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Post by Angelique on Apr 12, 2012 13:12:44 GMT -8
Sian sat on the floor of the dank ruined library staring at the journal lying on the floor, works in bronze were rare, but to be handed one on silver platter was not what she expected. Before her was not only the directions and map but also a complete description of a statue if still intact would be the find of a lifetime. Its sisters had been destroyed centuries ago; the first inkling that they even existed was a description of the hand found over a hundred years ago. Delicate fingers carved, and bronzed wrapped around a tablet bearing one word Mnēmē. The Library in Britain catalogued the find, its location and current ownership but gave no history of its origin or possible purpose. Ninety-seven days later Sian sat staring at the fruit of her labor, she tracked down Lord Hawthorne; a man of very advanced years and with careful manipulation arranged to interview him for further documentation on his piece of statue for the library records, she just failed to mention what library…
Even old men react to an attractive woman, one dressed in school uniform with in depth knowledge of a mans obsession, able to converse as an equal wins out at the end of the day. Sian spoke for hours on not only the history of bronze, but technique both classical and modern and reference all she had learned on specific pieces she knew Lord Hawthorne adored. A patron to most museums and libraries, checking records on donations, guest records for events, and speaking again as a student looking for information to curators and local artists provided Sian with a plethora of material to put her pseudo persona together; works in bronze were his obsession and young females art students a hobby he invited into his home regularly. Once in Lord Hawthorne’s manor where her knowledge was weak her short skirt made up the difference to learn more about the bronze piece he owned, the one thing she cared about.
Mousaion or museum originally meant Shrine of the Muses, the bronze hand Lord Hawthorne owned was a piece of one statue in a collection of three commissioned for the first museum in Britain one that never saw the light of day. History still obscures the details on why it was never completed, but the statues had been erected and stood until removed by an invasion force within a year of being placed. The original artist was killed in an accident placing the statues, where one was dropped and he was not strong enough to catch it. Lord Hawthorne in his own research learned that one statue was destroyed in the invasion. Information he obtained from art collectors and treasure hunters point to the statues being traded over and over for favor or resources through the centuries that followed their creation. Lord Hawethorne purchased his piece at auction the year Sian was born, and had spent a lifetime tracing its story; however confined to a wheelchair since his 20’s pursuit beyond the libraries and conversations with artists, art historians and colleagues was out of his reach. As Sian laid her hand on the bronze fashioning it in the same pose, her gentle caress of the statue piece creating a need for his lordship to pull a blanket into his lap; she murmured she could be his legs, if he would let her share in his passion.
They met on Tuesdays, a shared glass of brandy and an hour or two to pouring over his journals and notes, discussing theories of what happened to the last two statues after the last documented trade was made. Two hundred and thirteen years ago an unnamed Vesperian lord traded the statues to a Minocian noble named Gertard in a land deal and mining rights to a piece of land near the Dungeon Wrong. Nothing had been found since then to report the statues having changed hands again. If they hadn’t changed hands publicly or subject to private trade or theft, the statues must still be in Gertard’s family… It took weeks of pouring through birth and death records to trace Minocian families back to Gertard, and he in fact had two descendants still living. Excited Sian arrived early the next Tuesday to share her find with the old man, perhaps it was his enthusiasm but Lord Hawthorne made a fatal mistake, Sian lived by one rule in her dealings with others in pursuit of her treasures; look but don’t touch until she touched you first; as Sian laid out the public records showing the Gertard family tree, Lord Hawthrone not only touched her but slid his hand under her skirt. Sian attended his funeral and noted as his housekeeper and personal attendant comforted her that he would be buried with his piece of the bronze; no one suspected her hand in his death. Lord Hawthorne’s life work however was safely in a secret cell in Sian’s office at the Istas Conservatory.
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Post by Angelique on Apr 12, 2012 13:13:02 GMT -8
Abigail and Nathalia Gertes were the last remaining members of the Gertard line, twins living in Minoc in what was left of their family estate. Nathalia saw through Sian’s disguise and labeled her a gold digger looking to add her hand to the pot that had been skimming from their family for decades. The women's great grandfather had made some very poor business choices, not reading carefully and seeing himself being locked into deals for resources that would have the Gertard, now Gertes family working to pay a percentage to other families in perpetuity. Where Nathalia slammed the door in Sian’s face, Abigail opened it invitingly. Abigail was simple and naïve, with a soft gentle face and bright green eyes. Few seemed to visit the estate, and she seemed eager to have someone to talk to even though she had trouble understanding. After a few minutes Sian learned how to phrase questions and answers to make her comfortable, and quick observation told Sian of Abigail’s fondness for blue and daisies. Abigail described in great detail genus and species of daisies in the region, where she couldn’t understand her financial predicament or grasp the details of why Natalia felt they were trapped in the life they lived. To Sian’s mind Nathalia trapped Abigail; and Nathalia by the stubbornness inherited from her paternal line trapped herself too.
Taking a different tactic with Abigail, Sian told her of her love for dolls and how she had been looking for one special doll for a long time. The two women struck a deal that Abigail would help Sian with all she could to find the Muses if in return Sian would help her find new friends. Minocian woman like all others gather together to share like interests, not twenty minutes walk from the Gertes estate, was the home of Verly Ford, president of the local chapter of Sosarian Gardeners. On Tuesdays they meet in the afternoon for tea and to trade seeds and talk about plants that grow locally. Abigail and Sian signed up for the monthly lecture and met for tea each week, Sian drew pictures of Abigail’s garden to bring and show off to the other women entrenching Abigail deep in their acceptance and appreciation. After a month Abigail had taken on the job of assisting Verly in administration of the chapter and radiated with joy in her new endeavors. Ninety days into the project Sian received a note from Abigail to join her early for lunch before they would go to tea. When Sian arrived, Abigail was flushed and her cheeks dappled in four. Another hidden talent in this woman was her ability in the kitchen. Abigail made scones with cheese and butter that melted on your tongue, served with sausage and a light cider the meal was more than Sian expected and was certainly grateful for. As Sian put up our dishes, Abigail pulled an object out from under the table; something square wrapped in a blue kerchief with one of her prize Shasta Daisies on top.
Sian sat down beside her as she offered the package. Sian opened it slowly and her eyes grew wide and bright as she revealed an old worn journal. “It belonged to my mother”, Abigail said softly. “I found it in our library, my mother liked dolls also so I thought maybe she might mention the ones you are looking for”. Sian explained how she would go over the journal carefully and copy out anything she found helped in her search for the dolls; once done she would bring the journal back as it belonged in Abigail’s family and shouldn’t be given away. Abigail seemed pleased that Sian was thinking about her and blushed when Sian thanked her for lunch telling her how wonderful her cooking was. A few well-chosen words were such a simple tool to make someone feel appreciated, and in turn willing to help you out. All of sixteen hours work to obtain all the Gertes family had recorded about the Muses.
Careful examination of the journal revealed that the home Abigail and Natalia lived in was the second estate to be handed down the Gertard line. The original had burned down fifty-four years ago and was located on the far side of the land owned by Nathalia and Abigail Gertes. Ingrid Gertes wrote about the fire, and living in the burned out ruins till the new manor was complete. Abigail was right Ingrid loved dolls, and catalogued them in her journal, she lost in excess of three hundred of them in the fire. Two lines in the journal stood out, for Sian, “Pappa, was dreamin about mooses again, mooses in the dark he said, had to keep her safe…” and, “Mooses can’t dance anymore her feet are stuck to the stage, pappa showed me…” Sian carefully removed those pages from journal. Towards the end of the journal Ingrid lamented not finding her fathers journals, she felt they had been lost in the fire. Sian carefully cleaned the edges of the pages she removed hiding that they were there, buffed the leather cover to make it shine and brought it back to Abigail the following week. Abigail was ecstatic to see the bright cover of the journal, and thanked Sain for taking care of it. Sian explained that she had to go away for work for a while but would meet her at the Garden Tea soon as she returned. Abigail was downcast as they walked to the Garden Club that afternoon but once inside her eyes lit up while chatting with all the other gardeners; Sian knew she would not be missed badly.
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Post by Angelique on Apr 12, 2012 13:13:18 GMT -8
It took two days to find the location of the burned out Gertard manor; all that remained was the remnants of the foundations and some pains of broken glass among the rubble. Even the road had been stripped away most likely relocated to the new manor along with anything else salvageable. Carefully using Atya’s teachings Sian elevated her senses to observe the ruins, where would the library have been…? Sian’s now accute hearing as she moved through the rubble picked up the scampering of rodents… then a splash of water… below her. The remnants of the building she was standing in stretched underground; the floor of which was collecting water. Anticipation mounted as Sian looked to see where a door or stairs down could be located, there had to be a way down. There were no breaks in the floor; nothing that led the eye to believe there was a secret entrance to what lay below. Searching along the foundation, for the second time Sian finally noticed a rise in the foundation that didn’t coincide with the ground level on the north side of the building. Directly north of the rise was a well some 20 feet from the house. With the light fading Sian quickly moved to the well heaving the heavy and rotting wood cover off, scanning the inside. A smile curled at the corners of Sian’s lips as she saw the footholds carefully built into the side of the well, straining her eyes she saw down close to the waterline, a hole leading back towards the house.
Night encroached and in darkness Sian climbed into the well and the tunnel leading back to the house, the muck that squished beneath her hands and knees told her the water had risen above the edge of the tunnel on more than one occasion. Not daring to give her location away, Sian waited till she had climbed the stairs at the end of the tunnel and forced the door to the basement of the building before she call out In Lor and shed light on the room she had found. Sian found a lantern and tested the wick, the sudden light frightened the shrews who had made a home in the room, Sian heard them scurry into darkened corners hiding from her intrusion. It was the library, but most the shelves had been overturned, books deteriorating in the muck and water that had been collecting on the floor for the past fifty odd years. Water trickled down from the walls over the few shelves that remained standing, like sponges the books had been soaking in the water of half a century of exposure. Reading the titles that remained visible Sian was moved to tears at the loss contained in this room. Why had no one moved the books out after the fire? Why was this room left to rot? Finding a relatively dry spot Sian laid out her cloak and began going through the books one by one seeing if any were salvageable, she continued to sink into despair as there were few that had not succumbed to the neglect of half a century of weathering.
Sian was grateful for the magical properties of the leather she wore, Atya’s gift allowed her to keep casting spells without the need for components, Sian lost count of the times she re-lit the library in her search for anything about The Muse. Frustration mounting the shelves having been searched for the third time Sian tried lifting one of the shelves that was not pinned by other shelves. Summoning all her strength she pushed it aside and sifted through the pile of soggy pages and separated bindings underneath. Pulling back a heavy tomb Sian found a metal box not large only six inches high by ten long and eight deep. Wiping sludge from the outside of the box, Sian stood and moved to the dry area near the table. Sitting on the floor with it she pulled the knife from her boot and pried off the rusted lock. Carefully opening the box, inside Sian found a journal, and several larger pieces of parchment. Sian sat on the floor of the dank ruined library staring at the journal lying on the floor, works in bronze were rare, but to be handed one on silver platter was not what she expected. Before her was not only the directions and map but also a complete description of a statue if still intact would be the find of a lifetime. Elation erupted inside her, she stowed her treasure in her pack, gathering up the remaining books worth trying to salvage in her cloak and made her way out of the basement. Once on the surface she giggled as she called out Kor Ort Por and was swept up in the spell to take her back to Istas. If Sian had what she thought she had, she needed to build a team to get her treasure and bring The Muse safely home…
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Post by Angelique on Apr 12, 2012 13:13:34 GMT -8
Pouring over maps of the region and the description and location markers outlined in the journal. Sian had marked out the land she needed access to, to find The Muse. Three days of scouting on horseback had all but one landmark found and confirmed; Sian also located an old abandoned mining shack near the base of the mountain that indicated few had been this way in some time. Marking down the coordinates of the landmarks Sian headed back to Istas, tomorrow she would visit the realtors in Minoc and see whom if anyone owned the property The Muse was located on and a broker to help her buy the property if it was for sale. The property was listed as commercial real estate, the mining shack being the only building, and mineral rights to the mountainside on its border. Trying to cover all her bases Sian purchased the land, mineral rights and had the shack outlined in the contract making sure everything there would belong to her. Down almost a quarter million in gold pieces, it was nothing to passionate desire that filled Sian to begin the final search, to bring The Muse home.
Upon returning to Istas, Sian skipped going home and went to the House of Valas Xarran, looking for a woman who worked for him and whom Sian expected was in his retention. Deiele was also a cartographer, one more specialized than Sian, and with more experience in the field. After outlining the endeavor to date, the two women negotiated terms for Deiele to join in the rescue of The Muse as Sian was had now considered the effort to be. The two women would never be strong enough to move the statue; bronze was not the lightest medium to be made of. Knowing few in the city outside the Library, and Conservatory and those that lived with or worked for Laeldril. Sian next turned to Runescape to find Efanor, the swordsman would have strength to assist the women in recovering The Muse; it came as a surprise when he agreed for so little out of pocket, the elf seemed more interested in the task than his payment.
Sitting on the floor of the auditorium practicing vocal scales and going over the journal again, Sian considered a passage that gave her concern. “The mage came again today, his work should be complete in a fortnight.” What had the mage done to the Muse… The answer came to Sian in the disguise of a little bat, Amelia had returned to the Conservatory to finish the wards. Beckoning Ame over Sian had her read the statement and asked what she thought, as usual Ame only had riddles to offer; but in them Sian felt the young woman would be a good addition to the team. Amelia’s arcane knowledge would help should they come across more than traps and locks on their way. Broaching Amelia with the task, she offered her help willingly, and said her friend Ariakus may also be of help if we would like him to join in. The team of five seemed well rounded, between them augmented strength and awareness a gift of their regnants or sires. Understanding of maps, ability with locks, wards and hopefully anything else that stood between the party and rescuing The Muse.
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