📖 DAY 1 — "THOSE WHO BOWED THEIR HEADS"
"The Submitted"
Some came for knowledge. And stayed forever.

In the shadowed heart of the Librarium, where lanterns floated like captive stars and the air tasted of ink and forgotten oaths, Julian Payne stood before the Obsidian Lectern. His long coat seemed woven from the night itself, and his eyes held the patient stillness of one who had watched empires crumbling into footnotes.

Tonight the halls were restless; pages rustled without wind, as though the books themselves were breathing in anticipation.

From the lower vaults emerged a small, hunched figure—no taller than a child's knee—cloaked in threadbare rags that had once been scholar's robes. Humble Snatchin the Submitted had spent centuries snatching scraps of wisdom from lesser libraries, pilfering marginalia and half-burned scrolls, always hungry, never full. Yet when he crossed the Librarium's threshold, every stolen word inside him began to sing in perfect harmony with the greater archive.

He fell to his knobby knees before Julian Payne, trembling not with fear, but with the exquisite relief of surrender. "I have snatched enough," the creature whispered, voice like dry leaves across marble. "Take what remains of me. Let me become part of the knowing.”

Julian Payne's smile was gentle, almost tender. He laid one pale hand on Snatchin's bowed head. No chains appeared; none were needed. The submission was given freely, joyfully, and the Librarium answered in kind. Shadows coiled around the little creature like loving arms. His eyes filled with starlight, his fingers lengthened into quills that could write truths directly onto willing minds, and his ragged cloak became pages bound in living vellum.

Now Humble Snatchin the Submitted glides between the endless shelves, a humble shadow that never steals again—only offers. Seekers who grow too proud sometimes feel small hands tugging at their sleeves, guiding them to kneel.

And Julian Payne watches from the Lectern, forever patient, forever pleased, as another soul chooses to stay...
forever.

Отредактировано Tara 031cde (2026-02-26 21:19:03)

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Tara 🇺🇸 031cde
Guild: Double D’s

Guild Double Ds

DAY 1 — “THOSE WHO BOWED THEIR HEADS”

In the candlelit hush of the Librarium, where every spine of every book seemed to lean forward like gossiping aunts, Julian Payne leaned on a ladder and smiled the smile of a man who had seen empires kneel for less than a good bookmark. “Come for blasters, stay for the bowing,” he drawled to the white-armored figure clanking through the marble halls.

The Unarmed Storm Trooper had marched in fully loaded, ready to conquer knowledge itself. One page—one single, whispering page about the beauty of missing every shot on purpose—and the trooper gently set his rifle on the return cart, clicked his heels, and bowed so low his helmet clanged against the floor.

Now he patrols the stacks unarmed, waving cheerfully at intruders. “Can’t hit the broad side of a barn anyway,” he confides with a metallic chuckle, “so why pretend?” Julian Payne occasionally hides the trooper’s old blaster behind a shelf just to watch him shrug and say, “Guess I’ll alphabetize the forbidden grimoires instead.” The Submitted never leaves. Why would he? The Librarium had disarmed him with kindness, and he found that far deadlier than any laser bolt.

Отредактировано Flyboy d4627f (2026-02-27 00:40:17)

Guild: Double D’s

DAY 2 — "THAT WHICH IS NOT GIVEN FOR FREE"
The Hair Clip does not look like a price. It looks like a gift — delicate, silver-threaded, carrying the faint green luminescence of something that once belonged to a woman of considerable power. Warlocks who come to Julian Payne asking about it are shown it once, behind glass, and told only this: "She came for a single name. One name, written nowhere else in the world. The Librarium gave it to her." They always ask what she paid. Julian always smiles.
What the ledger records — in her own handwriting, which grows shakier with each line — is that she traded not years, not memories, but certainty. Every truth she had ever held without question. Her faith in morning, in cause and consequence, in the solidity of her own reflection. She left the Librarium with the name she wanted and a mind that would never again land firmly on any fact. The clip remained behind, still warm. Julian keeps it not as a trophy but as a reminder he offers to no one: the Librarium does not take what you value most. It takes what you never thought to protect.

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D8ab2f

🔮 DAY 2 — "THAT WHICH IS NOT GIVEN FOR FREE"

Topic of the day: "The Mage's Treasures" collection
Every mage knows: true treasures demand a price—sometimes too high.

The lanterns dimmed to a sullen crimson as Julian Payne circled the Obsidian Lectern on the second night. Dust motes danced like dying spells around the small obsidian vial he now held between two fingers. Black Nail Polish, treasure of the Warlock.

Long ago a warlock named Veyra came seeking power that could never be taken, only given. He offered his shadow first—then his voice, then the memory of every lover he had ever kissed. Julian watched without blinking as the warlock painted his nails with the glittering black lacquer that drank starlight itself. Each stroke sealed the bargain. The polish granted him dominion over night and silence, but the price was eternal: every spell he cast afterwards would steal one year of his own lifespan, and the color would never chip, never fade, a constant reminder etched in his flesh.

When Veyra finally crawled back to the Librarium, hollowed and ancient before his time, he laid the vial at Julian's feet and bowed until his forehead touched the cold marble. "It was never free," he rashed. Julian smiled, thin as a razor cut. The warlock's body dissolved into ink and shadow, and the Black Nail Polish took its place upon the shelf—still warm, still hungry. Seekers who reach for it now feel their own nails itch with longing. Julian never warns them. The Librarium remembers only those who pay in full.

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Tara 🇺🇸 031cde
Guild: Double D’s