Private Of Stranger Things

[Selene of Dusk]

No one remembered how Parshen had come to reside in Astenvale, or how long he'd been the librarian. He rarely spoke about himself, and rarely needed to. Most who entered his domain saw him not as a mystery, but as an answerer of mysteries.

At his desk, Parshen sat bent over an assortment of bookbinding tools. Flayed out on the table was an ancient-looking tome, its pages dog-eared and stained. His quill scratched out measurements on the binder's board, as he worked with a tailor's precision, fitting the old book for a new jacket.

It was only the slipping of his glasses that had Parshen notice the other elf. He tilted his head up to press the spectacles back in place against his brow, and caught Petra's gaze.

"Darthinian," he said to her in sparse greeting. The quill was set back in its holder. "You look to be on the hunt for something. How can I assist?"

 

[Petra Darthinian]

"What gave it away?" She quipped half-heartedly; her eyes latched curiously instead to the project on Parshen's desk. She recognized some of the plants that were painted in complicated water-colored diagrams on the tired pages. They reminded her of the herbal compendiums her mother kept on hand in the apothecary she worked at. They had been loved and used similarly throughout the years. Perhaps she could commission Parshen to repair a book or two to send back home to her mother.

Smiling fondly at the idea, she finally looked back at the librarian. "I fear the task might be a touch convoluted, since I'm not entirely sure where to start. But I trust your expertise in helping me find information on the history of the order? Long forgotten temples, abandoned sister monasteries, forgotten accounts written in dusty journals that don't corroborate with other stories." She grinned ironically, tucking a stray curl behind a pointed ear. "You know, the easy stuff."

 

[Selene of Dusk]

Parshen pondered the request for longer than usual. He never hemmed or hawed, the answer was normally right on his lips, delivered with the confidence gained from decades of craft. But Petra's line of inquiry had him tilting his head ever so slightly.

"You're interested in the history of the order, but not of the common canon," he responded, mulling it over out loud. "And instead want to uncover little idiosyncrasies that our finest scholars keep to the marginalia, for lack of a stable thesis." The old elf abandoned his binding project entirely. He stepped out from behind the table. "I'm afraid I can't point you towards a book that was never written, Darthinian. Nor give you theories that have not yet been thought up. Perhaps we could start you out with something tangible? Such as the oldest recorded mentions of Anathaeum - the person, not the Order. Or how the Pursuits came to be formalized. If you want something a little more energetic, there are diary entries penned by a Princess of Arshakan, who stayed with the monastery in its early days and had a fascination with what she called 'the rhythms of life'."

It was perhaps the longest Parshen had spoken at once all year. The placid curve of a smile on his lips did not falter, but his eyes looked a little tired. He did not know what to do next if every one his suggestions fell through.

 

[Petra Darthinian]

The elf usually reminded Petra of a rather stoic heron, patient and deliberate with each step that broke the surface of the water. With all his sharp edges, and quirked curiosity. A twink, really. But his long-winded response today had her leaning in with a grin, one hip leaning against his crowded desk.

"A princess, you say?" She crossed both arms in thought. "I wonder what sort of politics left her at our door. Did she have a hand in the Pursuits?"

@bees?

 

[Selene of Dusk]

"Elomene til Morgause," he so named the princess. "Her husband, an Altalusian lord, was killed during a political upheaval which has since been lost to time. She sought asylum with the Knights of Anathaeum, and stayed with them for many years."

Parshen stepped fully away from his desk, and bade Petra to follow. Observing the peace of the library, he did not speak as he walked. He wove his way to a shelf against the back wall. The volumes along the wall were slender things, stripes of them jacketed together in matching coats. A series of red, titled Collected Musings of Ser Rosmund of Wearthy. Another dozen in blue, called Journals of Grizzly Granger, who Walked with Bears. And finally, Parshen's fingers rested upon a single streak of delicate green, standing alone against a backdrop of more verbose authors. The book's title read:

Memoirs of an Arshakan Princess​

Holding the book in both hands, Parshen continued tracing his line of thought.

"But here's the thing you may find interesting," he said. "Elomene was an observant writer, yet the descriptions she gave of 'the monastery' do not match up with our very own. She speaks of dry plains, blustery nights, and a dark sea crashing against high cliffs. A far cry from the marshy groves we call home today."

There came a glint in Parshen's eyes, or maybe it was the glint of his glasses as he tilted his head up in a smile.

"A peculiar little mystery that no one has yet sought to solve..." The old librarian held the book out to Petra. "...until now."

 

[Petra Darthinian]

Curiosity bloomed in Petra's chest as she followed in the Librarian's stead. This puzzle was turning out to have more pieces than she had anticipated, but the drive to see it solved remained. Especially, if it was in a quest to glean information about the relic that Norvyk swallowed.

A linen bound tome hovered between them, and she schooled her expression to a more contained enthusiasm as she flipped through it gingerly, scanning the pages for context clues as she went. "Dry plains and high cliffs? So, it's a coastal plateau." She trailed off, have caught by her own line of thought, walking to the large map of the known world on the adjacent wall.

She had the book opened in her left hand to an entry with such descriptions and her right hand was hovering over the map, flitting between landmarks labeled on the map along the coasts, mumbling to herself under her breath. "That entirely eliminates Suldaza then— she's an Arshakan Princess." A talon dragged to Ilica, higher and higher until they traced the Mheara Mountains. "North of here then, perhaps? The Edjer Highlands?"

@bees?

 

[Selene of Dusk]

Looking down through shaded spectacles, Parshen watched Petra work, letting her mumble to herself for some time. When her trail of thought stopped at a place on the map, he stepped forward. One of his bony hands pressed flat against the map, obscuring it from view.

"When we read the words of another, a connection is made. We can meet the people who came before us, across any time and distance. I could tell you the answer, but it would deprive you of that connection."

The hard edges of Parshen's features softened into a smile, slight but genuine. He held the eternal patience of someone who had seen many a squire stand in the same place, and start upon the same journey.

"Read the book, Darthinian. Cover to cover. Elomene's waiting there for you."

 

[Petra Darthinian]

And so Petra the rest of the day curled up on overstuffed pillows set on the bench at a bay window, cuts of warm light breaking the foliage of the vines that crowded the edges of the pane. Carefully reading and discovering a bright woman from another time. She gathered that Elomene til Morgause was a woman of fierce virtues, one who was determined to stand equal next to her beloved husband during the times of their civil unrest.

The day would drift away as Petra fell deeper between the pages, occasionally stopping to make careful notes and drink from the tea that had mysteriously appeared at her side, the fading assured steps of Parshen a fleeting memory.

@bees?