The Citadel Library

Reese bowed to the guard as he departed before turning to examine the library. It was quite impressive, really; a great many subjects he was interested in were well-represented. The history section was especially...

Wait just a moment. Reese walked over to the shelf and eyed the selection critically. A single book caught his eye; On the Rulership of Peoples from the Third Era. He pulled it off the shelf to check it more closely. Aye, there it was, right on the front. The author's name was Antonius Pilate.

Reese shook his skull. Simply disgraceful. He flipped it open and began to read with a sort of morbid fascination. Not three pages in he was brought to a halt. The Council of the Farseers was called together by Count Reland II, not his son, Count Reland III. He pulled out a pen and made a note to the side to mark this mistake for any further readers before continuing onward. As he went further and further and the errors began to accumulate, something akin to irritation began to swell within him. Why, inside this well-stocked library filled with works by respected scholars and historians, was this man's work given space?

The book was placed back onto the shelf without the normal degree of tenderness the lich reserved for such repositories of knowledge. Choosing to believe that this book was stocked as something of a practical joke on the part of the librarian, Reese decided to move on to something more palpable. The shelf of rare works, perhaps; these, unlike the outrageously unverified works of Antonius Pilate, were true treasures.

Reese stood and removed his hat the moment the Madame walked in, already preparing an explanation. The kind assault on his person caught him completely off-guard. He had not ever been considered the huggable type; in fact, his presence tended to actively ward others away. Was he supposed to reciprocate? Surely his arms lacked the sort of weight and warmth that would make this sort of thing pleasant and comforting: both qualities he considered integral to a hug. Then again, the rest of his body also lacked that warmth and weight (solidity was a better term, he supposed), and that hadn't stopped her for one second.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, Madame. I am truly sorry for my extended absence, though I realize mere words cannot possibly make up for such a failing.” He paused for a slight moment to gather his thoughts. "It's a bit of a story, Madame, but I owe you a full explanation. As you know, I consider myself a scholar of history. It just so happens that other people agree with me, and every so often I travel to meet with a group of academics. The goal is to freely pursue knowledge without any sort of rivalry or competition interfering. Normally our conference lasts a day or three; but, ah..."

Reese paused again for a moment. He could have sworn he was incapable of feeling embarrassment, but there was something suspiciously close to it floating about in his mind. "You see, there was supposedly a battle in Amere long, long ago that crushed the local ruler's army. When that ruler's treasury was opened they found it empty. He was an extremely wealthy man, and a rather notable historian—Ayyayed, you may have heard of him—hypothesized that some of the ruler's knights and one of his nobles deserted and managed to poach that treasure. This would explain the sudden appearance of a fabulously rich knighthood order in an adjacent kingdom soon afterwards."

"All of that aside, I wanted verification that this battle existed in the first place. Ayyayed is the only source that has ever spoken of it. I have a friend that does some research in temporal anomalies, and he agreed to get up back there so that I could take a look. In a woeful display of incompetence, neither of us considered that my mind is... less-than-ordinary, which caused some significant issues returning."

"The gist of it, Madame, is that I've been a terrible fool and that it's indescribably good to be back home."

Reese tried his best to look suitably astonished but, as ever, his face failed him. The voice would have to do. "...In only a few years, that much? I am both astonished and impressed, madam, and am most interested in learning more about the goings-on during my absence."

He perched his hat back atop his skull as they moved to exit. "The battle? It certainly did exist. It wasn't a renegade noble that emptied the treasury, though; upon realizing how badly the battle was going the king gave the key to his bastard son, one that I can only assume was his favorite."

The book Reese had been reading was carefully slotted back into its home. "I wish I could have seen what that son did with the fortune. He became something of a political refugee in a neighboring court, but excessive wealth was never mentioned." The skeleton swept up his walking stick as they left through the door. "Research for the future, I suppose."

Brannen pushed open one of the smaller side-doors, offering a curt nod to the attending guards, who returned the gesture. He casually strolled between the shelves, ostensibly headed for the military history and tactics section, where he was usually want to spend his time when he visited the Citadel library. Indeed, as much pride as he took in his work, helping to protect one of the most important buildings in the known world, he took equal joy in studying martial history. In fact, he would consider himself something of a scholar, having several annotated and analysed accounts of historical battles attributed to his name, most notably On the Rise and Fall of Clares Arendaii; A Modern Analysis, a detailed insight into the most influential battles of the great general and tactician. Brannen was particularly gratified to know that this text was being used to train Isran officers, now - something that had come about entirely without his involvement.

Despite that, today the Knight-Commander was not there to pore over his beloved subject, but on a far more interesting and obscure mission. As such, he carried himself to the rare items section with considerable celerity once he was out of noteworthy eyesight, rifling through the ancient texts on the subject of irregular magics with reverence, hunting until he found the book he was searching for, which he then slipped under the cloak he was wearing, before hastening back out of the library.

Haggard eyes and a beard hinting at the slightest lapse in a rigorous personal grooming lead Zemp on his march through the library. This is a man who has not slept in several days, which is quite unlike his usual personality. Bad dreams plagued his sleep. It was growing within him again, that sense of restlessness budding into foreboding and fear. He had tamed his personal demons by throwing himself into his work and play day after day. As long as he was making a difference for those around him, he was satiated. Aggressive ambition paired with a sense of personal duty and calling saw Josef Zemp pulled across the lands and into the service of Isra. The same fires had been rekindled in him this last month.

He pursued his calling on this fine late afternoon through the shelves of the Imperial Library. An unmistakable scent of perfume, myrrh, it has to be, sets an invisible trail. A prayer forms on his lips as he walks. Sh'ma Yisrael Adonai Eloheinu Adonai Eḥad… Adonai, who keeps the covenant of love with those who love You, let Your ear be attentive and Your eyes open to hear the prayer of Your servant…

Empress Naoki sits before the elderly statesman, reclining gently with a book. The Empress, his Empress, had provided him with countless advantages in the past, and he had done his best to live up to her lofty expectations. Now, it is time to ask a favor. Zemp coughs gently before stepping forward and leaning towards Her Majesty's ear.

“My Empress, if I may have a moment of your time. I have a personal request that I must bring to your attention.” Zemp steps back and makes the slightest of stooping motions, then stands at attention, looking up and to the left of the still sitting Naoki.

Zemp graciously accepts the seat next to his Empress. He shrugs off his grand overcoat, draping it over the back of his chair. From within its folds, he pulls out a small bag and sets it on the table resting before them.

A breath. The words come with the steely edge of passion and conviction, but their tempo is slow and deliberate. This is a man familiar with words and how to use them. He does not rush through what weighs upon him, rather taking time to impress upon the Empress all possible emotion.

"I daresay you have a lot on your plate, my dear Empress. I do not pretend to understand all the inner workings of your current intrigues, but count me glad if I have been able to help the people of Isra, and by extension, you, in any way. Recently, work has taken a sour edge for me. This is not a complaint, mind you, but please let an old man ramble a touch."

A small skull cap, followed by a necklace, emerge from the satchel. The elderly man looks at both of them, frowning slightly.

"My history and my people are not general the forefront of conversation. I ought to be wearing both these items every day. My parents, if they were alive today, would hate how I fail to show my heritage. As I have travelled with the Diplomatic Corps, Empress, I have seen small pockets of my tribe throughout the lands. The precious few I see are not afraid to show their faith. We are smaller today that we ever were before, and I am afraid for our future as a people."

"I suppose you could say I regret not having looked for more of my tribe when I was younger. There is regret for not settling down, as my ancestors did, and following our faith and customs. We could blame my parents, my youth, my lack of faith. But we live in the present! I can only deal with what I have set up for myself."

"I would like some time off, as it were, Empress. There is a small synagogue here in Isra that I must visit. There, I hope to connect with my people, reclaim a bit of my heritage."

The skullcap finds its way back into his bag, but the small star necklace, its burnished metal shining in the dimming afternoon light, stays out. His knobbled fingers work futility at the tiny clasp. The effort abandoned after several moments, he tosses the necklace to the table.

"There is more I wish to ask. If I am to find my people here in Isra, and if they be in sufficient numbers for a minyan, the quorum needed for our religious ceremonies, I would beg a small sum of money to restore our house of worship and put on our festivals and ceremonies. Ideally, I hope to draw in more of my tribe to Isra."

"You can dock my salary, take my pay. I receive a substantial allowance from the Diplomatic Corp. Use that if you must! Isra is a beacon in this world, Naoki. From what I have seen in my travels for you and your people, here is where my people have the best chance of survival. Here, we could grow and thrive again. If your servant has found any favor in your eyes, let me go do this."

Zemp merely nods in reply to the quick response to his request.

“Your generosity would be shocking had I not been so closely intertwined with doling out good old Isran hospitality to others for these past few years, Empress. My thanks to you nonetheless. The butterflies in my chest must have been peremptory exultation, and not the shaky nerves I had feared.”

Most of Zemp's time was spent with those of comparatively lower standing in society. It was not so much that the Statesman enjoyed slumming it with the help, but most individuals with ‘higher class’ had a tendency to rub him the wrong way. The downside to spending leisure time with those beneath him, in terms of class and privilege at least, meant that he was never truly able to speak his mind. Societal perceptions often restrained far more than they ever liberated. Now, sitting in this comfortable library with the Empress of all Isra, he finds it easier to address his thoughts aloud to another individual. Equality with another was not a common feeling for Zemp.

“These might just be ramblings, but I feel a need to speak a touch more here. I was content as a younger man to wander about, to help others find missing loved ones, to sort out problems between families. The more this went on, the more I saw that the world was coming back together. Tasks went from finding a missing daughter to finding missing deeds to land or family heirlooms. I was born in the midst of the worst days, or so my parents told me. There was death and hunger and fear every waking moment. The only hope a person had was to find others. Together there was safety. Laws, regulations, borders, these constructs we make as civilized people keep us safe. Without them, we might as well be living in the midst of a never ending storm. Society and its organization are balancing forces for us all.”

He chews the end of his long pipe for a moment, “Except for the worrying tendency of people to associate money and power with moral righteousness. Anyhow.”

“I left the private business and enlisted with Isra. This was back before I even knew your name, Naoki. Isra represented the best hope I could see in the world. Things were not perfect here, and they continue to be less than admirable in some aspects, but this was and is the best hope for order in this world.”

Packing tobacco into the pipe occupies the next few seconds of comfortable silence. There was no rush to continue speaking or push to clear away awkwardness. Speaking again, Zemp's voice is softer, less like his usual robust public speaking demeanor.

“Yet there is still this disconnected feeling right here,” he frowns and taps above his left eye, “It is like something crucial is missing. No matter how much sense I try to make out of things, there are pieces missing. I would attribute that to my age, but this feeling has always been present as far back as when I left my parents. No matter how happy I have been in life, I was never fulfilled. I had things to do, but no real meaning aside from someone asking or telling me to do them.”

“Naoki, what will I find when I go back to my people? I remember how… how fulfilled my parents were. They talked about some god they loved. This faith they shared was special to them, and they felt the same way for all the other members of their tribe even without knowing them personally. Can I feel this some connection? Even if I do not in believe the same way...”

He stiffens slightly, realising he has gone quite far in divulging his inner thoughts. He had never shared these feelings aloud with even himself. Never given to running from situations, especially of his own making, Zemp sits back and stares intently at the Empress as he awaits a response. The pipe clamped between his teeth puffs away.

“Wise words as always, my Empress. I realise that you hold contentment dear like a friend. If the whole world could see happiness in the way you did, we might live in a very different reality. It is my hope that I can find something that gets me close to what you must feel.”

The pipe is extinguished, the small satchel packed up and return to the inner realms of Zemp’s overcoat. The smallest shades of thought and worry crease his face.

“Maybe what I yearn for is not here,” he spreads his empty hands wide. “I cannot help but think there is some far off country I belong to. Every time something sparks that sense of happiness, it hurts. Nostalgia, family, love, they all sound to me like news from a home I’ve never visited. These sensations are getting harder to ignore.”

Silence.

“Thank you for both your time and your resources, Naoki. Now, let this old man leave you so you may enjoy the fresher pleasures of life.” He waves up to the librarian as she descends from her high perch and walks away from his Empress, deep in thought.

Seated at a table is an interesting sort, one that would not regularly convene. An officer from the department of Finances, by the name of Ronald Jers. A bit of a portly man, with a thick beard and a bushy mustache, Ronald's dressed in fine pants with overalls, and a dress shirt. The thick, black hair is finely groomed, his beady, boar like eyes staring longingly at the vixen seated across from him.

Inquisitor Venus, with long tresses of raven colored hair, and deep blue eyes, was firmly looking away from Ronald Jers. "I respectfully disagree. There is no way we could sacrifice funds for magical research for the arts. We would not be deducting from them, but you surely cannot expect us to decrease our incredible mage armada so that we can have more pretty festivals or parks!" Venus snapped.

Sitting next to her, and her current conversational opponent, was Lorraine Mykes. Somewhat pretty, she had light blonde hair and pretty blue eyes, but she wasn't exceptionally attractive nor remarkable. "Venus, surely you can agree that festivals boost morale."

"Yes, they do, but that is not an excuse-"

"And they make people happy." Lorraine continued, interrupting the demoness.
She's annoying.
So kill her.
Aphrodite, that is not how it works.
You complicate things, dear.
You are useless.

"Magic is a versatile skill, and one surely needed. If we lose our dominance in the field, then someone else will! Jers, you agree with me?" She asked, turning to the man. With an awkward blush forming on his face, Jers looked at both women.

"I, um.. I think both of you have, erm.. Very good arguments!" He spluttered out. While Venus was objectively more beautiful, he and Lorraine had a past together. "But I.. I'm just a simple Officer. I um, I'd say, if.. If um anything, ma_ybe shrink the funding for the Arts?" He said reluctantly. Venus' lips curved upwards in satisfaction, as Lorraine fumed.

"You cannot be serious, Ronald!"