Indralas

Hall of Fire, Imladris

Indralas places a soft hand upon Sogadan's shoulder, gesturing for his attention. A swift nod follows from Indralas, causing Sogadan to rise from his chair and make for his abode with purpose. Indralas gazes across the Hall, noting the disquieted aura. He unclasps the brooch holding his cape around his neck, and begins to fold it together neatly, picking up a sombre tune. Next to him, on a chair, sits Lasdal.

Truly, there was no more collection of yore that was vaster than those found in Imladris! To this Indralas had submitted defeat, even as he had boisterously claimed his knowledge would remain unsurpassed by all his peers here, in the valley where no shadows lie.

Indeed, even as he had greeted the hauntingly quiet library – no words were exchanged in the greeting, of course, nothing but a nod of recognition – there were nothing that could deter him in the endeavour to categorize, arrange, submerge and feast upon every cover, every leaf, every parchment, every book.