Down in the Darkest Stacks: A Librarian's Tale

Tuesday, December 20, 2016

Designer Liz Spain continues her breathless romance-novel previews of Mummy's Mask, here showing off the bounties in Adventure Deck 3: Shifting Sands.

Stepping through the heavy marble doors, Alahazra felt the jeers and laughter of the crowd ringing in her ears. Next to her, the surly elf breathed heavily with exertion. The air wafting past him took on the heavy salt note of sweat below the sharp metallic tang of the potions he carried. The camel race had been more difficult and dangerous than expected and, worst of all, had been deeply embarrassing. But empires are built on the vulgarities of those in power. Muminofrah, who had the ear of the Ruby Prince himself, was exceptionally petty. Still, camel spit and grimacing flattery were the price for their prize: a piece of serpentine—a stamp carved with a name better than any key. Well, when it came to dealing with Osirion bureaucrats, anyway.

Shh!

Dark and quiet, the twisting chambers of the Great Library of Tephu echoed with the footsteps of curators and the hush of papyrus turned by diligent students. Alahazra remembered the sound from a sunny afternoon long ago—before the gods struck her eyes—spent with her tutor learning ancient script. Sometimes she missed reading. This vast repository was only the public face of the library, the oracle knew. Below the stacks that held dull histories, philosophies, and trade records lay a trove of terrible secrets. More than a thousand years of renovation had pushed these chambers deep underground, where the human librarians dared not tread.

Footsteps approached. They held the certainty of a library curator. "We have the permission of Muminofrah herself to enter the Vault of Hidden Wisdom," Alahazra said as she held up the stamp of favor, her low, soft voice husky with dust from the chariot race. The curator coughed, "You need Governor An-Keret for that. No one enters those chambers without her approval."

"Couldn't you show us the way?" Alahazra purred, reaching out to stroke the cheek of the nervous librarian. The curator's skin was soft, unweathered, and suddenly warm as she blushed. "Follow me," she whispered. Past several creaking doors and down an uncountable number of marble stairs, the curator's feet stopped. "The Head Librarian went back here. We will have to wait."

The Symbol of Fear inscribed upon the door hummed with arcane malfeasance. Damiel set his bag on the ground with a clatter. "I have something for this," he mumbled, more to himself than anyone. "So do I," Alahazra replied, stretching sensuously as her limbs lengthened into cloudlike tendrils. A heartbeat later, the door clicked open as if unlocked from behind.

We said you had to be quiet, not intangible.

The lack of light in the deeper rooms of the library didn't bother Alahazra, but her companions stumbled and kicked loose rocks as they navigated through the labyrinthine shelving. The hard sound of claws on stone stopped her in her tracks. "Shhh," she snapped. But it was too late. The undead thing, home among the dark, and hungry for knowledge itself, had found them. Its massive leonine form wrapped in immaculate linen, Alahazra could hear the bones of the mummified sphinx creak as it approached.

The little librarian scampered to safety as the oracle and the alchemist prepared their attack. They would have to be careful: any destruction of the library would bring down its protectors upon their heads.

We used to say "Never trust a trader till you can look her in the eye," but this time we'll make an exception.

As the last bits of the necromantic abomination fizzled away in holy light, another set of footsteps approached from the furthest corner of the room, followed by the soft slither of scaly things. "You were not looking for my friend there, I take it." The medusa's voice was filled with gravel, and without mercy. "I can show you tomes. Secret things. For a price." Her forked tongue glided over her teeth.

Behind Alahazra, the little curator clutched her robes and squeaked, "She's real." The elf stood back; diplomacy was not his forte. The burns from the last time he attempted to impress someone were yet healing.

"Deka An-Keret—we need to see her," Alahazra boomed with authority.

"Come," the medusa hissed, leading them even deeper into secrets so dark the parchment had never seen the light of day.

Liz Spain
Adventure Card Game Designer