[Warehouse]
[In the midst of the various levels of disrepair, an enormous warehouse sits in nearly pristine condition. Above the doorway, there's the symbol of an open book. A wooden door, looking rather new, stands in the doorway.]
[The door opens easily enough. Torches already burn inside cheerfully. A rough hewn table seems to have been dragged into the center of the room, and papers and small books are scattered across it. Inkwells and pens are arranged tidily in the center.
The beginnings of a shelving project seems to have begun there. The first erected are packed with books without any major order yet, and many with double rows until more room is afforded.
The air is filled with a calm, meticulous sense of order.]
[Oddly enough as you enter, you feel a calm begin to center you again. That fey, overt curiosity and lingering paranoid fear seem to evaporate as you take in the dry surroundings.]