Lost Note of a Mercenary's Tomb

Scraping the backpack that was weighing him down against the face of his assailant, Gabrin successfully bought himself a handful of precious seconds to scurry off down the hallway of the otherwise quiet library as heavy leather books began tumbling out of the shelf onto the troubling foe. A ban from this institute of learning wasn't easy to obtain, but through his hard work "extensively" borrowing important scholarly tomes and consistently stealing common stationery and pens, he had managed it.

Typically, the librarians scolded him, offering a wise quote or a rude remark to express their dislike of him and his rowdy nature. Despite the tall, dark, and gloomy nature of the keepers of knowledge, they were fairly inoffensive, preferring to cite a stinging quote rather than strike. Though the possibility of a ban had never occurred to him, he was heavily scolded to stay out. He had been banned only yesterday and had come to try his luck persuading them to let him borrow one more book.

They had begun their assault out of nowhere and seemed to use their extensive knowledge of the library's layout to their advantage when attempting to corner him. Gabrin's roguish figure was quick to escape a dire situation, but fingers once seen weakly admonishing him were now grasping for him violently, with a renewed vigor that didn't fit the old and fragile bones he thought they possessed.

"Begone, you are banned!"

The few spoken words did little to hide the urgency with which they were spoken, grimaces on their straining faces as they attempted to catch him. Catching the edge of a column allowed his nimble figure to jump to the second floor of the library for more breathing room, all the while shouting confused remarks back at the librarians.

"It isn't fair! No one's ever been banned before! What is wrong with you anyway?"

Looking back from the second floor, he saw his assailants had ceased to chase him. With their backs to him, they seemed to plead and reason in their usual manner, now addressing a figure beyond them. The commanding presence was one Gabrin had never been exposed to; the regal yet middle-aged man was downright military in stature. The old men crowded the noble newcomer in a failed attempt to distract him, but his icy blue gaze was set like a pointed spear toward Gabrin, keeping him frozen in place on the second floor.

A wide smile breached the serious look on his face, turning it from stoic to opportunistic. Clearly, this man's plan was coming together, and it seemed the young rogue had a part to play.

"Come, son, let's talk about your future."

The words rang clearly even through the lamentations of the wailing librarians, who found great woe at losing such a scholar and found multiple citations in dusty tomes to admonish the man, to little effect. Meanwhile, Gabrin felt his own opportunistic smile grow in delight at the mere prospect of what his future might entail.

(Notes unveiled by recent discovery of an ancient mercenary's hidden tomb in a cave along with several unreadable decayed tomes.)