Candlekeep never lacked visitors, but the commotion brought by outsiders could no longer stir the hearts of its residents.
Two principal factions had always existed within the ancient fortress. The first consisted of Candlekeep's scholars and monks, who formed its effective government. The second was the clergy, who possessed a certain degree of autonomy.
There was no sharp divide between the two factions. They lived and worked together in relative harmony.
The highest authority in Candlekeep was the Keeper of Tomes, while the second-ranking official was honored as the First Reader. Together, they decided matters both great and small. Priests and clerics also participated in defending Candlekeep, since the interests of both factions were ultimately aligned.
To many visitors, Candlekeep's priests and scholars seemed like one perfectly harmonious community. They were equally obsessed with money, differing only in their clothing and appearance.
The priests of Oghma, god of knowledge, uniformly wore white shirts and trousers beneath peculiar patterned vests known as kantlara.
The bishop who presided over Oghma's temple was an elderly cleric who held the title of Loremaster Most High. Within the faith's fourteen-tier hierarchy, Loremaster Most High stood at the twelfth rank, already approaching the level of a living saint.
The old priest, Ulen, had been past fifty when he first arrived at Candlekeep and took charge of Faerûn's greatest center of learning and Oghma's holiest sanctuary.
He had been welcomed by an ordinary ray of sunlight passing over the tower roofs, drifting more leisurely than a bird. Ulen's heart had skipped a beat, and he had immediately known that this was the place revealed to him by his god.
For the next forty years, he never left Candlekeep. He lived through the same day fourteen thousand six hundred times.
Time blinked, and Ulen's hair turned completely white. His skin sagged over his thin bones, yet the fingers with which he copied books remained steady and immovable as iron. The candlelight from more than ten thousand nights at his desk seemed to have become embedded in his pupils, making his eyes shine with startling brightness.
On this unremarkable autumn morning, Ulen awoke at his usual hour in the small bedroom adjoining the temple. With the support of a young acolyte, he rose, washed, and dressed.
The old man reflected in the tarnished silver mirror stared back with vacant eyes. The sight startled Ulen himself. It took him several moments to recognize the person in the mirror.
He smiled gently and said to the acolyte, "It appears my lord Oghma is preparing to summon me into his kingdom."
The young acolyte hurriedly said, "Brother Ulen, please don't speak that way. You can continue spreading Lord Oghma's teachings for many years yet."
Ulen smiled and nodded, but did not argue with the young man.
After rising, he was supposed to go to the temple's main hall and preside over the daily morning prayers. Today, however, one mishap followed another. Several times, he turned in the wrong direction. For the first time in his life, he became lost inside a temple whose halls he had measured with his own footsteps tens of thousands of times.
When he crossed the central courtyard, he stopped and became absorbed in watching a grasshopper.
"This little creature will die before winter arrives. Its fate and mine are the same."
A faint mixture of sorrow and joy filled his chest.
Death was not frightening to a member of the clergy. Their souls would travel to the divine realm, where they would remain eternally beside their god and enjoy the life that awaited them after death.
That did not mean the mortal world held nothing worth missing.
It only meant that every mortal eventually died.
Ulen faced the altar and joined the priests and acolytes in prayer.
The morning prayer was known as the Binding. Before the altar, Oghma's clergy silently offered their loyalty and praise. The evening prayer was called the Covenant. During that ceremony, the faithful recited passages from written works, offered songs and poetry, and discussed the knowledge they had gained that day.
Ulen performed the Binding without error. He swore to gather, preserve, and spread knowledge, and to defend new ideas and freedom of thought.
The sanctuary was peaceful. Gentle morning sunlight streamed through the windows.
It seemed that this would be another ordinary morning. The younger priests and acolytes were probably already thinking about breakfast.
Unfortunately, the old priest truly had become somewhat confused. He repeatedly forgot parts of the prayer, causing the morning ceremony to last far longer than usual. The monks below remained patient at first, but eventually began whispering among themselves.
Ulen heard the murmuring and coughed softly.
The hall immediately became quiet.
A moment later, the monks began gasping and shouting.
Ulen opened his eyes. He had been about to reprimand them when he suddenly noticed a warm radiance shining from the altar before him.
Oghma's rune upon the altar glowed blue-green.
The god of knowledge had manifested his presence.
Ulen's eyes widened slightly, and he called out in a steady voice, "Silence! Listen to the will of our god!"
An elderly, cultured voice sounded beside the old priest's ear. It was Oghma himself delivering a divine message.
The god spoke sparingly.
"Go to Candlekeep's gate and accept the challenge of the man in white."
"My lord, what manner of challenge is it?"
"Read a book."
Oghma paused, then, in a rare display of elaboration, added, "Do everything in your power to win it. It is of utmost importance, a supreme artifact."
Ulen abruptly rose and turned to the others.
"Ring the bells! Gather every brother and sister. Everyone is to assemble outside Candlekeep's gates!"
The priests of Oghma's temple had not seen such a grave expression on their elderly bishop's face in many years. It seemed as though he had suddenly recovered the vigor of his youth, or perhaps he had ignited the last remaining warmth within his aging body.
His eyes shone with an intimidating brilliance.
The bells of Oghma's temple shattered the tranquility of Candlekeep's morning.
In this peaceful, unchanging existence, every day closely resembled the one before it, and tomorrow would most likely resemble today.
Bells ringing at dawn were an exceedingly rare occurrence.
Long before sunrise, Ulraunt, the Keeper of Tomes, had risen while unseen servants dressed him. His eyebrows were wild, his expression haughty, and his robes extravagantly ornate.
Many people might have assumed that he was all flash and no substance, a spellcaster whose ambitions exceeded his abilities and whose lifestyle was shamelessly luxurious.
In reality, Ulraunt maintained extremely strict standards for himself. His magical research was exceptional, and his thirst for knowledge was no weaker than that of anyone else in Candlekeep.
By the time the bells began ringing, Ulraunt had already spent more than two hours immersed in his books.
A Silence spell had been placed over the reading room to isolate it from all outside noise. His attention was only drawn away from the page when a magical lamp at the corner of his desk began flashing.
The instant he dispelled the silencing barrier, Ulraunt heard the bells.
"What has happened?" he asked, unable to conceal his surprise.
A Reader hurried to the doorway and briefly explained the situation.
"There is a man outside Candlekeep who claims that every book in our collection is inferior to the single volume he carries."
Ulraunt's eyebrows rose sharply.
He scoffed. "Another ignorant fool. He probably intends to deceive his way inside by presenting us with a book filled with meaningless nonsense."
"The priests of Oghma are all heading there. Should we go as well?"
"Of course."
Ulraunt's expression did not change.
"A book is always beneficial in one manner or another. Since it is beneficial, Candlekeep has an obligation to bring it under our protection."
The Reader sighed inwardly in admiration.
The Keeper of Tomes was truly a master. The thickness of his skin rivaled a suit of +2 magic armor.
At Candlekeep's main gate, Bishop Ulen solemnly held Mora's Book in both hands.
It was an unremarkable black notebook two inches thick. Its cover was soft and smooth, possessing the delicate texture of a mollusk's skin.
The old priest raised his head and glanced at the white-robed man.
The warlock Skyl stood peacefully at the end of the Way of the Lion. He showed no impatience and made no idle movements to relieve his boredom. He simply stood there like a statue of a god.
Meeting Ulen's gaze, Skyl smiled and asked, "Are you still not ready?"
The guards at Candlekeep's gate and several monks had already read portions of the book. Their minds remained healthy, but they could no longer stop thinking about it. They scratched their heads and fidgeted restlessly, behaving like addicts suffering through withdrawal.
They now crowded around Skyl, pleading with him in low, desperate voices.
"Please, good sir, give us a little more. Just one page, please. I'm itching all over. I can't bear it."
The Candlekeep scholars arriving one after another whispered among themselves. They suspected that the book had been enchanted with some kind of charm or compulsion magic that reduced anyone who read it to such a state.
Holding Mora's Book, the old priest stared deeply at its cover.
In a daze, he seemed to see a chaotic gray-green eye slowly blinking beneath its surface.
A chill ran through his body.
Why did the supreme artifact mentioned by Oghma, god of knowledge, seem so faintly sinister?
Ulen's determination did not waver, but he raised his vigilance to its highest possible level.
He began casting protective spells upon himself to resist mental domination and corruption of thought. The magical items across his body also began to flicker. Should Ulen's mental state become abnormal, their contingency magic would immediately teleport him back to the temple.
He then cast a legendary Comprehend Languages spell, allowing him to read every form of written language, before channeling Oghma's divine power and calling down his god's blessing.
His preparations made it appear as though he were about to fight a fiend from the deepest pits of Hell.
The surrounding spectators looked on in confusion, unable to understand why the elderly bishop was treating the situation with such solemnity.
Only after completing every possible preparation did Ulen slowly open the book to its first page.
It did not take long for him to realize that the enemy he faced was even more terrifying than any devil.
A chapter that cut off at the worst possible moment.
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