Elen Galad
Serf
- Local time
- Today 5:21 AM
- Messages
- 5
- Age
- 34
As you enter the grand archive, you pass the austere reliefs set into the gothic stone and metal work decorating the foyer, and descend down a curling staircase into the bowls of the windowless building. A ghost orb; a floating ball of ethereal light, hovers near you, illuminating the way with it's soft, heatless glow. As you descend, you pass landings lit by lanterns of iron and glass with ghost orbs floating inside them. The lanterns flank yawning arched doorways that lead to huge cavernous halls filled to their vaulted celings with shelves upon shelves of tomes, collected works in sequenced volumes, loosely piled scrolls and parchments, and bound texts of every conceivable size and density. Down and down you go, passing these portals that lead deeper and deeper into this overwhelmingly vast repository of knowledge and history. You can't even begin to fathom the arcane filing and cataloging systems that must be nessesary to navigate such a baffling ocean of record.
After what seems like an eternity, the ghost orb directs you off the stairs and down a side corridor that seems as if it were cut from the solid black basalt that forms the structure around you. It leads you to a door set into a small alcove, and you open it.
I hold up a hand as you enter, not looking up from the enourmous book on my lectern, onto the page of which I am scrawling with a foutain nibbed quill. My office is a large, dome shaped space with racks and shelves of it's own, all packed with books and scrolls just as the great troves above, but here, the collections spill out onto the floor, stuff the corners and dominate most of the free space. The office is lit with ghost orb lamps, but these glow a soft, amber light like dull flame rather than the sterile blue white of the one that led you here. I finally set my quill down and look up at you. I am an unremarkable man of average hight, a stocky build, and wearing a pair of simple khaki pants with black loafers and a button up grey shirt.
I move around my desk, noticing that the two chairs facing it are piled with books.
"Sorry, workload is a bit overgrown at the moment. Please, sit. Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? No? Alright. Ah, sorry again, one moment." I stumble as I move to clear some space on my desk so I can see you. You notice that there is a glossy black type writer, as well as a very corporate looking computer tower buried under books and loose leaf. The monitor sits on the dark hardwood desk, it's screen saver dully cycling away, looking out of place next to all the paper and archaic asthetic if the entire facility.
I sit at my desk and notice you eyeing the anacronistic tech.
"Ah," I muse, " Seems odd, huh? I know this place looks positively antediluvian, but I assure you, the bulk of this repository is stored on building sized server stacks further below. All the paper here is more out of tradition and respect for athetics than anything."
I adjust some parchment on my desk.
"So, you being allowed down here must mean you are after some pretty obscure information huh?...Oh, is that really why you're here? I never would have guessed," I say, fidgeting with a pen.
"Me? Oh no, you wouldn't be interested in me. I'm just an archivist, a repositor, first class. But given why you are here, I'd guess my status as a Loremaster Adeptus is more relevant to you. "
I listen to you relate the search that brought you to my antichamber.
"Oh," I say, with an air of slight surprise,"You want to know about him."
I get up and disappear into my private stacks for a long moment. When I return, I lay a thick tome on the desk and sit back down. I also wake up the computer and pull up a file in the catalog program.
"While it's true I'm assigned to keep record of his...activities, he has become a pet project of mine. I've collected all I can from him through interviews and other means, and in fact he has wrote many works in this very library. But truth be told, there is far more I don't know about him...and I'm considered the authority. "
I chuckle and shake my head at the irony and drama of it all.
"Anyway, if you want to know ABOUT him, I guess you're in the right place. Why did I say about? Well, because you won't know him by learning anything here. Sure, I can give you information: His name is Elen Galad, he is human, so far as we know, he's 2.038 meters tall, and weighs 253 kilos, grey hair, blue eyes, tattoos covering his back, left arm and shoulder, many MANY scars, a cross shaped one in particular over his right eye," I gesture at my own face for emphasis, "I can tell you that he is ageless, an immortal being who is exempt from the normal flow of time...well, expelled is a better term. His immortality is a curse, you see? It's not some great power, it's his punishment."
I tap the pen on the desk as you ask.
"Well, waaaay back before this universe was even born, I think maybe the third cycle? He commited some pretty terrible crimes. That was only when he was alive. After death, he apparently did something so unspeakable, the Almighty banned him from the afterlife all together, cursing him to an immortal life of hardship and suffering, cursed to taste pain of death and rebirth over and over again until he can atone for his sin."
I wait for the inevitable question.
"I can't tell you what he did. Partly because I wouldn't be allowed to, but mainly because I just don't know. Its been so many countless eons since it happened that the only record of it is kept by the Secularus Ademica, and the Heratus Repositorum, and even those are incomplete. The only ones that know the truth are the archangels, and the high diabolicus of the first choir."
I drum my fingers on the cover of the thick book for a moment.
"But that is all just data. It's a crunchy garnish, providing texture but no filling substance. No, if you want to get to the meat of it, of you want to know him, you need to meet him. Spend time with him. Let him tell you these stories himself...but, in the mean time," I tap the book, "Learning a bit about him before hand won't hurt."
The big book creaks and crackles as I open it. The pages shuff softly as I turn through the blank headers.
"So, shall we get started?"
After what seems like an eternity, the ghost orb directs you off the stairs and down a side corridor that seems as if it were cut from the solid black basalt that forms the structure around you. It leads you to a door set into a small alcove, and you open it.
I hold up a hand as you enter, not looking up from the enourmous book on my lectern, onto the page of which I am scrawling with a foutain nibbed quill. My office is a large, dome shaped space with racks and shelves of it's own, all packed with books and scrolls just as the great troves above, but here, the collections spill out onto the floor, stuff the corners and dominate most of the free space. The office is lit with ghost orb lamps, but these glow a soft, amber light like dull flame rather than the sterile blue white of the one that led you here. I finally set my quill down and look up at you. I am an unremarkable man of average hight, a stocky build, and wearing a pair of simple khaki pants with black loafers and a button up grey shirt.
I move around my desk, noticing that the two chairs facing it are piled with books.
"Sorry, workload is a bit overgrown at the moment. Please, sit. Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? No? Alright. Ah, sorry again, one moment." I stumble as I move to clear some space on my desk so I can see you. You notice that there is a glossy black type writer, as well as a very corporate looking computer tower buried under books and loose leaf. The monitor sits on the dark hardwood desk, it's screen saver dully cycling away, looking out of place next to all the paper and archaic asthetic if the entire facility.
I sit at my desk and notice you eyeing the anacronistic tech.
"Ah," I muse, " Seems odd, huh? I know this place looks positively antediluvian, but I assure you, the bulk of this repository is stored on building sized server stacks further below. All the paper here is more out of tradition and respect for athetics than anything."
I adjust some parchment on my desk.
"So, you being allowed down here must mean you are after some pretty obscure information huh?...Oh, is that really why you're here? I never would have guessed," I say, fidgeting with a pen.
"Me? Oh no, you wouldn't be interested in me. I'm just an archivist, a repositor, first class. But given why you are here, I'd guess my status as a Loremaster Adeptus is more relevant to you. "
I listen to you relate the search that brought you to my antichamber.
"Oh," I say, with an air of slight surprise,"You want to know about him."
I get up and disappear into my private stacks for a long moment. When I return, I lay a thick tome on the desk and sit back down. I also wake up the computer and pull up a file in the catalog program.
"While it's true I'm assigned to keep record of his...activities, he has become a pet project of mine. I've collected all I can from him through interviews and other means, and in fact he has wrote many works in this very library. But truth be told, there is far more I don't know about him...and I'm considered the authority. "
I chuckle and shake my head at the irony and drama of it all.
"Anyway, if you want to know ABOUT him, I guess you're in the right place. Why did I say about? Well, because you won't know him by learning anything here. Sure, I can give you information: His name is Elen Galad, he is human, so far as we know, he's 2.038 meters tall, and weighs 253 kilos, grey hair, blue eyes, tattoos covering his back, left arm and shoulder, many MANY scars, a cross shaped one in particular over his right eye," I gesture at my own face for emphasis, "I can tell you that he is ageless, an immortal being who is exempt from the normal flow of time...well, expelled is a better term. His immortality is a curse, you see? It's not some great power, it's his punishment."
I tap the pen on the desk as you ask.
"Well, waaaay back before this universe was even born, I think maybe the third cycle? He commited some pretty terrible crimes. That was only when he was alive. After death, he apparently did something so unspeakable, the Almighty banned him from the afterlife all together, cursing him to an immortal life of hardship and suffering, cursed to taste pain of death and rebirth over and over again until he can atone for his sin."
I wait for the inevitable question.
"I can't tell you what he did. Partly because I wouldn't be allowed to, but mainly because I just don't know. Its been so many countless eons since it happened that the only record of it is kept by the Secularus Ademica, and the Heratus Repositorum, and even those are incomplete. The only ones that know the truth are the archangels, and the high diabolicus of the first choir."
I drum my fingers on the cover of the thick book for a moment.
"But that is all just data. It's a crunchy garnish, providing texture but no filling substance. No, if you want to get to the meat of it, of you want to know him, you need to meet him. Spend time with him. Let him tell you these stories himself...but, in the mean time," I tap the book, "Learning a bit about him before hand won't hurt."
The big book creaks and crackles as I open it. The pages shuff softly as I turn through the blank headers.
"So, shall we get started?"