Serian Loria
In the shadows, at the fringe
It wasn’t an alien thing for him to earn his place. He hadn’t risen to the rank of Lord within the Sith by virtue, he’d had to earn it. These hundred years later and his new place within the Crusade was one he had to earn as well, which suited him just fine. Isley had given him his place so he’d be in a position of use, he hadn’t really desired to be handed it, but the man chose as he was won’t. Here it wasn’t so and it made more sense to him. His area of the library wasn’t much, especially given that while he was still healing he wasn’t even all that sure he was up to something more complicated.
Because of the small section he spent most of his time sitting, something that was going to grow aggravating. He’d have liked to at least help repair books, but that it seemed was above his station. He dealt with his growing boredom quietly, there was nothing he could do. His body might not be sound yet, but his mind was perfectly fit and while he might not have the physical strength, he had Power to make up for it. He didn’t offer to use it, he wasn’t quite sure how that would go and he didn’t want to risk causing upset.
He was grateful that the shift he took was late at night, the place was mostly empty which allowed him a chance to explore. This wasn’t unfamiliar, the rows of books, scrolls, tomes and even simply collections of papers remained unchanged. As he walked into the back, the collections here were far far older, he saw a leather bound tome that looked familiar. He walked over to it and took it down with great care, running his fingers over the, now faded, label. It was the listings of various Sith archivists, he opened it and read through the names.
The particular volume was one he had personal experience with, though the shelf it was on was merely for aiding in direction, not for any real research value. This was just one of many, but this volume only held sentiment for him because while it was faded, his name lay written. He had thought this would have been lost, so many years had gone and his former home was nothing but ruin now. Yet it seemed that though it must have traveled far and through much, as his eyes scanned the shelves before him, it seemed that the library hadn’t been lost.
The records of caretakers and the contents they oversaw was still present, though there were more tomes made, more names listed, after his absence, it brought him a measure of pride. He had worried that after he was gone there would have been no one to take the mantel and everything he’d worked so hard on for years would have fallen to decay. It seemed this was not the case. The name that was listed after his wasn’t familiar, but he suspected that was merely because in his last years he’d cared little to note those below him or of little use to him personally. It satisfied him that there was someone who had taken his place, even if the name was unimportant. His name would be of little value now, the connection between the name of the past and his name would undoubtedly never be made.
He’d never cared much about making sure his name lasted through the ages. Fame was a transient thing, like empires, eventually it all faded to dust. He saw for himself that things had been cared for and that was enough, what more could he have wanted? He walked the shelves again, picking out the tomes he’d personally touched amongst those that were new and unfamiliar. This section was devoted to the past works of the Sith and it seemed there was many more than there had been in his time. At least they hadn’t forgotten the act of making along the path of devouring destruction.
He sat down on a window sill opening a book and, for a time, he was in another place and time. This particular book was new in a set that had just been in the process of being collected. The tongue was long dead, but to his eyes it wasn’t dead at all, for in his past it had been his own and not something long long discarded.
@Soliael Devin Talith
Because of the small section he spent most of his time sitting, something that was going to grow aggravating. He’d have liked to at least help repair books, but that it seemed was above his station. He dealt with his growing boredom quietly, there was nothing he could do. His body might not be sound yet, but his mind was perfectly fit and while he might not have the physical strength, he had Power to make up for it. He didn’t offer to use it, he wasn’t quite sure how that would go and he didn’t want to risk causing upset.
He was grateful that the shift he took was late at night, the place was mostly empty which allowed him a chance to explore. This wasn’t unfamiliar, the rows of books, scrolls, tomes and even simply collections of papers remained unchanged. As he walked into the back, the collections here were far far older, he saw a leather bound tome that looked familiar. He walked over to it and took it down with great care, running his fingers over the, now faded, label. It was the listings of various Sith archivists, he opened it and read through the names.
The particular volume was one he had personal experience with, though the shelf it was on was merely for aiding in direction, not for any real research value. This was just one of many, but this volume only held sentiment for him because while it was faded, his name lay written. He had thought this would have been lost, so many years had gone and his former home was nothing but ruin now. Yet it seemed that though it must have traveled far and through much, as his eyes scanned the shelves before him, it seemed that the library hadn’t been lost.
The records of caretakers and the contents they oversaw was still present, though there were more tomes made, more names listed, after his absence, it brought him a measure of pride. He had worried that after he was gone there would have been no one to take the mantel and everything he’d worked so hard on for years would have fallen to decay. It seemed this was not the case. The name that was listed after his wasn’t familiar, but he suspected that was merely because in his last years he’d cared little to note those below him or of little use to him personally. It satisfied him that there was someone who had taken his place, even if the name was unimportant. His name would be of little value now, the connection between the name of the past and his name would undoubtedly never be made.
He’d never cared much about making sure his name lasted through the ages. Fame was a transient thing, like empires, eventually it all faded to dust. He saw for himself that things had been cared for and that was enough, what more could he have wanted? He walked the shelves again, picking out the tomes he’d personally touched amongst those that were new and unfamiliar. This section was devoted to the past works of the Sith and it seemed there was many more than there had been in his time. At least they hadn’t forgotten the act of making along the path of devouring destruction.
He sat down on a window sill opening a book and, for a time, he was in another place and time. This particular book was new in a set that had just been in the process of being collected. The tongue was long dead, but to his eyes it wasn’t dead at all, for in his past it had been his own and not something long long discarded.
@Soliael Devin Talith