There is a particular smell that is unique to knowledge. The acrid tang of the ink. A sour note from the book glue. The faded sheen of a tannery from leather covers. Dust. Dust, and the stillness of a grave broken only by the scratch, scratch, scratch of quill on parchment. All these things together combined made what Marvin thought of as the smell of knowledge.
For a building as new as Northshire Abbey, the place fairly reeked of it.
Of course, there had been a Northshire Abbey in this valley quite some time ago. Before the old wars - before Marvin's time. The orcs had taken that down, along with all of Old Stormwind. At least, that is the way the orphan matron told it. Even the new city seemed so solid that it was hard to believe it was not always there. The same leap of faith was not difficult to make for a young man, warrior-in-training.
"Can I help you?" A feminine voice inquired as Marvin walked among the stacks of books. Its owner was just into her middle years - far to Marvin's senior but beauty's blush was more than present enough to leave the boy slack-jawed.
"Are you unwell?" The sleeve of a priestess' garb waved past Marvin's eyes. "Hello?" The beautiful woman began to look concerned at the lack of reply. Well, he thought to himself, You can't just leave a pretty girl waiting like that.
"Ah... Well, uh, yes... prett-... You see, I..." Marvin's tongue-tied attempts to answer were cut off by low, rasping laughter. A blush of embarrassment covered Marvin's cheeks, as the shuffling sound of cloth revealed another woman, older than the first.
"Charming the lads again, are you Anetta?" The older woman's voice had a warmth and mirth to it that barely saved it from sounding like the parchment that she was surrounded by. Turning a brown-eyed gaze on Marvin, she smiled. "Healing is here, boy. Training for soldiers is in the other wing of the Abbey."
Not trusting his mouth to form coherent words around either woman, Marvin mutely held up his sword hand. One of the fingers was bent the wrong way.