Quest It's Reading Rainbow! [Minnim]

[Prophet]

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55th of Spring, 517 AV
11th Bell

After some confusion in the Temple courtyard, a group of four ‘scholars’ and an escort from the City Guard arrive at The Owl’s Den. Everyone was encouraged to file out of the three ravosalas in an orderly manner. These folk were mostly well known around the little shoppe save for a few. Tolgen was standing outside with a dour look on his young face. One guardsman commented that he’d never seen the kid outside which was supported by a skin tone that was nearly the same shade of milk as the window frames. There was a man standing next to him who bore a white eye, a bald head and a salt-n-pepper goatee. The agent was dressed in blacks, blues and greens but the articles seemed to blend together in a flowing kind of way. His shirt swirled against a cloak which wound along the baggy pant legs and it just seemed to be a bit much. A cherry snickered but was silenced by his comrade’s elbow. The man in the strange attire looked up and tilted his head to one side with a broad grin of shiny white teeth that had all been filed to points. His face was handsome but weathered though the normal eye was a vibrant green that spoke volumes about the soul beneath.

This is the place where answers were to be found. The Ebonstryfe official in the courtyard made it very clear that he expected results. The sudden appearance of the agent of chaos further emphasized a great need for solutions. The guards took stock before dispersing along the narrow walkways which left the party in front of Tolgen and the man with one white eye. There was a proper looking woman who held her chin high enough that even at her short stature she was able to look down on those around her. She kept her lips in a tight purse while seeming to be impatient –the finger drumming on her arm was another clue of this attitude. A younger woman, plump but seemingly pleasant never stopped talking the entire duration including the mill time in the courtyard. Her name was Penelope Rhysus and she droned on and on about how her family was one of the first to settle here. She was cleverly located between two of the powerhouse families and seemed to know a great deal about everything gossip.

The other volunteer was a man whose age seemed hard to pin down. He had sharp brown eyes, a waxed hair cut that pulled his brown strands from left to right and a beard that was not only well-trimmed but oiled for scent and softness. A set of round, black-framed glasses sat upon a slightly upturned nose and added to the air of intellect which practically oozed from the sharp-dressed fellow. This merry band was eventually welcomed in to the book store by Tolgen. He immediately made himself scarce and all eyes turned towards the agent who had taken up a seat at the head of two tables. There were four chair placed around and several stacks of books, scrolls and journals. His voice was cool like a breeze and as even as the glassy surface of Lake Ravok.

“The people of Ravok thank you for your willingness to aid in our plight. While notably unseen here, the rest of our world has been suffering greatly. Morwen’s insubordination has begun to take its toll on our shores. The farms are struggling and we’ve been told to expect low yields.” He took a breath and looked around giving equal pause to each gaze. “It is with great hope that you can generate some ideas –some solutions to our approaching issues.” He gave a pleasant smile but it was tempered by his white eye. “I shall be about but research is not my forte. Rhysol be with us all.” He bowed and slipped away to a book rack in a damp corner of the shop. Penelope was the first to pipe in.

“I think we should all get acquainted first!” She beamed a huge grin with her painted lips and rosy cheeks. “As you know, I’m Penelope! What are your names?”



Boxcode credit: Karin Ironyach.
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[Minnim]

In all his life, Minnim had never considered that he might be the kind to volunteer. He was rather anti-social in the manner that only the insane or rebellious can be, and practically worshipped his own magic practice- both of which had equal hand in his solidarity. He hardly had desire to help the city, as he had stayed there only past a season and had no history of developing deep-seated emotional connections. In fact, Minnim really had no reason at all to volunteer, except for boredom. But that reason was quite enough for an tireless intellectual such as he.

So, Minnim found himself sharing a ravosala on the 55th of the season with another (much too excited) volunteer on their way to the Owl's Den. The officials ushered them out of the boats and into the den in a quick single-file line.

Inside, Minnim was disappointed to find little out of the ordinary. There were tables with chairs, books and scrolls here and there, and an expectant air of work. The Nuit took in the surroundings slowly and patiently as he waited for the people around to stop their chatter. One was a man, seated at the table, who spoke so fluidly that it was almost a lullaby to listen to. He spoke of the most of same things the Ebonstryfe agent had when they had first gathered, so he was promptly ignored.

The next speaker was more difficult to ignore. Her voice was high-pitched and exactly the wrong volume; she could not be told to quiet down, for she wasn't really that loud, but still her voice carried enough that Minnim winced at the intrusiveness of it. Due to such qualities, Minnim heard her name very clearly. The name Penelope rather fitted her, he thought. It was a feminine name for a very effeminate person, with her full lips and wide eyes.

After the others had given their names, Minnim introduced himself. Addressing no one in particular, he then took straight to the point. The first step to solving any problem was, clearly, identifying exactly what that was.

"What really is our problem, then?" He asked, "Yes, it is Morwen's failure to comply to her season, but we cannot fix that. What is the part of the problem that we can fix? Is it too hot for the crops? Too dry? Or the opposite?"

Secondarily," He continued without pause, "Does anyone know off of the top of their head of any historical incidents similar? Or is there a certain book we might find such records in?" Minnim gestured broadly to the assortment of materials spread out around them as he lowered himself into a chair. "Because we'll never be able to get through all this before the season's end."

[Prophet]

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Tolgar had vanished from sight but there was a faint and regular squeak as well as the occasional thump which filled the bookstore with his presence as he wheeled around volumes and tomes. The agent seemed distracted by a stack of communications –likely from his superiors and subordinates. As much as some people loved to spread rumors of intrigue and spycraft, the Black Sun was a large organization; keyword- organization. Which meant that a huge part of any Black Sun member’s life was keeping track of his dealings so that time management and efficiency could be analyzed. Rhysol may be the god of chaos but the men and women who ran his city were quite the opposite. Detailed accounts of expenses, troop movements, intelligence gathering and so on must all be kept up to date and verified otherwise the coffers get low and then heads start to roll. All that nonsense aside, the man with one white eye was keenly aware of everything going on in the store.

The posh woman with her tightly pursed mouth shook slightly. The more the chubby Penelope woman blubbered on the more it became apparent. Her dark eyes focused on Minnim as he entered his opinion and some very pragmatic advice on how to start. The woman nodded her approval but said nothing. Penelope started to talk again but the sharp-dressed man spoke for the first time. “My name is Herschal Lemminx and I’ve spent a great deal of my life traveling. I was at the lakeshore a few weeks ago as I had just returned from Syilras…” The man’s voice was rounded and easy on the ears but it was also easy to tune out while he droned on about the gardens at the Mythril Outpost and how the Akalaks at Riverfall blah blah blah. Most of what was said was a polite brag and an ego stroke for the man. Most of the assembled had drifted off as the ten chime tangent wore through even the most diligent of eyelid muscles.

It wasn’t until Tolgar came around with his squeaky cart and dropped a stack of books on the table that Herschal stopped speaking. He was so into his tales, he didn’t realize that he put half of his company to sleep. The book keeper frowned and passed a thick, blue bound text to Minnim. “It’s a collection of natural mysteries as recorded by an anonymous author; some say Qalaya, herself.” The look on his face said he didn’t believe as much. “There’s a chapter at the end that talks about how farmers in various lands recovered after the Djed Storm of 512 which might apply.” The man spread out the other books which he had brought and lined up two scrolls. He touched the binding on each one with the hands of a lover and the eyes of a parent. None could doubt the true devotion that Tolgar had for his work.

“This is a soil guide written by some old duster who wandered through here years ago. He had the biggest tomatoes I’d ever seen –and consequentially he cooked the best sauce. At any rate, I’d take his word for gospel though I’ve not read the book myself.” Tolgar set it down, the thin, brown book was titled The Poor Man’s Guide to Gardening: Know Your Dirt. He picked up the next volume which was small in page size but held many leafs like a dense noteboook. The silver stamping read Everything I Know About Cattails. Tolgar turned it over in his hand. “If you can read the chicken scratch in this, you will find more information on a single plant than in anything else I’ve ever discovered. The author’s name was Sidney. He was a slave who worked on the Cattail farms his entire life until he died at eighty-seven years of age. It was his wish that this journal end up in my store. How he ever knew I existed was beyond me but the journal is here regardless. I suppose it would come into handy given your task.”

Tolgar’s voice was so sarcastic it almost felt staged. His hands brushed over the scrolls. “These are Ebonstryfe weather reports from last season; one for each deployment.” The agent looked up from his calculations and lifted an eyebrow. Apparently, he wasn’t aware that any old store owner could attain Ebonstryfe reports. Finally, Tolgar placed his fingertips against a large, square red leather book that was bigger than the rest combined. He sighed as if debating to explain what it held but picked it up and opened it to the front cover.

“This is not something I ever thought I would share but here it is: The Value of Death by Simon Nezvar. He’s known as Death’s Steward now- the champion of Dira. His sketches depict many horrible things but there is a worth in each one.” The book master turned a little green when he revealed the first –very detailed- drawing. It was the dead body of a man and a woman who had been laid out in a trench; side by side but with the heads at one another’s feet. Cuts had been made in nine locations which allowed their insides to escape and flow into the illustrated ground. The notes explain at great lengths how decaying flesh and vitae can rejuvenate soil and create fertile beds for many different kinds of plants. Tolgar stood awkwardly for a moment and then walked away. No one moved for a few ticks until the uppity woman who had yet to introduce herself rose and turned the red-bound book towards her and began to read the notes located around the graphic image.


Boxcode credit: Karin Ironyach.
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[Minnim]

The series of literature placed on the table was not so much thinner than that of the entire library. Titles were laid before the group and explained one by one. First was a thick blue text, rumored to be by Qalaya herself. That piqued Minnim's interest, if only momentarily. Besides, the information within seemed relevant enough.

There were two more books laid in front of the group. Each seemed equally worthwhile reads, and equally boring. After the Ebonstryfe documents, Minnim was nearly ready to give up. But the real interest lay in the red book yet to come.

It was graphic, violent, and overall heart-racing for the undead. His eyes tracked the book's movement as it was laid down, and waited patiently until the librarian walked away. He didn't want to look too eager and raise suspicion. Unfortunately, his manners had proven a disadvantage, as another woman grabbed the book first. Preferring not to make a fuss, Minnim stuck with his blue book, albeit slightly begrudgingly.

The Nuit was used to the meticulous care of the Sahovan Great Library, so he knew the great importance of preserving the books. He took as much care as possible not to lay hands on the center of the pages or the ink, as he was intimately familiar with the sight and smell of decaying pages and dilapidated books. Instead he tugged gently at corners one by one until he reached the back of the book where the farmers came in.

He was surprised at how carefully the book was organized. Most libraries carried a menagerie of diaries and love letters, not real literature. But this book was heavy-reading, and well thought out. Not only was the chapter focused on the farmers in the Djed storm of 512 with no real tangents, but it was also categorized by cities, and to a lesser extent by land types.

Minnim scanned the page, past mountains, deserts, and forests, to a section addressing something like Ravok's own swamp-like land. Hopefully it would have something of value. And if not, well...

Minnim stared at the woman with the red book again, his eyes drilling into her skin. "Have you found anything at all worth sharing?"

He would learn something useful, one way or another.

[Prophet]

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The woman was reading, at first, intently but something she read turned her rosily dusted cheeks green. The cover was quickly slammed shut and the book was shoved towards the old man. “See for yourself!” She was nearly spitting the words but that might have been from the excess saliva that is produced right before one vomits. The woman ran from the store and kicked the door open. The sounds of retching and swearing could be heard as things bubbled into the lake. A gust of wind promptly slammed the door shut which sent Tolgar running to make sure this morning’s breakfast didn’t end up on his sidewalk.

Should anyone decide to investigate further, they would find the notes to not only be ones of extreme anatomical detail but also of off-color humor and a scathing sarcasm that would not suit most ‘noble’ folk. Every blurb, every jotted revelation was laced with a distaste for the living while also revealing more about the human body than most scholars would not discover in a lifetime. The next few pages were more of the same. One was an image of a large man, plump and aged whose skin was intricately wrinkled by the artist’s lead. His guts were pulled from a large, singular gash that ran from one side to the other. Each individual organ was strewn out and labeled, given a size tolerance for the man’s obesity and a rude joke in some kind of fashion.

Tolgar returned and looked a bit flushed but none the worse for wear. His eyes went to the red-bound book then to the agent sitting back in the corner before soaking in the expressions of everyone at the table. He erupted in a sudden and violent outburst. “You people need to talk! Think! Do!” He stormed over and pounded on his table and pointed at the manuals. “I don’t like visitors. I don’t like this idea but if you can help the city then so be it!” He pointed an accusing finger at the man with the white eye and impeccable fashion. “You’re supposed to be directing them! You’re suppo-“ Tolgar hit the floor and a metal ball bounced down onto the table then rolled around for a few ticks. When it came to a stop, there was a smear of bright red blood on its otherwise shiny surface.

All eyes turned to see the agent smiling with his pointed teeth and white eye. The aura of the room suddenly felt darker; colder. He rose from his paperwork and began a slow lap around the table making sure to pause and physically intimidate those under his charge by simply standing near to them. His words were soft and at some point, he picked up the metal ball only to set it back down and caused it to spin in place. The metal on wood created a soft but cyclical noise which seemed to make his statement all the more disturbing. “Ser Tolgar is correct. We have a job to do.” The agent stepped over the bookkeeper and knelt down to check for vitals then quickly rose again. “I’ll give you all one more bell and then I’ll demand some ideas…pray for Rhysol’s mercy that you come up with something substantial.” With that, he went back to his corner and his workload.

Penelope and Herschal quickly buried themselves in books, began jotting down notes and revealing certain finds with one another. After a time, the woman would come around and sit next to Minnim. Her face was flushed and her breathing was choppy like she had been exercising. The grating voice was gone and no more than a rushed whisper as she addressed the Nuit. “We have a few ideas but nothing solid. Have you found any ideas in these dusty old things?”



Boxcode credit: Karin Ironyach.
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