unfinishedlibrary | They say the gods never give us more than we can handle

Who: Editors, with a guest Assistant or two
What: The Library begins to change once more
When: The two weeks leading up to the next Story
Where: The Library, obvi
Content warnings: Please add content warnings to threads!

Once again, the Library begins to change. The wooden floor becomes more like cobblestone (complete with ‘the ability to trip you up easily if you’re not watching your step’), and there’s some little flags that look like the kind of things you’d get handed at a festival. As the week goes on, little carts and stalls pop up around the Library - most don’t have anything, but there are a few where some familiar ‘faces’ pop up to offer their wares. It’s mostly rocks. Some of them are shiny, at least?

The customary ‘Back In 5’ sign is now missing from the assistant's desk, and in its place sits one of said Assistants. Additionally, there is the now expected sign on the circulation desk: “This week’s Recommended Reading: Paladin’s Grace!” Unlike the previous readings, it seems this one is fairly straightforward in that there’s no mix-up of copies or alternate forms of media. However, on request, it does seem that there are some sequels available for reading as well.

Available are also an assortment of other books, such as What Kings Ate And Wizards Drank by Krista Ball, Livre de Chevalerie by Geoffroi de Charny, and Life In A Medieval Castle by Frances and Joseph Gies. There is a waiting list pinned by these; the intention is clearly to share and not squirrel them away. Off to one side is The Forme of Cury, which the Library is NOT automatically translating into something more legible; some may have to ask for help to riddle out its many, many recipes. Religious symbols of countless faiths sit on walls or propped on top of bookshelves and even in the kitchenette and sleeping area, from a set of ornate old-fashioned merchant's scales to the Eye of Horus and even ... a colander full of spaghetti … ?

There's a new door added to the rotating locations, a scrawled note taped to it reading "Stop breaking things!" This door leads directly to an endless forest, with a cheerful clearing, soft grass and pleasant birdsong. Some lucky souls will recognize it as the current iteration of the Safe Room, now freely accessible from inside the library; coming and going is now effortless! That is, unless someone's sent there via destruction of property or injuring someone else, at which point they must wait out the usual duration. The day and night cycle remains, but now and again the sky clouds over, and pleasant spring rains sweep across the forest. These same rain showers are a regular occurrence in the garden for the next two weeks, at a rate of one every two days or so, lasting a little while before fading back to the usual climate and "weather".

The kitchenette is offering a change in food items; there's now a variety of hard cheeses, breads and salted meats to pick from, as well as dried fruit, pickles, eggs, river-fish, porridges of assorted forms, and uncooked roasts. Unfortunately things to actually cook the roasts with, like ovens or even a fire, haven't been provided alongside them. Drinks have changed to a small selection of rustic wines and extremely watered down ales. (Water is of course freely available.) The Laundry has acquired a large wooden tub and a washboard.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Guilliman's newest worries about Konrad have not been allayed. But several salient points have been made that have talked him down from his previous uncharacteristic aggression, to just a silent, unnerving fixation on trying to spot the spirit-creature whenever he's in Curze's proximity.

This night, he makes his way into the dormitories, and sees that Konrad's bed is occupied, the curtains of magical darkness drawn to keep any light from intruding on his brother's sleep. Because he is sleeping. How often has Konrad ever slept? But now...

Roboute exhales softly, lips pressed together. What does he do about this? What can he do about this?

What should he do...?

A fully justified aggression, for anyone who can tell exactly what that creature is, alternately hidden in the feathers of his black cloak or coiled around his throat like a torc. So few could. So few would understand.

It hid when it knew Guilliman was watching.

Unlike Curze, who has spent his entire life rarely able to sleep and truly rest, it has no need for sleep but feigns it easily enough, little more than a dark coil of scales tucked under his chin, close enough to easily fulfil its purpose of mitigation and suppression. So few called on a tutelary to do anything but gain more power and prestige.

In the magic-cast dark, crimson eyes slit open to watch Roboute warily, gleams of sanguine where there should be only shadow.

Konrad doesn't so much as twitch.

Konrad does not move. Konrad does not wake. It is only Roboute, and the creature.

He meets its little ruby eyes. He does not aggress upon it -- not yet, not with Konrad sleeping, not with him right there -- but he does not look away. He can be just as patient as you, daemon.

The silence and stillness is uninterrupted for nearly twenty minutes before it uncoils slowly, silently, raising itself up enough to study the Avenging Son a little better, braced on its front larger set of wings, batlike ears forward.

Roboute hasn't taken advantage of the quiet, of Curze's stillness. Rousing him out of sleep at this point would be difficult, a prime time to strike.

The Night Haunter is not awake to hear it prove his belief that it is unintelligent wrong, in a voice like water dripping in dark places far beneath the earth. "I know you, prince with a thousand enemies. Greetings and defiance."

The daemon -- tutelary-- has so far only helped Konrad. Roboute understands, of course, the scales of time that the neverborn can operate on. A 'long game' for them can last generations. But if he stays vigilant, too, as his brother reaps the benefits...

It meets his eyes. It rises up. And brave little thing that it is, it speaks to him.

He answers. Only in a whisper. He will not wake his brother.

"Greetings and defiance," he echoes, enjoying the honesty of it. "Greetings and permission. I already permit you to exist. You know why. What more do you think to gain from addressing me?"

Either it's very good at acting or it's a false display of courage, because it flinches when he actually responds, as if fully expecting an attack at any moment.

When such potential aggression doesn't come, it doesn't really settle much. "You are enemy of my enemies, we surely have the same goals. Can we not be civil? Killing me will only do harm, after all."

Civil, with daemons? Never.

"And what goals do you think those to be, that I would share?" He sneers. "I have lived what my brothers yet have not, creature. I have seen what your masters wish to make of us."

The little ears perk back up. "Hope for a better future."

And terribly, it doesn't seem to be lying. There's some strange guileless innocence to words undercut with malevolent interest, but not deception. "The blind darkness is my master, no other. Your time is dark and terrible, I have seen it in his dreams. The hated Grandfather and vilest Lord of Skulls are winning. All drowns in despair and blood." It raises itself up a little more, a shadow with eyes. "They are my enemy too, and the Princess of Perversion."

Guilliman hates how his hearts stutter. Damn this creature. Is that not what he's been chasing, since being brought to the library?

But he knows what liars daemons are. He already sees holes in this one's claims.

"The blind darkness I do not know," he admits. And there is, unfortunately, a note of intrigue in his voice. Not enough to distract him from the rest of its words. "But I know the one you did not name as an enemy. With all you say, you claim the Lord of Change has no power over you?"

It is, very significantly, not a complete or violent rejection. Not yet.

There is a little bit of a victory here, and it knows it. It hasn't been struck down, and it's being listened to.

A door cracked open is all it needs, it'll keep working on that little opening. Its long body swivels, to regard the sleeping pale primarch, untroubled by endless clawing nightmares. "You do, but not by that name. I have bound my fate with he who made me." It settles itself a little better, coils shifting in the little space it's found at the hollow between Curze's chin and throat. "Mighty Tzeench is not an enemy. He is the bringer of hope, he is the clearing at the end of the path. If a better outcome is desired, then he is your friend, for under his countless eyes all may change, and hope is never out of reach."

Proselytizing. To a primarch. "The Architect of New Tomorrows did not send me here. There are those even of his servants who do not think you and your kind deserve the gift of opportunity to undo your fates, and sought to interfere with my creation." The ruby eyes narrow, little hood briefly flaring like the agitated cobra it looks like, tiny sharp teeth bared.

They say the gods never give us more than we can handle - Library Log

wildcard;

no subject

no subject

i should get a snek icon.

you shooould ~

there i got one

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject