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"These potted plants are in dire need of water. They're wilting even as we speak. See these brown leaves at the base? Terrible, just terrible..."
"Yes, S.B.," replied the assistant scribe. The man always felt a bit awkward in the presence of S.B., but it was understandable considering just how much S.B. knew.
S.B. was a tall human. He was scrawny even by elf-standards. His face was aged and his hair grey from time. The man looked half-hermit and half-sage, but there was no denying his memory.
S.B. was sharp. He knew everything, or so it seemed. Rumors always surrounded him in the temple. Some said he was Sundren's best scryer. Others believe he kept a secret artifact to aid him in his vast cognitive powers. There were even claims he had a divine connection directly with Oghma. Whatever the case, he seemed to recall facts instantly and without fault.
"See here? Ferns shouldn't be pocked with orange spots," raged S.B. "Well, not unless they are the southern swampland variety... but these clearly are not that species! This won't do. Where are those gardeners? They are charged with more than just the curb appeal here..."
"Erm, pardon, S.B.," replied the nervous assistant, "But they haven't come to work for the last week."
"Outrageous! Not even a resignation? Something isn't right here," stormed S.B. "I'll find them and get to the bottom of this. Get me my map."
"Right away sir," replied the assistant.
The assistant quickly skuttled to S.B.'s bookshelf. He thumbed through the books, sticking the tip of his tongue out as he thoughtfully searched. He reached the end of the shelf and paused. A confused look came across his face, and he went back across the shelving again, scouring for the map.
"Erm, pardon, S.B.," squeeked the assistant, "but there's a bit of a problem with regards to that map..."
"Yes, S.B.," replied the assistant scribe. The man always felt a bit awkward in the presence of S.B., but it was understandable considering just how much S.B. knew.
S.B. was a tall human. He was scrawny even by elf-standards. His face was aged and his hair grey from time. The man looked half-hermit and half-sage, but there was no denying his memory.
S.B. was sharp. He knew everything, or so it seemed. Rumors always surrounded him in the temple. Some said he was Sundren's best scryer. Others believe he kept a secret artifact to aid him in his vast cognitive powers. There were even claims he had a divine connection directly with Oghma. Whatever the case, he seemed to recall facts instantly and without fault.
"See here? Ferns shouldn't be pocked with orange spots," raged S.B. "Well, not unless they are the southern swampland variety... but these clearly are not that species! This won't do. Where are those gardeners? They are charged with more than just the curb appeal here..."
"Erm, pardon, S.B.," replied the nervous assistant, "But they haven't come to work for the last week."
"Outrageous! Not even a resignation? Something isn't right here," stormed S.B. "I'll find them and get to the bottom of this. Get me my map."
"Right away sir," replied the assistant.
The assistant quickly skuttled to S.B.'s bookshelf. He thumbed through the books, sticking the tip of his tongue out as he thoughtfully searched. He reached the end of the shelf and paused. A confused look came across his face, and he went back across the shelving again, scouring for the map.
"Erm, pardon, S.B.," squeeked the assistant, "but there's a bit of a problem with regards to that map..."