Sargoth had been feverishly digging through old tomes and ancient texts looking for anything that might be relevant to his search. He had been informed by an apprentice mage that there was an extensive library of manuscripts ranging from before the Time of Troubles and was immediately drawn to it. He had found little information digging through the tomb-like bookshelves of Laneer; the books had all been in extensive disrepair and Sargoth could barely pick them up without them crumbling. Sargoth was sure he would find something in one of the countless shelves that lined the huge room; at the very least he hoped to find a personal journal of a mage that lived during the time, they tended to give broad information on a variety of world events, with description dependant on the pompasity and ego of the wizard in question. Sargoth hoped that if he was lucky enough to find a journal it would be of a wizard interested in more than his own robes.

Sargoth had climbed a fairly tall ladder to check the highest shelves but found only one book that might have a pertinent sentence or two. He climbed back down and placed the book on a growing pile that he had been making for the past few hours. Sargoth looked at his stack with an annoyed glance and moved on to the next shelf. He had been making a little noise through this endevour and wondered if anyone was taking offense.

Seele looked up at the man on the shelf and sighed. Some people have no respect. Especially here, in a place of history and magic intertwined... He shrugged and returned to the study of the tome he had found. It was ancient, dating back in Imythess's history farther than he would probably ever know. The date had been scrubbed clean off, and many pages were crumbling. He slowly and carefully went through the script, reading on spells of old. The ways of casting many of the spells had been lost forever, but every now and then he would come across a complete explanation; unfortunately, none had been shadow spells, which is what he was looking for. He had come to this world, once a proud mage but now lacking his large inventory of spells, except for one. He had found the shadow spells here on Imythess to be lacking in power and variety, and had come here in case he could find an ancient spelll in his area. However, he had found nothing, except for a few mage records of a battle long ago, some strange spells, and a good holy spell that he would never have the power to cast.

Wynde could not be drawn away from a certain peculiar book of unknown origin. Its title, though most could no longer read the script, was lettered in faint burnished gold. He knew this book, yet he had never seen it before. "Must be my Power again..." he was heard to mutter as he replaced the book upon the shelf. Though none of the senior mages could tell him anything about his talent, as they had called it, he had been advised to seek out knowledge in the library. His was a power unlike any they had known. So... He was banished to the library under the watchful eye of old Madame Kyca.

As it may be, everyone is inclined to sleep sometime or another and the old woman, weary of the day, closed her one eye and was soon lost to slumber. Wynde had felt a surge of relief that brought renewed energy to his search as the elderly mage lie back. He was determined to find a book that might assist him.

"Young student?" inquired a voice behind him, "I have heard of your talent before." The voice, as the books, seemed old and worn, maybe even dusty, too.

"My apologies, good sir, but I didn't hear you approach." Wynde could feel the icy prickling of his neck as he turned.

A man stood tall, towering above Wynde, yet he looked older than the oldest tome in the vicinity. "Few would hear me at all." Wynde gasped as he realized he truly felt the man more than saw him. "As I said," the old man continued, "I have heard of your talent. It was rampant during the first age, before most history was recorded. Though it is explained as a form of mental enchantment, it is not. You shall know things that would not normally be known to you and command objects to move as though part of your own body. That is but the beginning. You may find the old scrolls a little more helpful than the tomes... Oh! That book you were studying... Pick it up and concentrate on it just a bit harder."

"Thank you," spurted Wynde a bit baffled by the sudden rush of information. He turned to retrieve the book again, but then a question slipped by the turmoil of his mind and found itself at his lips. Spinning around, he started, "How did you-" The old man had vanished.

Behind him, a grunt escaped the throat of Madame Kyca as she sat up. "Did you find anything helpful, child?"