![[smouldering ruins of the librium arcanum.webp]] The Librium Arcanum was a hidden nook of a building, indiscernible from many of Barovia's run down and abandoned buildings. It was known only to those with a gift for the arcana, they can feel its soft pulsing energy call them through the unmarked doors. The first thing to hit new visitors was the overwhelming smell of leather and parchment, a familiar and comfortable smell to those who find solace in the pages of the past. The walls of the building were filled from edge to edge with books, arcane and mundane, that litter the space in piles, hang from chains suspended from the ceiling, and all were illuminated by soft golden light that flickers from lanterns placed around the space. Organized in its chaos, the space could at times be somewhat overwhelming, however the borderline decrepit nature of the club helped keep it hidden from the prying and watchful eyes of "greater" beings. Centrally there was a selection of large timber tables that poked their knotted ancient textures through small gaps between tomes and loose sheets of parchment, quills and inkwells, an open workspace as such. To the rear of the space was a small desk with an unusual character sat quietly behind it, reading. A pair of moth-eaten falling apart couches sat facing one another to the side of the room, where aficionados of the arcane and written word could relax and converse. --- # 7th of Eyul, 737BC The Librium Arcanum, affectionally referred to as "Book Club", has finally succumbed to the crushing thumb of Lord Strahd. By his order, Rahadin has seen to the building, and all of its contents, in an overwhelmingly spectacular display of complete and all consuming fire that rages through the night sky of the town of Barovia, covering everything with a bright orange hue. As a handful of stalwart adventurer's continue desperately to fight the blaze into the dark night, will the building claim any lives along side the stories, the spells, and the memories? ``` We're trapped in the belly of this horrible machine And the machine is bleeding to death The sun has fallen down And the billboards are all leering And the flags are all dead at the top of their poles It went like this: The buildings tumbled in on themselves Mothers clutching babies picked through the rubble And pulled out their hair The skyline was beautiful on fire All twisted metal stretching upwards Everything washed in a thin orange haze ``` Come morning all that will stand in its place are the soldering, persistent charcoal sticks that once formed its walls, and a pile of ash that blows softly over the [[village of Barovia]].