Chapter 4 - A Mossy Awakening IV
Considering the circumstances, Claire felt that her mossy meal hadn’t been all that subpar. Sure, she struggled to swallow at first, but only at first. The makeshift vegetable stopped trying to worm its way back up her windpipe once she realized that moving away from the rancid smelling corpse next to her would make her feel less inclined to puke. When free from any external, less-than-savoury influences, the moss was actually quite bland. The only truly unpalatable parts were the overly bitter roots, which the halfbreed promptly discarded. She wasn’t particularly concerned with not having enough to eat. There wasn’t exactly a shortage of stems or leaves; the entire cave was covered in a layer of green. Though it wasn’t downright awful, the meal still wasn’t exactly painless either. It didn’t cause her any physical harm, at least not immediately, but the mental damage was done. Each bite filled her with more shame and self-loathing than it did nutrition.
Once lunch—or dinner, she wasn’t sure which—was out of the way, Claire resumed working with the materials she had discovered. She wasn’t exactly a seamstress, but as she was most certainly still a noble lady, she was more than familiar enough with sewing, embroidering, and other similar hobbies to make something useful out of the materials she had on hand. Sort of. Claire had almost always chosen to ignore the hobbies her caretakers encouraged in favour of running wild, so she was a lot less practiced than other girls her age.
Still, she was good enough. Her thighs soon found themselves equipped with makeshift belts. She had wrapped several pieces of cloth around each and secured them with rope. The knot was tied loosely enough such that she was able to slip a small, sharpened bone between the rope and the outermost layer of cloth, but not so loose that the “belt” would slip or fall off if said bone was missing. A leather pouch—one of the smallest bags contained within the camp—was fastened to a third, similar belt around her waist. It was relatively empty for the time being, containing only the three items she started with and a spare bit of twine.
She was also wearing a mantle around her neck. The less-than-optimal piece of equipment had been crafted out of the tent situated within the hellhog’s lair. According to the Cloak and Dagger skill, it counted as a legitimate cloak, just like how some of the sharper, more jagged fangs somehow counted as both makeshift weapons and legitimate daggers.
After grabbing her not-so-well-made spear off the floor and mounting it on her fourth belt, which ran from her right shoulder to the opposite hip like a bandolier, she set off.
It only took her a few minutes to reach the illuminated cavern. She confirmed that the coast was clear, made a mental note of all three exits, and even double checked all her equipment before finally sneaking her way towards the runic pattern. Her eyes scanned her surroundings each time she took a step.
Something seemed off. The acid that once covered the floor had vanished. Every single puddle and scorch mark was gone with the wind. The only reminder of their presence was the occasional blank, mossless patch of rock. It was strange, unsettling even, but not the sort of phenomenon that was out of place. Self-repair was a function dungeons were well known to have.
Dismissing her concerns, the halfbreed looked towards one of the few naturally uncovered spots, the wall that featured the ancient text. She wasn’t the most well-versed in the runic arts, but she did at least have a basic education on the different symbols and their meanings. Or at least she would have, had she paid her tutors any more attention. A few seconds of pointless staring later, Claire heaved a defeated sigh and began contemplating alternate timelines in which she had followed through on her studies.
The problem was that, while she recognized some of the symbols, she didn’t know what any of them really meant. The manner in which they were arranged didn’t give her any clues either. All she learned from examining the structure was that the cryptic message contained some sort of list.
With another sad sigh, she closed her eyes, leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the rock in a desperate attempt to recall the bits and pieces of knowledge that she had intentionally refrained from learning.
“I’m such an idiot,” she groaned.
“You said it, not me.”
Caught off guard by the sudden reply, the halfbreed leapt to her feet. As her eyes darted around and scanned her surroundings, she found herself surprised by an ever growing list of anomalies. She somehow hadn’t fallen over, even though the wall she’d entrusted much of her weight to had suddenly vanished. In fact, the illuminated cavern had been replaced in its entirety. Her environment now consisted of a series of halls sandwiched between countless infinitely tall bookshelves, each crammed to the brim with ancient tomes that had survived the test of time. Despite being a space meant for reading, it was oddly dim, depressing even, with only the occasional candle serving as a source of light.
Sitting at the desk right in front of her was an old human male, his nose gnarled and his skin covered with wrinkles. Atop his head sat a big grey hat, one that likely was supposed to be tall and pointy, but for reasons beyond her comprehension, the headpiece seemed partially collapsed. It was scrunched up, covered in as many creases as the man, and stood at only half its original height. And yet, it somehow showed no external signs of wear or tear. The leather hadn’t peeled, nor was it discoloured.
“Welcome to Llystletein.”
His voice was deep enough to seem odd given his lanky, near malnourished frame. The fact that she could hear him was, in and of itself, bizarre. His words rang loud and clear even though it seemed like he was whispering. It was almost like his voice was infused with magic.
The rogue wanted to learn more about the mechanism with which he spoke, but she stopped herself from thinking too deeply about it. His voice’s mysterious quality was the last of her concerns. The fact that her arms were now ethereal was far more attention grabbing. Looking down in horror, she realized that the condition was affecting more than just her upper limbs. Her whole body had taken on a ghost-like quality, pale and translucent, as if she were a spectre or projection.
“Oh great, another one that’s never even heard of force magic.” The wizard grumbled in annoyance. “You’re fine. Your body is still exactly where you left it and you aren't a ghost.”
“Then wh-”
“The runes you touched brought your consciousness here.” Anticipating the question, he cut her off before she could say so much as a second word. “It’s a necessary procedure. The message they contain is extremely important, and you’re not the first visitor incapable of reading them, nor will you be the last.”
Claire was conflicted. On one hand, this was an opportunity to learn more about where she was and potentially investigate the hint she had come across. And on the other, it meant leaving her body unattended, a risk she was less than fond of.
It wasn’t like she could trust the man. The environment appeared to suggest that he was someone associated with the library she sought, but she knew better than most that appearances could be deceiving. There was no guarantee that he meant her no harm, even if he was one of the ancient athenium’s staff. Still, he remained the only source of information she had found.
Weighing the costs and benefits over the course of a second or two led her to choose to humour her newfound conversation partner, at least for the time being.
“What do they say?” She narrowed her gaze, nearly obscuring the vertical slits that were her pupils. The dim light caused them to stand out regardless. Her bright blue irises almost seemed to glow in the dark.
“Right down to business I see.” His scowl transformed into a faint smile. “Good, I like that in a person.”
The wrinkled old human used an equally ancient wooden wand to tap one of the many pieces of parchment lying around on his desk. The yellow-brown sheepskin rose from the table and drifted its way towards her. She still couldn’t read it, as it was in what seemed to be the same runic font as the inscriptions on the stone she’d touched, but that wasn’t a problem. Because she didn’t need to.
Log Entry 485
You have read The Lost Library’s First Chapter. It has been transcribed into your native language as the following log entry.
Log Entry 486
Welcome to Llystletein, trial goer, and congratulations on finding this instruction set. As you may have already surmised, you are now trapped within the dungeon’s confines. The only way to escape is to reach the Grand Cathedral located within its deepest depths and seek out the Head Librarian.
Comprehending the contents of this message will grant the following boons:
- The Llystletein Authority skill.
- Access to Llystletein Classes.
- A brief audience with the Head Librarian.
- A very thorough understanding of the Head Librarian’s catgirl fetish.
- The ability to forgo any penalties on subsequent visits to the library.
Good luck!
All sorts of information suddenly flooded Claire’s mind. Large swaths of knowledge were magically ingrained within her memory, each accompanied by several highly detailed images of nude or scantily clad, cat-eared beastfolk. Why!?
Log Entry 487
You have acquired the Llystletein Authority skill.
Claire hit the brakes on reading through her log in order to inspect the skill in more detail.
Llystletein Authority - Level 1
Power is often granted in equal parts to the deserving and the overwhelmingly stupid. And you, my dear friend, are certainly not deserving. That hasn’t stopped you from somehow gaining a non-insignificant degree of authority over the systems that govern Llystletein dungeons. Well, at least now you’ll probably stop eating diarrhea-inducing moss.
Oh no.
Effects
- You may conjure sustenance at will within Lystletein Dungeons.
- You gain a surface-level understanding of the Llystletein class system.
- Additional effects will be granted upon reaching specific level thresholds.
Did I really force myself to eat all that stupid moss for nothing!?
Log Entry 488
Achievement Unlocked - Llystletein Explorer
You have acclimated to the magic that dwells within Llystletein’s ancient runes. It is no longer impossible to obtain Llystletein class variants. The Rite of the Lost Library no longer removes any classes or skills.
Log Entry 489
Achievement Unlocked - Catgirl Enthusiast
Exposure to a true man of culture has corrupted your mind and affected your tastes. You have become irrationally partial to catgirls.
“I have… questions.”
It took Claire everything she had to keep her game face on and stop herself from screaming at the supposed head librarian. She had many grievances to air.
“And I have all the answers.” The old man smirked. “But you’re only getting one.”
“I was only going to ask one.” The halfbreed crossed her arms. “Was the catgirl curse really necessary?”
“Really? Of all the things you could possibly ask about, the library, the classes, the secrets, you chose that?”
The old wizard threw himself back into his chair as his cackling boomed throughout the library’s halls. He nearly split his sides howling hysterically and pounding at his armrests with teardrops forming at the corner of his eyes.
“You weren’t going to give me any real answers anyway,” said the halfbreed.
“And what makes you say that?”
“The survival rate.”
The librarian made a gesture with his hand to urge the girl to continue.
“Countless soldiers, adventurers, knights, and mercenaries have been sent here, most of them highly skilled. If you were in the business of giving useful information, then there’d be more survivors.”
“And how do you know there aren't?”
“I don’t,” she admitted, “but there’s been an expedition every decade with no news of a success. Someone would’ve said something by now if anything but a small handful of people ever managed to make it out in one piece.”
“Not a bad answer. I’ve heard better, but it’s not awful, considering your age.” The wizard leaned forward. “That catgirl thing? First of all, it isn’t a curse. It’s a blessing.”
“I disagree. Half-naked catgirls started appearing in my head the moment I even tried to think about everything I just learned.”
“Why, that’s the best part!”
“Yeah, and I’m a talking pig.” She rolled her eyes.
“You should be more careful about what you say. Offend the person, and it might just come true.”
The librarian put his hands together and gave her a bit of a glare, but Claire shrugged it off without batting an eye.
“Nice try, but you’re not scaring me that easily.”
“How did you know it was a bluff?” he asked with a disheartened pout. The man had been convinced that the literal child before his eyes would cave in the face of a little bit of aggression.
“I’ve dealt with more than enough crafty old men in my time to know what to expect.”
Worst of all had been her father. The old bastard took great pleasure in stringing her along and would often speak empty threats just to see if he could get her to panic. While she had despised his “lessons,” they had undeniably ingrained within her the basis she needed for a life amongst politicians. And unlike the lessons taught by her tutors, her father’s eccentric lectures actually stuck.
“In your time?” The wizard scoffed. “You’re what, twelve?”
“Sixteen, thank you very much,” she said between gritted teeth.
“Well, you don’t look it. And another year or four doesn’t make much of a difference anyway.”
“Can you answer the question already?” she said, impatiently.
“I already did,” complained the old man. “I told you, it’s a blessing. Now, you might not understand it just yet, but nothing beats having your very own personal catgirl. They’re loyal, down to earth, and unrivaled in bed. Trust me, I could go on about them for decades on end.”
“I think I’ve already heard more than enough,” grumbled Claire.
“In that case, I’ll send you right back,” said the librarian. “Oh, and you might want to avoid going down the path opposite the runes.”
“Wh-”
He didn’t wait for her to finish before poofing her spirit back into her body, a task that, for him, was simple as taking a breath. Once all traces of her consciousness were gone, he leaned back into his chair and picked up a pipe.
“I wonder how long that one will last.”
Tapping it with his wand to light it, he took a long, deep draft of the herbal blend packed within. But calming as it may have been, not even the addictive substance could quell his excitement. He was going to have plenty of fun with the dungeon’s newest guest.
“I doubt the others will take kindly to her presence.”
He wanted to calculate the chances of her escape, but there was far too much to do for him to indulge in such an unproductive whim. If he failed to sort the endless records before they got out of hand, then the task would degenerate into one capable of consuming an infinite amount of time, an amount that not even an ageless Celestial could afford to spare.
Chapter 4 - A Mossy Awakening IV
Considering the circumstances, Claire felt that her mossy meal hadn’t been all that subpar. Sure, she struggled to swallow at first, but only at first. The makeshift vegetable stopped trying to worm its way back up her windpipe once she realized that moving away from the rancid smelling corpse next to her would make her feel less inclined to puke. When free from any external, less-than-savoury influences, the moss was actually quite bland. The only truly unpalatable parts were the overly bitter roots, which the halfbreed promptly discarded. She wasn’t particularly concerned with not having enough to eat. There wasn’t exactly a shortage of stems or leaves; the entire cave was covered in a layer of green. Though it wasn’t downright awful, the meal still wasn’t exactly painless either. It didn’t cause her any physical harm, at least not immediately, but the mental damage was done. Each bite filled her with more shame and self-loathing than it did nutrition.
Once lunch—or dinner, she wasn’t sure which—was out of the way, Claire resumed working with the materials she had discovered. She wasn’t exactly a seamstress, but as she was most certainly still a noble lady, she was more than familiar enough with sewing, embroidering, and other similar hobbies to make something useful out of the materials she had on hand. Sort of. Claire had almost always chosen to ignore the hobbies her caretakers encouraged in favour of running wild, so she was a lot less practiced than other girls her age.
Still, she was good enough. Her thighs soon found themselves equipped with makeshift belts. She had wrapped several pieces of cloth around each and secured them with rope. The knot was tied loosely enough such that she was able to slip a small, sharpened bone between the rope and the outermost layer of cloth, but not so loose that the “belt” would slip or fall off if said bone was missing. A leather pouch—one of the smallest bags contained within the camp—was fastened to a third, similar belt around her waist. It was relatively empty for the time being, containing only the three items she started with and a spare bit of twine.
She was also wearing a mantle around her neck. The less-than-optimal piece of equipment had been crafted out of the tent situated within the hellhog’s lair. According to the Cloak and Dagger skill, it counted as a legitimate cloak, just like how some of the sharper, more jagged fangs somehow counted as both makeshift weapons and legitimate daggers.
After grabbing her not-so-well-made spear off the floor and mounting it on her fourth belt, which ran from her right shoulder to the opposite hip like a bandolier, she set off.
It only took her a few minutes to reach the illuminated cavern. She confirmed that the coast was clear, made a mental note of all three exits, and even double checked all her equipment before finally sneaking her way towards the runic pattern. Her eyes scanned her surroundings each time she took a step.
Something seemed off. The acid that once covered the floor had vanished. Every single puddle and scorch mark was gone with the wind. The only reminder of their presence was the occasional blank, mossless patch of rock. It was strange, unsettling even, but not the sort of phenomenon that was out of place. Self-repair was a function dungeons were well known to have.
Dismissing her concerns, the halfbreed looked towards one of the few naturally uncovered spots, the wall that featured the ancient text. She wasn’t the most well-versed in the runic arts, but she did at least have a basic education on the different symbols and their meanings. Or at least she would have, had she paid her tutors any more attention. A few seconds of pointless staring later, Claire heaved a defeated sigh and began contemplating alternate timelines in which she had followed through on her studies.
The problem was that, while she recognized some of the symbols, she didn’t know what any of them really meant. The manner in which they were arranged didn’t give her any clues either. All she learned from examining the structure was that the cryptic message contained some sort of list.
With another sad sigh, she closed her eyes, leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the rock in a desperate attempt to recall the bits and pieces of knowledge that she had intentionally refrained from learning.
“I’m such an idiot,” she groaned.
“You said it, not me.”
Caught off guard by the sudden reply, the halfbreed leapt to her feet. As her eyes darted around and scanned her surroundings, she found herself surprised by an ever growing list of anomalies. She somehow hadn’t fallen over, even though the wall she’d entrusted much of her weight to had suddenly vanished. In fact, the illuminated cavern had been replaced in its entirety. Her environment now consisted of a series of halls sandwiched between countless infinitely tall bookshelves, each crammed to the brim with ancient tomes that had survived the test of time. Despite being a space meant for reading, it was oddly dim, depressing even, with only the occasional candle serving as a source of light.
Sitting at the desk right in front of her was an old human male, his nose gnarled and his skin covered with wrinkles. Atop his head sat a big grey hat, one that likely was supposed to be tall and pointy, but for reasons beyond her comprehension, the headpiece seemed partially collapsed. It was scrunched up, covered in as many creases as the man, and stood at only half its original height. And yet, it somehow showed no external signs of wear or tear. The leather hadn’t peeled, nor was it discoloured.
“Welcome to Llystletein.”
His voice was deep enough to seem odd given his lanky, near malnourished frame. The fact that she could hear him was, in and of itself, bizarre. His words rang loud and clear even though it seemed like he was whispering. It was almost like his voice was infused with magic.
The rogue wanted to learn more about the mechanism with which he spoke, but she stopped herself from thinking too deeply about it. His voice’s mysterious quality was the last of her concerns. The fact that her arms were now ethereal was far more attention grabbing. Looking down in horror, she realized that the condition was affecting more than just her upper limbs. Her whole body had taken on a ghost-like quality, pale and translucent, as if she were a spectre or projection.
“Oh great, another one that’s never even heard of force magic.” The wizard grumbled in annoyance. “You’re fine. Your body is still exactly where you left it and you aren't a ghost.”
“Then wh-”
“The runes you touched brought your consciousness here.” Anticipating the question, he cut her off before she could say so much as a second word. “It’s a necessary procedure. The message they contain is extremely important, and you’re not the first visitor incapable of reading them, nor will you be the last.”
Claire was conflicted. On one hand, this was an opportunity to learn more about where she was and potentially investigate the hint she had come across. And on the other, it meant leaving her body unattended, a risk she was less than fond of.
It wasn’t like she could trust the man. The environment appeared to suggest that he was someone associated with the library she sought, but she knew better than most that appearances could be deceiving. There was no guarantee that he meant her no harm, even if he was one of the ancient athenium’s staff. Still, he remained the only source of information she had found.
Weighing the costs and benefits over the course of a second or two led her to choose to humour her newfound conversation partner, at least for the time being.
“What do they say?” She narrowed her gaze, nearly obscuring the vertical slits that were her pupils. The dim light caused them to stand out regardless. Her bright blue irises almost seemed to glow in the dark.
“Right down to business I see.” His scowl transformed into a faint smile. “Good, I like that in a person.”
The wrinkled old human used an equally ancient wooden wand to tap one of the many pieces of parchment lying around on his desk. The yellow-brown sheepskin rose from the table and drifted its way towards her. She still couldn’t read it, as it was in what seemed to be the same runic font as the inscriptions on the stone she’d touched, but that wasn’t a problem. Because she didn’t need to.
Log Entry 485
You have read The Lost Library’s First Chapter. It has been transcribed into your native language as the following log entry.
Log Entry 486
Welcome to Llystletein, trial goer, and congratulations on finding this instruction set. As you may have already surmised, you are now trapped within the dungeon’s confines. The only way to escape is to reach the Grand Cathedral located within its deepest depths and seek out the Head Librarian.
Comprehending the contents of this message will grant the following boons:
- The Llystletein Authority skill.
- Access to Llystletein Classes.
- A brief audience with the Head Librarian.
- A very thorough understanding of the Head Librarian’s catgirl fetish.
- The ability to forgo any penalties on subsequent visits to the library.
Good luck!
All sorts of information suddenly flooded Claire’s mind. Large swaths of knowledge were magically ingrained within her memory, each accompanied by several highly detailed images of nude or scantily clad, cat-eared beastfolk. Why!?
Log Entry 487
You have acquired the Llystletein Authority skill.
Claire hit the brakes on reading through her log in order to inspect the skill in more detail.
Llystletein Authority - Level 1
Power is often granted in equal parts to the deserving and the overwhelmingly stupid. And you, my dear friend, are certainly not deserving. That hasn’t stopped you from somehow gaining a non-insignificant degree of authority over the systems that govern Llystletein dungeons. Well, at least now you’ll probably stop eating diarrhea-inducing moss.
Oh no.
Effects
- You may conjure sustenance at will within Lystletein Dungeons.
- You gain a surface-level understanding of the Llystletein class system.
- Additional effects will be granted upon reaching specific level thresholds.
Did I really force myself to eat all that stupid moss for nothing!?
Log Entry 488
Achievement Unlocked - Llystletein Explorer
You have acclimated to the magic that dwells within Llystletein’s ancient runes. It is no longer impossible to obtain Llystletein class variants. The Rite of the Lost Library no longer removes any classes or skills.
Log Entry 489
Achievement Unlocked - Catgirl Enthusiast
Exposure to a true man of culture has corrupted your mind and affected your tastes. You have become irrationally partial to catgirls.
“I have… questions.”
It took Claire everything she had to keep her game face on and stop herself from screaming at the supposed head librarian. She had many grievances to air.
“And I have all the answers.” The old man smirked. “But you’re only getting one.”
“I was only going to ask one.” The halfbreed crossed her arms. “Was the catgirl curse really necessary?”
“Really? Of all the things you could possibly ask about, the library, the classes, the secrets, you chose that?”
The old wizard threw himself back into his chair as his cackling boomed throughout the library’s halls. He nearly split his sides howling hysterically and pounding at his armrests with teardrops forming at the corner of his eyes.
“You weren’t going to give me any real answers anyway,” said the halfbreed.
“And what makes you say that?”
“The survival rate.”
The librarian made a gesture with his hand to urge the girl to continue.
“Countless soldiers, adventurers, knights, and mercenaries have been sent here, most of them highly skilled. If you were in the business of giving useful information, then there’d be more survivors.”
“And how do you know there aren't?”
“I don’t,” she admitted, “but there’s been an expedition every decade with no news of a success. Someone would’ve said something by now if anything but a small handful of people ever managed to make it out in one piece.”
“Not a bad answer. I’ve heard better, but it’s not awful, considering your age.” The wizard leaned forward. “That catgirl thing? First of all, it isn’t a curse. It’s a blessing.”
“I disagree. Half-naked catgirls started appearing in my head the moment I even tried to think about everything I just learned.”
“Why, that’s the best part!”
“Yeah, and I’m a talking pig.” She rolled her eyes.
“You should be more careful about what you say. Offend the person, and it might just come true.”
The librarian put his hands together and gave her a bit of a glare, but Claire shrugged it off without batting an eye.
“Nice try, but you’re not scaring me that easily.”
“How did you know it was a bluff?” he asked with a disheartened pout. The man had been convinced that the literal child before his eyes would cave in the face of a little bit of aggression.
“I’ve dealt with more than enough crafty old men in my time to know what to expect.”
Worst of all had been her father. The old bastard took great pleasure in stringing her along and would often speak empty threats just to see if he could get her to panic. While she had despised his “lessons,” they had undeniably ingrained within her the basis she needed for a life amongst politicians. And unlike the lessons taught by her tutors, her father’s eccentric lectures actually stuck.
“In your time?” The wizard scoffed. “You’re what, twelve?”
“Sixteen, thank you very much,” she said between gritted teeth.
“Well, you don’t look it. And another year or four doesn’t make much of a difference anyway.”
“Can you answer the question already?” she said, impatiently.
“I already did,” complained the old man. “I told you, it’s a blessing. Now, you might not understand it just yet, but nothing beats having your very own personal catgirl. They’re loyal, down to earth, and unrivaled in bed. Trust me, I could go on about them for decades on end.”
“I think I’ve already heard more than enough,” grumbled Claire.
“In that case, I’ll send you right back,” said the librarian. “Oh, and you might want to avoid going down the path opposite the runes.”
“Wh-”
He didn’t wait for her to finish before poofing her spirit back into her body, a task that, for him, was simple as taking a breath. Once all traces of her consciousness were gone, he leaned back into his chair and picked up a pipe.
“I wonder how long that one will last.”
Tapping it with his wand to light it, he took a long, deep draft of the herbal blend packed within. But calming as it may have been, not even the addictive substance could quell his excitement. He was going to have plenty of fun with the dungeon’s newest guest.
“I doubt the others will take kindly to her presence.”
He wanted to calculate the chances of her escape, but there was far too much to do for him to indulge in such an unproductive whim. If he failed to sort the endless records before they got out of hand, then the task would degenerate into one capable of consuming an infinite amount of time, an amount that not even an ageless Celestial could afford to spare.
