Candlekeep

Some of the first things Sheemish notices upon entering the House of Binding are the smells. Leather, paper, glue, ink. Candlekeep collects knowledge of all sorts, but so much of that knowledge passes through here, to be processed, copied, bound.

There are many Avowed at work here, rushing about with sheaves of paper and similar supplies. There are several versions of what Sheemish would recognize - though he's never seen one - as a printing printing press. There are several magic-using Avowed casting spells to copy the words of one page and transfer them to another, but with the printing presses even those Avowed without magical talent can help with the work.

Tethtoril, the First Reader, stands with his arms folded into his robes, watching the proceedings with great interest. When he notices Sheemish, he smiles and approaches. "May Oghma's blessing be upon you, Seeker." He gestures to the hive of activity. "Isn't it something? Every page copied is knowledge preserved and fit to be shared. Personally, I'm waiting for the first copy of Keggruk's book! And I know for a fact that there are at least a handful of other people waiting for their own copies as well." The Avowed high priest cocks his head. "It's been 20 years now since the One-Eyed God was struck down, and it is so exciting to see the changes that orc-kind have undergone. Reading the words of one who was so close to it all when it happened is... beyond price."

Tethtoril puts a hand on Sheemish's shoulder. "But enough of my ramblings. What brings you here today, Seeker? For what knowledge do you search?"

"Oh, help? Er..." Clutching her tome to her chest, she glances anxiously towards the Pillars of Pedagogy.

A few hours?! Kay's helping her...right? There's just so much to do, and...

You're an archer, whether you like it or not, her great grandfather's words echoed in her mind. And a descendent of Ilmatari. We watch over others and suffer that others might not.

She didn't like half the words...and she didn't serve the god her father, grandmother, and great grandmother did...but they kept coming back to her. The Readers had warned of punishment for losing or destroying any knowledge, and she would want help if she lost a book, right?

"Alright..." She puts on a smile, and chuckles to Kay. "I hope the books here don't have legs! But I wouldn't be surprised...See you soon."

She turns to Phlydia, opening her tome to take notes. "So...did you know or talk to anyone at the bathhouse? When did you arrive and leave? Which sections were you in...?"

After gathering as many details as possible, she heads to the Bath and Steam House.Maybe she could even take a moment to relax...She had never been to a bath and steam house before!

She quickly shakes herself of the idea. Waste of time and coin, she tells herself.

"Oh? You want to get to know me a bit better do you? That's rather forward isn't it? You haven't even begun the courting process yet. Where are your manners young lady?"

A squelching noise interrupts Ossein's rant.

"Oh, you must have meant Bert. I'll happily tell you all about him. Sorry for that bit at the beginning, Bert here has been making us read far yoo many dramatic novels and it seems my assumptions are a bit skewed. Now, where were we, ah yes, Bert was a fisherman by trade, his brother too. Unfortunately they didn't leave any family behind, they're both dead now you see. His brother died quite a few years back."

Bert sits down as Ossein continues, letting out a most peculiar noise, that most certainly did not come from his mouth.

"Yes, Bert, I'm getting to that part. One day when Bert here and his brother were out fishing and drinking the most peculiar thing happened, a siren got caught in their nets. Now this was quite strange given the fact that they were in the ten towns and not anywhere near the ocean. However, given their nature, they both quickly succumbed to her charms. They fought and Bert here was knocked unconscious. When he came to back at his house, his brother refused to speak to him about what happened. No matter what Bert did or said his sibling wouldn't say a word about it and soon it was forgotten."

"No Bert, I don't think you'll ever find out. But, I still think that it wasn't a siren. It makes no sense. Right, right, but you were drunk. It was probably another fisherman playing a prank on you two, and your brother didn't want to admit something embarrassing. Like what? Oh I don't know, he was drunk, someone like Joseph climbed aboard your boat pretending to be a girl, you assumed he was a siren, got knocked out, your brother kissed Joseph, and then sobered up really quick when his beautiful siren screamed like a man and swam away. Yes, of course that's like a million times more likely than two drunk fisherman surviving an encounter with a vagabond siren."

"What about you? Tell Bert and I something like what's your favorite genre of books?"

Tethtoril chuckles. "You sound like a Gondsman! You know, it was his adherents who helped to build many of Candlekeep's defenses. Not to mention our system of running water! When you and your friends make your way to Baldur's Gate, you simply must stop at the Hall of Wonders to see the inventions they have there on display. Steamhorses, a flying contraption... innovations of all sorts!"
The First Reader nods enthusiastically. "We try to make at least one copy of every piece of writing we have. And since the collection is so extensive, we're actually backlogged a fair amount. So we're always working on that."

He points to where several Avowed are working carefully with Keggruk's book. "We also do commissions. I'll admit it's fairly expensive, particularly for larger tomes or works needing translation, but such funds are necessary to keep the library running. Some of the more common topics are genealogies and religious texts, but every so often we have patrons looking for martial arts manuals, maps of different time periods, spellbooks... I'm certain that every topic has been requested here at some point."

He shrugs. "Candlekeep as a whole does not study any one thing in particular. Each of the Great Readers among the Avowed has their area of expertise, which they research and often teach classes about."
"I'm sure you could look up recent histories of Baldur's Gate and Amn. Iron has always been an important resource in this region, as well as a source of conflict between those two entities." He leans forward conspiratorially. "We do our best to stay out of politics here at Candlekeep, but one of the Great Readers, Fheminor Scrivenbark, has a keen interest in economy, politics, and commerce. If you want a shortcut to your answers, I recommend you try and gain an audience with him, rather than requesting books at the Pillars of Pedagogy."

"Well there’s the owner of the bathhouse, Drosh. He’s such a dear, always very accommodating…" Phlydia gives the names of several more there. "I spent most of my time in one of the heated pools. But I suppose there’s also the changing room I used…" She provides a handful of details.

The Bath and Steam House is run by a polite, lizard-like fellow by the name of Droshroaqi. "But please, Seeker, call me Drosh. It is much easier on tongues not-Calishite." He absently pours some lotion from an ornate flask at his belt and rubs it on his scaly hands. "And now, what can I do for you today? A steam pool? Sauna? Deep massage? All at affordable prices, of course!"

Imoen watches Bert with wide eyes and listens intently to everything Ossein says. In the end, however, she can't help but giggle at the absurd story. "What an odd pair you are! I'd heard from the other Avowed, of course, but it is so much better to experience it myself!"

She peeks under Bert's hood. "You know, I think nobody really minds you being here, but we should probably do something about that smell... I know!" The girl excitedly jumps to her feet. "I think Bert needs a spa day! Some oils and perfumes should help cover it, and while that's happening we can wash... erm... his clothes? Your clothes?" She thinks for a moment. "The clothes!"

In spite of her excitement, her voice lowers to a whisper. "And then maybe we can see about you meeting some of the other brain-sticks in the Inner Ward!"

She leans back. "Oh, and by the way, I love romance and adventure novels. The other stuff is all too stuffy to read. Though I did get my hands on a spellbook once, and boy was that fun!"

Aiwë slips in behind Sheemish at the House of the Binder. She waits patiently to be helped, at first, but when she notices the Avowed with Keggruk's book she darts toward them with excitement.

"Ah! Aha! Ah... ahem," Aiwë clears her throat and lowers her voice to something more appropriate for the setting.

"Hello, I'm Shelur," she begins more politely, her common touched by a generous, but easily intelligible, orcish accent. "I'd like to buy a copy of this book."

One of the Avowed turns to regard Aiwe. His graying beard and hair, combined with his slender pointed ears, mark him as an aged half-elf. Half-moon spectacles frame intense brown eyes. It is Teles Avhoste, one of the Great Readers. "I am afraid, Seeker, that you will have to wait in line. There are many others who also want this book, and I have had to tell them the same."

He nods his head toward the far wall, directing Aiwe’s gaze to where a man leans against a pillar. Even at a distance she can make out the tell-tale signs of orcish heritage: the burly frame, the hint of tusks, the ears that are pointed yet somehow not graceful like an elf’s. He doesn’t appear particularly pleased or patient.

"Not even nobility or prestige are allowed to cut the line. I am afraid I cannot make an exception for you either." He checks a clipboard. "But if you can wait, I may be able to have a copy sent to you in a tenday or two at the earliest."

Aiwë grins at the orcish man before turning back to the Avowed.

"I completely understand, Great Reader. Nobility and prestige should have no influence on access to knowledge. However, I believe heritage should." Aiwë presses her hands together supplicatingly.

"As a scholar, I'm sure you understand the importance a knowledge of history holds for a people and their growth, and not only the knowledge of it, but it's availability in written form. Sir Chief Keggruk is an amazing, incredible, legendary man---seriously I even wrote a song about him---but he is not a scholar, and he gave Candlekeep the only copy of his works."

Aiwë's pleading hands now wring together in anxiety. "I leave much earlier than a pair of tendays, and if I don't bring a copy home, the tribe may never have one. Surely this is tragedy in Oghma's eyes."

Kay hurries off to the clothier and enter the store which greets her arrival with a pleasant chime and seeks out the owner or any other staff that would be present

Teles hears Aiwë out, face expressionless. When she finishes, he nods reasonably. "I hear you. A culture should not be without its only written history. But Sir Keggruk has already ordered a handful of copies to be made. He will be the first to receive them, aside from First Reader Tethtoril. If you need a copy so soon, I suggest you ask him what he plans to do with them."

He glances back at the working Avowed, an indication that he wants this conversation to be over. "If there is nothing else, Seeker?"

Aiwë blinks. Oh.

She feels sheepish that when Keggruk said there were no copies at home that she had assumed there would be no copies at home. He hadn't said anything to suggest there would be, but Aiwë knows him well enough that she should have known to ask a follow-up question.

"That's all for now. Thank you ever so much for your time, Great Reader."

Leaving the Avowed to their work, Aiwë approaches the orc-blooded man.

"Hail," she says in orcish, thumping her chest over her heart with one hand. A clear greeting, even if he doesn't speak the language. In common she continues, "The Reader said you want a copy of my uncle's book? I'm a bit put out. I'm pretty sure I'm the last to hear about it."

A door chime is a simple enough concept. One hangs a small bell by the door so that when the door opens, the bell rings, thus alerting the shop or household that someone has entered.

This door chime, though it has the same end result, achieves its purpose in a different way.

When Kay opens the door to Erudite Outfitters & Clothiers, she first hears a slight rattling sound from above, as the top of the door knocks a ball bearing down a small track that goes along the wall. Every so often the track ends, dropping the ball to yet another track lower on the wall. On the ball goes, rolling and tumbling, until a chute drops it onto a small table where rests a contraption that looks somewhat like a bird, but not one Kay has seen before. The ball rolls up onto the mechanical bird's feet and clicks as something is locked into place. The bird cocks its head and begins to... bray like a donkey.

"Ah, 'ello, Seeker!" A long-haired man dressed in fine clothes and sporting a stylish goatee steps behind the counter from a back room. "'Ave you come try out the latest in fashion? Or perhaps to set your own trend? Or to find your best self? With the 'elp of Feldmar Bisset III, I promise that we can unlock the inner you." He waves with one hand to indicate all of Kay.

"Or..." He sees something in Kay's eyes that says she may not be here for a new outfit. "...would you like to see my worms?" He waggles his eyebrows in excitement.

The half-orc doesn’t return the orcish gesture, but he does abandon his slouch and stand straight up - a trained military response. Not the sort of discipline one learns in an orc tribe. What’s more, he dresses like a noble, in a fine coat and trousers.

"Your uncle, you say?" When he speaks there is no hint of an orcish accent. "You don’t look like the kin of an orog." As if to emphasize his point, he glances down at the top of her head, marking her height. It seems less like a taunt and more like a statement of fact. "I have only heard of the book myself recently, when some of the Avowed were discussing it. But if the wait is so long, I might as well be about my father’s business. Good day, miss."

He makes his way to the door and out into the Court of Air.

"Well he's my mother's uncle," Aiwë explains, ignoring his farewell and following him into the courtyard. "And she's half-blooded, making me only a quarter. It's been enough for me to keep up with my cohort though." She flashes him a grin.

"Your father's business... like that business with the ore cart? Got any more jobs like that one, or similar? Also, I didn't catch your name? I'm Shelur Blacksheaf of the Cagebreakers."

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"It's been enough for me to keep up with my cohort though." She flashes him a grin.

"Yes," Koveras mutters. "'Keeping up' does seem to be one of your talents."

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"Also, I didn't catch your name? I'm Shelur Blacksheaf of the Cagebreakers."

After a few minutes of putting up with her following along, Koveras stops and turns to face her. "I am Koveras Anchev, adopted son of Rieltar Anchev, who is the leading official of the Iron Throne in the region." The way he sardonically emphasized 'adopted' shows he isn't entirely happy with that fact. "And yes, there will probably be more jobs. I kind of lost most of my guards recently."

Stella closes her eyes for a moment, some of the stars in them now a cool green. She could already feel the hot steam, lightly hugging the air...and it was so...soothing...

Waste of time and coin... she reminds herself, opening her eyes again, the stars returning to yellow. She might have to pay to get in and search in the first place...Perhaps the woman who lost her book would be able to reimburse her.

"Pleasure to meet you Drosh! I'm Stella," she replies with a polite curtsy. "I'm helping someone find a book...History of Halruaa." Opening her tome, she describes the woman and details when she was here. It would be silly to bring a book in here, of course, but," she shrugs and gives a grimacing smile, "she's checked everywhere else. Have you seen it? If not, could I look around for it?"

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"Yes," Koveras mutters. "'Keeping up' does seem to be one of your talents."

Aiwë smiles. "I have many." His jab wasn't worth further acknowledgement.

She gives her best elven bow at his introduction. "Ah! Fellow nobility." She rises with a grimace. "Except you're adopted, and the chieftainship isn't technically hereditary. In any case, it's nice to meet you Koveras. I hope we can do a lot more business in the near future."

Adopting his same military straightness--well-drilled by her mother--Aiwë makes one last stab at conversation. "What were you hoping to learn from my uncle's book? I know all the stories from the mouths of those that lived them. Or would you like me to introduce you? Despite appearances, he actually likes to talk to people."