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Steven:

:: Marco greats you after dinner, inviting you to follow him to the Scriptorium, where monks work diligently to copy texts and illuminate manuscripts. As you climb up the steps of the Aedificium you see the windows that give light to the stairway during daylight hours. Denied the glory of the noonday sun, you rely instead upon sconces along the wall, illuminating your path while they coat the walls and floor with soot.
When you reach the top of the stairs, you go through the east tower into the Scriptorium, and there you cannot suppress a cry of wonder. This floor is not divided in two like the one below, and therefore it appears to your eyes in all its spacious immensity. The ceilings, curved and not too high (lower than in a church you might have seen during your living days), supported by sturdy pillars, encloses a space normally suffused with the most beautiful sunlight, because three enormous windows opened on each of the longer sides, whereas a smaller window pierces each of the five external sides of each tower; eight high, narrow windows, finally, allows light to enter from the octagonal central well. At night, there are numerous hanging lamps and braziers on the wall, with glassed sconces and other precautions taken to avoid damage to the books from the open flames.

The panes are not colored like church windows, and the lead-framed squares of clear glass allow the light to enter in the purest possible fashion, not modulated by human art, and thus to serve its purpose, which was to illuminate the work of read¬ing and writing. Ah to be mortal again. This room must truly be beautiful during the daylight hours! For three things concur in creating beauty: first of all integrity or perfection, and for this reason we consider ugly all incomplete things; then proper proportion; and finally clarity and light, and in fact we call beautiful those things of definite color. And since the sight of the beautiful implies peace, and since our appetite is calmed similarly by peacefulness, by the good, and by the beautiful, you feel yourself filled with a great dissonance and melancholy, as you ponder how pleasant it must be to work in this place during the day...

The fat monk introduces you to several monks. Berro waves you off, not willing to divert the psychic energy as he labors to decipher some complicated text. Othon smiles warmly and takes your hand. You immediately wish he hadn’t, as his rows of vicious, sharp teeth more than discomfort you and your hand, no coated in ink, forces you to wipe it on your clothing. Marco, speaking no in low whispers so as not to disturb the monks, explains to you how the Scriptorium operates. The librarian, the serious looking man sitting at the head of the room at a large oak desk, must have a list of all books, carefully ordered by subjects and authors, and they must be classified on the shelves with numerical indications. He is the only person allowed access to the library, said to host an impressive array of text not found elsewhere. It is believed that Malachi once had access to some ancient library, carrying the tomes here or their protection. Your job, for now, would consist of copying simple works and if you show promise, illuminating the marginalia. Marco shows you an empty seat near a window and invites you to sit ::

“I believe this chore to match your temperament and skill. If you so choose, Ignatius himself may work with you to improve your knowledge and ability. Are you interested?”

Taking the place in, Felix can't help but be impressed with the sheer artistry of the architecture. It feels inappropriate to speak above a whisper, and so he does not, "I could be." He continues to look around, taking in each of the individuals in the room and particularly noting the librarians desk. "I suppose everyone must do their part, after all."

Felix:
:: Taking in your surroundings, you watch the other monks, hard at work at their desks. The monk nearest you carefully reads an old tome, licking his fingers frequently each time he turns a page. Perhaps he is looking for a specific citation, you think to yourself. Across from that monk is an old man. Brother Berro, you have heard him called. You know little of him, save for his age. He is at least in his seventies. Well, his apparent age is seventy. No telling how old he really is…

Marco explains that the librarian must have a list of all books, carefully ordered by subjects and authors, and they must be classified on the shelves with numerical indications. He nods to the librarian, who carfully closes the book he is deciphering and approaches, arms folded behind his back. Berro addresses the librarian ::

“Brother Ignatius, this is Felix Nacht, new to the abbey and eager to assist in our scholarly endeavors. I ask for a bit of your time to explain to our guest how do you know the colloca¬tion of each book and how he may assist.”
Ignatious, speaking in a steady, and firm voice, shows some annotations beside each title. You read: “iii, IV gradus, V in prima graecorum”; “ii, V gradus, VII in tertia anglorum,” and so on. You under¬stood that the first number indicated the position of the book on the shelf or gradus, which was in turn indicated by the second number, while the case was indicated by the third number; and you understand also that the other phrases designated a room or a corridor of the library. Inquiring about any aspect of the systems draws a harsh response from the librarian. Ignatius looks at you sternly: “Perhaps you do not know, or have forgotten, that only the librarian is allowed access to the library. It is therefore right and sufficient that only the librarian know how to decipher these things.”
“The library dates back to the earliest times,” Ignatius says, “and the books are registered in order of their acquisition, donation, or entrance within our walls.”
The old monk suddenly rises from his feet, slamming a fist down on the table and gasping loudly. This is quite a shock, considering that the outburst resonates off the stone walls in a room designated for silence. The other monks seem equally taken aback , especially Ignatius, the librarian. He carefully closes the tome open before you and stands erect, glaring at the old monk. Berro, now fully aware of his surroundings and the disturbance he has caused, apologizes profusely will gathering his things. He offers several bows of regret as he flees the Scriptorium. Marco shakes his head in disapproval. While a group of three younger monks begin whispering. Marco turns to you. ::
“That is Brother Berro. He was old, even before the Embrace. He was a Knight Hospitaler for most of his life. A Cainite of that order decided to reward him on his deathbed with unlife. He is of Clan Malkavian. He is…touched. He finds forecast and portent all around us. But he is wise and often truly prophetic. He is also a monk many here confide the burden of their sins in the secret of confession. Do not take him lightly.”
:: As Marco speaks, the group of younger monks begin laughing at the old fool. You consider joining in until a flash at the corner of your vision directs you forward where the librarian had just been standing. The laughing ends abruptly. You turn again to regard the monks, now cowering before Ignatius, who is standing behind them, wearing a stern, but not altogether outraged, expression ::
“I shall forgive the outburst of our touched brother, but I WILL NOT tolerate laughter in this holy place. Our Lord did nothing to provoke such lascivious action within you. Nothing in his parables arouses laughter, or fear, as you display now. Silence. All of you. Laughter is for the foolish and the damned. I should hope you consider yourselves not among them.”

:: Ignatius turns to you and motions towards your book, indicating you should get to work. He returns to his desk and renews his research. Marco pats you on the shoulder and exits the Scriptorium. The two books before you seem to be yours for the time being. One is written in Arabic, waiting to be translated. The other is a work by Adso of Montier-en-Der entitled Libellus de Antichristo. It is for you to copy and illuminate, if you possess the skill. Blank pages, ink, and a quill wait for you. Do you head their call? ::

(Well Steven, do you? )

Felix settles down at the table, a little disoriented by the whirlwind of activity since rising for the evening. At least something sedate like this would prove to be a little more relaxing. He dips the quill in the ink, grabs the Libellus de Antichristo first, and begins to copy it. No sense in letting them know he can speak Arabic right off the bat.

(I wonder what the roll for that would be? Dex+Expression to copy a work? Hmm.....)

:: You work into the evening, carefully copying the text before you. You occasion a glance at the librarian, hard at work on his own project. He is tall and extremely thin, with large and awkward limbs. As he takes his great strides around the room, supervising the labors of others, cloaked in the black habit of the order, there is something upsetting about his appearance. The hood, which is still raised since he had come in from outside, casts a shadow on the pallor of his face and gives a certain suffering quality to his large melancholy eyes. In his physiognomy there are what seems traces of many passions which his will has disciplined but which seem to have frozen those features they have now ceased to animate. Sadness and severity predominate in the lines of his face, and his eyes are so intense that with one glance they could penetrate the heart of the person speaking to him, and read the secret thoughts, so it is difficult to tolerate their inquiry and one is not tempted to meet them a second time. Despite these tumultuous feelings and experiences you infer upon him through observation, his manner and speech give nothing away. He is a stoic and impassioned man to interact with. As though he is bereft of emotion. The typical librarian, you muse. A life secluded with nothing but book to keep him company. Not a man of the world, despite his assumed long unlife. You admire him and almost…fear him. But how you wish you had his access to the tomes buried away in the upper levels of the Aedificium! Perhaps some day you will gain access to the secretive library. Who knows what knowledge it holds…

For now, you concentrate on performance, hoping to win over the librarian and fellow monks. You wonder, lost in the letters of the text you copy, if someday, another will be copying the works of Felix Nacht, childe of Raziq al-Aswad, childe of al-Ashrad, childe of ur-Shulgi, childe of Haqim. You observe other monks taking the periodic break. You imagine you are free to do so (and may). The rest of the night passes uneventfully as you work furiously to maintain a good pace. Ignatius approaches before final prayer, an hour before dawn, to examine your work. ::

OOC: Felix works continuously in the Scriptorium everyday, eventually earning his own desk after a visiting scholar leaves. You are unsure of the visitor's nature, but figure he must be one of your kind. You finish the owrk given and find tht any text may be asked for, but not necessarily delivered. Questions are asked, making it difficult to pursue your own research. You have learned the politics of the Scriptorium as well. the librarian is nearly as coveted a position as that of abbot. Only the librarian and his assistant have access to the books, while only Ignatius himself may enter the library. Berro, after his outburst, makes infrequent visits. You learn that one may take a book to their quarters to work privately, though the librarian has say in which books may leave and how long one may keep them. One of your lower ranking would not be permitted much for long.

One thing of interest is the famed library itself. The access is secret. Only Ignatius and perhaps Malachi know of its location. You begin to pick up on the cataloging system and advance in your scholarship. As any scholar know, books only refer to other books. You may make notes to yourself regarding specific text. If you wish, this persoanl catalogue can be developed. A dice roll will determine it's sophistication, though over time you can sort these works into cateogries such as alchemy, vampirism, apocalypse, etc. This is just a suggestion, as there isn't really a way for you to yet learn what lies in the secret library. For now, your work is assigned and consist of copying common text. The abbot, you discover, has a particular interest in Arabic works. And, feel free to write your own books on whatever subject you have interest.

If you have any other questions, feel free to ask. This information will be garnered over the next three weeks, where the game will shift soon.

::Mario enters and approaches someone that looks important::

"Can you maybe tell me what this says?"

(for continuity, this happens before the events in December, 1305)

:: A stern looking monk sitting at the head desk rises up suddenly and points at you, Mario ::

"What is this fool doing here! Remove him!

:: Several brothers, including Marco, approach you quickly and rush you out the door. Little is said on the walk down the winding stairs. Marco waves off the diligent monks and pulls you aside ::

"Only those authorized may enter this place! Brother Ignatius will not tolerate another such incursion. Now, what is it you want, childe. What is that paper you hold?"

::panic showing on his face, the whites of his eyes clearly visible, mario replies.::

"I-I'm sorry marco, i just thought that this is where the learnin' was done, so i came here to get this read to me... i can read, i can even read in some latin, but i ain't seen nothin' like this and the town priest had it and was hurt and drunker than usual and..."

::mario babbles for a bit, then quiets down as he waits to be beaten.::

(Woot. Found something that works...)

:: Marco takes the scirpt and examines it for several minutes. He pulls forth a pair of rounded pieces of glass, about a quarter of an inch thick, affixed to a think cut of wire, looped on the ends to fit the ears. He puts the glasses to his eyes and speaks some words softly, words you do not comprehend. He closes his eyes and stands silent for several seconds before snapping back to conscious awareness, startling you into utter an awkward squeal. As the two of you compose yourselves, an awkward silence follows. Finally, Marco lowers the paper in defeat::



"I cannot determine it's message. It is some sort of ... necromantic script. The origin of which, I am unsure. It is unquestionably a secret alphabet that will have to be deciphered. The signs are badly drawn, and perhaps copied worse, but it is certainly a zodiacal alphabet. You see? In the first line we have Sagittarius, Sun, Mercury, Scorpio … Though the purpose of their arrangement is unclear.

Try looking at the first three words, not considering the letters, but the number of the signs ... IIIIIIII IIIII IIIIIII. ... Now try dividing them into syllables of at least two signs each, and recite aloud: ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta-ta-ta. ... Doesn’t anything come to your mind? Oh, I apologize. I forgot your background. You took this from Phillipe... I hesitate to return it. I imagine he is not familiar with its meaning. He is a simple priest. His influences or contacts do not extend beyond this town, save for the vicar he corresponds with... hmmm... Perhaps Livia, the matron of this province and secular administrator of the vicar, knows something. I wish to keep this, dear Mario. I will attempt to decipher it. For now, let us not speak of it to others. "

:: Mario returns to the Scriptorium, leaving you to wonder what that was about ::

"uh, thanks. if you could let me know... bye."

::mario is sad . but at least the didn't get beaten . ::

(Mario is not going to get back to you on this before his untimely death, which you guys can act on anytime now... like soon... maybe)

::mario goes here, sneaky like, when no one else is around, except of course his dear and trusted roomate, abelio.::

::Abellio follows suit. *Whispering to Mario*::

"Where is the entrance to this ossarium?"