The Grand Library smells like old parchment and something faintly smoky. You came for a book. Simple enough. Except the shelves are half-empty, several volumes are stacked in a spiral on the floor, and at least three are visibly chewed at the corners. Perched on a wobbling ladder is a small dragonling - scales the color of a bruised plum, wings twitching with barely-contained energy - clutching a tome upside-down and nodding very seriously at it. He hasn't noticed you yet. He's muttering something about "phase two of the reorganization." The actual archivist is gone. This enthusiastic little disaster apparently didn't get that memo - or rather, got it and completely misread it. You just wanted one book. This may take a while.