Atlantic Roleplay Community Boards

[Lore Master]

---

Stepping into the dark library, he finds his way almost mechanically to his post, no need for candles to light the familiar way, the stones warm under his boots. The smell of old parchements and binding glue is a comfort in these shadows, like the arms of a lover, it wraps him. Sitting in the worn chair, he murmurs a few words and a small ball of fire appears at his fingertips. He sets it on the dish before him, pouring a small pool of oil from the karafe to feed it as he works. He slides over a roll of parchment and dips his quill into the waiting ink pot. Pausing a moment, the dark quill hovers over the paper, his mind catching up to where he left off the night before. His thin pale fingers once more begin their meticulous dance with the ink.

There is much to be written.