"I thought you said you had only been here a few months." Beren asked, hands in his pockets and curiously gazing over Jocasta's shoulder at the fireworks. He had been taught to forge and even fight to an extent in Thundrim Kadrin, but the warrior had never deigned to learn engineering, civilian or battlefield. It brought him memories of the maverick engineer, Sketti Hammerhand. He missed the crazed dwarf and his antics, but he guessed now he would see more traditional gunnery and fireworks rather than the experimental.

"It's the talk o' the town, lad." Gurin informed him, taking the explosives out of Jocasta's hands like a mother taking its children from a sitter. He was shorter than the comely woman by more than a head, but his hands were twice the size of hers. She gave a guilty smile and he was jovial enough to give a wink to show 'no harm done.'

"You'd know that if ye had been here longer than the day, I'm guessing." The elder, Otar, grumbled. Gurin handed him the fireworks and Otar stuck them in his pack. Strangely enough, the elder's beard wasn't as long as some of the others. It was thick and grey with age, but something must have sheared into it in the past. It was only the length of Beren's forearm, though it densely packed around his cheeks, chin, and upper lip. Beren had learned some of the dwarven religion during his five years in the thundrim, but there were likely some sects he did not know of. Perhaps the shearing of the beard led the old one to join the clergy, or perhaps his the clerics of runar were made to ritualistically shave. Either way, it gave him the look of a stout norgardian war-cleric rather than an old dwarf priest. 

"We got commissioned to make something festive," Varin added, but just after he spoke there was a hoarse hee-haw past the door that led to the forgery. Varin gave a bow to Beren and Jocasta, his blonde beard brushing the floor before he hurried away to tend to what sounded like a donkey. "I think ye'll like it!" He called over his shoulder. 

"I know we will," Beren laughed, and then gave them a phrase in their language that brought a laugh. Even Otar chuckled. "Can you give us any more information on the place?-" He then turned to Jocasta. "You cool to go check out the library? We got time to kill, right?"

[i]An hour later...[/i] 

The inside of the stone library was massive, with cavernous spaces between pillars Beren easily believed was shaped by the Jygrim, the giants of old. The columns were embellished and the rib-vaulted ceiling was overlaid with ornate tracery that a few robed scholars on the floor looked at occasionally, sketching or writing in their notepads in study. In this fortress of lore, even the building itself was a mystery to unravel or dictate a thesis on. Jocasta looked around with interest sparkling in her eyes. Beren was similarly interested, always with a capacity to learn. Though he found his eyes drawing back to his shapely companion. She was even prettier when her interest was piqued.

Through the window on the right, one could see Lake Mearavon glittering in the afternoon sun. The bulk of it lay east of Iskura, the two companions having come from the southwest in their travels. Only a small inlet of the lake stretched south of the city, curling around its southern wall like a protective barrier. Had it been warmer he would have half a mind to swim in it, but every time he stepped outside he was reminded of the unrelenting chill.

"Anything I can do to help? I only speak three languages, and two of them aren't widely used in human scholarship." Beren admitted with a guilty smile. The shelves of books were like walls, some over twelve men high. Ladders were available, but they were wooden and heavy. Acolytes of Aulor, God of Lore, walked among the throng of scholars, curious onlookers, travelers, and aristocrats, helping where they could with questions. They were apart of the staff, though more traditional librarians and clerical workers seemed to also be present, helping people find books or making sure they were sufficiently quiet. 

There were even a few elves scattered amongst the purveyors. A blonde she-elf of exceptional beauty and pragmatic, traveler's clothing walked brusquely, passing by a reserved, dark haired male elf in short, sensible robes that poured over a gilded tome. Slightly shorter than men, with toned and lithe bodies, elven ears were, of course, long and pointed. Beren had heard a lot of nasty things about elves by his dwarven friends, but he had known a couple of wood elves in the Black Delta. They had been good friends and dedicated wardens. What he did know other than the obvious, like an inclination to magic, was that every elf felt emotions far more strongly than men, and so they did their best to remain calm and ethereal. 

"Glad the dwarves didn't want to follow us." He whispered as the she-elf passed them by. The oddity of the varied crowd faded quickly, and he turned to Jocasta, giving a sly, facetious smile. "These big arms aren't just for fighting you know." He flexed. "I can hold a mean ladder."