A quick look at Reziphel’s room in the base of the Volcano.
In the hallways of Gabriel’s volcano there are rooms and caves and caverns of many sizes and shapes. Some are glass-walled pockets where air was once trapped, others not so smooth as whatever it was trapped inside was burned away. Some have been meticulously chiseled out by their owners, and some explosively as their creator desired. Others were formed as folds of magma created tunnels and whorls to travel through. Off of one branch and curving around a pool of lava is one such whorl, the entrance an irregular arch as rolled layers of worn pumice seem stacked one atop the other until they reach the ceiling.
Reziphel’s room: a place to put stuff. What kind of stuff does Rez have? Not much. Always concerned about getting things started, there are probably a bunch of unfinished projects of one sort or another.
In the center of the room is a round coffee table, in the middle a candelabra, next to it a cigar box filled with his collection of matchbooks and lighters. One lighter for every state or country he’s visited, and a matchbook from every resturant he’s ever been to. More candles; votives in shot glasses, tapers in brass candlesticks, tea lights in potpourri burners.
No chairs, Reziphel doesn’t stay long enough, although there are pillows from each time he’s started a needlepoint project and Appoggee finished it for him.
The bookshelf has all kinds of books, mostly short story collections. Each one has a bookmark somewhere within its pages, and none of them are standing straight. Each is flat, or angled, with no apparent sorting system.
There is a coatrack by the door. Two items, a black NYFD baseball cap and a NY Yankees cap, hang on its branches.
No TV. The cd/tape player by the wall has a small stack of cds, the liner notes in a small pile next to the jewel cases. A small stack of unlabeled tapes rests nearby, Reziphel’s diary of a sort.
No pictures or posters on the walls, they’d just fall off anyway.