Chapter Text
Marco sighed as he was forced to look away from the book he had been studying yet again. How hard could it be to move things silently? He pushed away from his desk and moved over to the doorway to yell at the movers once again for disturbing his peace and tranquility that he was using to study an ancient text that he had recently acquired.
So precious were the pages he had been reading that he had touched them delicately, as if they were the petals of a rose that may have wilted if one so much as breathed on them the wrong way. The pages, what few of them remained from so ancient a text, were dark brown with age, creaking as they were turned, and they smelled of musty dankness—Gods only knew where this book had been dug up from before it had found itself in the Master of the Guard’s possession.
The pages were written in an Ancient dialect of Elvish, much to Marco’s dismay. He was still working on his Elvish, and was not as entirely proficient in it as he would have liked. Though it really wouldn’t have mattered in this instance because the words were so ancient that even Manuel, who Marco had enlisted to help transcribe the entire work, had had a hard time transcribing the few passages that Marco had sent him. And the half-elf had had the entire Hidden City to assist in translating them!
Marco continued to shout orders about how to move house in a quiet fashion while the book remained open on his desk. On the open pages were a few paragraphs of already-transcribed words that Manuel had managed to return to him from Indéne. Marco had just been about to read them when he had been interrupted.
The paragraphs were as follows:
“Though the tales of our dwarven-friends are fading with every passing sunset, there are a few stories that remain in our mutual language, though I suspect lost soon they shall be just like the race of our friends. None of these stories are so great as the story of the dwarven Velolduhr, for every dwarfling knows the tale of the lands Beyond our viewing. Where the Elvenkind travel at the end of our days is not to the same realm as the dwarven Velolduhr. Perhaps it is a wise thing that few descriptions of the legendary realm are known to us because what there is to know is too great for one to comprehend.
Velolduhr is a magical place, a fairy place, one that is impossible to exist, though I would advise against mentioning this assumption to our dwarf-friends. You see, my friend, Velolduhr is revered for not only its great beauty which is—as I am told—beyond description, but also for the bounty and plenty that simply exists there. It is, with all reverence to the word in the Dwarven tongues, a paradise.
I am informed by my host and his royal kin that the quality of herb and shelter cannot be matched, for the gardens are bountifully laden with the greatest crop of botany one could ask for. A chemist would find themselves in a haven of bliss there. Shelters are made in the forests of the land where one could sleep underneath the stars without fear of beast or man to suggest otherwise. Velolduhr is held in the highest regard to our dwarven friends and with tales such as these I am envious that I cannot see it myself as of yet.
Take this as no insult to your realm or praise to the dwarves, my friend, it is simply a fact. Of course, I shall try to investigate further and it will take great skill of magic to find Velolduhr and return once I have done so. And I pledge myself to accomplishing this task, just as my host and his kin and ancestors have done. The journey to Velolduhr is a quest I yearn to accomplish, and it is easy for me to see why the dwarves also look for their Valhalla.
I hope to send more news to you soon regarding this matter. Until our paths meet us again, I shall stay here in the North Mountains, searching for a way to find this mysterious realm and bring news of it back to the land of the Elvenkind before the end of this Age. May you prosper in my absence—”
There the translations ended because the pages had also ended. It was not a complete story, nor would it ever be in this state. Marco finally finished scolding the staff and he returned to his desk. He reseated himself and took up the fresher parchment that Manuel had sent him with his translation.
As the Guardsman read what his friend had sent, the sounds of the city beyond the castle bustled and hummed as it had in the five years since the Fall of the Scarlet Tower. The sound of peace was lost to the man, however, as he read the words on the paper. He had never heard of Velolduhr, nor had anyone until these pages had been found, not even Tobias.
Marco frowned as he considered the words. Well, at least he had a new distraction, he thought to himself as he sighed in annoyance at a completely unrelated issue. He rubbed his temple and found himself staring off into space. He hated moving. He hated break-ups. He hated hating things. Shaking himself, he returned to his study and hoped that the mystery of the Dwarven Velolduhr would reveal itself to him.