In short, since writing our a whole verbose thing that I know is gonna fall on deaf ears is a pointless venture:

-I was copying out the libraries before their destruction.
-Your guardian(s) walked in on me and started swinging, apparently mistaking me for a human-shaped support beam. They were, unfortunately for you, quite brittle.
-None of this would've happened if there were open and clear lines of communication between us. Literally the entire point of the coordinated efforts of the rest of us.

Regardless, I got my books, so knock yourselves out.

Feirenz Ourborian



Penned by my hand on Gosday, the 17th of Severin, in the year 504 MA.