Atrisian Archives Open for the Right Key (Brom Burnside)

[Yasha Cadera]

Atrisia's the sort of place I take in doses. Short doses. But why, Anders Sivas, do you take Atrisia in short doses? Well, holorecorder I'm dictating into it's simple: No one on Atrisia says what they think. The amount of suppressed and sutured emotions splay across the cloud line like thick, winter rain and no one walks around with an umbrella. It's all calm nods and practiced poise and after a few hours on the surface of this world the headache starts.

Repressed emotions tend to be strong emotions, like unrealistic anger bursting in the mind of an upset adult child, whose mother doesn't see the age of her kid's face. Like you want to grab a pipe wrench and beat the walls until the paper shreds and the wood turns to tinder. Like just looking at the man you want to know better is a sin punishable by public shunning. All of these thoughts rush my brain and shutting them out is a lesson in the dimmer switch. No channel to change to is better. I skipped out of the daily foot traffic on Atrisia's main city's rebuilt main drag and head down an alleyway to a narrow passage under a building built over the street. My leather jacket seems huge and drafty as I zip it up and walk faster - away. Just away. The tea house is in a clearing the size of a six speeder parking lot, synth-turf laid atop duracrete and a knotch-and-slat house kneels atop the synth-turf. A plaque on the side of the hut tells the story of a historical tea house which once had filled the entire area with its' quiet, meditative customs. Now all I hear is a trapped wind caught in the hurriedly replaced architecture and as I step to the tiny tea house I leave my boots at the door and kneel on in. A bow, a nodded head and I'm seated on a pillow as the master of the tea house sends his house girl to retrieve boiled water from the back.

House girl... no, daughter. Family business I'd reckon by the internal haemorrhage of her stilted dreams. It's not all bad. Thank the goddesses. There are two more spots on the mats before the tea master's spot, the tea is all laid out and I take a deep, deep breath. Clear my head, meet . . . whoever it is I'm supposed to meet and onward to the Archives further into the city.

I've got secrets to steal.

[member="Brom Burnside"]

 

[Dissero]

Atrisia was not a planet Dissero have ever made an effort to visit, but upon his arrival he made the mental note that that had been a personal mistake. History. This place, this entire planet was a spring of it in the middle of a great, warring galaxy. Imagine that, tea houses just sitting quietly within the turmoil of galactic chaos.

Hot tea, wind chimes, wooden sandals, kimonos, hand-made paper fans intricately painted, jewel boxes encrusted with genuine eggshell, mother of pearl, hand-spun silk robes with dyes so rich it made you cry. Dissero wasn't a materialistic man, but damn had it been a long time since he'd worn silk pants.

The Archivist indulged - an action he rarely partook in. Typically a frugal man of modest means, he didn't live large and when he did it was because he scavanged the good stuff from the undeserving. Take his latest project as an example: refitting his personally designed forge with cannibalized pieces and materials of Isley Verd's Dark Forge replica. Now that, he thought decidedly as he pandered through a jewelry shop for a few lovely pieces to take home to the lady in his life, was what you called recycling...re-purposing, not stealing.

A look at the time - shit, late again.

Well, he wasn't exactly known for his timeliness, now was he? Unless it involved a grand musical number.

Finishing up his business, Dissero filled his traveling bag and made way for the tea house.

A fething tea house.

"Mahet, you always miss out on the good stuff," the man remarked to himself with a grin as he stepped inside and followed through with the traditional rituals. The man doffed his shoes and bowed his way into the seating area where this Anders Sivas, presumably, sat waiting. Low and behold, there Anders Sivas was. He slipped past a waiting girl to join Anders and took a seat.

"Anders? Pleasure, name's Dissero," the greeting was amiable as he passed a look around and leaned in to speak a bit lower, "you know I'm not much of an entrepreneur of tea ... I'm limited to the Honoghran variety. You'll have to help me out here a bit."

[member="Anders Sivas"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

Dissero. I know little of the man other than his reputation for being perfect for my task at hand. That, and Faenrovon likes him so he can't be half bad. He comes in on the tail end of late and I wave him over. "Dissero, glad you could make it. That's my name, go ahead and try to wear it out. Thanks for meeting me here. Hope you found the place ok."

Some might think I chose a small tea house out of its' latent secrecy or the fact it's further from the tumultuous main drag. Truth be, it's a place of grounding. Where better to plan a potential heist than a place grounded in centuries of calm, serene tea? I have yet to think of another in this planet.

"You'll do fine. They choose the tea here based on what the Master sees in your aura." I clear my throat and smirk. "True story. Family's been doing it since the Old, old, old, ooold empire. Kept it quiet to avoid... unpleasantness." The Tea Master walks in and I feel the hush around him, a gravity and sullen dedication to duty built into his DNA. I put both hands on the ground and bow till my head nearly touches. He kneels and does the same, motioning to the both of us that he's ready to begin.

There are four selections of dried tea leaves and two powders. The middling-aged man glances over hooded eyes at me, his gaze stroking this way and that in a diagonal spider web of faint perception. The quality of the air changes and I feel a hitch in his sight. I am not easy to know. There have been far too many "I"'s in this mind of mine to make it easy for the man. He pinches one of the powders into a clay bowl, adds a sprig or two of another more leafy tea and turns to whisper with his daughter. 'Bring out the sakura mochi for our guest' My eyebrow quirks. He pours water in the bowl and takes a bamboo whisk to it, until it makes a fine paste. He sets the paste aside and glances at [member="Brom Burnside"].

Whatever will the man see? "What do you know of Atrisian history, Dissero?"

 

[Dissero]

"Aura, eh?"

This aught to be a good one.

Unlike Anders, Dissero wasn't a man with multiple personas locked in his bodice or his mind, but he'd spent the last five years dallying with an ancient trinket known to very priveldged few as the Traveler's Locket. It wasn't something he waved under the noses of his superiors or even his enemies. It was something, much like the chain holding his personal Key Holocron and that of Spencer Jacob's Phobis Device knowledge in another, the locket stayed carefully hidden out of sight. Right by his heart, exactly where he kept a myriad other intangible things.

So what was there to see then?

A man of passion, of intelligence, of due diligence to his work and trade, of an estranged sense of honor that may or may not have splintered in the most recent escapades of his life. There was also darkness present - in his blood, in his lineage, in his mind and spirit. Too much time spent pouring over Darkside secrets and spells - no one, but no one, was immune to their influence. Devotion was another, in both heart and in mind. Sincerity. Compassion. And then, hiding beneath all the layers he only wished for everyone else to see: the tragic fracturing of his psyche in his endless, heedless mission to fullfill the unfathomable task of crafting the galaxy's most insidious and terrifying weapon.

The old man might see the need for a bit of grounding in the Archivist. Something profound and unyeilding yet comforting to the soul. A sip of, it'll be alright kid, just soldier on.

"Admittedly, not much," that was a bit of a lie. He knew plenty, but the information simply wasn't at the forefront of his mind, presently. Dissero did not enjoy an eidetic memory like his half sister, and relied upon tricks of the mind taught to him by an old whiphid.

"Feel free to fill me in on what you deem pertinent - so what's my brand?" he queries the Tea Man.

[member="Anders Sivas"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

The Tea Master grunts a low gravelling basso, hands on his knees he stares down my associate and searches the inner sight he has for a fledgeling trace of whatever [member="Brom Burnside"] needs next. Into Dissero's bowl the old man puts a tea which smells of wood smoke and the clay of a deep set cave. This tea had been dried over ludd'ha wood and aged in caverns for upward of a decade at a time. He frowned and nodded, happy enough with his choices. The water was poured into each bowl and swished in circles until another grunt exited his mouth and he poured the bowl's contents into six tea cups. Two each for us, one of each flavour for him. He picked up his cup and bowed to me, I equalled his stance and bowed holding one of my own. We drank the tea down. He would offer the same courtesy to my guest, as his daughter brought two trays of light food fare - each individualized in what I can see as only another small bit of prescience.

"Your brand is from my village. This village as it once was, before the concrete stole the grasslands. Smoked and buried, it lied beneath the earth until the day the grounds shook and invaders fell from the sky. It is a tea most selective of its' drinkers. There was no tea for your companion. The Lord Sivas requires a more . . . delicate hand. Sivas' tea was of the air. crushed until it floats on the spoon and gone with a wrong exhale. It is a tea of misdirections, grounded by the leaves of the goddess of compassion. Gentlemen." He bowed and would wait in silence for us to conduct our business.

I know he'd rather die than release the dealings of his tea house to outside ears. "Atrisia makes a deal of being the last bits of pre-Palpatine Empire. It's built on tradition like Naboo is built on cosmetics and redirections and pre-pubescent politicians. Their traditions are sacred, and yet there's no tradition of the Force here. None at all."

I set down my first empty cup and use chopsticks to pick up a piece of rice cake layered with a pickled radish and another piece of rice cake. I chew and swallow before continuing. "Which of course means whatever that tradition actually is is worth a bit of trouble to investigate. There's this legend. A children's tale, that unruly children will be kidnapped by a creature who shifts and changes its' form at will. We're going to find the truth in that legend. I want the techniques of native Atrisian Force Users. Along the way there's certainly going to be enough to keep you interested and compensated. Confidentially, I know of at least six Force Users in the past to have gone missing on Atrisia. There's probably exponentially more that have 'disappeared'. You in?"

 

[Dissero]

"Intrigue is something of a specialty of mine," Dissero said, straight faced, before leaning to try his tea.

Smokey, aromatic, earthy. The man curled his nose a bit, but pressed on with the drink. If he'd not spent his entire childhood at the side of a Noghri he might've spit it out. But, as Mahet had so often reminded him, what's good for you is not always the first choice.

With a grunt he cleared his throat and batted a dark brow at Sivas, "What do you reckon the shape-shifting is all about? I know a few face changers myself, but no one kind has ever stuck out enough to me to be the source of something so legendary. Unless Atrisia is more isolationist than I think it is..." another swig and a bite of food to promptly wash it down.

[member="Anders Sivas"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

"So I've heard. Do tell I'd love the ideas to whet my palette." I sip my tea and it hits my sinuses harder and faster than I thought tea could, astringent and delightful. I sniff in the air and a film falls from my eyes. The wood grain is deeper, the fabrics of the Tea Master's traditional clothing is finer, my companion a little more harrowed and distant than I'd expected. I feel like my eyes have changed colour, like they have been replaced by some greater scale of organ.

"I can take a guess about the shifting." There didn't seem to be a record of any Shi'ido on Atrisia as far as I could find, and in the end I never expected there to be. "It reminds me of a myth built across time. A fairly regular event happening over and over until the only parts left over are the similar ones. The kids being taken, that's the systematic bit. Shape changing: Different faces? Different sides of a person maybe? Or was it different people under the same name? What makes the most sense for a people who are vastly powerless and without a Force Using tradition?"

I dare not mention the depth of my own experience changing face, maybe when it comes up later I might give a peek. For now I am Anders, the High Councillor of Military Affairs and I need Dissero's help. "What sort of shape changers are you used to being around? Illusionists? Shi'ido? Skinwalkers? Molecular Scientists?"

[member="Brom Burnside"]

 

[Dissero]

Perusing the palette of foods set before him, Dissero tested the various combinations, coughing at a particularly mossy aftertaste in one instance. There were times when he liked to consider himself a man of many cultures, but this assortment was all a bit beyond him. He went for something that looked like meat and turned out to be bitter root before giving up.

He cleared his throat quite forcefully, tapping at his chest with the inside of a fist, "All of the above," the response came with a level gaze, nevermind his own personal experience with face-changing - but he wasn't part of Atrisian history, nor had he stolen away anyone from the planet. His abilities here were moot, but his knowledge of it might be of some use.

"done plenty of time around their lot, but you're probably on to something there. Ever heard the story of the Dread Pirate Roberts?"

[member="Anders Sivas"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

"There's an archive of culture that closes at 5 standard time. Thought we could take a peek." It was five minutes to five, I figure he'll get it.

Earthy seems to be a thing with these people. Earthy and caustically hot in small bits and bites. Some are almost too sweet, too fluffy and graceful for my tastes. Still I eat on. It's the polite thing to do for the older man. Once I'm done I lay my chopsticks down and sit back. There's got to be a trick to it. To this myth of theirs I'm missing. Another few minutes and we'll be out on the streets.

"No, I've never heard of the Dread Pirate Roberts. What's the story?"

What would it mean to the Atrisian Force Users? A face changing menace taking children who just don't fit. "Seems to me the invasion of the body snatchers has a lot to do with everyone speaking mum around here. Utter silence. As if saying the words would get them killed or disappeared. Maybe we should yell them, eh? Or use code words. I don't feel like being abducted by a myth and legend today, do you, Dissero?"

[member="Brom Burnside"]

 

[Dissero]

Humming ponderously, Dissero itched at the stubble on his chin, "Could be interesting," is what he offered with a wane smirk.

"The Dread Pirate Roberts is a tale of a dastardly man who lead a crew of horrific people across the galaxy during the time following the Gulag. For centuries he pilfered and plundered worlds ruined by the plague, tearing down what heroes remained and making off with what precious commodities he could. No one is really sure how he managed to do it for so long, because by all accounts his story told by anyone of any generation always starts the same: a grisled old pirate. By all rights, he shouldn't be a grisled old pirate for generations - he was just a man, and not even a force sensitive man at that."

Not wanting to be rude and needing something to wet his tongue, Dissero sought another swig of his tea, grimacing over a swallow.

"The secret was not in longevity of the man, but longevity and persistence of the myth. I know this because I met a Dread Pirate Roberts soaking in the sun on the beaches of Spira in sandals and a powder blue speedo drinking a Bay Breeze. Imagine my shock upon recognizing the telltale brand on his right cheek. I could hardly believe my eyes but I was young and I have since only achieved a minor iota more control over my curiosity than what I had then.

'What are you doing on Spira?' I asked.

'I'm retired,' he replied.

This made little sense to me at the time, as only recently had GNN headlined the infamous chase and capture of the Dread Pirate Roberts just off the Hydian Way.

'Shouldn't you be incarcerated?' says I.

'That's my replacement,' says he, 'I was too Spiced up at the time to train him right. Just as well,' says he, 'I think it's time the name is put to rest.'

So he came to explain to me that the Dread Pirate Roberts was only a legend in name. Every ten or so years, the Captain decides he's collected enough bounty to retire, so he clears out his crew except for his First Mate who he's had in training to take his place ever since bringing him aboard. First Mate dons the new Captain's hat as the fresh Dread Pirate Roberts, retired man helps him hire in a brand new crew and trains them up a bit before eventually stepping off. And so the story perpetuates and none are the wiser."

[member="Anders Sivas"]

"By the by, Honored Tea Master," Dissero finally turns to the old man who has quietly been sipping his own, "this has got to be the worst tea I've ever had," a lighthearted chuckle follows, "must mean it's really good for me, aye?" With that Dissero finishes his cup.

 

[Yasha Cadera]

"So the monster in the myth is a Dread Pirate Roberts. Keeps changing. . . that would match the accounts. Yeah, that would match it well. Maybe we're looking for a single returning entity or a group that switches over time. It's good to stay open."

The old tea master grimaced and bunched the fabric of his hakama up at his knees. "You needed grounding, young man. I added a tea of the earth. That which is best is not pleasant." He bowed and got up, grabbing a hand from his daughter as he trundled off.

I've got to stop trying to keep a straight face. "Haaah. You got him talking. Good for you, dude. Good for you." The chrono on my wrist chimes and I hop up and dust off my pants. "Archives're closed and the watchman's off on his constitutional. Let's go."

Leaving the tea house with a bow and a few Atrisian credits, I push my hands into the pockets of my jacket and march off toward the archives. The building itself looks halfway to falling down, a conglomerate of wreckage, slag and the bits left over from a grandiose structure that used to be there. I duck past the main entrance to a side door built into the wall. Once upon a time it would have been flush and hidden, but the Fringe Invasion of Atrisia had uncovered the seam well enough.

"Don't freak out." I glance at [member="Brom Burnside"] and my face begins to shift and change. It happens in shimmers and folds, my DNA and my physical appearance hasn't actually shifted: Just the perception of the face. I am a being of perceptions, and in front of Dissero's eyes I am perceived to me a bitter faced, tired eyed woman with pitch black hair and one milky eye. My arthritic hand brushes against a depression in the duracrete, and a small scanner droid pops out of the wall, flitters about measuring my face, my eyes.

It pops back in with a shrill Meep and the door slides open to the side. It stops halfway, "We're going to have to push it. It's creaked ever since the invasion."

 

[Dissero]

A ragged chuckle follows the Empath out the door along the footsteps of the Archivist. The day fading around them, they walked in growing dusk, blue eyes catching the glimmer of evening rituals through paper-covered windows. The artistry is marvelous, the atmosphere is much like everything Dissero loved: saturated with history. Content to remain on Anders' heels, he paused only when the slighter man did, brows lofting at the curious change of appearance.

I know that trick... he thought to himself, though a wolfish smile spoke only of how impressed he was, but I can't do it like that. The man itched idly at the collar of his shirt, but not to sate any physical need as much as it was to reassure himself that the Traveler's Locket remained secured on its chain.

"That something you inhereted from your mother?" he asked, motioning for Anders to step aside. The Archivist moved then to place a single hand on the door edge and gave it a hefty push. There was no need to use the Force to augment the strength that occurred as naturally to him as Anders little gift. He grunted, feeling it give way, and stood back for his companion to lead in, rolling his eyes in amusement at the remnants of the Fringe's efforts: irritatingly jammed doors.

[member="Anders Sivas"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

Dissero holds onto his neck and it makes me wonder, hard. But not enough to halt proceedings or ask a question.

"Naw, my mom was a Force Mute. I learned this one from ah. . . huh. Guess I've always done it, you know? Since I started using the Force. Technology, android brains and the like? They're as susceptible to perception as sentient beings. . . persuasion no, perceptions? Enough that it double-takes and re-sets the lock. Lock resets? Click. Unclick."

My eyes balk a bit as [member="Brom Burnside"] pushes the door aside. I'm as piddly as a thirteen year old girl when it comes to strong-arming anything or anyone. I step into the archive and my face settles back to the appearance it's most accustomed with: Anders Sivas. Down the second hall, I see markings along the walls, scale marks. "What happened here?" Were those fingernail marks? Droids? A heavy bookcase? As we continue down the hall the marks get deeper.

"I don't understand, this place was supposed to be un-damaged on the inside." The marks on the wall dig in, four then five, then one.

None. "Ummmmmmmmmm Dissero? You seeing anything crazy?" A whiff of something in the air, I can't figure out what it is, but it stinks of something dark, cloying. Ixetal? Naw. . . "Do you smell that? What is that?"

 

[Dissero]

"Naw, my mom was a Force mute."

This caused the Archivist to prickle, blue eyes keenly looking over the Councilor with a hair more scrutiny. For a brief moment he seemed to consider something. A thought, a glint of suspicion, a flash of paranoia, a second of malicious intent - it all happened within barely more than a blink of an eye. Anders' talk about perception came and went without nary a notice.

Jokes about my mother are never funny, Dissero released the tension of his jaw with a forced chuckle, but they don't know anything about her. I made sure of that.

Tearing his gaze away, he looked on to the damage of the walls and lifted a hand to touch at the slash marks. They were high and deep - whatever made them was sizable. Movement at the end of the hall caught his eye and the man very suddenly and forcibly grabbed Sivas by the shoulder and pushed him into a side hall and out of sight. Dissero motioned for quiet by lifting a finger to his lips as he slowly leaned to peer out at a massive hulking thing of blaze-red.

"Smells like Haruun Kal," he uttered, lips drawing thin in thought, "...akk dogs. What an odd place for akk dogs," he glanced back to Anders, noting that at this proximity the man was quite ...feminine in appearance, "don't suppose you've ever had the pleasure?"

Force how he hated akk dogs.

Not as much as he hated Sithspawn.

[member="Anders Sivas"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

"What?" My head takes a double-glance at [member="Brom Burnside"]. I said something that hit him wrong, but which part was it exactly? Pin-pointing this guy is a trial worse than the - wait, what?

His hand grabs me and I gasp - not the manliest thing I could have done - and my back slaps up against the wall. For a second I'm intertwined with a desperate fear that the perceptions keeping me in safety are slipping, that somehow he's figured out the dawning reality of my confused and sordid gender. Akk Dogs are worse than gender battles, and I gulp.

"Akk dogs. . . this is a bad time to tell you I fight like a girl. A prepubescent girl. A prepubescent girl from Naboo." I sidle over, my pale and dainty collarbone visible under the collar of my shirt, and see a bunch of red.

"Aw now why'd they put those there? We must be closer than I thought. . . ah, how's their sense of smell, Dissero?" My hand goes to a hold-out blaster strapped to the side of my waist.

 

[Dissero]

The Master's blue eyes do not deceive him when he peeks a glance at the momentarily exposed collar bone. For now, Dissero doesn't think much on it. Certainly he wasn't one to judge, and what did it really matter if Anders was a dainty thing. As a Councilor he'd proven smart, sharp, sane, and on task - that was all one could really ask for. Leave the heavy lifting to those of weaker mental constitutions, like Dissero.

"I have a younger sister," the Archivist offered over a wane smirk, "but I haven't seen her in a long time. It will be nice to be a big brother again for someone, don't you worry, and-" those same blue eyes keen in on Anders' hand at his side, "don't bother. It won't do a thing but irritate them..."

Glancing around then, considering their options, he nods finally, "wait here. Don't move until I whistle." Neglecting to answer the question of senses, Dissero brushes past his companion and strides off down the hall directly towards the red. As he nears he slows, raises a hand and issues a concentrated Force Push towards the nearest creature to garner it's attention. Successfully, it turns with a rumble and the man dodges off down some side hall, three akk dogs in hot pursuit. The walls tremble, the floors waver, a distant cacophony of an exchange can be heard.

Then silence.

Silence.

A long, curved note of a whistle.

[member="Anders Sivas"]

 

[Yasha Cadera]

"This is plenty of practice for getting your sister back. I heal things, I meld with peoples' brains, I don't fight. It's better my opponents don't die laughing. Bad with the image." The holdout blaster slides back into its holster. "I could sneak around them, but that would be dumb."

My eyes shut as he leaves, senses pushing outward across the entire archives. While [member="Brom Burnside"] left to take on the Akk Dogs, I creep across from wall to wall. In the symbiotic memory imprint I've been holding of the Archivist, is a series of spots in the walls. Precious tiny places she carved into the baseboards I crawl toward one, take out my pocket knife and shove it between the flooring and the wall. A chink, a piece of pottery falls away and I pull a soft chersilk bag out. It's the size of my hand, fits in my pocket with a heavy sort of gravity. As I get up, I feel the walls shake.

What's Dissero doing and why don't I want to know? I make my way through the silence and the halls toward him and I shudder to think about what I'm going to see. "Dissero? I'm looking up at the ceiling, are you ok?"

 

[Dissero]

"Bet you didn't know the ceiling was paisley," he replied.

A grunt and the man was on his feet again, dusting himself off. He's managed to corral the lot of them into a side chamber, but judging by the cacophony sounding beyond the door it likely won't be long before they've found--or made--an exit. Clearing his throat, the man moves off back down the hall to rejoin [member="Anders Sivas"], stopping short after only a few harried steps.

"Feth," he looks down at himself, hands instantly going beneath his over jacket to the small of his back. His eyes buldge and then quickly narrow, "one of those buggers got my dagger." With a sharp twist of his upper body the Archivist turned to eye the doorway, then gave an irritated wave of dismissal, "I hope they chew on it, they'll be dead in an hour if they do."

There wasn't any sense in opening that room of akk dogs, he'd simply have to track down the guilty beast when they were finished. Still - family heirloom. He wasn't pleased with having it ganked from his own figure. Shoulders squared, he made way for the Councilor once more, "lead on."

 

[Yasha Cadera]

"Is it an important knife?" Sounded like it was, and now that the Akk dogs are behind a door, I skitter back as it sounds like one of them's trying to bore their way through. "Yeeek!" Both palms on the far wall, I glance from [member="Brom Burnside"] to the door he just came through. "Ho-how long?" I squeak.

Think, me. This is the least manly thing I've done in my entire life. . . "I'll get it." My lips go dirt dry, I lick them and shimmy toward the door. Both hands push on the door, but I don't open it. A dog banged on the wall, I skitter back. "I got this! Yeah, um . . . jussasec."

Putting my palms on the door again, my eyes and hands begin to shine. The shimmer grows from flickers of sunshine to vast expanses of light. Inside the room, the beasts are making an unendurable racket, bouncing in and out of their minds as I am, my eyes are blazing. One of the dogs've lit a spark in my brain. I stick my forehead to the door, "Shhhhhhhhhhhh." I purse my lips into a low whistle, gradually getting lower and lower until I hear the Akk Dogs one by one thunk to the floor. My fingers slip down the door by inches.

They're too heavy to keep on the door. "I'll be right back." The door opens and I tip-toe around the sleeping Akk Dogs, one of them starts kicking, as if . . . is he dreaming? "Aw gawsh, that one's dreaming he got your throat. Dude that's sick. . . Oh. . oh dang where is it?" I kick something oddly metallic with my foot. "Voila." Dissero's knife is lifted telekinetically and I 'toss' it over to him as I prance out of the place on my tip toes, awkwardly trying to avoid kicking an Akk Dog in the snout.

As the door slides, I feel the hot breath of a dog on my leg, it stirs. "Oh dang, oh dang, oh dang" I whisper-scream, rushing the door as it closes with a thunk. "Oohs they're not napping for long let's go! Let's go! Let's go!" Worse than walking into a room of giant spiders, I sputter and race down the hall, peeking around the edge for the Archival Master. I have got to get better at putting sentients and animals into trances. For my health, you know? "This way, there's a stairwell nearby. We take it down, go left, left, left, left, right, left, left, right and second door on our right. We'll know it by the smell of papyrus. Whatever that is. Do you know what papyrus is?"

 

[Dissero]

"It's not so important that it can't-" the Archivist slowed his pace, glancing only to watch the tail-end of [member="Anders Sivas"] doing his thing at the door, "....wait."

Dissero catches the blade with a deft thup of blunt-edge-metal hitting palm. Carefully, he takes the thing and re-sheathed the Heart of Korriban at the small of his back. No need to remark on the good thinking of using Telepathy to throw it, Dissero would hate to have to explain to the rest of the Council why Anders suddenly came down with Darkside Sickness.

Looking back, forth, back again after the blur of the empath, he hustled off after him.

"Glad you're driving," this said over a wry grin, "papyrus? I'm familiar... fills a good portion of my archives." He sniffed - nothing yet, but soon enough at some point ...somewhere within the left-left-left-left-rights his superior senses would pick it up like a dance down nostalgia lane. Reaching the stairwell, Dissero stepping aside for Anders to take the lead, and down they went.

"Guess I'll have to give this place more credit - they've got papyrus..."