On top of the building is a network of beautiful gardens and lawns.   A few people sit here or there, reading and talking.  This is obviously the Library, another jewel in the beautiful crown of the Citadel.  You hurry down across the lawns to a small doorway.  The white aspens set around the Library shake in the warm wind, seeming to keep a vigilant watch over the Library and what it contains.

Etched on the walls of the Library are scenes depicting the Great Ages of Krynn.  You stop for a moment to look, but then continue in your haste into the warm and inviting recesses of the dim building.  The wooden door creaks slightly as you open it and step into the softly-lit room.  Orbs of light hang in a way so it illuminates but does not disturb the passerby or the person reading intently.   Magical by origin, the orbs glow and float on their own accord.

The walls are covered still with the runes and etchings of the Ages.   The floors in the large entryway are covered in fine rugs, and furniture is placed near the walls, where many people are sitting and reading from small books or larger tomes.  One such person looks up from their book, and in a flash is up and talking to you.

"Hullo!" the little creature in red leggings and a dark-gray cloak squeaks.  On instinct, you reach for your moneybag, but then realize that this is no regular Kender.  The small thing smiles brightly, "I am Sphefairia of Kendermore.  I'm an aide here at the Great Library."  The Kender is obviously a female, and a strange one at that.  You have never heard of a Kender who actually spent time in a Library - let alone being an aide!

"You can stop gawking, you know," Sphefairia says, almost impatiently.  "I'm a Kender Scholar, but I've bet you've never heard of one.   That's all right, neither have I!"  Smiling, she turns, expecting you to follow, and heads through a door in the wall on the farthest side of the chamber.   The door opens to the center of the Library.  A flight of wooden stairs head down to the floor which contains scores of bookshelves and hundreds of books.   Ranging from all sizes and all kinds of binders, the room is littered with tables and chairs where space can be found to read and ponder.  Eleven other doors like the one you stand by now are spaced along the fringes of the oval-shaped chamber, all of them apparently heading out to side rooms like the one you just passed through.

The walls of this room are also covered in etchings and carvings, and the ceiling raises to a wide dome at the top.  The woodwork is finely accompanied by a solid rust-colored rock that holds well and is pleasing to the eye.  "Boy, you sure do like to stare a lot!  We get a lot like you here," the Kender says again, constantly smiling.

"You can go anywhere you'd like, read anything you like.  If you see any guys or gals in brown robes tending to the books, say hello!  They're the aesthetics, and they are constantly working to keep the Library operating and expanding."  With a nod, a smile, a flash of gray cloak, and a click of the door, the Kender is gone.

Tales

You make your way down the stairs and into the expansive library.  The aroma of parchment and leather bindings is sweet.   Passing a few visitors, giving a welcome nod to each, you make your way to a row where a brown robed aesthetic is carefully tending to a quite empty shelf.   The man turns to you, and nods cordially, turning back to his work of stacking some new black leather-bound books onto the shelf.  The man has snowy white hair, complimented by an equally white moustache, and a weathered old face that seems to glow with kindness.  In the midst of his work, he says, "This shelf is full of the work of those right here at the Citadel.  It's great stuff, only the best, but we're always looking for more to add to it."  He speaks in a half-whisper, his voice reminding you surprisingly of your own grandfather's.

Smiling, he looks at you out of the corner of his eyes.  "So why don't you take a seat, get comfortable, and read some of these?  I don't keep them presentable for nothing, you know."  You smile back and turn to look at the rather small collection of works.  There are just a few books there, each bound with dark leather with white or silver writing.  Running your hand over the smooth leather, the books seem to come alive, calling you to read their words of misty enchantment...

The Knight's Charge by Marc Dotson - Trianus is a young Knight of Solamnia, ready to battle all the evil in the world.  He travels with a caravan of knights and pages as they make their way to North Keep in the dark days of the War of the Lance.
A Magi's Shadow by Marc Dotson - Jenin Creed, a young and ambitious red robe magi living in Palanthus weeks before the Second Cataclysm, is about to be taught a great lesson about the dark recesses of the soul, his past, and his foreseeable future.

Upon drawing a close to one of the stories, your eyes turn heavenward; in curiosity, and maybe a little reverence.  The beautifully derived carvings spread across the slightly-domed ceiling are a site to see.  The masterpiece that hangs over you shows a great globe - a world - hanging in the midst of multitude of glittering stars.  Near the world stand a group of beings overlooking it.  There are seven of them, and each separate face is full of compassion and love for the world.

You smile and move your eyes away from the site.  Placing the book you were reading back on the shelf, you start to make your way further into the forest of shelves and parchment.  After taking a few steps, you hear a low voice slowly saying lines of poetry.  Coming around the corner of a book shelf, you see a dwarven man with a large tome in his hands.  Small spectacles are perched on his bulbous nose, and his weathered hands are carefully going over the page in an effort to keep place.

The brown-robed dwarf starts as he finds you looking at him.   "Excuse me," he says in a very heavy Thorbardin accent, "I didn't realize you were standing there."  You smile, and introduce yourself.   "I am Splint of the Urkhan Sea," he follows.  "So we have another visitor.  Good, good.  I guess you haven't had the chance to read up on some of our poetry.  Great stuff, great stuff."  He hands you a tome from the bookshelf and brandishes a grin.  "Please, have a seat.  Nothing from Quivalen Soth, but it raises the emotions just as well."

Remembered Grace - Marc Dotson