Serian Loria
In the shadows, at the fringe
Since the meeting to decide on the best course of action for the Traitor he’d been busy at work. He’d not yet made an appearance into the archives, but he had a good reason. He directed the droids carrying boxes to set them in a circle in the center and set to work at the table dead center, writing. In his head were countless things he’d read during his time as the lead Archivist in his past. He’d spent earlier that day walking the aisles and had discovered that he had had read tomes, scrolls and mere slips of parchment that could fill in the holes. He even, because of his diligent work before his stasis, preserved whole tomes and other information and had recently gone and retrieved those precious caches of information.
He’d not yet found them all as he had scattered them about, but he could get to work putting to paper the things he’d read. Having a photographic memory had downsides, everyday stimuli, like a holovid commercial or even a random name shouted within his hearing might spark a flash of information. A name could be a word from a dead language and if he’d read it the definition and origins of that name might pop into his head at random. He could write out hundreds of pages worth of text, but it left him mentally fatigued because of the strain. Despite this, he was putting this talent to use, filling in gaps in the library.
Where he sat, the boxes of paper and ink looked to be chaos, pages that he finished would fly from before him to settle into a stack of paper on a table he’d commanded. Indeed, all the tables within sight from where he sat he specifically ordered not to be disturbed or he would have issues. The staff in the Templar Archives could only watch, first confused and then in shock as little by little he managed to put to paper things that wad been lost. After about four hours of hardly a break at all, he stood up and walked away sitting down and putting a hand to his forehead. Words, maps, sentences, line after line of words still flew past his eyes making him more than a little light headed.
He could feel a headache building, the pressure like a needle being pressed through the soft tissue making him grit his teeth. That pain of course gave him a blessed cease to the stream of information and, he could think of nothing else at that moment. No one had asked him to do what he did, but it was a choice between work and or brooding over the events of the council summons. He chose to work, because in that regard he could at least feel certain of his success and contribution. It also got him away from his home. [member="Abel Denko"] his apprentice had a wife, something that was quite a surprise to him. The two had only recently connected and, the summons had given him an excuse to give the man some time alone with her.
As happy as he was for the man, the house felt a bit too small and part of the reason he had left was so that he could put space between him and them. Part of him was envious, the two looked to genuinely care for one another, but it left him feeling a bit...out of sorts. What he needed was a distraction and, he suspected, if he threw himself into work his apprentice would protest. The man had taken to keeping on top of him about caring for himself, but he knew very well that without the man he’d end up lapsing back to how things had been before. He was perfectly fine eating his cooking, but on his own he tended to totally forget and or ignore his body’s needs. He ordered the droids to pack up the unmarked paper, standing to arrange the unfinished stacks into clips so he could work more on them later. A couple of them were finished, these he had set aside to be put into a more formal bound tome and set on the shelf along with it’s siblings, if they had any.
He then sat down and massaged the center of his forehead trying to decide if he really wanted to move or if he could suffer through the pain. For the moment he was alone, many had already gone as it was quite late at night.
[member="Isley Verd"]
[member="Abel Denko"]
He’d not yet found them all as he had scattered them about, but he could get to work putting to paper the things he’d read. Having a photographic memory had downsides, everyday stimuli, like a holovid commercial or even a random name shouted within his hearing might spark a flash of information. A name could be a word from a dead language and if he’d read it the definition and origins of that name might pop into his head at random. He could write out hundreds of pages worth of text, but it left him mentally fatigued because of the strain. Despite this, he was putting this talent to use, filling in gaps in the library.
Where he sat, the boxes of paper and ink looked to be chaos, pages that he finished would fly from before him to settle into a stack of paper on a table he’d commanded. Indeed, all the tables within sight from where he sat he specifically ordered not to be disturbed or he would have issues. The staff in the Templar Archives could only watch, first confused and then in shock as little by little he managed to put to paper things that wad been lost. After about four hours of hardly a break at all, he stood up and walked away sitting down and putting a hand to his forehead. Words, maps, sentences, line after line of words still flew past his eyes making him more than a little light headed.
He could feel a headache building, the pressure like a needle being pressed through the soft tissue making him grit his teeth. That pain of course gave him a blessed cease to the stream of information and, he could think of nothing else at that moment. No one had asked him to do what he did, but it was a choice between work and or brooding over the events of the council summons. He chose to work, because in that regard he could at least feel certain of his success and contribution. It also got him away from his home. [member="Abel Denko"] his apprentice had a wife, something that was quite a surprise to him. The two had only recently connected and, the summons had given him an excuse to give the man some time alone with her.
As happy as he was for the man, the house felt a bit too small and part of the reason he had left was so that he could put space between him and them. Part of him was envious, the two looked to genuinely care for one another, but it left him feeling a bit...out of sorts. What he needed was a distraction and, he suspected, if he threw himself into work his apprentice would protest. The man had taken to keeping on top of him about caring for himself, but he knew very well that without the man he’d end up lapsing back to how things had been before. He was perfectly fine eating his cooking, but on his own he tended to totally forget and or ignore his body’s needs. He ordered the droids to pack up the unmarked paper, standing to arrange the unfinished stacks into clips so he could work more on them later. A couple of them were finished, these he had set aside to be put into a more formal bound tome and set on the shelf along with it’s siblings, if they had any.
He then sat down and massaged the center of his forehead trying to decide if he really wanted to move or if he could suffer through the pain. For the moment he was alone, many had already gone as it was quite late at night.
[member="Isley Verd"]
[member="Abel Denko"]