Zandelia listened to Eridanus talk of what he knew, his life of bliss cut short by the tearing forces of the Valterrian itself, making Zandelia ever aware that not even the gods and those whom lived with them were completely safe from harm. She had long suspected that the gods had receded from being involved with humanity, and the other mortal species, in a direct manner for the most part due to the risk it posed them. It was an irony to think of in truth, the all powerful beings of existence still not above destruction and damage. The fact that humans could play a part in that had not much entered her mind, but given the legends that surrounded the Valterrian it seemed ever more plausible to her as she mused upon it. Still, she saw the look that came across the face of the Ethaefal, longing mixed with resignation she thought, and found a slip portion of pity for him.
Having your home taken from you is something I know well, though not in a deified way she thought to herself as she turned her attentions back to the books before her and tried to create a silence that was not entirely uncomfortable whilst she thought of something else to say. His past was something that he obviously had no wish to discuss at the current time, his blunt answers all too telling of his guarded tongue. It was very wise of him indeed.
“Interest?!” she scoffed, trying not to seem bitter about her very nature, “this is my life Eridanus, my obsession some might say. A person once told me that knowledge is power, but I realized all too quickly that it is the application of said knowledge, rather than the knowledge itself, that determines ones strength. Especially in this city” she spoke out loud, her words dripping with cynicism and distaste.
Her search had begun many years ago now, her father teaching her a little whilst she was a girl and before he had been killed. What she remembered was mostly learning by observation more than practicality, the mind of a youngster not able to cope with the intricacies of intelligence gathering. She had learnt a little from her several masters also, slave keepers and merchants for the most part. Forced into their beds and kept close by she had noted and heard much of the basics her father would have imparted upon her with less evil means. Then she had freed herself, bloody conflict losing her an eye but forcing her hands into being unbound for good. After that she had been all but placed in servitude once again, though she had not realized it at first, and ‘Grubber’ had used her for his own ends – teaching her much but in the end asking too much of her. She had left his frail Nuit body splintered and broken, dying if not dead. And then had come…nothing. Nothing but a calling, a growing need to ferret out secrets and information. It had merely been an annoyance at first, but it had grown all too quickly.
Some might call it Akajia’s will. My father would have done. As for myself, I cannot tell she thought to herself morosely as she wondered what to say further to the man. Trust, after all, was built from both sides and if she wished to learn of him he would seek to know of her.
“I have lead a troubled life Eridanus, one which I wouldn’t not put others through if I could help it. It made me what I am. Nothing left other than myself and what I can reap for myself. Intelligence gathering gives me leverage over others so that I might protect myself,” she spoke out loud now, letting her thoughts become carefully crafted words laid out before him, “I do not lie and state I would not use others, for if it would be advantageous I would. However, I do not seek to contend with the large players of Sunberth, the gangs. I merely seek to carve out my own little piece for my own” she finished, letting him decide upon just how little she wanted.
“My father would call it Akajia’s will and I suppose it could be, but I cannot ask him about it as he no longer lives upon this plane of existence. I just want what anyone wants Eri-“ she continued, until she looked at the title of the smaller of the four books in greater detail than she had before.
’The Little Book of Misinformation’ by Markus Sansom it read and she felt it fall from her numbed fingers as her world seemed to be bathed in freezing cold water and shock began to set in so that her pause became almost a catatonic stare into the middle distance as memories flashed back through her skull, Eridanus and the library now completely forgotten.
