Molotov

Entering into the sprawling rooms and halls of the study, one would first note the smell of books. Old, new, and everything in between, yet always seemingly in reading condition. Everywhere one turns, there is more information to be found. Shelves of books, stacks of papers and scrolls, even tablets of stone with information dutifully chiseled onto them. Though there seems to be no rhyme or reason to the organization, you always somehow seem to be able to find what you're looking for.


One section of the study, currently unoccupied and in moonlight.


Somewhere within this sprawling mess- though none could point to where, precisely- the self-described curator of the chaos sits at a desk, writing in illegible scrawl on a parchment. Nothing definite can be told of them, except that they are partial to wearing hooded robes that manage to obscure any and all facial features. Their hands give no hints or help, as whenever they withdraw into the sleeves, they invariably come out as something else- a different color, a different size, a different species. Their shape is androgynous, giving no sign to any physical sex, or even species, except that they are roughly human-sized, and presumably humanoid. Their voice, when used, would come in any number of ways, though always projecting the cadence of an educated person, if with a tone of whimsy. The only definite thing about them is their name- Sereth, Wielder of the Forbidden.

Welcome to the Study of the Forbidden. Enjoy your stay.

Enter, a HOST of spiders,

and with them webs; spun light at first - then white
like frost, in poet's verse; a message strung,
a tale was told - of spiders young and spiders
olde - the webs told tales of hidden silk -
white like snow fall, white like milk; a yarn
was spun - message imparted - one by one,
the webs departed. Left in place, of satin
sheen - stood tricky Lolth, the spider queen

LOLTH places a book on the desk of SERETH,


LOLTH
My children told a tale to you,
of how they'll come to be;
how mortals won't look kind on them,
and kill them once they see -
I want you to write down this tale,
Tell everyone in sight;
The fear the feel is warranted -
it only takes one bite.

LOLTH seated, web hammock

Lolth manages to find Sereth, as usual, buried in a book. From the lack of acticity she gets even as she speaks, it almost seems as if they're not listening. Yet just as she's done, the erudite god moves to examine the book- with reptilian hands now, almost as if to tease. "Ah yes, arachnid poetry. Were it not so threatening, it'd be music to my ears. Not that I have ears. Or do I?" A good-natured chuckle follows, every sound Sereth makes seemingly tailored to Lolth's own ears. Or whatever spiders have. Sereth probably knows, but the person writing them doesn't. Alas.

Still, the book is opened, and the slightly clawed fingers trace across the words. "Still, you provide knowledge. Good or bad, it is important and powerful to have. And this is power indeed! Even if it is playing into whatever web you're spinning, I'm very grateful. And should one of us not know what we do here... Well, that knowledge will soon prove valuable to have too, yes?" Another chuckle. "Is this it, then? A donation? Or do you want copies? Transcription is a specialty of mine, you know. The study is open to all who thirst for knowledge. Even those of the arthropoda persuasion."

LOLTH, giggling

I have many children,
and they have many eyes,
I hear many secrets
bear witness many lies -
I'd like a place to store them
should I ever need proof
I wonder if you'd shelter
a shelf beneath your roof.