[Flashback] Locked Away

[Laszlo]

Spring 75th, 510av ????th bell. Someone else had written in this book. Alongside paragraphs written in readable Common, strange characters were scribbled in the margins with a different color of ink—brown instead of black. Some of the letters were the same, but most of them were foreign. Graceful ribbons of burnt auburn looped over themselves, flourished around dots, and zigzagged with an almost sinister curl. Some of it was just a difference in handwriting (Duvalyon's?), but Laszlo knew there were two languages on this page. One of them Common, the other… S…Spidertongue? No, that wasn't it. Symenestra… Symeh… Laszlo closed his eyes, breathing with a long, drawn out sigh. It didn't matter that someone had written notes in the margin; that wasn't why he had borrowed the book. It was a copy of someone else's compendium, A Collection of Ethaefal Accounts recorded by Fineas Bead. It was full of minor anecdotes about his kind, which Laszlo hoped would be at least a little enlightening. So far, it was only verification that many Ethaefal had all of the same questions that he did. How was that supposed to be helpful? The horned blond was reclined in a nook along the wall, the book opened in his lap, in a misshapen room that must have been a study. Several bookshelves lined the asymmetrical walls, some of them crafted with wood, others carved into the walls themselves. There was a desk, complete with a wooden chair and an inkpot brandishing an erect quill, on the far end of the room, which all looked comically ordinary considering the surroundings. Standing near the nook was a sort of… lamp post. Yet at the top of it, instead of a lamp, there was a greenish glowing rock. A rock. This was the room the doctor had allowed Laszlo to rest in temporarily while he arranged some sort of deal with the Public House. Whatever that was. Compared to Syliras, Kalinori architecture was unnervingly alien. Yet, as with a hundred other things in this strange place, there was also something familiar. A warm shudder went through Laszlo's frame. A persisting feeling of déjà vu had persisted since he'd arrived, and it was becoming nauseating. Laszlo scratched his brow, turning the page with his free hand. Even more notes on this page. Why was he born (created?) knowing how to read? How was that possible? Why only this one language? Perhaps, if he was Symenestra, he might be able to read their language. But… no, didn't his mind stay the same? Forget it. Just read what Fineas wrote. There was a brilliant light when he changed. At first, I thought I was struck blind; it was as if Syna herself had descended and... A pair of molten amber eyes wavered hesitantly, then reluctantly slid to the left. Mene aɧ zylsem… ʄrassʨ? Wait… My only… "What?" Then it was gone. It evaporated like a plume of steam. The book clapped shut, then was discarded carelessly onto the floor with a brief tumble. Laszlo leaned back in the wall's carven nook, hissing hotly at the air. A hand pressed over his face and dug creeping fingers into his hair. His thumb brushed the sleek curve of his horn, and then he winced as accidentally pulled at the cut on his head. Petch it. He was so tired, of all of this and in general. Thanks to the kelvic Dor, Laszlo hadn't slept in at least day. He had nothing better to do now—nowhere to be. A nap might clear his head. Folding his arms over his chest, the Ethaefal reclined his heavy head back and shut his eyes. It was safe to sleep now, wasn't it?