The Dustscript Library
Of the main streets of the Quarter of Dust and Bone, where the streets grow quieter and the air is thick with the scent of parchment and ink, stands the Dustscript Library. It is a relic of a forgotten age, a structure half-swallowed by time, its weathered stone exterior blending seamlessly into the dust-stained cityscape. Many pass it by without a second glance, mistaking it for a crumbling ruin—but for those who seek knowledge that should have been lost, this library is a sanctuary.
A Repository of Forbidden and Forgotten Knowledge
The Dustscript Library does not boast grand halls or ornate architecture; it is a place of shadows and whispered pages. Within its walls, shelves sag under the weight of books and scrolls, some so ancient that their bindings turn to dust at the touch. The air is thick with history, and every creaking step upon its wooden floors is a reminder that the past is never truly gone—only buried.
Unlike the grand archives of other cities, the Dustscript does not serve a ruler or a noble house. It is maintained by a small, elusive order of scribes and archivists, figures who seem as much a part of the library as the dust that settles upon its tomes. They do not ask for coin, only for a trade—knowledge for knowledge.
The Secrets Within
What knowledge is hidden within these walls is known only to those who have bartered for it. Some claim the library holds contracts older than Dum Ramil itself, records of forgotten treaties, or maps leading to ruins swallowed by the desert. Others whisper of arcane texts best left unread, their pages bound in unknown materials and their ink shimmering in the candlelight.
Many who enter the library do so with desperate questions—about history, about lost magic, about names erased from time. Some find answers. Others find only more questions. And there are those who leave with knowledge they wish they had never sought.
A Place of Quiet Power
Despite its unassuming nature, the Dustscript Library holds a unique power within Dum Ramil. It is respected by scholars, feared by rulers, and sought after by those who trade in secrets. No army guards its doors, yet few would dare to steal from it. Those who have tried have never been seen again.
To read within its halls is to risk being changed—for knowledge is a burden, and the past never lets go of those who uncover it.
"If the past is dead, then why does it whisper in the Dustscript’s halls? Why do its books still hunger for hands to turn their pages?"
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