An Age Ends

[TeaLulu 1783]

((This is a thread for RP pre-and-during the transition: More posts will be made and this main post updated as we get closer to transition/as it occurs. The setting will begin on the ship referenced and continue to take place on it. Please remain IC. Your character may not have access to lower sections of the ship if you are not a Scholar or friend of the Library. More decorative touches/pictures will be added later. Your responses may be re-written or worked into some of the writing for this main post of the thread. This is a semi-open area but if it is RPly unrealistic for your character to be present your post may be deleted. Thank you.))
 

PART I:
 

Spoiler

 

On the shores of the docks of the Cloud Temple of Vailor the wind blew silent and sombre, the sea’s white fingers gently caressing the edge of a continent dying. Across that continent stood the cumulative works of the Men of this Age, towers and forts and castles and cities grand.
 

Oren and fair Felsen, whose streets though ravaged by strife were yet always filled with the children of Horen, merry and mirthful and ever resilient, never ones to bend the knee, their will far more impressive than even the heavy outmost walls which held the City in their safe embrace.
 

Malinor and Laureh’lin, a seed planted and nurtured by hands of incontestable care, a City of a familial longing where child and parent alike were kept safe by blade and bow, cloaked beneath the shadow of the elder trees.
 

Urguan and Kal’Ishtul, the city beneath the mountain, which would stand any assault of war or earth or sea, the crowning jewel of the sons of Urguan, polished to a radiant gleam.
 

Krugmar and San’Thraka, latest of many settlements of the children of Krug, ever restless and eager for improvement, whose march ever onwards never shall cease.

And somewhere amongst that land wherein stood the works of Man, stood the work of one not a Man. The work of one whose mortality was long since stripped, irrecoverable and irredeemable. Though this work was not that of a Man, it was a work for Men; a singular bastion which alone would be for all and any. The Grand Library of Dragur, defined not by her architectural grandeur, but by what was kept safe within; The culmination of the works of Men, not of stone or wood, but of ink and paper, the culmination of works not just of this Age, but of many past. Within those walls was kept the largest singular collection of books and relics this Age, and any other, had seen.

 

Yet as the waves lapped slow and quiet upon the shores of that land, all Men of that Age knew what the sea and land could not; That Age and that land drew swiftly to an end. All across Vailor a sickness spread.

Felsen was left terrorized by violence and madness in recent years, a string of madness which strained even the hardy and willful children of Horen, made worse by a plague which crept upon their lands. Oren’s fields of golden wheat became sickly and mottled grey, besieged by filth and rot.

Laureh’lin could last longer, isolated and shielded by the greatest efforts of the children of Malin; But even the ancient arts could not stop the sickness spreading, only delay it. The shadow of decay could not be fought with blade nor bow.

Kal’Ishtul, the greatest achievement of the children of Urguan in this Age, was felled by both earth and sea, and those who had crafted it were left adrift, bereft and homeless.

San’Thraka and all the desert was reduced to a sea of taint, the children of Krug left paralyzed and stagnant by the consequences of their actions, by the axe which loomed above the collective neck of all Men, an axe which they themselves had crafted and placed there, even if such was not the intent.

 

The Grand Library of Dragur stood silent and empty, a plague slowly advancing forwards to claim it, with none remaining to halt the advance..

 

So it was that the Scholars of the Grand Library of Dragur stood upon that shore, watching solemn as the white fingers of the sea brushed softly across the sand. Learned men and women all, they stood upon that shore and knew the truth for what it was. This Age had drawn sharply to a close, in more ways than one.

 

 

PART II:

 

Spoiler

 

The woman stood on the shore, tall and slender, her red hair obscured by an even redder hood. Grey smoke wafted upwards towards her bleary eyes from a long-stemmed silver pipe that rested in her lips. Her eyes were nearly as red as her hood, her bare feet were sunk deep into the sand, and between them sat a small stone urn. A makeshift dock had been erected on part of the shore and anchored alongside it was a large clipper, built for moving cargo and moving it swiftly. Behind the larger ship, like a duckling in tow, was tied a smaller dinghy. She’d been sailed too soon, not even been given a name before her first voyage; Bad luck, the woman thought. But then again, that foul fortune was a price paid in advance.

The dock was a bustle of activity as golems and men carried chests and crates on board. A halfling, not taller than the woman’s hips, lead a reticent moose up a large ramp, tempting him onwards with a bundle of carrots.

 

Many others lingered who did no work; Men and women not of those who readied the ship, but instead were there either to accompany it or speak with those who would. Children of Horen, of Malin, of Urguan and Krug, all...But missing was the one who was no longer child of any, but had become a Father; Father to those who worked to secure the clipper’s loads atop it’s deck. Father and Founder of the Grand Library of Dragur and all her Scholars.

 

The halfling, moose-wrangling duties done, slowly made his way across the dock to the woman on the shore, crinkling his nose at the stank of green in the air around her as he neared. He stopped near her, waiting. After several moments of silence, he cleared his throat to catch her attention.

 

“Lyeth, I t’ink we’re ready.”

 

A large cloud of smoke arose from under her hood as she turned it to address him, speaking only in a flat monotone.

“All the books? Moose? Relics?”

The halfling gave a firm nod. “Yep. Ready as we will ever be.”

 

They had been thorough in their accounting of the Library; If they had to leave it, they would leave it with everything and anything of value stripped and taken with them. Every single book was accounted for, every relic, every stray note and tome and drawing. Every diagram or experiment, every piece of work they could find which ever had been graced by the hands of the Father and Founder of that place they all called home. Nothing had been left behind, save for the one; And he had been stolen, not left.

The woman nodded in return, knelt down to scoop the urn up in her arms, and turned to follow the halfling across the dock.

 

 

PART III:

 

Spoiler

 

The clipper was large and sturdy, built over many years of the finest wood the Scholars could afford; Which was very fine indeed, given the donations they’d received over decades of operation. It was a dark wood, made darker yet with layers of stain carefully layered over each and every plank. She was equipped with three main masts and a smaller set at the back, the sails dyed with stripes in shades of blue. Lyeth thought he would have liked that color choice. The interior was filled with bunks and bookshelves, crammed tightly as they could be considering the bulk cargo she had to carry; Hundreds of books and dozens of relics, ushered from the Grand Library of Dragur to safety. The upper levels of the stern gave wonderful views of the sea as well as the small dinghy bobbing along behind her, rooms fit for the noble Patron the library had offered transit to. The elfess’ favorite part of the ship though, was not her hull, nor her sails, nor her cabin. No, the best part of the Unnamed ship was her prow, upon which was set a figurehead befitting a ship of the Grand Library of Dragur; A carven stone sculpture of a dragon, wings spread back and wide to cloak the prow of the ship, as if pulling the thing behind it, guiding it to wherever it need go.

 

It was at the back of this imposing figure the woman stood, the stone urn carefully in hand. There on the bow with her had gathered a crowd; Every Scholar of the Grand Library of Dragur still living and known, and many who were not. The ladders onto the deck had been rolled up, preventing those unwelcome from intruding.

It was bad luck to sail a boat unnamed. So they had gathered here to name it.

The back of the dragon’s skull had been peeled open, a large chunk of stone like a bezel having been cut out of it and set aside, creating an alcove just behind the Dragon’s eyes. It was here, with great reverence and in a profound silence amidst that crowd of contrary faces, that the woman set the urn within her hands, the contents of which were donated by one of the Library’s greatest Patrons. Within lay what remained of the Founder of the Grand Library of Dragur; One who, though no longer a Man, was still family and friend to many, and who could only ever be known to them by one name. Orithur, the Archivist.

 

The elfess turned about, facing the crowd, and spoke, her voice strained at times.

“Thank you all for coming; With what has occurred, I am sure that many of you have words to give or things to say, so I will keep my part of this short, and perhaps say more when I’ve the strength to later.

 

We have suffered a great loss, as have many others, though they do not yet know it. Someone who gave so much, and asked for so little, has been taken from us. Everything that is the Grand Library of Dragur, we owe to our Founder; Orithur. Everything that the Grand Library will ever be, we owe to him, both for in the founding of it and it’s principles; The Principles of neutrality, of discourse, of freedom and right to knowledge and learning, and for the part he played in bringing all of us together.

We will never forget Orithur’s work, nor he himself. Everything he ever did we will retain, and the great effort he went through to establish and maintain the Library for so many years will not be forgotten.

We prepare to flee this dying land, and we have made certain to maintain this promise of ours. This obligation. Every book has been accounted for, every relic, every scrap of research or work we possibly could find has been salvaged from the Library. We have learned the lesson of his suffering well, and will not ever submit. We carry on.

 

Aboard this vessel we will journey to lands anew, and the Grand Library of Dragur shall return once again, forevermore.

 

As the salvation and savior of the Library, as the shepherd which will guide as, by the power I hold as current standing Librarian of the Grand Library of Dragur, I thusly title this ship;

 

The Archivist.

 

May we be guided to better shores and an Age less ignorant.”

Standing before the urn, the woman knelt down before the urn, her face before it and actions obscured briefly. Swiftly she stood, turning to step away into the crowd.

The place before the urn stood vacant for another to step forth and pay their respects, before the remains of the namesake.

 

 

[cablam 477]

Armin lowers his head, looking towards the urn with a large frown upon his face. He stands, silent, for an extended period of time before whispering quietly to himself. Immediately after he turns and heads back down to his room on the boat.

[Angmarzku 1251]

"Holy vermin. He used fire. FOULPLAY!" The tenebrous Wraith growls, waving a scorched, skeletal digit in the air. Albeit, it'd keep calm; the ragged, ebony robes fluttering in the windless air, twitching from time to time at the thought of Orithur's cruel death. A raspy, sigh escaping the depths of the swirling vortex that creates the entity. "You are utterly useless, Paladins. No other use."

[1 1393]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.