Silnimare walked into the Parmamar Library in Lomedor, wearing a deep blue set of clothes, with silver hems and collar, and a black cloak. It was composed of a simple shirt, pants, and an overcoat-like robe. The pants were as blue as the ocean, yet they had a certain quality of softness about them. There was little about them that was extraordinary, save that they were lined with silver at the bottom of each leg. His shirt was of a similar design, having long sleeves, and a short collar. Both of the cuffs of his shirt were pure silver, as was the lining on his collar. However, for all the silver his garments were hemmed with, they were shadowed by the hooded cloak that he wore. It was darker than the midnight sky, and its hood was back, revealing his face while hiding his neck. To Silnimare, the mark on his neck was more shameful than anything else. It was like a tattoo, burned into his flesh by the Goddess of Balance, Threnody. Why he had the mark, he had not yet told anyone. His hair was long, whiter than ivory, smooth, and seemed to be almost like a curtain of soft snow about his face. His deep, even blood-red eyes gazed out from behind his hair, set in his sockets like a pool tainted by the blood of the slain. They had a strange effect on those who looked into them, and many said that they were the eyes of a demon. Silnimare’s appearance was rather odd, but he was used to the stares by now.

Silnimare walked through row after row of books, passing scholars, students, wizards, and numerous others, including one person that he thought for sure was a necromancer. However, he paid them no mind, as he had a purpose for being here in this Library. He was searching to see if he could discover any who had become one of the Unforgiven, so that perhaps he might learn from their mistakes, so as to sooner correct his own. He finally came upon a section of very old and tattered books, and he carefully selected a few of them, and carried them over to a fireplace. As he pored through the books, he learned of times of war, of peace, of struggle, of unity, and other events in Arda’s past. However, he could never seem to find anything about the Unforgiven. It seemed as if they were blotted from history. Silnimare told himself that he refused to become blotted out. He would fulfill the request, no, the command of Threnody. He could not bear the thought of total isolation from her and her temple. Already, the pangs of guilt and memory were setting in. Silnimare put the book that he was reading down carefully, and looked at the fireplace in front of him, deep in thought. What was he going to do next? Hopefully he would find out soon.

Trying very carefully to get into the library Zhor climbed the southern wall of the library, it wasn't that hard, or at least it didn't look hard. Zhor cursed under his breath a few times as he encountered a ledge that was hard to grasp. Each time he nearly fell off he silently prayed to the God of Life that he would not die. Zhor finally grassped a balconey on the third flood after a seemingly life long climb without even any rope. ' I'll need to prepare better next time.. ' Zhor thought. He climbed onto the balconey and opened the door on it to the library. He tried his best to sneak by the Scholars and other such people of the library. He managed to get by them and got down to the second floor with ease. It was this floor that was the trouble.

Zhor climbed to the top of a bookcase and looked from the top of it out over the floor. He quickly spotted the proper area. Unfortunatly for Zhor, the bookcase could not support his weight. The case itself fell flat on the floor and attracted the attention of the guards. Zhor reassembled himself, seeing the guards coming he quickly fled. The guards examined the case and thought it fell on it's own. This claim of course was ridicolous, but nontheless, Zhor was glad they didn't search for him. Zhor decided that Stealth would be best, so he stalked through the halls until he got to the staircase. A Guard with a crossbow was walking up it. Zhor flashed his eyes around and the only hiding place to be found was under a table. ' Better then nothing... ' He thought and sat under it. Miracolously the guard did not notice him at all, and just continued on his businuess. Zhor walked down the staircase carefully, but apparently not carefully enough for in his path stood a man with white hair, and silver colored clothes.

The Parmamar Library stretched toward the sky. Even its beautiful doors dwarfed Alina as she stared up at them. She had spent countless hours in the library. Whenever she came to Lómëdor, she tried to stop at the library. There were tomes there that could only be found at the library. The knowledge contained within the building was vast and Alina felt fortunate to have the education to read it.

She walked through the doorway. The interior was cooler, probably because she was out of the sun and because the building was brick. It was nearly silent inside with the occasional sound of a hushed whisper. There was difficulty in pinpointing the speakers because sound tended to echo and reverberate, especially in the entrance. Sounds were a lot more muffled in the stacks. She always felt guilty speaking in a library anyway, as if she was breaking some unspoken rule and a horde of angry archivists would descend upon her with their shushing and demands for complete silence.

Her soft doeskin boots were soundless as she walked over the stone floor. She hadn’t quite memorized what each section of the library was, but she knew where the arcane tomes were. There were people sitting at tables, books spread out before them. Some were taking notes from them.

There were numerous people in the stacks and Alina paid them no mind as she passed them. She wasn’t looking for anything in particular, so she wasn’t worried that one of them had the particular tome she wanted. Trailing her fingers over the spines of the books, she examined them briefly until she found the section of herbal magic— magic requiring plants or utilizing plants in spells. Sometimes, she thought she missed her calling as a druid.

She chose several from the herbal magic section and continued onward until she found a section on the theory and practice of magic. Choosing several books on offensive magical theory, she held her small stack in her arms and looked for a place to sit. There were comfortable looking chairs spread out before a fireplace. It was only occupied by a single patron and she took another chair a fair distance away so that she didn’t appear to be smothering him. Settling into a chair, Alina selected her first book and opened it.

Silnimare sat there in his chair, gazing into the fireplace. His mind began to wander, thinking back on the many mistakes he had made in his past. As his deep, blood-red eyes peered intently into the fireplace, the flames changed shape, as his vision turned to memory, and he found himself in an old cottage home, with flames dancing all around. Silnimare saw before him, lying lifeless on the ground, his son Vanwe. Looking up, he saw his wife Taurëaras. She was standing in the doorway facing outside, and she was in a combat stance. He saw blood fly from her torso, and her limp form then crumpled to the floor. Standing over her was Silnimare, about thirty years younger, with his sword drawn and bloody. For a split moment, Silnimare could have sworn that his eyes met with those of his past self. Silnimare lowered his head, and when he looked up, he was back in the library. He noticed a woman sit a short distance from him, and he looked her over curiously. She seemed to have a few books, which, from what Silnimare could see, had something to do with magic. Judging by the magical aura surrounding her, she was some form of magic-user, although he couldn’t be sure of what practice she was. He was about to go over and introduce himself to her, when all of the sudden, someone came down the stairs, almost sneaking, as if he was trying to escape something. Silnimare muttered something under his breath, and he teleported in front of this individual. If he was a criminal of some sort, Silnimare didn’t want him to escape and cause more damage to the Order of things. He simply stood there, his black cloak shrouding most of his form, and his pure white hair hung down, almost covering one of his eyes. He had both blood-red eyes trained on the individual, who was a few inches shorter than him, and then he said, “Now, if you would be so kind, I’d like to have a word with you about sneaking around public libraries, as if you’re up to no good. Care to explain yourself, or will I have to inquire until my patience wears thin, and I submit you to the authorities for suspicious conduct? You may not have anything to hide, but considering your mannerisms, I would say that it certain merits suspicion.” While Silnimare was only slightly taller, he seemed to have a stern and solemn air, and the gaze in his eyes seemed to pierce even to the soul.