Post
by waysoftheearth » Sun Aug 01, 2010 11:04 pm
waysoftheearth wrote:
Flewellen; The Traders' Concourse
Several of the merchants' bodyguards keep a watchful eye on Flewellen as he passes by, but none more to intercept him. And nor do any of the gathered soldiery accost him with anything sterner than a few quips, "Take a bath mister," snickers one, and "Filthy togs went out of fashion last year," jokes another.
But Flewellen keeps his head down and strides through the enormous double doors into the vast lobby of The Traders' Concourse.
The floor within is a broad check of black and white polished marble. Elegantly carved columns reach upward across regularly spaced arches that embrace dozens of regal looking doors and support a mezzanine level and a lofty domed ceiling, above. Despite its imposing size, the hall is incredible quiet. Each of Flewellen's foot steps crunch audibly upon the grit on his muddy boots.
"Can I help you?" hacks a severe voice that sounds like it sincerely hopes not.
Flewellen looks about to locate the speaker, and sees at last a withered old concierge in stiff and formal collared shirt and waistcoat with a pair of tiny brass spectacles upon his hawk-nose glaring at him unhappily.
Flewellen asks the whereabouts of the library as politely as he is able, in reply to which the concierge looks him over with obvious distaste before explaining that "The library is down stairs -- take the fourth door to the left of the main audience hall." before rattling off an impressive list of rules and restrictions. "The library is open to the public only for the hour before and after noon. A member of the public must always be accompanied by a librarian whilst in the library. No food nor drink shall be taken into the library. No texts shall be removed from the library. No texts of the library shall be marked or defaced. No open flames shall be lit in the library..." and he rasps on and on until Flewellen's ears are full to overflowing.
When at last the concierge is done with his rules, the salient information is revealed.
"But before you go you must purchase a Study Permit," mutters the grumpy concierge, "Which will cost a silver shilling each day, or a gold crown for a week. Here, fill in this application," he opens an enormous and dusty tome on the desk and presents Flewellen with a quill and ink pot.
Flewellen sees that each page of the book is divided into a number of applications for study permits. Each asks after a name, an address, a patron, a date and the purpose of the study. Clearly hundreds of such applications have been made in the past, but Flewellen does not recognise any of the names he sees inked on the open page before him...
[f=32]
Golgildir the Elf Medium (MV 12", AC 9, HD 1, hp 1/1, AL N) great cloak,
lantern; spells: color spray; scrolls: sleep, sleep, charm person
Hirelings: Georges;
torch[/f]