Ancient tomes lined the shelves, some covered with years of dust. The thick books were very old - that was apparent by their yellowing pages and aging leather bindings. The texts had a guardian: a large, slug-like creature. The guardian moved slowly among the rows of books, content just to be next to them, and to know that they were safe.
The guardian was a unique creature. Created by a powerful wizard specifically to guard the library's precious books, it was just one of the wonders of this powerful place. The power and wonders attracted a few visitors, but not many appreciated the value of the place, and generally only the more ambitious warlocks visited. Overall it was a very quiet place, home only to those created for or brought to the library - and to the books, the many, wonderful books.
Enchantments and artifacts were also held in the library, as well as tools of creation and craft. Some of the sparse visitors preferred to use these and ignored the texts, while others read with an exclusive concentration.
Clean light poured into the library from large glass windows between the bookshelves. Rows and rows of texts sat silently, bathed in the brightness. Occasionally there would be a passage, where a wall held a door or just gave up existence, leading to another room: another miracle. None of the rooms were mundane, not to the people who understood what they held.
In one room, wraith-like beings hovered around over the ground, or sat copying text from ancient and fragile books onto newer and stronger homes. One wraith finished copying a text called "The Seventh Scion: A Guide to Generational Mutation Magic." The wraith held the book loosely with a few claw-like fingers and drifted over to a large window, where it gave it to a very tall creature with tentacles for arms and legs. The creature received the copy and glided through the air, out of the window and away from the library, to find the duplicate someone to read it.
Another room was covered in runes. They covered the walls, the floor, and the ceiling. A rather large rune, one big enough to sit comfortably in, lay in the center of the room.
Across from that room was a very bright room where ghosts of brilliant witches and wizards occasionally came to share their knowledge. The wraiths would sometimes act as scribes for them, giving life to death's knowledge.
A masked figure appeared in-between two rows of books, directly in front of the slug-like guardian. He held an odd mask in his hand: it had a psychotic appearance, and was decorated with runes and rare, powerful stones. The masked figure placed the odd mask on the face of the guardian in a fluid, swift movement. There was a flash of light, and the guardian was gone.
Several more dark, mask-wearing shapes appeared where the guardian had just stood. Their masks were wooden, carved with runes but lacking any rare stones. The masks wore various expressions, and fire poured out of their mouths as the runes began to glow.
The books began to burn. One warlock threw an extra mask into the air. Shadows materialized to give the mask a body to wear. The shadow-mask flew erratically around the room, breathing a dark fire on everything.
One of the wraiths screeched terribly as it saw the chaos. Rising from its seat by an open book, the wraith continued to screech. The other wraiths joined their voices, and banshees were born from their terrible song.
Banshees sped to their masked foes as more banshees were born by the wraiths' screams. The banshees' screeches were strong, but the harsh streams of flame flowing from the masked mouths of the wizards were stronger, and the banshees were reduced to ash.
The wraiths turned to their books, in hopes of finding a spell or a chant that could prove to be their assailants' undoing. They spoke in quick, harsh voices as magic was brought into the world around them. A shimmer grew at the door, and any fire that tried to pass was snuffed instantly. An icy chill crept from one of the wraiths, searching with hungry hands for something to envelop in its freezing embrace. One masked figure simply fell to the floor, mentally extracted from this world.
A few of the wraiths formed a triangle and began to search, by magic, for their hidden guardian. The wizards were strong, but they would not have been able to kill the guardian. The wraiths knew that the masks must have transported the guardian to some trap. The wraiths drew their minds from their bodies and roamed the world, searching for their hidden friend.
Betwixt the rows of ancient tomes, more masked wizards were appearing out of thin air, and gently blowing lethal flames across everything. Among the chaos were frozen figures that were once fire-breathing enemies, but no one stopped to help them. The books seemed to be their only concern.
Statues dotted the library. They were of animals, mostly, and were decorated with runes carved all over their stone bodies. They all began to come to life.
A stone turtle walked slowly toward a magician, totally ignoring the fire and smoke around it. A large, stone spider began to crawl towards a soon-to-be victim, fangs ablaze with glowing runes. A rabbit hopped heavily, and became invisible in a flash of runelight.
A few of the wraiths had resumed their spawning of banshees, who were wreaking havoc now that the wizards were solely focused on the books. When the masked magicians realized the losses they were suffering, they turned their flames back on living targets.
The tall, tentacled being had returned, having found the book a proper home, and was wrapping ruinous tentacles around its enemies. It faded into nonexistence and left the wizards there, then returned without its dreadful possessions.
Several green, spirit-like beings, who normally spent their time gaining knowledge or surrendering it to a wizard who asked for it, were enveloping the masked wizards and corrupting their understanding of the world. Some of the affected wizards cast spells that consumed them, turned on their allies, or simply ceased doing anything at all.
A sweet aroma filled the room, and the light adopted a soft and beautiful intensity. A blue, gorgeous woman stood at the edge of the room. Her gentle eyes met those of the masked wizards, who stopped whatever they were doing instantly. She smiled, and they burst into soft, cool, blue flame. The flame ate away at the men, and left not ash, but a small, blue infant in the place of each wizard. The woman walked to them and gently picked them up. She turned to leave, carrying the lovely children, as more women came to take her place.
The minds of the triangle of wraiths had returned to their bodies, having found their guardian, and were attempting to summon it back from the dark snare it had been placed in. They flew in a circle, rapidly picking up speed until they were black blurs, blowing paper and debris with the currents they created. In the center of the wraiths' circle, a shadow of their guardian was materializing, becoming denser and denser as the seconds ticked by. Soon it would return, but the wizards were causing so much damage...
A grey creature with a hollow torso, intently studying a text on the fashioning of beings from pure magic, walked into the room, and only noticed the substantial destruction taking place around it after a few very absorbed moments of reading. Once the creature noticed, a few things happened very quickly. Three glowing, pulsing lives erupted into existence beside the creature. One was like a phantom, with long fingers and a long face. One resembled a small sun with four smaller suns circling it. The last was a floating, blue elephant. As these creations began to weave magic onto their enemies, the grey creature shed its skin and emerged as something new: it resembled the creatures it had just created, but deep inside its blue, fiery self could be seen a nearly infinite source of magic, glowing sleepily but ready to wake the moment it was called upon. The creature's grey body fell to the side as its fiery form began weaving a magic produced only by the deepest understanding of the art.
A masked wizard shot a gruesome ball of flame at the creature of pure magic, but it missed and hit the tentacled creature, who had to fade out of existence to become whole again. The blue women were leaving, carrying small, blue children with them; no one came to replace them. Banshees were being reduced to ash, and statues were being smashed.
The being of magic was still strong, surrounded by his creations and radiating a vicious and powerful energy. One of the wizards - one with a mask of silver instead of wood - took an orb of crystal, carved with runes and radiating power, out of a vile-looking pouch around his waste. He tossed it at the magical being, and in mid-air everything froze. The orb rested five feet above the ground, and the magical creatures were all stuck, suspended in tranquilly-wrathful positions.
One of the masked wizards began muttering an invocation. As others joined the dark summoning, a cloud of shadow grew denser and denser in their midst. The wraiths began to screech as they joined the summoning of their own guardian. Nothing moved but the mouths of the summoners and the swirling of the wraiths; all else was still.
The shadows solidified completely: one, into the wraiths' slug-like guardian; the other, into a creature of the darkest black and of fearsome shape. The slug's enemy wore a mask depicting a sick, perverted happiness. Vile colors distorted the wooden color of the mask and replaced some of the empty blackness of the creature's skin. On a belt hung around the monster's waist were many rune-covered masks, decorated with various objects.
The beast lashed out at the slug with claws and fangs, and an odd fluid oozed from the guardian's wounds. Wraiths screeched and wizards muttered to each other as smoke drifted off of the burning, ooze-soaked flesh of the masked monster.
The monster grabbed at his dark belt, and loosed all of the masks onto the floor. They sprouted legs and arms and began to run after the slug-guardian.
As one mask jumped into the air to bore itself into the face of the guardian, one of the wraiths flew in its path and became a shield. The mask clung to the wraith's face, and both began to wail. A white light burst steadily from the pale-grey skin under the mask as the wraith tried to pry it from its face. A wizard gathered a pool of shadow in his hands and began to release it towards the wraith, but another wraith flew before the first and gathered light into its own skeletal hands. The two magics met like dark and light clouds, and were both consumed by the other.
Soon all was chaos again. Wraiths chased wizards and wizards hexed wraiths, as masks wore the faces of their enemies.
A great shadow gathered in the claws of the dark monster, who hurled the comet of dark magic at the guardian. The guardian made no move to escape the oncoming blackness, but stood in the burning, smoke-filled building as if nothing at all was wrong - and then the black cloud entered the slug's body.
The darkness, discernible inside the translucent body of the wraiths' guardian, seemed to pulse gently and darkly. Another soon entered into its flesh, and another, as the dark creature weaved its dark magic. The wraiths were no longer screeching or chasing enemies, but were watching with a terrible sadness as the guardian they had loved and depended upon throughout the ages became as dark as a starless night.
The shadow was complete: the slug was Darkness. A black mist evaporated off the giant slug, banishing all traces of light. The sun held no power here; a voidish ebony reigned supreme.
Until a glimpse.
A shadow of light.
Pierced the shining darkness.
It began as a pinprick, and spread until it filled the shape of a slug. Then it kept growing.
For a brief moment, the whole room could be seen clearly, but then, nothing. The intense light hid everything just as well as the darkness had, but it strived to do more than hide. It strived to destroy.
The shadowy monster was ripped apart by the brilliant radiance. The masked wizards felt themselves being, not destroyed, but refashioned. Vision returned to the wraiths and guardian, and brought a gift of beauty and sadness. Where there once stood a monster of darkness, there was nothing; in the places of the masked wizards, pillars of white light wriggled in the air. A tear rolled slowly from an unblinking eye of a wraith: a soft lamentation of the lost, precious knowledge.
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