Private The Arcane Subterranean

[Nimue]

L O C A T I O N | Illyria - The Temple of the Silmä
T A G S | Baen Zavaleta

The fraying pages of the Codex rustled gently as its giant leather spine cracked and settled against the ancient wood. They had known for centuries that this was coming, but even with all the years of mortal men and more at the tips of your fingers, it was impossible to prepare for.

Nimue, not for the first time, poured over the chapter. There it was, in curling gold writing stretched out across the ebony parchment. "He ovat tulossa. Kun aamunkoitto paistaa vihreänä ja meri mutkittelee taaksepäin, ne tulevat." Nimue's ethereal voice filled her chambers as she read. "They will come…" It seemed to be the only constant in a galaxy that refused to settle. The only certainty that they could rely upon anymore. The High Priestess could no more say who they were than she could say when they would come, or why they were coming. Such was the nature of the Oracle's prophecies and the nature of the work of the Silmä. They were the keepers, the voices, the scholars. The only one with ears to hear and minds to comprehend.

But none had comprehended this. Not for centuries. Much like many of the other prophecies she had translated, this one was ambiguous. When she had first read it all those years ago it felt like the Oracle was tormenting her. Plaguing her with problem after unsolvable problem. Why? She could not say. Perhaps it was to prove her worthy of the title. Perhaps it was to rid her of it. Or perhaps there was no reason at all. The latter being the most frustrating of all the options. True, the other High Priestesses had been party to a similar problem. The puzzling warning was something that each one had passed down to the other with grave and heavy hearts, for none had lived to see it come to fruition. All except Nimue.

The morning the clouds had dawned green over the illustrious Illyrian horizon was the morning that Nimue had first recalled feeling truly helpless. It had dominated her so greatly that she had allowed the forest green rays of sunshine to lick a line of bright fire across her pale skin. In her centuries of immortal life, she had never once been in such doubt. About the Silmä, about her abilities, about the future of Illyria itself. It was not something she was accustomed to. It made her stomach writhe and twist, no matter how much she fed. Back then, when the first sign had come, she had no idea of what the prophecy truly meant. It remained in shadow until the day the prophesied one disappeared.

It came on the eve of this turbulent night, during a ritual that the Silmä were no stranger to. At the height of its power, the ritual seemed as though it was failing, but the truth of it was revealed with such force and might that it shook the very foundations of the temple. The Oracle had finally seen fit to bless them with a name, and every soul that touched the altar that night had been tormented by it ever since.

Wraiths.

What little knowledge the Silmä possessed on them came not from the archives as many suspected, but from carvings in the walls of the Sacrificium. When the ritual went awry the walls of the Sacrificum crumbled to reveal the ancient drawings. Depictions of a great battle that lead to the unification of the coven itself, but was simultaneously almost its demise before it had even begun. What they had battled, save for the name, was hard to ascertain, but from what Nimue could decipher it had ended when the first High Priestess trapped this terror in magik of her own creation. Fortunately, their past sisters had been wise enough to carve the runes to recreate it, but it was magik that Nimue had never wielded before. Powerful magik that would require all her concentration, as well as that of her sisters.

Despite their sudden boost in numbers with the fall of the Confederacy, they were still too weak to defend against something of this scale. If they were to survive, if Illyria were to survive, they would require help. A factor that the Silmä of the past would have avoided entirely, even to their own detriment, but not this time. Nimue would not allow this terror to cut the cloth they had worked so hard to resew.

"Everything is ready, High Priestess Nimue." Came a cool voice that washed the woman from her reverie. Unwillingly, Nimue turned her head to face the shadow in the door. Without a word, she closed the cover of the Codex, sending up a torrent of invisible dust as it thudded shut. The walk from her rooms to the Pivara was a lengthy one, but she was glad of the chance to properly organise her thoughts. Dream weaving had been a difficult concept to master, and much like the task that faced them, it required a lot of her focus. She turned her thoughts instead to the man the Oracle had said would help.

Nimue had never heard his name before, but a name was all she needed. There was no need for recognition in order to weave his dreams.

The Pivara was filled with plumes of dense black smoke that billowed out toward the vents cut from obsidian rock. The source of all the smoke was a thick, ancient-looking cauldron filled to the brim with a milk-white concoction that bubbled so violently it threatened to spill over the edges. Nimue stepped up to the edge of the pot and pulled out three strands of silken hair from the tumbling locks on her head. They hovered for a moment on the surface of the viscous liquid before a large bubble popped and swallowed them whole.

A few bright sparks fizzed suddenly, turning the smoke that pillared from the cauldron from raven black to deep, entrancing shades of purple. Satisfied that the magik had worked, Nimue flicked two slender fingers at the centre of the liquid, which summoned from its depths three strands of silk that glowed golden against the solid backdrop of smoke. "Leave me…" Nimue commanded the faces that had gathered around the cauldron to watch. They did so immediately, and in this solitary sanctuary, Nimue allowed her eyes to close.

Almost immediately, her fingers began to dance, drawing wild and untraceable patterns through the air. The shimmering threads hovering above the cauldron danced with her every move. Twisting and turning into impossible knots as they followed. This dream would be simple, there was no need to overwhelm him. If the Oracle said he would come, then come he would. Regardless of how much information Nimue forced into one dream. No. It was better to fill him in face to face, where no detail could be missed.

So, this dream was simple. A vision of the temple, of the coven, of Nimue and her brood. Nothing of their plight, or the dangers they were about to face, but if Nimue was correct… That would be more than enough.​

​

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[Baen Zavaleta]

Nimue

It was not often their dreams were intruded upon.

As such it was an odd feeling. Like sudden lucidity being forced upon them in a most unpleasant way. The growl of subconscious wroth echoed through the Baen Zavaleta's memory palace. In the mirrored empty space the lithe figure stood and witnessed. Every surface was covered by foreign images that did not belong here. Displaced. A sickness that needed to be-

The figure breathed out.

Temples and dark hills and hidden figures and alabaster skin.

Odd.

Head tilted and Baen did not know what to make of it. Except of the desire within the images. These creatures wanted an audience, this much was certainly clear.

"He comes." The mirrors shivered and shook in negative pitch. "He does." Firmly without doubt. "Baen Zavaleta always accepts an invitation freely given."

They tried to argue that loneliness only draw danger, but Baen would not hear of it. An audience was requested. They (who were they, this cult at the edge of the Galaxy?) wished to see them. Speak to him. Witness her. The purpose behind it was unknown to them, but it did not matter. She was old, oh so old, and Baen knew through her old age.... that what was would be.

No sense in wondering.

It would reveal itself in its own time.

This lone figure cloaked in brilliant purple shades and dark comfort strode up towards the pyramid. Calm and silent. In the beginning he attuned to the pitch of Whisper, so that nobody would see their passing. Only once they reached the proverbial front-door did Baen let go of the song.

"Ding... dong." Lips curled in an amused smile. "Baen Zavaleta has arrived."

There was still the faintest hint of connection between himself and this mysterious presence. They tugged at it. A warning of arrival, so that Nimue would know her guest was finally here.

 

[Nimue]

T A G S | Baen Zavaleta​

Magik such as the kind in dream weaving took time. It paced slowly to fruition, but it was no less powerful than its instantaneous cousins. Nimue did not need some bright spark or big flash or even a prophecy to know that it had worked. She could feel it coursing through her body, licking at her ice-cold veins with an unquenchable flame. How long it would take for the weave to be answered was anyone's best guess, but if the Oracle had prophesied their arrival before the day of battle dawned, then arrive they would.

Nimue had known of their presence since the moment his ship entered their space. There was an unspeakable bond formed between those who walked dreams, and those whose dreams had been walked in. She could feel their every step tugging at the strings in her soul as they made their approach. Having no idea what to expect, and with time slipping through their fingers each passing moment, Nimue found herself waiting impatiently at the doors of the Ingress.

The doors themselves remained shut. At least until the rather unorthodox introduction from their long-awaited guest. A gush of chilled wind forced the ancient stone doors open on creaking hinges, bringing with it a torrent of purple and white smoke that poured from its depths like a waterfall. "Baen." Nimue said, before the doors had even opened fully. "No doubt that you are aware that we have been expecting your arrival. Welcome to the Temple of the Silmä." With a gesture using long, spindle-like fingers, Nimue guided their attention to the depths of the temple. "Please, follow me. We have very little time."

Her impatience showed itself plainly as she waited for them to follow behind. She only looked back once to ascertain that they were certainly there before she began to talk. "I suspect you are wondering why we have called you here." Nimue's cool voice echoed off the cold ebony stone that made up the Ingress. "The Silmä are not normally so brazen with their powers, but in times of desperation, I'm afraid we place longevity above courtesy. I am not sure yet what help you can provide us, but when the Oracle speaks it is our duty to listen." She said nothing further, not until they had reached her study and the doors had shut behind them with a resounding thud.

The room itself was dingy and dark save for a few lanterns clinging to hooks in the wall. They were not made of fire as one would expect, but they glowed a strange yellow hue that projected just enough light to illuminate the room. Decorating a little over half of the circular room was a bookshelf that stretched from floor to ceiling. Fresh pieces of parchment rolled up into tight strolls had been placed neatly in columns along the shelves, up until the centre of Nimue's desk, where they suddenly became empty. The rest of the room was largely unremarkable. A typical study with a few items and articles that hinted to her ancestry and station.

"Please…" Nimue gestured to a large, plush looking chair sitting in front of her dark wooden desk. "Sit. May I offer you something to drink?"​

 

[Baen Zavaleta]

Nimue

Baen did not respond to the welcoming greeting.

No, they were too busy looking around curiously, as their steps followed behind Nimue in due pace. Somehow Baen managed to retain a curious sense of wonder even several centuries into unlife. Most of the long-standing creatures froze up. Their veins clogged up almost as much as their ambitions for that matter.

Not Baen, no, never Baen.

"Baen Zavaleta does not wonder." Finally spoken as her attention shifted towards Nimue. Not a harsh tone at all. Just a simple statement of fact, as was the following. "Zavaleta moves through the moment as it comes. When you wish to speak, you will and listen to it they will."

He followed Nimue into the study. Instead of waiting, or even sitting down in the place she indicated, he smoothly strode past her and towards the occupying wall of scrolls and texts. Naked curiosity played on her face. Eyes roamed hungry at the tomes. Their fingers reached out before being arrested all of a sudden.

"He apologizes," Baen declared with a soft smile as he turned towards Nimue. "Books are his pleasure." Their hand? Touched their own chest however, indicating they were talking about themselves.

Only then she strode past Nimue once again to settle easily and gracefully into the soft chair.

A pleased sigh escaped their lips, one leg crossing the other, and looking up to the priestess. "This place is power, but... there is comfort to be had and that is equally important. Speak your words, Invader of Dreams, and Baen will decide if this is worth his time."

 

[Nimue]

T A G S | Baen Zavaleta​

Nimue's breath caught in her throat as they reached out to touch the scrolls. It was not that they were off-limits per se, but she was very protective over them. Each one had been written by her own hand and her hand alone, to later be transcribed and placed in the archives. They were precious to her, more than anything else, and by reaching for them they had done nothing save for surprise her.

A smile of recognition crossed her lips as they spoke, and she nodded to show her agreement as she stepped forward to stand by their side.

"Unfortunately, none of these are books." Nimue responded, trailing the tips of her fingers over one of the many shelves. "They are prophecies…" Her hand shifted to motion to the other shelves, each one containing hundreds upon hundreds of rolled-up scrolls. "…in their thousands. The galaxy is a busy place." Turning then to take her own seat in front of the desk, she continued. "However, should you prove helpful in the task I have to give you then I would be more than happy to allow you permission to roam the archives. You could spend several of our lifetimes in there and still not manage to turn every page."

Nodding lightly as thanks to their compliments, Nimue settled back in her chair to answer their question properly. "This place is our home." She began. "Our home, our place of worship, our work, our ancestry. All of it built and cemented within the very foundations of this temple. It has not been in such danger for… millennia. When the Silmä were first formed, long before the construction of the temple as it looks today…" Leaning forward ever so slightly, Nimue lazily flicked a wrist to conjure a thick veil of white smoke. It acted as a projection screen of sorts so that she could display her memories visually.

"The Silmä of old discovered and chose the temple location because of the nexus beneath, but they were not the first to make a home there. It seems that our force nexus lies upon a rift…" The images on the blanket of smoke moved to show the carvings on the Sacrificium wall. Crude stone drawings of twisted frightening creatures. "…and this is what crawls out of it. Our ancestors only barely managed to defeat it by trapping it beneath the nexus using powerful magic." The images changed to display the carvings of the runes next. "I suppose they had no idea that they would eventually break free, but this puts us all in danger. I have no idea how complicated it will be to enact this magic."

Her face fell, brows furrowing until soft lines appeared between them. The next image to flash across the swirling smoke was the nexus itself. "I doubt it will be as easy as walking in there, carving the runes, and leaving again. The Silmä before us were very few in numbers, but they were powerful witches. The Silmä of today are many, but their training still lacks. I fear our chances of survival are equal to, if not less than theirs were. Which does not bode well for us, and it is where you come in." Her wrist flicked again, and all the smoke fell from the air and spread out over her desk like water from a cliff. "We are in danger of being wiped out entirely if we cannot defend ourselves."

"And I will not be known as the High Priestess who failed."​

 

[Baen Zavaleta]

Nimue

"Prophecies?" They repeated quizzically. This was outside Baen's wheelhouse. In fact, it was outside their galaxy, because not one fiber of Baen Zavaleta's being believed in fate.

In their experience existence was a chaotic construct, where the strong thrived. Prophecy suggested that free will was either non-existent or otherwise powerless... no, that did not appeal. Outside of that one-worded question Baen did not argue however. It would be rude of a guest to question the very fabric of their existence.

Skeptic or not, Baen immediately responded to the challenge slyly offered.

"He has never failed a contract once accepted." One thin line of a finger raised itself in a signature pause. "Will he accept? This is the question that is still unanswered."

Even as a skeptic there was temptation to let their fingers stroke past the future-pages. Even if it was mere fiction, words were power, especially if enough people believed in them for a long enough time. Baen sniffed slightly and she could feel what Nimue was talking about.

First: the room and corridors around them. They were ancient. Old and thrumming full of historic might. These were the halls where the future was worshipped and drawn together at the same time. They believed in it. This was enough. Second: There was something older than all of them put together directly beneath them. A clear sharp line could be drawn from this study down to the abyss. Where I t Waited. "Baen wonders why esoteric orders always put their holy works on top of dark waiting... tick tick tick atomic armament." It was a sly tease with a little smile to soften any possible perceived slight.

Because they both knew why they did it.

"What does your prophecies say, High Priestess?" The query came sweetly while he slowly rubbed the chair's armrest. Right about now she prayed for that drink that was offered, but declined by ignored decree. If you take a sip you will want more. This Baen knew. This Baen wished to avoid for the duration of the meeting.

"Do you receive your hero? Your guardian? Shall Baen accept and protect your order from the time-bomb it coiled itself around?" Baen leaned in and studied her frankly. "Surely it told you this already, so tell this one what their answer shall be."

 

[Nimue]

T A G S | Baen Zavaleta​

Nimue had experienced this before. Lost souls who wander through their temple doors, hear the word prophecy, and immediately cast their doubts. How could anyone coven who claims to be so knowledgeable believe in something as fickle as fate?

The simple answer was, they did not.

"The Oracle is not infallible, and neither are the prophecies they share with us. What is to come is as clear to me as it is to you. We are not tellers of the future, Baen Zavaleta. We are interpreters of many futures. We are storytellers, and fact-finders, mathematicians, and stargazers." Nimue looked at him with something of a reproachful stare. Centuries of life had ensured that this was not the first time she'd had to explain the ways of the Silmä to those who were unable to see beyond face value. "We see many different paths and find many different answers, it is our duty and responsibility to work out the most likely and place our faith in that. To help protect and defend our coven and Illyria."

"As for your question…" Standing from her chair, the old wood scraping noisily against the cold stone floor, Nimue turned back to the shelves upon shelves of prophecies. Her fingers danced in mid-air for a short while as they flicked back and forth between various scrolls. "Here." She finally said as her spindle fingers pulled out a parchment, yellow and frayed at the edges. "This is yours, though I did not know it then." Turning back, she placed it carefully in the centre of the desk and untied the crimson cord that kept it bound. It unfurled immediately, the curled edges creaking as they stretched out for the first time in weeks. The writing itself was thick gold lettering in a language that would likely be unintelligible to Baen. Nimue took her seat again and then turned the parchment to face her so that she could read it.

"The Oracle has spoken. Under the power of High Priestess Nimue, on this the fourth day of the second month in the year 813ABY. When the dawn shines green and the sea meanders backwards, the coven shall not stand alone. Blood binds more than family alone." Nimue finished and rose one of her slender white brows up at Baen. "This was all that was given to me for decades. Of course, a rather simple one to interpret. The coven shall not stand alone quite clearly meant outside help would come. Blood binds more than family alone? I had my guesses as to what that meant, but your name was not passed on until the day before I walked your dreams. Nor did I truly understand what it until you showed up tonight. We are similar in more ways than one, you and I."

"So…" She said as she sat back in her seat once more. "I knew we would receive help; I knew you would come, but the future is never cemented until it becomes the present, and not even the Oracle can predict the present. That leaves only one question left. What will your answer be, Baen Zavaleta?"​

 

[Baen Zavaleta]

Nimue

Baen just smiled at her during the explanation.

It clearly hit a mark, but suppose they weren't the first ones that were skeptical about prophecies... and presumably not the last one either. He filed that away for later usage. Never a bad idea to catalogue a person's little quirks to make use of in a later stage.

"Mmm, it is no wonder there is so much... paper involved then." Murmured delicately and with a hint of humor in the eye. "This one means no disrespect, High Priestess. He possess respect for all applications of power and the pursuit of truth." After all, it wouldn't do to piss off a lady like this in the sanctum of her own authority.

Quickest way to final death.

Baen had been dodging that fate for centuries now and wasn't planning on meeting it any time soon.

"Blood..." Echoed thoughtfully as he reassessed Nimue. Only then did he see the signs. They were, of course, now that he knew to look for them. Their kinds were few in between. But you could meet them if you were thorough enough and patient. It was still a surprise to Baen every time it happened after all these years.

"Baen believes you are correct." She licked her lips and leaned back once more. "Who am I to ignore the plight of blood when it calls?" It was the first time Baen referred to themselves in the first form.

They didn't do it often. Rarely even. But when a pact was being made? Unity had to be reached within, every shade of their being pulled back, so one accord could be sealed.

"Zavaleta can assist, oh yes. With him comes sentients a plenty, versed in the Darkside, trained in the occult an' eldritch. We think... we can lend you a hand. What of the fee... what can Nimue, the High Priestess of the Silmä offer us, if we assist with this problem of yours?"

 

[Nimue]

T A G S | Baen Zavaleta

I​

Nimue smiled.

Baen did not need to say anything further. Nimue saw and understood far more of people than many first assumed. It was a deafening announcement that the future had indeed become the present, as the Oracle had foretold. Though not infallible as they had come to realise with the passing of the prophesied one, the future was certainly predictable. Perhaps the smile was a little smugger than she had intended, but it did not linger for long.

It faded as Baen continued. She had known the discussion of payment would be brought up sooner or later. Nothing in this galaxy ever came for free. Especially not something as dangerous as this. She cleared her throat before she began. "In addition to free reign of the archives, I shall offer credits, should that be what your heart desires. But I have no doubt that there is far more to you than such a crass and basic instinct. Should you prove successful in this task then you will not only have aided the longevity of the Silmä, but of an entire planet too."

"I will not make light of such an accomplishment, nor will my sisters or the people of Illyria. For this, I can offer you far more than credits." The scrape of wood against stone filled the study as she finally rose from her seat. Heeled shoes carried her around the perimeter of the desk so that she could perch on the edge facing Baen.

"As I have mentioned, my sisters and I do not just dabble in the future. We are alchemists, potion crafters, and spell-weavers. Perhaps a new armoury of alchemized weapons? Maybe a poisonous elixir that could take down a thousand men with a drop the size of a pinhead? We could make an entire nation forget or revere you in an instant. We could even change your appearance so that even your own kin would not recognise you." She waved a hand dismissively, to stop herself from getting further carried away. "Truly, the only limit is your imagination."​

 

[Baen Zavaleta]

Nimue

Smug smile.

It would have annoyed them if it didn't make such a pretty drawing.

"Credits..." Baen murmured bemused. "The price of the boorish and boring, Priestess." Sweetly and entirely disinterested. After all, what was money to a being that could put a few thousand credits on a bank, wait two decades and grab the excess interest as if it was a tomorrow's issue. But it seemed Nimue understood that intrinsically already.

Eyes casted down and up, exploring without shame, as Nimue settled down on the table before them.

"A whole planet's worth of gratitude? Now that is worth quite a bit of work." Confirming her gut-feeling on what Baen would value. But then had it ever been in doubt?

Would her prophecies ever attach her fate to someone who didn't fit into the wider puzzle?

"He believes gratitude... and the promise of favors... will suffice for now, Priestess. Be forewarned however. His hunger? It bleeds some planets dry..., you should be prepared for that." It had been years- centuries since those early wild days, of course. But it amused Baen to refer to it anyway, it kept things... spicy, so to speak.

"Show us the place of danger. We will study... and begin making arrangements from our fleet."

Fleet was a big word.

It wasn't like an Imperially-mandated strike force. Instead it was a flotilla of several corvettes, a frigate, a dozen freighters. A commune that traveled between the stars. In a way it was its own order. But instead of tying itself to a world, they tied themselves to this creature in front of her. Wasn't that terrifying in its own right?

 

[Nimue]

T A G S | Baen Zavaleta​

Greed was something she had anticipated from one that the Oracle had cruelly expected to lay down life and limb for the sake of perfect strangers. Death could neither be predicted nor ruled out entirely, which placed Nimue on a thin line as far as bargaining went. However, should death find them there, the chance remained that his greed would not be sated at all. If the Oracle so wished it.

It was only when the word favours came into play, flittering about the room like an incessant insect in her ear, that Nimue found her face faltering. Favours were not something she was accustomed to owing, and the very idea of owing Baen a favour did not sit well with her at all. They had an eternity to collect, an eternity to toy with her. To tease both when and what. Nimue did not like this. She furrowed her brows for a moment, rapping one of her sharp painted nails against the dark wood in tandem to her thoughts.

"I cannot promise you favours from the Silma, for they are not truly mine to make promises for. Who knows when the Oracle will call the next high priestess to hear their words? I cannot say if they will honour them, nor can I expect them to, and I do not wish to disappoint you. But a personal favour is something different altogether, and I offer you as many as it takes to consider the debt paid." Nimue did not wait to hear if he would accept or not. It was not negotiable. Despite her position, the coven did not belong solely to her, and she could no more toy with its future than escape its past.

"We have reached an accord." Nimue smiled, a genuine smile that brought the corners of her lips up to flash sharp, white teeth. "Follow me." Pushing herself off the desk, she exited the study and made headway for the Omnivident.

The temple was a winding, twisting maze of false corridors and trick doors to confuse those who did not belong within its hallowed walls, but Nimue knew them like the back of her hand. There was a long hallway leading out from the right-hand side of her study. The end appeared to be dead, nothing but the polished ebony stone the temple was made from, but it slid aside to the commands of Nimue whispered in some unearthly language. Behind the hidden door, a staircase spiralled all the way down to the centre of the temple. There, they found another door, leading to three hundred steps that sent them down to the rocky core of Illyria itself.

"This is the Omnivident." Nimue spoke as they reached the end of the stairs, which lead to an archway that opened out into the cave itself. There had never been any need for torches down here. The pool of milky white water cast shimmering reflections across the grey stone, and where they could not reach to stave off the shadow, the strong pulsing glow of the mushrooms that grew there picked up the slack. "We do not yet know where the entrance to this rift is hidden. It is the one thing our ancestors failed to tell us. I suppose they expected it to be something passed down from high priestess to high priestess, but the quiet lull of safety makes fools of us all."

She walked a little further, just across the threshold, but before she allowed Baen to walk anywhere she spoke again. Her tone was firm. A tone perfectly suited to a high priestess. "I must ask you not to touch the pool. This is a sacred place, and it cannot be defiled by strangers hands."​

 

[Baen Zavaleta]

Nimue

Baen watched her calmly as she explained.

It was ... less than expected, but then again, sometimes you had to stem the tide of your greed or it would consume you. The longest living ones understood that, it was why they were still walking these planes, instead of being brought low. So, in the end Baen inclined his head in acceptance, not that Nimue was waiting for it.

Given regardless.

"An accord, yes." Baen murmured warmly. "If we survive this. You and us. Then... she believes you will see more of her." The smile turned mischievous there as they stroked their hair away and rose up.

"...which you are allowed to thank us for."

Certainly Baen Zavaleta knew their own worth. Some might wonder if they didn't know it TOO much, in fact. They followed the High Priestess, but the attention was firmly pinned onto the place they traversed. It was... interesting. As if build specifically to withstand anyone from penetrating its secrets and that only inspired more curiosity from them.

It was difficult to try and commit to memory however.

Every time Baen attempted this feat the paths shifted somewhat. A bit to the left, a bit to the right. A passage he believed he understood was suddenly somewhere else in his mind-palace.

"This place plays trickery with his mind." Baen murmured calmly as he followed her through the secret passage. "It does not want to be Known. It wants to remain a mystery."

A hum there when Nimue made that specification.

"Fret not, Priestess, these hands will not touch the pool unless asked." A waggle of their hands. Before following her in deeper, to study the walls, the floor, the ceiling. All curious looks. All wonder and curiosity. There was a lot to unpack here. Clearly. But this was a long-term project. Baen didn't have any illusions he could breach it just like this now.

"Do any scrolls still exist that were made back when this place was first made?"