Words of a Lord
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Venturing down the hall a bit, you travel deeper into the wooded sanctum within the outward world of animalistic rage and predatory aggression. Taking one quiet, cautious step after another, you come to a door to your right. Half-open in a kind of silent invitation, you peer inside as much as possible without disturbing the door; and in front of your eyes stands a study of an almost amazing extravagance, within which one could perform any act of silent concentration without difficulty. Along the entire back wall is a window that stretches from floor to ceiling, revealing a pacific scene of a small river with a cobblestone bridge leading across.... Beyond that stands the forest and in the distance of the horizon are the Auroura Mountains...and in the mid-afternoon sunshine can be seen several birds flying jubilant in the cloudless skies...
 Taking another look around the library, you absorb into your mind what must be an accumulation of dozens, perhaps hundreds of books, all neatly arranged on the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves which line the walls to the left and the right of an oaken desk that occupies the center of the room, facing toward the doorway you still stand in. On the desktop is a leather encased book, open to a passage of neatly written manuscript in small print you almost cannot read, though it is quite legible once you move around to view its contents, most of which appears to be poetry of some kind, unsure if it is proper to do such, but remembering there is no one around, you take a seat...and prepare to read a little bit....
You close the notebook as you finish the last part of the final passage written within the encase, a soft flapping sound heard as the leather cover slaps onto the papers. Blinking a moment as you sit alone in the silent chamber of the library, you try to gather your thoughts, wondering a bit to yourself about the sanity of the thing called love....
Shaking your head, you allow your eyes to wonder down to the book that lays motionless atop the desk, the embrosed runes of elven origin shimmering a bit in the soft light from outside, the translation that of Lord Andur Kahedrin Palamedes Loire. Chuckling lightly at the seemingly long title, you push from the seat you earlier commandeered and move to depart the chamber, but a brief glance at the fourth wall, the one you had not looked upon earlier, catches your attention ....
A young lass of no more than seventeen or eighteen, twenty at most, and most likely the Lady Sahyber Loire, kneels in observation of something unseen in the painting, her gaze being cast beyond the edge of the cliff she perches upon. Behind her stands a man of simlar winters in age, tall and ominous in his stature as though he were the sole guardian of the woman warrior, solely charged with the daunting task of keeping her safe from the atrocities of the world. And faintly, in the distant background, melded into the rendered clouds is the super-imposed facade of another man, though this man holds some resemblance to a demon of some kind, his gaze hard, icy...almost on fire behind a threatening glare. Any who know the face know it to be one quite familiar to Lord Andur and Lady Sahyber Loire, one quite infamous in the records of Torlist....
Shuddering slightly with a mild discomfort, you move on, once again stepping into the hallway, a hand reaching out and closing the door behind your quiet footfalls. Looking left and then right, you wonder which direction to take, whether to continue down the hall...or to depart the abode....
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