closed.

[exequy]

WHO: Ilias, Isaac, Kostos, Leander
WHAT: Four mages stuck in a library (a bottle episode)
WHEN: Early Solace
WHERE: Outside Starkhaven
NOTES: Probably some violence at some point

Comments

I. TRAVELOGUE

[exequy]

Conversations from the road. Excessive action punishable by death or fines up to $25.

II. LIBRARY

[exequy]

Lady Violant De Vique never asked for all of these books. Neither did her late mother, from whom she inherited them. No one in the family has had the slighted interest in magic—certainly no inclination toward magical ability—and only so much more of an interest in books. Fox hunting, on the other hand. There's a pastime.

So the library is not particularly large, so far as large libraries in massive estates go. It's impossible to get lost in, especially over-stuffed as it is with the remnants of the Starkhaven Circle's collection. Originally considered a loan, when it seemed the lack of a local Circle was temporary, the collection has since been stacked in front of the library's inadequate shelving, left to the dust and silverfish and mice, and never once catalogued.

That four Riftwatch mages are taking care of this has more to do with needing favor and donations than the possibility that any of the books contain the secret to destroying Corypheus and ending the war, but that is the justification offered by Lady De Vique herself, for requesting someone come take a look, along with a barely-subtextual promise to owe them one if they get these horrid things out of her house.

The errand is not complicated so much as made exceedingly more miserable by the heavy storms that roll in the same morning they arrive. The particular irrigation and damming of the Minater in the region—which De Vique is happy to explain, in detail, because caring for the land she oversees is also a pastime—combine with the already-sodden ground to swell the river from its banks, blocking bridges and roads, and by mid-afternoon she's gathered enough endangered farmers and artisans into her walls that the possibility of bedrooms, let alone separate ones, has evaporated.

So has the prospect of loading the lot of the books into a wagon and leaving anytime soon, with rain still beating against the windows and growls of thunder occasionally rattling the shelves well into the evening, letting up overnight only to begin with renewed fury after breakfast.

It is probably not Venatori weather-magic designed specifically to torment the four mages trapped in the library with nothing but bed rolls and one another. Probably.

[sarcophage]

—Some of them are quite dangerous, actually, if you fumble them badly enough. I once watched an apprentice lose a hand, right up to the elbow. That was a short lesson.

[wythersake]

[ skeptically: ]

And all that dangled from the doorknob was his bloody hook?

[libratus]

Do you actually— know anything about driving a horse?

[sarcophage]

Yes, and his mangled spirit still haunts the tower to this very day, moaning about his wretched chalking skills.

It was an ice mine that did it.

ota threadjack etc

[wythersake]

They need favours, they could stand for the books, travel is safest in number. This isn't a complete waste of time.

Which is easily the most irritating part of it.

Or — no. The most irritating part of it is the way that a stack of papers can become at once dusty and damp, wherever rain drips from an unattended leak or batters through the latches. The most irritating part is that he's dropped his cigarettes in a puddle outside. The most irritating part are the staring glass eyes, soulless and exquisitely expensive, of the De Vique's least-favoured trophies.

(No foxes. Not much of the foxes left, he understands.)

The most irritating part is —

"Present company," He picks a silverfish from his sleeve. "Are unwelcome with the potters, or the weavers. There’s a bit of room by the stairs, but it comes with a baby."

He's been scouting. The library is everyone’s best option.

[wythersake]

[ not remotely




however, ]


It's just — having a rest.

[wythersake]

How did he even manage it? Sneeze midway?

[sarcophage]

"Ugh."

With all pretense of propriety abandoned in their relative privacy, Leander has already lain himself down on top of a bedroll, fully clothed, and draped an arm across his eyes. The resulting arrangement of limbs is something like a doll that's been flung down and left there, and maybe the doll is also feeling a little dramatic about it. His leg is definitely encroaching on the bed next to him; but at least he removed his shoes.

On the other hand, his socks were wet, so they're off too. Hope you like feet.

"No thank you. Is there no room in the kitchen? I'd sleep in the dog's bed if it were near the hearth."

No he wouldn't. But he'd consider it, and that's dire enough.

[sarcophage]

He drew it backwards—had some strokes reversed, or something. Poor study. Obviously he wasn't going to repeat it, so it was never really figured out. I tried replicating it a few times, but it's difficult to draw that badly on purpose, even with a very long stick.

[libratus]

For the third time since lunch?

[wythersake]

Would you care to take over?

[libratus]

I'm only pointing it out.

[sarcophage]

[Sitting up—he'd have straw in his hair if it were that kind of wagon—]

Why've we stopped?

[exequy]

Incompetence.

[ He's reading. He doesn't stop. ]

[exequy]

Don't give up.

[ He's being friendly. He hopes all his friends lose limbs in magical mishaps. ]

[libratus]

[ To Kostos and/or his book cover, because Maker forbid they agree-- ]

It's having a rest.

[exequy]

Kostos comes to the edge of the narrow row he's been picking through in the dim light, tattered book in hand, to hear Isaac's report, and then to give Leander a look at is, at least, less annoyed than it would be if he were Ilias.

But he only has so much room to judge. He's taken his shirt off. It was damp.

"Would we drown before we made it to an inn?"

If they would only possibly drown, it may be worth it, even if the inns may also possibly be full.

[wythersake]

Now. Kostos is the expert.

[ on horse-driving. not incompetence. surely. ]

[sarcophage]

So let him drive, then.

I'd like to get there before my clothes go out of fashion.

[exequy]

If not being completely fucking inept counts as expertise now.

[wythersake]

Isn't that how our promotions work?

[ all three of you!! ]

[sarcophage]

There's an idea—you're rubbish at glyphs, aren't you?

[sarcophage]

Does that mean you've failed to fail upward, then? Here—move over, I'll take those.

[He's ready to climb in front—]