Café de Nuit

"Indeed," Lia says in velvet tones while she continues to peruse the Anchorite's books. "No reason not to let the others know about our little find." 'And no reason not to ask the librarian whether some of the volumes are for sale, either,' she thinks to herself.

*flip*...*Flip*...*flip*..*scribble*...*flip*...*Flip*..*scribble*...

Mr. Agale paged through the tome with an unhurried ease. He kept a mechanical pace, scanning paragraphs and margins as though they were accounts to be tallied, occassionally taking a a brief note when something struck him as potentially signifigant.

*flip*...*scribble*...*flip*...*Flip*..*Flip**scribble*...*Fli-

When the woman spoke, Agale bobbed his head, still engrossed in a heated treatise which consisted of arguments and counter arguments about the biographical narrative of a long dead Warden. He barely registered what she said until Nicolas came crashing down. The thump as he hit the ground caused the table to bounce, and papers flew everywhere.

Flustered, the Borcan looked up at the strange priestess hovering above. "What now?" Proper ettiquette kicking in, he stands and gives a short bow. His mind reels trying to remember the proper address for a cleric of her station. "And good day to you.. Warden. My appologies, I seem to have caught only the tail end of that." He casts a questioning glance in Nicolas's direction, then decides to follow the poet's lead. "Yes, any assistance, would be appreciated." he added.

Religion 20 Insight 12

Main Library, Ste. Mere des Larmes, Quartier Publique, Port-a-Lucine; Afternoon of March 24th, 770
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Nicolas wrote:"Mayhap one who knows this library better would be inclined to assist us, or at least enlighten us on how to look sideways, good Sister....?" He says attempting to clarify the womans position and name all at once.

Mr. Agale wrote:"Yes, any assistance, would be appreciated." he added.

"Those who look always to the sides, however, find themselves straying far from the beaten path. They travel in a spiral, and though they find wisdom along the way, their goal may be slow in coming." The Ezran woman sat down gingerly on a chair and clasped her hands together in front of her.

She had a curiously ageless quality about her, though on close examination she was probably no more than a decade older than the rest of you. Her skin was yellowed and dry, and her eyes dark pools, giving her a somewhat ghostly air. She ignored Nicolas's gentle probing, and she ignored the huge pile of books as well. Instead, the anchorite looked at Mr. Agale and at Nicolas, as though they, not the books, were the most interesting and curious things in the room.

"Tell me, gentle travelers. Do you seek wisdom, or facts? Wisdom cannot fill your belly, while facts can grant you a world." The anchorite smiled gently. "But without wisdom, it is a hollow, brass bell of a world, full of clamor and shorn of meaning."

M. Mauganson wrote:"The Ezrans look after the souls of the People...and that's good...but what about the City's soul? Or the Nation's? If I can do something to protect it...then that's what I've got to do.

“Oh…M. Mauganson!” Celeste looked…well, visibly moved, actually. Rather as if torn between the impulse to physically applaud the speech and to hug Kerrian sympathetically, while not entirely sure whether either would be appropriate.

“O, noble sentiment, expressed yet more nobly! And to speak still of such lofty ideals as City or Nation, in the face of calamity so dreadfully personal… Why, I had no idea!” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, tearing up slightly at the corners. “Oh, M. Mauganson, neither citizens of stalwart Verbrek or fair Dementlieu need ever fear for their preservation, if such valorous dispositions as this stand in their defense!”

She turned to Tomas, still looking a bit shaken up. “…Nor those of Lamordia, for that matter! Sir Eisenwald…oh, your apology is supremely well-intentioned, and yet I must still protest it as unnecessary. What else can mark a true Protector of this world, if not a deeply cultivated desire to shield his more innocent fellow-creatures from harm? My own love for our common home abides no less deeply—oh, gentle Nation, happy Core, that has so long sustained us! Yet…oh, M. Eisenwald, I should be counted far more foolish than gracious if I claimed to know best how to defend it! It is upon this matter that I must submit myself entirely to the better judgments of those as yourself, and as M. Mauganson.”

She smiled slightly, a bit caught up in the moment. “So you see, there is no need for apology, only guidance! I assure you, I am most complaisant to instruction.”

Nicolas sends Agale a subtle yet mystified shrug as the woman sits down, evidently whether the two man wanted her help or not the pseudo-ghostly nun was going to continue spouting sagely advice, so may as well make the best of it.

Nicolas remains standing for the moment still clasping the upended chair, and looks carefully at the woman, before offering a short bow of his own. "I find my dear madame, whenever one is offered such a dilemma, the best choice is to find an exception to the rule, personally I would take half a world filled wiith meaning. But there is the old adage about cake and eating it too..."

Musing for a moment he adds "but if a straight choice is what you require I would prefer wisdom, although I suspect my companion here has more of a predilection for hard facts."


Nicolas suspects she is in fact some kind of ghost soo:
Perception 15 to see if she is actually *sitting* on the chair
Insight 25 to see if she is really acting like someone alive or is she an illusion of some kind?

"I can't find any specific thread in these volumes," Lia admits after a few moments of looking through the books. "Miss Blackwood, mister Blackwood, perhaps you would like to assist again ...?"

Nerit wrote:She turned back to Darius and gestured to the papers. "Well, what is this ephemera?"

Darius shrugs as he slips off the string and lays the papers on the desk. "Let's find out," he says.

As it turns out, they are letters, written in High Mordentish in a fairly neat hand--Grenier's, it seems. Arranging them on the warden's desk, Darius begins to scan them, taking note of recipients and getting a general grasp on subject before diving into reading each individually.

Tomas looks a bit like he's been punched in the face when he learns about Kerrian's parents, and roughly clasps the boy's shoulder when he hears about the skins. He is about to suggest that a certain Eisenwald happen to come by and ultraviolently present the ideals of decency upon anyone feeling like that sort of thing is acceptable.(In truth he's a little nervous because it'd be much easier to use, say, a few animal skins to imply Kerrian's 'condition' instead of the skins of those who share it, hinting at something more significant than the usual stupid bigotry.)

Fortunately, Celeste's ode to Tennyson knocks him out of this train of thought(for the moment as, being a man of the world, ultraviolence is never all that far from Eisenwald's thoughts.) and he has to bite his tongue to resist an entirely inappropriate fit of laughter. Tomas can't help it, she talks like a Poetry 101 textbook.

"Alright." Tomas says instead, nodding. He gives Celeste's shoulder a rough pat as well, as if to show her that she's one of the boys, before turning back to his work. "Do your folks have somewhere safe to stay, Mauganson? There some kind of...support group for..." What, parents of a beast-blooded child? Lycanthropics Anonymous? Tomas just sort of motions at Kerrian for lack of a polite way to mention it. "...only if you want, I've got a cousin-in-law at the printing press that could probably, ah, make sure they get a dry paper every morning."

"They should be alright, but I appreciate it Tomas. A check in now and then is probably a good idea..but I should be the one to do it. You can come meet my folks if you like, though." Kerrian said with something close to a smile.

"The worst of it is...I can't even be truly angry at those responsible. The entire city went mad for a night, except for those lucky few that were here or at the gallery. With those of from Veberek...it makes sense that they'd lash out at people like me. Live in fear for so long, and when something compels you to lash out...you're going to lash out at those that remind you of what kept you in fear." Kerrian's look darkened for a moment, that slight edge of a growl entering his voice again.

"So I save my anger for whomever was responsible for the magic that caused all this. Yes, my parents home was ransacked, and others like me lost their lives... but according to the Blackwoods, entire small towns were wiped off the map. Needless to say, I've got a LOT of anger saved up for when we find the culprits."

Kerrian set down the pad he was writing down transactions in. "I'm going to give the room one more look over, see if there's anything we missed while concentrating on the books."

And with that declaration, Kerrian set about to giving the room another thorough once over.

OOC:Perception 29

Warden Bertin Lecanu's Quarters, Ste. Mere des Larmes, Quartier Publique, Port-a-Lucine; March 24th, 770
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Kerrian wrote:Kerrian set down the pad he was writing down transactions in. "I'm going to give the room one more look over, see if there's anything we missed while concentrating on the books."

And with that declaration, Kerrian set about to giving the room another thorough once over.

A further examination of Warden Lecanu's room revealed nothing quite so intriguing as his collection of literature, but still, a few more notes to add to the tale.

In the wardrobe, alongside a wide collection of priestly vestments, was street clothing of a generally unmemorable style. Boots, breeches, dull jackets, of the sort a petty scholar or minor merchant might wear while travelling the city. They were singularly unremarkable in all ways, almost aggressively bland.

The chest beside the wardrobe, meanwhile, turned out to be Bertin Lecanu's collection of tools. The Warden had been a manuscriptist and general artist, and here one found all the tools of his trade. There were pens in a dozen styles and shapes, several pots of ink, and a variety of paper, including good, aged vellum. There were also tools for etchings, plates of metal and cans of wax, along with delicate brushes of all sorts as well as several vials of strong acid, carefully wrapped in cloth. Other tools were there as well, little hammers and chisels and instruments of a less apparent style. It seemed that Bertin Lecanu was quite a renaissance man when it came to the art of copying and restoring old works, not just books.

Warden Christin Vaillant's Quarters, Ste. Mere des Larmes, Quartier Publique, Port-a-Lucine; March 24th, 770
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Lia wrote:"I can't find any specific thread in these volumes," Lia admits after a few moments of looking through the books. "Miss Blackwood, mister Blackwood, perhaps you would like to assist again ...?"

The two Blackwoods dutifully obeyed, plucking tomes from the bookshelves and opening them to examine their contents. Alice worked her way fairly quickly through the books, skimming a few pages to try and determine contents. More often than not she would start haphazardly flipping to random spots in the book, as if trying to get a feel for the whole thing, but it didn't seem like she had it in her to read more than a paragraph of the dry, condensed text at a time. Beyond that, she started just skimming.

Finally, she shook her head and put the book back on the shelf. "Neither can I," she said, apologetically. "Just your typical books on theology, history... here's one on entomology..." She took the book from its shelf, frowning and flipping it over in her hands, before putting it back. "I'm sorry, but I did say we were not quite the right sort for this. What do you think, Richard?"

"Hmm?" Richard looked up from the book he was holding. Unlike his sister, he had picked out a book, flipped to the first page, and had then just kept reading. He was now about fifty pages in to a treatise on culture in Mordent.

Alice sighed, gently took the book from his hands, and put it back on the shelf. "Perhaps we should simply rejoin the others," she suggested.

Warden Martin Grenier's Quarters, Ste. Mere des Larmes, Quartier Publique, Port-a-Lucine; March 24th, 770

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Darius wrote:As it turns out, they are letters, written in High Mordentish in a fairly neat hand--Grenier's, it seems. Arranging them on the warden's desk, Darius begins to scan them, taking note of recipients and getting a general grasp on subject before diving into reading each individually.

It soon became apparent to the Isfahanis and to Nerit that the letters were drafts. Copiously edited, scratched out and rewritten, sometimes the same letter would appear in four or five versions. The very first one seemed to be typical of the kind.

• My Love,
  
  You are a blessing that my entire being is very thankful for. I feel that we were made to love, listen, understand, and work through all times in our lives together and individually.
  
  I feel that we have shared more time together than we ever will and I know there are many more special occassions and moments in our lives that will surprise and bring us closer.
  
  I love you eternally and unconditionally. Ezra's love has answered this prayer I've wanted and been almost too anxious for so long. I miss you more than words can say and my love will reach any distance and fly to be in your dreams and heart each evening that we can not be together. I physically long for you each night and will see you in my dreams until we find ourselves wrapped in the love that grows stronger and deeper each day, into our future together. I believe and have faith in you.
  
  Love Always,
  
  Martin

They were love letters, approximately thirty drafts totalling eight separate letters. It seemed that Warden Grenier's eloquence in sermons did not carry itself over to amorous writings. He was, however, scrupulously careful to never mention his love's name, nor to provide any clues as to her identity.

Main Library, Ste. Mere des Larmes, Quartier Publique, Port-a-Lucine; March 24th, 770
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Nicolas remains standing for the moment still clasping the upended chair, and looks carefully at the woman, before offering a short bow of his own. "I find my dear madame, whenever one is offered such a dilemma, the best choice is to find an exception to the rule, personally I would take half a world filled wiith meaning. But there is the old adage about cake and eating it too..."

Musing for a moment he adds "but if a straight choice is what you require I would prefer wisdom, although I suspect my companion here has more of a predilection for hard facts."

The anchorite, despite her somewhat ethereal aspect, seemed to be made of flesh and blood and bone. The chair creaked as she moved, and you could smell a faint whiff of ink coming from her hands, where a pen had left a small stain on her right hand.

"I have in my life met only three who could claim both wisdom and knowledge." The woman said unsmilingly. "One was a saint. The second, a madman. The third, a monster. Do you consider yourself one of those three, M'sieur de Castaigne?"

Any grudging respect Darius had for the Darkonian cleric is snuffed out by this display of bathetic hackwork.

"Love letters," he snarls.

Skimming back over them, he revises that succinct summation to, "Badly written love letters."

And, a few moments later, "Empty love letters."

It takes Nerit a few seconds to work out that this last was said in unison by both twins.

"Entomology?" Lia repeats. "The study of insects?" She approaches Alice and takes over the entomology book. "Sometimes that which does not seem to fit the pattern is as significant as the pattern itself," she muses, apparently talking out loud while she studies the book in question. "Would you check whether the Anchorite had more books on the subject?"

Warden Christin Vaillant's Quarters, Ste. Mere des Larmes, Quartier Publique, Port-a-Lucine; March 24th, 770
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"There are a few others..." Alice said, with a glance to the side. "If I may voice a somewhat contrary opinion, perhaps the poor Warden simply had interests outside of his religion? While I realize it may seem out of place in the context of a library, this seems to be the Warden's private collection. I know Richard has a strong interest on tattoo art, and several books on Lamordian clockwork hiding about in his religious tomes... as well as that one on ornamental basket weaving..."

"Sis, I, I told you that one was an accident," Richard protested, rubbing his hair.

"What I mean to say is, we have precious little to tell us what might be significant, and what is not," Alice continued. "If we seek to learn everything that may be significant, I had best give Richard back his book to read."

Nerit was impassive. "So he had an object of affection. Pray tell how this might connect to The Hanged Man?"

She paused, recalling the empty eye sockets. "No, messieurs, though it may look detestable, there is little to go on. Unless this lover was a murderer?"

"I have in my life met only three who could claim both wisdom and knowledge." The woman said unsmilingly. "One was a saint. The second, a madman. The third, a monster. Do you consider yourself one of those three, M'sieur de Castaigne?"

Nicolas barely conceals a snort at this question, covering it up by replacing the chair with a soft thump. There were several reasosn for that concealment, firstly whoever she was knew his name without asking, seocndly she was outright creepy and third, well it wasnt polite to laugh at a nun anywhere, least of all in Cathedral. For his actual repsonse Nicholas quirks an eyebrow and folds his arms "do I consider myself any of those? My dear lady it does indeed appear that my reputation preceedes me, as I have been both denounced and acclaimed as each of those in varying degrees."

"Yet I consider myself none of them, these are merely labels we apply to things we do not grasp or comprehend, afterall one man's vile monster is anothers sainted saviour. Myself, I am simply a man, a man at this juncture in search of knowledge and wisdom in a worthy cause."

Nicolas pauses for a second throwing a look at Agale before sitting smotthly opposute the woman and continuing. "I do wonder Madame where this is to lead, do you perhaps consider yourself one of those three? If it should prove to eb true I sincerly hope you are the former sent to guide us..." He finishes with the most charming grin he owns that is suitable for cryptic spooky Anchorites.