#anywhere

They turn a corner and go down a hallway, and find a small staircase that twists as it leads down to a level with storage, and then Art does... something, tracing on a wall with a finger-tip and then pressing the corner of a carved part of the banister, and there is a further, twistier staircase down! "Wudlig showed me how to work the catch. It's quite clever, one of those Combecatte things." Art says, half-breathless as he clambers down the stairs at a pace that might well break his neck if he trips.

"Wait, where even is this? Do we have a second library?"

"How did that...." She touches fingertips to the wall, but cannot linger on the mechanism and keep up with Art.

"Not a library, per se... but items that belonged to lords and ladies, and their vassals, of time gone by. Some of this stuff, perhaps should be on display somewhere, but other stuff is not really of interest to anyone else. Like, who would care about my sky charts in a hundred years when I'm gone to dust?"

"Me."

Oh, RED spirals and a cough. "Like, your star charts are gonna be authoritative. like Ptolemy. Nockers and Dougal and Eiluned and other Beaumayn, they'll all want'm."

Art pauses mid-step on the staircase, taken aback by the sincerity in Thistle’s voice. He turns to look at her, blinking in surprise. A faint smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

"Well, that's… kind of you to say, Thistle," he says, scratching the back of his head, at the novel idea. "I suppose if anyone would appreciate them, it would be you. But, you know, it’s not like I’m Ptolemy or anything. Just a guy who likes to look at the stars."

He chuckles softly. "But hey, if my charts do end up being of use to someone, especially a Nocker or an Eiluned, I guess that wouldn’t be too bad. Maybe they’ll remember me for more than just getting lost in old manor basements."

Art turns back to the descent, his smile lingering as he resumes his pace down the stairs. There’s a warmth in his voice as he adds, almost as an afterthought, "But I’d still want to hear what you think about them, even if it’s a hundred years from now."

"Hundred years from now might be a different me, of course, but me."

The staircase finally ends in a narrow hallway, its floor covered in a thin layer of dust that stirs under their footsteps. The walls are lined with small sconces, their dim light casting long shadows that flicker as they make their way to the end of the passage. There, a large, heavy door stands slightly ajar, as if waiting for them to enter.

Art slows his pace once more, Thistle's words giving him pause. He turns to her, considering.

"Well, I’d like to think that no matter how much time passes or how things change, you’ll still be… you," he says, "And even if a hundred years brings changes, I bet you’ll still be someone I’d want to share those things with." A warm smile, and he squeezes the hand he still holds. "But let’s not wait that long to talk about the stars, okay?"

"Wait, pause, halt, stop, delay!" Comes echoing chirps in a series of increasingly urgent synonyms, the voice a mix of impatience and enthusiasm. Little claws click against the stone steps as Fornax hurries to close the distance, his ruddy brown scales glinting faintly in the dim light - clearly having been forgotten.

"Course not. We have a spaceship to build..." A snort. "Yeah, we hear ya. We're waiting."

Art bends to scoop up the little dragon and sets him on Thistle's shoulder.

As Art and Thistle push the door open, the room beyond reveals itself—a treasure trove of forgotten histories and long-lost memories. The space is vast, the ceiling higher than expected for such a hidden chamber, supported by thick beams of dark wood that crisscross above. Shelves and tables cluttered with boxes and crates line the walls, while larger items stand scattered about the room, covered in dust and cobwebs. The air is thick with the smell of old leather, aged wood, and the faintest hint of something magical, like a whisper of Glamour long dormant.

Art lights a lamp, casting a gentle light across the room.

Near the entrance, a chest lies with the lid ajar, what looks like eyes gleaming at her from within, reflecting the light from the lamp!

On a nearby table are numerous trinkets, sparkling even despite the dust.

Against the far wall, old riding gear hangs on rusted hooks, the leather cracked and brittle with age.

There are shelves with books and scrolls, perilously stacked boxes, and more...

((Do you wish to explore any of these, or Perc + Alertness or Investigation - or another roll if you prefer, let me know which, to see what Thistle finds!)

((Sheet is at home, so I am taking a guess))

/roll 5

"Oh, wooowwww...."

((What are you rolling for? 🙂 )

((per/alert)

Thistle’s senses are sharp as they move deeper into the chamber. As they step into the room filled with curios and mementos, she feels a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The air seems heavier here, almost as if the memories of the past weigh down the space itself.

As she takes a moment to perceive the room, among the boxes and dust-covered relics, something catches her attention—a faint sound, almost imperceptible, like the soft scrape of stone. It’s coming from a far corner of the room, near a stack of boxes.

Art and Fornax, who are still absorbed in exploring the various items, are seemingly unaware of the subtle noise.

Her head tilts a bit, and she turns on her heel to investigate.

As she approaches the source of the noise, her eyes fall on a stack of boxes, their surfaces dusty and worn. Pushing aside a few of the top boxes, she reveals a more hidden crate, partially obscured and covered in a thin layer of grime. The scraping sound is now more distinct, coming from within this particular crate.

Stamped on the crate is a now familiar rose-and-hammer crest. The more detailed stamp shows that the hammer is a stonemason's tool, and the leaves of the rose look a bit like chisel-tips.

"Oh, hey..." She checks the crate - she might need a prybar to open it.

"Art, I think we might have a chimera or something in here. It's moving..."

Whirrr... click... scrape. whirrr. click, scrape... Something is moving rhymically inside.

"Maybe clockwork..." She sees if her leatherman has enough leverage to pry the lid loose.

On a newer crate, maybe not, but the aged wood splinters a bit and gives her play, and she can pry it open.

With a careful tug, Thistle lifts the lid of the crate, the wood creaking softly as it gives way.

Inside, she finds a collection of personal effects, each item carefully placed and preserved, though showing the inevitable signs of age.

At the forefront of the crate is the small marching soldier toy—a tiny golem carved from stone. The toy is immediately striking, with its detailed craftsmanship evident in the articulated legs and arms, designed to march and swing with a lifelike rhythm. It's eyes glow, and the sigils carved on it match those that she saw on the stone! Slowly, it winds down, falling still once more.

The soldier’s surface bears the wear of time, though, and it is ALSO adorned with faint crayon markings? A small hole in one hand suggests that it once held a miniature weapon, or possibly a trumpet, or a flag? Though whatever it was has long since been lost.

Behind the toy, the crate holds other remnants of someone's work and life. There are stoneworking tools, still sharp and ready for use despite their age, each one meticulously maintained. As a craftswoman, she recognizes the care in the worn handles and finely honed edges.

Beneath the tools lies a journal, its cover worn and faded but the pages within still intact. It has the same emblem, and a name, "Caelan Stoneweaver ap Ailil"

Art is talking to Fornax, "No, those aren't books, they're scrolls, and I don't think you should be... " Pause. "What did you find?"

"OH! A real golem! Like.. oh..."

Art cranes over to take a look. "It looks like a toy. Like, something 'Wain would like to play with."

She squints at the script, reaching back... it's easier in the hold than outside of it, but harder than the Dreaming... does she remember markings like this?

"Golems are made by a glyph..."

It’s not familiar. Maybe the results.. it tickles somewhere in that itchy part of her dreaming brain. But whatever method this mage used, seems to have been proprietary.

"This is... it's not just clockwork, though, you see?"

"It's... more?"

"Animated. Built, but more like Citrine." Chime! "No, not as smart as you. God knows I should say that about anything..."

Art reaches in and picks up the toy, setting it on its feet. “No key to turn. I
Wonder what powers it? Glamour I suppose. Maybe it just ran out.”

She kens the little thing.

It is a clever little toy, a carved stone automaton! The eyes are picked out in little clear crystals, and even ears, the wave of hair, and the fold of his garment, a little Roman soldier all carved out of stone. And yes, with a chimerical glow at its core- banked and dim.

"Fascinating."

She picks up the journal.

"This is the same seal as at the quarry - the rose and hammer."