Back to the Archives

(Continues from To the Archives!)

SUMMARY: Diemma and Yelrona inspect the Ithildinian archives, finding a few possible leads to her father but nothing too helpful. Along the way they discuss philosophy, politics, and the sex lives of gentis medica. Kira and Durrankar (and Durrankar's unusual staff) join the discussion, which turns to pacifism and food, though no rolls are to be found.

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The elderly nun leads the sila through the doorway and down the narrow stone steps into the cool, dark space of the archives. With a single word, Diemma touches the symbol of Telmentar at her breast, causing it to glow brightly, and casting light around. As they approach the base of the steps, they can then see a rough facsimile of the room upstairs --- plain, bare stone walls supporting rough-hewn oaken shelves, and a simple table in the centre of the room with two plain yew chairs, one at either end. The books on the shelves are laid flat, and are much simpler affairs in general, bound in Althean blue leather, and with only numbers on the spine to identify them. The numbers, presumably, are years. Some books have more years listed, and some less. Some years are split across several volumes, even. The room also contains several boxes and crates on the floor, which are locked.

"These are the archives of the Hands of Ithildin, Yelrona," Diemma tells her. "They are not quite sacred, but deserve some respect. Therefore, I would request that you wear some gloves to handle the books." She retrieves two pairs of simple white gloves from her pocket, and proffers one to the sila.

Yelrona nods. She is of course familiar with the need for gloves when operating stealthily, to avoid leaving traces of herself behind and avoid coming into contact with things she shouldn't, and she carries the leather ones she normally wears for such things rolled up in a pocket, but she accepts the ones Diemma offers and slips her small hands into them. Not quite as carefully fitted to her, but they'll do. She regards the locked crates with a small smile, looking back to the stairs, where the Sentinel seems to have decided Yelrona can be trusted not to walk away with the contents of the room... at least not quickly.

She looks around, nodding approvingly. "Better organized than I had feared," she admits. "This will not be a quick process, but it won't be made slower than it has to be. My compliments to your archivist... Mother would have approved." She gravitates to the earliest ledgers from thirty years ago, when her father first left on the mission he'd never returned from.

The book, bound in thin calf leather, is much larger than the tomes from the upstairs, and is heavier too than comparably thick tomes. Weighty with import, perhaps. "Record-keeping is a point of pride amongst some of the manuus," Diemma says, casually. "But I prefer more practical pursuits. This is not my doing. Still, I know some of their methods. They would prefer you to read from the books on the table." She indicates to a cushion, presumably placed upon the table for the purposes of resting the books. It is in lush purple, with gold trim and tassels. Quite at odds with the rest of the austere surroundings.

Yelrona nods. "It was similar in the Temple of Eluna, back home. I'm... somewhat acquainted," she explains with a tight smile, lifting the first ledger carefully from its resting place and carrying it to the cushioned table. She opens it with the same delicacy she would use when approaching a trapped container and begins scanning the records, tracking her own progress with a finger that never quite touches the paper. "How long have you been with the Order?" she asks, curiously.

Diemma watches 'Rona skim through the records, looking at the slightly coded entries. "60 years, more or less," she says. "Almost an entire lifetime for me. The blink of an eye for the llyranesi, for sure." For a moment her old eyes glaze over. "There were great battles that year, Yelrona. There will be many entries, with less detail than usually we would give them. But notable cases are given more attention. Either within that document, or within the personal records of the arma iinferioora."

"Well, rather more than the blink of an eye for this particular llyranesi," Yelrona admits. "I was a child when you joined... younger than you are now, in fact." She nods at the reference to battles. "It seems there are _always_ great battles, doesn't it? I think that's probably why the Council chose to keep Yles Namvadin separate from the great Elven cities, to not get embroiled in the wars and the politics and the... demon-summoning, and all." She shrugs. "'Arma Inferiora?'" she echoes, curiously.

Diemma smiles wistfully. "A child at 77! How the elder races make one feel young. And old, at the same time. Yes, I remember that year; a busy time for a manus. Many terrible things done by both sides, and many acts of mercy and humility too. War is the worst and best of humanity. Now," she puts on her best lecturing voice. "The manuus are those like myself, the nuns of the Hands of Ithildin. At each corpus, which is a group of manuus, there is a leader, the arma inferius. Those too are directed by a higher council, the corpus majuus. The arma maintain their own personal diaries, which form an important part of the archives of the Hands. If we find reference to your father here, his name may be recorded there too, but it will require special dispensation to examine those journals."

Yelrona wipes the back of her hand briefly against her eyes, which have become slightly blurred with contemplating the brevity of mortal lives. It was one of the arguments her mother always made against leaving the elven settlements... that the mortals would break her heart, over and over, aging and dying before their lives had even gotten properly started... and she'd known it was true, but it was only now becoming real for her.

Still, there was nothing to be done about it that Diemma wasn't already doing, she supposed.

GAME: Yelrona rolls linguistics: (1)+8: 9 (EPIC FAIL)

Rona listens to the nun's explanations of how the order was ordered, and nods. "Makes sense. So who would I go to for that dispensation? And..." she tilts her head curiously at an entry, which references a dark-skinned llyrinasi... apparently there was some confusion with the Dark Elves, which 'rona finds bewildering, but she supposes that if the sils were uncommon in Alexandros at the time, she can imagine the stories becoming confused. "Huh." She withdraws a thin scroll-case from her leathers, opens it to reveal some blank parchment and a writing implement, which she uses to copy down information from the ledger. It's clear that she's attempting to copy the hand as well as she can, but the result is decidedly unconvincing.

"Do you need some help, 'Rona?" Diemma asks, kindly. "The manuus of times gone by, and now, like to use shortcuts and shorthand to condense the information." Indeed, next to many entries are cryptic things such as 'I.I.B' or 'U.T.E.C'; other entries are largely blank, with perhaps only basic information, with 'D.B.Q.' and the symbol of Telmentar next to them.

Yelrona nods gratefully. "I suppose there's no glossary," she observes with a wry smile. A text like this would not be intended for use by outsiders, after all. The exception Diemma was making for her was noteworthy, and she was appreciative. "I have _some_ experience with obscure temple records," she notes, "but they were for a completely different organization, and in Sildanyari besides. Some translations would be greatly appreciated. I assume _these_ relate to the injury they were treated for, which don't really help me, and that _this_ symbol denotes sils, judging from the names. But what do _these_ mean?"

Diemma looms over the tome, scratching her chin slightly. "D.B.Q. is 'died before questioning'; the star is shorthand for 'with Althea's blessing'. Their names are not known. Sil are noted with 'S' in 'race', in these older documents. We did not distinguish between llyranesi, sylvanori and mul'niessa until quite recently, but all were much rarer then. I.I.B. is 'injured in battle', and U.T.E.C. is 'unwilling treatment of enemy combatant'. The unwillingness is on the part of the combatant, not of the healers. The nomenclature for injuries is obscure, and varies between decades, and even healers. But most can be deduced. M.P.T.A is 'missile penetrated through armour', for instance---common even today. M.W.T.L; 'melee weapon to limb'. And this one---oh!" She blushes at 'N.A.S.A.F'. "Never mind."

Yelrona blinks in surprise at the revelation about designating elven races... although she does not share the aversion to mul'niessa that so many of her people do, it still seems odd from her perspective not to distinguish them. But, well, as Diemma had said, sildanyari had little interaction with humans in her childhood.

She looks up from the ledger to the blushing nun. She had been mostly ignoring the injury designations, as there was no way of distinguishing based on them who might or might not be her father, but now she was curious. "You realize you have to explain that one now, right?" she observes drily.

Diemma sighs, and offers a slight grin. "Let me explain. The primary function of the Hands of Ithildin is to spread knowledge about healing to the populous. We train females in the community to heal, and these are called upon also in times of great need. So, whilst our own nuns are required to take a vow of chastity, these gentis medica are resolutely not. This abbreviation must have come from one of them, for it translates as: 'Nice Arse, Shame About Face.'" She coughs slightly. "And now I have broken my vow of cleanliness."

Yelrona manages to avoid laughing, not wanting to further embarrass the kindly nun. "Perhaps the attending gentis was merely noting how well the subject's facial and, er, caudal injuries were healing," she observes drily, "and 'nice ass' is meant in a merely medical sense. No uncleanliness... well, no more than the inevitable, where such injuries are concerned." Her laughing eyes betray her, though. To be sure, the humor is welcome, as the sheer size of the project before her is intimidating beyond description, even for someone with the patience of the ageless. Though in truth, patience has never been 'rona's strength. "So, what was this battle _about_?" she asks curiously, indicating the many many names with the same dates.

"About what is any battle? They claim honour and justice, but more usually it seems to be resources and power. No more than that."

"True enough," she agrees. "Though the current war the realm is facing seems rather more... fundamental."

Diemma says, "Good against evil has always been a strong reason for war, too. Especially here in Alexandros." Her eyes are absent again, in a moment of recollection. The smile in her lips and eyes has continued, though, at the quip about the gentis with roving eyes. "Well, now, for dispensation on the arma inferius diaries, we may have to ask the current leader of the corpus. And perhaps she will have to ask the corpus majus, if she feels it is appropriate. It would depend on what we find."

Yelrona nods, carefully turning another page. As she becomes accustomed to the document's layout, she finds it easier to scan them quickly for sildanyari, which are rare enough that she can often flip through several pages without inspecting an entry more closely. "That makes sense. Well, one bridge at a time." As much to relieve the tedium as anything else, she asks "What do you think of the war Rune is embroiled in?"

Diemma considers this carefully for a few moments. "It is a tragedy for one's nation to be invaded by barbarians, and cut off from its allies quite so brutally. There are strange things occurring within Rune, too, with their strange animated statues." She pauses, and continues after a few moments. "We have heard little from the corpus in Rune, although that is not uncommon. The Hands of Ithildin focus on the mundane healing arts. This puts Rune somewhat at odds with the majority of the order."

Yelrona tilts her head to one side, briefly puzzled, then smiles. "Ah... they primarily focus on magical healing, I take it?"

Diemma says, "Rune is a nation enriched by magic of all kinds; divine, arcane, and that of the bardic tradition. It is made difficult for a nun from Rune to practice mundane arts. There have been conflicts within the order about this, and as such, the corpus in Rune is a little estranged from its cousins here and elsewhere." She looks at the ground for a few moments. "Many, /many/ years ago, I visited Rune to learn a little of their art. Theirs is a truly astounding country, and I mourn the victims of the war on both sides. Too, I regret the isolation of the corpus, for now it is difficult for us to provide what assistance we can."

Yelrona nods slowly, then thinks for a while as she flips pages. One entry catches her attention, and she copies it down. Finally, she says "I don't understand. I can appreciate focusing on mundane healing in mundane lands... if your purpose is to teach, well, most cannot learn magical healing. But in a realm like Rune, where magic is ubiquitous, what's the issue?"

Diemma nods too, and turns her palms to the ceiling. "The issue is the outlook of the order. The Hands of Ithildin and the gentium medicae will be there when magic fails, and only the mundane remains. If the ubiquity of Rune's magic fails, Yelrona, and the mission of the Hands has not been as planned, then the order has failed in its mission in Rune. The corpus majus do not wish this. Therein lies the issue."

Yelrona thinks about that for a while, scanning and turning pages as she does. "Humans," she says eventually, "are... not like sildanyari." She delivers this rather obvious conclusion with the weight of judicious analysis. "If, somehow, the magic were to 'fail'... well. I assume we too would fail. And if, more plausible, it were to withdraw from you, or you from it... well, likely we would follow it. But you are different. And I suppose your practices make sense, given that difference," she admits after another pause for thought. "It still seems strange to me, though."

Further thoughts along those lines are derailed by the arrival of a silver-scaled Sith. "Hello," Rona greets politely. "I hope I'm not in your way?"

The silver scaled one looks to Yelrona and lowers his head....in a clearly defined bow. "Peace...on your nest, softskin." Strange greeting from anyone. also the reptilian one thumps his tail as he approaches. Another strange thing to witness.

"And on yours," she replies, returning the bow and not seeming particularly disturbed by Durrankar's appearance. He is, after all, not her first Sith.

Durrankar thumps his tail again for Yelrona. "Good to see that a sharpear can learn some pleasentries for those of the blood."

Yelrona chuckles at "sharpear"... she's been called worse, and for all she knows it's a polite greeting. "I try to be pleasant to everyone... though I'll admit, I know far less of your people than I would like. I am Yelrona, late of Yles Namvadin. Are you an initiate of the Temple?"

Durrankar shakes his head. "No. I am not a disciple of the silver dragon. As Diemma has said, I am of the shaman caste, but I follow the green word. I let nature take it's course, but I do nurture some things back to life, if I can."

Diemma sighs deeply. "My bones are old, 'Rona. Perhaps not as old as yours, but our kind do not live so long as you. Please forgive me a few moments." She takes a seat in one of the old chairs. "Oh, good day, Shaman." She shuts her eyes for a moment, then opens them, then closes them again. Within a few moments it is obvious that she is snoozing.

Yelrona nods, biting her lower lip in concern. She knows aging is the natural order of things for mortals, she reminds herself of this sternly time and again, but she can't help but think of it as a tragic wasting illness. No doubt Tarien would want her to find the humor in death, but such piety is beyond her capabilities... as far as she is concerned, it is _unjust_.

But doing anything about it is equally beyond her capabilities, so she says nothing about her feelings. "Of course. Thank you for all your help, and rest well." Her fingers move in arcane patterns and the room is filled with pleasant music to soothe the aged nun to sleep as she returns her attention to the sith, deciding to move the conversation out into the hall so as not to disturb her rest.

"I recently met one of your people, Un'eth, a Warden of Ea, who was investigating the demonic intrusions in Alexandros. Is that what brings you here as well?" Not that she thinks all Sith-makar are part of the same anti-demon club or anything, but she is hoping to find someone who knows more of what's going on.

Durrankar says, "It is not, but it is good to hear that Cihuaa is still working as hard as ever." 'At least it's not Freddy Kreuger.' Says a new voice, which draws the sith's gaze to his staff. "Who is freddy kreuger?" 'That chick with that mask that's scary as hell. She even makes me crap myself.' "Alba? So...you named her.....freddy. Odd name to give a female. And you don't have a butt." 'THAT'S WHAT I MEAN!'

Durrankar looks to Yelrona. "Forgive Tyrannix. He tends towards the more......eccentric ways.""

Yelrona blinks, confused. "I... Tyrannix is your staff?"

Durrankar nods his head. "That is correct. Who knew a dead piece of woo would have so much to say?" 'I am NOT dead!' "Nor am I deaf."

Yelrona nods slowly. "I... see," she lies unconvincingly. "It -- er, he -- is certainly quite vocal." She gives a polite nod in the staff's general direction. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Tyrannix."

'Yeh yeh.' The staff says before Durrankar looks back to Yelrona. "There has been a demonic presence in the city for a while, mostly because of the summoner's idiocy."

"The summoner?", Rona echoes curiously. "I'm afraid I've only been in Alexandria for a few days, and the Mythwood is rather out of the way for regular news. I've _seen_ one of the demons, and heard tales of their exploits, but I know nearly nothing about how they came to be here in such numbers and power."

Durrankar says, "you cannot tell because many of them are in the bodies of people. When they are somehow forced out, it's only then that they are visible. it's then that the watch should be summoned and the relevant people should be called. Or, fight them yourself.""

Yelrona nods. "Yes." She'd heard similar accounts, but confirmation was always good. "I personally am not so well-suited for demon-slaying, but yes. Do you know of any way to recognize the demon-ridden? I mean, without magic?"

Durrankar says, "Even for those with magic, it's difficult, so you're not alone. As for demon slaying, play to your strengths. You don't look like one for direct combat.""

Kira walks out of he kitchens after returning baskets this morning's loaves and rolls. At least now she's finally walked and worn off all the flour from making them in the first place.

"Not if I can help it," Rona laughs. "But I'm sorry, I don't mean to keep you from your task. What are you looking for? I myself am -- Kira! A welcome sight. Especially if you have more of those marvelous rolls."

Durrankar rumbles a little at Kira, and his tail swishes slowly. "I can find by scent easily enough, but I was actually here to drop off some herbs."

Kira looks up from wiping her hands. "Oh! Hello!" She gives a wave of one of them to Yelrona and Durrankar along with a smile. She walks themwards more. "How are you? I don't have any more rolls wth me, but there could be some left in the kitchens..."

Yelrona had already noted the lack of rolls, and shrugged it off. "No matter. You're welcome nonethess," she replies with a grin. "At least it isn't raining! Though I suppose you welcomed yesterday's rain, yes?" she adds to Durrankar.

Durrankar says, "Collected it and made some stew for Cihuaa."

"The rain isn't bad. It's just wet." Kira's smile gets bigger with that. Now it turns to Durrankar. Curious. "Stew? Do you like to cook, too?"

Yelrona seems puzzled by Durrankar's reply. Collected rain to make stew? She suspects she's missing some idiomatic expression or cultural quirk, but decides not to ask about it for now, and waits curiously for the Sith's reply... the culinary habits of the reptillian race have not come up in her earier conversations.

Durrankar says, "Yes. Usually I cook meat, but I had some left over from an earlier hunt, so I used it, plus other edibles to create a very nice stew. A local tiger came by to get a bite as well.""

Kira's eyes widen. "Wow. Your stew must be very delicious if the animals are coming out to have some. I'm just learning to make bread. For now, I mostly carry it out to people who need it, after its made."

Yelrona nods in understanding of Durrankar's story. Much simpler than she'd been trying to make it. That happened to her a lot, honestly. "She's too modest," she adds conspiratorially to the Sith. "Her rolls are marvelous."

Durrankar's tail thumps a couple of times. "it is quite good, especially when wild pig is cooked ahead of time. but to do so, I must hunt. And sadly, it is animal flesh that you eat. It is why I do not back away from violence, though I do seek other measures when able." His eyes are looking right at Kira when he says it. "I respect your decision, but it can be a little maddening at times."

Kira's smile never wavers. This probably isn't the first time she's received opinions on her choices. It's much more polite thn many of them, though. "I understand. I'm sorry if my choice upsets you. I don't want to upset anyone, but I know that it can. And everyone needs to eat." Now her smile dims some. "Too many don't get to as much or often as they should."

Yelrona nods in response to the last comment. "True enough." She'd already listened to Kira and Sorscha go at each other about the relative merits of pacifism and its opposite, and she had nothing to add to that conversation, really. Personally, she preferred to achieve her goals without fighting if she could, and in her experience that was almost always possible... but when it wasn't, she fought, and she fought to win. Other people were free to make different choices.

Durrankar says, "That is why you hunt, or be hunted. Give someone a fish, they eat for a day....." He begins to say, but he knows Kira gets the rest. he looks to Yelrona, and takes off one pack, but reaches into a second pack, drawing out three thick and long strips....obviously meat. "Eat....share.""

Yelrona blinks in surprise at the offer, and considers turning it down politely, but here again she's not sure about cultural conventions. After a moment, she accepts them. "Thank you. I will share them with pleasure, and in your name." She tucks them away in her pack. "And now I'm afraid I must be going... I have work to do in the archives, and my necessary break threatens to become a pure indulgence." Some pleasantries later, she returns to the archives.