Tobias was relaxing in his usual corner in the library, skimming through his latest play “Brink of Believability” and refining it as he went. This newer, perfected version of the script needed to be ready for rehearsals tomorrow as he had managed to get his show performed in The Grand; a large theatre were Lomedor’s snobbiest and most expensive inhabitants floundered away their time and money. In his own opinion, the script had already reached perfection and the Theatre owner Gary only wanted more added into it to make more time so that they could squeeze an intermission in the middle of it all. However, Tobias wasn’t really complaining as an intermission meant more money and he could do with a little more in his pockets. Well, he didn’t truly need the money as he was one of the richest nobles in Lomedor already, but he needed more gold to help fund his obsessive collecting of rare artefacts and items he found in the auction house.

The author stopped reading for a moment and looked up into space, pondering for a second on whether or not it would be worth adding in what the main character did on the morning of the murder as well, when he spotted a young child staring at him from a few yards away with immense curiosity upon his face. Toby sighed and put the scrolls down on the small table beside him, and beckoned towards the child. He knew this boy very well, his name was Eric Geld and had taken the hobby of following Tobias around the Library in the hope that he could here some of his stories. The child was no doubt too lower class to be able to watch any of his performances so instead took the tactile approach of innocence to get a sneak preview of the entertainment Tobias had to offer. His puppy dog eyes gave him away when he spoke, “Please Mr author-man, could you read us a story?”

The author-man let out a light chuckle and smiled down on the youngster. “You’ve got me, have a sit down.” Tobias replied to Eric’s delight. “Aren’t you going to call the others over too? You did ask to read us a story…” he trailed off, watching the look on the young boys face change to a smug grin. He turned away from the author, raised a hand to his mouth and whistled a penetratingly high-pitched signal to his friends hiding in the library. Horrified, Tobias cried out in a muffled whisper, “Shhh!! What are you doing?! Your going to get us chucked out of here you know.” Eric looked down at his feet bashfully then muttered, “You did want me to call them sir.” as a young girl in a flowery dress stepped into view from behind a bookcase, and a younger still schoolboy revealed himself from behind one of the library’s towering columns. All three children sat down on the cold marble floor in eager anticipation.

It didn’t seem as if Tobias had much of a choice in whether he wanted to read some of his work or not. He lent over and scooped up the first of his scrolls; the first chapter of “Brink of Believability” by chance. The play itself was devised for adult enjoyment, and his literary work would not be truly appreciated by these immature ruffians, however it could still be listened to by young ears thus the Narrator began to read.



Tobias lowered the scroll to the table, and gazed upon the children’s faces. Mostly confusion was spread wide across their visage, which was as predicted of course. Shame as well, the prologue was quite horrific when performed with a cast of the finest actors in eastern Lomedor and one of the most enchanting musicians in the land to help set the scene. “Look, whatever you do not understand now will be understood when your brain’s are capable later on in life. That’s enough reading today, now shoo!” Toby said as he waved them off, then sat back down in his chair and resumed his place in his scriptures and began skimming through it once more.

Silnímarë stepped into the Parmamar Library, clad in simple black clothes, the robes of a traveler. A black cloak hung from his shoulders, with the hood down, revealing his visage. He was fair of skin, having only a slight tan, and, despite his age, he bore few wrinkles. His eyes were red as blood, and his hair was as white as the snow. He had a small goatee, neatly trimmed, of the same hue. There was a gleam in his eyes, as he saw the rows of books before him. He let out a sharp whistle, and through the door flew a multi-colored bird the size of a large hawk. It was an Anima, a sacred bird of Threnody. It perched on Silnímarë's shoulder, looking about contentedly. Silnímarë began to look through the rows of books, picking up a tattered book here and there. May of the books' titles contained the words “L' Dothkarn”. Few understood the language in which it was written, for it was the language of the Drow.

After gathering about ten or fifteen books, he made his way to a comfortable corner of the Library, and sat down in a chair, placing the books at his feet. He picked the top book up, a tattered grey tome, almost falling apart with the decay of time. As he gingerly turned from page to page, his eyes sparkling with the absorption of knowledge. He glanced up, and he noticed a man across from him, skimming over a document of some sort. The man had a peculiar appearance, with a high forehead, and sporting a rather large mustache. The man then took a moment to entertain some children, and then shooing them off.

Silnímarë smiled as he watched the children scurry off. The strange man returned to the reading of his document, and Silnímarë looked at him curiously. Whoever this man was, he seemed to be a wonderful poet, and Silnímarë was always happy to meet another of his craft. Silnímarë gently laid the book down with the others, and walked over to the man, and said, “Pardon me sir, I could not help but overhear your fine poetry. May I be so bold as to request the company of another of the craft?”

As his beady eyes skimmed over and over his handwritten scriptures, Tobias' brain was meticulously scanning past the ink and the parchment and concentrating solely on the words he had written. Did they make sense? Did the writing flow? Was it all relevant to the plotline? Did it give away the twist in the last chapter? He needed to ask himself these questions now and answer them as he knew these would be the very same questions the actors in his play would be asking him (and themselves) when they saw the final copy of his work later that evening. These words and phrases were like a holy book when strung and linked together, and would be followed to the utmost precision. Any mistake, any minor flaw would, could and should ruin the performance entirely, which is something the Narrator would simply not allow. Tobias strived for perfection and accepted nothing within an inch below it.

“Pardon me sir, I could not help but overhear your fine poetry. May I be so bold as to request the company of another of the craft?” a voice echoed through the emptiness of the library. Slowly, Toby finished the sentence he was on before looking around his seat squinting slightly to see who had called him. His eyes were caught the attention of a fairly muscular and high-ceilinged man smiling down upon him. Tobias stared at him for a second or two thinking silently to himself. His eyes glanced away, breaking eye contact momentarily and his mouth hung open absent-mindedly. “Yes.” He spoke, thinking still about his play not the man he was talking to. It was almost as if his scripts were whispering quietly to him, beckoning him to return to them, they were luring him over.

“Yes, yes of course, well, I mean… you are more than welcome to sit along side me.” He clarified, snapping himself out of his writing trance. Although he did seek to meet others who shared his craft, he was not the most sociable of adults. Children he could talk to, they were easy to please and didn’t seem to want to talk for long anyway, but in his entire working life he had never understood how different other creatures could be. Humans alone were complex organisms, he struggled to communicate appropriately with them; Half Humans, Elves, Drow, Lupine, Dwarves and Halflings were on a completely different level to him and made him feel confused as how to converse with such strange manifestations. He tried no to mix with those kind of beings and instead stuck with his own folk.

Tobias was fairly comfortable in his little corner and although he was hard at work and enjoying his solitude, he did not mind sharing brief company with ‘another of the craft’. Thinking again to himself, he stroked and curled his moustache with his left index finger and thumb and asked the question, “So you are a writer too are you? Or perhaps a performer? You don’t look like a Narrator to me, despite how we aren’t supposed to judge a book by it’s cover.” he jested waving a small book he had beside him as he exclaimed.

“Yes...” The man replied, though he seemed to be rather distracted by his reading. Silnímarë smiled strangely when he observed the man's dedication to his work. The man then shifted his attention to Silnímarë, and said, “Yes, yes of course, well, I mean… you are more than welcome to sit along side me.” Silnímarë nodded his head with a cordial smile, and sat down. After but a short moment, the man stroked his rather large mustache, and said, “So you are a writer too are you? Or perhaps a performer? You don’t look like a Narrator to me, despite how we aren’t supposed to judge a book by it’s cover.” With the last phrase he waved a book jokingly to illustrate his point. Silnímarë replied, “No, I agree. Appearances can be quite deceiving. To answer your question, I am a Bard, so I suppose that I am both writer and performer, although I perform in a play only on occasion. My specialty is poetry and verse.” Silnímarë smiled as he spoke. “Though the skills transfer well, I think.” He added with a slight chuckle.

Silnímarë calmly drew a small charm out of his shirt, that was hung about his neck, without drawing any special attention to it. He glanced down at it: it was shaped like a set of scales, perfectly balanced, a plain grey. Neither good nor evil. Neutrality seems the case, as there is no sign of chaos. Possibly orderly in nature. Nor do I sense any immediate threat. He seems to be sincere enough. How I wish I didn't have to be this cautious. Silnímarë was just beginning to drop it back inside of his robes, when it began to glow faintly. However, before Silnímarë could ponder this, he heard a voice speaking to him. “I beg your pardon, but are you Master Kikkamm?” Silnímarë looked up, and he saw a drow, wearing simple clothing, and a plain brown cloak, with the hood down. “Silnímarë, if you please.” Silnímarë replied, as he really had no more ties to the great House Kikkamm. Then Silnímarë noticed: this Drow had wings like a dragon, sprouting from his back. Silnímarë also noticed patches of scales peeking up from the collar of his shirt. “Master Silnímarë.” the Drow politely corrected himself. The Drow began to move towards Silnímarë, and when he was about 5 feet away, Silnímarë said, “That's close enough.” The Drow bowed his head slightly, and said, “Of course. My name is Ku'Nal, and I--” Silnímarë stopped him. “What is your house?” She's sent too many assassins after me for me to not be careful. Ku'Nal smiled kindly and said, “My house is none but the Temple of Balance.” At that moment, Silnímarë realized, That's why the charm was glowing! Silnímarë nodded, and smiled, saying, “Thank you. I apologize for my suspicion, my fellow disciple, and I hope you can forgive me. I have more than a few Velg'larns after me, from a certain house.” Ku'Nal nodded with understanding, though the words were enigmatic to others. Ku'Nal said, “I understand completely, Sir. I am a priest of the Lady, and I have been sent to aid you in your quest. If you will have me, I shall serve you until the end.” Silnímarë smiled, and said, “I will always welcome one of the Lady, Ku'Nal.”

It suddenly dawned on Silnímarë that he had not introduced Ku'Nal properly, and so he said, “Ku'Nal, this is... Well, I don't suppose I've heard your name, yet, Sir. Although you have just heard mine: Silnímarë. If I might ask, what name do you go by?”

As the conversation between the two of them continued, Tobias was disliking the man and his servant more and more so. They represented everything the narrator grew up to hate. This ‘Silnimare’ (if that was his real name; it didn’t sound like a human name) was comfortably talking with some freakish creature of which Toby could not identify. As he eavesdropped, he caught the words ‘Temple of Balance’ and realised that this man he was talking to was one of the religious folk whom he pitied. Time and time again, there were these myths of gods and goddesses which Tobias was sure only existed in the imagination of fools. There is no such thing as Gods and his mother had taught him not to trust any of these devout followers. Especially ones which meddled with demonic beasts such as the one standing not more than a few feet away from himself.

The Narrator shifted uncomfortably in his chair, squirming at the site of this newly arrived creature and was hardly listening when Silnimare said, “Ku'Nal, this is... Well, I don't suppose I've heard your name, yet, Sir. Although you have just heard mine: Silnímarë. If I might ask, what name do you go by?” Tobias, despite as much as he tried to control himself, couldn’t help but look repulsed as he was introduced to this animal. To think that this… thing even had a name when it probably wasn’t even civilised enough or literate to read a book seemed quite improper.

“I am Tobias Drate, of Arnold Drate, completely and utterly human and unwilling to be a part of this conversation any more. That thing… it’s disgusting!” He spat, rising out of his chair as he spoke. “I would kindly ask you… no, no… I demand that you order that creature to,” He gave an angry pause, his finger pointing shakily at the monster as he thought of something he would like to have happen to the monster. Execution or imprisonment crossed his mind, but he realised that not everybody agreed with his hatred towards other species, and that this man and his minion could very easily overpower him if they needed to. On realising this, he slumped down into his chair, scared and defeated and finished, “Just keep it away from me! Have you no manners?” he questioned, desperately looking Silnimare with mingled emotions.

“I am Tobias Drate, of Arnold Drate, completely and utterly human and unwilling to be a part of this conversation any more. That thing… it’s disgusting!” Silnímarë looked at the man with a somewhat confused expression. Tobias stood up, and continued, “I would kindly ask you… no, no… I demand that you order that creature to...” Silnímarë watched the man with a combination of curiosity and concern. The man seemed to be searching for some affliction which he would deem Ku'Nal worthy of. “Just keep it away from me! Have you no manners?” Silnímarë's visage bore a concerned, yet serene expression, and his eyes, never blinking, seemed to bore into the skull of Tobias. He formed an arcane gesture beneath his cloak, and whispered an incantation while the man spoke, casting the spell Telepathy. He attempted to sense the surface thoughts of the man, in hopes to get some understanding of the man's motives. However, given his lack of use of that spell, he learned little that he could not learn simply by the man's words.

Ku'Nal, instantly realizing that the man was speaking of him, exclaimed in disgust, “Brou'ka wael! Lu'oh kuuv uk telanth d' 'mala's! Nindol go'h guy'yaar l' orbdrin d' natha sil'in arlathil, drill wu'suul uk zhah natha plithou wael, lu' natha cha'kohk ulu jal vel'uss zah'har ukt tar'annen! (Pitiful fool! How dare he speak of 'manners'! This pig bears the mask of a noble nature, but inside he is a hateful fool, and a curse to all who suffer his company!)” Silnímarë, however, retained his composure, and continued to gaze firmly at Tobias. Without turning his head, he said to Ku'Nal, “Ku'Nal, honglath dosstan. Usstan z'reninth nindol nesst kyorlen 'zil uk 'udtila, naut a orn, drill a maav'at. Uk zhah shcrten, drill xun naut rei ulu folt telanth, 'zil nindel orn'la er'griff morfeth klezn mzild myar. Tlu honglath, lu' elendar ol 'zil natha ku'nal m'thain d' Threnody. (Ku'Nal, calm yourself. I believe this man sees as he does, not by will, but by ignorance. He is stubborn, but do not fall to such talk, as that would only make things worse. Be calm, and endure it as a faithful priest of Threnody.)”

Silnímarë then spoke to Tobias in the common tongue, his tone calm but firm. “Tobias, I have seen many things in the two score and thirteen years that I have walked this earth, and I have learned many things as well. One of those things, is to not insult those who mean you no harm, as that may change. He is a priest, and I say “he” because he is a sentient being, just like you or I. As for me, I am a humble bard, and we both serve a Goddess of Peace, not violence. You speak of manners, and yet you refer to a Holy One of Threnody as a mere “creature”. To be blunt, you should be ashamed of what you have said. 'Manners'? You hardly exhibit them yourself. I do not ask for an apology; only that you behave in a civilized manner worthy of one of such a noble profession as you have. If you can not summon that courtesy, then I regretfully have little more to discuss.”

A bead of sweat dripped down the side of Tobias' neck and he quickly reached inside his pocket and pulled out a small napkin with the Drate family crest embedded on it and swabbed away at the fluid. He was introvertly angry at himself for not being forceful enough with this man and his minion, and quietly submitted into continuing the conversation that he no longer had any interest in being a part of. It was almost as if he was kept prisoner now; too scared to leave as it would mean passing near the dark skinned winged creature. Tobias had read about these creatures somewhere, most likely in the very same library he was trapped in! Yes, yes, he could remember the picture... a small, swarthy figure which lurks in the deepest and darkest of dominions. Except there was one staring directly at him in Paramar library, which was supposed to be a place of refuge for the poor Narrator!

Taking heed of what Silnimare had just said, especially the part about them 'both serving a goddess of peace'. Continuing from that point, determined to move on from his embarrassing outburst and hopefully gain more knowledge about these oh-so-fabled dieties, he tucked his napkin back in his pocket and turned his attention back to the slightly more humanoid creature in front of him. "Goddess of peace? Tell me you don't believe in such nonsense?! My mother always taught me, and quite wisely to, that humans depend on a leader to seek advice from. Seeing as there are none which are good enough, they invented the idea of immortal beings who can control the elements and guide the humans of Arda. I may have written about the gods but believe me, they truly are fictional and should remain that way." He finished with a hint of noble arrogance, yet in a re-assuring way.

Despite talking to Silnimare as if he was clearly insane, Tobias felt a small pity for the man. The worst sin in this world was gullibility as far as he was concerned, and the peacekeeper had definitely suffered a large dosing of the stuff. Speaking of doses, the time was getting on and Tobias had no plans to stick around for too long. He reached down into his pouch of scripts and pulled out a small golden flask. It already had some drink in it but not enough, so the Narrator revealed another container in his pouch and pulled out a bottle of Elven wine which tasted somewhat of cherries. He topped up his drink then put it to one side and listened for Silnimare's reply keenly.

Silnímarë listened carefully, curious to know what the man's reply would be. Tobias spoke of the Gods being mere wives' tales, or fiction at best. Silnímarë lowered his head, and for a moment, his visage was concealed as his hair hung down in front of his face. His mind reeled with a mixture of disgust, mirth, and pity. The poor, poor fool. He was raised to be ignorant of the true nature of the world. Magic is not something wrested by a mortal to his own will, but a gift from the Gods. The Gods: the creators of this precious world. He was forever a servant to the Goddess of Balance, Threnody. He had sought for peace for years, but he never found it. Not until he met Her. Threnody had offered him so much, even when he had been to foolish to take it. Once he regained his senses, he was forgiven, and gifted with great powers of knowledge.

One could have sworn that a faint chuckling echoed from Silnímarë's shadowed visage. Silnímarë lifted his head, and as his eyes met Tobias', they gleamed strangely. Silnímarë stood slowly, and, as he glared at Tobias, there was something different about him. Where once sat a quiet, humble bard, a different man stood before Tobias. He stood tall, and noble, like an ancient oak that has weathered many a storm. His age showed in his face, and the wisdom of the years shone in his expression. An aura of nobility surrounded him, for he was the Patron of one of the mightiest houses of the Drow. His pitch-black robes seemed to be concealing some inner light. His long, white hair shone in the light, like the snows of many winters that had passed in this man's life. His eyes gleamed, the color of blood, telling the tale of the life Silnímarë had lived. No longer did he seem the lowly bard, but ancient, high, noble. He has old, but his power had only grown. He stood ominous, and threatening; yet, serenity and calmness flowed from him. Silnímarë had amassed much knowledge in his life, and as they say, knowledge is truly power. Less he seemed a walking man, and more an ancient legend awoke to live once more.

Silnímarë then spoke, and said, “Tobias, I truly pity you. You speak of that which you do not know. These “fictional gods” are not figments, but live in truth. As for their reign, the help those who help themselves, as I can firmly attest to. I have been in the presence of Threnody on many occasions, and when I at last understood the truth of what I desired, she graciously gave it to me. Even this fair bird which you see on my shoulder is one of her sacred birds, and a gift to me. I challenge you to tell her that she is a creation of fiction, and tell me how she replies. There is a grave war going on in Isiltelpë, and even the Gods themselves are present, waging war with their followers. Would you tell the countless slain by Raku that he does not exist? You do not mock me, you mock the Gods themselves.”

Silnímarë extended his left arm, revealing his hand. As one looked upon his left hand, it seemed to be nigh-skeletal, with small muscles stretched o'er it, and skin taught and pale. You could almost see the bones as easily as if they were bare. Silnímarë continued, “This hand was not so by natural means. Many years ago, I myself fought the Guardian of War himself, a demigod. We fought for what seemed like ages, until at last I was forced to retreat. In the struggle, my hand was scorched by the fires of hell itself, it seemed. All that remained was bone: no muscles, no skin, nothing. Through the dedicated healing of the priests of Lothlomendil, the Goddess of Life, my hand was restored to me. If you still do not believe...”

Silnímarë leaned forward slightly, and two great, feathered wings sprouted from his back, the left one white, the right one black. His gaze seemed to bore into Tobias' very soul, and his expression was one of absolute calm. Yet, for his serenity, there was an odd tone in his voice, that warned of the importance of his words. “Tobias Drate, son of Arnold Drate, mark these words. At this point there is no turning back, a choice must be made. You can remain here, and cut off the hope of furthering your knowledge beyond the common man. On the other hand, you can have so much more. I can take to the Temple of Balance. There you will find knowledge beyond any tome that this good place holds. There, there is wisdom beyond the sagest philosophers. In the Temple, you will find the means to write such things that can hush the most boisterous of throngs, and inspire the most dreary of crowds. There you will see the truth, and all will be open to you. Nothing will be withheld from you, if you are willing. You have only to take my hand.”

Silnímarë extended his hand, his expression kind and inviting. Silnímarë only wanted the best for Tobias, but Tobias would have to accept it. Whispering a brief incantation, he readied the Teleportation spell, for the moment that Tobias would accept or reject Silnímarë's offer.