The Grand Battle S2G1! [Round Six: Eddelin City]

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

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"Hmph."

The man glanced about from his freshly-closed book, as though startled by a sudden silence.

"The king decrees that the lot of you are dead. How do you reply?"

Nobody or entity did, but the tak-tak-tak of one of the Norns at her wheel was response enough. The Librarian couldn't remember which did the spinning or the washing or the weighing, but neither did they begrudge his insociable sensibilities or spot his sitting room's wormwood floors with with water from the Undercurrent, the river under the World. Which was all anyone could ask of an arrangement like this, really.

The Librarian sighed, a weary "long live the King" intoned, his attention returning to his latest Almanac. Irked, his eyes retraced his steps, the ink-tipped quill from some abomination poised to pick up where the King's histrionics had left off.

Someone knocked, which to the Librarian seemed to preclude his day getting worse in short order.

SomeOne will get that, he thought, then went to open the door when they didn't. Something vaguely demigodly gave him a baleful glare, as though the Library's doorway (too narrow for its obsidian tether) was all that saved the Librarian's skin. The ghost continued to stare him down as one finger raised in pause, while another trickled down a handy, handsome guestbook.

"North Wind?"

No

The Librarian adjusted his glasses, and had a better look amongst the signatures, all hemmed and harried by a raft of X's slashed from and by all corners of the Place. Deific pilgrimages always got messy when it was the points of the compass themselves deciding to pay a visit, and in true Libraric style the guestbook echoed that.

"Ah, my apologies. Sorth Wind."

I

am once-general Xadrez I

am through circumstances not worth our time detailing lost in time and local space

yet clearly on the lucky side of the point of my appointment

unless only your expression recognises my name and rank

"I- hrmph."

I wish to talk to Jennifer were that a course of action with which it were worth proceeding

Were that the case would you know how to locate her

"You... must be lost," decided the Librarian, though the way he said it implied it was more of a suggestion. "This is a place of gods, not ghosts. Whether you are the actual Harbinger, or have simply convinced yourself you're him-"

A splay of gaunt fingers clamped upon the door frame. The Librarian was surprised how solid a job they were doing at stopping his closing the door.

Since when did being a spectre a commander preclude ones claim to godhood

The man stopped trying to lever the door shut with his foot, and exhaled huffily. "I- very well. I daresay your lineage is explanation enough how you reached the Library?"

But the work of gods, leered the tactician. The Middle-Gem ticked with an uncomfortable tightness in the Librarian's chest. He eased the door open as gracefully as he could muster, motioning to the sitting room.

"Please," said the Librarian, clearly not feeling it, "make yourself at home with the Fates, while I contact Moses and see if he can track down your pantheon."

Xadrez, already partway through wrestling his disc through the door, looked about ready to raise contention at even more Place-born alleged omnipotents knowing what his deal was. Instead, his hand balled into a guilty half-fist.

What, he growled, waiting patiently until the Librarian's attention drifted elsewhere just to interrupt him, do you and your people know of the battles

The Librarian looked up from his still-uncooperative guest book, glanced about at the walls (which still resonated a bit with the spirit's words) and sniffed. "To which people of mine do you refer? My audience," he asked, waving to the ceiling, "or my countrymen? I could hardly aspire to call either of them 'my people'." As a well-read man, of course, I know some of the archwizards know full well the state of things Out There, but I find it less and less my concern."

He eased past Xadrez to close the front door, gaze first sliding then tumbling down the cliff face atop which the Library perched. It came to a crumpled halt around the Grove of Knowledge, though it might well've been any other purple-blossomed glade for all the Librarian remembered. At the horizon, curls of smoke and plumes of dust tried in vain to escape civilisation's crumble . The Librarian shivered quietly enough to escape anyone's attention, and closed the door on it.

The tactician frowned, or injected a bit of reprobation into his leer. For a citizen in wartime you seem

irresponsibly uninterested

"You," retorted his host, parrying with acerbity - even jest - "seem to assume I am any old citizen, once-General. Being... the state of the nation, so to speak, it's not really my place to inject my petty, personal sentimentalities into the matter. I mean, look at me." Xadrez looked at the Librarian, who spun a little pirouette. "This is about as - if you'll excuse the pun - homogenous as I get, aesthetically speaking." He rapped at the Middle-Gem, and beyond the Library's windows the Place seemed to intone in inaudible response. The barely-noise calmed him, somewhat. "You could say I have my affairs and estate in order."

Xadrez ran a finger along a shelf full of austerely identical volumes, finding not a speck of dust to welcome him.

It certainly seems that way

To which the Librarian rolled his eyes, careful not to look out any windows.

"Hmph. I'll not doubt you heard that stentorian lunatic, so you can only agree I'd best get you out of our hair sooner rather later. Go wait with the Fates."

Without much recourse, the spirit drifted toward the sounds of godly cottage industry. He couldn't resist borrowing the architecture to voice his concerns, though.

You are not making some laughably transparent attempt to hide jennifer from me

are you

The Librarian just looked exasperated.

"Yes, once-General, I am harbouring the kidnapped princess. That is exactly how I deign to spend my time in the Place's furtherest reaches. You caught me."

Xadrez just muttered something which sounded, to the Librarian, vaguely of atemporal bullshit and how he wouldn't understand.