>>5283131Eyes-wide and mouth agape, the party stepped into the [Room of Bewilderment].
The walls were lined with bookcases of which the shelves were filled with thick, magical tomes.
Some of these were as solid as the very weapons held within the hands of the invaders, others almost seemed immaterial. Transparent.
Like their knowledge hadn’t quite solidified yet. Hadn’t quite been discovered. Wasn’t yet real.
”Woah!” cried Celeste as a fat, weathered tome rolled off a nearby shelf.
It flapped its old pages in a tired way and swam through the air with each beat of the covers before it eventually reached the other side of the chamber where it perched on a shelf and then nestled itself between two books about biology and romance.
“Did you see that!” she cried, but the others weren’t watching.
The remainder of the group had their necks craned upwards and gaze fixed to the ceiling.
Zach chuckled. A desperate chuckle.
The chuckle of man faced with such mind-boggling insanity that one can do little more than laugh.
There was a ceiling. There had to be. Perhaps somewhere.
As the party looked up they saw no more than an infinite row of bookshelves stacked on top of each other.
It went up for what seemed like hundreds of feet, but how high exactly was impossible to guess.
At some point the amount of books flying high-up between the shelves took away that knowledge.
Like a dense flock of angry crows, forever at war.
Dozens of feet up two fat history tomes slammed into each other, engaging in a fight that resulted in small magical shockwaves of green and blue.
Such a thing is bound to happen when you host two accounts of a battle, each of them written by the side opposing the other.
One book lost and had its covers and spine disintegrated, the pages floating freely towards the ground and eventually coating the hundreds of other fallen books of lore. History belongs to the victor.
The floorboards were littered with the corpses of the battle ensuing above.
Dead and forgotten lore.
Some books trembled angrily on their shelves, bound down by chains.
Arcane runes floating mid-air occasionally popped in and out of existence to grant a measure of strength to these chains.
All hoped it would be enough, for some knowledge should never be unleashed.
Marek swallowed, “This isn’t some small dungeon anymore,” he said, a tinge of fear in his voice, “This one has been FEEDING.”
Not taking his eyes way from the bewildering sights before him, Ben spoke, “…Grez. What have you done?”
