As the knight strolled through the expansive corridors of the Great Barnachia Library, he inhaled the redolence unique to the written tomes. The grand library, a testament of time enduring, comprised five majestic tiers, upheld by colossal pillars hewn from marble. Its eastern and western walls, embellished with ornate mosaic glass, admitted an eternal influx of daylight from above. On sunlit days, at the stroke of noon, the central hall would effervesce and emanate luminosity, akin to a hallowed sanctuary.
As they entered, the imposing figure of Scribe Perowa, the custodian of the library, greeted them with a combination of deference towards Caleb and disdainful glances directed at Knight Silverhilt.
Led by Caleb's guidance, the duo ascended to the elevated realm of the third floor. With a flourish, the young sorcerer unveiled an intricately carved door, uttering, "Welcome to our humble sanctum, the Scholars’ Lounge, the private study room of Master David. May it meet your discerning expectations."
Brad swiftly surveyed the chamber, divided into three sections, each possessing its own distinct character. In the heart of the room stood a grand balcony, its splendor evident to all who beheld it.
The eastern and western wings boasted finely crafted round tables, symbols of intellectual discourse and camaraderie. Meanwhile, the balcony section beckoned with its inviting array of meticulously arranged floor cushions, inviting guests to recline and engage in profound contemplation.
The air within the chamber carried a captivating aroma, woven by the ethereal wisps emanating from the petite cast iron braziers adorning each segment. Although the scent evoked faint recollections within Brad's mind, its elusive origin remained just beyond his grasp.
"Have you ever delved into the practice of meditation?" Caleb inquired, gracefully lowering himself onto the plush floor cushions and extending an inviting gesture for Brad to join him.
"Nay," Brad curtly responded, his restless steps persisting throughout the room. The sorcerer's offer to sit had been declined. "Are we not here for scholarly pursuits?" he impatiently pressed.
"Aye, indeed. Our purpose lies therein," Caleb casually replied.
"I spy no tomes within this chamber. Must we await the scribe's delivery?" Brad queried anew.
"A skeptic thou art, Sir Knight. Verily, I commend thy disposition," Caleb commented, a smile gracing his features. "Allow me to expound, for we have journeyed hither to establish communion with Ilberius."
"So, we await the arrival of Ilberius."
"Nay, we must seek him out, for he shall not come to us."
"I discern not. Thy words bear an enigmatic shroud," Brad cautioned, his tone turning stern.
The halfling wizard chortled with an air of nonchalance. "Ilberius, a being of ethereal essence, resides beyond the reach of conventional means in this realm," he replied.
With a voice as biting as a winter gale, Brad interrogated, "Do you truly expect me to embrace the sheer preposterousness of this tale concerning the library's ethereal essence?"
"Indeed. However, it seems you, in some manner, have also stumbled upon its whispered cadence. Do you not yearn to uncover the verity?"
"Very well, Caleb. Share your rendition then. Considering your perspective, time appears to be in abundance," Brad jabbed at him with his words.
"So be it. Since you insist with fervor, I shall indulge you," Caleb responded, his voice filled with a solemn resonance. He delved deeper, "Legend has it that in a time long past, when this bastion of knowledge was first forged, a formidable enchanter emerged from the realms; Orthai's lineage yielded the mighty Ilberius. Drawn to this sanctuary, he beseeched Terentius, the enigmatic shaman entrusted with the solitary custodianship of the sacred wisdom contained within these hallowed walls, imploring him for the enigma of immortality. Nay, he dared to aspire to ascend the echelons of the divine pantheon."
Caleb breathed heavily and continued his story;
"Alas, Terentius guffawed, scorning his audacity. Such scorn stirred the ire within Ilberius, and in a frenzied fury, he unleashed a cataclysmic onslaught upon the shaman. Teetering on the precipice of oblivion, Terentius uttered these words, 'Once, I too, akin to your plight. Blinded by ambition, craving the elixir of power. Yet, when realization dawned upon me, that the cradle of veritable wisdom lies sheltered within these sacred tomes, I relinquished my wanderings. Beware, for your fate shall be far grimmer than mine,' he cursed before surrendering to the clutches of death."
Caleb showed around.
"Since that fateful hour, Ilberius never strayed from this realm. And for his refusal to succeed Terentius as the protector of this library, the gods commanded that his spirit be forever imprisoned amidst these very ramparts. Some invoke his name as the Cursed Spirit of the Tomes, while others revere him as the Divine Patron of Libraries."
"Very well, then summon forth Ilberius, and let our words intertwine," Brad declared, his words laced with a touch of disdain for the wizard's narrative.
"Alas, such an endeavor eludes us. It is we who must seek him out, and only if he deems us worthy shall he respond," Caleb lamented.
"Then let us embark on a quest to find him. Can you not employ the art of magic to unveil his whereabouts?" Brad inquired.
"Ah, therein lies the enigma. There exists but a solitary incantation, capable of bridging the chasm between mortal realms and the extraordinary essence of Ilberius," Caleb responded.
"Very well, I comprehend. You shall weave that spell upon me as well. Pray, elucidate swiftly, for patience wears thin, O wizard," Brad's impatience surged.
Though Caleb's countenance momentarily dimmed, the radiance of his jovial visage swiftly returned. He rose gracefully, unlocking the cabinet nestled within the eastern wing. Delicately, he retrieved a diminutive statuette fashioned in the likeness of a draconic creature and brought it forth. From his pocket, he produced an incense stick, its fragrant tendrils weaving a tapestry of smoky allure reminiscent of crackling bonfires.
"And what, pray tell, is this incense stick?" Brad inquired, taking his place beside Caleb. Grasping the fragrant offering, he lifted it to his nostrils, recognizing the scent that embraced him.
"This is the catalyst for the enchantment that shall transport us unto Ilberius. As for the dragon figurine, it serves naught but to stoke the flames of my resolve. A mere trinket, if you will," Caleb elucidated.
"And I trust you shall not inform me that this incense bears the essence of Averan powder, Caleb?" Brad inquired, his gaze piercing, demanding an honest answer.
"Very well, I comprehend your point. Your esteemed commander-in-chief may have interdicted the utilization of this herb, yet there exists no viable alternative. Moreover, the dosage is modest, a unique concoction of utmost reliability. I assure you," Brad rose abruptly, driven by a sense of urgency.
"No, this path is untenable. I have undergone the rigorous training of the temple knights, familiar with the potential effects this powder can wield," he countered.
"Indeed, the Averan powder-coated incense shall initiate a fleeting astral sojourn for you. However, its influence shall be confined solely to the library's precincts. Fear not, for at this dosage, peril is negligible. Our physical forms shall remain secure within these chamber walls. Furthermore, I possess profound experience in these matters and shall act as your sagacious guide. I also venture an educated conjecture regarding Ilberius's whereabouts," Caleb endeavored to persuade him.
"Why do you not engage in solitary discourse with Ilberius?" Brad inquired.
"For you are the one who witnessed the unfolding events firsthand. Ilberius rebuffs the words of indirect narrators. His responses bear fruit when posed by those who have experienced the veracity. I have personally conducted experiments to affirm this. Place your trust in my expertise," Caleb expounded.
"How protracted shall this endeavor be?" Brad questioned.
Caleb retrieved a diminutive hourglass from the recesses of his robe, promptly inverting it. "Before the last grain descends, our return shall be accomplished," he reassured. "You reposed your faith in Lady Illaine, and she, in turn, bestowed hers upon Master David. And it is Master David who entrusts me, your valiant knight, with the mantle of guidance. Are you prepared or shall hesitation overtake you?"
"Then, without delay, kindle the incense before my resolve wavers," Brad said, resuming his seat, his tone tinged with wavering determination.
Caleb swiftly surged into motion, his incantation evoking a conflagration within the dragon figurine's maw, nestled meticulously. Gradually, sinuous tendrils of smoke commenced their ethereal dance, gracefully spiraling forth.
"And now, what shall transpire?" Brad inquired, his voice laced with anticipation.
"Close thine eyes, draw in a breath profound. Forthwith, the dragon shall exhale its breath," Caleb directed, dutifully adhering to Brad's entreaty. With deft hands, he extracted the incense from the figurine's mouth and brought it nearer to the visage of the valiant knight.
Brad cautiously glimpsed through partially unveiled orbs, a fleeting awareness seizing him. The diminutive dragon figurine, imbued with a resplendent gilded hue, appeared to transcend its stony confines, an illusion that caused his eyelids to flutter in disbelief. Seeking solace, he inhaled deeply, seeking equilibrium. In that very moment, a dense plume erupted from the dragon's fissured maw, its serrated teeth partially bared. Brad involuntarily breathed in the swirling mists, a fit of profound coughs ensnaring him, and his senses swiftly succumbed to an enveloping abyss.
"Under no circumstances, unveil thine eyes. Not yet," Caleb cautioned, his voice firm and unyielding. "Thou must trust me implicitly, for I shall be thy guide, propelling thee steadfastly upon the correct path."
A profound relief swept through Brad's being, akin to the lifting of burdensome worries and taut anxieties. As Caleb's touch made contact and pressed downward, a gentle tingling sensation enveloped him. His corporeal form began to oscillate with an escalating frequency, akin to quivering gelatin. Yes, this was the curious sensation he experienced—an inexplicable hollowness, akin to an empty vessel of gelatinous nature. Gradually, he became cognizant of an anchor, tethered to his feet, exerting a dragging force, pulling him inexorably earthward. It seemed as if he descended through an undulating temporal current, sluggish in its progress. Evident pressure besieged his ears, a weighty presence of rock. Coldness, incessant and growing, infused his senses, causing involuntary shivers to ripple through his being.
"Why has the air turned frigid all of a sudden?" Brad inquired, suspicion etching his words.
"Unveil your eyes now, and the realm surrounding you shall appear peculiar. Yet, you shall grow accustomed," Caleb replied.
Brad obediently unveiled his eyes, and there stood Caleb, but the world had transformed. His vision now beheld a fusion of ethereal hues, a melange of azure, verdant, and snowy white. The enchanter's domain blurred and danced before his eyes.
"Why am I immersed in this enigmatic tapestry of colors?" Brad queried.
"Are you akin to a nocturnal creature, bestowed with the gift of seeing through darkness?" Caleb mused, his smile radiating with an even brighter gleam, unveiling teeth as white as polished ivory.
Brad endeavored to move, yet an inexplicable weight held his feet hostage, akin to being mired in a treacherous quagmire.
"Before mastering the art of ambulation, or rather, gliding, introspect upon thyself. Converge thy focus upon the environs and the visage that defines it," Caleb imparted. "At this moment, we find ourselves beneath the library, amidst ancient tunnels shrouded in impenetrable darkness. In a corporeal state, the absence of a torch would render the surroundings invisible. However, thou gazest through the eyes of thy astral form, unbound by the need for an alternate light source. Acclimate thyself to its essence, akin to employing a telescope. Fixate upon a focal point. Rectify thy vision, noble knight."
Brad grumbled, a tinge of discontent mingling with his voice, as he endeavored to heed Caleb's counsel. His attention fixated upon the tunnel walls, exploring the surroundings with an inquisitive gaze. They found themselves within a meandering corridor, stretching three meters in breadth. The ceiling bore an uncanny smoothness, resembling more an architect's masterpiece than a rugged cavern, bereft of any coarse irregularities.
"In ages past, this very place stood as a haven, a sanctuary for those seeking refuge. Conceivably, it holds the secrets of an escape tunnel as well. Let us press on, for soon we shall emerge into a chamber," Caleb revealed.
"Allow me to conjecture. Ilberius awaits us there," Brad ventured.
"A distinct possibility. As the conjectures go, it is believed to be the very site where Ilberius met his tragic end. Years he spent delving into the labyrinthine depths, desperate to discover an exit. In his final days, they whisper, he forsook the higher realms of the library," Caleb shared.
"And who spins these tales?" Brad inquired.
"None other than the historians who have delved into the annals of Ilberius's journals," Caleb replied.
"Why does this man hold such significance? Is he not merely another sorcerer?" Brad queried, his tone tinged with disdain.
"The answer eludes simplicity, does it not? For he did not succumb to death's embrace. In some manner, he unearthed the very truth he sought," Caleb chuckled.
"The deceased shall remain entwined in the embrace of the eternal slumber. What endures shall be the domain of the living," Brad declared, revealing his unwavering perspective.
"It is not as straightforward as you perceive, noble knight. Even death abides by its own methodology, its own sacred tenets. The departed soul traverses the realm betwixt realms, known as Araphia, ere making its passage to Etheria. Such is the sacred decree. Yet should one falter upon this path, an anomaly manifests. It falls upon the wizards and priests to probe its origins," Caleb expounded.
"Yet is it not the very wizards and priests who engender this quandary? This relentless fixation with usurping life and beguiling death," Brad contested.
"Usurpation and deception are the domain of thieves, though your sentiment holds merit. Formidable wizards have forever posed a quandary. The solutions they contrive unfailingly harbor perils, even to the very gods themselves."
Caleb commenced his ethereal glide, traversing the path with an air of effortless grace. "Fixate your focus on my lead, envision yourself gliding like a seagull, surrendering to the whims of the wind rather than mundane steps," he instructed.
"The wind?" Brad inquired, and in that very moment, he sensed the gust's resonant roar and chilling tremor.
The subtle current within the tunnels danced elusively, yet as Brad directed his unwavering attention towards it, the presence of the atmospheric flow became the centerpiece of his consciousness. Indeed, he perceived a delicate sensation and endeavored to propel himself, relinquishing control to the gentle currents. Drawing upon his brief experiences toiling on seafaring vessels, he harnessed that knowledge and embarked on a glide akin to commanding a billowing sail. Another skill unravelled swiftly before him. Perhaps adaptability to the environment's caprices was the hallmark of Brad Silverhilt.
Caleb held a profound admiration for the knight who deftly surmounted the trials of astral travel and pressed onward. Silently, they wove through the serpentine corridors, minutes stretching into an eternal hush.
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"How did we descend to this place?" Brad shattered the tranquility. "Surely, mere desire cannot bring us here."
"No, I guided your astral form through solid walls, descending in a seamless vertical trajectory," Caleb replied.
"I comprehend. Why then do we not continue in a similar manner?"
"Exercise patience, noble knight. Undoubtedly, you have exceeded all expectations in this accelerated tutelage, and I applaud your progress. However, navigating through formidable barriers presents inherent perils. Let us advance methodically, one step at a time."
Brad brushed aside the wizard's cautionary words, yet with unwavering resolve, he declared, "I shall proceed under your sagacious guidance. Fear not, for I am resolute. However, I do harbor one inquiry. Do we presently traverse the threshold of the liminal realm or remain tethered to this corporeal domain?"
Caleb, sensing the need for elucidation, responded, albeit with a trace of hesitancy, "Verily, the answer lies betwixt affirmation and negation. Permit me, noble knight, to expound upon the matter."
"Convey it with brevity," Brad interjected firmly.
"Envision the dominions of Aerkha and Hatteria as interlocking circles, whereupon we find ourselves at the nexus, akin to Aerkha assuming the guise of a sphere in the realm of tangibility. As for the form of Hatteria, I beseech thee to abstain from further inquiry, as its nature is entwined in enigma. In essence, this juncture wherein temporal and spatial threads intertwine, we denominate as Araphia."
"Thy elucidation resonates within me. Pray, continue. Might it be that Ilberius, the sorcerer in question, is spared from the clutches of mortality owing to his ensnarement in this interstitial expanse?" Brad sought to unveil the truth.
"In my estimation, such supposition holds true. Theoretical discourse reveals two, nay, perchance three paths that lead to the liminal realm. Yet, let us not plunge into the abyss of intricate particulars. The safest avenue lies in astral sojourn, whilst the remaining conduits necessitate entwining oneself with magic, a treacherous gambit indeed."
"Unveil further secrets, dear Caleb."
"At these pivotal confluences, it stands as a supposition that one may traverse corporeally into the liminal realm by invoking the spell of incorporeality. Alas, the temporal span of such enchantment is but fleeting. Should the sorcerer, by ill fate, fail to find the path of return ere the appointed hour..."
"I apprehend the peril. Life forsakes its corporeal vessel."
"A semblance of that ilk. These ventures embody trepidation and jeopardy. Not every sorcerer dares to embark upon such perilous odysseys."
"And that’s the time they speak of a delicate thread that separates the realms of folly and brilliance."
Caleb chuckled at Brad's remark, yet his courteous gesture signified his concurrence. "Undoubtedly."
"I am gratified that you grasp this concept, albeit partially. Some endeavors, driven by the thirst for adventure, transcend the boundaries of foolishness and surpass expectations. Thus, at this juncture, I felt compelled to deliver a stern warning," Brad asserted.
"Message duly received."
At long last, the duo emerged into a sprawling chamber. Brad's attention was immediately seized by the expansive alcoves that towered over fifteen meters in height along the walls. Row after row of niches adorned each expanse, while beneath each niche, inscriptions or motifs intricately carved in an unfamiliar language intertwined with raised runes. Dominating the center of the chamber, positioned like the vertices of a triangular formation nestled within a circular mound, three marble biers rose majestically, bearing resemblance to adorned catafalques.
"What are these hollows?" he inquired.
"Once, this place resembled a mortuary, owing to its frigid and arid ambience of days long past. It remained sealed for an extended duration. However, it was later unveiled that certain sorcerers had exploited this space for illicit experimentation. A clandestine cult of sorts seemed to have taken root. Unspeakable endeavors, such as ventures into the realm beyond death and abominable blood rituals, unfolded within these very walls," Caleb nonchalantly responded.
"Ah, indeed, during the age of the Empire, the Guild of Assassins made extensive use of this location. Recently, it has been purged under the watch of King Illuen and his retinue. All the access points have been secured and sealed," he added, gesturing toward the ancient entrance on the northwest wall.
In the annals of time, a bygone era witnessed the arched passageway, delving ever deeper, obstructed by a colossal heap of crumbled rocks.
"Why does the passage we traversed remain open?" Brad inquired, his voice laced with curiosity.
"Our society, heeding the explicit entreaty of Ilberius, orchestrated its unveiling. Yet, do not misconstrue my words, for there exists no direct conduit from the library. We merely forged a befitting route from the Scholars’ Lounge to this side, a pathway crafted to ease the astral sojourns of neophytes such as yourself," Caleb elucidated.
"Well, isn't that a splendid revelation? Let me hazard a guess: the Commander-in-Chief remains oblivious," Brad retorted with biting sarcasm.
Caleb, signifying his lack of insight into the matter, pursed his lips. Sensing the knight's discontent, he deftly evaded the topic, offering a vague response, "I abstain from intermingling in the delicate diplomacy between Master David and the sovereign or the esteemed high priestess. Such matters surpass my purview."
"Very well, then. Let us summon Ilberius and proceed with our undertaking. This place holds no allure for me. It exudes the fetid stench of death," Brad continued, his restlessness palpable.
Caleb's gaze roved over his surroundings, an avid search for something concealed. Brad observed him intently and just as he was poised to inquire, he, too, caught sight of a fleeting glimmer within one of the recesses adorning the wall.
"Methinks, he slumbers," Caleb whispered, his voice barely audible.
"Then rouse him from his slumber," Brad replied sternly, his tone demanding.
"Be forewarned, for his temperament may sour when abruptly awakened from his repose."
As a growing disquietude permeated the ambiance, and the weight of their mission pressed upon him, Brad closed his eyes, envisioning himself ascending toward the shimmering crevice. The manifestation proved efficacious. Gradually, he ascended from the earthly plane, reaching the level of the niche when he reached a height of six meters. The light emanating from below shimmered in a pallid gray hue, and finally morphed into the ethereal silhouette of a supine figure as he approached.
"O venerable Ilberius of the Orthans, I am Brad Silverhilt, hailing you, a knight from the Knighthood of Illuen. With utmost urgency and profound significance, I present myself before your exalted presence, beseeching the unfathomable depths of your wisdom on behalf of my cherished homeland," he proclaimed, his voice resounding with an unintended potency.
In an instant, the elderly man stirred to life, channeling his entire wrath and regality toward him. His visage bore the marks of grotesqueness and etched furrows. With a sudden surge of motion, his disheveled mane of long, fractured tresses stood erect as if struck by celestial lightning, cascading wildly. Angrily foaming at the mouth, his missing teeth were exposed. His narrowed eyes squinted even further within the labyrinthine folds of aged skin, and his brows, contorted akin to the bristles of a bewitched broom, furrowed deeply. Uplifting his hands in the air, he emitted a snarl, not echoing that of a mere irascible elder, but rather that of a formidable creature.
To many, he exuded an aura suffused with undiluted intimidation, yet the young man facing him remained unwavering, unshaken by even a solitary tremor. Meanwhile, Caleb had already sought refuge behind the hallowed marble biers.
"I hold in highest regard your indomitable spirit, young one. You do not cower in the presence of the nether realm. It is not a flippant audacity born of naivety, but rather an intrinsic quality etched deeply within the very core of your being. Verily, an exceedingly rare attribute," the elderly man's countenance underwent an abrupt metamorphosis, transitioning into a gentle and amicable aspect.
Ilberius then descended leisurely toward the ground. In the midst of this, he cast a glance toward Caleb. "You again? Did I not expressly forbid your return to this realm? If your master seeks to pose inquiries, let him appear in person. I yearn to lay eyes upon him," he reprimanded Caleb sternly.
Caleb bowed with profound respect and addressed him, "I shall faithfully relay your message, esteemed Ilberius. However, this matter is truly exceptional. If you lend your ear to the Knight Silverhilt, all shall become clear."
While their conversation unfolded, Brad executed a controlled descent, gracefully reaching the ground level. Intuiting the elderly man's anticipation of his words, he composed his thoughts and commenced his discourse.
"Not too long past, I crossed paths with Charlotta, a sorceress whose lineage she claims stretches back to the ancient bloodline of Charl. She proudly declares herself as the granddaughter of the illustrious sorcerer, Charlattan. It became evident that this venerable spellcaster possessed a fragment of the Book of the Damned, and now that very fragment finds its abode in the clutches of sorceress Charlotta..."
Ilberius raised his hand, interjecting with authority, "That shall suffice," effectively halting the knight's speech. "Attan was naught but a wayward conjurer, destined to fade into the recesses of oblivion within the annals of history. However, what truly captivates my curiosity is... Why do you, noble knight, embark on this quest for the enchanted artifact?" he inquired.
"Because it is an ominous and bewitched object, and as a knight, it is incumbent upon me to bring it to an end," Brad responded.
"A rather pedestrian and limited rejoinder. It hardly befits a knight of your caliber. Yet, your spirit radiates with an incandescent luminosity," Ilberius commented.
"What do you mean, esteemed Ilberius?" Brad inquired.
Ilberius emitted a brief laughter before commencing a leisurely pacing. "I discern it, you harbor an unyielding detestation for this place, permeating every fiber of your being. It gnaws at your core. Is that not so?" he probed.
Brad remained silent, abstaining from comment.
Undeterred, Ilberius continued his perambulation, his words trailing behind. "This artifact, the Book of the Damned, must vex you, for it disturbs the delicate equilibrium. Much like the intricate sentiments I presently stir within you."
"I bear no personal enmity towards you. It is simply that this environment fails to evoke my fondness," Brad declared with unwavering emphasis, in response to persistent insistence.
"I am an entity that exists outside the bounds of this world's nature. Do you not harbor a desire to end my existence?" Ilberius inquired, his expression marked by bewilderment as he reclined upon one of the majestic marble biers.
"Nay," Brad replied serenely, his countenance composed and tranquil.
"Intriguing. Brad Silverhilt, your essence eludes complete decipherment. You embody the essence of a smoldering volcano on one hand, while possessing a serene mind on the other. Shall it be your heart or your intellect that ultimately shapes your course?" Ilberius paused, his gaze ascending to the ceiling as he idly scratched his chin with his fingers. "Perchance you remain unaware of the precise juncture at which it shall unfold. How wondrous."
"Should you adopt a more rational discourse, then shall we engage in dialogue," Brad sternly retorted, drawing nearer.
"Which deity does claim your allegiance?" Ilberius inquired.
"Verily, I am a devout follower of Orion, the God of Illumination," Brad responded.
"By whose hand was this doctrine bestowed upon you?" Ilberius probed.
"I was chosen by Lady Illaine, the exalted High Priestess of the Temple of Orion, and received training as a knight of the temple for a time. Yet, I later swore fealty to the path set forth by Commander Illuen D'harven," Brad elucidated.
"Now the veil is lifted. The scions of Light must have interwoven their influence with your fate. A labyrinthine conundrum deserving of further scrutiny, albeit not in this place, nor in this moment," Ilberius immersed himself once more in profound contemplation.
Suddenly, he straightened halfway, his gaze fixated on the young sorcerer, and commenced speaking. "Let us consider Caleb, your loyal companion. He bears a rather predictable disposition. He relishes in the thrill of adventure, yet fundamentally, he yearns solely for survival. He is a fortunate soul, expertly guided by an enigmatic mentor, obediently adhering to their every command."
The he turned his gaze to Brad. "But you, noble knight, you are an entity set apart. Merely by gazing upon you, I discern a distinction. You remain unaware of your own quest."
"I seek a fragment of the Book of the Damned. No other quest consumes me," Brad declared, a deep sigh escaping his lips. The tides of his patience waned.
"So, you yearn for a shard from the Tome of Damnation, eh? Whoever divulged such knowledge to you is either ignorant of its true nature or concealing it from your grasp. Even the most minuscule fragment of that tome wields an unimaginable power. I speak not of a mere leaf, but of a diminutive piece, one that encapsulates dread and pandemonium. It is a mystical dermis, neither dead nor alive," he uttered, his body trembling with an eerie sensation.
"Then swift we must be to locate it and unleash its annihilation," Brad interjected solemnly.
"Do not jest with me. You speak of an element capable of toppling the carefully established equilibrium forged fifteen centuries past, yet remain oblivious to the gravity of your words. Pray tell, who among you possesses the fortitude to shoulder such weight? Which of you?" Ilberius scrutinized them from head to toe, his gaze piercing. Then his attention turned to Caleb.
"This is the pinnacle of achievement for your enigmatic master. At least he employs honest and well-intentioned pawns. Alas, you are naivete incarnate, shrouded in ignorance. Perhaps these feeble assets are all you possess against..." Ilberius's brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing to slits. "Pray that the mystical relic evades the grasp of those well-versed in its usage."
"And who might these individuals be?" Brad inquired.
"The vestiges of an ancient world, known to me as the Lost Gods. Some call them the Archaics or the Uniques. They bide their time, eagerly awaiting the imbalance that looms."
"I have been acquainted with the fabled saga of the Uniques and the Archaics," Brad revealed.
"This is no mere saga," Ilberius exclaimed. "I have beheld them with my own eyes. This wretched curse has granted me glimpses into both realms, wherein I have borne witness to every scene. Alas, I am bound by the strictest prohibition to recount my experiences. Curse it, I am even forbidden to utter their names. The rules that safeguard the delicate equilibrium between the twin worlds are unforgiving. Should I dare to transgress, they would annihilate me. Nay, I am ill-prepared for such a dire fate." He mumbled.
At this juncture, Brad had more or less ascertained that Ilberius teetered on the edge of madness or deliberately sought to test the limits of his patience. Perhaps this is a test of his own resilience, he ruminated.
"What upholds the delicate equilibrium between these parallel realms?" Caleb inquired.
"The Seven Gods, without a doubt. Who else could assume such a role?" Ilberius retorted, his words laced with a tinge of scorn.
"Now, let us contemplate the scenario where one of these enigmatic forces seizes hold of this mystical artifact. What ramifications would ensue?" Brad queried, though he yearned for a rational response from the venerable apparition.
Ilberius emitted a fractured laugh, his voice laced with a touch of morbid amusement. "Envision, if you dare, the fateful moment when this enigmatic artifact falls into the clutches of a sorcerer who truly comprehends its profound purpose. In the realm of the most audacious of possibilities, Barnachia, the pulsating heart of the illustrious Illuthar continent, would undergo a cataclysmic transformation, transmuting into a vast cosmic abyss. Such a fate, reminiscent of the ominous doom Romdaht unleashed upon the once flourishing Ankyra Continent, would reduce once fertile lands to a desolate and gaping chasm. Alternatively, a colossal landmass might unravel, dissolving into the ethereal realm of oblivion, akin to the vanishing of the enigmatic realm of Endrarun. These cataclysms, etched into the sacred annals of our history, possess the haunting potential to recur once more. Alas, the saviors capable of halting the perilous cycle and preventing its spiraling descent have yet to find unity in purpose. They are late, if not too late. The convergence of their efforts would herald an apocalypse, an irreversible catastrophe," Ilberius's voice quivered once more, an undeniable sense of foreboding seeping into his words.
"In that case, we beseech you, bestow upon us a clue that may guide our quest to locate the sorceress," Caleb implored.
Ilberius heaved a profound sigh and addressed Brad. "Venturing forth to seek the sorceress in this current juncture would pose great peril to you, the knight. The tendrils of your emotions towards her weave a convoluted tapestry. I perceive it. You are not yet equipped to face such a trial."
"What am I unprepared for?" Brad inquired. "Your words shroud themselves in excessive enigma, venerable Ilberius. It appears as though you witness much but remain silent, or perchance you weave fabrications. And it troubles me profoundly," Brad uttered in a tense and strained tone.
"I behold all, yet I cannot unravel every mystery. Such is the curse that besets me. Elect whether you perceive me as a seer or a charlatan. The decision rests with you," Ilberius replied.
"Then my purpose here draws to a close," Brad retorted with anger, distancing himself.
"Whither are you bound?" Caleb inquired.
"This man is either a lunatic or unduly insolent. He grants no answers regarding the sorceress Charlotta. He merely toys with us through tales of yore and embellished speech. I wish not to engage with such individuals," Brad replied.
Ilberius emitted another vexing laughter. "You are yet too verdant, young knight," he said, rising from the ancient tombstone. "Remember this until our paths converge again: You shall not glean answers from me when you lack the sagacity to pose the apt inquiries." He released a deep sigh and continued, "However, since you persist, allow me to assume the role of a seer and impart a message unto you. Should you impede the sorceress's departure from this city, you imperil your comrade. Preserve your life for a future clash. You shall encounter the woman once more. Yet, do the answers you seek truly reside within her?"
Brad hesitated, coming to a momentary pause in his steps. The thought of turning back and delving deeper into their inquiries flickered in his mind. However, an ingrained disdain for seers and fortune-tellers kept him at bay. He abhorred their elusive methods of divining the future, and he had no desire to entertain the prospects they conjured. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he chose to let it go.
Caleb hastened to catch up with the knight, offering apologies to the venerable ghost. Side by side, the pair navigated through the labyrinthine corridors. Brad sniffed the air, and it was then that Caleb's keen eye discerned tendrils of smoke gracefully wafting from the knight's nostrils.
"Has the ambient temperature plummeted, or is it merely a figment of my imagination?" pondered the halfling sorcerer aloud. If he could, he would tighten his belt and raise his collar, seeking solace within the enveloping warmth of his woolen robes.
Brad cast a sidelong glance at him and spoke in a tone of warning, "Never subject me to the presence of such charlatans again, Caleb."
"Indeed, Ilberius may exhibit moments of derangement, but he does possess occasional utility. I concede he was unusually irritable today," Caleb defended.
Silent moments ensued as they continued their path until they reached the very spot where Brad's eyes had first opened, the chill in the air causing Caleb to shudder intermittently along their journey.
Standing amidst the hushed sanctuary of the library's secret subterranean chamber, Brad gazed upward at the vaulted ceiling. "What course of action shall we undertake now?" he inquired.
"The influence of the Averan powder seems to have waned. Close your eyes and conjure the image of this room within your mind. Concentrate with unwavering focus, affirming resolutely that this odyssey has reached its conclusion. When you feel prepared, open your eyes," Caleb instructed.
"Is that all?"
"That is all."
Brad sealed his eyes shut, immersing himself in the imagery of rousing within the Scholars’ Lounge. The tapestry of floor cushions, the crackle of the petite brazier, the intricately carved dragon figurine, and the panoramic vista through the alcove—drenched in the fiery crimson embrace of the sun. And in the theater of his mind, the countenance of a green-eyed, flame-haired enchantress materialized, lithely pirouetting with ethereal grace. A knowing smile graced his lips.
Caleb, keenly observing Brad, softly uttered, "Twirling glyphs, oh it could be runes." He pressed on, "Do you conjure visions of ensorcelled runes?" Unbeknownst to Brad, his words slipped past him. "These glyphs or runes exude vitality, undulating and writhing akin to serpents entwining your arm. Living sigils," Caleb faltered. "A frigid, bone-chilling sensation, an unsettling discord," he babbled, then reached out to graze Brad's right arm.
Instantaneously, Caleb was propelled toward the far recesses of the chamber—a distant realm, unfathomably remote. It descended upon him like a somber curtain...
And the knight had vanished, long since departed.
"This absurdity reaches inconceivable heights," Caleb cursed, desperately striving to refocus his efforts on reawakening within the Scholars’ Lounge.
Yet, all his endeavors proved futile. His eyelids grew leaden, burdened by the weight of an ineffable anguish besieging his thoughts.
How could one concentrate in such an environment?
His teeth clattered, and his frame quivered uncontrollably. The biting chill permeated the air, mercilessly bitter. The final tableau etched in his mind featured Ilberius, grinning enigmatically from a distance.