[Ithaeliel]

The echoing footsteps of his companions slowly faded down their separate corridors as he stood in the common, and Angalos was suddenly alone. Now he was left to wonder... was there really one book, or could there be rooms stacked with records? The latter seemed more likely. "Ah, well," he said to himself as he began to walk down the long, dark tunnel from the common room, the light of the candles swaying with his steps. "It's strange how men fashion mountains out of molehills, and romanticize everything that seems unlikely until they make it an impossible fantasy. The race, at least, must exist... no wild animal would have the skill or wits to build such structures or plant poisoned arrows in our path... oof!"

Angalos had been so absorbed in his thoughts again that he had tripped over the first step of a stone staircase. After righting himself and making sure the candles had not been snuffed out, Angalos' gaze travelled up the steep, spiraling stairwell. He cringed, having an awful fear of heights. "There had better be something worth seeing up there," he whispered, "and it had better be worth searching for alone and helpless." With these words, Angalos began to ascend the steep, dark- and now that his feet touched them, slippery- stairs, his candles still burning brightly in the gloom.
He reached the top of the stairs and let out a sigh of relief and triumph. The trader was faced with a half-open door. He was no ranger, but he could see that it had been flung open in haste by the last visitor to the awaiting chamber, for there was an indentation on the wall where the handle had hit it, and the position of the door implied that it had bounced back. Angalos anxiously passed through the door, and gasped as he was greeted with what seemed an entire library: shelves and desks piled high with records and books, seemingly ages old, covered in dust; it smelled of rotting wood. Despite Angalos' revulsion, he was entranced, and he knew it was his duty to find out what he could and try to bring it back with him to show the others. His eyes settled on a desk at the front of the archives. On top of it were piles of papers and stacks of books, all greyed with age and dust. He picked up a book from the top of a stack, but to his great astonishment and disappointment, the pages crumbled to white ashes in his hand, leaving only a thin, ragged cover and a spine as fragile as glass. Dropping the remnants in disdain, Angalos cautiously picked up the next book, seemingly less worn than the previous. The pages were old and crumpled, but stayed whole as he opened the book. He immediately recognized the text as Tengwar, the common script of the Eldar, but it was barely legible. There was, however, a sketch of what looked like several elves. Turning the page, he saw that from that point onward the writing was less damaged, and he read it with little difficulty. After a few pages, Angalos realized that it described much of the early history of the Eldarin races, and mentioned many famed heroes of the Elves. "They are a lost race of elves!" he cried out in spite of himself. "Or else great admirers of them."

He could not contain his curiosity. Quickly setting the book down, Angalos pulled open one of the drawers in another desk with fewer books on top. He coughed and fanned the air in front of his face. Upon opening the drawer, some of its contents had crumbled, covering the papers he now saw in ash and dust. Angalos carefully pulled out a collection of papers and wiped the dust off the front. He saw that they were medical records. Some amazed him, stating that chronic illnesses had been treated successfully. "These people have cured and prevented illnesses that mankind has not yet come to grips with... and now we can. This is incredible!"

Almost as soon as he said it, he heard a loud groan behind him. Whipping around, Angalos gave a hoarse cry as he watched a full bookshelf collapse and fall toward him. He had no time to run, for the shelf was already pinning him to the ground. Lifting his head, he coughed up a cloud of white dust. Many of the books had- thankfully- broken apart on impact due to their age. As a book slid off of his head, Angalos thought he saw someone standing to his right and staring at him. He blinked in surprise, and the person was gone. To his eyes, it had looked like an elf!

"Could I be seeing things?" Angalos thought to himself. "Have I gone mad? Or... am I not alone up here after all?" He wanted desperately to go and find out, but his limbs were useless: they were pinned by the fallen shelf. The worst that could happen, did happen: Angalos was in a sticky state, and there was no one around who would help him.

[ March 26, 2003: Message edited by: Ithaeliel ]