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From: The Storyteller
Date: 06 Jun 2000
Time: 07:57:24
As the librarian wraith came into the wide hall once more, he allowed himself to relax somewhat, and shrink even further as the door to the Lady's room finally clicked shut. In a troglodyte posture he started to walk slowly back towards the smaller hall in the library's southern wing.
However validated he felt, Sarmon had never grown comfortable with dealing with the Reborn, he mused to himself. In these ancient halls, and in every wraith in the city, you could feel the stubborn reverence and quiet desperation as a nearly tangible force in the air - the pathos of ages. But not with the Children of Horus. In Amemshehu's presence, the air was cold and stung with blind reason. Although he never had, nor never would dare lay a hand on her, he knew her corpus would feel like ice, her plasm shaped not by desire but by magic. He sighed inaudibly, and his mouth released a wisp of warm breath.
Before he reached his destination, Sarmon thought of the only other Reborn he had met in his many years of service to the city. Lord Tjehenu was only a boy for eternity, no more than fourteen, but the coldness and power he had exuded when they met was similar to that of the current immortal resident of the library. There was so much cryptic lore concerned with the immortals, maybe that was the reason he felt he had to serve them all as best he could. They sages and old texts say that the Shemsu-heru have more than one corpus, that their soul is dual on an external rather than internal plane, like the ba and ka of legend, which in turn meant that they do not have a Shadow. Sarmon was not convinced though. No creature here was free from the taint of Oblivion... it was impossible. The laughter of his dark side echoed in his ears as the librarian wraith settled in the southern wing, among the tablets and scrolls.