Ibn Khaldun

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮 Their eyes met and Haus' gaze spirited Cunimund away; the Cingedoz reeling forward mentally as if being catapulted to the heavens above. A heavenward gallivanting. A celestial tapestry draped across Cunimund's vision from end to end, stars glittered from top to bottom. Gaseous nebulae & hurtling comets gave motion to the heavenly array that the Baron explored. In farthest distance, a tear erasing the dotting stars ruptured the horizon. The fissure was a sliver at first, but slowly expanded as if a longsword cleaved apart the glittering vacuum. Light poured forth, violet and violently shining, which the Baron approached. He eventually passed through the threshold, the purple gleam that momentarily enveloped him dissipating. Instinctively, the Baron reached nakedly for a sword to unsheathe but wasn't there, a spear to pounce with but he did not have. He felt repulsion in his stomach and shielded his eyes though no sun sat fixed above him. Eldritch walls towered and flanked him, appendages haphazard and disjointed reached out for him. Eyes innumerable and lidless stared at him in voyeuristic fashion. The foulest monster immeasurable and imaginable stands to devour me. He looked studiously then to find angelic wings intermixed with the butchery of appendages and heard a chorus like that he heard time and again in the Archdiocese of Albarosa. This horror is a ghastly siren and sight to behold, it is want to attract by its mocking refrain its prey that it intends to lay its many hands on. Cunimund blinked and found the walls of the crannog that he and Haus sat in closing in on him. He jerked backwards and felt his head smack against the wall he was sitting against. He rubbed sweat from brow and forehead and rubbed the same hand clean against the front of his tunic. Haus consoled him and conceded that the Baron just saw what had upended the Silver Sea onto Whitespire and lanced Valdev with ice.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮 Hanseti suffers an encroaching cold, the bitter reach of unrelenting ice, as was told to me by the guest I hosted in Bodbwodz. Cunimund kicked his feet out to spread the thickening snow that the heavens layered across the streets and atop the buildings of Valdev. He had struck his banner before entering, initially not to provoke fears that he came to the capitol with hostility, but in the moment, it served well to keep the natural heat from his body from being overthrown by the invading cold. He saw the lights of candles and heard the cacophony of tavern talk from one building and entered there. Huddling masses shivered in throngs inside, little in the way of expected merriment could be heard or seen. Bowls of borscht were passed hand to hand, shaking despite an otherworldly warmth present inside. He looked from face to face, finding nothing but sullen looks and furtive glances. The Cingedoz reached for his karnyx warhorn, bringing its ivory mouthpiece up to his lips and seated himself between the two halves and halls of the tavern. A series of bugles cast forth from the bronze bell of the karnyx. The initial tune sounded like a forlorn dirge but was followed with uplifting blasts that sounded almost like challenges from the bronze bell fashioned in the shape of a boar’s mouth agape. The continued playing, growing more defiant and determined, drew the attention of one woman in particular who sauntered over to sit next to Cunimund. She held a babe in her arms which the Baron jestfully made a face at before bringing the karnyx away from his lips and welcomed the woman and child. “Krasiva [¹] tune you play,” the woman opened with, smiling between her babe and the Baron. “Och, krasiva indeed. Where did ye’ learn t’is word?” Cunimund asked, his wide eyes betraying his surprise. “I have a dictionary on Sprækjom [²]!” the woman exclaimed. Cunimund slapped a hand against his folded knee, doubly surprised. “Hwaet anuanju? Hwakin Cingedoz? Hwakin ogbiju havalonek?” “Anuanek Morrigan Hargrave, eigi Cingedoz, ju?” Morrigan replied after a pause. “Well met Morrigan, mine name is Cunimund. Even if ye’ are not Cingedoz, ye’ speak ta’ language well!” “Have you any interest in other languages Cunimund?” “Yes, it is often t’at mine tribe learns ta’ languages across ta’ continent ta’ aid t’em in trade. Our forefathers in Almaris spoke languages from Elvellyn ta’ Hyspian,” Cunimund replied. “Where in Aevos has your tribe settled? I believe I’ve seen you and a few of your kinsmen here before,” Morrigan asked, motioning with her free hand in a circle. “Mine tribe has settled atop ta’ Langkette Mountains in Aaun, but ye’ve probably have seen me here before. When we first arrived in Aevos, I had lobbied yer’ Koenas fer’ permission ta’ raise a runestone here in Haense – as an indication to mine other tribesmen t’at Haense is safe ta’ adventure through and aid and t’at our goods were accepted in ta’ markets here.” “Then you must be familiar with the Haverlock family?” “Af’ course! Mine ward is Olenna Haverlo-,” Cunimund replied before a regal figure approached him and Morrigan. Morrigan stood up with a quickness and Cunimund responded in kind, the two of them bowing respectfully to the approaching third. “Mine koenas! I came here ta’ Valdev ta’ offer mine laboring hands an’ working body ta’ aid ye’ in clearing ta’ capitol af’ ta’ sky-fallen ice,” Cunimund offered with a second bow. “A glad tiding, I am come to gather able bodies to clear the ice, starting with the ice precariously near to spearing this tavern in half!” Koenas Amaya Milena announced, the middle of her sentence more loudly pronounced for others in the tavern to hear. Cunimund reached through his deep pockets, bringing out a chisel and small mallet. What works for limestone works for ice!

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮 Cunimund sat with Ogmios, Abdur Razeeq al-Mona, and Yorvill Amethil, surrounded by the runestones in the centre of Bodbwodz. The group bantered and exchanged conversation; the Qalasheen merchant brought forth a pouch of minas and tossed it to Cunimund, a share in profits from the merchant whom the Cingedoz supplied books to sell on his travels. Yorvill loitered and read from a thick tome, the Cingedoz having welcomed him to read from the old book that once belonged to Brennus the Bard. The tap-tap of an oaken cane cut through the laughter and loud conversations, hushing voices and drawing glances. An aged Highlander approached the runestone circle, aided by same such cane, and greeted those sat around the assembly place. “Waeshal! Welcome!” Cunimund exclaimed to dispense with the pause caused by the elder’s approach. “Hail and whole health to ye’. A’ come with purpose, if ye’d have me,” the elder replied. Cunimund stood up, his posture straight and stout and his demeanor shifting to one of solemn respect. The elder approached closer and followed suit. “I will have ye’ good lad, mine name is Cunimund af’ ta’ Cingedoz tribe. Address me yer’ purpose an’ I will aid ye’.” “I come seeking mine people good Cunimund.” “Dictate fer’ me wot’ ye’ know af’ yer’ people, be it little or a great deal. I may be able ta’ help ye’.” “Mine name is Cadwalla. I remember a tribe ‘round me, but like dark shadows they are. Mead in our bellies and good cheer, good warmaking too. I spoke to a weird sister of the woods who showed me this place, told me that the last bit of my past belonged here? She may have meant trickery by her enigmas, but. . ,” Cadwalla ended his details by withdrawing a bronze amulet, geometric patterns carved against its round shape – a Daelish token. He flipped it up and towards Cunimund with a flick of his thumb. Cunimund traced the patterns with the nail of his own thumb, blowing away debris lifted from the amulet. “T’ese markings remind me af’ ta’ old home af’ mine tribe, before mine birth by a mere few years, upon a spit af’ islands where ta’ Cingedoz fished fer’ pearls and amber,” he returned Cadwalla’s belonging and continued: “Our tribe, ta’ Cingedoz, once resided on ta’ islands first known as ta’ Daelish Isles and renamed ta’ Vistulian Isles. We co-existed wit’ ta’ Daels an’ ta’ Radaghastians, t’ough now ta’ other two tribes have withered an’ been incorporated into our own tribe. T’ose were good years, mead aplenty, but peppered between t’em were war years. Our isles were split asunder by one such war, t’en plague followed. We migrated from ta’ isles once disease set in. Gaisorix wos’ ta’ rix [¹] who settled ta’ tribe on ta’ isles; Brennus, his son, led t’em on a migration from them.” Cadwalla leaned forward, clawing a hand through his ratty beard, “Yer’ retelling speaks ta’ me like some hidden memory friend. ‘Haps the weird sister spoke true.” “Good Cadwalla, I wager ta’ story ye’ describe makes manifest yer’ kinship wit’ ta’ Cingedoz. Ye’ are welcome, o’ tribesman af’ mine, I embrace ye’ as such an’ it is mine honor ta’ welcome ye’ back wit’ open arms!” Cunimund stood up, planting the bottom end of his karnyx into the loamy soil to support him upward. Cadwalla followed suit with his oaken cane. The two men embraced, patting each on the back like long lost brothers reuniting after a time. Praises and elation erupted from the small gathering and Cadwalla followed his first embrace with one with Ogmios. A few more tribesmen and women came out of their crannogs and hovels and bade Cadwalla welcome.

Camboshālig [Common: Trade-boons] This Camboshalig has been commemorated in Year 147 of the Second Age and is a trade-boon from the Port City of Lurin. One Tiwari Elmwood ( @TheGekko ) exchanged it with Cunimund hal'Cingedoz after the Baron led a trade caravan from the Barony of Bodbwodz to Lurin.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮 The winds that carried snow across the Langkettes howled that night. Cunimund leaned against the gusts that buffeted him and upended snow against doors and walls of the crannogs that peppered the mountainside. He held a tome against his chest beneath crossed arms and approached one crannog in particular; using his feet to shovel snow away from its door until there was enough clearance for the door, he opened the door. He crossed into the home, from cold into warmth, the embrace of candle heat billowing through the open door invitingly. Cunimund found Morgause laying in bed and quietly brought a spare stool adjacent to where she laid. He seated himself gently and laid the tome on the bed, opposite where the contour of her form beneath wool blankets began. "Mine apologies dear Morgause, ye' were ta' only one I trust fer' me ta' unload mine burdens," Cunimund began, his gaze drawn to the tome between him and her. The tome, a grimoire more like, had a gnarled leather texture with various foreign embossed symbols and perforated margins with a gothic aesthetic. He traced his forefinger along a particular phrase embossed: Gor Haedus. "I made an exchange book fer' book, one t'at I would hope might grant our kin adventure and boons unimaginable, but one I wos' told will result in me being assailed an' hunted until t'e day I surrender its contents ta' another. . ," Cunimund continued, looking then to Morgause, her face still and her body not shifting beneath the blankets. He ran a hand atop her shoulder, giving it a brief shake. No movement reciprocated his. He stood stone-still and listened. No slumber-driven breath or snore could be heard nor did her chest heave. He took his hand and placed the back of it against her neck; he felt the same such cold as he felt outside the crannog. Tears welled from the Waxtolangoi's [¹] eyes and streamed drop after drop down his cheeks and into his unkempt beard. The brydal [²] spoke true, verily I will lose those closest me. My relations perish around me as I must too. He choked on his hiccups, gasping as he tried then to restrain his emotion. He reached for the tome and brought it against his chest once more; it was little comfort for the sorrow that erupted from him. The march of mine own ruin is set, as sure as death came to Morgause, I must march on with valor and little regard for the inevitable end. "Mine kinswoman who death has accepted, who has crossed ta' threshold between t'is mundane an' ta' next, be brave in t'is new transition. Know t'at I will raise a cairn [³] and see ye' properly buried therein. Thank ye' fer' bein' mine rock ta' confide in when alive, mine comrade on t'ose spear days, ye' were heroic in aiding Whitespire when ta' oceans upended itself against t'ose white walls. I name ye' Aingidnemetoi [⁴], ta' be known til' ta' spokes af' time stop turnin'!"

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮 Missives in the form of sparse letters, full bulletins, and traveling heralds harking invitation are dispensed and traverse through the lands of Men and the Elvellyn while fewer missives reach the underkingdom of the Dwedmar and the arid climes where the Orkish rule. The missives invite those of tribal tradition, some being specific in referring to the Cingedos, and all those who by cultural affinity or lineage to the Cingedos to consider returning to the cultural heartland of the Cingedoz - the Barony of Bodbwodz. Promises of hearth, home, and other folk to welcome them are made. RETURN TO KIN Be you Cingedoz by blood, by tradition, or by affiliation [OOC: Click the image below to join our Discord]

Cunimund held the document in his hands, having assembled the Cingedoz at the Klukarunjoz Thingoz [¹] for a thing [²]. He read from it while the few tribesmen and women debate among themselves what action they deemed appropriate. "The Argant'Elvellynoz [³] and the Witu'Elvellynoz [⁴] appear to be at odds with each other. The former we have had a good history in Almaris, some of their Bronze Band turning to us for their metals and with trade aplenty, the latter having visited us and agreed to exchange a ward of theirs to learn our goodly art of lore-keeping. I daresay we not approach this matter firstly as bagaudas [⁵] for either side, but try to foster resolution between the two parties. If that fails, well then. . ," the growing chorus of excited banter and cheers rolled off the Langkette Mountains like song.

Whistling gusts blew drafts between the modest cottages and ancillary buildings that dotted the foothills of the Langkettes; Cunimund had finally arrived to the town of Apfelberg and into the shadow of the great castle of Ulrichsberg. He began the ascent of switchbacks that were cut into the foothills and led him to the lowered drawbridge of the castle, taking the time to greet those he passed with his guttural tone. The town and its folks impressed an amicable spirit on the Cingedoz scribe, he found an even greater spirit of camaraderie inside the castle. Cunimund paced into the foyer of Ulrichsberg, the first open space upon entering, and found Heinrich Lothar and Aleksandra Milena being counseled by a host of courtiers. He tilted his karnyx warhorn, that tall instrument weighted on one side with a great bronze bell shaped in the form of a boar with its mouth agape, against his shoulder and approached them. "Wæshæl [¹] good Prince & my Lady Chamberlain, you bade me to ride here. Hope I am not too late?" "No, you have arrived promptly as expected," Heinrich responded before opening a palm to acknowledge Aleksandra. The two dipped their heads slightly before Heinrich continued, "We have been considering what means of reward can match the contribution you have made to the Kingdom. Your fervor in transcribing all manners of documents, be it Royal, Church, or otherwise, has impressed us and has proven invaluable to the machinations of both Government and Mother Church." Cunimund tilted his head, running a hand through his thick locks and letting out a caught breath. He took in a deep breath as he watched Aleksandra reach for a document, rolled and tied off, and handing it first to Heinrich who then presented it to Cunimund. "We deem this a worthy reward for your service, an affirmation of a new barony in which you will be made baron of. We merely require a name for your newly entrusted demesne and your signature," Heinrich said, taking out a writing quill and unrolling the document against a nearby pedestal. "You honor me truly, my folk have been migrating across Aevos since arriving in search for land to settle. I think it fitting to name the barony Bodbwodz [²], 'Raven's Expanse', in honor of one of one our most hallowed heroes Bodbmakos hal'Cingedoz [³]. He is even acknowledged in the lists of veneration by the Canon-church, having discovered this when I was transcribing the Legenda Sanctorum [⁴]," Cunimund recounted as he took the quill and listed the barony's name and signed it. The three of them traded pleasantries as the document passed from Heinrich's hands to Cunimund's. The Merryweather Prince detailed the borders of the newly formed demesne, being a minor plateau nestled at the top of the Langkette Mountains which formed a defensive barrier between the Crownlands with Whitespire and the associated Duchies of Minitz & Stran. "Even though the continent is peopled in the hundreds of thousands and stretches for hundreds of miles, this agreement is certainly fortuitous. That the Cingedoz and the folk of Merryweather become neighbors again after so long, as we once were in Almaris in the days of the Savoyard Kingdom who reigned over the Daelish Isles we once lived upon. Good fortune to you both, thank you," Cunimund remarked, a broad smile stretching from ear to ear.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮 The Cingedoz Sagamagjoz [Common: Great Narratives of the Cingedos] consists of the sagaoz [Common: stories] written by Cingedoz regarding their adventures, heroic deeds, and lived experiences. The great volume is kept tucked away somewhere significant, usually in a hewn shelf in one of the runestones designating their assembly-place or in a clan hall. This prized possession is currently in the Barony of Bodbwodz and can be read by any who happen upon it; the Cingedoz take pride in showcasing their virtue, bravery, and adventure to any who’d be interested to hear or read of it. Learn more about the Cingedoz here. OUT-OF-CHARACTER NOTES Cingedoz Sagamagjoz Sprækjom for "The Great Narratives of the Cingedoz" GESTA CINGEDURON Flexio for "The Deeds of the Cingedoz"

The dense tome struggled to fit in the niche hewn for it in one of the runestones in the Barony of Bodbwodz. Debris of limestone stained the leatherbound covers and broke off whenever any of the tribesmen tried to insert it back after having written in it. More and more complaints rumbled until one of the waxtolangoi [Common: Elder] decided to bind another book to act as a second volume for the Cingedoz's narratives. This tome is finished, its last pages written upon and the ink dried.

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮 The sound and flickering lights of a hovel on fire on the outskirts of Apfelberg drew Cunimund's attention from riding through the fields between Whitespire and the Principality. He instinctively reached for a javelin in the clutch underneath his shield and continued past the thin treeline that flanked the highway to Whitespire. Shouts, orders, and the cacophony of Undead mandibles clicking mockingly at a sortie that marched from Ulrichsberg excited Cunimund as he rode closer. He began to cross the highway when a wedge formation of knights collided with the Undead contingent facing him, he launched his javelin and pinned one of the thralls against the hoof-beaten dirt before another knight trampled its bones limb from limb. "Rabo! Hwakin sin brig komberju daudir ach?!" [¹] Cunimund exclaimed, filing behind the knights as he provided further support.

@turkeyburgerzWhat time zone do you play in? I can potentially help point out some locations to visit where the probability of running into more players (& more roleplay) increases.

Werruhālig [Common: War-Boons] This Werruhalig has been commemorated in Year 147 of the Second Age. This spear has been forged by the folk of Merryweather and prepared specifically by Prince Heinrich Lothar of Merryweather [ @Olox_ ] as a gift to the Baron Cunimund. The spear is understood to be a symbol indicating the Baron's place in the hierarchy in the United Kingdom of Aaun, as a member of the Principality, and is kept at all times on Cunimund's person.

Cunimund presents a transcribed tome in the foyer of Ulrichsberg

Werruhālig [Common: War-Boons] This Werruhalig has been commemorated in Year 146 of the Second Age. The falx, humble in forging, has a great story attached to the object. The falx was initially gifted from Cunimund hal'Cingedoz to the Halcourt youth Philip Laurent after Laurent accepted a duel made by the vampyre Ottomar von Augusten in which the beast threatened to slay Adelheid Klara before the duel was agreed upon. Philip, showing courage, heartily accepted to duel Ottomar in Whitespire. Ottomar was arrested before the duel's set date, escaped, and then was captured days later. It was discovered that Ottomar possessed a vampyric constitution and had been beheaded in the town of Apfelberg at the base of the Langkette Mountains. Baron Cunimund, attending the execution, brought the vampyre's body to Bodbwodz where he lanced the beast against a watchtower's pyre and used the falx to pin it in place as the flames consumed. Cunimund, in honor of this history of the blade, has gifted it to Ogmios Catuvolcus hal'Cingedoz [ @siglms_ ] to use in keeping order in the barony and across Aaun.

Cunimund writes a letter to the Barclay estate, the letter indicating that the Waldenic Prayer Book has been fully transcribed.

Werruhālig [Common: War-Boons] This Werruhalig has been commemorated in Year 146 of the Second Age and is a unique war-boon in that it is a battle standard that the Cingedoz will bring with them during heroic quests and when they march as the Moiron Gaisoz [Common: Sea of Spears] in battle. The legendary figure of Bodbmakos hal'Cingedoz, also venerated by the Church of the Canon, is sewn elaborately to a whole cloth banner. His visage is one of determination and the standard inspires courage to those Cingedoz fighting within viewing distance.

MC Name: IbnKhaldun8 Discord: IbnKhaldun8 Image: Description of Image: Carving depicting a Cingedoz cavalryman Dimensions: 1 wide, 1 high

The Cingedoz have settled in the þiudinassus of Aaun, specifically founding the Barony of Bodbwodz. and now have a settled home on Aevos. The tribefolk continue to adventure, seeking heroic deeds and great boons to bring back to their people. OOC: Laidback Imagery

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮 Karnyx horn-blows erupted from the Langkette Mountains, shrill bugles and monotone beats of drums followed the movement of Cingedoz men and women from Bodbwodz. Cunimund, Grimhildr, Morgause, Sendrenx, Wrotek, & others paced through the towns of Apfelberg & Applebie & the storm-battered hamlet of New Conkerhove inviting any who required shelter after the tsunami and accompanying flood to join them in the Barony nestled in the Langkette Mountains which crowned the Whitespire peninsula to the west. They followed their invitation with gentle warnings to avoid the capitol in case of aftershocks, reminding those they passed that an earthquake struck before the tsunami arrived and that aftershocks are like refrains to the earthen song. To all those who replied to those Cingedoz messengers, interested in the shelter the tribesmen provided, they would be informed of a mountain pass carved through the Langkettes that could be reached when taking the path that forked to the right when one takes the road to the Principality of Merryweather. The Cingedoz made clear all who take shelter in our Barony of Bodbwodz will be kept safe, by the honor of our tribe. We know a heroic act when it is made evident, this would be a heroic joy on our part to shelter you, to feed you, and to give you rest where no recurring tide of the ocean can grasp for you!

"I would be honored ta' burn ta' deofol on mine land mine Prince, mine tribe has a discriminating disdain fer' such beings," Cunimund asserted, stepping forward from the mob that gathered to watch Ottomar beheaded. He continued forward as Heinrich turned to nod affirmatively; Cunimund tore off his flaxen mantle and tore long strips from it to bind the then-limp body at the hands and feet. With a grunt, he hoisted the body to lay like a hunted quarry over his shoulder and welcomed any to join him on the ascent to the Barony of Bodbwodz nestled in the Langkette Mountains above. Within the next hour, Cunimund, the executed Ottomar, and a small entourage arrived at the earthenwork gates of Bodbwodz and passed through. A shorter walk took them to the top of a tower, tallest among the Cingedoz architecture that littered the mountain ridge and Cunimund set Ottomar's body upside down and pinned to a pyre with the gifted falx that Philip Laurent returned to him used as a nail to keep the leg bindings secure against the stacked pyramid of lumber and stone. He worked a torch over until fully lit and tossed it at the base of the pyre; his guests and he watched as the flames swallowed the vampyre whole and spat out embers with each cackling cough.

Cunimund led his horse carefully through the flooded streets of Whitespire, looking upon the battered down doors of the Royal Society of St. Godwin; the tsunami's tidal wave having rammed through and into the great vaulted building. He let out an exasperated sigh as he stared through the open entryway at the settling waters therein. The library is a ruin no doubt, we will have to wait until the waters subside before even determining what books may have survived to be transcribed into new copies. He continued towards the port, finding storm surge damage having wrecked many of the hovels that once peppered the coastline. Morgause, riding at his side and having his page Ambactorix saddled with her, galloped to silt-coated dry land and let the page dismount with a letter in hand - directed to the Lady Chamberlain of the Clementine Court [ @Moenah ]: "I have the displeasure of sharing some bad news from my Office, the Office of Enlightenment, but with a solution to remedy rest assured. The Royal Society of St. Godwin is beyond a doubt damaged from the tsunami's impact and resultant flood. It is too full of the sea's water to even venture to the basement floor dedicated to the library. Fortunately though, my library in the Temple of the Exalted of Albarosa houses many more books and I expect St. Godwin shall be brimming with more books for public consumption after the flood has entirely subsided and receded. - Cunimund hal'Cingedoz, High Curator"