Aduard is struck mute with anger when Gibs makes his pronunciation. Struggling to put together a rant while staying in his persona he is caught by surprise when Dashil so elegantly rips them apart verbally.
Wincing as the big man stands and opens his mouth Aduard is surprised to find the story touching and appropriate - if risqué.
Aduard stands, only to realise the story he was going to share occurred over forty years ago.
Desperately he casts around for a memory he could honestly own, but finds no story that illustrates who the professor was.
Instead he goes with his original choice; slightly modified.
"As an author I pride myself on researching my subjects. I had at one time thought to do a biography on the Professor. As part of the research for that project I uncovered the following, though Lorrimor was too modest to ever recount it first person..."
The story deals with a young Lorrimor - little more than a child - investigating the disappearance of a compatriot. He succeeded in convincing the authorities that the disappearance was foul play, and they responded by arresting a half-orc who lived nearby. All evidence pointed to the half-orc.
Lorrimor investigated and successfully proved the half-orc, while unpleasant and a petty criminal, had been framed for the crime.
"...And that is who Petros Lorrimor was. He did not let his desire for revenge or justice overcome him. He sought the truth. He did not judge on reputation or appearance, but on facts. I have always considered it a loss to the legal profession that he never applied to become a judicial advocate."
I could tell the story appeared disjointed. Still, I consider it a victory that I managed to avoid giving away the facts only I would know
Dashil stands, thinking, silent. The force that earlier propelled her is spent; she looks tired, frail, mortal. The funeral makes her all too aware that her celestial heritage is temporary: it will prolong her life, but she too will die, eventually. At Kendra's words however she lifts her head.
"When I first met your father I was at a low point - I'd hit rock bottom hard enough to crack the stone." She takes a slug of whisky but does not elaborate. "He accepted me for who I was, and not what I'd done. Of course, it helped that I'd saved his life;" she smiles faintly at Kendra. "He was much less cautious before you were born. I'm proud to have worked with him, to have known him, to have called him my friend. Some time, maybe I'll tell you the stories: of Korvosa, of - of Magnimar..." She trails off; even without looking, she knows that Radag is smirking at the mention of Magnimar - but then, it was her screw-up; without him, she'd have died there.
Suddenly embarrassed to have let her guard down, she steps away, her usual expression firmly back in place.
Brogol shifts uncomfortably to the back, listening to the others speak, and when Aduard offers his disjointed tribute, Brogol a moment of familiarity enters the half-orc's mind, The way the Bookman speaks, his cadence and tenor - I know I have heard it before.
Then, the young man's attention drifts as his companions each begin to speak, and a slow dread fills Brogol at the prospect that he will be asked to speak as well. Pulling his hood tight around his mouth and nose, and the top down below his eyes, Brogol for a moment resembles an oversized child playing with a winter cloak, all garment, little face. What can I say? he thinks. Lorrimor was a good man, a kind man, one who treated me as a star pupil and a friend. The half-human offers nothing up for the funeral attendees.
I would like to share a story.
The elf's voice is somewhat soft, but carries a sharpness that makes itself heard. He approaches up the path, moving in a slow, deliberate manner. He glances around constantly, and doesn't seem to focus on any one thing for very long.
I'm sorry I'm late. My carriage was delayed getting into town. The driver pointed out several landmarks to direct me to the cemetery, but I'm afraid landmarks don't do me a lot of good. My eyes, you see, do not work like they should.
Wakati passes a hand over his face, as if trying to clear away a skin of cobwebs.
Anyway, I heard some shouting, and followed the noise up here. I'm glad I made it before the service was over. My name is Wakati Nahoda. I met the Professor shortly after I developed my 'condition'. He was studying others like me, and had heard of my case. When we first met, I had lost my sight completely. He knew of a poultice that could possibly offer some relief, at least for my eyes. Under his ministrations, I was able to regain part of my vision. We have been corresponding ever since. When I heard of his passing, I was deeply saddened. He was a light in the darkness, and I will miss him terribly.
Anyone paying close attention can tell there is probably more to Wakati's story, but he is reluctant to share with a group of strangers.
Dmitri listens quietly as the others share their stories. "I didn't spend much time with the Professor," he begins. "But the time I did spend with him, I could tell he was a good example for what folk should be like. The world is worse off, without him." The cleric lowers his head, saying another prayer for the deceased under his breath.
I think Petros missed you too, Late One. Radag barks at the milky eyed elf after being snapped out his daydreaming of Magnimar, his smirk fading into what might be a confused look at who this funeral crasher was- hard to tell with that scar and scowl.
Damn... Crasher would have been a better fit.
Kendra nods her head after the stories end. "Thank you for sharing that with us. It is good to know that my father had such strong friends in life."
A cold sprinkle begins to fall, with the darkening sky threatening worse weather. Father Grimburrow says a few more words and motions for the gravediggers to begin filling the hole.
Kendra turns away from the scene, clearly trying to fight back tears. "I understand that my father included you in his will. Would you six mind joining me at my home for a drink and wait for the solicitor to arrive? It's not far from here."
I suppose the old rambling man can wait. Lead the way Ladylove...
Aduard walks over to Kendra and places a hand on her shoulder
"He has strong friends whether he is alive or dead, Kendra." the familiarity is shocking in Aduard's level of society.
"I, for one, hope that that friendship might extend to my old friend's daughter in time. Rest assured though that anything you might require I will do my best to provide. I am at your service."
The old words mean little these days, often used simply as a cliche pleasantry, but the man who stands before her obviously means them in the old way.
"Keeping you company through the coming trial will be an honour."
removing his hand from her shoulder suddenly, as if caught in an unasked familiarity he continues shyly
"I had a few small things to discuss anyway. And I hope I might impose upon your hospitality for myself and my staff for the night? I do promise they will earn their keep."
Aduard is genuine in his offers.
He seems caught off guard that he is genuine.
Whatever his 'few small things' is, it is not small to him. Men who are climbing cliffs might speak so about lifelines.
He is lying about the earning keep thing, and is embarrassed that he is lying.
I found myself wondering how people might speak at my funeral. It was a depressing thought. Perhaps one if my servants might politely avoid my decadence and talk pleasantly of me? Perhaps not.
This was more than an idle thought, as I realised that had events passed as I had originally planned it would be my funeral happening today.
I found myself overcome by the black maudlin mood that had increasingly dogged me over my last fifty years. When the sky started crying, and Kendra almost broke decorum and joined I felt a surge of protectiveness I have not felt... ever.
How many women have cried in my wake? How many orphans have my ambitions left broken? What right had I to stand as some shining paladin?
But somehow it left me feeling... pleasant. No... something, more. Something I lack the words to describe without resorting to cliches like some cheap hack. It felt, pardon the phrasing and noting the capitalisation, Right.
Having to bring up my sordid quest at the terminus of our discussion left me feeling soiled in some way.
Named us in his will? Really? I did not realize the Professor felt that strongly about me. I'm glad though. Glad the admiration I felt for him was reciprocated, at least a little.
Wakati stands deep in thought for a moment, before snapping out of it and addressing Kendra.
I have no other plans or obligations. I would be honored to accept your offer.
Brogol nods his head, a quick bob of assent. "Honored, Lady Lorrimor."
Why? I knew the professor liked me - he told me as much. But surely he held others more dear than the malformed servant of one of his peers? At any rate, winter comes soon and I can't go home. A little diversion before I figure out what comes next would be... nice.
Dashil hesitates, torn between the offer of a drink and wanting to track down the ragged watcher - mysteries have a bad habit of multiplying, in her experience.
She shrugs. It's raining, and she's weary, bone weary. It's possibly the reason why - beyond noting the obvious deceptions - she doesn't challenge Bookman, merely making a note to question him later.
Yeah; a drink sounds good. "Thank you. Is it too forward to go straight to first-name terms? Please call me Dashil."
Dmitri rubs at his eyes, nodding at Kendra's request. "I would be honored," he states with a solemn look on his face. "I don't know why he would have put me in his will, but if he did, then I'd be dishonoring him by declining. And that ain't something I intend to do."
Radag leans on Dimtri's shoulders as everyone prepares to depart, walking along side of him. "There is certainly a lot of honor here. I'll give you all a little advice, honor is a lofty standard to live up to, especially carrying around those weapons like you do. You're all better off putting more value in yourselves than in a concept that reveals that you have limits to what you'll do to survive- to win."
Radag spits to the side and wipes dribble from his scar as he inhales sharply to stop any escaping saliva.
But don't take my word for it, just look at Dashil, Radag crudely chuckles. Now, how about those drinks? he cheers, squeezing Dimitri and then releasing him.
Dmitri gives Radag a hard look, one that clearly reads 'this is neither the time nor place for this.'
He sighs heavily, thinking to himself, 'Cayden help me, does no one understand how to behave at a funeral? What kind of hooligans did you surround yourself with, Petros?'
Is Irefist talking about me? I think he is. Drinking. Swearing. Spitting. Enough.
"I know precisely what my morally self-imposed limits are Mr Irefist. In this case though you are confusing Æreskodeks - a code of honour - with Hedret - status. The confusion is understandable." ...coming from a man who apparently possess neither.
"What is not understandable, though, is spitting in a graveyard during a funeral. Good gods man, the insult is near enough to cause me to strike you down! People have been murdered for less, let alone when they see off a mob worried about their dead not half an hour ago!"
"I'll allow a distance in customs between your upbringing and Ustalav. I know certain desert tribes regard spitting as a compliment rather than an insult for example. But you are in Ustalav now, Mr Irefist. If you would be treated as civilised then you must act as we expect a civilised man to act!"
Kendra offers Dashil a small smile. "Of course, Dashil."
She turns back when the others begin to bicker. "Friends, please, calm yourselves. I'm sure Radag meant no disrespect."
Civilized? Radag laughs boistrously.
Ladylove is right, calm yourself, friend. Radag wipes a tear from his good eye. I care nothing for other's expectations, Mr. Civilized. They've never done me any good.
Or my family for that matter.
Radag chuckles and continues on forward dismissing the mere notion of an offense or the interpretation.
Civilized, now that's funny... What a bunch of characters.
Dashil glares meaningfully at Radag: Behave yourself . She's not pleased by his use of her name in his little rant about honour (which she's heard before), but decides to let it go. Besides, however much he knows, or has guessed (she's lost track over the years of what she has told him), he doesn't know the full story.
Turning to the others, she shrugs eloquently. "Sorry about this: when he's upset he gets more like himself than usual; he and the Professor were close. Odd to think of him having feelings, but there you go."
The Professor certainly collected a motley group of friends. Although, from what I know of his interests, that shouldn't surprise me.
The elf follows the group back into town, trying to stay out of the little dust up between Radag and Aduard.
That half-elf is a bit rough around the edges. Must be from his human half. But the human in the fancy clothes seems quick to take offense. I hope they don't bicker the whole time I'm here.
Aw, Bookman's alright, no need to apologize for him, Dash.
Here's the music for the scene.
By the time you reach Kendra's home, the rain has begun in earnest. Kendra murmurs a few unintelligible words and a disc of invisible force conjures above her head, shunting the rain away from her. She turns back to the party. "My apologies, I only prepared the one."
The Lorrimor residence is a modest home, every room packed with crowded bookshelves, comfortable furniture, and bizarre curios from the Professor's many adventures.
Kendra moves to get a fire started in the parlor. "Please make yourselves at home. I took the liberty of preparing the guest rooms in case you wish to stay the night. Can I interest any of you in a drink? Councilor Hearthmount should be here within the hour."
Dmitri's dark mood brightens a bit at the mention of drink. "Absolutely, lady Kendra," he admits, trying to dry himself off.
As the rain comes down, Brogol wraps his cloak tighter around himself and resigns himself to a wet, cold walk. Despite the cold and his damp state, the half-human keeps his cloak on when entering the house, the hood bobbing as he enters the foyer of the Lorrimor house, curious as to the type of the house the Professor keeps. I would have assumed the Professor would have lived somewhere grander; gothic, with quiet halls and tall ceilings. This is actually quite... cozy.
The young man intercepts Kendra and takes the poker from her hand, giving her a quick bow. Looking at her feet, Brogol says, "Allow me, Miss Lorrimor. Ah've built many fires."
Turning his back to the others, Brogol stoops and begins stacking the wood in a pyramidal shape, and then goes about stuffing some kindling under the firewood. He keeps his ear on the conversation in the room, and allows himself a quick smile at the mention of a guest room. I had planned to see what the Professor left me and then to take leave myself. A quiet night out of the rain would be most welcome. Her father left his kindness with his daughter, that is for sure!
"Tea," Brogol says, "a dash of milk, one cube of sugar, if yer got one." Not used to giving the order instead of taking it, Brogol busies himself with the fire and waits to see what comes next.
Wakati shakes the rain off his cloak at the entrance of the Lorrimor's house. The bookshelves catch his eye immediately, and he spends several moments scanning them for familiar or interesting titles. At the offer of a drink, he only half turns to answer before going back to studying the library.
A little light wine, please, if you have it. Thank you. This Councilor Hearthmount. He would be the executor of the Professor's will, yes?
"Some tea would be wonderful."
He then moves closer to Kendra and speaks softly
"Please forgive my forwardness, but could you call your butler so I might put my staff under their care?"
He nods at his dripping servants
"I don't want to leave them dripping in a room with their..." a quick look at Radag and he continues with a querying tone "...superiors?"
Radag hangs his cloak at the door and removes his boots before coming into the parlor. I suppose a drink would be fine to pass the time.
Radag walks to the where the modest assortment of liquors are held and takes care to pour a modest drink and hand them out for everyone.
"Mr. Civilized, I dont think, there is a butler." Radag conjects as he places a drink into Bookman's hand. "Dont be so insulting," he teases.
Radag joins Brogol at the fire, bracing his free hand on the mantle, letting the fire dry his weathered clothes, and sipping his drink.
Bookman glares at the eavesdropping Irefist, but takes the drink. He ponders the rough man's words as he glances over the various stuffed shelves
No Butler?
Rare is the book not worth its weight in silver; and some are worth more than their weight in gold. The Professor must have easily earned enough to hire a staff.
Perhaps he had done for himself through arcane means? If so his death had undoubtedly left poor Kendra bereft also of domestic assistance and even companionship!
No, it must be that they get by with just a housekeeper.
"Ms Lorrimor, I assure you that no insult was intended! I'm more than happy to place my staff in the care of whichever of your staff you care to nominate."
And if done by magic?
"Of course, should your housekeeping be of a less... conventional sort, I can see that... would be a problem."
Aduard ponders the etiquette for a moment. A tricky situation.
Kendra had talked of "preparation" and conjured an umbrella of force without recourse to a potion or holy symbol. That spoke of an apprenticeship in the arts of wizardry, at least.
He continues to speak, quietly, and this time in the sibilant hiss of Draconic
我的工作人员必须照顾。我不想成为一个负担，但。我也不想篡夺的房子在你的位置上。
如果你允许，我想引导我的仆人，而我们是在你的家里，充当你的即兴的管家。
My staff must be cared for. I do not wish to be a burden though. I also do not wish to usurp your position within the house.
With your permission I would like to direct my servants while we are in your house, and act as your impromptu butler.
Once indoors, Dashil gratefully sheds her waterlogged cloak and her scale mail; she leaves them by the door, along with her weaponry. She does her best to wring out her long, blue hair before tying it out of the way; inelegant, but it works.
"Kind of you to offer; a Chelish brandy or Andoran ice-wine would do nicely," she smiles.
At the offer of accommodation, however, Dashil pales noticeably. She's been hoping to spend as few nights in Ustalav as possible - her dreams while here have been unspeakable. "Thank you," she manages, eventually.
Kendra responds to Aduard with flawless Draconic. "别担心你的人。我知道刚才的地方。"
Then she calls out to seemingly nobody. "Cornelius? Would you place Mr. Bookman's staff in father's case?"
Aduard feels a gentle tugging at his staff, as if a curious child were pulling at it.
"Please do not be alarmed. My father enchanted the manor with an unseen servant. He knows where it should go."
With her guests appearing settled in, she sits down to wait for the solicitor to arrive, making polite conversation with everybody.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Councilman Vashian Hearthmount arrives precisely on time. Kendra greets him graciously at the front door before inviting him into the parlor. When his condolences are given, he turns to the assembled group. It does not take a skilled diplomat to notice the distaste on his face for "outsiders" to be involved in local matters, but he keeps any such comments to himself.
Once all are seated and ready, Councilman Vashian produces a scroll case, shows that the professor’s personal seal is unbroken, then breaks the wax and opens the case. As he does, a small iron key falls out of the tube, clattering noisily onto the table. Undaunted by the key, the councilman begins to read, apparently eager to be done with the entire process.
“I, Petros Lorrimor, being of sound mind, do hereby commit to this parchment my last will and testament. Let it be known that, with the exception of the specific details below, I leave my home and personal belongings entire to my daughter Kendra. Use them or sell them as you see fit, my child.
“Yet beyond the bequeathing of my personal effects, this document must serve other needs. I have arranged for the reading of this document to be delayed until all of the following principals can be in attendance, for I have more than mere inheritance to apportion: Aduard Bookman, Radag Irefist, Dashil Masozi, Wakati Nahodha, Brogol Stockl, and Dmitri Zorya. I have two final favors to ask.
“To my old friends, I hate to impose upon you all, but there are few others who are capable of appreciating the true significance of what it is I have to ask. As some of you know, I have devoted many of my studies to all manner of evil, that I might know the enemy and inform those better positioned to stand against it. For knowledge of one’s enemy is the surest path to victory over its plans.
“And so, over the course of my lifetime, I have seen fit to acquire a significant collection of valuable but dangerous tomes, any one of which in the wrong circumstances could have led to an awkward legal situation. While the majority of these tomes remain safe under lock and key at the Lepidstadt University, I fear that a few I have borrowed remain in a trunk in my Ravengro home. While invaluable for my work in life, in death, I would prefer not to burden my daughter with the darker side of my profession, or worse still, the danger of possessing these tomes herself. As such, I am entrusting my chest of tomes to you, posthumously. I ask that you please deliver the collection to my colleagues at the University of Lepidstadt, who will put them to good use for the betterment of the cause.
“Yet before you leave for Lepidstadt, there is the matter of another favor — please delay your journey one month and spend that period of time here in Ravengro to ensure that my daughter is safe and sound. She has no one to count on now that I am gone, and if you would aid her in setting things in order for whatever she desires over the course of this month, you would have my eternal gratitude. From my savings, I have also willed to each of you a sum of one hundred platinum coins. For safekeeping, I have left these funds with Embreth Daramid, one of my most trusted friends in Lepidstadt — she has been instructed to issue this payment upon the safe delivery of the borrowed tomes no sooner than one month after the date of the reading of this will.
“I, Petros Lorrimor, hereby sign this will in Ravengro on this first day of Calistril, in the year 4710.”
Councilman Hearthmount looks up when he is finished reading. "Are there any questions pertaining to the will?"
Yeah, Radig chimes, to call attention, Where's the box that I presume that key goes?
Brogol's eyebrows raise as the key clatters to the table, and just as quick he's thankful for the direct half-elf Irefist, for that's one question Brogol won't himself have to ask. As the will is read, a pieces of a jagged puzzle begin to assemble themselves in the apprentice's mind - partial pieces, pieces that may not fit the same puzzle, but pieces none-the-less. Now the purpose of the Professor's visits becomes more clear. He and the Doctor were on a hunt of sorts, perhaps? And perhaps the Professor wasn't so kind a man, or capable of not being kind, anyways. One must have a certain disposition to study evil, a disposition that the Doctor was never able to hide behind a facade of kindness. Perhaps, even, they were collaborating on the same studies, or more likely, they just shared trade secrets. Either way, those books may be the key to figuring out where the Doctor disappeared to.
Brogol unconsciously reaches out for the key, catching himself before he grabs it. Spreading his calloused green hands on the table, he looks the councilman in the eye, a rare action for the young man. "Ay'll see that the books are taken to Leipstadt in one month's time. In the meantime, Ay'd like to read them."
Bookman instructs his employees
"Follow my staff. Set up in that room. Once you are dry and warm, report to me."
"Go along now. It's not going to hurt you."
-----
He doesn't particularly react to the offer of nearly a thousand gold.
You certainly were protective of your daughter, Petros. Overprotective, perhaps?
You trust us to help you, but not so much you do not make it in our best interest to do so. Speaks volumes about you, old friend
"Ms Lorrimor, I do hope you won't mind if we impose upon your hospitality for this month. Or longer? I for one am happy to assist you for as long as you need. I don't believe a maximum time was specified."
"Ay'll see that the books are taken to Leipstadt in one month's time. In the meantime, Ay'd like to read them."
Oho! Interested in the dark arts are you master Stockl?
"Mr Stockl, I must confess to a certain curiosity myself. Perhaps we can peruse these tomes together."
Brogol sits back in his chair as he is addressed by Aduard, burying his hands in his cloak, cocking his head to his side, taking in the peculiar and formal speech of the Bookman. Of course! With his surname, I'm surprised I didn't put it together before. The Bookman is Caliphas's dealer in rare tomes. I've even been to his house! Interesting that he and the Professor knew each other. Perhaps some of the books in the Professor's chest came from the Bookman, and perhaps this community of knowledge seekers is more intertwined than I had imagined?
Giving Aduard a quick nod, Brogol says, "Of course, Mr. Bookman. Yer expertise wit these... curiosities would be much appreciated. If the Lady and the Councilor don't mind, o' course."
Dmitri looks very enthused about helping Kendra sort out things. "Any way I can help," he says to the younger Lorrimor, "I would be most honored. Anything ya need done, I'm your man." He gives her a smile, even though there is still the pain of the Professor's passing in his eyes. "I don't have a problem helping take the books to Lepidstadt, either. Was considerin' heading that way on my travels, anyway."
100 platinum... For staying a month in Ustalav. If it were anyone else, Petros, I'd be out that door 30 seconds ago. Dashil will stay, of course. Not for the money. But because he asked her to. She shakes her head. Must be getting soft.
All this internal dialogue takes place in an instant, while she watches the others' reactions carefully. "Not so fast, kid. Lorrimor didn't say anything about reading them. His utter disregard for danger put my life at risk more than once. He says something's dangerous, you listen. Ask Radag here."
Picking up the key, she hands it to Kendra with a sad smile. "Yours, I believe. As is most everything else here, come to think of it. I'd be glad to stay and help you - if you want some complete strangers underfoot, that is..."
Wakati listens attentively to the reading of the will. He screws up his face in concentration as the councilman reaches the part about taking the books to Lepidstadt, which changes to a look of questioning as he describes the one month stay in Ravengro.
I had not planned on staying long in town, but I don't have any place in particular I need to be. I am perfectly willing to remain in the area for as long as needed. I will need to figure out a place to stay.
He listens to the other party members speculating on the contents of the particular tomes, and what is to be done with them while we wait.
Bookman. That seems vaguely familiar. Where do I know that name from?
At Dashil's outburst, he gently responds: By the Professor's phrasing, I understood not that the books or their contents were dangerous, but that to certain outside parties, possession of these particular tomes would be viewed with extreme disfavor. He only wished to spare his daughter from having to dispose of them.
While Dashil is right about the gravity of the late professor's use of words, I dont think a book carries the same threat as the incident she is referring- lest the solution involve a concussion and a crushed throat. Radag says as he points to the head and then rubs his throat as if to recall the situation.
"I find myself in agreement Sir. While there are Tomes that are inherently dangerous to possess they are extraordinarily rare, the Professor would have known of them, and I cannot believe he would think such tomes worth preserving."
"No, the "danger" of most such books is not in the books themselves, but in the greed, ignorance, curiosity and suspicion of people."
"I know the chest my father is referring to. I'll have Cornelius bring it down." Kendra says to Radag. She takes the key from Dashil before continuing.
"I want to thank you all for coming again. I will probably need a few weeks to decide on whether or not to sell the house or stay in Ravengro. In the meantime, if you intend to stay for the duration of the month, I should be able to accommodate the ten of you easily."
She turns to Councilman Hearthmount. "If your responsibilities are finished here, Councilman, don't allow us to take up any more of your time."
Hearthmount stands and embraces Kendra. "Be strong, child. Your father was a good man. If you need anything, you only need to ask." The Ustalavian man doesn't so much as glance at you before he takes his leave.
Moments later, the chest comes floating down the stairs and into the foyer, carried by Cornelius, the house's unseen servant. A relatively small trunk of oak and iron, it lands on the table with a thud. Kendra fidgets when she sees it.
"I've never felt comfortable opening my father's things. Something about it feels wrong. Like I'm going to find something horrible about him that I didn't know before." She takes a deep breath and abruptly holds the key out in front of her. "Could one of you do it? I'm not sure I have it in me."
"Of course, Ladylove." Radag takes the key and sets to unlocking and opening the chest.
"There's nothing to fret."
The key fits the lock perfectly, and within are several old tomes and one relatively new one. The newest book sits on the top and bears the phrase “Read me now!” scratched into the leather cover.
Each of the four older tomes have a note sticking out of the pages.
The first, titled On Verified Madness, is a quarto-sized book bound in tooled green leather with the title embossed on the front. The corners have mithril protectors however there are some loose leaves which have been reattached poorly with wax. Inside, in Common, is a treatise on aberrations and spells as they relate to the Dark Tapestry, the black void between the stars.
The second appears to be bound in dark, smooth leather, with an ornate Tien symbol inked into the material. The interior of the book is written in Aklo and contains multiple detailed illustrations of humanoid autopsies.
This is the assumption as the book was sold on to a collector of the esoteric in Caliphas, Dr Herman Bloch by a group of adventurers who moved von Neus to the Boneyard and found the tome in his collection. Bloch was found skinned in his manse in 4707 and the book has not surfaced until now.
A collection of the unholy philosophies of the alien god Zon-Kuthon, this tome could provide the reader with several arcane spells and increased knowledge of torture.
The third measures three hand spans in height and two in width. Its cover is composed of two thin rusted plates with razor sharp edges. Vellum sheets, which comprise the bulk of the work, is bound in place with tarnished silver wire. Most of the writing is done in faded reddish-brown ink and the professor's tiny, concise hand-writing fills the margins.
The text details the basic tenants of Urgathoa’s faith and worship. There are copious notes and additions in this particular copy drawing comparisons of interests between Urgathoa and a group called the Whispering Way. Both groups seem to have undead as followers and it seems that they may share certain goals. Amongst the blasphemous psalms can be found a number of arcane spells unique to the followers of the Pallid Princess.
The fourth, and last, tome is bound in richly-dyed purple leather and rimmed in polished steel. The front cover is capped by a brass scarab set with a single eye in its center. The pupil of the eye is a small but intricate lock, the keyhole of which appears to be for a key with a strange, triangular shaft. The key is nowhere to be found.
The books could reveal more over time, but they would need to be read first.
Brogol leafs through each of the books, looking for any signs of what could have caused the doctor to leave Caliphas without his assistant. Hoping against hope to find a note in the doctor's handwriting, or some description of the creature mouldering in the manse's basement, Brogol sighs heavily and decides he will have to spend more time with the books, as they will not give up their secrets to him easily. Picking up the fourth book, Brogol holds the eye lock up to the nearest light, looking for hidden dangers within the lock itself. Seeing nothing, the apprentice removes a couple of long, thin lockpicks from his beltpack and begins to work on picking the lock.
"Thank you my dear. These will..."
Aduard's voice trails off as he catches sight of one of the books in particular
"Ah. Yes, I see. Ah."
Snapping up the "read me first" book Aduard deftly tries to steer Kendra away from the other books
"Are you sure you want to do this now? There's no hurry, and it is certainly understandable if you're overwhelmed."
His back is turned to Dashil he desperately signals something with a hand behind his back.
Aduard has a moment of recognition and a moment of embarrassment moments later.
He also really wants to read the 'read me first' book.
"You can tell these lot are Petros's type!" Radag laughs as the others pick up the books and flip through them or pick at the lock.
"Ladylove, these brains are going to be at this a bit, don't suppose you need help with something right away do ya? Otherwise I could use tour on the way to being shown my room for the night."