Caldren was lost.

Walking along a ridge he consulted the weathered map in his hand. Up until this point the map was leading him unerringly towards the destination. He left his entire life behind on the chance that this map and the journal it was folded into were real and he didn’t know what he would do if it turned out otherwise.

He was getting tired – his life as a scholar generally did not include athletic pursuits and the scramble across the rock spree and the climb to the ridge had left him sore and exhausted. The trail was clearly marked up until he got to this ridge and then the paths that were supposed to be were instead dense thickets and scrub pines and twisty mountain pathways that all seemed to circle back on each other. Trying to catch his breath in the thin mountain air he sat down heavily on a felled tree and stared at the map as if he looked at it long enough it would give up its secrets.

He glared at the dense overgrowth and grumbled to himself that he should have brought that sword his father had given him. He had never followed his father and brother into the military, but at least a sword would have been useful for cutting through the dense undergrowth. Perhaps the trail was simply overgrown and he needed to cut his way to his destination. He unsheathed his knife from its belt and stared morosely at it – it would take weeks to try to cut through with the knife which was already pretty dull from cutting wood for the evening fires.

The sun was setting soon and the wind was picking up. Caldren pulled his scholars robes from his pack and put them on. He knew the nights up here would be brittle and as his breath puffed into the night air and started a small campfire outside of a sheltered spot amidst the boulders. He didn’t think anyone was around to see the light of the campfire but he shielded it anyway just in case. He wasn’t doing anything technically wrong but he wanted to avoid any entanglements with imperial troops or bandits who would rob him of his already meager possessions.

Settling in for the night he took out his map again. It was yellowed from age and was annotated in a language he didn’t recognize, which was unusual for him as languages was one of the few things he truly excelled at. He was still unsure what he had gotten himself into. After years of searching for any information on the old magic an imperial officer shows up and just hands him a book detailing a mysterious place in the mountains that might be a lost school? It seemed too easy and he was definitely worried that it was a trap and if he did find the location imperial seekers would appear from behind the scrub pines to capture him.

Shaking his head, Caldren picked a random page in the book and started reading. This is something that he had been trying to uncover for a decade now. Magic – real magic like the mages of old. Not the imperial magic so tightly controlled or the hedge witches hiding in the wilderness. The magic spoken of in the tales his mother would tell him at night by the hearth.

Caldren loved these stories and they filled his boyhood imagination with wonder which lead him to pursue a life as a scholar instead of joining the militia as his father had wanted. He spent his days at his duties as an imperial scholar writing books with the words he was given and managing the library at the imperium. It was during a routine cataloging of captured books that he first found the mention of the school and the library. He was reading a pretty straightforward accounting of a merchant guild meeting when there was an entry detailing a funding request for an explorer who claims to have found Aethervale – the mythical location of the library of Temerith. The entry just notes their name as Malcom Sterling and that they granted him the necessary funds in return for first right to books found in the library.

Malcolm Sterling, the leader of the doomed Blackwood company. Everyone had heard the story of how the fabled company disappeared on its way back from one of their expeditions. Some of their company were found at the edges of the Bonechime woods their bodies refusing to rot away – their sightless eyes still facing the wood. Caldren had always thought the stories were fabricated to keep people away from the Bonechime woods but the more he read the more unsettled he became. There was something wrong with that place. It got its name from the sounds that came from the forest when the wind blew through it – a discordant knocking that seemed to follow no pattern but seemed deliberate.

Caldren suspected something else happened to the Blackwood Company. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the Imperial seekers had found out what Malcolm was attempting to do and took steps to ensure that the knowledge remained hidden. Caldren recalled the legends of Temerith and they all seemed to agree that it cannot be found unless it wants you to find it. Caldren always thought that was strange ascribing intent to a building but the legends were all pretty consistent. He wasn’t sure how they ended up hundreds of miles from their original destination however, and the mystery of that is part of what was keeping the legend alive.

Caldren closed the book and threw some more wood onto the small fire. He stared out into the darkening sky through the hazy blue smoke trying to figure out the mystery of this place. He always loved solving puzzles he was persistent when chasing down ideas and he has this unusual ability to remember things he has read clearly. He sorted through all the things he knew about this place trying to tease out a way to gain access.

Before the rise of the empire Temerith was the place mages went to study and learn amongst their peers. The biggest feature of the place was its massive library. The legends claim that you couldn’t ever enter the library itself as it was a stronghold built to protect knowledge. You’d have to speak to the librarians and they would find you the knowledge you sought. The legends here differ as a few claim the librarians were a subset of mage who specialized in managing the library while others claim that the librarians were magical constructs. One thing the legends all agree on were the clockwork archivists – metallic automatons who would gather and sort the books but also serve as guardians. There were a few descriptions of the in some of the books he’d read and they sounded terrifying. Fabricated from some sort of metallic alloy they stood seven feet tall and moved with a grace the belied their mechanical nature. They were generally viewed as benign until someone foolishly tried to break into the library proper. That’s when the guardians put down their books and according to one of his favorite legends their hands became weapons. Caldren never knew why anyone would try to break into a place that had giant metal guards with sword hands but he guessed that some of the knowledge contained in that library had incalculable value.

All the sources he read indicated that the library is hidden somehow and that only people who can channel the magic can find the entrance. He didn’t agree with that idea entirely as there are records of non mages visiting the library so there has to be a way for the everyday needs of such a place to be met. You need food and trade goods for one and he just didn’t see someone who can channel the very energies of the world opening up a bakery. His best guess was there was a way station where visitors would go first and they would be guided in or they would open the lower areas outside of the library proper at certain times to allow for free movement of people. These were all guesses at best as most of the knowledge of the library and magic itself was destroyed by the imperium after the pogrom. Part of his duties as a scholar was to check for the knowledge and ensure it was destroyed but his small act of rebellion was ensuring he read every page as they would be recorded in his memory and he’d write down anything important in a series of journals he kept hidden under a stone in his chambers. Those books were now secured in oilcloth and buried underneath the willow tree he used to climb as a child when playing outside his home. It wouldn’t do to have them discovered once they realized he was never coming back from his sabbatical.

Having exhausted his knowledge of the place and still no closer to finding an answer. He fished some dried meats from his pack and started to gnaw absentmindedly as he considered his next steps. He’d been here for just under a week and he was still no closer to finding the entrance than when he’d arrived. Was this even the right valley? The mountain range stretched for thousands of miles and there could be hundreds of places that match the description of Aethervale. He felt the frustration grow inside of him. He’d left his entire life behind on this insane gamble and he needed this to be the right place he felt deep down that this was the right place he just wasn’t looking at the problem from the right viewpoint.

He did a quick calculation and figured that he had about another week’s worth of food if he was careful and stretched it out as best he could. He’d already lost a significant amount of weight over the last few weeks in this place eating dried rations and whatever he could scavenge. so he wasn’t sure he could go much longer than a week and still have the strength to climb back out and get to the nearest town which was a small mining town about 20 miles from where he started this fools journey. He had tried catching some fish or hunting small game but he just didn’t have any skills in that area so after a few days he resigned himself to the dried foods he has purchased before heading into the mountains.

Having finished his meager meal he walked down to the river to fill his waterskin. Walking around in circles for hours was thirsty work he thought to himself as the icy water numbed his hands. He longed to bathe or clean his robes but he was pretty sure he’d get hypothermia if he tried either of those things so he trudged back up to his campsite grateful for even the little warmth the fire was providing him.

As he left the woods and entered the clearing where his little fire was he froze. Someone was sitting at his fire.