Novels by MeepMoop

The eastern gate of D'Gnilth diminished behind them as Patrina settled into the second-from-last wagon, wedging herself between crates stamped with dwarven merchant seals. The wagon smelled of cedar, pipe tobacco, and the earthy scent of dwarves – not unpleasant, but distinctly foreign to her senses after weeks among the perpetually perfumed High Elves. She traced her fingers over the rough wood of a nearby crate, wondering what treasures it contained. Dwarven trade goods were rare in Vyhelm, limited to what passed through the port city of Watercross, and even then, subject to intense scrutiny."Comfortable, Professor?" A dwarf with a salt-and-pepper beard grinned at her from his perch at the front of the wagon. He wore an iron-studded leather cap that had seen better decades, pushed back to reveal a receding hairline. "Not quite the accommodations you'd find in the Sylvanae Archive, I'd wager.""It's perfectly adequate, thank you," Patrina responded, tucking her satchel more securely

The Sylvanae Archive rose before Patrina like a temple to knowledge, its pale stone façade intricately carved with symbols from languages long forgotten by humans. She took the marble steps two at a time, her excitement making her clumsy as she nearly collided with an elf exiting the grand doors. Apologizing breathlessly, she slipped inside, the familiar scent of ancient paper and preservation spells washing over her. Somewhere within this labyrinth of knowledge, Aldergon Graniel had organized the world into neat categories, and she needed to find him before the merchant caravan departed."Aldergon?" she called, her voice echoing too loudly in the vaulted main hall. A nearby scholar glanced up with disapproval, and Patrina winced, lowering her volume. "Sorry."She wound her way through reading tables and towering shelves, searching for the familiar tall figure of the Head Librarian. The past weeks in the archive had taught her his habits – at that hour, he was likely in the rare manus

The market square bustled with activity as Patrina wove between colorful stalls and haggled with merchants. Ahead, a cluster of stocky figures loaded crates onto wagons with practiced efficiency – dwarves, their beards hanging like ornate curtains over broad chests. One stood apart, checking items against a list, his russet-brown beard braided with tarnished metal clasps. His companions addressed him as "Felag," their gruff voices carrying deference beneath the roughness. Patrina slowed her pace, watching them secure goods for what appeared to be a significant journey. East, if the position of their wagons indicated anything."Careful with that!" Felag barked as a younger dwarf nearly dropped a wooden crate. "That's Solasan crystal, not mining rubble." His accent curled around the elven words like smoke around stone, foreign yet somehow fitting.Patrina approached cautiously, clutching her satchel closer. The banner stretched across one wagon proclaimed "Forge of Gold Merchant Group"

Patrina Warden squinted at the faded parchment notices tacked to the town board, her fingers drumming an impatient rhythm against her thigh. The morning sun splashed golden light across the High Elven script, turning simple announcements into glittering hieroglyphs that swam before her eyes. She had waited there for three hours, and still no sign of any eastbound travel opportunities. The quill pen tucked behind her ear threatened to fall with each frustrated tilt of her head."For a race with centuries to spare, one would think punctuality might be a virtue worth cultivating," she muttered to herself, pushing a strand of straight brown hair from her face. An ink stain on her thumb left a smudge on her cheek, unnoticed.The town board of D'Gnilth sat in an elegant courtyard, framed by white stone archways that twisted upward like frozen waterfalls. High Elven architecture always made Patrina feel as though the buildings themselves were watching her – judging her human clumsiness, her