Date: March 30th. Time: Midmorning. Location: A half-forgotten library in Crowmire. Status: Closed. @eamon-keppel
Efrain made his way through the dusty, moldering stacks without any real hurry. His mind was still entrenched in thoughts of lycanthropy, mutation reversal, and the application and experimental use of geas and similar modes of mind control. He’d already poured through his and Eobald’s collections on the subject, but he still felt as though there were gaping holes in his information. Small, strange libraries such as this one had helped him in the past, but still he came up without any new insights. People didn’t tend to study the curse beyond cures for it, but he needed more. His pursuit had lasted all night and now a headache pulsed behind his eyes as the lack of sleep caught up with him.
As he pondered, he re-shelved the tomes he’d read. The librarian was decrepit and looked more of a wretched corpse than a living being and he felt cruel leaving the thick, heavy books for her to put away. He slid another into its place, the darker patch of wood that shown through the layer of dust from where he’d dragged it from the shelf hours prior betrayed its resting place. With one left, he turned to cut through the narrow through-way between the tall shelves and turned directly into another patron.
Efrain grunted with the impact and took a step back, scrambling to not drop the tome. “Apologies—” he began, voice rough with disuse, before meeting the eyes of his victim. “Ah, Professor Cleartide, correct?”