[ Wow, it’s been a long time since I’ve written anything fantasy based! I wanted to dust off the keyboard and work on a bit of character development that I’ve been thinking about lately. This is Althor – a Cleric of Selune from the greater worlds of D&D that I’ve been considering writing about. Perhaps I’ll turn this into a longer piece, or maybe this is an introductory one-shot. Currently it’s about as unknown as his mysterious backstory… Time will tell… ]
His fingers ran across each leather spine of old tomes he walked past. Books and books, each one neatly placed on white birch and marble stone carved shelves which towered high and elegant in the large and echoing chasm of the Arcane Library. Thousands of books. Maybe tens of thousands in all, if time had been taken to count every single one.
Maybe an Elf would sit and widdle away their long years to catalog each and every book one day. Perhaps. If bored enough they could even concoct some sort of map. Then again, a bored Elf was bound to find anything to occupy it’s slow march through time, and would be less likely to share their gathered knowledge even if they did waste their focus on it.
But luckily currently in these large spiral towers stood Althor. And although he was not of full Elven blood nor bored enough to try and create a map – he still knew these halls more then most. In fact, growing up here made these books almost feel like family, in a strange sort of way.
Distant cousins, caring aunts, educated uncles and well-aged ancestors. All of them as instrumental to his development as what he imagined having a living breathing family would have been. At least, to an orphan who grew up within a library – that was as close as he could figure.
The books, and of course, Mizrah. The Book-keeper.
He paused a moment, letting his deft fingers draw away from the shelves as he thought of her. It broke his concentration, and twinged in his heart. The spell faded in that moment and he sighed heavily as if to reset his concentration. Deep inside he felt a word form, then two. Remember… Release…
Mizrah’s death hit him harder then he thought it would.
In truth, this place seemed less for having lost her. This place that his angered youth had spurned and swore never to return to. A place that he thought he was running away from for greater things and brighter glories… and to escape the darkness that haunted him. A solution that only a stubborn and hurt youth could imagine.
As if running away from your problems was ever a viable option.
If he wished to continue the seeking spell he would have to find a way to work though these memories first. Distractions, no matter how painful, needed to be dealt with. So although it pained him, Althor breathed it in anyway and paused to remember the last time his ice blue eyes had seen her.
Mizrah was of the race of Man. It was one of her greatest strengths and also one of her unfortunate weaknesses.
She had kind eyes most of the time. Warm and brown, and usually always slightly squinted as if she were always trying to read you like one of the many books. Her skin was deep and tanned, and wrinkled like a well-read spine. And her laugh was contagious and would ring through the silence of the Library when she was happy – and her voice would cut sharply and clear the halls when she was not.
She was a great book-keeper, fondly and fiercely looking after each and every piece of writing. She would make sure they were respected and replaced – and never once did a book go missing for long. On her watch all things were in their place. Waiting for when they were needed. But keeping books and keeping children were two separate things.
When the half elven babe who was malnourished and having mangled docked ears arrived at the doorsteps it was Mizrah who reluctantly agreed to salvage him, as best as she could. She studied him with as much vigor as when she translated old texts. She provided him with a vast education and taught him the magics in the written word.
But a book didn’t cry out in the middle of the night with sweat and night terrors. A book didn’t ask you questions or demand your attention. You could love a book, but loving a child was so much more… complicated. And although she tried, and although she loved as fiercely as she could – Althor was a difficult task for a Book-keeper to handle.
He knew that it was her heart that he broke when he fled these books more then a few years ago seeking the adventure and glory he thought was stolen from him. A book that finally got away from the old woman. A part of her hearts collection that would unfortunately never return to her well loved shelves.
Books were so much easier to protect. Spurred and angry youth? That was beyond her. Perhaps it was beyond Althor as well. He was younger after all, and ruled by a touch of Madness perhaps. He only wished she had still been here. Somewhere.
Perhaps it was better she wasn’t.
Mizrah’s weakness was she was Human. As much as part of him knew better, he had always simply assumed that she would be dutifully waiting for him in these hallowed halls. As if she had the years to widdle away, categorizing the books she loved so well. To him, she simply was part of this grand place. As much a piece as the library as the lighting.
It seemed darker here now. Somehow.
Althor breathed deep. Swallowed hard past the gathered lump in his throat.
“I’m sorry Mizrah.” He relaxed his tight shoulders, allowed his head to drop slightly. He allowed the tightness in his chest to ease. “But I must let the past go. There is work to do.”
After all, the younger Althor was almost as much of a memory as she was now. He had travelled far, seen much, and been hurt too many times to count. He earned each of the white hairs that crested the sides of his head. The past mistakes were merely that – the past. Distractions that he must move past. Symptoms of a deep sickness he was still attempting to heal.
Althor had a mission.
His right hand wrapped itself once more around the Amulet of Selune that he wore around his slender neck. The cool silver chain and circular moon visage warming in his hand and vibrating with an almost audible hum. Once more he reached out his left fingers to touch along the shelves as they began to glow the same soft light as his amulet. His feet began to walk once more – lifted of the burden of his youthful guilt the spell of seeking began anew.
He had no map, no guide, no indication of where the book he needed was – but he had his matron, and she would guide him as she always did. Past the memories, through the guilt, and hopefully help him find the answers for deeper mysteries he needed to solve.
After all, the reasons he ran so long ago weren’t only because of Wanderlust. The nightmares were once again finding him. The hollow madness was once again starting to creep back into his soul. He needed to finally stop running and face this growing darkness or he feared it would swallow his soul entirely.
And should that happen deep down Althor feared that no book, no spell, no blessing from the Goddess Selune would ever pull him free from that shadow. His book would not end that way. He would make sure of it.
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