Though her time in the Antheneum had been limited of late, the old library remained near and dear to Amalia’s thoughts, and she tried to stay attentive to the goings on within. So when the notice for loreseekers, she could not help but pay attention, her curiosity and interest piqued by the promise of new happenings in her beloved haven. On the designated date she closes the shop early, wrapping herself in furs before stepping out into the cold, ready to make the familiar trek.
Armed with her customary basket of snacks and the trusty lantern she is never without, Amalia enters the Antheneum with resolution tempered by curiosity, and an eagerness for new adventure. There is a change to the old building, a marked liveliness lacking in the last few years, and at once the girl finds herself swept up in emotions bittersweet, yearning for the quiet past yet piqued and pulled by this vibrant future. The soft clatter of footsteps draws her forward, toward warm light falling from a previously unopened door.
Amalia pauses as the assembly forms before her, two men at once familiar yet still rather unknown. The pale-haired bard and the fiery Ascended: the girl winces inwardly, memory of that night underground flooding her mind with unpleasantries. The wound on her shoulder twinges in sympathy: though the gashes have healed, the muscles are sore. For a moment the girl considers a hasty retreat, but she quickly chastises the urge. She is going to be brave this year- and anyway, this is her library. Nothing can harm her, in this place.
Awkwardly the baker strides closer, clearing her throat to make herself known. “I’d like to help- I’m familiar with the Antheneum,” she says by way of explanation, turning to hang her cloak on a shelf. Her clothes are plain, a long green tunic and grey breeches tucked into the well-worn boots, a brown-fur lined vest tight across her breast. She holds up the basket of rolls and hardened cheese, almost abashedly. “And I brought food.”
Armed with her customary basket of snacks and the trusty lantern she is never without, Amalia enters the Antheneum with resolution tempered by curiosity, and an eagerness for new adventure. There is a change to the old building, a marked liveliness lacking in the last few years, and at once the girl finds herself swept up in emotions bittersweet, yearning for the quiet past yet piqued and pulled by this vibrant future. The soft clatter of footsteps draws her forward, toward warm light falling from a previously unopened door.
Amalia pauses as the assembly forms before her, two men at once familiar yet still rather unknown. The pale-haired bard and the fiery Ascended: the girl winces inwardly, memory of that night underground flooding her mind with unpleasantries. The wound on her shoulder twinges in sympathy: though the gashes have healed, the muscles are sore. For a moment the girl considers a hasty retreat, but she quickly chastises the urge. She is going to be brave this year- and anyway, this is her library. Nothing can harm her, in this place.
Awkwardly the baker strides closer, clearing her throat to make herself known. “I’d like to help- I’m familiar with the Antheneum,” she says by way of explanation, turning to hang her cloak on a shelf. Her clothes are plain, a long green tunic and grey breeches tucked into the well-worn boots, a brown-fur lined vest tight across her breast. She holds up the basket of rolls and hardened cheese, almost abashedly. “And I brought food.”
