Stevie

"Candlen!" The shout resonated throughout the citadel. All through its stone walls, the sound bounced about, soon finding its way into the small room of the scriptorium, where two men sat partially hunched over their angled desks; surrounded by books and tomes of all kinds. One wore the simple brown robes of a friar, signifying him as one of the clergy, and the other adorning a long red robe with a white rose emblazoned on its front. His hair was a shaggy dirty blonde and his face showed youth, intelligent youth. The shout had now echoed into the scriptorium, and the man in the red robes rose his head, tousling his hair lightly as he releases a short sigh. Standing from his desk, he hefts the large tome he was scribbling into off from the desk and tucks it safely under his arm, turning on a heel to rush out from the room. Turning the corner and shuffling down the hall, his soft leather boots made almost no sound on the fortresses' stone floor. He entered the throne room and strode up to meet his lord, bowing low and formally as he adjusts the heavy book under his hand. "My lord...you requested my presence?" "I did. I wanted to see 'ow yer progress wiff the primer is goin'." "It is going well, my lord. The aid of Seneschal Lucien, Ser Toov, and other Order members has helped my work tremendously." "Good...good. An' 'ow long do ye expect it will take to finish the primer?" "I can expect within the Elven week, my lord. I will present a draft to you before making use of the Seneschal’s underlings to reproduce and distribute the document once finished.” “Excellante. I await the finished draft, ‘enry.” “My lord...” The scribe trails off and lowers his head in another formal bow, spinning about on a heel as he strides out from the throne room. He returns to the scriptorium, the silence of the room broken once again; but this time with the sound of a calm scratching from the desk where the clergyman sits, his quill etching carefully onto the large parchment before him. The scribe shuffles to his seat and slumps down, setting the large book back onto the desk as he hefts it open. He did his job rather well, Henry Candlen. A diligent young man with the intelligence and writing prose almost doubled that of normal men. He was educated in his own way, and he was content. A dab of his quill into the inkwell, and the scribe was back to work, tirelessly working to create the will of his lords.

[[Dhoine.