T'Eagon Krill climbed the steep, stone steps that wound upwards to the solar of the keep. Broccaded longcoat without collar or lapels hung with hems to his shins and calves. A double breasted vest and a shirt beneath were a rich green woven with intricate patterns of black symbols runnning smoothly along the tapered edges of his longcoat. The man was reedy without much muscle or fat to his bones. A face that was hollowed at the cheeks, guant enough to darken the blue flesh of his cheeks. His brows were thick black and grey, but like all others of his race, his head was without hair and the skin there was mottled with a unique pattern to it as if it were a singular way to identify another of that kind by it.

He ignored the doors that would have led him to the first two levels and continued until the third one was reached. Boots heavily shuffed against stone floor as he reached the top and lanky strides carried him to the door of that third platform. The side of his fist pounded on the door then opened it without waiting for anyone within to answer.

The smell of parchment, leather, and ink washed over him imediately upon entering the room. It was not a square room but completely circular in creation. To his left were wide, short windows with panes of glass that were slightly amber in their tint to diffuse the harsh light of the day as the suns' light in Arhkos Minott was brighter than most lands one might travel into.

Shelves hollowed into the smooth walls themselves held hundreds of books, scrolls, stacks of parchments, inks, quills, boxes of bottles that held scribing sands, and more. More leather- and cloth-bound books were stacked on the flagstone floors near the shelves. Three tables stood stoutly at the center of the large room with several tables with slender, tall-back chairs that had now armrests to them. Every one of the tables

In one of the heavily carved chairs sat a lithe woman. T'Eagon paused at the open door without saying a word, watching the scribe. He noticed the soft, crackling pattern of the female's head that was evident as she was bent over the journals, papers, ink and quills.

When Soran lifted her head, eyes slipped upwards from T'Eagon's boots to his face. She frowned at first to not have heard his entrance. Smoothly, she rose and bowed to him from the waist before standing patiently between the chair and the table. Blue lengths of fingers with faint black at the ends rested lightly near the papers.

"You honor me." Soran mentioned as if she were stating that the it might rain. "No courier to bring and carry a missive to you?"

T'Eagon's finally stepped away from the door, but not before closing it. "I am not here to send a message, Isa Soran. I am sending you."

Soberly, she watched T'Eagon move towards the door. When he was gone, she walked to the door and soundly closed it. Hands to her hips, she twisted slightly to eye the library. She hung her head a moment, then shook it very slowly. Then squared her shoulders and moved to one of the tables where her large, hardy leather satchel. The lid of it was thrown back and she started to fill it with papers, journal, and items to repair each if necessary. Into several smaller carrying bags with hard, flat bottoms to them bottles of ink and sand along with a long, wooden case of quills filled them.

She hauled the bags over her shoulders. Even the bags of coins were taken with her as she moved down to the second level of the keep where her bed and bathing chambers were. All of the bags were put to the end of her bed.

Clothes, circlets and headdresses were packed. Two cloaks were rolled into neat bundles. And boots and shoes were added to the pile on the bed.

It was of little surprise when Porslin came to stand in the arched doorway of Soran's antichamber of her rooms. She was a short, plump woman with mottling to her head that was dark, reflecting the upset in the older woman's gaze. The woman had served Soran in making certain the keep was clean and tended to, allowing the scribe to concentrate on her duties. Soran watched Porslin take up a few of the smaller bags to her shoulers and pressed the rolled cloaks to her full bossom. Without a word, she took them downstairs to where a horse waited.

"Three moon-cycles." Months before she might see him again. Months he would be married by then. She lifted her jaw and set about gathering the rest of her things. There would be no waiting until tomorrow. To put it off would make matters harder for him as well as herself.

Another look about her chambers, she stepped for the door and out it. When she made her way into the yard of the keep, she found Porslin there. Her eyes were red and her face glistened with tears. Soran neared her to place a light, gentle hand upon the woman's shoulder. "Three moon-cycles, Porslin. It is not forever."

"But it will seem like it." Murmured out by Porslin, she swiped at the tears on her face.

"See to the keep. There are papers in the library that need to be put away. The keep will need a cleaning of all rooms. Do not forget the stairs.. " Soran barely remembered what she told the woman, but her tone was to ease Porslin as if she were a frightened animal. Another touch to her arm, she turned to put the items to her horse and mounted it with practiced ease.

She sat upon the back of the horse and turned a look from Porslin and the keep, out towards the lands in the direction of where the travelling portal stood. Though she couldn't see it from present distance, she knew where it was.

"Travel safely, Isa."

Soran glanced down to the weeping woman and smiled upon her. "I will, Porslin. Take ease, I will be back at times to bring the stories that our Sovran wants."

With a resolve to the task, she would travel into the lands demanded of her. What there was to find was yet to be seen and heard. Booted heels nudged against the ribs of the horse to encourage him into movement in the direction of the travelling portal. She sat proudly atop the horse, the suns harsh but accustomed to with its rays heating her head and face. Another nudge to the horse, her blue hand at the reins, she headed to the portal and RhyDin.

Coins passed hands and a key was handed over.

The scribe moved towards the stairs that led to the second level of the inn. The lengthy travelling cloak flowed about the calves and shins of her boots as she took the stairs.

When she stepped into the room, she closed the door behind her. A turn of her blue fleshed head, she scoured a look over every inch of the area to note any cracks in the wall, mouse holes, the dirty panes of the clear glass belonging to the window, the thin and short bed and the rest of the furniture within. Boots softly met with the floor, moving towards the table where the bags were set.

She shed the cloak and hung it to the wall then crossed the room to the window. Curtains were pushed aside to allow the pale light inside. The alley was her view below, but beyond that she would see rooftops of several buildings.

There was but one sun in these lands, bringing a paler light that the scribe was used to. She squinted a little, as if that would help her see the view out of the window somewhat better.

Pacing the room, her hands met with her hips. Her mood was mulling and pensive. Emotions rose and rolled though her until she put her hands to the table and leaned to her palms. Soran hung her head, causing the red stone on her circlet to dangle gently.

When she looked to the larger of the bags on the table, she stood and untied it. The bag was opened and the supplies were neatly arranged on the table. From parchment to quills with care, as if item was fragile and priceless. When things were arranged, she unpacked her clothing and put them to the plain chest of drawers provided.

The braided, leather circlet was adjusted where it was about her head, then stepped out of the room to wander down the steps into the common room of the inn.

A drink was ordered of hot, mint tea. While she plucked a piece of leaf from it, the scribe moved through the room to the area where the notices were tacked and nailed. The languages were hard to decipher at first and the handwriting of some were completely unrecognizable as words. But the notice of tender was taken from the wall and eyed closely.

While she drank the tea, the scrap of parchment was folded and tucked into a pocket of her britches. She would speak with the one who wrote it in a day or so.

For now, she finished the tea and put the empty cup to the counter before she headed for the door and out for a venture through the city.

Visit To RhyDin's Library

For a few weeks, she had walked on foot or ridden on horseback to venture through the great, sprawling RhyDin. Towering buildings, scrunched and hunched made of wood and tack were as prevalent as monumental, stone and mortar ones.

When she thought that few trees or bushes were allowed to grow in the area, she found a few near the Marketplace and some by the well-known river. But all were blanketed lightly, at times, in this wintry season with snow. Cold, crystaline-designed flakes that floated down from blue-grey clouds. She found that if they contacted with her hand, they immediately melted to water. Another story for the Sovran. Nothing of it would be found in her homelands.

She was thinking on the snow, watching the most minute bits of it flit and float down from the sky and come to rest on the cobbled road before her. The hunting leather had been traded for sturdier, warmer britches and shirt. A heavy cloak was purchased and donned over a long vest of wool. One of her hat crowned her mottled, bare-fleshed head with cloth seeping down from the back of the cap to cover her head and neck there. With gloves on naturally blue hands, she stepped down from the steps of the Red Dragon Inn's porch to the road before her.

Word had reached her ears of the great library of RhyDin. She would not pass up an opportunity to see a feable one, let alone the chance to step into one that had been esteemed by several patrons already as having few in the know worlds to rival it.

Another look over her shoulder to the inn, then pressed on in the cold and snow in the direction of the Library.

At some point, she had shed the cloak and dropped it neglagently over the back of an overstuffed chair. Several books had been pulled from the shelves, as random as possible for now.

She looked at the way the books were formed and created, what sort of inks may have been used, even to the leather that bound them on the outside. Some had scriptive artwork along pages' edges while others were little more than scribblings of a madman.

The scribe had taken a seat at some point, though she didn't recall doing so. Books and scrolls, map all were scattered to a table before her. She had grabbed up a handful of pages from her pack and was doing some scribbling of her own. Mere notes, thoughts, questions. All that led her to looking at more.

When she looked up, she had to look a second time. The windows had gone dark and the hours had slipped away without her notice. She stood and languidly stretched, knuckling the small of her back as she did.

But she wasn't leaving. This was far too interesting. And unless T'Eagon came looking for her or the fifth-day of the week was upon her, she was staying put for now. Isa stretched her legs and moved through the grand library again. She tipped her head back to even look at the ceiling before moving off to find candles or an oil lamp.

Lengthy fingers pulled the woolen vest about her upper torso as she finally sat back in the chair. Her head lowered and she looked to the cap and its capcloth sitting on the table nearby. It was nearly lost amongst all the books and papers. She reached out to take up the end of the finely embroidered, heavy linen capcloth. None here seems to wear hats or caps much atop their heads, though she had seen two to speak of. It was a lovely cap with the skill of a Theosian?s hand of thousands of stitches of hundreds of hours of work to it.

Did they move at such a determined, slow pace here? It did not seem so. In a hurry, off to the docks, marketplace, travelling from one place to another. She made a mental note to visit the marketplace again, specifically a dressmaker or tailor to spin a few questions towards them.

Soran had never been one to speak too long until something was on her mind. She was not a woman of prattle or small-talk, though she was exercising those areas she lacked when helping at the Red Dragon. As she leaned within the chair, it was a gracefully poised position that she paid little mind to. Her thoughts were elsewhere.

Light, green-blue eyes found the aged man behind another table. While one hand turned a page of the rather large volume he was scouring, she noted a leg of some fowl in the fist of his other.

With the sight of it, her stomach growled. Eyes gave a blink and full lips frowned. Had she not eaten since dawn?

?Foolish woman. What good does it do you to learn if you lose time from not eating?? Softly, she chided herself and gathered herself up. Her hands were wiped against an already ink-stained cloth she had with her most days. But the ink on her fingers seemed to always be there and the action merely habitual.

She frowned to have to leave everything there, but where it was she left it until her return. The cloak was drawn into place and her cap with its capcloth was donned. Another look to all of the papers and books was given before she moved for the door of the library and out of it to seek a very late-hour dinner.

From the folds of the cloak, her hand moved and arm moved out to snag firmly at coarse, cloth of what the person wore. She dragged him over as her other hand pushed at opposite shoulder and spun the smaller form about.

Seagreen eyes looked down into wide, brown eyes of the blond-haired child. He looked all of ten years, but she could not be certain with the malnourished appearance. His clothes were at least two sizes too big, and a layer of dirt on his face and neck brought a frown from her. "You follow too closely. And you are much too loud to go unnoticed."

It didn't seem to be anything the boy expected. His eyes remained wide and his jaw had dropped. Stammering at first, he finally nodded.

"Are you a Cut-purse come to take my coin, child?"

The boy's eyes widened a bit more and he hurriedly shook his head. When Soran felt no resistance from him with her hand on his shoulder, she straightened to stand to her full height and put her hands to hips; pushing the side of her cloak behind her a bit.

"Well then? Why do you follow me?"

Several long moments of silence passed. She watched as his cheeks against the lower portion next to his jaw colored as his stomach spoke for him. "I see." Though it was more the case that was not seen, but heard. "I am on my way to eat. " Isa moved to step away, but pulled up short and eyed the boy again. "Eating alone is a poor habit for anyone to be in. You are welcome to join me."

There was hope in the boy's gaze that touched some part of the scribe's heart. But she took care not to frown at him again when his stomach was heard rumbling. She gestured her left hand off to the side, back towards the street thay had been walking moments ago. "It is my understanding that the Red Dragon Inn does not close its doors or its kitchen. If there is no cook, we will still find something to fill our bellies."

As she spoke of possible meals that she had seen the patrons eating, some of which she had enjoyed since her arrival weeks ago, she slowed her gaite to ensure that she did not out-pace the boy.

"Meat and bread." She nodded her bare-fleshed, mottled head to herself. "But what sorts? Oh scribblings sur-lords, what am I to feed this boy." Isa wrapped her hands over her hips and looked about the kitchen. Lettering her hands dropped, she moved towards the cold box and took from it a platter of seasoned darkmeat someone had called beef. From it, she cut several thin slices and laid them to a plate before putting the meat away.

From the cutting table, she took a half-loaf and broke it in two. Then two again to consider her own appetite. When there was rice to add to two places, she put an apple on each and moved towards the door. It was pushed open and she emerged from the kitchen with a plate in each blue hand.

She found the boy sitting on the floor before the hearth with his knees up against his chest and his hands out to the fire for warmth. "I do not know what you like - "

The boy whipped about where he sat on the floor and scrambled to his feet but stood where he had been sitting to watch while Isa moved to a table and settled to a chair. "Well, come on. It is cold, but it should fill you well enough." Barely said in completion before the child moved for the table and was in the chair opposite of her. She placed the food before him before she realized. "Drinks. I will be back."

To her feet again, the scribe moved off towards the bar. The one in the booth still snored loudly, but the room was otherwise quiet while she took mugs from a shelf. One was filled with juice and another was filled with hot tea.

All the while, the child watched her in that return. She put the mug of juice next to his plate and retook her seat. "Slow yourself!" Isa suddenly laughed to see that half of the food she'd brought him was already gone.

With his cheeks stuffed absurdly, comically she grinned at her.

Tomas shrugged his shoulders again and his hesitation bore his obvious reluctance to offer the blue-fleshed, bald-headed woman too much. But he stared at her for a few minutes, like seeing an odd, new bug through the thick bottom of a bottle.

"No parents to talk about." When the boy finally spoke, he looked from the mottled skin of one of Isa's hands, to her gaze. "Year-age. Oh! You want know how old I am? I'm ten and what's important is staying warm and dry." Tomas gnawed on the right side of his bottom lip before answering. "And food."

"Do you have no place to stay?" Isa's tone was calm and quiet. There was really no need for lifting her voice, though the irritating sound of the drunkard's snoring. She had seen the state of his clothing and the layer of dirt on his hands and face that could do with a few scouring events.

"Of course I do!" The sudden protest was enough to make the woman he say with blink. "I-- I nap on the porch, on the swing here! When it's warm." The latter was added in afterthought at the weather. "When it's cold like this, I find sleep in the storage room of the Library."

"In the storage room." Soran's tone faded from distinct curiosity to something more sour. She leaned forward to rest her forearms to the table and twined fingers in on themselves. "It sounds to me like a very unpleasant place to sleep."

"It's not so bad." Tomas pouted and sat up a bit taller in his chair. "Books and stuff are much warmer than you'd think!"

Mildly, she smiled with a great deal of effort not to voice any mirth that might offend the child. "I am certain they bring about a certain amount of insulation. To a degree. But what I mean to say to you is that it is not a proper bed, for a boy -- or anyone -- for that matter."

Tomas toyed with the empty mug. "Don't have anywhere else..."

"This much is gathered, Tomas." She nodded and lifted a hand with her own drink in it. "I was considering what I could do to help."

"So recent a time as all that?" Soran smiled and shook her head before standing beside the table. The empty plates and mugs were collected as she moved off towards the bar, stepping between the break in the counter. "You will still need one. Any person, child or no, needs a good scouring on a regular basis. No arguments, Tomas."

The child was seen pouting as she glanced back to him. He kicked his foot lightly against the leg of the chair and then shuffed it hard against the floor. "Didn't do anything to you." Muttered under his breath as he watched her put the dishes into a soaking bin.

"No, I don't believe that I did." Said pleasantly, finding the amusement that the boy thought her being unjust at wanting him to take a bath. "Do you know where it is here? Or do I show you myself?" Her hands met with the swells of her hips, waiting for him to move to action.

Pouting, he headed off towards the bath. Until she could see him no more, she could hear him muttering under his breath. When the boy was out of sight, she crossed the near-empty common room of the three-storied and ancient establishment. As she paused to push in an errant chair, she watched the direction the boy had taken to head off for his reluctant cleaning.

Another shake of her head, she moved up the flight of stairs to the second of levels belonging to the inn. There was extra bedding to find and well enough spot on the floor somewhere for him to rest to it.

Soran turned towards the open door of her room and laughed aloud.

Tomas stood there in the doorway looking very disgruntled and highly dishevelled. His shirt stuck to him in places where he hadn't dried off entiredly. His feet were bare beneath the tattered cuffs of his britches. His hair was wet and sticking out wildly in all directions. And his hole-filled shoes were dangly from each of his hands.

"I am ...sorry, Tomas." Soran tried to swallow back her laughter. "But it was very necessary." She continued as he seemed to have more to protest over. "I have a pallett for you ready. It is not much, but better than what you say you have had. Tomorrow, I will see if that have some sort of trundle-bed or cot."

Tomas glanced around and saw the bed she'd made for him. He put his shoes down and moved off towards it. When he reached the cover and pillow, he turned back towards her. "Why?"

"Because you need it." Slender shoulder rose and fell with the semblance of a shrug, though she smiled a little.

"Don't have anything to give you for it."

"Then you can do me small favors here and there in return." Soran allowed that thought to sink in before she continued. She would not make him feel as if he had everything owed to her. "Errands to run or missives to carry."

He stood there in his bare feet and put a now clean hand to his mouth as he yawned. "It's a good trade." Tomas nodded and looked to the cover and pillow again before laying down on them.

Before the span of a three moments had passed, the boy had fallened into a hard sleep. Soran crossed the room as quietly as she could manage, pausing to pull another blanket from her bed. Bending at the knees a little, she draped the blanket over his sleeping form and croutched to watch him a while.

Frowning, she finally sat within the chair where the sturdy, leather satchel was. Ink, sand, and quill along with a few sheets of parchment were removed.

She had much to ask of Porslin and the questions began now.