It is here I hope to record the stories I learn in this place. Stories of deeds noble and mundane, stories told to children as they grow and stories born of the actions of grown children. When full, this book will find its home upon the shelves of the Library for all to enjoy. Until such time, reader, know that this book should be returned to Mylaerie of the Dark if found missplaced.

Shared by a pleasant man of mixed heritage. Calm and full of good humor, he is a model to set one's life to indeed.

The Icey Tomb

By Murien

As the ice quakes quivvered, and the adventurerers shivered, they cut through the storm, seeking a place to warm, heir weary and tired old bones, only to be trapped by icy stones, deep in a frigid tomb, will this be their doom?

It was not so long ago, maybe a few months, or weeks, that me and Alexander set out with a zealous member of the Society to chart the ice caverns not far from here. As we travelled we were caught in a fierce storm. We took shelter in a cave, with a great portal, and hoped to let the storm pass. The cave colapsed, however, and we were forced to flee into the portal. We came out into the snow we saw a giant. Alexander and I, we paused.

Yet the zealot, screamed, and he attacked.

Now, this giant had not attacked us. Yet it entered into a mighty rage when it was attacked, and I was forced to subdue it, after it had in turn subdued the zealot. No small task, I assure you, but I'll leave it to your imagination.

I left it alive. Sparing its life.

Even though, it had attacked us, and almost slain us all after the zealot engaged it. We wandered on, then, searching for a way out of the caverns. Only to have ourselves be blocked, at all sides, by large crevaces. So, we went back to that giant, and begged its aid.

It was a noble creature, and refused to give it to us, whom had attacked it. Yet, to it, I told it the tale of a theiving bedine and a princess, a tale of true love, and all that. It finally relented, and aided us. So, it hurled us across this crevace and we ended up at this strange monastary. Trapped there, by the storm, I carved that poem into the icy desk. Soon, the storm ebbed, and we escaped. Yet, that poem still lingers in that icy tomb.