#i also apologize if any of the unnecessary latin is completely botched ASDFKLJN

[fvaleraye]

Letters and Locks

Well, would you look at that, another Scintillam thing :D this one focuses pretty much entirely on Caecus and the Historium, and takes place some time after Turning in Old Goods, but not directly after. some time has passed i have spent p much all day on this, and i hope y’all enjoy reading it asdlkfn-

It was a rather calm day in the Silver City, grey clouds hung lazily over the sun, a gentle drizzle peppering the roads, roofs and towers. A good day for a walk, if you had an umbrella. A better day for just sitting at home with a good book, listening to soft pats of rain against the roof. Caecus enjoyed days like these, where he could rest his old bones in his private study, read over one of his favorite books, and just listen to the not so distant sounds of nature, just barely kept in check by the walls of the city. A bastion of civilization and knowledge, nestled right in the middle of one of the wildest and untamed parts of the great kingdom. It was poetic.

Today was one of the few days where he was not working, where he just sat, and read some silly stories. He chuckled as he flipped through the pages, apparently amused by the current events of the book. Some people thought that he never stopped working, but they would be instantly proven wrong if they could see him now. It was pleasant. Peaceful. Of course, such peace could only last for so long.

There was a knock on the door, polite and soft, so as to not disturb the rooms inhabitant too badly. He just tried to ignore it, still taking in his story. He would very much prefer not to be bothered. He thought that much was obvious by how he was in his private study. And then there was another knock, this one a little more forceful. He just let out a sigh, and set his book aside. "Alright- come in." He called, quietly grumbling to himself as he took his cup of coffee from the nearby side-table. His rather disgruntled expression softened a bit once he saw who it was.

"Mors!" He said, setting the coffee back down. "You should have said it was you, come in come in, sit down!" He gestured to a guest chair he had nearby.

The scholar in question stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, before scuttling in and closing it gingerly. He was a sullen and nervous looking fellow, wearing glasses and robes similar to the magus's. "I apologize for disturbing you, magus." He said, quietly, his voice as anxious and quiet as you would expect from looking at him.

"Don't apologize my boy! Come come, sit down, please."

"M-magus-"

"I insist, my boy."

There were a few indignant sputters and mumbles, before the young scholar let out a deep sigh, and walked to the empty seat. He looked as if he was sitting on pins and needles.

"Comfortable?"

"S-sire, I must-"

"Sire?" The magus parroted, tilting his head and giving an incredulous look. "Now, Mors, how long have we known each other? I practically raised you, where are all these "sires" and other formalities and pointless honorifics coming from?"

"I promise it is of utmost importance-"

"Everything is with you..." He cut in, his tone starting to show slight signs of exasperation.

"-otherwise, I would not disturb you during your time off."

Caecus sighed again, and leaned forward towards the younger scholar, hands pressed together in front of him. "Mors, why must you always be such a doom and gloom fellow?"

"I'm just a realist, sire." He replied quickly, seemingly used to these sorts of questions.

"Mors..." He let out another sigh, one hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance, while the other went to rest on the armrest as he leaned back into the chair. "... Mors, my boy, there's a difference between being a realist, and being a bore and a downer. And I don't see what being a realist has to do with anything happening right now... but, you've already ruined my good mood, so just... just- just get on with it, for gods sakes."

Mors took a deep breath, and leaned forward, clearly wanting to stand up, but also not wanting to upset the magus any further. "Sire, there have been noise complaints from the church."

"Gods sakes, I thought we were past this..."

"One of the pastors claims he heard screaming from the Historium."

A dread silence hung over the room, Caecus' previously annoyed expression shifting to one more... unreadable. He leaned forward again. "... would you like to run that by me again? I don't think I heard you right."

"One of the clergymen was passing by the Historium early in the morning on his way to the church, to get ready for his afternoon sermon, and claimed to hear, and I quote, "hysterical and inhuman sobbing and screaming", from the Historium, most likely from the lower levels of the building."

"... that's impossible..."

"That's what I said too, I said that the only thing below the Historium were the storage rooms and your private laboratories, and no-one would be down there that early, not even you. We even questioned the early morning staff who were in the building at the same time he was passing by, and none of them heard anything, and even if there was screaming he shouldn't have been able to hear it from outside the building, but the good father stands by what he said."

There was no response, just silence, as he slowly leaned back in his seat, the wood creaking below the chair. While his expression was hard to decipher, it was clear that he didn't like what he was hearing. He took a deep breath, and another, and another, tapping his fingers together as he started to mumble quietly. "... okay... okay." He set an elbow down on the armrest, and placed his head in his palm. "Okay. Who was the clergyman?"

"Pastor Daniels, sire."

The old scholar took a deep breath, his face contorting into something beyond anger, before quickly shifting back to his previous one of indecipherable annoyance.

"I've been talking to him all day, but he is convinced that he heard something ghastly." He sighed, his look one of worry to contrast the magus' unreadable expression. He didn't like his expression. It was usually one he wore when he was about to blow up in someone's face. "... I might have a few theories."

"Do you now?" He responded, his tone just short of a yell, clearly already fed up with the topic.

He flinched at the others tone. "... y-yes, I think I do." He cleared his throat awkwardly, and shifted in his seat. "Well, th-there is a- uh- a sewer grate near the tower, perhaps it could have come from there, all sorts of ghastly things lurk down there, or, perhaps-"

"Do you want to know what I think, Mors?"

"... w-what do you think, magus?"

"What, I, think..." He slowly pushed himself out of his chair, getting to his feet as he spoke. "... is that the church is back to their old games."

"S-sire?"

"You know how they are, Mors, they've always hated me, hated the Historium, because so much of what we find and research doesn't fit into their little narrative, "blasphemous" this, "heretical" that-" He started to pace, gesturing wildly in the air as he felt that his raising tone was not properly voicing his frustration. "-they've been trying to get us shut down and silenced for years, ESPECIALLY Daniels-"

"S-sire-"

"And NOW, HE wants to RUIN me, he's probably going to tell EVERYBODY about what he heard, maybe even go to the Councilman Argentum and try to convince him to cart me out of the Historium so he can finally burn it all down and ruin all my work-"

"Magus Coluber, m-maybe you should sit back down-"

"I WILL NOT SIT DOWN, MORS." He yelled, his face nearly entirely red with anger. "Actually, it's a good thing you're here!" He grabbed some paper, a quill, and tossed them at Mors, causing the young man to flinch and tense. "Write down what I say, and send it to the head of the church."

He swallowed the lump of anxiety and panic in his throat, and fumbled with the paper and quill for a moment. "Y-yes sire-"

The sorcerer cleared his throat, straightened his posture, folded his hands behind his back, and spoke clearly, and forcefully.

"Dear Your Holiness, I have heard your complaints and concerns from Father Daniels, and I understand the concern you must feel from what you have heard from him, but I can assure you that these claims are false. Young Mors, my personal assistant, questioned every Historium staff member who were here that morning, and none of them, not one, could claim to have heard the same sounds Father Daniels claims to have heard, despite being in the same building he claimed to have heard the screaming come from. It is not exactly a secret that me and Daniels have had longstanding animosity for each other, and me and the church have never exactly seen eye-to-eye, but I assure you, if such a thing happened in my Historium, I would investigate, but, as it stands, there is no evidence that he actually heard anything, and it is the word of over a dozen hard working Historium scholars, most of whom are in their physical and mental prime, who were within the building itself at this time, versus the word of only one of your oldest preachers, one who is pushing seventy, might I add. In short, I sincerely doubt that he actually heard anything, and, even if there was the, quote unquote, "hysterical and inhuman sobbing and screaming", coming from the building, my staff would have heard it and reported it to me, and your Father Daniels would have hardly heard anything from the road. Especially if it came from the lower floors of the building as he claimed. I stand by my staff and what they have said, and I hope that you will, for once, stand on the side of reason, as I have. Serpentis oculo veritas, Caecus Coluber, Librarian Argentum of The Historium, Duke of The Turrim Veritatis, High Magus Argentum of The Domus Autem est Argentea Serpens."

"Did you get all that?"

"D-did you r-really need to use all the- the d-dead language terms for these things, s-sire-"

"Did. You. Get. All. Of. That."

"Yes sire-"

"Good. Now leave."

"Y-yes sire-"

The magus watched as the young scholar scurried out of the room, letter in hand. When the door slammed shut, he sat back down in his chair, idly rubbing his now throbbing forehead. He let out a deep, tired sigh, and started to mumble to himself. "... I can't believe this..." He grumbled, snapping his fingers and letting his book disappear in a puff of smoke. "... today was supposed to be quiet... and nice... I was going to read my stories, and suddenly..." "... I have another letter to write..." He clapped his hands, and a decidedly unique looking piece of parchment appeared in his hands, along with another quill, which had seemingly been dipped in silver, and a new bottle of ink. "... where to begin..."

"My most trusted accomplice, I hope this letter finds you in good health. I thank you for the documents that you so graciously gifted me with earlier this month, as well as the compilation of folk stories. While I am pleasantly surprised at the prevalence of my theories in these folk tales, most of their contents venture too far into the realm of the absurd for me to use as a reliable source. I thank you for them still, as they have been a good source of entertainment in these stressful workdays. Your theories are most interesting, though they stray quite close to the realm of make-believe for my tastes. Nevertheless, I am open to hearing more. Your "Starborn" hypothesis, in particular, was fascinating. I would be delighted if these "star children" you are so adamant about would exist as you say they do, and even more so if you could find a living one, but I have my reservations. On a more serious matter, however, I must ask that you relieve me of the rejects at your earliest convenience. Besides the noise they constantly make, and the slime and shed skin that have begun to accumulate, one of them attacked an intruder this morning, and a passing local clergymen heard the cries of pain through a grate. At least this confirms the soundproofing spells for the rest of the building are functional, as none of the morning staff heard anything. Furthermore, I fear that the reject responsible has developed a taste for blood, and can no longer be safely worked with. I am too old, and I do not have the tools to terminate it in the Historium, nor do I have the means to deal with the remains. Of the subject, that is, there were no remains of the hoodlum besides some blood to be mopped up. Besides, this entire batch was a dud. Nothing gained, no changes, and too much material lost. I expect replacements for both materials and subjects by the summer solstice. Lastly, I beg of you, please cease with your more criminal activities, at least for the time being. I respect you as a scholar and a mage, but for gods sakes, if you get caught then all of this will have been for naught. I could swear you were taunting the council itself with your antics. If you are apprehended and brought before the council of nine, and you would go before the council of nine for the severity of your numerous crimes, there are no strings I would be able to pull to save you. And I refuse to go down with you. So please, for both of our sakes, exercise discretion. We are so close. Don't ruin this for us now. In the eye of the serpent, the truth, Caecus Coluber, Silver Librarian of The Historium, Duke of The Tower of Truth, High Silver Magus of The House of The Silver Serpent."

Folding the finished letter, he slid it into an envelope, and stamped it with the seal of the silver magus. He then walked out to his outside balcony, protected from the drizzle by a stone overhang, and tied it to his personal carrier raven, which quickly flew off to its intended destination, as it had been trained to do. He gave one more deep sigh, and walked back into the study, glancing at the clock. "... it's getting late..." He mumbled, opening a drawer on his desk, full of mostly broken orbs. He took one, and looked it over, slowly. "... no help to my research, in the end, but fascinating nonetheless..." He let his somber expression soften into a smile. "... "you learn something new every day..."... well, not quite, not anymore, but it's still nice when it happens." Placing it back, he closed the drawer, and walked out into the rest of the building, nearly bumping into a pair of passing scholars.

"O-our deepest apologies, magus-" One of them stammered, bowing deeply.

"No, no, my apologies, I should look where I'm going..." He pat the bowing young scholar on the head, and sent them both off.

The old sorcerer continued on his way, making passing greetings at the various Historium staff as he walked, his shoes thumping quietly on the marbled floors and stairs. As he was passing through the lobby, he took a moment to look at all the people, scurrying to and fro, the sound of feet and shoes on marble drowning out the conversations some were having in the corners of the room, and the opening and closing of creaky wooden doors grating on his ears. Now he remembered why he spent so much time and energy getting the upper and lower floors soundproofed. Nevertheless, he stepped back onto the stairwell, and eventually arrived at a small intersection below the surface. There were a few doors, and the construction was mostly stone, as opposed to marble, showing that it was mostly likely built after the rest of the building, and for sturdiness rather than aesthetics. Each one was locked. There was someone else in the room, fiddling with the lock. "... hello?"

The person jumped, and turned towards him. They both eased up once they saw each other. He sighed. "... James, what are you doing down here? You know the rules."

"I-I know, I..." James fidgeted a bit, his usual professionalism not quite all there at that moment. He opened his mouth to speak a few times, but it took a few moments before he could actually answer. "... sir, I think I might have... dropped the keys to my locker of personal things in the grate outside... I was... hoping I could... slip in and get them before you noticed."

He chuckled at the response, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "Is that all? I'm on my way in there, I can grab your keys for you and have someone leave them in your quarters."

"Thank you magus." He replied, giving a smile and a bow.

"It's no problem, James. Now, off with you."

The young assistant stepped out of his superiors way, and hurried up the steps. With that out of the way, Caecus stepped towards the one directly across from him. He looked over the wood and iron door, and gripped the padlock. He reached into his pocket for a large iron key, and inserted it into the lock.

Click.