Today which was soon to turn to evening by virtue of fading light, was rudimentary knowledges refreshed.

I've covered the basics demanded of any squire. Cauterising wounds via positive energies, divining north, curating minor telekinetic to operate lever or switch, and the rest...

That settles it.

It was time for something slightly more audacious, although still rudimentary, all the more pleasing for it's language style and familiarity.

“Ah,” Valborast said, his eyes welcoming the sight of a particular book as an old friend as he reached it by familiar path, “The Art of Shadows Volume One,” he said softly to himself as he did admire the rich hue of the book, a deep purple that was faintly iridescent. He picked it up, feeling the familiar weight that had guided him in his early career. A common enough book in many libraries, including his homeland of underground unliving fanged ones. The universal truths bestowed, it was more a source of comfort reading than any pursuit of refreshing his memory.

If pressed, he might be able to recite the contents in places verbatim on a good day.

As if he had found a particular pleasing wine from a cellar, he moved contentedly, a draped lithe figure of crimson robes, as he looked for another book of note to set down with before the candles did illuminate and the regular folk who studied during the darker hours after duties did finish were to appear. He hoped his regular spot was preserved, a place near one of the grander windows, where one could see the sun sink into the land from a higher perch than most enjoyed in the library. He lingered by books familiar, moving from aisle to aisle, giving scant nods of heads to regular faces, and studious gaze to those who might be less familiar visitors to this protected place of learning...

 

[Saskia Kerraelas]

Each time shadow formed beneath her shined boots, it lead her towards the wall of windows that gave the best reading light in the afternoon hours. Saskia schooled her expression to be pleasant, not at all that wild and feral grin that she was known for once excitement overtook her, as many squire and Sworn had seen Saskia wear such a face when a prank was afoot during the years she was a squire. So of course, many grew distrustful of such an expression even after becoming Sworn herself.

Her facade was one of deep determination — which could frighten again — but the Shadowed Knight dropped all pretenses seeing Valborast. Of course, his studying stare was warranted, for why did Kerraelas voluntarily enter the library these days?

"Syr!" Sheepishly, she chuckled to herself before continuing in a quieter manner, "Thought I might find you here! You see, I have many questions I need to ask of you!" Questions she had bothered others with, and a great many told her all the same answer: seek out Syr Valchek.

It was not until Syr Cathmore had given her a deathly glare, and then a withering stare that Saskia realised she indeed had exhausted all her usual resources before admitting it was best to heed the advice of others.

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast was torn between the sensation of his ego being encouraged by such deference and his plans soon to become frustrated; his fingers curled about his comfort read protectively as if this snagging of his time would waylay him from such reassuring reading.

But of course, the prospect of another knight seeking him out in particular was too soothing a remedy to deny himself.

He regarded her passively, yet not dismissively. He allowed some pause before replying, half in respect for the library for such chatterings and half to loan some dramatic gravitas to his own council. The aisles they stood between held books concerning calligraphy and manner of runic patterns.

"Oh yes? Concerning what, Syr, dare I ask?" Valborast said in a quietness that seemed conspiratorial, the title delivered as a seal of approval for such interdiction from reading. Had a squire asked him for his time, his attitude might have been somewhat more forthright and curt.

Valborast had a great number of things that he could be asked about in his own estimation. Matters to pursue from those curious to his body of work and specialties. From cursed blade carried, to book scribed concerning kindred. Then again, he did think, it might be a follow up consequence to whatever social faux pas he might have recently indulged in.

Valborast half readied himself to defend himself. But he suspected this was not that kind of conversation, and gave the young knight a chance to ask her inquiries.

After all, he thought, if I'm going to become a Pursuant one day I best be ready to be sought after for council at any moment.

Saskia Kerraelas

 

[Saskia Kerraelas]

Good. He didn't turn her away!

Delighted in that he was to entertain her burning questions, Saskia found herself a seat and tried to keep herself from jumping out from it in eagerness.

"You, too, can wield shadows, is that correct? Well, it has been always natural for me to command them. They used to scare me as a child, for I was not prepared for the darkness and the creatures that lurked in them. Do you think the shadows we have are different?" There had always been a strangeness to how the shadows bend and break to her command, how they wrapped around her, charged with a magic and a presence she never felt before.

"I fear I may be dealing with a shadowed creature, and it is trying to pry itself from the shadows to join us."

But little did she know, that the strangeness was natural given her true identity. One she had not figured out just yet.

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast seated himself, a shroud of flowing reds that settled with all poise. Book placed to his left with careful softness, his palms placed upon the table flat, he listened and gauged the mood and morale of the inquiring knight.

No shock upon hearing the prospect of a such an occurrence. It was practically a rite of passage for those of that did summon shadows, he did think.

"Adumbration," Valborast stated. He waited a beat for the perhaps unfamiliar term to resonate, as to be better remembered. His tone soft, slow, as if confiding and confirming knowledge uncommon and cloistered.

"What you are sensing is known as adumbration. The sense of something from the gathered shade growing more dense and darker, more witting, forthright and confident. Penumbra shifting into umbra."

He inhaled sharply and deep after delivering such succinct prognosis. Becoming more relaxed and conversational after such recitation from the very book he had beside him. His hands became more expressive, making small gesture as if opening a book, and leaned back.

"We are all creatures that exist with a drapery of shadow," Valborast said, contenting himself with his wordage and answer, mysterious yet cutting to the point of his philosophy and education.

"Expand and expound if you might on what you've sensed and summoned," Valborast said, "so I might a fellow practitioner of Transducing the Dark and Shadow, guide, assist, educate and most importantly, protect."

That final word as was not delivered as one might hear a reassurance uttered. The tone was that of an obligation to the gravity of the situation accepted, as if they discussed something which with a potential energy that had to be softly spoken about and dutifully mindful about, so that it might not spiral catastrophic.

Saskia Kerraelas

 

[Saskia Kerraelas]

Adumbration. Even mouthing it to herself felt jumbled and foreign as she sounded it in her head.

The utter honesty on her expression showed she was unsure of it, but listened still as he went on the explain what it was he identified her shadows to be. Saskia's brows knitted together, nose scrunching as she thought it over and nodded to the sense it made.

She blinked, face dropping to neutrality as he asked of her to elaborate.

"Uh," Saskia smiled sheepishly. "It is best I show you... but I need you to listen the the whispers."

Her hands came up before her, clasping and slowly growing apart as a ball of shadow grew between palms. The top hand kept stretching it, fingers catching wisps and lightly pulled at them until they dripped and fell into the shape of thick thread. Saskia weaved her fingers in the air, feeding the shadow thread into a loop. Keeping concentration on it, it allowed her to wield her Darkness appropriately before calling on spellwork she would use in the Pursuit of Death. It was only as she began a spell did the meshing of magicks begin to become repulsed by one another.

Never had she had such troubles, but that very thing she had asked of Valchek to listen for came in the darkest whispers of something not known by the Knigths of Anathaeum. Unbeknownst to Saskia, to a great many she served with, it was the blessing of darkness given to a certain Clan of witches known to wield shadows. A voice that belonged to the shadowed agents of the High Mother, slowly acting as a beacon to call Saskia through this link.

She had heard it often in natural shadows, but the allure of pits of darkness called to the young Dusker. Without wishing him alarm, Saskia smiled. "Odd, isn't it?"

Valborast Valchek

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast watched as the weaving of the Darkness demonstrated it's part in elucidating the issue. And listened, as directed. Senses keen, he did attend the spellcraft's intricacies, listening for murmurs in the patterns, feeling for peculiar matters in the strange matter of deathly Weave.

The internal rejection of ink black materials of life's antithesis was met with rapt attention. Valborast's eyes took in all as ears did hear from beyond the voices that conspired their intent. He remained silent until Saskia's word upon the oddities of such practice sullied by the unknown. He leaned back, as if beholden to a private matter of much import. Serious were his features. Soft were his words.

"Odd. One way to phrase such a phenomena," Valborast did say, stroking his moustache as he did argue his behaviour between ego's bent and academic curiosity. He made movement with his hand upon the desk, tapping each methodically as if pacing his thoughts and conclusions, playing an instrument of logic as it required performance from him.

He breathed in deep, as in seeking cleansing and distance from his own thoughts. He looked to where the darkness had culminated and dissipated, as if the lingering summon might yield more than it could. The whispers, indeterminate, unknowable at this point, did prickle the hairs upon Valborast's neck. Interloper was his thought. Saboteur the word that followed in cynicism.

And in shuddering surge, was some hint of the message felt, as a dream remembered and lost, a glimse int what was in the ether, before the mind was loaned to doubt if it was true at all. But such was the business who were awash in the shadowcrafts, to trade in meanings of the absence apparent.

The sounds of books being replaced in shelves by the dutiful to the words gathered. The shuffling of feet, a near silent landing of a cat from high ledge that did hurry to it's own business and pleasure.

As a doctor might treat a fellow practitioner of the art of medicine who was afflicted, Valborast laid out possibilities with more weight upon accuracies to solutions than bed side manner.

"A voice I did hear. Some...nuance of beckoning. More, I cannot say with accuracy. There is recourse in such matters. There are things to be done, depending on how you feel. Your talents are hampered by some force, it is true, that speaks in hushed tones with some imperative. The question is, do you seek to confront them, or deny them? Or indeed, supplicate? We do not oft speak of where we channel our directives to the darkness in our line of work. If there be patron or tutor, well. It is not my decision. But this voice has no rage, which would characterise a malady which seeks to thwart utterly. There is some permissiveness before transjunction. That is to say, it allows you to weave, but not complete. If the wellspring of power, the manner of your willing of magics darkly, has a soul, they may seek audience. This is conjecture of course. Based on what I have seen. And heard. But I am willing to talk more, and assist where I might lend strength to making this tampering yield. So. Confrontation of this voice, rejection of their influence, or indeed, an open audience. Such I do think are the options."

He leaned back in his chair, finger folding betwixt themselves.

"The first would be my inclination, but then, I have many to confront who do not wish me well of the Dark."

Saskia Kerraelas