Aerandir wandered into a huge library in the capital city of Men, wondering what the barbaric races north of Yomeniampa could possibly fill a library so large with? Despite popular belief, the humans of the present were much more sophisticated than the Barbarians they evolved from, filling their libraries with not only interesting books of fact and fiction, but contained many tomes of advanced magic, something Aerandir didn't even know Men had knowledge of. Apparently Aerandir's father, Morthil Súrion had greatly underestimated the humans of the North and West.

Aerandir also found it easy to socialize with these people, but also awkward, as the had many typical greetings that seemed strange and alien to most elves, but Aerandir still tried his best to be polite back in a humanistic manner. He found the city of Men to be a great place to practice his common, which was very shaky. If someoene couldn't guess that he was an elf by his face and build, they would definately know by his unshakable elven accent, sharp and high, but still flowing easily and beautifully from the tongue, the type of pronunciation that was apparently left out of the Common Tongue.

The library, on the inside, was large and filled with stacks upon stacks of shelves, loaded with books of any genre. The high ceiling was domed, shelves reaching to the very top of it. Their were many rooms in the grand library, each one containing a different type of book. For example, the left wing contained books about the Art, which Aerandir flocked to immediately, hoping the tomes here would differ greatly from the old elven books in Yomeniampa.

Aerandir found it easy to get lost in the Tomes of human magic that he would never have had access to if it weren't for his leave from The Forest. He also found the human caretakers of the library very curteous, and was releaved to discover that they were fluent in Sindarin.

"Could you please bring me as many books as possible, containing the topic, 'Elven Realms'?" Was all he had to say, and moments later, one of the human caretakers would bring him a mile-high stack of books, young and old, containing hundreds of chapters of ancient Elven history, forgotten even by many of the Yomeniampians. Aerandir sighed, hoping he would be able to return to this library many times, as it would take weeks of non-stop reading to get through all of the books the caretakers had left out for him.

Aerandir's reading was disturbed though, when a tall human entered the room, wrapped in a dark cloak. The man was bald, and his forheard was tatooed with some ancient rune that Aerandir could not recognize. The man's eyes were a sullen gray, and they sunk deep into his pale face. His thin lips sat pursed tightly as he strode with an arrogant scowl on his face, into the left wing where Aerandir sat quietly.

"Well, well... If it isn't one of The People... Well, I'm going to be reading about some of the Darkest Magics known, so don't get all righteous on me when I'm trying to concentrate," he said mockily, with a cold smirk across his face. Aerandir scowled at the man in dissaproval, but kept his temper and returned to his research, as the man began seraching a shelf filled with old books, mostly black in color.

OOC: Hope you don't mind. o.o;;

IC:

Vex was in the library. Again. And it was annoying. Memories flitted from page to page, gathering strength and energy as she turned the crackling old tomes and and the time-worn pages of each individual, hand-written and home-inked page of ancient lore. She remembered this book- vaguely remember in any case. Plants. Plottery. Vex wondered again at what she had been in life, what she had really been and if it had been a much more peaceful existence than what she had been lead to believe from the denizens of Hel. It was annoying and it went against her very nature to examine these stupid, moldy old books of knowledge and ancient literature but at the same time the library called her. Beckoned her to come like some strange addiction that she had no recollection of but which her body craved.

She was hidden in swathes of clothes, a disguise that was appropriate given the climate and what she was pretending to be- a simple trader from the desert. It was her cover until she managed to artistically ice her current target (it was an odd request, Vex still wasn’t sure how she’d manage to entomb the sorcerer alive inside a cave of ice but she’d manage somehow- given her current financial woes and the money offered she’d have to) and then she’d be free of the confining vestments.

And yet, instead of being out there, gathering data and intelligence she was off here… reading. She had come here twice before and twice before there had been death. She briefly wondered if it had something to do with her demonic nature- perhaps death was simply attracted to her? It was a thought to pursue, perhaps she could consult some curse-breakers or some of the more shadier but dependable cults who had accidentally managed to tap into the weave of magic but considered themselves as divinely ordained…

But for now she read. And considered. And remembered. There was a disturbance nearby, voices talking but Vex paid them no heed. It was a library and people here that read were generally not quite as rowdy as her drinking buddies. She could afford to let her attention linger on the pages...

There was another person here, wrapped tightly in layer upon layer of clothes. The clothes she wore appeared to have come from Desert lands, but Aerandir couldn't be sure. The other man, who had come in earlier, was still searching the shelves, placing the books onto a not-so-neat pile on the floor. He managed to see the titles of some of the dusty old books, names such as "Necromany: A Forbidden Art" and "Artifacts of the Dark Art". He sighed in a frusterated manner, as there were now two suspicious people to keep his eye on, and he found it plenty difficult to consentrate on the old tome he was currently reading, when the man across the room simply reaked of evil and sin.

Aerandir placed the book in his hands, "Elves of Light and Aman", onto the table before him, closing it gently, in fear of wrecking the spine of the century old tome. He made his way to one of the caretakers, moving quietly, hoping the man, probably a Necromancer, would not notice his exit.

"That man, is he a regular here?" Aerandir asked hushedly, pointing at the presumably evil man. The caretaker looked up, pushing a pare of thick spectacles up the bridge of his nose.

"Hm, Gileon? Yes, he comes here often," the caretaker replied, in the same hushed voice.

"Who is he, and why is he so interested in these books of Necromancy?" Aerandir replied, eager to here some story of death, betrayal, and whatever else might have occured in Gileon's lifetime.

"Well, as you should have guessed by now, he is a Necromancer, an art that most people shun, including myself. To be honest, I don't know why those books are even at the library, anyway... Necromancy is outlawed in many realms. The thought of defiling your own dead!" The caretaker answered, before marching away in the opposite direction, grumbling about something, in the Human manner.

Aerandir returned to his table, reopening "Elves of Light and Aman". He shoved his nose into the book, forcing himself to concentrate on the dusty, hand written pages within, but he still did fear the Necromantic Sorcerer, Gileon, still searching through shelves, pulling out stacks of books at a time.

Zekhen met the imposing building of the library with a slight hesitation – it was for the first time when he was that close to it, and to think that he actually got there by his own will, wanting to do some research upon different abilities and properties a sword might have. The knowledge contained by the books was a last resort option for the desert elf, as he was not used to be surrounded by an such impressive collection of tomes. His people had little to no use of paper and ink, as they quickly become victim to the harsh condition of the desert’s natural environment; everything the people of the waste know is passed down from generation to generation. All in all, the elf hoped to find a similarity between some writings and the strange way his obsidian scimitar started to act lately, especially while overwhelmed by the heath of battle powdered with the blood of its victims.

Soon, he stepped inside, and took a few glances around, like always wanting to see who else was in the building at that time. The first he noticed was a member of the elven kind, one of the ‘real’ elves, the blessed people of Arda. Zekhen couldn’t help but hold a personal and unjustified grudge against them, they were far more privileged that they needed to be, and lived much better than their desert counter-parts. Warily, he approached the ‘noble’ elf, taking a look over what he was reading. All the books from his table had at least one time the word ‘elven’ on their cover. A tanned hand extended and slammed onto one of the book, to catch the man’s attention.

“Pray, tell me, do they say anything at all about the ‘brothers’ from the far waste. Or are we merely an insignificant part of your noble race.” Frustration was visible in his eyes, and yet he planned not to go further, it was not the time nor the place to settle his grudges.

The presence of the elf was starting to annoy her. Vex couldn’t hear what was being said but she could catch undertones and the vague projections of animosity- animosity towards what she could well imagine. Vex wasn’t a saint by any stretch of the word but she –hated- the hypocritical, self-satisfying mentality of the so-called ‘goodly races.’ It made her want to puke.

If she had been a goody-two-shoes with such a view she might have simply ignored it and let it be, perhaps even give them the benefit of the doubt, assume that they were talking about the weather or the crops or something equally inane and unimportant. But Vex wasn’t a bloody goody-two-shoes and everything she did believe she believed in strongly.

Such as the belief that bloody elves who bloody talked about themselves like they were the top of the world and accused random strangers of the greatest evils in the world deserved to die. By the time this particular thought made it to her head Vex realized she was staring and quickly shoved her head and nose back into the book. It wasn’t literally- but it was a close thing. Her nose barely missed skimming the pages of the pottery/plant section of this archaic old tome.

She hoped he hadn’t noticed. It was hard enough to murder elves whose ridiculously keen eyesight and earsight and general lack of seeming to sleep (she still wasn’t sure if that was truth or fable) terribly difficult to surprise them. Giving away her intentions (she wasn’t sure she was going to carry out with it or no but it seemed like a given as of the moment) would make it triply hard-

Then a newcomer walked in and seemingly confrontational, walked up to the elf. Vex watched in interest, hoping to be entertained and knowing that this sort of watching was totally acceptable. People were allowed to gawk.

Aerandir watched absent mindedly at first, as a Person, who appeared to be an elf dressed in the clothes of the Desert, wandered slowly into the library. Aerandir's jaw dropped, assuming instantly that he was a Desert Elf. He had heard many stories about these brave People, living in harsh deserts rather than the safety of the Forests. He lowered his book as the man approached, wondering if the person was coming to talk to him, or simply walking by out of some interest in the books he was reading.

"Pray, tell me, do they say anything at all about the 'brothers' from the far waste. Or are we merely an insignificant part of your noble race." The Desert Elf asked coldly, a sharp scowl prominently displayed on his face.

Aerandir raised an eyebrow at first, slightly confused by the Desert Elf's question. "Well... Actually yes, as far as I know, your kind are quite respected by the story-tellers and travelers who have met them, and the people who have the time to listen to their stories, like myself... Well, assuming you are a Desert Elf," He replied, a confused look still spread across his face. "Why do you bother asking? Do your people believe otherwise?" His voice now becoming slightly more than a hushed whisper, easily showing a hint of frustration.

Aerandir had now put down the book he had been reading, and stared into the desert elf's eyes, quizzically, but not challengingly, as he did not want to start a fight. As he awaited a response, he quickly scanned over the Desert Elf, taking in his appearance. He was tall, probably a few inches higher than Aerandir. He had long black hair, and intelligent, green eyes and he had the same long pointed ears of any other elf. He was of an athletic build, and he looked as if he was a warrior of some sort, someone that Aerandir wouldn't want to fight, as he had no weapons to duel with, besides a measly dagger, which wouldn't help much.

OOC- I hope you guys don't mind me joining in...

IC- Galen jerked open his eyes again. How long had he been in here now? Two, two and a half hours? He couldn't remember. Anyways, he hadn't really been sleeping. He was resting his eyes, yes thats it just resting. He rotated his head to wake himself a little more then looked back at his book. Lómëdor: A Guide He was knew to this city and had found the library by chance. When he walked in he came to the reference section and looked for something on the city. What he found outlined the major buildings, parts of its government and the like.

What did he hear now though? Bickering, didn't these people know it was a library. The caretaker gave him a bit of a talking to when he spoke aloud. All just because he had never been to a library before and was talking. He roled his eyes as he remember the moment. He had to restrain himself from telling the caretaker he was easily twice or more his age. He looked down the isle and found the two arguing. He could tell from here that they were elves. True elves no less, not a half-elf like himself. I wonder what they could be arguing about. The tought only casually passed his mind. They probly wouldn't notice him and he got back to his reading.

The two elves didn't immediately start to heckle each other and call each foul names or even declare a blood oath of slaughtering each other with pointed sticks so Vex determined that the both of the two individuals needed to die. Because they were... err... breaking the library rules and regulations about staying quiet. Yeah, that'd hold up in court. Yeah, it'd definitely hold up. She'd be able to yell it out from prison: "HOLY MULLET! YOU'VE LOCKED ME IN HERE FOR NO REASON!!" when they locked her away.

Drat, even her fantasizing was getting pessimistic. Darn. It. All.

She hated libraries. Didn't even know why she went to them. With an irritable huff she closed her book and considered leaving so she could prepare for both the murder of a prominent sorceror person thing that needed to be literally iced and the two blokes that should be killing each other or threatening to kill each other in loud voices. She almost did get up, the she-devil actually made it out of her chair and into a standing position when she was beaten by the forces of gravity that her made legs tingle and then inform her brain that sitting down in one position for prolonged periods of time was bad for her.

She listened and sat back down. But she still didn't want to read. So she crossed her arms and pretended to sleep. And then she kind of... dozed off. And then she started snoring.

An ironic smile flashed upon the tanned face of Zekhen, as he listened, the words flowing through the other elf’s lips. Hesitation and perhaps confusion could be sensed in his voice, probably because that the situation was one of the most unexpected ones.
For a couple of the longest seconds, Zekhen stared to the elf, processing the information, and yet he didn’t want to believe what was being told, no, he wouldn’t fall for this. From what he knew, everything was different, and his kind was considered somewhat inferior, as they were not gifted with the same amount of grace as their forest counterparts, ‘sacrificing’ most of it for strength and toughness. Not to mention that their ways were not the most noble of ones, often having to kill and plunder in order to live and enforce the harsh law of the desert.

“My friend…” Sarcasm now filled his voice, at least it was not anger or frustration. “Let me have a seat…” He pulled a chair from beneath the table and sat on it. Already, a couple of curios gazes were thrown to their directions. Like earlier stated, the library was not a proper place to start a funny thing, but at least they could have a debate over the whole thing, that of course in ‘silence’ so they will not bother the other people that were trying to read.

Before fully setting himself on the chair, he took a few glances around, meeting the faces of everyone that dared look at them with a slight frown.

Zekhen leaned closer to the fellow elf, and started to whisper “I am unaware of what you know, but there have been several disputes, some recent and some centuries ago. My kind is not allowed in your mighty city because of our ‘nomadic’ ways, and yet when they asked for our mighty combatants in aid, we happily obliged…You think of us as tools, to use at your own discretion. We were never credited for our efforts, and no page of history holds written our participation in that vital battle…”

He paused, and allowed the other to reply, if he had anything to say at all.

Well this was interesting. Apparently they had a pub of which the name meant butterfly in Quenya. Somehow Galen doubted that the interior would suit the name so much, but it still surprised him to see a building named in his native tounge. He was getting better at the common tounge but he still had some difficulty.

“My friend…” Galen's ears picked up as he heard this. He sensed something in it. Sarcasm? Threat? Probably nothing but he listened in anyways. “Let me have a seat…” the voice continued. This was starting to pick up, maybe something interesting would happen. He heard the first voice again and looked out into the isle to see who would be speaking. The voices were very hushed but it turned out he was only two reading desks behind the speakers so he could hear them fine.

The speaker then continued to say something about the other persons people 'using' his own as tools of war. Well this is just great, more arguing. I wonder why people even bother arguing? It's so pointless. Get you no where really... Galen's wandering thoughts eventually caused him to relax in his chair and soon enough he leaned too far back and, yes you guessed it, he fell out knocking a pile of books off the desk behind him. The man sitting there (apparently catching up on something about the fishing techniques used here) then let out a small yell of shock and anger. Genious Galen, just pure genious... he thought to himself as he offered apology to the man behind him and picked up the books on the ground. Before setling back down into his chair he took the time to streach, while doing so he checked around the room to see if anyone noticed. He wanted to avoid cause a scene if possible.

Zekhen words were followed by an unusual silence, and as the seconds flew by, he started to relax, realizing that the poor, noble elf from the library was probably the wrong person to spill his grudge at. At least he has spoke his mind and taken that burden away from his soul. But an idea arose in his mind, he should go visit Yomenïampa some day, and find some answers straight from their sources, that if he would be allowed inside. If not, then he will have to infiltrate.

A reply was not required… a hand outstretched and patted the shoulder of the forest elf. “But I guess it is not your fault. I spoke before thinking, you are not responsible for anything.” He was about to get up from his seat, and turn back to the thing that brought him to the library in the first place, but apparently his legs did not move, as the full attention of his brain has been drawn the other way by an angered yell. Apparently, someone leaned too far backwards and fell out, knocking over the desk and the books of another person, the second looked sturdier and had an irritable attitude. The fisherman was about to start a fight with the one that bothered him, but he was stopped by the ‘sandy’ elf, his imposing scimitar and words shut him up on place; the man lacked education for sure.

“Cut it out, we are in a library!” Zekhen demanded, before he rose from his seat and approached the two warily.

And a scene he did cause. Damnit.. there goes being discrete. It seems one of the two elves who had been arguring had just come over to Galen. He looked up at the stranger. He was tall and hard dark green eyes and black hair. He was wearing light leather by Galen's judgement. In fact, Galen swore the elf was younger than him. Strangly the elf's scimitar wasn't the first thing Galen noticed but he sure as hell saw it now. As his eyes moved down the stranger and then along the shining blade he slowly moved back and leaned against his own desk.

"Very sorry for the noise," he whispered somewhat embarrased. He moved his head a little to get a better look and the new elf's face and while doing so his shoulder leangth hair fell back revealing his ears which he had tried to hide for fear of predjudice against his half-blood.

Trying to shrug off the embarassment Galen tried to find something else to say however all he could come up with was, "Umm.. I'm Galen, I have never been into a library before.. sorry for my well, inexperience I guess. I'll try to keep it down." He looked down the isle at the other elf who hadn't moved from his seat yet. "I couldn't help but over hear your, well, argument to say the least and I'm wondering what the problem is?" In all honestly Galen couldn't see why they should dislike each other. They were esentially the same. They were both elves and they more or less seemed like good people.

Meanwhile the grumpy old fisherman picked up his books and backed away from the desert elfs blade. He would definatly watch his toung in the library next time an accident accured. As he walked down the isles to another reading desk away from the three elves he mumbled something about the reason he rarely came to public buildings.

The fisherman knew that the elven male dressed in billowy clothing was not one to be messed with, so he quickly retreated to another desk taking his books with him. A sign of relief crossed Zekhen’s face. His recent job as one of the guards of the guild has given him a new vision over life and the others, somehow making him more considerable of others and concerned of their safety.

A elf was not to be denied when it came to his innate senses, add that to countless of battles he has been in and a extremely high accuracy when firing his bow, and you could safely assume that he had eyes worthy of a hawk. He watched as the man scanned over his features ever so subtly, and in turn he did the same. The strange ears of the man did not go unnoticed, and yet he did not allow this to be seen on the features of his face.

“It’s nothing…” he said “don’t worry about it.”

Zekhen took a seat next to Galan, before getting ready to answer to his question as well as introducing himself. “Zekhen… good to meet you. And I don’t think you would understand… hell I don’t fully understand either, it is a grudge that has rooted into the heart of my kin for so long, while we are of the same race, many things make us quite different. I guess some of the forest elves don’t like this fact and somehow try to categorize us as inferior” The elf shrugged, not even himself knew the story too well. “I might have said something without thinking before, that man standing over there is not the one to blame.”

The sandy elf realized that the conversation was slowly turning into a monologue, so before continuing with his ‘ranting’ he reconsidered.

“How about you, what’s your story, everyone has one…”

Galen listened intently as the desert elf spoke of the ancient grudge. Galen assumed his mothers people were the ones who classified Zekhen's as inferior. Maybe other elves ignorance was the reason his mother had sepperated them from the others of their kind and raised him in solitude. Galen looked down to the other elf and assesed that he was either locked in thought or else was still contemplating what words were exchanged in the argument he didn't know.

Finally addresing Zekhen's question Galen thought about where he himself came from. "Well, for starters I guess I can say I'm a half-blood, so I suppose I could relate but I have had very little contact with our race so I haven't faced any predjudice," Galen told him. "I was raised in solitude by my mother. She lived alone out in the woods and my father lived somewhere out in some town. I'm not sure the name or location. Anyways, after a while I left to find some sort of purpose and found myself doing odd jobs in odd towns. Eventually I was just wandering for years, exploring this way and that and then I found myself here." As he told Zekhen his tale he realized there was really not much to it at all. He hadn't really wandered all around. There were miles of unknown land to him. Really all he had done was travel around the forest and feilds surrounding this city. Maybe it was time for an adventure? As the thoughts came to him Galen was distracted by the old grumpy fishermen saying something about how cabage was a terrible bait to catch cod with, he never did that again.

Before speaking again Galen contemplated where he could possibly go. Maybe he should by a map? Anyways he was keeping quiet to long and continued the conversation. "You look like a well traveled fellow. I'm thinking of heading out somewhere myself. Any suggestions?" Galen had resorted to asking where he should go. This surprised him, he usually made his own choices, but he really had no knowledge of the vast world they lived in and maybe this man had some ideas.

The better fighters however came from among the elves of the desert; naturally stronger and sturdier than they forest counterparts, taught by the environment itself to be tougher and rougher; they were more inclined to survival techniques which often included a battle other than with the harsh conditions – man against man, and man against beast even. They were classified as a more barbaric and nomadic tribe, and that was true to some extent, but only compared to those hat lived in the forest. Desert too had its elders and ‘all-knowing’ people.

A half breed? Interesting concept, that proved that not all the elves held that air of superiority over themselves and some of them mated with humans or other creatures, some of which Zekhen could not even start to imagine. The pointy ears of the man were slightly shorter than those of an average elf, also he did have some elven traits in his appearance mixed with something else; it was a little hard to pin-point his exact origins, but it all made sense to him now.

“I’m sure that your mother has raised you with all the love her being could give, and had you protected from the tough life as a half-blood. But her people are those that you should probably avoid, it comes hard for them to accept the concept of an elf having a love affair with someone of another race, and it comes even harder to accept the product of such an union.” His words though sad, they were probably right.

Once more the fisherman made his presence known and distracted the two men from continuing their apparent random conversation, why would two stranger share such things one with another? Was it to make the time pass faster or merely the fact that they didn’t who to talk with on a regular basis?

Soon the discussion resumed its course, with a question coming from Galen. How accurate he was in his assumption… Zekhen was indeed a well traveled man, perhaps too well traveled for his own sake. “Despite all the risks I mentioned earlier, you should visit the home city of your mother, that might prove like a revealing and interesting expedition for you.”

Man, I wish that fat idiot would get out of here, Galen thought as the old grumpy man who was sitting behind him up until a few moments ago started talking a little too loud for the library. Eventually it caught the attention of the librarian. "Sir I'm going to have to ask you to leave. You've cause a little too much disturbance here." The old balding man looked as though he was going to respond with a sharp sling of words but he backed down realizing it would get him nowhere. The man he was talking too chuckled as the other was forced to leave the building. With a smirk on his face the librarian went back to his business, satisfied that he had done his job today.

Galen's eyes came back to Zekhen. The desert elf complimented his mother and for that Galen was greatfull. She had raised him well, although he sadly had no idea where she would be. He nodded and stood up getting out of his chair. "Well then, I suppose that sounds like a good idea," Galen replied to the suggestion. Visit Yomenïampa should he? It does sound like a beautifle city. Drifting slowly into thought he comtemplated what prejudice he might encounter. Probably nothing but others not talking to him, maybe avoiding walking near him. It couldn't be so bad, he was used to being alone.

He moved to gather up what belongings he had. He grabed his cloak from off the back of the chair and his shortbow from under the desk. He checked around for any library personel, technically they wern't supposed to have any weapons in a public structure but no one really listened. He grabed a hold of his bow and tucked it under his cloak. He looked back to the Zekhen, "Thank you for the idea, I think I'll follow through with it." He edged by him and started walking to the door. A thought hit him as he passed the first elf Zekhen was arguing with. He turned back looked to the elf, "Your welcome to come with," he said.

Shrugging he left the building.