Private Tales To Read, To Blight

[Valborast Valchek]

Parshen looked contentedly at the perfectly arranged contents of the safety deposit box, arranged scribings of various scholars who trusted their work in progress, and their more valuable books, into his dutiful care. Scrolls of insight and inspiration stood tall at the left, sheathed in glass domes, feedback journals from knights who were reviewing recently published papers into the field of botany, leather bound things that were neatly stacked and wrapped in string. A tome that made rustling sounds and gave a faint glow of green as it nestled against the back wall. Parshen sealed the lockbox, a tabernacle of wrought iron, and sighed gently, as if sealing his own emotion with the action.



“Yes Valborast?” Parshen said with all the familiar professional politeness as he turned the key to lock the box. He kept his eyes on his hand which held the brass key, and admired the embossed depiction of an owl's face. The eyes looked at the knight who stood fractions away from the librarian.

“Parshen,” Valborast said dryly, “you told me that the Liber Infinitus Vitalis Papyrus was being rebound.”

Parshen removed the key from the lock and began to walk to another duty with the slow grace of someone at a dinner party, as if the next collection of books to seal away in the lock box. The owl face continued to gaze at Valborast.

“Your memory serves you well Valchek. I did say such, yes.”

“Then why, pray tell,” Valborast said with growing irritation, “are fragments of freshly grown pages from said book strewn about this place with sigils designed for ants.”

A few heart beats as Parshen ran his fingers across the spines of books. He noticed one out of place, a silver spined thing that belonged in the section across. A common mistake, Parshen thought.

“Mice actually,” Parshen corrected with all pleasantness.

“You said. It was being rebound. You lied to me,” Valborast accused. “And you're using the book to do, what, exactly? Sigils for mice now, when I need pages from that book to safely give examples of inverse life infused geometrics in my-”

Parshen continued to walk, tapping a finger across the white ceramic pot of a bonsai tree that informed him that it was almost due to for a pruning from Adjantis.

“Now now Valchek,” Parshen said soothingly, in a manner which was all too well practiced, “The Liber Infinitus Vatalis Papyrus is in a continual state of rebinding itself. So I didn't lie. Especially seeing as you ripped out near twenty pages. It needed a rest from such brutal treatment. Most people just practice writing healing sigils on it, you just-”

“What's the point of having a book that regrows endless pages if I can't cut out some to use in another book, I ask you,” Valborast seethed. He pursed his lips and carried on, feeling much enjoyment in giving the librarian a hard time for just reason. “Especially when the properties of said pages are inherently life based, and perfect foil to the intricate vampire curses that I am duty bound to give knights a remedy towards. I can't very well just lay out such things without protecting the reader from being transfixed by the allure of the dark, and I am damned if I am having this book, my work, be shod in silver as to corrode the examples of kindred speech by proximity to such an anathematic and axiomatic metal. Honestly Parshen, you're being very difficult.”

A gust of wind set the windows to shuddering. Somewhere Parshen's ginger cat clawed at a mouse that turned tail to avoid such a swipe. It scurried to a piece of parchment from the book that Valborast was so concerned about and placed it's nose upon the intricate scribings. It's eyes glowed amber for a moment, and as the cat bounded after it, found the mouse was far swifter in scurrying away than it had previous.

“Really Valchek,” Parshen said flatly.

“Yes really,” Valborast said, restating the case.

Parshen breathed in deep. He was being followed close behind by Valborast, who didn't respect the librarian's personal space at all in this moment, for Valborast detected a slight against him, and stalked the librarian and hounded him. The two had worked with each other for some time, enjoying silence and contentious co-operation, and this back and forth was part of their work ethic.

Lesser librarians might have been frustrated at the arrangement. But Parshen remained dutiful to the library, and all who ventured to provide further knowledge to it. Valborast had been working on his book for months, and had respected the rules. Just not Parshen's own personal space in this moment of contention.

Parshen gave a small hum of consideration and with proper elven poise continued to the central reception. He opened the hatch and walked inside, and turning on his heel as silent as Valborast's own movements, looked at the Crimson Knight as if he were providing a great compliment by his attentions. A faint patronising smile was upon Parshen's features, his voice cool and sweet.

“Let it regrow for a few more days. Then I'll consider taking out a page a day. Is that a fair compromise?”

Somewhere someone coughed. Valborast narrowed his eyes and took a step back as he considered it.

“No,” Valborast stated.

He drew his shoulders up and inhaled with a hint of menace.

“But it'll have to do," he conceded.

Silence between dutiful librarian and irritable scholar for long moments. They looked at each other for a time, each risking breaking out into a small wry chuckle at the other, but each not wanting to admit to the other that they enjoyed these moments, albeit in different ways. They kept their professional animosity on display.

“Is there anything else I can help you with Valchek? Perhaps another vial of your favourite? That's the real reason you're following me isn't it?”

Valborast gave a small huff.

“It certainly isn't for the conversation. Yes, another vial of sudden sealing, the cursive I'm writing must remain wet until the chain of meaning is marked. You understand of course, you're one of the few people that understands the nature of scribing the vampire language in something other than blood.”

“Yes, I do. I'm just glad you abandoned the idea of writing such thing in your own blood,” Parshen said quietly, but in full knowledge that Valborast could hear such a comment. The librarian reached for a small box which held glass inkwells of black and blue, and gave a glance at the line that was forming.

“Back of the queue Valchek,” Parshen said, and placed the ink tantilisingly out of reach. Valborast continued to stare at Parshen as the librarian turned to greet the next in line instead of serving the Crimson Knight, who stood uncomfortably close to whoever was next to be served.

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast cast a sidewise glance at Elinyra. His eyes quickly scanned her, and focused upon the book she held so tightly. His face scrunched up at the sight of such a thing. Before he could utter his opinion, Parshen went about the business of being far more cordial than Valborast had any hope of being within his lifetime.

“Good afternoon Elinyra, you're next in line so you have all the moments,” Parshen said, which set Valborast into tapping his foot to indicate his displeasure. The ink he required was just out of reach, but even Valborast knew not to simply snatch the thing with a quick bound over the counter. He had curried what favours he could with Parshen, and couldn't afford risking his work by jeopardising his long hours within the library with such an impetuous act. At the very least, not for ink.

He considered the prospect. The Crimson Knight wasn't sure what would get him kicked out of the library, but snatching supplies, he reasoned, would certainly put him on that path. His shoe beat the ground in small muffled taps, as his customary footwear allowed him to stalk these corridors in pursuit of his academics, and of course, librarians.

Parshen hummed a note of affirmation at Elinyra and said, “Certainly, right away. First, the notes.”

The librarian adjusted their glasses as he dipped below the counter to a small personal safety deposit which was lined with bronze depictions of ravens which amassed with wings outstretched around the locking mechanism. A jangle of precious keys, and the box was opened.

“I'm afraid due to reckless liberties,” Parshen said, which set Valborast into more hurried tapping of the foot, “the Liber Infinitus is not serving it's usual function as a scribe point for healing magics. Unless,” Parshen said with a chuckle as they rose up with the notes Elinyra had secured within the box, “unlike Syr Valborast Valchek here, you intend to actually read the thing, instead of write into it. Reading from right to left, you'll find the original author's work in it, instead of the practiced gestures of squires at life magic. Or the crime scene where stacks of pages were torn out.”

“First of all,” Valborast said, a rush of words replacing the rapid movement of his foot, “I didn't tear them. I cut them. With a knife. And second of all,” Valborast said, not even looking at Elinyra, “if this scholar,” he said bordering on sarcastic in his delivery of the word as he waved a hand dismissively, “is looking at the Compilation of Obscure Curses and Diseases still for answers for whatever they're hunting for, their head will be positively...” he said, and paused for dramatic effect of his own puffy opinion.

Parshen tapped his foot once.

Valborast proceeded onward.

“Baffled, positively baffled by the original work's intention. Most people need a week to even begin to fathom a phantom of an understanding of the first paragraph, let alone the hurdle the second chapter provides in challenging the concepts of Regrowth using passive draw points of the equidistant strata sigils across the spine of the thing.”

Parshen absorbed this review of both Elinyra's capacities and the book itself from Valborast. His eyes kept on Elinyra as he handed over the notes and slid them across the counter. He adjusted the lapel on his jacket as he said without looking at Valborast, “Which is exactly why you're going to help her.”

“Come again?” Valborast said low, his eyes upon Parshen.

Parshen remained their cordial self, without any hint of the pleasure he enjoyed in dishing out such treatment.

“Show the library you care as much for other people's work as well as your own, and that you do indeed understand the work's original function and purpose, and I'll give you special privileges to take as much as you need from the book.”

Valborast simmered for a moment as he considered the proposal.

Parshen readjusted their glasses again and gave assurance to Elinyra.

“Don't worry. While Syr Valchek has a strong opinion, he has a strong understanding. The book you have is a perfectly acceptable source of education into the Blight. And his direction will yield you further understanding than you could alone from the book you seek. It takes some time to adjust to it's penmanship, candour, and well, you'll see as Valborast shows you how one accustomed to being sympathetic to it's meaning, can reveal much. Isn't that right Valborast?”

Valborast replied with one word.

“Ink.”

Parshen slid the ink Valborast's way.

He took it, and looked to Elinyra. Parshen, contented that the answer was yes by his continual presence, went to fetch the book in question. Valborast levied a question at Elinyra, turning to regard her properly.

“I am Syr Valborast Valchek, and I will help you. With, whatever it is, that you're trying to do. Which would be what exactly? Parshen doesn't just hand out that book to anyone you know.” Valborast said as he accepted the task before him.

Parshen grew busy with the keys and turned them within the lockbox. His face was illuminated by the pale green light of the healing magics that the book was enacting upon itself to restore what damage had been wrought by Valborast. The owls around the lock peered at Elinyra from the open door, as if awaiting the answer to Valborast's question also.

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast sighed and placed a hand upon his brow and massaged it as if a headache was quickly approaching. He ran his fingers down his face, and then rested his chin upon his fist as he remarked dully, “Excellent, good, outstanding, blight, life magic, sigils. Mm.”

He dropped his hand and looked to his ink, and admired the sheen in the daylight that streamed through the high glass. Only a few more hours until candlelight was to take shape he thought. Much more comfortable a thing for the man.

He frowned as if realising something, and carried on talking as if instructing a small child on the proper way to chop a carrot for soup.

“Now, sigils, have you read the Art of The Line, and gone through practices one through eight? Nevermind, you look like you could do with a reminder. We'll fetch it from the Geometrics section. And we'll take Art of the Line: Further Parallels out too. Why the author, Drake Glassington, wasn't told to include the most effective scribing ranges of incidents in the original book will forever be lost on me. Probably didn't think it important enough for people to etch sigils effectively at first, rather to just create them, but in my eyes if you're going to use sigils you might as well get it right the first time. And the Blight, let me think. Have you consulted the Realms of Corruption? While it doesn't have anything on the Blight per say, it does have an excellent foreword on the nature of manifestations of inward twisting in paradoxical foundations of magic, which is,” Valborast said, scoffing, “what the blight really could be understood as if one was feeling generous with one's ranges, wouldn't you agree?”

Valborast didn't wait for an answer to that comment. He continued, in love with his own prescription. Parshen retrieved the book and locked the safe with one hand even as the book faded in green light to reveal the ivy wreathed cover sans the healing affect.

“And, Parshen, I'm going to need the Sextant of Vital Direction”

Parshen looked at him blankly.

“Don't be coy and don't be slow with me Parshen. The Sextant. I need it. Normally I wouldn't, but I'd rather have everything in good order. It's an excellent educational tool. Going to need as many advantages as possible beyond that book.”

“As you wish,” Parshen stated, and sauntered off to look for such a thing in the guidance section as he gripped the book in hand.

Valborast put on his best poker face and delivered the next question as Parshen looked for the Sextant.

“How good are you at using a dousing rod?” Valborast asked. Parshen resisted scolding or laughing at the comment as the item was found. If Elinyra was to work with Valborast, and Valborast her, there had to be some allowances for this sort of...hazing. And as hazing went, this was a relatively harmless probe.

 

[Valborast Valchek]

Valborast replied dryly, “Most amusing, yes. Let's follow that logic. If this,” Valborast said, and gestured at the counter which was empty. He tutted and leaned over to see Parshen still calmly searching for the sextant, opening drawers with all the care he might provide a crumbling book. Valborast blinked a few times as if it might help the process, and wondered if this was another ploy to delay for time and irritate him.

The blinking seemed to help, for Parshen's elegant hands held a device of brass which was placed lovingly down by the librarian on the counter.

Parshen looked to Elinyra and gestured at the sextant and drew in breath to speak. But before Parshen could utter a word, Valborast continued as if his second gesture at the sextant had been the first.

“If this sextant is your dousing rod," he said, his fingertips wide across the device as if unveiling something more mysterious than it appeared, "what might we be looking for? What 'well', are we hunting?”

The sextant resembled one in feature and form, yet had an additional section which could accommodate the thinness of a page and the thickness of some of the mightier books in the library. The sextant, if appraised correctly, would yield the answer by virtue of the faint runes that were across the apparatus.

It read in arcane script, 'To one who seeks life in every page beyond imagination's yield, this sextant of vitality shall offer guidance to the arcane system of word circulation.”

Parshen crossed his arms patiently and offered counterpoint to Valborast direction, his tone pleasant, patient and perfectly ammenable, as was his custom.

“Just say if you've used this device before Elinyra. You don't have to humour him as I do.”

With this comment, the book Vitalis was placed down, and Valborast eyed it keenly. He wanted nothing more than to just cut the pages and return to work. But Parshen, for all the needling he delivered regularly towards him, was not one to cross idly. Valborast hadn't considered that Elinyra might not be the rank amateur. He folded his hands and scoffed at the notion. Anyone who read A Compilation of Obscure Curses and Diseases for new information was clearly that, he unfairly judged.

Elinyra Derwinthir