Snippet #1687883

"I'll be fine here a while. Just ye remember to fetch me when ye leave," Inali said absently, her mind filled with the delicious banks of knowledge in her arms. She carefully if somewhat awkwardly made her way in search of a table, vanishing around the tall shelves. Finding the nearest broad surface she could, Inali promptly settled in. The books in her arms were carefully levered onto the table, her tunic emptied soon after. Inali then set her pack down and pulled out her inkwell and journal. The inkwell was made of stone, intended to dropped at will without mishap, the inside of the lid sealed with wax and then trussed down with corded ties. Inali took a short pen, just long enough to be comfortable for writing and fashioned from hollow wood, out of a wooden case designed to keep the tip from breaking. Laying her well and pen next to her closed journal, she began to systematically skim the books. Some had indexes at the back. Most didn't. Some of the scrolls she had to delicately coax to open. What she came across made her frown. Where she found mention of Ishtar, he was a death god. Not all pantheons held malignance in the roll. Some had it embodied by a god of all. Others held death to be the greatest kindness. It appeared that the Al Mayins, for he was indeed their god, viewed him as a neutral force accepting all who died to hold them until they had made peace with themselves and were ready to be reborn. Inali noted that down before humming to herself. The presence she had felt wasn't that of a neutral entity. It was one of pain, anger, fear and revenge. The pile she had checked was growing. She moved on to some of the older scrolls. One looked about to crumble, though it held well enough when she opened it. On trying to read it her eyebrows rose. The dialect was ancient and would be nigh incomprehensible to her companions, unless any of them had a particular scholarly interest in the ancient history of Abyssia and the Dead Dunes. It spoke of the deaths of the common people in the streets, the preist who ran amok, and the name of a diety. Ishtar. She frowned at it. There was a mention of a prophecy, but the writer hadn't deigned to write it there, instead delaying it to another scroll. Inali checked for the writer's mark anywhere. She found it on the outside, where it would be visible when the scroll was rolled and stored. She marked down what she had learned in her shorthand and the name of the writer, including a sketch of the mark. If there was a prophecy she wanted to hear it. But after she checked the other books.

After finding no more mention of Ishtar within the other tomes, she stacked the books back together and decided to leave them. The other little piles of books about didn't seem to be in order and Inali felt like giving the fussy and rude little man something to deal with. Taking the one pertinent scroll with her, she rustled back to the librarian.

"This. Where do I find the next one? There was none other with it." she asked without preamble. The man glanced up irritably, and then took another longer look at the scroll. Mouth pursed as if it held something distasteful, he peered at her myopicly.

"He hasn't been fully archived yet."

"Yet?" Inali raised a brow. "I'd the feeling this were older than my family, how's it to not be archivied.: The librarian gave her a filthy look, presumably for her questioning him and mispronouncing his words at the same time. Inali took a perverse thrill at it.

"Well why don't you go down to the unsorted collections and archive it for us?" he asked, sarcasm dripping off his tongue. "If ye knews that."

"I knews." Inali told him, fighting a smile. She turned and left, stalking along. She could faintly taste her accomplices, and with a strong degree of effort could follow them. The still nature of the library and the uncharted depths that they plunged to aided her much, making it just possible. It took a while and Inali could feel a migraine starting to threaten when she finally found the room.

She looked up at the stuffy, dark, uncared for room. She rolled her eyes at it. One of the greatest libraries in mortal hands ever known, and they couldn't even look after it properly. She understood the difficulties, but if they were to undertake something, at least do it properly. She took her latern out of her pack and hooked it onto her staff top, lighting it before she did so. Closing it carefully she felt confident she wouldn't accidentally burn the room down and entered the looming shelves. She wasn't sure she wanted the 'help' of another librarian. If nobody came down here, then perhaps she could use a divination instead. It would guide her to her target.