Lilac and her mentor are able to enjoy a day's rest within the guest room above Mateh Rings. It's not roomy, but it's warm and comfortable, and there's plenty to read to keep the mind occupied while rain patters against the circular loft window. The sounds of the city are constant outside, with voices calling back and forth in the rapid language of Bosch, the clatter of carriages over cobblestones, the occasional chuff or sputter of steam engines, and every how the deep solemn knell of Great Gretchen tolling the hour. Either Bertram or Marion are up every so often with a meal or minor tidbits of news. The two humans seem cheerful enough to have guests, and happy to oblige requests when they have time. The smell of fresh baked goods is near constant, and the mateh here is remarkably good, apparently brewed through a 'Gallisean press' according to Bertram. Von Horne has come and gone on her own hours and terms, sometimes going on simple errands and sometimes going out to see what she can see. There's tim
e between visits for Lisandra to write her correspondance.
As Lisandra lays on her side stretched across that great big comfortable bed, a pillow tucked under her midsection, she studies the letter she has written even as her thoughts wander. Over the past few days, she's thought back on her life and all that has happened recently, and she finds herself with much that seems unanswered for. Chief among the mysteries are those strange orbs and the peculiar way her life is intertwined with them. She has thought long about Void and its place within her, as well as the so-called Beast it evoked. While she has come to have ideas on these things, even accept that the Beast was of her as much as of Void, a troubling connection has arisen: the Kuenns. A monster hunting dynasty, they Kuenns seem to produce nothing but male children. They also are insular, suggesting there may be a mystery there -- a mystery bound with her, and a loose thread that may be her responsibility.
Letting out a sigh, the girl refills her mouth with a pastry she'd been nibbling at for the last few minutes. "The only thing I'm getting done lately is getting rounder," she mutters, and not just because she's pregnant. "it'll have to do, I'm running out of ink."
Von Horne is still out when there's a knock at the loft hatch, and Marion's voice comes up from it. "Miss Dragomir? Grigori's here to see you. Shall I send him up?"
"Oh!" Lisandra's pastry slips out of her hand, and she almost loses her letter trying to catch it. "Um, yes! Just, um ... yes!" Quickly she snatches up the baked good and pushes it on to her plate, followed by a rapid brushing away of crumbs. With a groan, she begins to pull herself up. "I am ... so fat," she groans along the way.
The young woman is given some time to prepare at least, and she can hear two voices approaching with footsteps. The hatch swings up and open to let Marion in, and she helps takes a boney hand that raises after her, helping a somewhat greying skreek up after her. "Miss Dragomir, this is our Archivist, Professor Grigori," she says. The skreekish man she introduces wears a lightly adorned robe in charcoal with a long and heavy knit scarf of forest green, and his face is long and a bit sunken, with a pronounced broken-nose hump to his muzzle, and a thick spray of whiskers. A monacle dangles from his collar, and a simple felt hat perches on his head, a very small feather coloring the band. Grigori's silvered pelt has streaks to it that hint it was darker in his younger days, but he still stands fairly straight, and he clasps one hand behind his back while offering the other in greeting. Marion continues, "And Professor, this is Miss Dragomir, one of the curators that helped recover your most recent artifact
In the minutes before the two arrived, Lisandra managed to make herself and largely presentable -- which largely meant putting the pillows in order and making sure she wasn't covered in crumbs. The not-so-waifish-anymore girl is thin, but obviously pregnant, and she's gained a few pounds from the rest and nutrition. Her black hair falls in a cascade around her face as she reaches over to shake hands. "Oh! Hello! I've been so much looking forward to meeting you; I have so many questions! And, I bet you do, too," she says in a cheery voice and a thick Sylvanian accent. "Would you like to take the chair?"
The skreek's voice is deep, serious, and a little scratchy, but otherwise quite mellow. "It's a pleasure, Miss Dragomir," he says, clasping Lisandra's hand and giving it a brief touch with the end of his muzzle before making his way to one of the loft's overstuffed chairs. He carries a satchel with him, that sits with a heavy thump by the chair, and he settles into the chair with a brief grunt. "I'd been looking forward to meeting the heroes that recovered Void myself. I only regret I haven't been able to meet the rest of you yet. Yes, I'm sure there's much to discuss."
"Ummy-" Lisandra blinks, her pale skin making even a slight blush noticable. "I-I mean, Lady Umeko must have important things to attend to with Mage Hotfoot and the Empire. Miss Snowshoe also wanted to return home, and, of course, see Void delivered before that. I chose to stay behind in Castle Pieksvaldt, to take care of it even as it mostly took care of me." She smiles, settling herself on to the bed she's borrowed and bracing a hand against her back. "I've been thinking a great deal about Void, lately. But please, if there's anything that's been occupying your thoughts, I'll answer as much as I am able. Of all of us, I was most connected to Void."
Professor Grigori hauls his satchel up into his lap after getting comfortable, sitting back and regarding Lisandra with his baggy but clear eyes. "Well, I've only heard limited, second-hand accounts of what happened. Void has been inert since coming into our possession, thank goodness... though it seems to create a feeling of unease in people and animals nearby. We've been able to discern very little about its nature and capabilities so far, though we haven't been willing to risk anything invasive."
"Then, if it's okay with you, I'll tell you what I know, and what I suspect." The young woman removes her hand from her back, then pushes herself up before walking to the chest that contains most of her hunter impliments. "Void can ... It touches the emptiness in people, things, even places. And, it's not just emptiness like how this chest is partially empty. Not emptiness of space, but also the emptiness of emotions, of memory, life, space, -- it seems to touch all emptiness, even emptiness that we would think intangible and unreachable." From inside the chest, she removes a moisture warped, road worn roll of parchments that she used as her notepad, as well as a curious pair of gloves. These she holds to herself as she walks back, continuing. "From this emptiness, it can change the nature of the world. But, and this I just realized, I don't think Void is ... complete. It's a fraction of exisitence somehow shaved away from a whole, just like the others. When it uses it power to enhan
enhance that which is nothing, I think it must take from other elements. As a being once told me, you "cannot make something from nothing." In this case, you can't even make nothing from, um, nothing."
Grigori nods, stroking his whiskers thoughtfully. "That'd be consistent with some of our theories. One of Curator Snowshoe's brothers actually has been working at deciphering an account apparently kept by a culture that lived near... if not these artifacts, then something related to them. There are numerous mentions of different aspects of existence. To think of nothingness as... as a thing in and of itself... well, it's thrown a number of scholars for a loop." He unbuckles his satchel and begins rummaging in it.
"Would that be, by any chance, near where Being was found? The place Miss Snowshoe's brother is researching?" Lisandra asks, her gaze averting to the materials in her lap as a sadness shadows her face. She vrushes a hand against her notepad, then, pulling it from the ribbon that keeps it bound, begins flipping through it.
The skreek scholar shakes his head. "Actually, no... everything related to this seems to have been flung far afield, and that baffles us. This concerns a place that Curator Snowshoe had visited before, and that Lord Vandringar had taken an interest in, apparently. It was thought he'd disappeared forever within it, in fact.. it's called Levitha's Pearl, an island off the coast of the Seaborne Reach."
Lisandra looks up, pausing in her search. "Oh? Miss Snowshoe had mentioned something like that, but I've never been there. My connection with the artifacts begins and ends with Void and Being."
"It's something like a protectorate of Rephidim. Functionally, it's just a sparsely populated peninsula on Himaat's west coast," says the archivist, tugging a scroll case out of his satchel and shaking a roll of parchment out of it. He unrolls it and smoothes it with his bony hands, holding it up so that Lilac can see the map drawn on it. This isn't the crude kind of map Lisandra's seen in most cases, but the finished and refined art of a cartographer. "The Seaborne Reach's used to house a minor kingdom on Sinai's surface, but now the largest settlement is a sleepy farming town called Half Valley."
Lisandra leans over, blinking at the curious work. "I see," she whispers, eyes shifting as she studies the area. "This map is very nice." Glancing over, she says, "Do you think it's where the orbs were ... made? And, I find it helps to think of Void like the silence between verses, or notes in a song. No one pays any attention to the pauses, and a song with only pauses is nothing at all. But, without the pauses, the song becomes an incomprehensible mess! Void is what gives meaning to the others, seperates them, even as its place is to not be noticed. I think people fear Void because they don't understand it; because it's also loss, loneliness, and maybe even death. But withou these things, we might not be able to appreciate the song -- that is, the good parts. Life, gain, control, and being. It adds definition, too."
Grigori nods agreement, and lays the map on a coffee table, which forces Marion to divert the tea tray she was bringing up. "Well, we can't begin to guess exactly how or where they were made, but what we think are the earliest accounts of their existence come from the forbidden zone within Levitha's Pearl. It seems to make sense... everything we've heard about that place was that it was warped and dangerous, that reality didn't behave as it does out here. Being able to think in those terms, like about Void, might be vital to anyone venturing there."
"Mmm." The young woman leans back, pursing her lip and what the man's words imply. Her heads tilts, and she asks, "I suppose that's us, isn't it? I'm not afraid ... I mean, I am, but ... I've been through so much, you see, and ... I'm not afraid like I used to be." She plucks one of the strange gloves from her lap, twisting her lips as she looks at it. "Lord Vandringar said Miss Snowsbhoe had an invitation to 'the dance.' I've long felt his wasn't over, and I've been preparing for the time comes when that dance happens."
The old rat shakes his head gravely. "Not over by a long shot, I fear. Lord Vandringar was thought to have been lost in Levitha's Pearl when Curator Snowshoe faced him and his attempt on whatever strange artifact was housed there. I fear that in coming out, he has only gained some terrible insight into the Node. This 'dance' may be the beginning, and the number of people with experience we can rely on can likely be counted on one hand."
"That is very troubling. I suppose he's a man very much out of my league, but I've actually written a letter to meet with him. If I know anything about him -- which is to say, very little -- he is very self-confident and enjoys having opponents on equal footing. I feel, at least, he won't allow me to come to harm while meeting him, or pull something underhanded, because that would be beneath his capabilites and the rules of his 'game.' He may even be amused, seeing the woman who ... um ... well ... inconvienienced him on several occasions come right up and ask to see him." She waggles the glove she's holding, then shakes her head at it befow putting it back in her lap. "As bother a monster and a monster hunter, I've come to learn a few insights in to we who are monstrous. While that term can mean many things, there's a commonality in all monsters: we all have weaknesses, and it is for a hunter to find them. It is for the monster to make us fear."
Grigori strokes the tuft at his chin. "Perhaps, but be careful all the same. Whatever sense of gentility he has, he is also diabolically cunning and ruthless. He may not let you come to harm, but I don't think he would hesitate to take advantage of you in any way he can. You are one of us, Lisandra. I can't guess whether he knows exactly who we are, but we operate on the safe side of things where we can." The old skreek leans back into his chair, folding his palms together. "Now, Marion said you might have some questions for me?"
"It's good to hear my gut instincts were correct from someone as wise and levelheaded as yourself, Mr. Grigori. It's shameful to say so, but part of Void's gift to me was the erosion of my self control, and many times I urged that man's death. My sense of him was such it was a very hard emotion to control. Whatever part of me was and is still that beast, it knows danger very well." Lisandra smiles a little, albiet somewhat grimly, then inclines her head. "Yes, although not of him or the artifacts. I am lloking for this young man," she glances down, then pulls out a folded sheef of parchment and hands it to the elder Curator. "His name is unknown, but he is the last of the Pieksvaldts, and I have been asked to find him. I am also interested on any information regarding the Kuenn family."
The professor hunches forward to accept the page and settles back again, bringing his monocle up to his eye and squinting down his humpnose at it, slightly sideways. "Mm, I see. Very interesting! Is this copied from something? This is quite an old style of art."
"It is copied from the magical tapestry hanging in the great hall of Castle Pieksvaldt. As of my leaving the castle, it also showed my teacher Klaudia Von Horne, daughter of Dame Von Horne of the Midnight Murder, and myself," the young woman explains. "It's the only lead I have to go on, save the Pieksvaldt family traits. Lady Pieksvaldt asked me to find him, you see."
The whiskery tufts on Grigori's brows lift. "Really! This has to have dated from before the Necromancer Wars, generations ago. Pieces like that are rare now, they had to be commissioned at great expense from very powerful craftsman and magi. This one must be attuned to the Pieksvaldt lineage. How do you know the successor is in Chronotopia? You say the Raveness herself told you?"
"Yes, before she ... passed on," Lisandra answers, head lowering. "You see, after the battle against Void's controller, the traitor Kantemir, Void returned to its quiet state, and without its power holding her to our world, my Lady Pieksvaldt faded away, to join her Lord Rook. I-" The young woman pauses to sniff suddenly, blinking several times before reaching to wipe her eyes. " ... Excuse me; I'm sorry. Where was- ... Oh. Yes, my Lady Pieksvaldt asked me to find him, in those last moments. She said he was to the East, and this was my best guess. This is where the Lord Ro- ... I mean, our late Lord Rook came from." She stops to wipe her eyes again, this time with the back of her arm. "I'm still not sure why it shows me. But, it's very beautiful, the tapestry. When the Murder was still with us, it showed us all. Now, it just shows my new Lord Rook, and my mentor, and ... me, the last of the Midnight Murder."
"Well, if I understand rightly, the Raveness' last command as lady of the castle must have been to make you a member of her House, and request that you take on that task, along with Madame Von Horne. Thus, you are a part of the Pieksvaldt family, and the tapestry follows the lineage." The scholar looks down at the page again thoughtfully, tapping his foot on the carpet. "I think I can help you, Miss Dragomir. Lineage is important in Chronotopia, and most every citizen can be traced back in some way, be it by municipal records or family trees that the families keep themselves. We may be able to track down your heir if I put some heralds to the task."
Lisandra listens to all this with a slow nod and widening eyes. She hadn't thought of her Lady's last words in that way; she had always believed she was part of the tapestry because Dame Reisling possessed her. It all felt very incidental, and she simply a bystander chanced by fate to be a part of it all. That she carries the task of finding the new Lord Rook seemed a measure of trust, and because she was the only one remaining still connected to the Lady's rule. Now ... "T-thank you. Any help is very much appreciated! But ... and I may have missunderstood? But ... if I'm a part of a noble house, does that mean I'm ... some sort of noble?"
The old skreek smiles a little, and rummages in his satchel some more. "I'm afraid nobility in the style sense is connected to land, title, and blood. However..." Grigori looks up again, his face serious. "If all this is correct, you do belong to House Pieksvaldt if you accept the charge. Being retainer to a noble house is not insignificant, giving you a measure of authority within House Pieksvaldt's domain, and the weight of the Pieksvaldt name. Until you renounce your pledge, your fortunes are tied to the name of Pieksvaldt, for better or for worse."
Grigori hesitates, and then adds, "And if you marry into a noble house, or are granted a title and holdings by a higher noble, such as baroness or lady, then you are by right nobility."
"Anyhow, I'll do my best to see what I can find, Miss Dragomir. I'll bring it to you or send it on to you as soon as I turn up something promising," promises the Archivist. He gathers his satchel back up, and leans forward in his chair. "I should return to the university. Did you have any other questions before I go?"
Lisandra blinks at this, and still seems stunned by the time the the man stands up. "Oh. Um. Well, no ... Not really. I think ... I think I need some time to think." She looks down at her belly, resting a hand on it. "I won't be going anywhere soon, after all."
The silvering skreek gets to his feet, shouldering his bag and smiling down at Lilac. "Well, you know how to get hold of me. Feel free to call on me, I don't stand on formality. I have an office at the university, and if I'm not there then one of the staff can probably tell you where I went or when I'll be back."
"Perhaps I'll come and see the university? I've never been to an instituition of learning before; sometimes the men back home spoke of going away to them, and I never thought I'd be well ... here." She gestures vaguely at herself, not quite sure how to explain her adventures. "I've also been thinking of heading to Jadai, in case I am needed which ... well, seems a little indulgent of me, both in being useful and not being pregnant. Maybe in a little while ... " A little smile comes to her face, and she adds, "But, thank you for coming! It was really very interesting. Be careful, on your way home."
"Anytime," says Grigori. He's off on his way. It's several days later before he contacts Lilac again, and it's with a large envelope sealed with wax.
Lisandra gazes down at the envelope, taking a moment to appreciate it. In all her life, she's never received such a formal correspondance. Oh, there had been other times that were grander, but it was for the group, or for Lady Tsuguri. That she, now, is recieving such a thing touches on how much her role in the world has changed, even if she can't quite believe it. Shaking her head, she breaks the seal.
Klaudia has sidled up to the loft's table to look on with some interest as the seal cracks. The envelope contains a small sheaf of papers with some names and addresses, some family histories, and a page with a coat of arms on it that looks like a field split horizontally, but with what looks like crenellations. Above the crenelations is a korv head in profile and black wings outstretched, and below are three diamonds in a triangular arrangement. There's a letter included.
"Oooh, we may finally meet our Rook. It's so exciting, isn't it, Klaudia?" Lisandra takes a moment to skim the family lists, histories, and the crest, before turning to the note and unfolding it to read. "I wonder what he's like? Will he be kind? Know how to rule? What if he's a bad man ... "
The older Korv woman nods, picking up one of the pages to look at it. "I must admit, I'm intrigued. The possibility that a relation would have been left behind in Chronotopia occurred to me, but the idea that it could be found seemed far fetched at best." She leaves the letter to Lisandra. It reads:
"Dear Miss Dragomir. I hope this letter finds you well. You may be pleased to know that I have found some leads, though I caution you that they are not an arrow straight to the man you seek. I learned that when the Pieksvaldt patriarch moved to Sylvania and married into a family there, his brother-in-law in fact came the other direction, marrying into a different family in Chronotopia. This was Margaret's great, great, great, great (et al) grandmother's brother. He had fallen in love with another korvess in Chronotopia during a family visit, so while the Pieksvaldt family more or less moved to Sylvania, this man carried the surname of 'Dalca' into Chronotopia..."
"Dalca ... " Lisandra murmurs, eyes glued to the page as she reads on.
The letter continues, "While his sister had married into nobility, this Dalca married into a fairly modest, lowborn family, and as was anticipated lead a more or less quiet life. His children went their various ways, one son that went into the priesthood, another that died in Bosch, and a daughter that married into another Chronotopian family, losing the Dalca name to join the much larger Mauer family. The trail is difficult from that point, as there are a good number of Mauers, but it is possible that a line of succession can be traced all the way back to Margaret's family, and there is even a rumor that a Pieksvaldt woman might have married into the same branch of the Mauer family some generations later. So presumably, if this line has survived, there is an heir that would have the right of claim from Margaret's side of the family, and possibly even a little Pieksvaldt blood to seal the deal. If any other family had survived, he would be utterly irrelevant."
Lisandra lowers the lterr, glacing at Klaudia. "Well, that does narrow it down a little. It seems like we'll have to follow a very different sort of hunt, now." She looks down again, to see if she missed anthing further.
Von Horne nods, preening her good wing with her beak thoughtfully for a second or two. "Hmm. Very different indeed." She looks at some of the other papers, and fortunatly the letter adds a little more with regard to them, reading, "I've enclosed some addresses of Mauers I think may have been descended from Dalca, as well as the Mauer coat of arms. Mauer has some martial tradition, you may have some luck with the Landsknects or Luftrittern. I'll see what else I can find. With best regards, Prof. Grigori."
"He's such a nice man," Lisandra remarks as she puts the letter down. "I think I'll spend some of my money to bring him something from the bakery later." She then taps the letter, and says, "He's given us our work, then. We'd best be at it, as Rookery needs him soon. Without us there, and without a ruler, Gallis may turn its eye on them, not to mention everything else that could go wrong!" She exhales, head shaking. "I may be big, but I can still help. How about this: I've wanted to get a good look at those air rifles they use, ever since we saw one a few days ago, so I'll approach the members in the Luftrittern, and you can approach the Landsknects? I have to admit, I'm a bit relieved he may be a fighting man. Rookery will have need of a fighting man."
Von Horne nods, setting the pages she was reading back down. "Very well, I'll ask around with them. They tend to keep good records, as do the Luftrittern. I just hope this doesn't turn out to be a bigger haystack than we can hope to search through."
The younger woman nods her head. "Yes. That would be a problem! Thankfully it's a much safer haystack than the others, so if we come to naught, then we only have Rookery to answer to. If all else fails, I will return to Rookery and do what I can until something else is decided on." Lisandra stands up, tucking her long frock-style dress down, then she turns to walk for her things. "I suppose I'd best arm myself; you never know what will happen. And of course my coat ... Sometimes, I miss the Empire."
Logfile from Envoy. (OOC) Log start: d:\logs\2011-3-25_lilac_archivist.htmlLilac and her mentor are able to enjoy a day's rest within the guest room above Mateh Rings. It's not roomy, but it's warm and comfortable, and there's plenty to read to keep the mind occupied while rain patters against the circular loft window. The sounds of the city are constant outside, with voices calling back and forth in the rapid language of Bosch, the clatter of carriages over cobblestones, the occasional chuff or sputter of steam engines, and every how the deep solemn knell of Great Gretchen tolling the hour. Either Bertram or Marion are up every so often with a meal or minor tidbits of news. The two humans seem cheerful enough to have guests, and happy to oblige requests when they have time. The smell of fresh baked goods is near constant, and the mateh here is remarkably good, apparently brewed through a 'Gallisean press' according to Bertram. Von Horne has come and gone on her own hours and terms, sometimes going on simple errands and sometimes going out to see what she can see. There's tim
e between visits for Lisandra to write her correspondance.
As Lisandra lays on her side stretched across that great big comfortable bed, a pillow tucked under her midsection, she studies the letter she has written even as her thoughts wander. Over the past few days, she's thought back on her life and all that has happened recently, and she finds herself with much that seems unanswered for. Chief among the mysteries are those strange orbs and the peculiar way her life is intertwined with them. She has thought long about Void and its place within her, as well as the so-called Beast it evoked. While she has come to have ideas on these things, even accept that the Beast was of her as much as of Void, a troubling connection has arisen: the Kuenns. A monster hunting dynasty, they Kuenns seem to produce nothing but male children. They also are insular, suggesting there may be a mystery there -- a mystery bound with her, and a loose thread that may be her responsibility.
Letting out a sigh, the girl refills her mouth with a pastry she'd been nibbling at for the last few minutes. "The only thing I'm getting done lately is getting rounder," she mutters, and not just because she's pregnant. "it'll have to do, I'm running out of ink."
Von Horne is still out when there's a knock at the loft hatch, and Marion's voice comes up from it. "Miss Dragomir? Grigori's here to see you. Shall I send him up?"
"Oh!" Lisandra's pastry slips out of her hand, and she almost loses her letter trying to catch it. "Um, yes! Just, um ... yes!" Quickly she snatches up the baked good and pushes it on to her plate, followed by a rapid brushing away of crumbs. With a groan, she begins to pull herself up. "I am ... so fat," she groans along the way.
The young woman is given some time to prepare at least, and she can hear two voices approaching with footsteps. The hatch swings up and open to let Marion in, and she helps takes a boney hand that raises after her, helping a somewhat greying skreek up after her. "Miss Dragomir, this is our Archivist, Professor Grigori," she says. The skreekish man she introduces wears a lightly adorned robe in charcoal with a long and heavy knit scarf of forest green, and his face is long and a bit sunken, with a pronounced broken-nose hump to his muzzle, and a thick spray of whiskers. A monacle dangles from his collar, and a simple felt hat perches on his head, a very small feather coloring the band. Grigori's silvered pelt has streaks to it that hint it was darker in his younger days, but he still stands fairly straight, and he clasps one hand behind his back while offering the other in greeting. Marion continues, "And Professor, this is Miss Dragomir, one of the curators that helped recover your most recent artifact
In the minutes before the two arrived, Lisandra managed to make herself and largely presentable -- which largely meant putting the pillows in order and making sure she wasn't covered in crumbs. The not-so-waifish-anymore girl is thin, but obviously pregnant, and she's gained a few pounds from the rest and nutrition. Her black hair falls in a cascade around her face as she reaches over to shake hands. "Oh! Hello! I've been so much looking forward to meeting you; I have so many questions! And, I bet you do, too," she says in a cheery voice and a thick Sylvanian accent. "Would you like to take the chair?"
The skreek's voice is deep, serious, and a little scratchy, but otherwise quite mellow. "It's a pleasure, Miss Dragomir," he says, clasping Lisandra's hand and giving it a brief touch with the end of his muzzle before making his way to one of the loft's overstuffed chairs. He carries a satchel with him, that sits with a heavy thump by the chair, and he settles into the chair with a brief grunt. "I'd been looking forward to meeting the heroes that recovered Void myself. I only regret I haven't been able to meet the rest of you yet. Yes, I'm sure there's much to discuss."
"Ummy-" Lisandra blinks, her pale skin making even a slight blush noticable. "I-I mean, Lady Umeko must have important things to attend to with Mage Hotfoot and the Empire. Miss Snowshoe also wanted to return home, and, of course, see Void delivered before that. I chose to stay behind in Castle Pieksvaldt, to take care of it even as it mostly took care of me." She smiles, settling herself on to the bed she's borrowed and bracing a hand against her back. "I've been thinking a great deal about Void, lately. But please, if there's anything that's been occupying your thoughts, I'll answer as much as I am able. Of all of us, I was most connected to Void."
Professor Grigori hauls his satchel up into his lap after getting comfortable, sitting back and regarding Lisandra with his baggy but clear eyes. "Well, I've only heard limited, second-hand accounts of what happened. Void has been inert since coming into our possession, thank goodness... though it seems to create a feeling of unease in people and animals nearby. We've been able to discern very little about its nature and capabilities so far, though we haven't been willing to risk anything invasive."
"Then, if it's okay with you, I'll tell you what I know, and what I suspect." The young woman removes her hand from her back, then pushes herself up before walking to the chest that contains most of her hunter impliments. "Void can ... It touches the emptiness in people, things, even places. And, it's not just emptiness like how this chest is partially empty. Not emptiness of space, but also the emptiness of emotions, of memory, life, space, -- it seems to touch all emptiness, even emptiness that we would think intangible and unreachable." From inside the chest, she removes a moisture warped, road worn roll of parchments that she used as her notepad, as well as a curious pair of gloves. These she holds to herself as she walks back, continuing. "From this emptiness, it can change the nature of the world. But, and this I just realized, I don't think Void is ... complete. It's a fraction of exisitence somehow shaved away from a whole, just like the others. When it uses it power to enhan
enhance that which is nothing, I think it must take from other elements. As a being once told me, you "cannot make something from nothing." In this case, you can't even make nothing from, um, nothing."
Grigori nods, stroking his whiskers thoughtfully. "That'd be consistent with some of our theories. One of Curator Snowshoe's brothers actually has been working at deciphering an account apparently kept by a culture that lived near... if not these artifacts, then something related to them. There are numerous mentions of different aspects of existence. To think of nothingness as... as a thing in and of itself... well, it's thrown a number of scholars for a loop." He unbuckles his satchel and begins rummaging in it.
"Would that be, by any chance, near where Being was found? The place Miss Snowshoe's brother is researching?" Lisandra asks, her gaze averting to the materials in her lap as a sadness shadows her face. She vrushes a hand against her notepad, then, pulling it from the ribbon that keeps it bound, begins flipping through it.
The skreek scholar shakes his head. "Actually, no... everything related to this seems to have been flung far afield, and that baffles us. This concerns a place that Curator Snowshoe had visited before, and that Lord Vandringar had taken an interest in, apparently. It was thought he'd disappeared forever within it, in fact.. it's called Levitha's Pearl, an island off the coast of the Seaborne Reach."
Lisandra looks up, pausing in her search. "Oh? Miss Snowshoe had mentioned something like that, but I've never been there. My connection with the artifacts begins and ends with Void and Being."
"It's something like a protectorate of Rephidim. Functionally, it's just a sparsely populated peninsula on Himaat's west coast," says the archivist, tugging a scroll case out of his satchel and shaking a roll of parchment out of it. He unrolls it and smoothes it with his bony hands, holding it up so that Lilac can see the map drawn on it. This isn't the crude kind of map Lisandra's seen in most cases, but the finished and refined art of a cartographer. "The Seaborne Reach's used to house a minor kingdom on Sinai's surface, but now the largest settlement is a sleepy farming town called Half Valley."
Lisandra leans over, blinking at the curious work. "I see," she whispers, eyes shifting as she studies the area. "This map is very nice." Glancing over, she says, "Do you think it's where the orbs were ... made? And, I find it helps to think of Void like the silence between verses, or notes in a song. No one pays any attention to the pauses, and a song with only pauses is nothing at all. But, without the pauses, the song becomes an incomprehensible mess! Void is what gives meaning to the others, seperates them, even as its place is to not be noticed. I think people fear Void because they don't understand it; because it's also loss, loneliness, and maybe even death. But withou these things, we might not be able to appreciate the song -- that is, the good parts. Life, gain, control, and being. It adds definition, too."
Grigori nods agreement, and lays the map on a coffee table, which forces Marion to divert the tea tray she was bringing up. "Well, we can't begin to guess exactly how or where they were made, but what we think are the earliest accounts of their existence come from the forbidden zone within Levitha's Pearl. It seems to make sense... everything we've heard about that place was that it was warped and dangerous, that reality didn't behave as it does out here. Being able to think in those terms, like about Void, might be vital to anyone venturing there."
"Mmm." The young woman leans back, pursing her lip and what the man's words imply. Her heads tilts, and she asks, "I suppose that's us, isn't it? I'm not afraid ... I mean, I am, but ... I've been through so much, you see, and ... I'm not afraid like I used to be." She plucks one of the strange gloves from her lap, twisting her lips as she looks at it. "Lord Vandringar said Miss Snowsbhoe had an invitation to 'the dance.' I've long felt his wasn't over, and I've been preparing for the time comes when that dance happens."
The old rat shakes his head gravely. "Not over by a long shot, I fear. Lord Vandringar was thought to have been lost in Levitha's Pearl when Curator Snowshoe faced him and his attempt on whatever strange artifact was housed there. I fear that in coming out, he has only gained some terrible insight into the Node. This 'dance' may be the beginning, and the number of people with experience we can rely on can likely be counted on one hand."
"That is very troubling. I suppose he's a man very much out of my league, but I've actually written a letter to meet with him. If I know anything about him -- which is to say, very little -- he is very self-confident and enjoys having opponents on equal footing. I feel, at least, he won't allow me to come to harm while meeting him, or pull something underhanded, because that would be beneath his capabilites and the rules of his 'game.' He may even be amused, seeing the woman who ... um ... well ... inconvienienced him on several occasions come right up and ask to see him." She waggles the glove she's holding, then shakes her head at it befow putting it back in her lap. "As bother a monster and a monster hunter, I've come to learn a few insights in to we who are monstrous. While that term can mean many things, there's a commonality in all monsters: we all have weaknesses, and it is for a hunter to find them. It is for the monster to make us fear."
Grigori strokes the tuft at his chin. "Perhaps, but be careful all the same. Whatever sense of gentility he has, he is also diabolically cunning and ruthless. He may not let you come to harm, but I don't think he would hesitate to take advantage of you in any way he can. You are one of us, Lisandra. I can't guess whether he knows exactly who we are, but we operate on the safe side of things where we can." The old skreek leans back into his chair, folding his palms together. "Now, Marion said you might have some questions for me?"
"It's good to hear my gut instincts were correct from someone as wise and levelheaded as yourself, Mr. Grigori. It's shameful to say so, but part of Void's gift to me was the erosion of my self control, and many times I urged that man's death. My sense of him was such it was a very hard emotion to control. Whatever part of me was and is still that beast, it knows danger very well." Lisandra smiles a little, albiet somewhat grimly, then inclines her head. "Yes, although not of him or the artifacts. I am lloking for this young man," she glances down, then pulls out a folded sheef of parchment and hands it to the elder Curator. "His name is unknown, but he is the last of the Pieksvaldts, and I have been asked to find him. I am also interested on any information regarding the Kuenn family."
The professor hunches forward to accept the page and settles back again, bringing his monocle up to his eye and squinting down his humpnose at it, slightly sideways. "Mm, I see. Very interesting! Is this copied from something? This is quite an old style of art."
"It is copied from the magical tapestry hanging in the great hall of Castle Pieksvaldt. As of my leaving the castle, it also showed my teacher Klaudia Von Horne, daughter of Dame Von Horne of the Midnight Murder, and myself," the young woman explains. "It's the only lead I have to go on, save the Pieksvaldt family traits. Lady Pieksvaldt asked me to find him, you see."
The whiskery tufts on Grigori's brows lift. "Really! This has to have dated from before the Necromancer Wars, generations ago. Pieces like that are rare now, they had to be commissioned at great expense from very powerful craftsman and magi. This one must be attuned to the Pieksvaldt lineage. How do you know the successor is in Chronotopia? You say the Raveness herself told you?"
"Yes, before she ... passed on," Lisandra answers, head lowering. "You see, after the battle against Void's controller, the traitor Kantemir, Void returned to its quiet state, and without its power holding her to our world, my Lady Pieksvaldt faded away, to join her Lord Rook. I-" The young woman pauses to sniff suddenly, blinking several times before reaching to wipe her eyes. " ... Excuse me; I'm sorry. Where was- ... Oh. Yes, my Lady Pieksvaldt asked me to find him, in those last moments. She said he was to the East, and this was my best guess. This is where the Lord Ro- ... I mean, our late Lord Rook came from." She stops to wipe her eyes again, this time with the back of her arm. "I'm still not sure why it shows me. But, it's very beautiful, the tapestry. When the Murder was still with us, it showed us all. Now, it just shows my new Lord Rook, and my mentor, and ... me, the last of the Midnight Murder."
"Well, if I understand rightly, the Raveness' last command as lady of the castle must have been to make you a member of her House, and request that you take on that task, along with Madame Von Horne. Thus, you are a part of the Pieksvaldt family, and the tapestry follows the lineage." The scholar looks down at the page again thoughtfully, tapping his foot on the carpet. "I think I can help you, Miss Dragomir. Lineage is important in Chronotopia, and most every citizen can be traced back in some way, be it by municipal records or family trees that the families keep themselves. We may be able to track down your heir if I put some heralds to the task."
Lisandra listens to all this with a slow nod and widening eyes. She hadn't thought of her Lady's last words in that way; she had always believed she was part of the tapestry because Dame Reisling possessed her. It all felt very incidental, and she simply a bystander chanced by fate to be a part of it all. That she carries the task of finding the new Lord Rook seemed a measure of trust, and because she was the only one remaining still connected to the Lady's rule. Now ... "T-thank you. Any help is very much appreciated! But ... and I may have missunderstood? But ... if I'm a part of a noble house, does that mean I'm ... some sort of noble?"
The old skreek smiles a little, and rummages in his satchel some more. "I'm afraid nobility in the style sense is connected to land, title, and blood. However..." Grigori looks up again, his face serious. "If all this is correct, you do belong to House Pieksvaldt if you accept the charge. Being retainer to a noble house is not insignificant, giving you a measure of authority within House Pieksvaldt's domain, and the weight of the Pieksvaldt name. Until you renounce your pledge, your fortunes are tied to the name of Pieksvaldt, for better or for worse."
Grigori hesitates, and then adds, "And if you marry into a noble house, or are granted a title and holdings by a higher noble, such as baroness or lady, then you are by right nobility."
"Anyhow, I'll do my best to see what I can find, Miss Dragomir. I'll bring it to you or send it on to you as soon as I turn up something promising," promises the Archivist. He gathers his satchel back up, and leans forward in his chair. "I should return to the university. Did you have any other questions before I go?"
Lisandra blinks at this, and still seems stunned by the time the the man stands up. "Oh. Um. Well, no ... Not really. I think ... I think I need some time to think." She looks down at her belly, resting a hand on it. "I won't be going anywhere soon, after all."
The silvering skreek gets to his feet, shouldering his bag and smiling down at Lilac. "Well, you know how to get hold of me. Feel free to call on me, I don't stand on formality. I have an office at the university, and if I'm not there then one of the staff can probably tell you where I went or when I'll be back."
"Perhaps I'll come and see the university? I've never been to an instituition of learning before; sometimes the men back home spoke of going away to them, and I never thought I'd be well ... here." She gestures vaguely at herself, not quite sure how to explain her adventures. "I've also been thinking of heading to Jadai, in case I am needed which ... well, seems a little indulgent of me, both in being useful and not being pregnant. Maybe in a little while ... " A little smile comes to her face, and she adds, "But, thank you for coming! It was really very interesting. Be careful, on your way home."
"Anytime," says Grigori. He's off on his way. It's several days later before he contacts Lilac again, and it's with a large envelope sealed with wax.
Lisandra gazes down at the envelope, taking a moment to appreciate it. In all her life, she's never received such a formal correspondance. Oh, there had been other times that were grander, but it was for the group, or for Lady Tsuguri. That she, now, is recieving such a thing touches on how much her role in the world has changed, even if she can't quite believe it. Shaking her head, she breaks the seal.
Klaudia has sidled up to the loft's table to look on with some interest as the seal cracks. The envelope contains a small sheaf of papers with some names and addresses, some family histories, and a page with a coat of arms on it that looks like a field split horizontally, but with what looks like crenellations. Above the crenelations is a korv head in profile and black wings outstretched, and below are three diamonds in a triangular arrangement. There's a letter included.
"Oooh, we may finally meet our Rook. It's so exciting, isn't it, Klaudia?" Lisandra takes a moment to skim the family lists, histories, and the crest, before turning to the note and unfolding it to read. "I wonder what he's like? Will he be kind? Know how to rule? What if he's a bad man ... "
The older Korv woman nods, picking up one of the pages to look at it. "I must admit, I'm intrigued. The possibility that a relation would have been left behind in Chronotopia occurred to me, but the idea that it could be found seemed far fetched at best." She leaves the letter to Lisandra. It reads:
"Dear Miss Dragomir. I hope this letter finds you well. You may be pleased to know that I have found some leads, though I caution you that they are not an arrow straight to the man you seek. I learned that when the Pieksvaldt patriarch moved to Sylvania and married into a family there, his brother-in-law in fact came the other direction, marrying into a different family in Chronotopia. This was Margaret's great, great, great, great (et al) grandmother's brother. He had fallen in love with another korvess in Chronotopia during a family visit, so while the Pieksvaldt family more or less moved to Sylvania, this man carried the surname of 'Dalca' into Chronotopia..."
"Dalca ... " Lisandra murmurs, eyes glued to the page as she reads on.
The letter continues, "While his sister had married into nobility, this Dalca married into a fairly modest, lowborn family, and as was anticipated lead a more or less quiet life. His children went their various ways, one son that went into the priesthood, another that died in Bosch, and a daughter that married into another Chronotopian family, losing the Dalca name to join the much larger Mauer family. The trail is difficult from that point, as there are a good number of Mauers, but it is possible that a line of succession can be traced all the way back to Margaret's family, and there is even a rumor that a Pieksvaldt woman might have married into the same branch of the Mauer family some generations later. So presumably, if this line has survived, there is an heir that would have the right of claim from Margaret's side of the family, and possibly even a little Pieksvaldt blood to seal the deal. If any other family had survived, he would be utterly irrelevant."
Lisandra lowers the lterr, glacing at Klaudia. "Well, that does narrow it down a little. It seems like we'll have to follow a very different sort of hunt, now." She looks down again, to see if she missed anthing further.
Von Horne nods, preening her good wing with her beak thoughtfully for a second or two. "Hmm. Very different indeed." She looks at some of the other papers, and fortunatly the letter adds a little more with regard to them, reading, "I've enclosed some addresses of Mauers I think may have been descended from Dalca, as well as the Mauer coat of arms. Mauer has some martial tradition, you may have some luck with the Landsknects or Luftrittern. I'll see what else I can find. With best regards, Prof. Grigori."
"He's such a nice man," Lisandra remarks as she puts the letter down. "I think I'll spend some of my money to bring him something from the bakery later." She then taps the letter, and says, "He's given us our work, then. We'd best be at it, as Rookery needs him soon. Without us there, and without a ruler, Gallis may turn its eye on them, not to mention everything else that could go wrong!" She exhales, head shaking. "I may be big, but I can still help. How about this: I've wanted to get a good look at those air rifles they use, ever since we saw one a few days ago, so I'll approach the members in the Luftrittern, and you can approach the Landsknects? I have to admit, I'm a bit relieved he may be a fighting man. Rookery will have need of a fighting man."
Von Horne nods, setting the pages she was reading back down. "Very well, I'll ask around with them. They tend to keep good records, as do the Luftrittern. I just hope this doesn't turn out to be a bigger haystack than we can hope to search through."
The younger woman nods her head. "Yes. That would be a problem! Thankfully it's a much safer haystack than the others, so if we come to naught, then we only have Rookery to answer to. If all else fails, I will return to Rookery and do what I can until something else is decided on." Lisandra stands up, tucking her long frock-style dress down, then she turns to walk for her things. "I suppose I'd best arm myself; you never know what will happen. And of course my coat ... Sometimes, I miss the Empire."