Café de Nuit

"Hrm." Tomas grunts, making a note to check and see what the Warden's duties were specifically. "He could've just been using his skills for personal profit on the side..."

Adjusting his coat, Tomas heads towards the door. "Come. The others should be starting to head back around now, if I am not missing my guess."

Cyrus rummaged through the letters with his brother. Their hands moved swiftly as they passed the papers between each other, still four hands controlled as if by one mind. Once they reached the bottom of the stack, their expressions turned thoughtful.

They began slowly pacing the room. As if in a trance they circled Nerit like a pair of Lawgiver sharks around a hapless Ezran fish. They bore no ill-will to her at the moment, though. Instead, they spoke out loud, musing on their recent find.

"Empty love letters..." Cyrus rubbed his chin.

Darius passes both hands back along his head...a gesture of nerves? Frustration?...as he paces. When he speaks, his voice is low...the tone of someone talking to himself. "So...flat. No name, no face, no...person?...And so many drafts. Who..."

"...is he writing for?" Cyrus picked up. The dommer ran a hand across his scalp.

"It is so cryptic, so evasive...could it be..."

"Some kind of code, right." At this the twins turn together back to the table and run through the pages again; after perhaps two minutes of examination they throw down the pages and turn to pace again.

Cyrus rubbed his chin once more.

"A cause? A heresy? Whatever it is..."

"Exactly. Why the mirror? So elaborate." Darius sighs; the twins look at each other and shrug.

"We'll have to hand it over to the police...see what they can do. Professional cryptographers."

Darius looks at Nerit and shrugs again. "It could be, in some sense. The mirror, the vision, the letters...it's easy to imagine some connection and extrapolate to the "lover", whoever or whatever that is. But maybe it's a false pattern...just an anchorite with too much time on his hands and no gift for prose. We can't tell yet. Not enough light."

Making a "come-on" jerk of the head to Cyrus, he walks out of the room.

Cyrus headed to the desk and carefully put the papers back in their proper order and then bundled them back up. He tucked the packet under his arm and smiled broadly at Nerit.

"After you, Sister," he said graciously, making a grand gesture with one arm.

The entire time, Nerit kept her hands in her sleeves, as she had done when she entered the room.

Watching them circle like sharks and finish each other's sentences-- well, what more could she expect? Her gaze skittered over them as they circled, never showing intimidation or worry on the surface of her face.

When Cyrus made his genteel gesture, she inclined her head with a slight twist. "We haven't finished yet, have we?"

Her brown eyes twinkled a little as she smiled and set her gaze on Grenier's chest.

DocBeard wrote:
Adjusting his coat, Tomas heads towards the door. "Come. The others should be starting to head back around now, if I am not missing my guess."

Kerrian nodded, though before he headed for the door, he made sure to get a listing of exactly what was in that chest. "Copying books, or historical documents?" Kerrian's expression soured somewhat, still not liking being so suspicious of what could just be an innocent victim, but then again, the man who doesn't suspect his neighbor is the one who is torn apart by wolves.

Agale ponders the question for a moment while gathering fluttering papers back into a semblance of order. As they flew off the table, he notices the material check-out log which had become covered by the rest of the literature. He weighs whether the cleric's habit of speaking in riddles strikes him as being more intriguing or simply vexing. He ultimately settles somewhere on the latter side.

He responds to her second query while scanning the logbook. He doesn't look up as he speaks which gives the impression of a bored professor, lecturing out of his notes. "A Saint is someone who has undergone beautification. Their acts have been glorified and their sins discretely written out of the histories. Those called madmen are usually simply ahead of their time. Others misunderstand and cannot grasp the larger picture and thus their motives seem unfathomable. And as for monsters.." He pauses a moment, as if recalling something. "Monsters are too simply the product of ignorance and misapprehension. Each appellation is a product of perceptions which says more of those who make the pronouncement than it does the subject."

"Although speaking of madness..." he trails off, scribbling another note to his pad. "Our friend Warden Lecanu seems to have himself quite a compulsive streak." He rotates the log one hundred eighty degrees and slides it across the table to Nicolas. "See here, here and here Mr. de Castigne." He fingers a few of the dates. "Our poor Warden seems to have made a habit of checking out large quantities of material every few months. Each time focused upon a different subject matter. The most recent subject being pre-Leon history of Dementliu." He gives the poet a conspiratorial look which conveys that there is more for him to hear on the subject, but not while they are observed.

Turning back to the priestess, he smiles thinly "Thank you Warden, deliberate or not, you have given us a lead to work upon."

Perception (Using a reroll token on the previous failure) 26

Main Library, Ste. Mere des Larmes, Quartier Publique, Port-a-Lucine; March 24th, 770
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nicolas wrote: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 be 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.

"I? I am merely making conversation." The anchorite inclined her head to Nicolas. "And waiting. For while I would like to assist you in your search, that requires a sign which has yet to appear. Specifically, what it is I can help you with?"

Mr. Agale wrote:"A Saint is someone who has undergone beautification. Their acts have been glorified and their sins discretely written out of the histories. Those called madmen are usually simply ahead of their time. Others misunderstand and cannot grasp the larger picture and thus their motives seem unfathomable. And as for monsters.." He pauses a moment, as if recalling something. "Monsters are too simply the product of ignorance and misapprehension. Each appellation is a product of perceptions which says more of those who make the pronouncement than it does the subject."

"Wiser than you think, for all you shroud it in facts and cynicism." The anchorite said. She regarded Agale evenly, eyes curious and alight. "So if there are no saints, no madmen, and no monsters save what exists in the eye of the beholder, than we are left with M. de Castaigne's assertion, that there are only men."

"A very democratic perception, and possibly a dangerous one in these difficult times."

Main Library, Ste. Mere des Larmes, Quartier Publique, Port-a-Lucine; March 24th, 770
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The library felt dark and claustrophobic, cluttered in with a myriad of old tomes. You found your way to the small reading room, already feeling cramped with the three people that occupied it. Your arrival did very little to help matters. A few minutes later, you were obliged to make even more room for some late arrivals: Captain Cedolin, flanked by two stone-faced and red-capped gendarmes.

"I'd wished to have something helpful to tell you when I arrived," he rasped, rather painfully. His voice was a rough half-whisper, like sandpaper scraping against wood. "But I'm afraid sitting in a doctor's ward getting one's throat bandaged does little to help an investigation. Tell me, is there anything I can help you with?"

Cyrus paused and followed Nerit's eyes, then smiled.

"Of course, Sister," he said with a smile.

"Broder!" he barked, summoning Darius back to the room. Then he examined the chest to see if it had any tricks. When it seemed no doom was imminent, he waited for his brother to return, and then lifted the lid.

Perception 19. Boo, hiss.

Darius pops his head back around the door and says something in Vaasi (probably a swear word) when he sees his brother examining the chest.

"Everything but the obvious," he says to Nerit, not quite smiling, and goes to the chest to help examine its contents.

Nicolas nods slowly at Agale's words then refocuses hmsself at the woman across the desk as he hears approaching footsteps.

"I? I am merely making conversation." The anchorite inclined her head to Nicolas. "And waiting. For while I would like to assist you in your search, that requires a sign which has yet to appear. Specifically, what it is I can help you with?"

"Well you could tell us the whereabouts of Warden's Lecanu, Grenier and....." he looks across at Agale "the other one who's name I forget. But that would be in the realms of sainthood to provide, and us both being merely mortal I shoudl adjust my aspirations. In this instance we will settle for anything you can tell us about Lecanu's reading habits and work, and of course anything strange we should know about the library itself as this place appears to be at the juncture of the mystery."

"Forgive my bluntness but this democracy is about to become much larger and probably louder."