I feel the cold wooden chair under me as I lower into the seat. The ivory walls and white grantine columns emanate the chill that fills the musky air of the library. The dim candle light provided by the rate sconce casts flitting shadows about the reading carols behind every corner. I feel the faint breeze I’ve grown familiar to these recent weeks, the smell of old books and Farrago’s citrus soap carried from his distant quarters indicating his eminent arrival.

“Hello book worm.” I feel the corners of my lips turn up as my voice, with all of its useless melody, breaks the stifling silence.

“You know that you keep showing up here the more people will talk. I mean, it only makes my reputation better, but will surely hurt yours.” His voice careens out from between the last book shelves in the column, around the small corner against which my desk area rests. Though I cannot see him, I know Farrago isn’t far.

“What adventurer cares is their reputation outside of conquest?” I raise myself onto the desk, legs dangling off the edge with impish kicks.

“Well, actually you’d be surprised.” Farrago’s head poles around the corner, a full head above me. His skin radiates the unusual glow that emanates from him seemingly every morning. The bronze in his hair seems darker this morning, and I realize it’s wet, and styled. “Anecdotally, the average adventurer is highly obsessed with their intersocial perception, to the point where they seek opportunities to enhance it through …” I stand in the desk and place my hand over his mouth.

“Calm down Text Book. Was joking”. I let go of him, but he brings himself around the cover looking up at me, though just barely. “Plus, if you keep listening to me and cleaning yourself up, people will most definitely be talking.” I reach out and ruffle his hair, feeling his discomfort with me doing so. He really does pay attention.

“Couldn’t hurt to try something new. “ his eyes drop to his feet and the adjacent chair. Farrago learns himself over the desk and rolls his his into the seat. I slide myself back to the edge of the desk, looking at the books he chosen and begins to sprawl out across the desk.

“ and todays reading selection?” Small diagrams of unusual monsters are scrawled across the pages, and a chaotic script accompanying it.

“Dragon kin. Kobalds. It’s been a while since I’ve ready anything and with them appearing in the South Spire recently, I thought it best to research. “. His emerald eyes are intense in their examination of the pages, feverish gathering of detail across each page.

Something from behind me catches my ear. I resist the urge to look and instead focus on the sound itself. The rows made by the book cases to my left offer many hiding planes. The study carols to my right offer very little. The windows behind Farrago allow a little light in, but little else. Farrago’s muttering and dictations encumber my senses , but I cast my attention beyond him and toward the book cases.

Someone is listening.

I lean down toward Farrago, whose face has dropped down to the page od the book before him, nose nearly pressed to the browning page.

“Who else is here this morning? Speak softly”. His body grows ridged, fighting his instinct to panic.

“Just me.” His voice is strained but hushed, and I can see his eyes darting about from beside the page.

“We aren’t alone. You need to be ready.” As the last syllable escapes my lips I feel the bite. Sharp steel buried in my calf and the hush of the moment is lost to the carnal scream from my lips. Grabbing the bolt in my calf I tug, the crude arrow releasing a spray of red as it is removed.

I look between the book cases and see the grim shadow standing in the darkness, as if the ink of Farrago’s book was given life. His struggles with the crossbow in its hand, and I know I must get to it before it’s ready.

Pain rushes through my entire body as I leap toward the creature and enter into a sprint. Mu blade emerges from its sheath at my lower back with practiced grace.

Seeing my run and hearing my laments, it throws the crossbow at me and pulls its own blade. Shaped like the gnashing tooth of a great dragon, the small creature bounces beteeen feet readying himself.

He is no taller than I am, though his limbs are thinner and frail. Heavy spines punch out of his ratty tunic, but reveal the metallic copper flesh of the kobald. Wild slashes of the too heavy blade force it to stumble as I near, and I slide under a blow with an attempt to drive my blade into it. It’s hard flesh pushes back the attack, the clang of steel against scale mocking the weakness of my blow.

Now between myself and Farrago, the kobold is torn. His back turns to one of the book cases and his left arm is outstretched with the unusual blade. But his eyes dance back and forth between me and Farrago.

Insee his right arm reach to his hip and recoil. I lunge, seeing its eyes shift toward Farrago, and knowing he’ll not see me in time to halt me. My weight slams into the beast and I drive him to the ground lead by the tip of my blade. Thick red blood trickles out from the wound and begins to puddle on the grey flecked stone floor.

With the kobald dead, my eyes look back up to Farrago who still sits the old wooden chair. Wide eyes are fixed on the deceased monster, but my eyes linger on the dart still vibrating in the crossbar of the chair in the middle of Farrago’s knees. I pull my blade loose from the creature, and wipe my blade clean as I stride toward the dazed scholar. Pulling the dart from the chair and casting it back at thr corpse of its master, I rest a hand on Farrago’s leg.

“You’re okay. “. My voice is genuine, hoping only he believes me enough to leave.