The drow stands, positioned just so between Stephen and the door behind him. He has to tilt his head to meet Stephen's eye, such is the difference between their heights, but unlike many men, it doesn't seem to bother him. He's not bothered by anything, it seems, self-assured and calm in the face of Stephen's frustration. Stephen doesn't bother him. Stephen, in fact, means as little to him as anything that is not his library, his books.
"She is happy doing it. She is worthwhile when she works. You would take that from her? Make her nothing again?"
Vazeiros steps forward. There are no weapons around them, nothing but stacks and stacks of—not-quite-books. The suggestion of books. As Vazeiros moves, they resolve into solid form, taking shape: unending stacks of magical tomes and wizards' spellbooks, volume upon volume of arcane secrets. Some Stephen is familiar with from his own studies, books from Kamar-Taj and the multiverse beyond, and some he has never seen. They spread through the room, an endless trove of knowledge, waiting to be cracked open.
"You would be happy here as well, wouldn't you? We have so much to show you, Doctor. So many secrets to share."
He plucks a book from the top of a stack. It's bound in leather, maybe, or maybe worse, a face caught in a scream raising from the cover as if trying to escape. The air is heavy and chilled with its arcane power, and somewhere in the room, a purple gem pulses invitingly.
Vazeiros holds the book out between them, an offering.
no subject
The drow stands, positioned just so between Stephen and the door behind him. He has to tilt his head to meet Stephen's eye, such is the difference between their heights, but unlike many men, it doesn't seem to bother him. He's not bothered by anything, it seems, self-assured and calm in the face of Stephen's frustration. Stephen doesn't bother him. Stephen, in fact, means as little to him as anything that is not his library, his books.
"She is happy doing it. She is worthwhile when she works. You would take that from her? Make her nothing again?"
Vazeiros steps forward. There are no weapons around them, nothing but stacks and stacks of—not-quite-books. The suggestion of books. As Vazeiros moves, they resolve into solid form, taking shape: unending stacks of magical tomes and wizards' spellbooks, volume upon volume of arcane secrets. Some Stephen is familiar with from his own studies, books from Kamar-Taj and the multiverse beyond, and some he has never seen. They spread through the room, an endless trove of knowledge, waiting to be cracked open.
"You would be happy here as well, wouldn't you? We have so much to show you, Doctor. So many secrets to share."
He plucks a book from the top of a stack. It's bound in leather, maybe, or maybe worse, a face caught in a scream raising from the cover as if trying to escape. The air is heavy and chilled with its arcane power, and somewhere in the room, a purple gem pulses invitingly.
Vazeiros holds the book out between them, an offering.