(no subject)
Lanfear places the pages deliberately back on the table before focusing a cool look on the servant before her. The handwriting is unimpressive, though readable. Evidently too long with the use of a transcriber has rendered the woman out of practise. The servant hardly dares to glance up.
"And this is everything, yes?" the Chosen says after a moment.
"E-everything I could write in time to meet you here, Great Mistress," the woman replies, bowing her head even further. "But just a little before I was due to depart, I saw a pile of letters - all open, most I couldn't understand, but it was if she had been sorting them. There were at least ten, and all from- from Ishamael."
Lanfear tilts her head slowly and intently. "I see. Is that everything?"
The servant - a thin and rather worn woman, obviously barely holding onto her job if she can't present herself better, she must find a more reliable source from Mesaana's organisation - nods. "Yes, Mistress."
"You may go."
When she is alone again, Lanfear sits back slightly, reaching again for one of the poorly-written pages of notes. Such minor things - odd words, changes in mood, brief excerpts from careful letters - but when she adds them to the rest of her research, there is a pattern. Little ripples, inflections in the information, and it becomes hard to ignore. Ishamael knows something about Mesaana's mysterious troubles, and her even more mysterious lack of retaliation.
He fits, but knowing him, he could equally be responsible or investigating as she is, but he is involved in some way. He is never easy to extract information from, but it seems her efforts could be rewarded by extending her search for answers in his direction also.
"And this is everything, yes?" the Chosen says after a moment.
"E-everything I could write in time to meet you here, Great Mistress," the woman replies, bowing her head even further. "But just a little before I was due to depart, I saw a pile of letters - all open, most I couldn't understand, but it was if she had been sorting them. There were at least ten, and all from- from Ishamael."
Lanfear tilts her head slowly and intently. "I see. Is that everything?"
The servant - a thin and rather worn woman, obviously barely holding onto her job if she can't present herself better, she must find a more reliable source from Mesaana's organisation - nods. "Yes, Mistress."
"You may go."
When she is alone again, Lanfear sits back slightly, reaching again for one of the poorly-written pages of notes. Such minor things - odd words, changes in mood, brief excerpts from careful letters - but when she adds them to the rest of her research, there is a pattern. Little ripples, inflections in the information, and it becomes hard to ignore. Ishamael knows something about Mesaana's mysterious troubles, and her even more mysterious lack of retaliation.
He fits, but knowing him, he could equally be responsible or investigating as she is, but he is involved in some way. He is never easy to extract information from, but it seems her efforts could be rewarded by extending her search for answers in his direction also.