Imagine you are inside a library, infinitely big. Rich, oak-plank floors and vibrant carpets rest beneath your feet. The rooms are lit by candles that never seem to go out. Every wall is dense with books, scrolls and scripts, everything imaginable and unimaginable somewhere and on some shelf.

Tunnels cascade in every direction, bending and curving in peculiar fashions, almost warping through space as space warps with them. Roaming the halls of the Librorum Infinitum are entities of every form. Some look for an exit. Some look for prey to eat. Some come to find knowledge and some come to create it.

Few know the inter-workings of the library to their fullest extents. Most gather what little knowledge they can from the tomes of the library, often struggling to find anything but conflicting information. Those with pencil or pen may write down their notes for others to find, but few things in the library are truly permanent.

You approach a shelf, sliding a tome into your grasp.

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