[Quest] The Good Die Young (Erudite, Montaine, Wrenmae)

[Paragon]

The Good Die Young Timestamp: 89th Day of Spring, 512 AV The Wright Memorial Library was open all hours. The obvious patrons were the city's throngs of students - though not many were dedicated enough to stay up all night researching and trawling through the many texts. It had a skeleton team of staff in the smallest of hours. Sometimes, only one person manned the institution. The building had been built in a style befitting of Mizahar's past antiquity. Statues to its patron God's stood erect beside the entrance, and small busts could be found in various places within. It was impressive in daylight -- and haunting in the darkness. In the night, the building took on an almost spectral quality. There were rumours... whispered ones in faint firelight, of a ghost prowling the aisles of the library. And yet, even now, no one knew the identity of this phantom. Only that it appeared in the corners of eyes, drifting transiently through the unknown darkness. Tonight, perhaps, the truth would out.

[Erudite]

The wind howled eerily as it brushed against Erudite's pale skin and clothed shoulders, its invisible wisps tickling her flushed cheeks and seemingly whispering things into her ears. Was it her name, or another word, one that was foreign and unrecognizable to her bilingual mind? Was it a broken sentence, a call for help, or a warning?

"E...ruu...dddggg...nnn..."

She was undoubtedly imagining things. The mind believes what it wants to believe, and her immense curiousity has once again led her into doing the unthinkable, and into assuming the impossible. But as she stumbled through the dark and made her way towards the Wright Memorial Library, she wondered that perhaps the wind was indeed speaking to her, warning her.

"Erudite, don't go in."

Another trick, another joke exacted upon her by her limitless imagination. But it was too late to listen to the little voice in her head, who she refused to call her conscience. She bounded up the white steps and stopped in front of the ominous wooden doors. She couldn't find the beauty in the library's exterior any longer; instead, she found them daunting nd intimidating. If she stared long enough, the swirling decals that patterned the doorway seemed to uncoil and reach out to her, and the matching marble statues that seemed to guard the entrance had their heads turned to her. She glared at them, and they glared back with an unwelcome scowl. But nothing was going to stop her from entering, no one was going to quell her curiosity but her own self.

She pushed at the double doors, and just as she expected, they were unlocked and open. Students refrained from lurking in the library after hours, even when it was permitted, because of the rumored spectral apparition. This didn't stop her, nor scare her, however. The Konti had even gathered two of her friends to accompany her, in the hopes that they could assist in the discovery of the ghost. Will it prove to be true? If anything, she wanted to be right. She wanted to find out the truth, and she yearned to be the one to spread the news, and to be the one involved with the knowledge. Such a feat would have her swelling with an unmistakable happiness and pride, one that could easily overcome the consequences of investigating.

Half of her expected her companions to already be there, while the other half seemed to hope that she would be the first inside. The latter had won out, as she found herself staring into a dank, terrifying darkness that sent chills up and down her spine. Her arms and legs trembled as she struggled to get through the door and into the main hallway, her wide eyes darting left and right, only to find nothing but emptiness.

The wind was dead, the air was dead. Whatever chill that had governed the lawns and the streets of the university was remarkably absent in the library. It was warm, unnaturally so, but she felt cold nonetheless. It was the fear of seeing it first, alone, that washed through her entire body and kept her cool. Her heart beat rapidly against her chest as she struggled to examine the area despite the darkness.

When the sun fell and the students fled, it was the books who ruled the library, the books who spoke and interacted with one another. Her imagination ran amok as she envisioned the tomes whispering to one another, their pages flapping like morse code as they shared knowledge and secrets. The ceiling seemed to extend into eternity, and the shelves seemed twice as tall as before. Everything seemed different, everything seemed strange.

Everything seemed haunted.

[Montaine]

Montaine shivered. It was almost summer but his breath crystallised in the air before him. He hugged his coat closer to himself and wrapped his arms round his torso. The stars were out tonight. They shone as little pinpricks of light gazing down at the world below, stuck high up in the sky with nothing to do but watch the adventures of the little mortals as they flitted to and fro. The glassworker looked up at them with envious eyes. To watch the stories unfold. He had always held a deep jealousy for the exciting tales others got to tell and yet now, with the dark library looming before him, he wanted so desperately to be safe up amongst the starlight. He could turn around now, go home, claim he had forgotten the day or feign sickness. He could turn around now and walk back down the hill without ever having to step foot in that cursed place. Monty sighed. No he couldn’t. The fair doctor might need his help, he could never forgive himself if something happened to her in there when he might have been able to do something, anything, to help her. Plus, she might not have arrived yet and he might bump into her on the way back. He found it difficult to lie to the girl. He took a deep breath and made his way forward. The statues that stood vigil over the library doors had lost the noble glamour that daylight brought out in them. Oh, they retained the mystic quality they had possessed the first time he had visited, but it was warped most cruelly. They appeared menacing now. He shuddered and refused to look at them. He placed a hand on the old wood of the entrance. No turning back. The doors were heavy but with a little effort he managed to heave one open and slip inside. He remembered when Erudite first told him about the ghost in the library, how excited he had been. He had spent much of the rest of that afternoon looking out of the corner of his eye, trying to catching a peeping face in the woodwork, a wandering scowl in the carvings. He hadn’t found any, as he expected yet still he had been a little disappointed. Now the busts that adorned the ends of the bookshelves each took on their own potential ghostly face. There was always a scowl, or a smile or an evil glint just shy of his vision as the heads were all around. He couldn’t talk, no words, no sounds, not one little whisper. The library was silent in the daytime, when full of students and scholars and teachers and workers, the library necessitated silence when full of people because they were not to be disturbed. Yet empty of students the library at night made its usual activities seem positively raucous. The glassworker felt that even a single, tiny, little noise would shatter the silence and bring down the wrath of whatever terrible spirits dwelled here. There was a light off in one of the aisles and he prayed to all the gods he could name that it was Erudite, or her friend, and not the vengeful phantom of the Wright Memorial Library luring him into a trap to devour his eyes. He crept forward and mustered the courage to whisper, ‘Erudite?’ no response, he whispered slightly louder, approaching closer, ‘Erudite, is that you?’ He yelled out in surprise as the wooden doors opened once more.

[Wrenmae]

He couldn't seem to get over it. Walking through Zeltiva at night held little of the thrill Sunberth had. On one hand, it was relaxing to know that a cut-purse or monster didn't lurk behind the alabaster architecture, the yawning throats of alleys, but it also took some of the energy out of the night. It did not so much hang with baited breath than with lax solemnity. His quick-paced footing seemed distinctly out of place among the streets and his shoes cracked discordantly against the cobblestone. He had agreed to meet Erudite this evening to look through the library, identify the claims of haunting as real or imaginary. Personally, Wrenmae had little experience with ghosts. Back in Alvadas, illusion was a part of life and seeing the dead was as common as watching someone fall up the stairs...strange as it sounded. But Erudite could have wanted to bait giant wolves in the forest and she would have had Wrenmae's participation. Something about the girl drew him in, attracted him to her. She had blond hair, like his crush back in Sunberth, Ana, but there was a vibrancy about her that Ana did not possess. Here was strength, here was power, here was determination. She had, within her, a certain length of unyielding spirit that Ana had lost a long time ago...somewhere between her dignity and the streets of Sunberth. She had been the first to greet him off the boat, in his state of complete disarray and panic. She had calmed him, even in the face of his enormous memory loss, had showed him the Zeltivan University. Something about her was familiar, a kind of echo that resonated in his brain like chimes. He knew her, but had never met her before, could feel a strange and unexplained intimacy that he dared not speak about. Were these his memories? Another result of his fractured mind? Too many questions, not enough answers. The guardians of the library glared at the storyteller as he approached. Stoic, impassive, and yet there was menace to their shapes, how they held themselves. They smelled the plague on him, a plague no one else seemed aware of. Pausing in front of the doors, Wrenmae twisted his fingers and sighed, putting a hand to his head. He was still himself. Still...himself. And that was enough. Let the stones glower at anyone or everyone, their power was rooted only in their shape, not in their actions. Striding up to the double doors he pushed them both open at once, the creaking roar of hinges and wood heralding his entrance in a surprisingly volatile crescendo. Above the grating of metal, a surprised yell rose briefly and fell, revealing a stranger in the entrance...and not at all the person Wrenmae had expected to see. Sheepish again, Wrenmae fell back into himself, stepping quickly between the closing doors and shoving his hands into his pockets, smiling shyly. "Erm, sorry about that, hi...I...I didn't expect other people to be here this late, erm, I mean early and by that I...ugh. I mean." He stuttered with his words, sounding not at all like himself...usually he was much better with people. Still, it had only been five days since he'd awoken in Zeltiva. Not all of him was there, quite yet. "I'm looking for someone," he finished lamely, "Have you seen erm, a girl? She has blond hair, named Erudite, erm..." He struggled to find more ways to explain her, describe her. It wasn't that there weren't enough, it was that there were too many. "I'm...Wrenmae," he finished with an explosive sigh, throwing up his arms, "And I am completely blowing a basic introduction."

[Erudite]

For some reason, she expected it to appear dilapidated and abandoned. She squinted up at the ceiling and searched for silvery cobwebs or crawling spiders, but instead she was met with pristine wooden carvings, polished and almost as good as new. While some portions of the room were illuminated by dim pools of moonlight, the rest of the area appeared to be devoured by the shadows and the darkness of the night. She took two careful steps forward, her eyes careening over from one shelf to the next, as if she were expecting something ghostly to jump out of her. But nothing moved, nothing but her own two feet and her trembling hands.

The floor decided to creak, and she jumped up with a gasp at the sound. She frowned at the wood as if it had offended her, and then continued to step further into the darkness. No one seemed to be around, no one seemed to be awake. It didn't come as a surprise, as even if the library never closed, nobody ever dared enter at night, unless they were interested in meeting with the spectral apparition that frequented the area after hours. She glanced to a window and thought she'd seen something, only to find that it was simply a bird fluttering from branch to branch, on a tree just outside. Clutching at her chest, she heaved a sigh and eased the tension in her muscles. She shook her head and grinned, as she turned to look up once more - more relaxed, more determined.

Another creak. It wasn't from her. She jumped and flinched at the sound, and immediately cupped her mouth before she could shriek. Turning around swiftly, she found that it was Montaine entering the premises. Patting her beating heart, she breathed deeply through her nostrils and dipped her chin.

"Erudite?" she heard him say. She looked up to reply, only to find herself unable to speak. Grabbing at her neck, she attempted to choke out a sound, but found it astonishingly impossible. Shock had wrung her throat and had rendered her mute.

"Erudite, is that you?" he said, as he gingerly took a few steps forward towards her. He seemed to have been looking at her, but the darkness must have enveloped her and caused her to blend into the environment. She found her voice and was about to reach out and speak, only to squeak instead at the sudden sound of loud squeaking. It was Wrenmae.

She cupped her mouth and stared at Montaine, only to find him still oblivious to her presence. Wrenmae's boisterous entrance had drowned out her cry. She watched him stumble in with a surprised yell as he and Montaine met eyes.

"Erm, sorry about that, hi...I...I didn't expect other people to be here this late, erm, I mean early and by that I...ugh. I mean."

He was stuttering. His words stumbled out of his mouth all chewed up and shriveled. She watched silently, with her hands cupping her lips. She felt strange and intrusive watching them from where she was, where they couldn't see her. She felt like a spy.

"I'm looking for someone," Wrenmae added, after a brief pause, "Have you seen erm, a girl? She has blond hair, named Erudite, erm..."

He was describing her? She stifled a giggle. She'd forgotten to mention to him that Montaine was going to accompany them on the ghost hunt. Silly her. She felt that now was the right time to join in and let them know that she was there. The whole interaction between the two men looked incredibly awkward and uneasy. She made a move towards the pair, only to halt as Wrenmae spoke once more.

"I'm...Wrenmae," he said, sighing loudy as he brought his arms up, "And I am completely blowing a basic introduction."

She couldn't hold in her laughter any longer. Erudite chuckled at the young man's silliness as she finally managed to step out of the shadows. With a casual wave of her hand, she beamed at the two men excitedly. "Hello there," she said cheekily, as she closed the gap between herself and the two. "Fancy seeing you here," she joked. She turned to look into the darkness for a moment, before turning around to look at them once more. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, like a child who couldn't be bothered to keep still. She was excited, inexplicably so.

"I see you two are acquainted. Now, shall we get started?" She felt too jumpy and hyperactive to reveal the details of their little ghost hunt, though she assumed that Montaine and Wrenmae felt the same way.

[Montaine]

His heart was racing, his chest was pounding and in all honesty Montaine just wanted to leave. Or rather, he wished he could have gone back in time and stopped himself from agreeing to the doctor’s ridiculous request. If he was this jumpy so soon, in the shyking foyer, how would he fare deeper into the shadowy unknown quadrants of the Wright Memorial Library? He had to get a grip on himself if he was to be of any use. He breathed slowly and calmly, trying to ease his thumping heart. It was unreasonable to be scared at this early stage of the exploration. All they had were hypotheses and old ghost stories. There was every chance, after all, that the old wives’ tales would be proven just as such. After all, if there really was a malevolent spectre roaming the university halls at night, the wizards would have done something about it right? That’s the sort of thing they did, right? In all likelihood the story was just invented to keep students away from the library at night. Maybe they had excessive vandalism or thefts at one time or another and needed a way of guarding the books cheap, efficient and downright chilling. Or perhaps the librarian did secret experiments in the building under the cover of darkness, transforming young undergraduates into monstrous horrors for her own dastardly ends. Okay, that train of thought didn’t help. The ghastly ghost was preferable. The glassworker was relieved to see Erudite safe and sound and smiled weakly at her through the gloom. At the very least she hadn’t been consumed by ravenous ghouls or mutilated by bloodthirsty bookkeepers, which was probably a good sign. He turned to the third member of their band. Wrenmae. There was something curious about the boy that he couldn’t quite place is finger on. He wasn’t Zeltivan – that much was for sure, not least because he didn’t seem to reek of fish. But the doctor seemed to trust him and she was generally a discerning sort of lass. He was probably another academic from some far off hoighty-toighty family estate in Syliras or maybe even as far flung as Lhavit. He must have come quite a way. He must have seen quite a bit too. Perhaps the odd quality was just a false idea spread by envy in the glassworker’s mind, envy of the stories the curious man could tell. ‘I’m Montaine, Montaine Redsun, from down market way,’ he put on a smile and held out his hand, ‘Well, a bit off market way, I’m a glassworker by trade,’ As the words left his mouth and the sounds travelled up to his ears he suddenly heard what he had said. He was a glassworker. What the petch was he doing hunting ghosts in a haunted library in the dead of night? What had the doctor managed to talk him into? He could have been at home, in bed, with his sheets wrapped tightly round him. He could have been safe at home in his little apartment across from the comforting glow of the glassworks. But instead, he was here, in a shyking library.

[Wrenmae]

Erudite appeared before Montaine had a chance to introduce himself, the ghostly pale woman floating among the bookcases and cluttered desks like the phantom herself. Golden hair flared our around her head, a vesper of sunlight motes that attended her every step. She was smiling, always smiling, a bright and encouraging expression that rebounded off Wrenmae’s eyes and back into her grin…a line of romance trailing with it. The moment she’d appeared in their midst, the storyteller was temporarily struck dumb, his powers of stuttering introduction abandoning him altogether, strafing from the corners of his mouth and dissipating on the stale air. He did not respond to Montaine, not right away. Although his words did reside in Wrenmae’s head for a time, repeating themselves in discordant echoes. A glassblower from Zeltiva…not a University student then? Wrenmae looked between his two companions with a sense of gnawing panic. How did she know this Montaine? What was he to her? Were they friends? Lovers? Peers? The question pounded its imperative need to be answered square into the storyteller’s skull. Almost subconsciously, he moved between them, taking Erudite’s hand in his for a brief moment and giving it a gentle squeeze. It was as intimate as he dared be in the hushed solemnity of the library. So many books, histories, stories that watched them with inked eyes and embossed bodies. He let her hand free, cracking his neck to break the silence and smiling nervously. “Ghost hunting then, huh? Well…where do we start?” He looked to the two of them, then back to the darkened avenues of shelves. “I…I haven’t been in here before,” he admitted with a shrug, “I’m not really sure which way to go.” "You mortals are a funny lot," Zan muttered inside Wrenmae's mind, stirring from the flask at his hip, "Ghosts? Spirits? We don't have anything like that where I'm from. Death is preeeeetty straightforward, no lingering nonsense or unfinished business. Pretty standard death and divide stuff. I'm telling you, it is still barrels of laughs for me that you guys just grow old and die rather than splitting in half. I mean...come on, how is that any way to live?" Wrenmae, wisely perhaps, chose not to answer.

[Paragon]

Erudite. Montaine. Wrenmae. Though they led wildly different lives, here, in the unsettling darkness of the library, their paths had crossed. What they would soon discover would forever unite them. After their varied introductions, the group tried to work out which way they would head first. It seemed the library had ideas of its own. All of a sudden, there was a howl, as if a strong wind had burst into the building. The entrance rattled shut, and to the left, approximately five shelves down, there was a bang. If any of the three turned in time, they would see a book fly out of the shelf, hurtling towards the opposite shelf. When the book struck, three others fell off in the impact. There was no one in the darkness. No one visible, at least. Perhaps this was the starting point of their ghost hunt.

[Erudite]

Erudite flashed Montaine a wide smile as the glassblower introduced himself to Wrenmae. She chuckled softly, finding amusement in the fact that she had invited the most unlikely people on a little adventure in an apparently haunted, dark library. Shaking her head at the silliness of it all, her smile faltered and her hands flinched as Wrenmae inched closer to her and held her hand.

She furrowed her brows up at him confusedly, a wry smirk forming on her lips as she squeezed his hand silently. The gesture came as a shock to her, for some reason; she didn't expect Wrenmae to display affection so publicly, even though it was as simple as handholding. Then again, they were in an empty library with only one other person who the Konti trusted, so it wasn't very public to begin with.

“Ghost hunting then, huh? Well…where do we start?” Wrenmae said, as he turned towards her and Monty, and then into the darkness. “I…I haven’t been in here before,” he said with a shrug, “I’m not really sure which way to go.”

Erudite grinned eagerly, the nerves in her body going haywire at the excitement that had her blood pumping and her stomach flipping. She opened her mouth to speak and to voice a suggestion, only to find her words immediately cut off before she could even speak them.

A howl, a distinct, eerie, blood-curdling howl emanated from somewhere within the library's walls and shelves. The Konti deadpanned and stiffened as her blood ran cold. With wide eyes, she turned to look at the others, but found it difficult to process their reactions. All she could think about was the possibility that whatever spectral apparition that lived within the books after hours was carnivorous, and was undeniably hungry.

She needed to turn around, to face the darkness and lead the pair of men; at least, that was what she felt she had to do. She had brought them into this in the first place, and she had no plans in dragging them out bloodied and lifeless. If anything, this could with them being the ones pulling her marred body out into the street, with one of them calling for help while the other fended off whatever ghostly creature haunted the library. Yet she remained stiff and motionless, frozen solid by the screeching howl that they had heard.

An almost impossibly strong gust of wind blew into the hallway, its origin unknown. She shivered, wondering to herself if the weather had decided to take a turn for the worse at that precise moment, but instead of hearing the pitter patter of heavy rain, she heard a loud bang. The sound caused her to jump and finally turn around, just in time to catch sight of a book flying off of a shelf and hurling itself towards a trio of books opposite from it. All four tomes bumped and fell onto the floor with a loud thud.

And then, there was silence.

Whatever or whoever had caused the sudden ruckus remained to be seen. Erudite found it hard to move again, as she and the others fell into a nervous silence. Gulping, she inched closer to the shelves that had once held the books, but stopped before she could peer past one and see if there was anybody there.

"Goodness," she mouthed, as she cupped her pursed lips with a cold, clammy, shivering hand. She raised her free hand and ushered the others to follow suit. "We should go check that out," she whispered, as she turned around and gestured for them to follow her to where the books had fallen.

[Montaine]

‘Wind, it was the wind, it was the wind, I’m sure,’ Montaine muttered. He had been so enchanted by this library the first time he had visited it some forty days prior. It had been a wondrous place filled with knowledge of hundreds of scholars over the course of many, many years. The stone busts of the gods had stood as proud sentinels, adding a certain deific regality to the old building. Now they were just faces in the dark. The glassworker pulled his coat tighter round himself. Rationally speaking, he convinced himself, this cold was perfectly plausible for this time of night. The library might just get naturally icy as the moon rose, and they had left the great doors open for a while before they were slammed shut. He shivered. It wasn’t natural, it couldn’t be natural. That howl wasn’t just wind. Perhaps it was students, playing tricks. Perhaps it was the infirmary across the way that was haunted, and they were just hearing the infirmary ghost terrorising whatever idiots would be stupid enough to go looking for it. Monty fell in step behind the fair doctor. It wasn’t that he lacked chivalry, or possessed any particular great cowardice, but it had been Erudite’s idea to come up here and if he was ripped to shreds by vicious, vengeful ghosts it would be her fault. ‘Which books are they? Do you think that’s important?’ Monty frowned at his companions, ‘Maybe the ghost’s an old librarian, and someone put them in the wrong place? An old, angry librarian, I think I could deal with that, if’n it came to it,’ Petch that, the current head librarian scared the willies out of him. Libraries had a power over people, a terrifying control that kept the chattiest quiet and the most energetic still. Libraries had power over people and the librarian, she had power over the library. Monty hadn’t felt so much fearful respect for an old lady since the last time Gertrude had bludgeoned a drunk attempting to seduce her daughter at the Councillor’s Head, a half dozen days ago. He should have brought her along, really. No ghost could compete with Gertie Galloway. ‘What’re the chances all this ghost talk was jus’ students tellin’ stories, Erudite?’