Scholar | Hunter | Aspect
The best thing about being left to unceasing sleep for centuries, is the ability to process and sift through decades of knowledge, and the history of the world. That is what Carmine spent the past the past centuries doing. When his eyes flit open, all he saw was the absolute darkness of his entombment. He was sitting on a stone chair, his back rigid against the stone backing and his hands rest on the marbled surface of the desk before him. Under both hands was a book, weathered but spell-guarded against the ages of time. All of the books in his sanctum were.
"Sruthán."
The single word rolled off of the tongue with a dry rasp, the years having left his mouth parched and cracked. Still, the incantation took hold and the iron sconces on the walls that lined the cylindrical room burst into an ethereal, green flame. The color of the flames were merely ornamental, as the light that lined the walls was pure like the day's sun. His sanctum was as he had left it centuries ago before it was sealed, save for the thin layer of dust that lined the surfaces. Such was to be expected and would require a quick tidying.
Carmine took in a deep breath and let it out slow, the stale air filling his lungs and mixing with the musk of the aged parchments and leathers of his library. It was a satisfying experience for him, it reminded him that he was alive and that there was more to learn. He moved to a stand, groaning as he did so, the years having locked his joints and they snapped and popped with the movement. He looked around his sanctum once more and moved towards the portal that lead out, a slab of thick granite blocking the way out. He knew that, beyond this door, lay the path to the others he had known years before; for, if he were awake, then they too shall be.
He ran a hand over the smooth stone and smiled to himself, knowing full well where the slab had come from. He picked the location that it was hewn from due to its location in history.
"You have done well to stand here for so long, old friend. I thank you for keeping me safe, but it is time for me to leave this place for there is work to be done."
Carmine pulled his hand away and uttered a single word,
"Oscailte.", and the stone slab slid out of the way with a deep grind against its moors. He stepped out into the antechamber and rest his gaze upon the statue of himself, standing watch over his sanctum. It was in this marble effigy, that his raiment was housed. He rest his hand on the smooth surface and uttered another incantation,
"Scaoileadh." and the marble began to slowly melt and morph into his clothing and armor with his Quill held within the hand of the mannequin.
He stepped out of the antechamber with his attire donned and his blade belted to his hip and stood in the foyer of his tomb: the banisters stood cracked or toppled, his false sarcophagus sat with a shattered top and his 'treasure' long since robbed. There were pits and depressions scattered about the floors, walls, and ceiling from the impacts of arrows and spells, stains of blood soaked into the marble and granite, and bookshelves toppled. He frowned at the sight but was expecting to see it, for that is why he had built the tomb into the side of a mountain in the first place. There, he could hide his sanctum and none would be the wiser to the truth. There were no architectural designs left at his sealing and the builders were giants that had passed before his slumber from one of their many skirmishes. Only he knew the truth.
He stepped over the shattered door that led to the cliff's edge and cast his gaze over the valley below and took in a breath of fresh air before letting it out slowly and descending the "Ten Thousand Steps to Knowledge."
"I'm thirsty."