Dangerous Curiosity (Sithani)

The Feytower main library lies at the heart of the largest building on the grounds, and spans the second and third floors of the enormous edifice. Warm wood and gleaming gold frame bookcases that tower above the students who mill quietly around; enormous cabinets contain a painfully complex card catalog system which should, in theory, tell visitors where to find the books they're looking for. In practice, the place is a tidy mess: books have been put away where they don't go, and the error never corrected. A dozen librarians could spend a lifetime working to organize the materials without making a dent in the controlled chaos.

Sithani is one of hundreds in the library today, and even that many people in one place looks sparse and empty in the enormous room; the rows and rows of reading tables are largely unoccupied. A few librarians give her a polite nod as she passes, but her student robes mean she receives little to no attention from her peers as she explores.

I should have come here much earlier, Sithani thinks. With little to do until Thimblewick brings her the details of the dwarven scry-proofers or her meeting that night with Sunrise and Ka'Ri, she's decided to investigate her other pressing concern: the ethics of imprisoning a large telepathic fish with no sense of boundaries. To that end, she's looking up "aboleth" in the card catalogue - she's composing a reason for her interest unrelated to "you're arbitrarily imprisoning someone in the basement" in case she has to ask one of the staff, but she'd rather not risk anyone here sharing the aboleth's opinions on mental privacy - but having very little success.

Giving up in frustration she corners a passing librarian. "Excuse me. I don't suppose you have anything on the nature of aboleths available?"

The librarian gives her a blank smile. "A what? Have you checked the card catalog? Oh, excuse me, I'll be right back, let me just put these down."

An unreasonably attractive elf with a mess of blue-black hair that tumbles carelessly down to the backs of his knees looks up with interest from a stack of books he's piled at his table; just a touch of unholy amusement glitters in his eyes. He's dressed in casual robes which fail utterly to clarify whether he is a teacher or a student but the robes are rich and silk, so he must at least be wealthy.

Studying Sithani with an approving and somewhat inappropriately direct gaze for a lady of her station (though perhaps the social rules are different here among mages and equals), he stands and walks straight over to her without attempting to hide either his interest or his amusement. "Ho there, what's this about aboleths?"

Oh gods, please don't let Mother have fallen for this sort of approach. Who outside the tackier bardic romances addresses someone with 'ho'? "Aboleths. Big sort-of-fishy things with bigger egos. You've heard of them?"

His lips twitch, delighted amusement in his hazel eyes. "I know of them, yes. What does the lovely lady seek to learn on this fine day? And, if I may be so bold, why? I don't believe the teachers are assigning reading on the ancient deep ones this quarter."

His thoughts form themselves into her voice, with the croaking buzzing undertones it acquires like this. <The 'lovely lady' is performing independent study into the wonders Umberlee made to haunt the sea.> A faint smile appears on her lips. "Call it curiosity."

If she's expecting him to recoil at her telepathic touch, she is likely to be distressed; his eyes light with unholy glee and he closes the distance swiftly between them to embrace her in an impulsive dancer's waltz there on the library floor. "A warlock! I adore warlocks. Who is your patron? Anyone I know, milady?"

Sithani raises an eyebrow. Well, at least he has a good attitude towards the eldritch. "And I suppose you're on first name terms with so many dead gods and cold alien intelligences from beyond the stars?"

He can't help but laugh at this--and makes no move whatsoever to release her from their dance embrace, if she doesn't shake him off. "Absolutely!" His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. "Though it's less of a 'first name' basis and more of a 'nickname' situation. The true names of cold alien intelligences so rarely roll easily from the tongue." His eyes dance.

"May I ask the lady's name? I know I've not seen you in the Feytower before. Such beauty I would remember."

"Who wouldnt?" She spins him round, dislodges his hands, and steals his former seat. "Any of your friends aboleths?"

"Perhaps one or two," he allows with infuriating smugness, leaning against the table with his books and grinning down at her.

"And what are they like?" <And what, pray tell, do you find so adorable about warlocks?>

His eyes glitter as he considers the best possible one-word answer to aggravate her. "Invasive." Then his eyes narrow and a flicker of serious concern invades his countenance. "Especially to warlocks, so be careful should you encounter one."

At the sweet caress of her voice in his mind, his smile widens again. "A small animal or young child is 'adorable', oh lovely one. To 'adore' is a much more intimate impulse."

"Oh, why so? Do they try and poach us away from our patrons?" She shrugs, taking care to do so particularly elegantly. "It's hard to imagine them being much worse than fiends."

His chuckle is warm brandy. "Aboleths are telepaths, oh beautiful and mysteriously nameless one. Anyone who opens their mind to an aboleth--as you so sweetly choose to do with me--exposes themselves to a rather intense internal probe. One's deepest desires open and laid bare for plundering."

"Oh, is that all? Hardly worth the asking, then." She looks around to see if the librarian is on their way back.

The librarian does return--eventually--but she doesn't know anything about aboleths. She additionally seems rather uncomfortable in the presence of the other man, as though she's being quizzed in front of a master or teacher who will be disappointed in her for not absorbing the material. As soon as she is politely able to do so, she takes her leave of Sithani, bows her head to the interloper, and hurries away. The elven man watches her leave with an amused smile.

Oh gods, I'm being flirted with by someone important. I suppose it's not surprising, but it is presumptuous.

"So what are you, then? Head of Ichthyology?"

"Fairest lady," he implores playfully, his eyes dancing. "Sweet, disdainful maiden. Daughter of Umberlee and caster of her fine dark glances which draw men to their dooms in the watery deeps. Warlock of bounteous curiosity. If I tell you my name, will you tell me yours?"

"Depends. You go first." She grins. "But I feel bound to warn you that you're probably old enough to literally be my father, so unless you've never slept with a human woman you might want to take a cold shower before thinking about my watery deeps."

This confession earns an interested arch of the eyebrow, but he waves the concern away as immaterial for the moment. "Dark-eyed mistress, how can I even think of other women in your presence? As for my name: I am Erdan Scionsire."

This announcement is delivered with a flourish, though--outside of the conversation Sithani just had with Luther and Glen--she can't honestly say she's ever heard of him.

Oh, the useless not-witness in the kidnapping. Is it safe to bring up my role in the investigation?

"And I'm Sithani Molana, she of the Sun District, and probably with a wider reputation in the city than you. Still, I have heard you're a druid, so answer me this: what else do you know of the great ones of the sea?"

He can't help but chuckle. Sliding into a chair on the opposite side of the table, he crosses his legs and lets his foot brush easily against her legs. "Sithani. A beautiful name for a beautiful lady. Hmm. I know a great deal about the 'great ones of the sea', more than I can share in a brief interview in the midst of a crowded library. Dinner sometime, perhaps?"

For all his wheedling, he doesn't hold back entirely; he grins, pleased to be a source of education for her. "I can tell you they once fancied themselves gods. They used their telepathic powers to control the lesser mortal races and sought to rule the world with total iron-fisted--or iron-finned, I suppose--dominance. It took the true gods themselves to smash their empire and free their slaves."

Caressing her leg again, he lowers his voice to a whisper. "They have perfect memories, my dear. Flawless. They never forget a thing. And they're immortal. Kill one, and it simply coalesces a new body. They are extraordinarily dangerous and want only one thing: to overthrow the gods and regain total control over creatures like you and I. Do not trust them or their beautiful promises, sweet one."

She laughs. "How delightful; that divinity can be reduced to 'the vastly-powerful immortals we like'. I don't know about dinner, but that might get you a drink... if you can reassure me I didn't come from your sperm, and if you can change the past such that you didn't start our conversation with 'Ho'."

Despite this seemingly-impossible second request, she remains seated and fixes him with a superior Look.

He can't help but crack up, laughing easily. "Shall I apologize, then, for my mannerisms being out of date, oh loveliest of young elf maidens? Must I plead my case that they were learned before your mother was a sparkle in her own mother's eye? And now you are forcing me to kiss and tell, which a gentleman should never do." He sighs in a melancholy and dramatic fashion. "You do know I must ask how old you are, sweet mistress, in order to satisfy your claim of parentage."