Welcome to Gaia! ::

*Startled Clare looked taken a back. She hadn't expected Cora to Know Latin. It must only be the text then, how old.. to be able to speak and understand but not read the same language.*

"Not really, its known as the 'dead' language."

"Can you read any of these books then..?"

*Coming up to the other side of the desk, Clare set the glass down and leaned over it. Her fingertips tracing over the lettering, smearing the lead a bit, and darkening her skin just as she began to fade from the library. Leaving the almost empty glass behind.*

Long after Clare and Cora were gone Tac came rushing into the Library, dashing around to find any books he possibly could find on planar mechanics and magic involving such magic. He also stops a moment to find any book that might detail gods and goddesses of folklore, looking for a book that would detail dieties of his own time.

The clicking of three forms of limbs could be heard down the corridors lined with books, an old man walking slowly down until he found a nice area. He looked about, in wonder of all the books and where they seeemd to come from. He knew they went to the end of time, but when did they start making books again? They stopped about the late four thousands AD, and he thought they would never come back. He decided that he would take a rather old book he had heard good things about. An old book by some person... he couldn't tell who. He could barely see the title it was so old. It read something like "Kill a bird." Or something. It was about some people with the name of Finch. Looked good. He moved off to a corner, silently reading. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the man named Tacitus, though he didn't turn his worn face up to look.

Tac shot up, yelling in a private success. He glanced around and noticed nobody was around, so at least he didn't interupt anyone's reading. He put the book back down on the desk and began reading aloud, "Aetas Aeturnas, God of Time, this man was a pagan god up until the third millenium BCE, living many lives until he finally ascended. Exact details are yet unknown." He copies down the information and bolts from the library, forgetting to put the books away.

Malazar tucks the books under his arm and heads to the main room for a drink to go with his reading material.

*Gathering the books up in her arms, Clare scrambled to put them back in their proper places. Praying Tavin didn't have a librarian.. they were all quiet, and shrill..and they had rulers..and they.. or was that nuns? eeeep.*

*Still disheveled, she wedged the last book on to the shelf and went about smoothing her skirt back out and readjusting her shirt, while casually making her way out of the library and down the hall. A few sputtered coughs following Clare along the way, a side effect of clearing the dust from her lungs.*

Books lie strewn across every surface of the Library. Everything from such lofty titles as...

"Briefs on Metaphysical-Physical Interdimensional Relationships and Studies: By Canis Dirus"

to

"Murmurs in the Dark; Passages from the Grimoire Necronium: By Aldophus Krieger"

and

"Channeling; A Wiccan's Guide to Mysticism in the Modern World: By E. Solenger"

as well as

"The Fu-Manchu Omnibus; Shadows: By Sax Rohmer and Canis Dirus"

and

"Songs of the Sibil: By Brother Harpia"

and many many more. The majority seems to be on various aspects of the metaphysical, followed closely by text about conspiracy theorists, omens, and prophecy. Most of them are titled in US (Universal Standard) but several of the older and more obscure pieces of literature are in a myriad of languages from Latin to Infernal and Abyssal. A good deal of the books are banned (for good reason) on most civilized worlds, most notebly the pile of Passages from the Grimoire Necronium and several chapters from The Black Book. However, none of these titles seem to bare their legendary curses or sinister evil energies. Amongst them, Malazar stalks.

His worn leather bound book held in hand like a rapier to fend off the invisible foes of time and misinformation, the stylus whipping across the pages at feverish speed, then back to the piles of references cocked above the palm as the man flips to new information and repeats the rapid writing. Malazar seems buried in his work and everything in the library that wasn't nailed down had been shifted and placed for maximum access. That which could not be moved, the Isolation Room and the Walls, was covered in notes and additional references. In a single night's work Malazar had transformed the Library into his own, temporary, domain.