Rifkin leaned back and sighed. He removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes, stretching his arms and glancing about the library in the dim candle light. Slowly he rose from the chair and snuffed out the two large candles, picked up the smaller one and headed for the door.
He’d just finished the last tome for this night and found himself wondering if the queer downstairs had any stew left and some warmed wine to take the chill from his bones. His bones. Rifken seldom ever thought of his body without at least a fleeting moment wondering what type of undead he would become when his time came. And it would come, he knew. Like everyone else, one day, even if he lived and died a normal span of years, one day, some greater power would call him back from the grave, as it would all once-living things.
It had been a very productive month. Rifkin had been able to decifer several new spells from Odo’d books, and a few weeks ago when the courier had brought news from the others in Ryemouth of this lost city of Callipygous he’d been hardly able to contain his excitement. This was what he’d journeyed to Breetland for: a glimpse into the ruins of the long lost peoples that had dwelt here centuries ago. They were a people with knowledge that Rifkin greatly desired. Sure, the trinkets and the coin were nice, but it was knowledge that Rifkin truly treasured above all else. He had poured over the tomes and scrolls of Odo’s library, but no mention of this Callipygous could be found. But Rifkin was skilled at piecing together clues of old civilizations, a skill he was growing better and better at as he read more and more. There was little doubt to him that this might very well be the ancient city of Chathair Fhómhair that they were discussing. He hadn’t found many details about the place (oh, the usually hints of various cataclysmic ends), but he was relatively certain that was the real name of these ruins. A city that was once a religious center of the indigenous people of Breetland, where there were many temples dedicated to the worship of the ‘old gawds’ some of which had been incorporated into the 500, others, not. Others, yes. Darker, far more dangerous than any of the 500, but with far more useful knowledge as well.
Jasper had returned yesterday and the rest of his friends were expected to arrive from Ryemouth on the morrow. Rifkin knew he should get some rest for the journey, but he found that far into the night he could only pace, back and forth, wondering what this new adventure might bring…