Maiden's Insight

Temple of Serriel, Afternoon

Snow drifts down from on high with thick flakes, coating the city in a blanket. Even the two massive marble horses that flank the temple's entrance. It's not a massive structure compared to the others, but its significance is nonetheless important.

Unfortunately for most, the temple of Althea offers better shelter from the chill. As inside here in the libraries of law, is... exactly that. Very dull in comparison, but the structure is studious and stalwart. A pinnacle of civilization to come.

Speaking with one of the clergy is that of a bearded man in a grey overcoat, a longsword strapped over their shoulder. They hand Warrick a scroll, and a signature is exchanged on an audit log. Thanking them, he steps away, ending up standing beside a guarded and locked rack of longswords, lances, and spears that were in the process of being inventoried. He stops briefly, making small chat with the guard before getting a granted moment to inspect the lances.

He quirks his head to the side. Frowning.

GAME: Crik rolls disguise: (15)+11: 26

Clik click. Clack. Clik click. Steady footsteps as a member of the clergy moves around the library, occasionally pausing in front of a shelf or another. It was steady - but also somewhat irritatingly restless. Familiarly restless.

Sometimes the clicks sound like someone was hopping.

Eventually, a figure wearing a particularly clean and well pressed hooded robe steps into view, holding onto a bundle of books and scrolls, stepping forth with a careful, measured stride. A pause. And then the steps start to go backward, as someone pauses behind Warrick.

"I thought you were more for the crossbow." A familiar deep voice says to Warrick. A black beak poked out from underneath the grey hood hung over the black egalrin. It was quite fashionable how Crik has managed to tie all his cloaks into a bland and grey looking set of clean robery.

One of the few visitors to the temple of Serriel was a rather out of place looking, and fresh visitor in a small makari. Eztli was wandering off from the libraries, carrying a few tomes under one arm, and hiking up their robes with the other to avoid the various muddy and wet patches from those trudging in from the snow.

Eventually they pass by, and curiosity gets the better of them when they stop to peer at the inventory work. "What's got you preparing all that?" They ask somewhat bluntly.

The Lancer guarding the inventory regards the small makari, their voice echoed and muffled in their helmet as their shift their weight to rest against the lance steadying themselves against the ground. "Routine work. Can't have any wasted space. Double checking inventory to ensure that the equipment hasn't warped or been damaged due to the weather. Nothing to worry about-"

"The smith used low grade iron on these two," Warrick cuts in, pointing at two of the naked swords on the rack. "Were these forged during the wight incursion? They seem new."

The other Lancer shifts on their feet. "... maybe. We'll... note that to the scribes," a more feminine voice comes from this one, casting a glance to their fellow Lancer.

Warrick turns to face Eztli- clergy? Blink. Squint. "... Crik...?" he hazards a guess, stooping some to spy the beak better. "... why uh, are you here? This.. doesn't seem to be your kind of place."

Crik doesn't get fazed too much by Eztli appearing - simply turns to quickly look at her in case she was about to kick him not, decides she wasn't, turns back towards Warrick. And lets out a quiet 'crik' from his throat. "Crickory." He corrects, "I catalogue volumes." He holds up the various texts on law and other topics. "... and maybe how to subdue those who walk behind the shadows."

The conversation between the Lancers and Warrick did have him wondering though, and he turns to look towards Eztli. "Familiar with the weaponry?" He asks. "... are you one of the smiths?" Quick glance towards the Lancers, Warrick, back to Eztli, back to Warrick, finally at Eztli. "Should I move out of the way before you yell at Warrick?"

Eztli blinks a few times, and shakes her head quickly. "Me? No, no, I don't know the first thing about weaponry outside of which end goes in to your enemy." They answer simply, glancing at a few of the weapons in question. "I don't feel like yelling at someone I don't really know for no reason, so he should be good on that part."

The small makari taps one of her horns, and turns to the ex-guard. "I take it you're Warrick, then? What, do you get yelled at often?"

Warrick quirks a brow at Crik. "Crickory," he flatly echoes. "Right. I'd check out the books on investigation procedures for peace keeping if you're wanting to do... that." A sigh escapes him. Better to let Crik have the right knowledge and be safe instead of getting himself deeper in trouble. "Not one of the smiths. Work with a smith though. Got a little insight into weapons and what not."

He turns to the makari, head tilting down some. "Not anymore, no," he answers, glancing at Crickory. "I'm going to guess something happened between the two of you?"

The Lancers shared another look before one gestures to the other, and the man steps away to go deeper into the depths of the temple.

Crickory looks down at the bundle of papers and books he was holding, before he holds up his beak again. "No, I must find a loophole to discover a path from detainment in case one is subjugated for illicit questioning." He keeps staring a while. "... it is a favor for an acquaintance. They seem to think I am a lawyer."

Turning to look towards Eztli again, the corvid stares. Then he bows down slightly, to look at Eztli closer - before suddenly he snaps back up at his full height. "No. Nothing happened. Crickory has never met her."

Quickly, he turns to look towards Warrick. "Why are you investigating weapons?"

The small makari turns, and stares back, before reaching out and poking the corvid on the beak and turning away. "Them? No, I don't know him, either. It's pretty hard to forget egalrin, they look fairly distinct."

"And I'm going to guess you know him, though. Enough to wonder why they're here." They point out. "You said you were investigating some weapons here, is there more to it? I'm not going to get in trouble for illicit questioning here, am I?"

Warrcik gives a mild sigh. "Then your acquaintance should hire an actual barrister," he advises. Best help he could do. The exchange between the two gets a brow quirked, not unlike a member of the Watch listening to two sides of a story going back and forth with /something/ going on, but not enough evidence to press anything.

He shakes his head at Eztli. "No, and I'm not here for that. I was just checking out a copy of a common law to review it, and I just noticed this is all."

The lone Lancer squints at Warrick through her visor for a moment overlong before clearing her throat. "Might I proffer a request?" she mentions before unbelting her shortsword with one hand, and holding it out to Warrick. "I think my pommel is loose, can you take a stab at what's wrong with it?"

The ex-guardsman doesn't hesitate, and takes it. "Yeah, sure thing, sister." He inspects.

The black beak does not react. It has learned not to long ago. "But I am the acq-" Crickory starts, but then pauses. Perhaps not all things are good to say out loud. He flicks a paper pad out of his sleeve, attempts to read it, then realizes it is impossible to write on it with his hands full, so he lets it fall. Too many disguises to keep track of.

Crik tilts his head as the exchanges, curious. Then he makes a mental note about the quality of weapons. "... why are the weapons in such bad state?" He finally asks, tilting his head towards Eztli. "Are you running out of funding?" Because surely she has to work here. "... and what are you reading?"

"Oh, so you're here to check out books too! Well, since you're clearly in good relations with the folks here, maybe you can point out where to actually check out the books? I didn't catch anyone to talk to about that." Eztli responds a touch hopefully. There's a quiet snort in Crickory's direction. "Oh, and where are my manners? Name's Eztli, nice to meet you and Crickory!"

"I guess you know enough about what you're doing to take a look and help them out, at least."

Warrick blinks as the pad of paper is dropped to be stashed away. He wants to ask how in the gods does he carry all of those things, but he doesn't want to blow whatever cover Crik had going on. A bit of overcomplication for a simple task in the ex-guard's eyes. "They're not in bad state, just a couple are," he grunts, stashing away the scroll into a bag before clearing his throat and addressing Eztli. "Peace on your nest, Eztli," <Draconic> he drawls in a tongue not meant for him before placing a hand across his chest. "Warrick Retzner. Pleasure."

The Lancer's shortsword is pulled free of its sheathe, him carefully inspecting it, testing the pommel, frowning at it, raising a brow, sticking a thumb near the leather handle wrapping. "Myrrish make," he mumbles. "Well kept, not really seen much of a fight. Pommel's fine." Warrick grips it briefly, shifting his fingers across it. "Blade's old but the wrapping is new... gift? Person before had a tiny hand- oh, they held it with two hands. Smallfolk. Someone important gift this to you?" he asks of the Lancer, sheathing the sword and giving it back.

There's a small chuckle that echoes in the Lancer's helmet, her taking it back. "Never thought I'd see the Maiden's insight in this lifetime- correct. My father- Lucht man, gave it to me before I left the kingdoms to train here."

The once-guard blinks. "... the Maiden's what?"

Check out books. Crickory looks down at his books, then back at Eztli, then back at books. Quick glance towards Warrick, before confidently the corvid replies with a blank, "Yes." There is a bit of a pause, and he slowly bops his head down and up. "Pleasure." He was going to need that smoke bomb of his at some point, at this rate. Maybe he could roll Warrick over for his getaway? A curious tilt of his head at the man.

As the weapon is inspected, the corvid continues to observe with curiosity. It was all sound deductive work. It was all-

Crik slowly steps closer to Warrick and whispers, "I think she called you smart."

"Oh, yes, thank you! Peace on your nest as well." Eztli pipes up suddenly at the greeting, taking a step back as the guard did they're inspection. "You sure you aren't a blacksmith?" The small makari asks afterwards, tapping one horn again. "Seems you missed your calling if that's the case, unless you're some sort of historian? Your guess is as good as mine, I do my prayers when I can, but I'm not the most devout of folk, I won't deny it."

Warrick glances to Crik, an honest chuckle leaving him. "Heh. Maybe," he murmurs back to not-Crik before looking back to Eztli. "I am a little bit. Good friend of mine teaches me quite a bit of weaponsmithing. Not a historian though. Just a veteran of the Watch." His brows furrow in thought. "I'd say I'm fairly devout. Not like the sister here," he gestures to the Lancer. "Don't have any granted blessings like other priests."

Said Lancer belts her shortsword back onto her hip. "I was being serious," she mentions. "Might not get her flashy ordinance, but the Maiden is obviously in your favor."

"I'm just inspecting a weapon."

"And yet you know more about it than I did," she quips.

"... I'm not a Lancer?"

"Don't need to be."

Warrick scratches his beard. Pretending to be pensive. Actually just utterly confused.

Crickory lifts up his hands and puts it on Warrick's shoulder. Proudly, and with authority that he found... somewhere, he pushes the man forward a step. "Step forth, Brother, and accept her grace. I will look forward to your progress." Tail bops behind him. Next step in plan.

The corvid turns towards Eztli and says, "Can you make sure he finds his way to his calling? I need to... to, books." He lifts up the pile, bows his head, and quickly turns around on his talons to head deeper into the temple.

A moment later, the corvid returns and offers Eztli another pad of paper. "... can you also take notes on him? Thank you." Another bow of his head, and he heads off the other direction.

The small makari leans back on one foot, then the other, peering up at Warrick curiously with more of the explanation going on. "I'm just here for some old law books. Hard to find, sometimes." They note in a pause, before shaking her head. "Could be as she says, wouldn't be surprised! Magic comes in all shapes and sizes, and from all sources. Seems like more than a lucky guess, to me."

Then she turns, and blinks. "I literally just met them being nosy, I don't know if I'm qualified to guide them on their calling in life." She snorts, taking the note pad. "Go do your books though, and help your acquaintance."

Warrick is pushed forward a step, his contemplating shoved aside as he ends up right next to the Lancer. "What are- huh?" he blinks, confused. The Lancer beside him giving a quiet laugh. He watches Crik go, return, and retreat once more before he ends up looking at Eztli, completely puzzled. "... I'll never understand that man," he ends up concluding. "But uh... I'm no so sure about that. Don't have a lick of magic in my bones-"

A couple members of the clergy return with the Lancer from before, one side stepping and giving Crik an odd look before stopping in front of the group. "Mister Reztner, correct?" one them inquires. "Might we speak with you in private?"

He blinks. "... I... signed the audit log?" he blurts out.

One laughs. "Oh, nothing about that. We just thought you might have some Insight is all. Come, please. This way."

The Eldanar shrugs, looking to Eztli. "Nice to meet you. Keep an eye on him, if you don't mind."

He steps down the hall, following along with the trio.

-End Scene-