Realms of the Arcane

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Most of the time, Wes enjoyed living at Candlekeep. He was serving a year's probation before becoming a novice monk, and as a result, was one of the keep's most junior inhabitants. He and his fellow probationers got the jobs no one else wanted.

Wes didn't mind. If he could get through this first year, everything would start looking better.

Slight, a shade over five-and-a-half feet tall, and rather plain in appearance, Wes turned nary a head. Like many eighteen year olds, he was gangly and all out of proportion. His eyes had a deep sparkle, but the rest of his face didn't match them, and his hair was as brown and tangled as a scullery mop.

It was not a mop but a broom that he now pushed slowly across the floor of the common room. He sighed, contented in his work… and in his daydreams.

There were only two things in life that Wes was discontented with. The first was the pall that had descended over the library in the last few weeks. The very stones of the place seemed sullen. The monks were on edge; something was amiss. Wes prayed to all the gods to put it right.

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