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He couldn't squash the bug eating the back of his skull, this was a sham or a trap. Why would a Mystagogue leave a bunch of texts and knowledge around, conveniently to be dispersed among strangers rather than feed the local Athenaum? Whatever it was, could be that this place predated this time-stream and was outside the Clock's scope? The "thing" had mentioned Archmastery after all.
"Have you ever heard of a place called Fillard Museum, or of a woman called Tyria?", it was worth a try.
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Abacus brings it up and Jasper confirms it. Langdon lets out a quite sigh as its confirmed that this is a former? Mystagogue's sanctum. Now the hard part, proving worth. "I hope that you two get to meet again at some point."
"Split up because the doors are possibly one way or just because?" The Stalker asks Abacus. Winter gets a look who is he talking about? Langdon remains silent though as he tries to work through what exactly is going on with the doors, surely there's something magical.
5 suxx to an Int+Occ roll
"if we split up, our complimentary strengths become useless. Were I to go alone, the rest of you would lose access to my Life magic- my healing, and strength. Several sharks hunt in packs for a reason- together we have a better chance, whatever the danger ahead."
Galatea leaned against a wall, going over the results of her attempt at sense life in her head.
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"Then we choose."
The Psychohistorian stood in front of Door Number Two.
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"Magus Langdon", the Guardian appeals to his studious companion, "may we share a word? In private?", his chin juts toward one corner of the room.
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Galatea went to the second door. Was it random chance, or did some of his magics pull through? Regardless, one choice was as good as any in the end.
"Do you know what's on the other side? Probably best to stay behind me."
She looked over her shoulder to the people trying to have a private conversation here and now of all times.
"Hey, whenever you two are ready?"
Galatea reached out with her senses, and strange enough the four mages near her were the only Life that she could sense, and that included Jasper. But as she leaned in close to Door Number One she could hear the subtle sound of gears turning on the other side.
Langdon on the other hand recalled an ancient Mysterium story of an old Curator who used to test newly recruited awaken to determine if they were worthy of the mysteries. The story goes that for years he would prepare elaborate puzzles, traps, or battles, often saying that "all must be tested, whether that meant by blood, or by knowledge, or by quickness of mind." But one day his tests became an obsession beyond just mere initiation. Slowly he would allow fewer and fewer into the Athenaeum until it became a thing of honor and great respect to have earned the privilege. Eventually though, like all things, time brought about change in the order and his way of thinking was pushed away, but not before he disappeared with many secret and mysterious things.
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"Sorry, hold on for a moment. There's a story that get told every now and then. Of an ancient Curator who set up puzzles to test the worthy. By Blood, By Knowledge, or by Quickness of Mind." The Mystagogue looks to his fellow then at Winter and Galatea. "I think...we may be there." With that Langdon nods to Winter and heads towards the corner the Guardian had indicated.
No one needs to know that this may be an insane puzzle just yet. That could dissuade..well maybe Galatea. Langdon doesn't doubt Abacus or Winter's resolve to find what is hidden.
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"Fate has a way of presenting the terrible and the exceptional."
The Savant faced the Orphan, dim light glinting across the lenses of his glasses.
"Diametrically opposed. But just as viable depending on how clear the picture is. From what I can see, Door Numero Dos has something behind it that the others don't."
He thought on Langdon's words. The Curator's Enigmas.
"And it's going to get complicated. Quickly."
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The Guardian steps into a corner followed by Langdon. With a click of his tongue, he chants a stream of high speech, forging a cage of Aetheric waves to distort away and carry their whispers from the construct's (?) prying ears.
"You should have realized by now that this "thing" is nuts. So, what is this Curator's tale about?", Mystagogues didn't share their secrets so freely, neither it was lost on the paranoid Obrimos that Jaspers had mentioned his master's order affiliation only after they had questioned it.
Either way, the best split would require a Mystagogue per group.
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