Runes of New Alteros

This was his first real trip to New Alteros. He had been there marginally previously, but it was simply passing through the area, like a tourist. Almost passably and without any real processes. He hadn’t even been able to get that kid to help him with his tongue. He flicked it a few times. That doesn’t seem to matter much anymore, now does it? He seemed to get the job done his damn self quite well. With the help of a trio of Drakan brothers. But that was past now, wasn’t it? He hadn’t seen them in over a year.

He entered the library, taking every book that he could on runes. Reading voraciously, and making notes, adding their knowledge to his own. They were being copied and transcribed, then annotated within the copy. He was robbing the place of its unique knowledge. Like a tomb robber in a crypt, stealing artifacts and other priceless heirlooms, so was he taking the life of this place with his consumption of the sacred and unique knowledge. O well. Things were discovered in order to be shared and learned of. Not be kept in some tone forever. It was his to pick apart and analyze.

He integrated the forms and knowledge held within the books and tomes with that he had, then rewrote them. Integrating the runes into his unique style of writing and in the different structures and archetypes that he had. They were beginning to fit and to work within his schemes and his designs, but as all previous models, they would be forced to change and to adapt as time went on. That was the natural cycle of things. When the new comes, the old must be crushed. Destroyed. Ground to dust and tossed away.

As he kept looking through those books, endless runes, a near limitless numbers. What truly caught his attention where the vast elemental runes. He was not familiar in any of the different elements, and these resources would allow him to bypass his ignorance in the person, and carve runes using those elements. He was learning every facet and partition of this strange and terrible language. And he would master each and every facet of it. Every character and every iota that was placed. Every position and each individual arrangement.

The knowledge would bend to him. And he would take it. Nothing worth having is ever simply given to you or thrown upon your lap. Even when it appears that way, it is due to the labor and the work of another. As it is now. He was taking what he needed. He would leave the scraps to the dogs. He returned the books to their shelves, but now they were defiled. NO longer unique. Their information compiled into a single folio. Mastered and taken by another for his own use and for future generations. For all intents and purposes, the books were obsolete. If they were to be burned and destroyed, every piece of parcel of their useful information would be contained, and had been expanded upon, in his own journals.

Of course, just like his father, he was deeply paranoid about his notes. And every part of it was written in that same code. It was nearly incomprehensible without the code breaker, but he had burned that, he had memorized it, it was another language, just like the runes themselves that he had committed to memory. He would have to retain this for posterity, but for now it was his alone, and he protected it.