WhatHarmEverCameOutOfOpeningALockSB: Kenning: What Harm ever came out of opening a Lock?SB: Kenning: What Harm ever came out of opening a Lock?A riddle wrapped up in an enigma. This is what Kenning has in front of him this afternoon. Sure, the Novum Monasterium has an extensive archive. The extent of the locked archives are not known to Kenning, but the less well guarded archives have been his hunting ground for a very long time. Which makes this all the more perplexing. Take a staircase three levels up from the Reputations Room, turn left and pass through the passage with the ikon of the Tri-headed Serpent, and pass into the Deodand Room, as if one was heading toward the area of the Archive devoted to botany. Its a well known room to Kenning. The shape, position and size of the bookshelves are second hand to Kenning. Enough so that he can tell, passing on this route, if one of the monks has borrowed a scroll from any of these rooms. So, this is definitely several orders of magnitude more perplexing. In this octagonal room, formerly possessed of two egresses and no doors, there is, improbably, now, also, a locked door on the face of the room to the right of the doorway Kenning just strode through. It stands as if it has always been there. Nothing is missing. It wasn't hidden behind a bookcase. The bookcases to its left and right used to sit right next to each other. But, there it is. Bound in some sort of golden metal that doesn't look to precisely be gold, and with a hexagonal shaped locking mechanism where the knob should be, Kenning faces a new door, where no door should be. And no other monk has yet trespassed into the room to share in Kenning's discovery, or to take it away from him. In the low lights in the corners of this room, the tumblers, strange symbols and ideographs are like a secret siren song. His deep brown eyes sparkle with interest as he reaches beneath the cerulean robes of a archivist, second-class. Dark mahogany hands produce a small silver hammer and chisel. Without delay he begins a pace within the two previous portals, tapping out the precise primal marks to ward and warn him against intrusion. The monks may have not bothered this chamber yet, and likely would not for days, but such couldn't be left to chance. Two matching codons at opposite ends, completed quickly so his whole attention might be turned upon the enigma. The runic spells are quickly completed. Kenning can quickly feel their presence prick up at the two doorways, silent guardians against intrusion. Warm tones as he speaks to himself, "Solon the Scholar spoke of a lost island nation in his dialogue _Hermocrates_ of a substance called orichalcum. Innate magical properties, hmmm." Fingers run through his closely tightly shorn hair, so close to his scalp that his dark brown skin is as apparent as on his high cheekbones. [Casting: Tyson Beckford] "There is a difference between looking and Seeing," he intones as he expands his MageSight to examine the locking mechanism further. Drawing up his esoteric sight into full blossom is a revelation. While there is a low background field surrounding every inch of the archives, that field is so minute as to be easily disregarded by someone trained as Kenning has been, and someone who is used to its presence. He almost literally does not see it. So what he does see is a much more intense field in the area immediately around the door. Some sort of spell is on the entire region around the unusual hexagonal door. And as for the door itself, staring at it is a revelation. The lock itself is, at its core, a type that he has seen before, if not quite this complex. Six interlocking mechanisms with five-space alphanumeric coding mechanisms mesh together to form the overall puzzle. The furnishings of the coding mechanisms are also partially cast in that strange gold-like material. While there is a real lock (or locks to be precise) here, with real puzzles to open, there is also something else, a locking spell on the door itself. A wizard lock, a portal spell of some kind. Kenning has read about these sorts of spells before. They are usually intended to bar entry, and sometimes even notice, from any but a selected public, or even a person. The six-sided lock still must be solved, but if one's aura does not resonate with the spell on the door, solving the lock is useless. Kenning produces a journal, bound in indigo leather and begins to sketch the symbols of the lock and the posssible combinations. He wonders at the portal spell, his alignment much closer to the aspects of Earth and Matter than any Correspondence. He decides to focus on the supposed orichalcum. If it resonated in some way to appear for him, then perhaps the lock was keyed to something about him. There are 23 different characters,with no nulls. The number of combinations would be enormous on one of the locks, to say nothing of the six of them together. He tries to imagine how today was different than any other. He is dressed simply in work robes, hasn't replaced his sandals in perhaps two years. No new undergarments or items in the small belt of tools he wore hidden beneath the robe's corded belt. Curtana has nearly always accompanied him since the day he found her. Perhaps it was something to do with the room. He scours it for changes, knowing there are none other than the door, but certain to find them if he has taken something for granted. Deodand, that which is given up to a god. Who's god? The monks revere knowledge, not supreme beings or divine intelligences. There are texts with hints at those that might mold reality with thought, creators on a scale beyond Kenning's primal marks and its correlated conjury, but gods? In that moment, he decides. If the lock was meaningless without the portal seal, and that keyed to a person... He reaches out and lays long supple fingers along the center of the door. Protected by the wards from disturbance, and isolated from anything that could possibly produce a sound other than his own breathing and bodily sounds, Kenning is very aware of the minutest of changes. Something slides, something moves within the innards of the main frame of the door as the connection is made. There is more movement, the sound of gears turning. The sound of some sort of process being done. Kenning's mage sight tells him that the arcane energies of the door have increased, and extended themselves to reach toward Kenning. There is a moment, and then there is contact. He cocks his head listening, wishing for the umpteenth time that his etheric perceptions extended to sound, but satisfied with the response, none the less. He doesn't shy from the contact, but welcomes it. Warmth. Recognition. Familiarity. It may be the door that senses it, but there is something to the door that invokes these emotions in Kenning. It's like opening a volume and finding it is a copy of a previously read and beloved book long unread, the arguments and passages joyfully leaping into mind as they are re-read. The Door is familiar, somehow. Kennings mind scans his memories of the journal, even as his eyes cannot while focused beyond the paper, the lock and the door itself. Familiar. Orichalcum. Warmth. He can't fathom the connection yet. He knows he'd remember symbols like this And even as he holds his hand there, the lock mechanisms are slowly aligning themselves, the symbols turning and setting themselves, in each of the six locks. The connection with the Door seems intent to go even deeper, if Kenning is willing to brave it. His grin widens, as he allows his perception to slip back to the material, noting the alignments. Kenning's unsure that they are necessary with the level of connection he's finding here, but better safe than sorry. He's almost certain that he could maintain the connection with the door without the touch, thus letting him sketch the symbols, but he doesn't want to take the chance. He steps a little closer and lays the other hand over the lock. The laying of a second hand on the lock has no noticeable effect on the progress, at first. The tumblers continue to align, in orders that Kenning can memorize, even if he cannot find the time and opportunity to sketch or note them. The connection does finally start to change, qualitatively, as it had promised to do. Five of the six lock mechanisms stop their whirring, and the gentle click with each one suggests that each of these have reached their solution. One lock, however, the upper left, has not finished aligning. The orichalcum gears have not finished turning on that lock, and continue to spin, as if searching for an answer which cannot come without input from without. And then there is a voice in Kenning's head, coming through the connection. A male voice, sepulchral, a voice of ages, of deep and lost time. A posed question. Perhaps a test. Perhaps a riddle. "Where do all roads lead?" 'Where indeed?' he thinks, immediately hoping that the voice prompt indicates the need for a vocal response and that his flippant thoughts hadn't already doomed this attempt. His mind scans the question for hidden meaning. Roads. From the same root as ride, so a journey, perhaps. The monks would answer something to do with enlightenment or knowledge, but the monks would never have gotten this far. A location in the Archives? A route, or a way to an end, perhaps, but what end? A place or a state of being. Something that is both? Roads are infrastructure, civilization, order. Order. A word tickles in the back of his mind, of a conversation some decades ago. A man's voice in his head, not tied to warmth but cold. Not Order. "Amber." There is no verbal response. Instead the tumblers on that spinning sixth set come to a halt, one by one. Five different characters, as if spelling out Kenning's answer in the alien alphabet. And once they are aligned, there is an audible hiss. The hexagonal shaped door swings free of its own accord, shifting slightly under the weight of no longer being closed and locked. In the crack of the door, Kenning can see that there is a room beyond it, lit in a soft golden light "Answer accepted." There is a pause and the voice continues. "Enter." The connection then starts to withdraw from its intimate contact with Kenning. He pushes the door open further, setting a sandaled foot in the portal while he collects his journal and tools, replacing them within his robe. He slides a long, broad blade knife from the scabbard on his back, its worn grip falling comfortably in his left hand. Kenning resists the urge to leave something wedging the door open. If it closes, it might disappear as easily as it appeared, but the chance of a monk investigating a room where magical locks wouldn't allow them... Stepping into the room he draws the door shut behind him and investigates carefully. The room behind, once Kenning closes the door and looks around, is a long and narrow rectangular room, much like the Arneson Hall, in miniature. That golden light comes from the top of the ceiling, a glass sphere from which the glow emits. Like the Arneson Hall, there are bookcases on the long walls, three bookcases on each side, from floor to ceiling, perhaps 600 books in total in the room. Unlike that room, however, there is a long refectory table in the center of the room, similar to the one in the commissary. On this table are two objects, about the midpoint. Both of them are squarish leather cases, one somewhat larger than the other, the latter somewhat smaller than a folio. It is at this point that Kenning hears the whistle of his wards, outside the closed door. He quickly turns back to the door, expecting there to be some sort of locking device on the interior of the magic door. He didn't hear the lock reset when he entered, but if there isn't a bolt he can shut here or something to turn, he reaches out again to find the familiarity and hopes to close it with sheer force of will. Kenning's hand on the door, combined with his desire, seems to be all that is necessary to secure the door. As soon as he does this, he hears the tumblers of the six locks whirr and reset, locking the door as securely as he found it. Once the door is secured, he'll turn his attentions to the cases on the table, the smaller first. The leather case has an engraved device of a unicorn, rampant, facing to the right. Opening it reveals it contains a set of cards. Tarot cards. All have the backing of a white unicorn on a green grass field, rampant and dexter. The minor suit cards are stylized in an unfamiliar manner and art design but aren't too different from those Kenning knows and has read about. Its the Major Arcana, though, that are different. Instead of the Fool, and the rest, the first card on top is of an unfamiliar woman. And yet she is familiar, somehow, in some undefined way, with her auburn-red hair, medium skin and bright blue eyes. Kenning is rapt, trying to place the face. Perhaps a visiting scholar, but he hadn't been to the visitor's cells in near a year. (casting call: Cate Blanchett) And one other thing as Kenning's fingers brush this first card. Unlike the minor cards of the Tarot deck, this card is cool to the touch. He draws back the touch, intrigued, but not prepared to devote himself to the Tarot, not with the other case still laying there tempting him. Kenning doesn't restore them to their own case before opening the other. The other, larger case has a dragon as its symbol, rather than the unicorn. Opening it, reveals a deck of cards somewhat larger than the other deck that was capped by the mysterious woman. These cards are face down and there is a sense of strong, old divinatory magic as Kenning handles the deck. The backs of the cards are a chessboard pattern, silver and red squares. The first card on top, which seems almost reluctant to reveal itself to Kenning without some sort of rite first, has the image of an Obelisk, half buried in a grassy knoll, like a knuckle protruded from the earth, past and future. The Obelisk is old, and worn, for cracks are apparent in its image. The odd feel of the the dragon deck prompts him to return them to their case for the moment. Kenning slips them into his belt to investigate later. For the moment, he peruses the titles at random on the shelves, looking for more inspiration and clues to the chamber's purpose and origin. The books appear to be mostly histories and biographies of places and people that Kenning has never heard of. Begma. Kashfa. Deiga. DuMarque. Eregnor. Oisen. Rebma, and Amber. Those last two are reversed names of each other, yet seem to be describing different places. Perhaps the Rebman volume is a fantasia, as it describes a city beneath the waves. Eventually the unicorn deck and the woman draw him back to the table. He sits and shuffles the cards, setting a classic cross reading before him, asking a simple question, "Who is she and how does she figure in my life?" With the woman's card placed in the significator position first, the remainder of the cards shuffle and deal out on that large table. With the lack of the standard Major Arcana, the reading is somewhat strange for Kenning to follow. The First Card, Kenning's current state, is the Page of Cups. Imagination, vividness...and a child. Kenning is a child in relation to this woman. The Second Card, the obstacle, is one of the major arcana. A bearded man, an imposing King like figure. The card is, strangely enough, not cool like the woman's card. The Third Card, the motives of the woman, shows the Queen of Pentacles. Sustain, care, maternal motives. The Fourth Card, the past, shows the Ten of Swords. Some sort of painful situation led the woman to a decision involving Kennng The Fifth Card, feelings on the matter, shows another unfamiliar face. A bearded, stern looking martial man. This card, like the woman's, is cool. The Sixth Card, the near future, shows the Page of Pentacles, suggesting that this woman is going to change Kenning's career and career goals. The Seventh Card, internal assessment, is the Five of Cups. Regrets over how things have proceeded thus far. The Eighth Card shows the external forces, and this shows a Castle of some sort, that looks like a line drawing from the book on "Amber". The card is cool to the touch. The Ninth Card, hopes and fears, the Knight of Pentacles. This woman wants to meet Kenning. There is duty and responsibility tied up with this. A task to be set? The Tenth and Final Card, the outcome, shows the Two of Cups. Kenning is destined to have a relationship with this woman. Not a romantic one, but one of blood and relationship nevertheless. The base reading of this is clear. This woman is related to Kenning, possibly his mother or an closely related elder related relative, long estranged, but Kenning's passage through the door and the discovery of these decks suggests that long estrangement or separation could be coming to an end. And more. Kenning picks up the significator, again intrigued by the cool feel of the card. He cocks his head at the image, searching her features for his own. "Mother?" he whispers, neither calling her nor questioning, but filled with doubt and confusion. He had dismissed family rescuing him from the Benedictine brothers decades ago, and here an arcane Tarot, hidden behind a door of obscure legendary metals locked so only someone of his bloodline might open it, hinted at a mother. There are obvious differences, beginning with the color of their skin, but perhaps the angular features, the brow and the wide smile. Something clicked in Kenning's head, a forgotten adventure, the "family" magic at the door. He reached out his consciousness toward the image as he had connected with the door, hoping to find out something about the construct of the Tarot, wishing it might tell him about the woman it depicted. There seems to be something of family magic in the tarot card, too. As Kenning stares at it, and even before he overtly reaches his consciousness, the card seems to react to his rapt attention. The card grows cooler, and as he sends his consciousness to try and unlock the family magic, the image in the card, or at least the image that Kenning now sees, starts to change. From the static image of the redhaired woman, the image starts to morph, change and come alive. Instead of the woman standing on the staircase in a pointed archway as depicted in the card, the woman now appears to be in a wood paneled room somewhere. She is seated, with a table and a bookcase visible behind her. She smiles. And then a mental voice, with the carryover emotion of pleasure in her voice comes through what is now undeniably a two-sided psychic contact. "Hello Kenning. My, how you have grown in your skills after all these years" Kenning returns the smile, less guarded than he would like, at all. Phychic contacts with inanimate objects is one thing, but he's no where guarded enough for this sort of thing. Mastering primal marks had forced orderly thought upon his conjury and sorcery, but not such as this. Best foot forward and all that, he thought inwardly. "My apologies, but you have me at a disadvantage, ma'am." "Do I?" the woman asks. Its clear, through this connection, that emotions, connotations, nuances and other ephemera do come clear and loud. There is even a note of what Kenning decides must be surprise. "I had expected that you might peruse the volumes before attempting the trumps." she finally says. "No matter." She waves a hand in dismissal. Kenning starts to reply vocally, obviously defensive but stops himself. "My name is Cyneburh ni Oberon, daughter of Cymnea, former Queen of Amber." Cyneburh pauses a moment. "And you are my son." Again, he goes for the deflection. "I have, as you state, perused the volumes, but only a cursory glance. The trumps, as you have named them, held greater allure, and the privacy of the chamber convinced me that I would find the appropriate time for the histories." Even mentally, his tone is clear. He valued the books for their information, and likely would devour them, but the magic cards were so much more... well... more. He starts and stops any number of thoughts, questions, arguements that he's considered over the years if he ever met a parent, but only sorrowfully projects, "Why?" Catching himself a moment later, he covers the raw pain, tightening down his thoughts, protecting wound he had apparently ignored for decades. "Why now?" She cocks her head. *The perceptive question* A tone of pleased maternal pride comes through as Cyneburh responds with those thoughts first. *And cutting to the heart of the matter. I've kept you safe and hidden from those who would kill you or worse for who you are, and for who I am. That is why you have been at the Abbey for these years.* Kenning nods but keeps his silence. Cyneburh pauses before continuing. *However, things have started to change, and most recently at an accelerated rate, things have changed in the wider world in a dangerous and headlong fashion. Old and deep knowledge will prove useful in heading off disaster, and that knowledge and the ability to uncover that knowledge exceedingly rare.*
She regards Kenning. *You are my son. Your knowledge and skills are needed, even if those you will aid, indirectly and directly, know it not as yet.*
The thoughts spin even as he formulates his response. Had he been here before and forgotten it all? How many times had he conquered that same door and perused these histories for the word Amber to resonate as a password?
A pleased expression comes on her face, and through the connection.
Kenning scans his possessions, trying to decide what he might be willing to leave behind and what items are indispensible or at least for which it is not worth spending the time conjuring replacements. Finding himself remarkably content with Curtana, his journals, and his toolbelt, his resolve is set. He adds the two packets of Tarots... erm... Trumps to his mental inventory and then turns his attention to the tomes beyond the frame of his mother's image.
Cyneburh pauses a moment, in thought. Through the connection, Kenning realizes that such thoughts, if they were not shielded in some manner, might be gleaned in this trump connection. Mother does have a shield of some sort, but the fact that she is considering something is obvious, like a low murmuring that Kenning can hear as background noise. Kenning considers the shield and how he might fashion one the next time he is so intimately connected to someone like this again, but takes no action, unwilling to risk this conversation. Finally she answers. *The Abbey is relatively isolated, Kenning, on purpose, with a difficult, twisting shadow path to get there.* She pauses and then continues. *I would guess that you will have eight days before the guide I sent will be able to reach you. Time to be used wisely, of course.* She pauses, clearly expecting response or questions. The math is easy. Roughly 75 books a day, even limiting his sleep will only allow sixteen minutes per volume, if he is going to scan them all. A deadline would focus him, and perhaps he might limit the sleep even further, four hours every forty-four, gaining a minute and forty seconds. Still not sufficient.
Her son smiles, thinking he might've tried, at least to condense some of the items, but obviously relieved.
Kenning nods, saving the questions. She pauses and then continues . *Be sure to take both the Trump deck and the Deck of Dragons with you. Keep them secret, and keep them safe Your guide will know of the latter, and instruct them in their use.*
Cyneburh nods. *The guide shall know you, Kenning. And she will bear my seal, and wear my colors.* She draws into view a signet ring. On a field of bronze is depicted a blue spearhead, pointed down. Bronze, a spear head inverted, azure? Bronze isn't a proper metal for emblazoning, Kenning considers, but supposes he will remember it easily enough.
Kenning nods, apparently trusting that he will not forget his time here when he returns to the Abbey proper.
The connection ends, and the moving image of his mother replaced with the still image of the card. The card is still cool to the touch, though. Once she has left the connection, he replaces the Trump in its case, placing it in his robes with the Dragon Deck, and gathers the first volume to carry with him as he heads to find the Abbot, making sure to lock the room behind him. Better to explain himself and his purpose now and have the time to prepare than to disappear and explain himself on his leaving. By the time Kenning gathers up the book and decks, he hears the whistle from his wards, and by the time he is out of the door and closes it, stars flash in his eyes. Just down the same hall that Kenning himself explored to reach this room, one of the brother monks, Mathiyas by the look of him and especially his somewhat nervous demeanor, peeks around the corner at Kenning. Behind Kenning, the door, once closed, has now completely disappeared from view. "Cinders and ash," he curses under his breath. "K...kenning?" he says, stammering and nervous. "The...the Ab...Abbot wants to see you." "Of course, Brother Mathiyas. I would expect that he does," the archivist, second-class answers. "And I him." Kenning heads back through the Tri-headed Serpent passage, intending to turn left for the Blackmoor Collection instead of right toward the stairs to the Reputations Room. "When did he send for me?" he asks, straightening his cerulean robes. Mathiyas spends a few moments in thought before he answers the question. The well maintained, but currently quiet halls echo with their soft footsteps as they navigate the course that Kenning has chosen. "I. Don't. Know." Mathiyas expresses each word singly and clearly, sacrificing speed of speech for clarity and a reduction in his stuttering. He pauses another few moments as the two reach the circular staircase down from Blackmoor. About halfway down, he continues. "It was Kline who told me to find you." he blurts out. Mathiyas seems so amazed at its lucidity that he continues to speak, his stammering coming right back. "He...he tttold me that he had better things to do, and ggave tthe task tttto me innstead." The garish fiery demon statue that adorns a niche in the TSR room looks balefully at Mathiyas and Kenning as the staircase there deposits the pair right across from it in the niche filled room. Through the pair of passages devoted to fossils, both in the stone in the floor and the volumes in the bookcases, Mathiyas continues to follow and continues. "Why cccould hhee wwant you?" he prods Kenning, as they cross one large fish like form on the floor, marking the end of the ostracod room, and the beginning of the grand Hall of Shadows. "Perhaps he learned that I unlocked something that no one else could have," the dark skinned man answers. "Or that I am leaving the Abbey in just over a week." The stuttering Mathiyas gives Kenning a look of shock and disbelief. Kenning lets that settle in for a few moments before adding, "More likely he learned that I did not turn the trapped mice from the Dinner Hall loose in the upper fields, but rather Brother Reynard's cell last evening, or at least he suspects my involvement since there are no traces of the runes that trapped them within his robes until he dressed this morning." He smirks, "If that's what he suspects." Mathiyas looks relieved. And after a moment, allowing Kenning and his companion to cover more ground, and step within the Hall itself, Mathiyas laughs. "Iitt was you! BBrother Reynard was furious! I could hear him stomp about his cell fffor an hour." Mathiyas grins as his laughter dies. "Don't joke about leaving or anything like that." he adds defensively. "Tthe Abbbey would be iinnsufferable." He stops and speaks clearly. "Insufferable" Kenning smiles gently, touched by the sentiment. "I promise that if I do have occasion to leave, that it would only be for the most important of reasons and that you will be the first to know, Mathiyas." Mathiyas replies with just a shy smile. He stops as they reach the straight sided staircase against the east wall that leads up to the relatively large office of the Abbot. "I ppprobably should go and ggget back to work. I sstill have my copying quota to do." Mathiyas says. "And I have duties as well, so must face the Abbot sooner than later," the archivist agrees. He waits until Mathiyas has left before mounting the stair. At it's head, he knocks twice as is custom before entering. "Father, you sent for me?" The Abbot is a small, balding, white haired man much shorter and smaller than most of the brothers in the Monastery. In fact, as far as Kenning is aware, he IS the smallest. His faith, mind and intelligence, however, far outsize his physical attributes. (Casting Call: Leonardo Cimino, from "V") "Yes, come in Kenning." he says as Kenning has already crossed the threshold and entered. Pale light from a window casts a beam from behind, illuminating the Abbot, his desk, and the chair in front. "Sit down. We have to talk." he says, closing the large volume in front of him on the desk with a definitive clap. "Tell me, Kenning." he begins. "How long have you been here?" "Over seven decades, Father, since my mother, Cyneburh, Princess of Amber, left me here to keep me safe from unknown enemies and to educate me in the old ways," he answers solemnly. He keeps any trace of attitude hidden. The Abbot folds his hands and regards Kenning. "Ah.I had wondered if this day had ever come. Or perhaps it came to you in a dream, hnnn?" His round eyes regard Kenning, searching for something. After a moment, he lets out a breath. "I am an old man." he says. He gestures to a large volume on the top shelf of a bookshelf. It's the only volume there. "Bring me that book there, Kenning." he says, gesturing for Kenning to put it in titled book holder in front of him. The volume is deceptively light for its size and thickness and its easy for Kenning to bring the book to the requested spot. The Abbot opens the volume and starts paging through it. "Who else knows what you found? Or more importantly, Kenning, which one did you find?" he asks. "It was no dream, Father," the archivist answers confidently, even as his hand subtly touches his robe to ensure that the packets of cards are still tucked within. "I encountered a door of what I suspect to be orichalcum or a magical alloy in the Deodand Room. The lock responded to my thoughts and within there was a small collection of histories which I have been asked to study." He holds up the first royal blue volume which he carried from the room. The Abbot looks up from the volume in front of him, and stares at the cover of the blue room with piercing eyes for a few moments. He nods and looks back down as Kenning continues. "You are suggesting that there are other such rooms, or..." Kenning hesitates, trying to read the Abbot's expression before suggesting the ridiculous, "... or that someplace hidden within the Monesterium there is a connection to my father as well?" "From what I am given to understand." The Abbot says. "Your mother has never, to my knowledge, ever divulged any information about the identity and nature of your Father. Unless there is information in the room that you found, I have none to give you." He stops flipping through the book, and turns it around for Kenning. "Put down by Huw, the Abbot who preceded my predecessor." he says. On the page, in a painstaking hand, is an account of the arrival of "Princess Cyneburh" and a request to foster Kenning and teach him. There is a note that the father of Kenning is listed as "not noted." There are also notes about Cyneburh "donating to" the Monesterium in a deliberately unspecified fashion. "I have always thought." The Abbot says "That your mother has known about us for a long time, much longer than before you were born. And yet, she seems almost as changeless as you are." "I have never given it much thought, Father," Kenning answers. "I attributed it to the monastic regimen and diet, but on consideration, perhaps it may be a clue in this mystery." The Abbot nods. "Still, Father, your question suggested a mutliplicity, as if these hidden donations are throughout the Monesterium. She is sending a guide to lead me from here, when there is more Truth hidden?" The archivist's tone is cool at the thought. The Abbot favors Kenning with a patient, almost paternal smile. "You must learn, Kenning, a lesson that you have not yet mastered. And it is this. All the Truth there is cannot be found solely in a single book, or even a single library, or even in the entirety of the world. Truth is greater than even the bounds of the world. The discovery of Truth is the work of a lifetime. It is clear that your Mother wishes you to discover some of the Truth beyond these walls." "I have no doubt." he continues. "that you will return, perhaps many times in your lifetime, to sample more of the Truth here . And that is for the best. We would be poorer for it if you never returned. As would you." "She has suggested that returning would be an option, almost necessary in fact," Kenning admits. "I have few memories of any life outside these walls, Father, but it would be I that was the poorer had I never lived among such brothers." The Abbot inclines his head slightly. "Have you any advice on dealing with those out of doors*?"[Kenning] asks. "Ah, Kenning." The Abbot says, temporizing for a few moments. "The wide world beyond the monastery is a varied one. To speak of all of those out of doors who live beyond the monastery would be as foolish as visiting one room here, or even reading one book, and believing the remainder of books and rooms to be identical." Eyes search Kenning for a few more moments. "To thine own self be true, as it is said in the play. I know that you have read it." The Abbot says. "You cannot control what others will say or do. You can always control yourself. And to best deal with those out of doors, Kenning, you must first control yourself. Be proud of who and what you are." "One more piece of advice." The Abbot says. "People out of doors are the best and the worst people you will ever meet. There is a saying, in the life story of a King from a distant land, that it is good to trust people, but it is even better to scrutinize and watch their actions to see if they do what they say." "Actions, not words," Kenning allows. He smiles at the thought. "From decades of adoring words, it seems the actions, the disciplines that I have at times flaunted, they will be my legacy." The Abbot shakes his head slightly, with a tinge of regret. He stops the motion as Kenning continues. "Thank you, Father. You have no worries, I will fulfill my regular devotions while preparing for my journey," he adds, wholly intending to do just that, unless the Abbot suggests otherwise. The Abbot considers Kenning's words for a moment. "It would be best not to be too disruptive of our life here, even as you prepare to give it up." he says, with just a lump of kindness. "After you depart, and in between your visits, we will work on as we always have." "Your duties are suspended of course, even if your regular devotions are not." he says. Kenning bows his head in thanks and respect for the elder monk. "If you have nothing else then?" "I have nothing else, Kenning." The Abbot says softly. "We've prepared you as best we can, written on the pages of your life here. There is nothing now but to blow sand and dry the ink and see if the words stand the test of time." The archivist seems intent on getting to his reading of the royal blue tomes in preparation for his journey. "You may go." the Abbot confirms. 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