Chronicles Part 1
By: Twilah
Twilah’s forehead slammed into the writing desk with a loud bang, causing her fellow scribes to jump in alarm. Wide awake now, she looked around the library and blushed furiously. She had fallen asleep again.
“I bet Eir never had to do this†she mumbled under her breath for the hundredth time. Taking a deep breath, she picked up her quill and again started to pen the story they had been told the night before. This was her final exam and she just wanted it over.
Before joining Durmond Priory she had not been able to write at all. A quick mind and faster arrow were all she had ever needed in Hoelbrook. Plus, her nimble fingers served her well as a jeweler. Everything her father taught her had been hands-on, and only occasionally would a customer show her something they wanted re-created. Most of her work was original. Who needed writing for stories? They were best told around a large fire with lots of ale!
The priory, however, had shown her the importance of books and scrolls. The long dead had a voice here that she found enlightening and yet morbidly curious. Soon after arriving she had been taken to libraries that contained more knowledge than she could hope to absorb in a lifetime. She learned that the Priory was a major contributor to the New Krytan alphabet, and one of their missions was to spread literacy of this standardized language across all races.
Twilah desired to be a chronicler of stories, so her first few months of training at the monastery involved mostly reading, writing and the history of the Order. The head monk had told her she would not be allowed any field assignments until she could properly chronicle her experiences! Her penmanship was impeccable, mostly due to her training with the delicate instruments of a jeweler and it didn’t take her long to learn the alphabet.
Focusing and trying hard not to put too much flourish on the ending, since accuracy was more important than entertainment value, Twilah finished her chronicle of Brother Pitre’s tale. The class had spent last evening in the dining hall and after dinner an amazing tale was recited. Each initiate listened silently, and this morning they were raised at dawn to sit in the cold library to chronicle what they had heard.
“I hope this will do, because I’m not sure I can handle sitting around the monastery much more!†she though as she turned her parchments into the headmaster. Almost running out the door, Twilah went searching for her owl, Shrevera. Time to hunt before the sun gets too high.