Prologue - Danyar - The Trouble with Librarians

It was a dark and stormy night, the wind howled in fury and the rain pounded in relentless frustration, generously providing the perfect cover for a small group of intrepid individuals that sought to liberate a very, very intriguing object, or so you happily wished. But in stark contrast to your daydream, it was midday and the sun was gloriously hovering beyond the reach of the 12 moons, on a canvas of a splendid clear sky. The clouds were few and timid, lacking any motivation to provide shade or cover. Only the crumbling buildings in this section of the town provided any means of escape from the beauty that was the day.

"Stop y'er dawdling Folwin", a quick jab followed by a harsh, heavily accented hiss from the halfling that goes by the name of Crawlis reminded you of the job at hand. Crawlis could've been easily be mistaken for a human child lost in the uncaring world, garbed in mud stained pants and shirt, a small weathered bag nestled under his arm and broken smile with only a few teeth showing. Yet Crawlis is far older than any human child, and too far gone from the fields of innocence to care. You and the halfling met some time ago when you received word that someone was interested in going into the ruins of the old town library. Normally you wouldn't dare to risk your neck or your purse but you've heard the rumors of a hidden vault within the library, a room that may contain a certain book that you've been searching for a long while. As for Crawlis' reason for delving into the ruins, you didn't care as long as he wasn't after the book, your book.

"Here we are." Crawlis exhales deeply and points a stubby finger at the half collapsed structure of the library. Even from the distance, you can see that most of the brick walls are barely standing and only the shattered wooden supports tell the tale that it was once a massive dwelling of learning. You immediately begin to wonder where the vault could be hidden given that the library has been scavenged time and again after a great fire tore through the area years back.

"There you go again. Hand it to an elf to pause at a time like this. We are short of time. The patrol will be here!" Crawlis annoyingly remarks as he zigzags from rubble to rubble and finally disappears into a large gap on the side of the library's main building. You follow in turn, leaving nothing about your presence except for minute dust devils your footfall creates. And in moments you are inside, emerging into a dust filled corridor that goes east and west, populated only by debris and dimly illuminated by stray ribbons of light permeating through the gaping holes on the roof.

The halfling is nowhere to be found.

The halfling suggested a half dozen locations to begin with, he even made up half a dozen more that you simply dismissed after a dozen rounds of ale. Like most of the younger races, halflings flitter between being bold and being bolder, lacking the patience that only an elf has. But throughout conversations, vivid or vague, there was one place Crawlis always brings back and that was the alcove behind the north west staircase, the one that leads down to a storage cellar.

So you carefully picked your memory and wove around each fallen timber, each debris filled pile until you reached your destination, a skeleton of a storage room in rear of the building where the stairs to the cellar are at. There was an overwhelming quietness as you paced towards your goal, as if the dead library was holding it's breath awaiting your next move. A ground level canopy of leafy vines growing from the underground mark the entrance. You knelt and pushed aside the vegetation and was immediately greeted with something damp and dank. The stairs are of stone and most have fallen apart, leaving a twisty trail to use if you do decide to head down.

A muffled curse and the sound of small body fumvling behind you gives comfort that Crawlis has simply lagged behind. Moments later a dust covered form emerges from a corridor accented by a face that sheepishly admits that he took a wrong turn.

"Aha, I knew you would find it." Crawlis chuckles, "C'mon now lets go...." and the halfling's words trail into a soft whistle as he confronts the condition of the staircase. He nudges you to use your torch, and you pull it out from one of hidden pockets. A narrow cone of yellow sunlight radiates from the illum and reveals a flooded cellar, with walls covered in slick green mold and pockmarked with finger like fungi. With a good portion of the staircase gone, you easily see the alcove in all it's ruined glory. No more than a 3 foot high and shaped like an open book, the recess in the wall is still stained by globs of wax from the innumerous candles that were lit in it.

"Well, let's get down to it then eh?" the halfing says with a amug as he pulls his face gaiter up firm and tight.

You stare back down and your elven swear that something else is in there. And you know it knows.