Farhenheit

Aleksander nearly collapsed onto the sofa, unfastening his cloak and letting it fall from his shoulders. It had been a long and arduous trek to this point, and the streams had left him ill at ease... Thankfully he had managed to avoid attracting much attention to himself. He supposed the Elves thought him just another traveler come to the Asylve to study and enjoy the hospitality, which, in a way, of course, he was. But the symbols emblazoned on his armor, the flaming wheel branded into his right hand - those could prove to be very problematic.

Bracing himself off the cushions, he grasped the heavy bag at his feet and lifted it, the sound of metal clanking from within. Walking across the room, he laid his hand on the clasp of the heavy wardrobe, and something fell out of his bundle. He sighed, and he opened the doors of the wooden chest and placed his belongings inside. Then he turned to the object on the ground - his helmet, the stern face he wore into battle against his enemies, some of whom had been of the very people whose land he was deep inside.

Aleksander slowly bent and raised the helmet in his hands, examining the design adorning its crown. He couldn't afford to take any chances. 'Sorry, old friend,' he said, and with that, he placed the helm at the bottom of the chest and shut the doors.

Left with only his light mail for protection, and his red robes wrapped about himself, Aleksander shut the door of his room and ambled down the long staircase towards the inn's common room. He did not expect any trouble, but with so many eyes about, he decided against leaving himself defenseless. A small dagger that Isa had given to him was fastened to his belt, and it comforted him with its sentiment as much as its protective value.

It seemed that this particular inn had been built in Human-fashion, whether by the Elves or by their Human associates, most likely for the comfort of the Human patrons who came year-round to take from the knowledge of the Elves, and thus its proximity to the heart of the college of the Aevalièndi, the Library of Aixania. Indeed, the Library was only a short walk from the inn doors, and Aleksander made his way there. It was truly a sight to behold as the morning sun crept over the trees and illuminated the towering architecture. A glistening fountain was situated atop the marble awning, the likeness of two graceful dolphins in mid-leap, the water gently cascading upon them from above.

Aleksander looked in awe as he traced a path along the side of a trickling stream, heading towards the Library's main gate. In other circumstances, the sound of the water would have perhaps been calming to his ears, but he was still ill at ease. And the reason for this was soon brought to bear once again, when, as on the trail up the Knave River he had journeyed upon to get here, there came an oddly cold feeling to him, as if something were disturbing his very essence, something very unnatural.

Now Aleksander stopped abruptly, visibly shaken, his eyes wide, and it seemed to him that there were voices, an eerie lament in the ancient tongues of Elves coming from nowhere, as if from the void itself. Perhaps, as he thought, this was the voice of Lady herself, and her lingering curse against his master ages ago. And another thought dawned upon him: perhaps she knew. Suddenly filled with the desire to fulfill his business and leave this place as soon as possible, Aleksander shook off these feelings as best he could and made haste towards his goal.

The Elves are said to have elegance through simplicity, and the graceful design inlaid on the pillars and the high wooden doors of the Library was proof of this. With more cautious reverence than hesitation, Aleksander slowly pulled the door open and stepped inside. The place was a marvel, although one of greatness more than beauty; books more than any mortal could possibly count were amassed in uncounted rows upon enormous aisles of shelving and tables, and some filled with such secrets that no man could comprehend. It was quite overwhelming to Aleksander, and he stood for a time staring at the vast rows and shelves of ancient lore. But it was also intimidating. Although he had planned to simply search on his own until he, surely, came across the information he sought, recent factors had made this not such a viable option in his mind.

Aleksander was apparently not alone in this assessment, either, for a rather comely Elf had noticed him and was making her way towards him. The back of his palm almost seemed to burn as if the markings upon it were newly branded, but he was sure it was nothing more than his mind playing tricks on him. Still, he tightened the linen straps that were covering his hand as she approached. It wouldn't pay to skirt around his business, so Aleksander decided to put his best foot forward, and bent his head to her. She seemed pleased at this and returned the gesture, and she was smiling, a sense of serenity flowing from her and into Aleksander.

'My lady,' he spoke softly, 'I was told that this place would hold knowledge regarding the Tyrant of old, him who hath poisoned the Deserts and so affronted... the Fire.'

Though she seemed very pleased by his manner, at the mention of Malenfere, the Elf, her right name being Arna, seemed to sadden slightly, her gaze dropping as if she were looking through him.

'That,' she said, 'is a rather lengthy subject, and I am obliged to say that much of the information we have of him is subject to debate. What, specifically, are you seeking about the Tyrant?'

Aleksander promptly reached into his robe and produced his precious parchment. With some hesitation at handing it over to a stranger, he politely held it out to her.

'If you would...'

The young Librarian understood. She nodded respectfully, and taking the parchment she held it before her, she carefully unfolded it and began to examine the text and the design inscribed upon it. After a moment, she peered at Aleksander somewhat bemusedly.

'So you believe the Arms are indeed real?' she pondered. 'I have always heard that they were but a symbolic gesture within the Tyrant's Church.'

'That may be so, my lady,' replied Aleksander, 'but this source, as well as few others I have been able to uncover, makes explicit mention of the Arms being literal things, weapons of great power wielded by the Tyrant as a mortal. There are mentions of six others besides this "Pillar of Wrath."'

Her expression pensive, the Elf maiden once again turned her gaze to the parchment. Aleksander waited patiently, but it seemed almost as if she had forgotten him completely. He took the whole of her in as she stood there, absent-mindedly noting the grace of her posture and her sparkling eyes. At last he put his foot forward and spoke gently to her, 'My lady?'

Immediately she turned to him, flustered and nearly blushing. She met his gaze for a moment, then looked downward as she began to fold the parchment back.

'Well, yes,' she began, 'there is a book that belongs in these halls that holds what you seek, which, I believe, is in fact the only living remain of that tale of the Tyrant. However, it seems someone of a similar thought has preceded you, and the book is currently in his possession. If it is your intention to pursue him and acquire it, I cannot help you.' And she handed him back his record.

Aleksander was deflated at the notion that he should have come all this way for naught, but the Elf had more to say. 'There is one that may be able to assist you in this,' she continued. 'Our headmaster knew the man who came before you, and I daresay he may know where you may find the gentleman. Currently the headmaster is away on business, however. You are welcome to stay in the city, of course, and spend your time here while you await his return.'

She beamed at him for a moment, but then suddenly a thought seemed to occur to her.

'I'm so sorry,' she stammered, 'I don't believe I've even introduced myself. You may call me Arna,' and at this she allowed herself a small bow, her delicate fingers pressing the simple locket she wore to her breast. 'If you require any assistance...' she trailed off, her face brightening. She turned and floated gracefully away, gazing at Aleksander over her shoulder and trailing her fingers behind her, as if beckoning him. Aleksander watched her, almost seemingly frozen in place, until she disappeared behind a row of books.

The beauty of such a vast repository of books, at least to Aleksander, was that there was always something to read. Very little of that first night of study he wasted, poring over vast tomes of various subjects. But soon after his encounter with Arna he had a rather interesting episode that had left him somewhat distracted. A Man, a northerner, from his manner, Aleksander guessed, had rather startlingly grabbed Aleksander's attention, placing his arm across Aleksander's shoulder, but did not look at him. He spoke to Aleksander in a low voice.

'Listen, I can't in the Nine Hells imagine what reason you have for researching such bizarre and dangerous information as you are, but I might advise you against trying to charm the Aev women.'

This remark rather bemused Aleksander, who didn't know how to respond. Aleksander tried to preserve his posture.

'What are you talking about, old man? I wouldn't dare...'

The stranger held up his hand, casting a skewed glance at Aleksander.

'Please. Don't play coy,' he said. '"My lady." You know quite well what that would mean to an Aev; you are obviously a learned man.' Then the man removed his arm and patted Aleksander about the shoulder, then gave a grim sort of smile of satisfaction, and he walked out of the doors.

Needless to say, this left Aleksander with a clear subject of interest with which to begin his study that night. It was not difficult to find the answer. It occurred to him over the course of his study how little was said of the other Six in the writings of his own order, and the legendarium concerning them he found quite interesting. Turning one dry page he came across the symbol that made him remember where he was, the symbol of the Elven goddess, the enemy of his master. Except in this text she was referred to by a different name. The Aevaliêndi, it seemed, always referred to her as their Lady, and Aleksander realized what he had done. He was sure it wasn't every day that a simple Elf maiden, as striking as she was, would be compared to their goddess, a very paradigm of love and beauty. More than that he realized what more could be done in that path of action. He was, after all, in a strange place, alone. Shaking his head as if to deny the thought to himself, he set his mind back to study. 

The place became almost completely emptied. Candles flickered and sputtered out, only to be replaced by the ornate lamps situated on each table top, each of which burst forth with a cool, blue flame as of its own will. In the softly lit atmosphere the massive halls seemed even more immense, but Aleksander found the serene silence and the coolness of the flames soothing his very essence, and very striking to him after so many nights on a bloodied battlefield or atop a wind-ravaged tower. He noticed Arna again as well, her graceful figure winding its way among the rows and shelves. He watched her, his elbow propping up his head against the table. She seemed almost like a ghost, the blue light reflecting off her gown and the silence adding a level of surrealism to her beauty.

The next thing Aleksander noticed, however, was that she was hovering above him, an angel bathed in the light, looking down at him peacefully. He judged he must have slipped into sleep for a moment. Aleksander smiled back at her, and, pushing himself up from the table, he shut the book which had been playing his pillow. Even the sound of the massive tome slamming closed seemed oddly muted in the still air.

Arna seemed to judge he was finished with this particular store of knowledge, and she gingerly reached for it, placing her slender fingers along its parched cover and prepared to lift it. But Aleksander didn't want to have her trouble herself with such things, and intended to place the book in its rightful place himself as he was perfectly capable of doing. He quickly placed his hand upon hers to stay it, to beg her let him do it, but upon doing so he felt something stir inside him, and his thoughts turned elsewhere. Before he could stop himself, he was already heading down a path he did not know. Mistake or not, he could not help himself.

'Arna,' he said, 'would you care to have dinner with me this evening?'

It seemed as though minutes passed. There was no change in her expression as she looked almost absent-mindedly at his hand upon hers. But then she grasped his fingers, and she beckoned him to rise up. Leading him like a child by the hand, him clumsily trailing behind her as she glided past the flickering lamps, Aleksander thought himself a fool. When they came to the arch of the door she opened it, and he stepped out into the evening. When he turned around, Arna was hanging onto the door from the inside, in a manner rather unlike what Aleksander had come to expect. Suddenly a smile erupted from her beautiful face.

'I'd love to...' she said in a voice more than a whisper. And she shut the door.