Telvanni Separatists - 13. Repository
*
“We step through the doors, entering an entirely new world as the fungal walls are replaced with the spiked stonework of the Chimer ruins. Beyond is a huge chamber with bookshelves lining every wall.
Lit braziers still illuminate the room. Deep red flames reflect off the metal edges of the Chimeri doors and staircases, creating an impression of polished newness.
We travel down the stairs into the centre of the chamber. Between rows of bookshelves, under lowered ceilings on each side of the room, lie three doors.
At the opposite end of the room is a small staircase which leads up to a large metal door. Its red and black metalwork is as elegant as it is ominous.
Irdani scans the room, realising as well as I that there are far too many chambers to search for the number of guards we have. He orders two of his guards to return to the surface to call upon the rest in Tel Midrith, seemingly certain that no one else will seize the opportunity to claim the tower while it is left unguarded.
Without objection, two Redoran guards leave the ruins. They walk in perfect unison, as if they had rehearsed.
The remaining guards are ordered to search the chambers through the doors on either side of the room.
Before travelling to a bookshelf to begin browsing, Irdani is confronted by the leader of the mercenaries who leans in close, speaking with such power that his voice need not be more than a whisper.
“This had better be worth what we agreed on.”
Irdani stares him down, his eyes unblinking.
The three mercenaries split, two entering adjacent chambers; one remaining here.
I and Firis remain together in the main chamber as we scan the many books of the Telvanni repository.
Making my way to a bookshelf, I notice Irdani walking towards the large doors atop of the small set of stairs. He stops before them, examining them with arms behind his back. Something makes me think he is eager to open the doors, yet he gives no such order.
*
The bookshelves that line the main chamber are filled with all manners of ancient lore: tomes, journals, artwork; hundreds upon hundreds of books filled with secrets known exclusively by the Telvanni – until now. Irdani was right: works of this calibre could make a fortune on the mainland.
My reason for being here remains to discover the history of the Telvanni and the Separatists of the Second Era; despite the many days I could spend here uncovering more avenues of research, and despite the objections of Firis, I do not intend to stay in this dark place for any longer than necessary, even if my other mage fails to reveal himself.
These nightmares are no natural occurrence, and I fear they merely touch the surface of the evil presence afoot here. To stay any longer is to doom ourselves to some tormenting Telvanni trap, and I am determined to keep my head.
*
The writing styles of these books are subtle, metaphorical and elegantly complex, as if whoever wrote them were intent on boasting their intellect. It takes me a considerable amount of time to scan the contents of one bookshelf alone.
I am met with momentary panic as a deafening screech fills the empty silence of the room. I flinch, turning left to see Firis standing startled over a scorched book on the ground. Almost immediately, the rattling of armour accompanies the return of every Redoran guard to the main chamber.
I sigh despairingly at Firis, who apologises for attempting to replicate a destruction spell found in a Telvanni tome. The open book stands ablaze on the ground, but when the fire dies, the pages appear to be unharmed.
*
I didn’t expect to find any references to the Separatists right away, but I fear the day will be done before I do, for my many hours scanning the books of the main chamber have been without success.
I turn to Firis as his faintly echoing voice reaches my ears. He stands behind the mercenary in the chamber: her gaze is fixed on a tome she rests on her left hand; her sword remains firmly in her right.
“You’re a Morag Tong, aren’t you?”
The mercenary’s helm tilts slightly, allowing her to just about see Firis from behind her.
“That’s none of your business”, she says.
“That response has ‘Morag Tong’ written all over it. I thought you’d all been wiped out. Finally got the gang back together, then?”
I see the mercenary’s grip on her sword tighten ever so slightly.
I approach cautiously, attempting to dissuade Firis from his foolish attempt at conversation. He is my best source of protection here, and I refuse to lose another of my mages to this accursed city.
“Firis – there’s nothing here. We’re moving on.”
“Ah, come now. I was just getting acquainted with this fair maiden.”
“Then I suggest you reattach your brain before you lose the rest of your head.”
After a moment’s consideration, Firis heeds my words and joins me through to one of the chambers.
“Nice meeting you”, Firis says sarcastically as he turns with a wave.
The mercenary’s head tilts back to resume examining the tome. She doesn’t need words to make her annoyance apparent.
*
If every chamber is as large as this one, I fear that I will be unable to complete my search by the end of the day.
The chamber beyond is as large as the main chamber. Even the winding corridors leading to it are filled with bookshelves. Undoubtedly the repository contains enough reading material to last a thousand lifetimes. A scholar can only dream of studying it all.
*
Hours have passed, yet I know not how many. Wandering deep underground, there can be no indication. No sunlight can penetrate this place.
*
Over time, I have noticed the whispers.
My senses seem heightened. The chambers have lost their odour of old dust and stone; now all I seem to smell is blood.
The air feels colder and the corridors are dark; unlit. A thin fog covers the ground. My eagerness to find answers has left me distracted from these gloomy premonitions.
Soon, I notice a faint blue light in the corner just before the entrance to the next chamber. Its colour seems warm; unlike the other strange sights in this place.
I call out to Firis.
He does not hear.
I call again, turning, seeing no one.
I turn back to the light, feeling a strange urge to approach; so I do.
I advance slowly and with great caution. The closer I get, the dimmer the glow seems to become.
Catching a glimpse of the chamber behind the doorway, I notice that it looks almost identical to the main chamber, and is lit by the same red flames.
My attention returns to the glow, which is now almost non-existent.
Dust lies in the corner, but something is buried beneath it.
I brush the dust away. Beneath is a torn piece of paper. Its face is faded, but I can gather that it is some sort of drawing.
I pinch the corner of the paper and lift it gently, tipping the remaining dust from its surface as I rest my other hand on its back.
The image that presents itself gives me some odd mix of fearful awe and relief that I’ve never experienced before. I seem to forget the haunting sights around me.
On the paper is a faded drawing of a huge Telvanni spire that sits in a crater. On either edge of this crater, huge chains dig into the ground.
I follow the chains up through the air as they surround the spire. At the summit lies a huge black ring that glows blue: a Dark Anchor.
At the bottom of the page is a note. It reads, ‘Port Telvannis: 2E 579.’
Could it be?
I look up. The chamber seems to glow with the same blue colour.
I step into the doorway. Within, a glowing blue orb hovers in the centre of the room.
Suddenly, it moves.
The orb floats towards a bookshelf on the far side of the room.
I feel drawn to the orb, like it’s the only thing in this place that I can seem to trust.
As I enter the chamber, I notice three identical doors on either side, likely leading to more identical hallways, each leading to more identical chambers.
The orb stops at a thick red book on the bookshelf. Its glow slowly dissipates as it merges with the spine.
Without regard for any danger that might be lurking in the shadows, I walk towards the bookshelf and slide the book from it. Every other book on the shelf falls silently to fill the space left over.
The book’s cover is dusty, hard, and without a title.
With a little hesitation, I open the book to the first page.
The page is blank, except for a single sentence at its centre, written in bold black ink.
‘Take the book and leave.’
I turn the page.
‘Now.’”
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