Kiril

“What do you mean, ‘I have a problem’?” Kiril is perched on the topmost step of a rolling ladder, one of several in the ever-expanding library. “What I have is a calling. The world is a better place for dragons that put a pen to paper and record the world around them.”

His Waychunk companion gazes at him, unimpressed. It looks pointedly at the books down below, rising up in haphazard towers of musty leather bindings. It certainly looks like someone has a book collecting problem. From an outside perspective.

“Yes, well, I’m working on that,” Kiril hums, tracing his claw gently along a number of spines. “Bookcases are costly. And such trouble to build. Could you help me carry these down?”

He piles three reference books atop the Waychunk’s head, which it holds aloft with nothing but magic and a bit of elbow grease. Slowly, it drifts to the ground, and dumps them unceremoniously onto the floor. “Take care, please! Those are Third Age volumes.”

With his own arms full of books, Kiril hops down the ladder, easing his fall with a bat of his wings. “The Arcanist would be proud, you know. What would we be without the pursuit of knowledge?”

The Waychunk dutifully brings him his ink and a fresh ream of paper. “Oh, thank you. You’re a spectacular assistant, have I ever told you that?”

Yes, it thinks, trying not to look too smug. Almost every day.

Kiril sweeps the dust off the reference books, dips his pen in the ink, and begins his transcriptions.
Lore by hannibals


Art by TimedSun