Library of Babel

[Vincent]

Magic is power, magic is a drug, it is a compulsion, it's sex, magic is an instinct. Magic can make both your dreams and nightmares come true. Magic is nowhere and everywhere.

Libreria-Lello-facciata-498x540.jpg

In Richmond Grove, lodged between a coffeehouse and an herbalist's shop, Lello's bookstore resists the onslaught wrought by the giants of this time. Like David against Goliath, the small Liberty building challenges its competitors with smug ostination, still bearing the signs of its glorious yet long gone past. Neighbors have gone by, time and time again, but the small bookstore remains crystallized in time, as if blessed by Chronos himself and immune to the volition of the marketplace.
If the elaborate designs on the stony facade hold any secret, it's nobody's call. For people largely stay away from the store, content instead with the financial self-mutilation so aptly provided by the more mundane establishments nearby, moreover no self-serving linguist would ever attempt the useless and sisyphean task of deciphering the intricate and eerie pattern of symbols, people pass-by and simply chose to ignore. For some, ignorance is bliss.
But you're no vulgar linguist, you're one of the exalted, an Awakened. The smell of old books and coffee pickle your nose, your lust for knowledge is a metaphysical almost genetic trait, like moths to a flame. Will you heed the call?

[Campanella]

Now this was a bookstore!

For Campanella, Moros of the Mysterium, this shop is a honey trap; or the shoals up which Siren's sit combing their hair. How can he not succumb? He, Campanella, who goes by the mortal trade of antique book trader, has no option. He must enter. He must share in the coffee. He must soak in the ambience. Eventually, he will peruse the stacks. Again, and again, and again. If the staff are really unlucky, they might not get rid of him...

So here he is, suitably attired in mismatched clothes like an absent minded professor with a scarf draped over his shoulders like a stole. Suitably shielded, of course.

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2018-04-01 18:20:11		Campanella to cast Unseen Aegis rote rolls 10 to Intelligence + Occult + Order Spec + Matter (10 Again)		10, 1, 8, 1, 3, 5, 5, 2, 4, 2, 4		2 successes

The smile he is waring today is one of genuine pleasure.

[Vincent]

The finely crafted Murano glass windows of the shop loyally reflect the chiseled and austere features and the impeccable spezzato of the dandy. The fragrance, no the aroma, of freshly coffee bean roasts linger in the air. A deliberate feat of olfactory seduction on the passerby; Illy or a blend of Santa Ines, one would guess.
Up above the oak frame of the window rests an engraved brass plate, its contents erased by the passage of time, forever shielded from the prying eyes of those of lesser means and limited aptitude. Only a stylized skull and a name - "Dante" - remain intelligible.

[Epitaph]

Epitaph didn't always go for walks out amongst the dullards, but when she did, it was always because she had a specific purpose in mind. Today, it was Lello's bookstore that was calling her out of her abode, striding among the populace like a black swathed omen of their own demise. So it was that she came in through the door of the bookstore, closing a black parasol, all long black dress and black scarf over raven locks of hair, and the only thing about her appearance that might be accused of being colorful was the silver piercing glinting upon her bottom lip.

Her pale, white eyes drifted over the store, taking in the ambiance from another era before they halted upon a familiar figure.

"Hello, Campanella," Epitaph said softly in greeting, gliding up to the other Mystagogue. "Were it anyone else, I would warn them to be prepared to fight for their selections, but I'm sure we will have no issues. I'm curious, though. Is there something in particular that you've been looking for?"

Spells in Minisheet and Sigi

[Campanella]

Campanella sighs as he inhales the aroma of coffee. Good coffee. His senses teased, he let his eyes wander and feast on the architecture. The curious brass plate catches his eye and he lets his mind wander as he considers it. His coffee sits, percolating patiently, close at hand.

  

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2018-04-03 03:33:19		Campanella to consider things in the Occult vein rolls 5 to Intelligence + Occult (10 Again)		3, 2, 10, 1, 10, 5, 9		3 successes
2018-04-03 03:32:49		Campanella to consider things in the Academic vein rolls 7 to Intelligence + Academics + Specialty (Art History) (10 Again)		10, 6, 8, 7, 8, 9, 5, 1		4 successes

He barely notices Epitaph's approach such is his concentration.

"Ah!" The Moros says in surprise. "Hello. I ah suppose I should not be surprised by seeing you here." Gladly, he took advantage of the turn of Epitaph's conversation to cover his recent discovery of the bookstore. "Well, yes, now that you mention it. Do you see the brass plate on the window frame? Curious place for such a memento, I'm thinking. And you see the name - Dante? And the stylised skull motif. What do you make of that?"

He raised a curious eyebrow.

[Vincent]

Campanella The older Moros is cut off mid-sentence as the black swan barely pays any attention to him, other than for acknowledging the pleasantries of rite. The Dark Lady shuts her parasol close and, like a shade, slips past the vaulted treshold of the shop. The act, whether undeliberate or yet another display of outlandish carelessness ought to raise a few eyebrows, but such reflexive reactions would be beneath the composure of the mature Mystagogue, or maybe not, time will tell. One thing is certain, this magician is no ordinary folk; the proof comes from the peculiar haste and the extraordinary ease by which the enigma cracks under the sheer firepower of the sorcerer's intellect.
Remarkably peculiar despite the passage of time, the plaque can still be mined for the odd nugget of knowledge. The text appears to be a literary citation of Dante Alighieri's Inferno, from his magnum opus the "Divine Comedy".

Per me si va ne la città dolente,
per me si va ne l’etterno dolore,
per me si va tra la perduta gente.


Giustizia mosse il mio alto fattore:
fecemi la divina podestate,
la somma sapienza e ‘l primo amore.


Dinanzi a me non fuor cose create
se non etterne, e io etterno duro.


Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate.

Epitaph you’ve just stepped into a very odd library. Dust shimmers in the precious knives of light strong enough to pierce the pristine crimson curtains of the store, as if the sun itself was shying away from something; silence fills your ears as the banality of the outside world is swept miles away; a morbid smell of incense and old decomposing paper overwhelms your perception; the inviting and comforting scent of Oblivion lingers. Generic adjectives will likely be of little use to describe the rest of the scene.

Past the entrance, lights and paraphernalia have been smothered away to make space to an indefinite and perhaps infinite darkness that fills the hall. As far as you can see, an interminable shroud of shadows clings to everything, to your supple body, caressing your skin with the velvet kisses of entropy. In the distance a faint glow - the only distinguishable light in the stygianlike menagerie - is emitted from what you make out to be a giant statue. Live shadows stalking their prey, like wolves circling a deer. But you're no Duncan, forever doomed by his foolishness to be a victim of Macbeth's machinations, and the sheer impossibility of the geometric contrast between the building outside and its interior ought to make any rational person wary, lest it be another Cawdor. The library might project an appereance of eternity, but you know better.

Anyone but the most icy blooded necromancer would feel a rush of adrenaline, for the bewilderment might be carefully hidden behind a milky white facade, but the mind is not always so resilient. This is honey for a necromancer.
Perhaps, if focused enough, you could even catch a glimpse of the human-like silhouettes observing you from the balcony above, or hear the faint afflates dancing to a barely perceptible tune of organ; churchly whispers of unholy oaths and broken promises might reach the cold ears of a most scrumptious listener.

Now, a priority. Let there be light.

[Campanella]

Campanella notes the text with a wry grin, as if he has discovered a private joke.

Rising, he follows Epitaph into the library.

[Epitaph]

"Well, I am not an expert on Renaissance literature, but I suspect it is a combination of a memento mori with allusions to Dante's Inferno, which depicts, of course, the fate that awaits those who lack virtue. Of course, that is assuming that one takes the Inferno literally, and not as a satire. God, after all, is nothing if not a Tyrant, and the servants of God, such as the Pope, are the mail about the Tyrant's fist. Thus, I would choose to see this plaque as a reminder that others will try to control us, in life as in death," Epitaph pondered, pausing to raise a sculpted eyebrow at her fellow Necromancer.

"What do you make of it?"

[Campanella]

Campanella blinked.

"A fascinating thought, yes."

He allowed his eyes to drift over the plaque once more.

"It is good to see that someone else is aware of the potential for both literal and satirical interpretations here. I wonder if there might be a third. Dante's work begins with the descent into Hell, this we agree, yes? His magnum opus begins with more than that, it begins with a mystical journey. Forests were places of mystery, places where the Quest took place. Not only that, but very quickly the narrator brings the reader to the proverbial fork in the road."

He let that sink in for a moment.

"Given our experiences, we both know what such mystical journeys are like. And what their consequences are. Now the arrangement of the individual motifs bring me to the conclusion that those markings mark a boundary. A transition state, such as that mythical forest, or indeed, the forking road."

He bought his fingers to his lips as he considered his thoughts.

"There phrase 'Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,' comes to mind. An age-old warning, but perhaps in this context it could be read as an invitation. To abandon all hope is to walk onto a path leading to certain doom. And the oblique references to Hell most certainly lead to another path. Two paths. I do wonder if we have stumbled upon an old stomping ground here..."

"I am certain that your assessment - directing us to resist Tyranny, and indeed naming some possible sources of Tyranny, can also be read in a similar light. Yes?"

His eyes glittered as he stared at his gothic companion.

[Epitaph]

"If your supposition is correct, then I would declare this to be one of the alterations that we have been hunting for. You have lived in this city for, what, two years? And what of those who lived here before you. Had any of them ever mentioned such a...invitation before?" Epitaph asked, arching a sable brow in challenge.

"It would be a most common piece of knowledge, I imagine, for those like us, and yet this is a surprise for us both. Which means that either this is an alteration, a shift in History, or..." she trailed off for a moment, a hand rolling out from inside the black cloth of her sleeve, palm up, as though holding the aforementioned skull.

"...this is a trap."