Raphaelus pored tirelessly over the documents; finding them of a singularly historical caste. The Battle of Crimson Lake was described in minute and painstaking detail, but there was scant reference to the beliefs of Drachenfeldt, or his followers. Raphaelus sighed. The details of the region's military history did not interest him.
What struck a chord, however, was the aftermath of the savage conflict. Raphaelus could only imagine what had gone on behind the castle walls during the siege, though cannibalism seemed one likely course. There were few cults he had investigated that ate the flesh of man; the practice was restricted largely to the blood cults of the south.
Frustratingly, there was still no hard proof of any definite occult activity, merely hint after tantalising hint. Raphaelus was all too aware that these leads were often dead ends. Whisperings and rumours could gain credence remarkably quickly, and even concrete mentions of cult activity could be conjured to discredit enemies. At length he put down his quill, exhausted. His efforts at an end, the assistant Alexander returned.
Dorian wrote:"Scholar, I am sorry to say that a book I think you would be most interested in, Expanding the Empire - The Memoirs of War Marshal Hellinski is not here. Whilst very little of it deals with Svalsing, he commanded the force that defeated Drachenfeldt. It has an entire chapter to it, including what he witnessed in Drachenfeldt's castle. A fitting full stop to all you have read today." He beckons to the piles of books with a sweep of his hand.
"Sadly, it appears to be on lease. Overdue in fact. Odd too, it would seem that the young man who has it also has several of our tombs on ancient Svallish religions. Would seem you share a mutual interest. Perhaps you may know him? Victor Chern. If you do, please ask him to return the books. It would be appreciated."
With this, the young man leaves Raphaelus to his own devices.
Raphaelus had a moment of bitter nostalgia as Alexander departed. The young man had more than a passing resemblance to himself as a youth, and he reflected on the passage of the years. He felt his eyelids close and his head grow heavy, his chin touched his chest. Snapping awake, he looked down at the desk and at his hands. Ink-stained and calloused, they pulsed with a dull, dry ache. Documents and notes lay strewn before him, the results of his labours.
Suddenly all too aware he had not had not had a decent rest for two days he stood shakily and packed the notes into his satchel. He resolved to seek out this Victor Chern, wherever he might be. But first he had to deal with his immediate situation. Returning the tome on Drachenfelt to Alexander, he thanked him for his time and gave him a small coin produced from his satchel. He then asked the youth about lodgings in the collegiate.
"Lodgings, sir?" Alexander replied, unsure of Raphaelus' meaning.
"Yes. I need a place to rest for the night, perhaps longer. I am on sabbatical from the Balorian Collegiate in Upper Feronia."
"I see." While the youth tried to hide it, Raphaelus could see him appraising this old man's burnt garments and dishevelled, sleep deprived face. His next words came out slow and measured. "There are lodgings here, but all are reserved for scholars belonging to this College, sir. Perhaps if your visit had been arranged in advance…" The assistant trailed off.
Raphaelus frowned. He was not altogether surprised. The same kind of bureaucracy plagued the other Collegiates he had visited. "Very well. What then, of accommodation in the immediate area?" he asked.
Alexander brightened a little. "You could always try the church or in town at more humble lodgings, sir."
Raphaelus grunted. "I have no interest in the church. What of these others?"
"There are some hostels just on the edge the noble district, catering to poets, playwrights and other itinerants. They should meet your needs. Down the main avenue, past the church and to the right." He leaned in closer, and his voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't let them overcharge you though. Most of the lords will charge a lower fee if you stay several nights and pay in advance."
"Thank you, your advice is most appreciated." Raphaelus tipped his cap to the youth. "I'm sure I will see you again."
There was something unreadable in the assistants eyes. Perhaps, Raphaelus thought, he was merely pitying this old man; so frail near the end of his years. As he turned to leave the youth spoke clearly but softly to his back.
"Tread carefully."
Unfamiliar as he was with the local Svalsing dialect, Raphaelus could not tell if this was merely a farewell, or something more ominous. Regardless, it raised the hairs on the back of his neck, and brought home a shuddering realisation. He was alone again, cast adrift in a strange land. The feeling was one he had not experienced in more than a decade; not since his dark travels throughout Alinia’s occult underbelly had come to a close. He shuffled out of the library without a further word.
***
Back on the streets of the noble district, Raphaelus found street-lamps being lit as the last rays of Sol hung about the horizon. The church was easy to find; its tall, shiny spire catching the dying rays and reflecting them in the twilight; dark tones of red and auburn. Passing the shrine, Raphaelus half expected some Solarian official to emerge and accost him, as he had been promised. But the grounds were silent. All the clerics must be inside performing the Last Rites of Sol, he mused.
After the church he turned right, as Alexander had directed him. He found himself on a dark side road leading back to the town centre. At first the streets were lined with rich cobblestones, but they soon faded as he reached the edge of the noble district. Various inns and pubs occupied this area, advertising themselves with crudely painted signs and the occasional woman of easy virtue. He clutched his satchel tighter to his chest.
Raphaelus searched for what seemed to be the least disreputable of the establishments, eventually finding some that fitted Alexander’s description. Amongst the brothels and pubs there were a variety of small, dingy hostels that appeared to cater for Svalsing’s itinerant artists, musicians and poets; bestowed with tacky names such as
The Quill’s Feather and
The Broken Lute. A young poet was reading some interminable verse aloud, shouting to be heard over the boisterous whores and innkeepers, and failing miserably. Raphaelus caught one awkward line before he was accosted by a loud proprietor:
"O, hearken now ye wanderers of yore! Taken 'ere by…"
"WE DO ROOMS BY THE HOUR, AYE! ROOMS BY THE HOUR!!!"
"No, thank you." Raphaelus replied firmly.
Raphaelus pushed himself past the innkeeper, making his way towards the more reputable looking establishments. Stopping at
The Broken Lute, he enquired inside. The proprietor was a wiry, bespectacled man whom Raphaelus felt he could deal with on even terms. Shuffling through pages of sheet music, he appeared distracted and non-threatening. Approaching the man's desk, Raphaelus announced his presence.
"Good evening. I was wondering about acquiring a room for an extended stay."
"Oh?" replied the still shuffling man.
"Yes. Do you have rooms available?"
"Well now. We
always have rooms available. What specifically are ye looking for?" The thin man, now finished with his papers, looked over his glasses at the scholar.
Raphaelus cleared his throat. The proprietor's candid attitude unnerved him somewhat.
"The cheapest you have available. I need only bedding and a desk." Raphaelus paused, looking around the dingy establishment. "
Clean bedding. No lice." he added.
"Well then. We may be able to find something for you. How many nights will you be staying?"
"That I haven't decided yet. At least three nights. I will pay you in advance for those nights. In silver." Raphaelus laid several shillings on the table.
The thin man made a clucking sound as he counted the coins. "That might get you a few sessions in one of the whore-houses down the road, but not here. Usually I would charge that much for a single night."
Raphaelus let a few more coins slip through his fingers. "This much in advance, for three nights. No more." he said. "If you see my room remains undisturbed there will be a significant bonus at the end of my stay."
[Haggle]
[Raphaelus may now count as fatigued, as he has been awake around 40 hours straight (not including the unconsciousness suffered from the fire), a long stretch even for him.]