Rialyn strode with purpose up to the towering building known as the Hall of Records. It stood an impressive 7 stories tall, and took up most of a block in length. The stone was gleaming white, with scroll-work and columns everywhere it was possible to fit them. The front doors were large enough to fit a dragon inside without it having to duck.
His blood red braids swung and the amber beads clicked softly with every step he took. With an overly dramatic sigh of resignation, he pushed open the massive doors and stepped inside. The smell of dust and old parchment filled his nostrils, making him wrinkle his nose in distaste. This was some kind of punishment, he knew. Djuran getting him back for something or other. The Djinn knew how much he hated having to delve into the boring work of sifting through so many tedious bits of garbage to find the one useful bit in the lot.
The echoes of his boots on the marble floor reached even the furthest corners of the hall, causing several heads to turn his way. As he walked over to the main desk, the gargoyle clerk stiffened slightly at his approach, giving him a wary look that Rialyn had grown accustomed to. He was pretty sure this was the one he had stated had a 'natural talent for incompetence.' Joy.
"Good morning Gertrude." He smirked down at her. He was pretty sure her name wasn't Gertrude, but he couldn't be bothered to remember it when she was so useless. "Miss me?"
The woman behind the counter glared at him and the grip on the pen she had been using tightened.
"What. Do. You. Want?"
Red eyes glinted mockingly.
"I was just curious about something." His voice oozed insincerity and wicked delight at getting under her skin already, in equal measure. "Who owns a particular cellar in the Earth district. I think it was between Enchanted Elixirs and Sorcerer's Salvage."
The woman's glare hardened somehow, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "And why would a Fae be interested in a cellar in the Earth district?" she retorted icily. "Dabbled your fingers into too many pies, have we?"
Rialyn only grinned wider, his teeth flashing sharp and white. "Oh Gerty," he cooed, causing her to bristle. "I thought you knew better than to interfere in my business."
"You know perfectly well that I can't just hand out that information without proper documentation." She said, her voice strained as if his mere presence was causing her physical discomfort.
His smirk widened even farther. "Well, lucky for you, Gertrude, I came prepared." From the pouch at his waist, he withdrew a neatly folded piece of parchment and laid it on the counter between them.
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at the document. "And this is?"
"A request form," he replied, his tone bordering on condescension. "Signed by Djuran himself."
With a huff of resignation, she snatched up the document and began to read. Rialyn took the opportunity to lean against the counter and survey the hall around him. His eyes fell on several hardworking clerks who were diligently flipping through ancient scrolls and sifting through countless documents. Boring.
Behind him, he heard the clerk clear her throat. "Fine," she said, looking like she'd rather tear the form up than allow him to use it.
Rialyn watched with satisfaction as she grudgingly turned to the monstrous ledger that sat on the counter before her. Flipping through with a speed only years of experience would allow, she eventually landed on a page halfway through.
"Cellar number seventy-five in the Earth district," she muttered half to herself. "Current owner...unlisted." She looked up at him sharply. "Now get out."
Rialyn leaned against the counter, unfazed by her hostility. "Unlisted? Now how can that be possible? Every building is required to be registered with the owner's name and current address in case of fire or other..." He waved one hand.
His mind turned over ideas at a quick pace. The building was old, very old, and was rumored to be linked to a whole host of magical mishaps that had rocked the Earth District in its long history. Whoever the owner was, they had gone to great lengths to keep their identity hidden. But he had to find out who it was. Red eyes locked on Gertrude once again.
"I know there has to be a way to find out the current owner Gerty my love. And so do you."
Gertrude's pale face reddened at his words, her pointed fangs bared in an ugly sneer. "You don't have the authority to demand such information, Fae!" she spat, as if his kind were a lower species. "Nor do I have the patience to endure your insufferable presence."
Rialyn rolled his eyes and sighed. "Oh come on Gerty. That" he pointed at the request form still laying on the counter. "is all the authority I need at the moment. Djuran, a Soul Mage and Djinn if you have forgotten, has requested this information. Do you really want him to come down here to talk to you instead of me?"
Gertrude's eyes flickered with fear, the mention of Djuran having an immediate effect. Soul Mages were not to be trifled with, especially those who had the additional power of being a Djinn. The glint in her eyes told Rialyn she was weighing her options. After a few moments, she let out an exasperated sigh, slumping in defeat.
"Fine," she hissed through gritted teeth.
Her disgusted glare could have turned him into stone as Rialyn watched her turn her attention back to the enormous ledger. She flipped through various pages and scrolled down some sort of register using her finger, her brow furrowed in concentration. After several long and agonizing minutes – at least from where Gertrude stood – she turned with a scrap of paper in one hand and grabbed the edge of the counter in the other.
"Fifth level, 8th row, bookcase 15, shelf 10, book number 85" Gertrude glared at him, her grip on the counter tightening. "I have done what you asked, now leave."
Rialyn's eyes twinkled with unholy glee as he gave her a mock salute and snatched the paper. "As always, Gerty, your assistance has been utterly invaluable." He stepped away from the counter, his boots echoing ominously against the marble.
Heading for the grand staircase at the east wing of the hall that would lead to the fifth floor, his mood had improved considerably knowing Gertrude was fuming behind him. He stifled a laugh as he ascended the stairs, his red eyes gleaming with mischief. Rialyn passed several bookshelves, each one groaning under the weight of countless ancient scrolls, books and various other documents. His fingers traced lightly over the spines of the books as he walked, his eyes skimming over the faded titles.
The fifth level was a labyrinth of towering bookcases crammed with ancient scrolls and leather-bound books, all meticulously arranged. His footsteps muffled by the age-old carpeting, Rialyn navigated the maze-like aisles. He murmured the instruction Gertrude had given, "8th row, bookcase 15, shelf 10, book number 85."
Navigating through endless rows of tall shelves filled with dust-ridden books and creaky scrolls was tedious and somewhat exhausting. But after several wrong turns and nearly knocking down a stack of precarious manuscripts, he found himself standing before the desired bookcase. Shelf 10 was above his head, but luckily for him, the ladder was nearby. Sliding it over to where he guessed the right area of said shelf would be, he climbed up and looked at the numbers. Book number 77 was the farthest he could reach, grabbing hold of the shelf, he carefully slid the ladder down a bit more until book number 85 was in reach.
It was old, cracking and dusty leather. Original color too faded from age and dust to be guessed at, passed that it was something dark like black, blue or grey. Cradling the book to his chest, he climbed down the ladder and walked further on until he found a reading table. His hushed footsteps were the only sounds, and he vaguely wondered if anyone else was even on this floor.
Setting the book down on the table, and dropping into a chair, he opened the cover and coughed as a cloud of dust blew free. With a glance around, he quickly snapped his fingers over the book to do a cleaning charm he knew wasn't allowed. But the pages were now dust-free. Red eyes glanced down at the writing and he groaned. It was a list of purchases and sales for every building on the block, going on for... he flicked to the middle then the end of the book, ignoring the crackling sounds and groaned louder... for at least 400 years. And none of it was printed, it had all been written by hand. Many different hands. This was going to take hours if not days.
