Chapter 1: Interesting Times

Cled


"What about...'Wait' ... 'Look' ... 'Get down' ... 'Quiet' ...?" He asks the arachnid, figuring if he wasn't going to be able to read Urd, he might as well learn to speak it.
 
Andran


She emits a sweet almost trilling sound. Many of her Scion friends and relatives have always taken issue with mispronunciation and poor grammar but when spoken from this gruff, masculine and rebellious orc...


Her hands grip a bit tighter as she squeezes onto his arm affectionately rubbing the top of her head into his shoulder.


"You tongue is good but lacking the sense of inherent authority. Speak like you are in command, work on vocabulary" She lets her arm linger before slowly letting go. She couldn't be distracted so easily from her search.
 
Cled


He stops just short of looking uncomfortable at the constant invasion of his personal space. Bewilderment replacing it shortly after. He glances at Little Miss, wondering if he should ask her later - out of the Scion's hearing range - what all the touching and head rubbing and high pitched noises were about...


"Well, if I'm gonna need words in an emergency, I might as well know the important ones," he shrugs his colossal pauldroned shoulders, the plates of armour clinking softly, "Especially if it keeps ... people out of danger,"


The term 'people' was a broad term when concerning this strange, strange folks afterall.
 



  • "I am a classically trained servant, Honored Ascendant," explains Hrune evenly. "It is my duty to be present only when I am needed,"


    Letting the symbiote get a clearer look, so too do you. The young woman is dressed in the uniform inherent to all female retainers you've met within the Rose, a simple, black, long sleeved dress, accompanied by slim shoes and tall tights. The crest of the Hulbrad is emblazoned upon an emerald pin, resting in a plump white ascot at the throat. Her mildly curled hair reaches to the bottom of her jaw, cut in a sharp bob, and her fringe is pulled back by a single ebon pin.


    There is little the servants face gives away. No lines cross the smooth patina of the girls features, which, were it not for the sharp cut of her jaw, might have made her appear delicate. The stance too, reveals little of body language, her slender form still save the gentle movement of her breathing. She looks at you with dull grey eyes, glancing over the index you have shown her.


    "These are to memory stone repositories, specifically those dealing with older, obscure, and defunct Imerian laws. Do you wish me to lead you there?"


 
Cecilia is trying to keep her expression neutral at Andran's affections but it's kind of adorable. She feels sorry for Cled, she'll have to fill him in soon. Speaking to him in Spirespeak might be seen as rude in front of the Scion. She starts to follow the servant ahead of them, glancing about with more curiousity than caution.
 
Hulbrad Fortesque


Hm. I wonder...


Q tucks the note away in a pocket, and plans to look into it later. And look it up, of course.


For now, however, he makes his way to the Memory Stones to continue his primary investigation.
 
Davore





"Yes, if it would please this honoured assistant to do so."


He gestures, lead the way, and tucks the watch serpent back around his neck. Presumably Hrune takes the appearance of this thing completely in stride.
 
Cled


"Well, what words do you want to know?" he asks offhand to the Arachnid clinging to him like a talkative barnacle.


He pays no mind to the servant. Another barnacle, just less talkative.


He does however note the darkness looming around him, and glowers at it, as if expecting it to scarper at his gaze.


Oh Sweet Mother, I hate this place.
 
Minutes pass, and the entire group of you find yourselves congregating on a singular point, Fortesque by his own learned routes, Davore by the silent grace of Hrune, and Cecilia, Cled, and Andran, following after the nervous step of the young Harrison.


The two servants share a fleeting look, and Harrison quickly averts his gaze from Hrune's.


Memory stone cases line the shelves, large, cumbersome cubes, in truth, more akin to crates than chests. The shelves here are much broader and larger than their compatriots in the rest of the library, well suited to taking the no doubt heavy loads of wood, metal, and lionbrass, that the cases are constructed of. Small plaques line the shelves, engraved with a whole spiel of troublesome digits, the Library's near ritualistic filing system.


A quick investigation sees that the collection you are searching for, along with its sister pieces, are indeed here save one.


"If it would appease the Honored Ascended, this humble servant may retrieve the primary box-volume that was transcribed upon the note," intones Hrune evenly.
 
Davore





Does she mean me? Possibly. Probably.





"That would earn gratitude, and appease our curiosity."


Davore nods slowly. (The watch serpent bobs its head a heartbeat later, then turns its primary gaze from Hrune and fastens its maw back into Davore's neck.)
 
Cled


He looks up, noting the rest of the party's arrival.


As if I haven't had enough of Scions already. Q? Was it? Dabo... Davore. That was it.


Oh. You lot again. I dunno if I'm relieved or more irritated.


"Find anythin' worth sharin with the class?"


Please do. Anything to get The Barnacle off me. If she has webs I swear to Mother...
 
Davore





Davore's gaze shifts from Hrune to Cledwyn, moving like the flick of a snake's tongue.


"Mr. Bedwyr, we have good news. We are currently lacking only one volume of the records which are indicated, and Ms. Hrune is bringing that as we speak."


He smiles slowly. Carefully.


"It is rude of us to continue to converse in Urd, and I shall stop. My apologies, sir."
 
Yrva Andran


"Rude? Tchk Tchk. We are in a ssstructure of infernal creation. Not opposed to letting conversation with our fellow guests increase."


Andran gently but begrudgingly releases her in unbreakable grip on the back of Cleds coat before readjusting her position beside him.


"I stop too." Her head shakes, getting her language right. "I will stop too. It is much more difficult speaking in non Urd these days." Her body rises up, legs extending as she reaches eye level with Cled. "Do be on alert for inspiring items as well. I am having trouble finding something unique"
 
Cecilia Arrington





Cecilia clears her throat a little, switching to Tradestounge as well.


"Well, that's certainly good news." She smiles.


Though while she's been rather glad Cled is being treated so well, she's growing a little concerned Andran is being a little too much in his personal space. She doesn't want anyone to accidentally offend anyone else but she doesn't want to cause incident by standing between the Yrva and her bodyguard without a reasonable excuse. She curls a lock of her hair around a finger.


"Well, shall we begin looking?" She asks, stepping towards the memory stone boxes, eager to begin. She reaches for the box that corresponds to the volume they're looking for.
 
Hrune dutifully takes the number of the missing box, bows deeply to those present, then vanishes into the gloom between the rows, with only a starling silence left in her wake.


Harrison, on the other hand, excuses himself in front of the cryolyte.


"My apologies, merciful mistress, but allow me," he says evenly in accented Tradestongue. Trained hands work quickly on the large box, unclasping it from the shelf, and sliding it free from the rails holding it in place.


"A History of Mundane Imerian Law, Y.D. 30 - Y.D. 50: Collection Four, Volume Six," reads out the servant carefully, setting the box down between the rest of you.
 
Hulbrad Fortesque


Q begins the solemn ritual common to Hulbrad at this time, speaking with the appropriate bored tone.


"Would any among my honoured guests be eager to examine this this [clue/milestone/treat]?
 
"I would, if our Honoured Host would be so kind as to allow me?" Cecilia replies with a smile. "Of course, if you feel someone else would be more suited, I am happy simply to learn more." She adds.
 
Cled


The Orc is taken aback by the consideration of the others, looking for the first time a mixture of relieved and thankful.


"That's... mighty generous of you," he nods to Andran and Davore, "Thanks,"


The leering presence of Andran near him notwithstanding. He was almost getting used to it now. Less of an urge to punch in the face out of instinctual panic. Cos spiders. In my face.


Guess I'll hafta consider learning Spawnspeak now too.


"A History of Mundane Imerian Law, Y.D. 30 - Y.D. 50: Collection Four, Volume Six,"


He looks at it. Frowning. This? This is all? Mother above. Least it's in something I can read.
 
Davore





"So....is there anything out of the ordinary? Does it appear to be anything other than a volume of law?"


Davore peers forward, his curiosity breaching the surface.
 
For all intents and purposes, this case seems to be exactly like the others. The various memory stones are firmly kept in their cases, slotted and held into the framework of the box in ascending order, from earliest date to latest.


That does however, put it at odds with its corresponding volume, the book that had slain the servant Mal, and contained the strange, spiral memory stone. That book had organised its contents in a much more unusual manner, listing its contents in descending numerical order, treating the dates as large singular numbers rather than actual dates. Then again, that organisation had put the book at odds not just with its own case, but with every other case, and with every other volume, at least in this series.
 
Cled


The ork scritches his domed skull.


"So... if we take these two books to be a pair... and one of them is out of order with all the others..."


The gears are working very hard now. You can practically see the little hamster wheel whirring around inside his head.


"Then we look for the date of the memory stone that ... made our mystery man a lot crumblier... as a number not a date...?"


"And..." Come on brain, you can do this, "Look for the date or number in the other book that matches?"
 
Davore





"....and then handle it with a very long pair of forceps. Possibly from the next room over."


Davore offers the big man a rare genuine smile.


"Good thinking, I hadn't made that connection."


He produces said pair of forceps from his bag, as well as several cloth face masks.


"Perhaps some sort of controlled circumstance is called for. Fortesque?"
 
Hulbrad Fortesque


"Most likely," Q says, tapping his chin and glancing around for the most expendable servant. "I'll send someone to fetch some warding pylons, and someone to handle the forceps."
 
Davore





Davore's smile fades, until once again his face is a smooth mask.


"I will remove the stone from its casing. My hands are precise, and my breath controlled."


And no-one will die for me.
 



  • Hrune returns presently, silently gliding along a trolley with strange spindly artifacts atop it.


    "My apologies for the wait, honored Ascendants and esteemed guests," intones the servant quietly but clearly, moving the unusual items from the trolley to around the memory stone crate.


    "It would seem the missing Memory Stone Crate for this collection has recently been sent for routine maintenance to Kree Spire, and will likely not be accessible from our current location for a frame of time upwards of one month,"


    "Your wards, Esteemed Chronicler," she murmurs, nodding to Q, following up with handing a delicate silver forceps to Davore.


    "Your forceps, Honored Ascendent,"


    With the last slender construct placed, the group of them form a wide circle around the crate. No other effect seems obvious, though passing between the struts feels akin to cobwebs trailing across your flesh.


    The crate waits before you, paneled sides cool and smooth to the touch, a thick layer of mundane dust coating the dark wood. Two rows of hardsleeves are slotted in through the top, held in place by thin rails of Lionbrass, and fastened by small geared mechanisms whose teeth look hungry to catch unwary fingers.


 
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