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| The Illuminated Archivist | |
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| Category | Story Event |
| Type | Story |
| Data ID | 281669 |
The Illuminated Archivist is a Sunless Skies Story Event.
Story description[]
He has built a hide-away inside the cargo hold of a rotting London steamer. The stamp of the Crown & Misery Company gleams in the candlelight, recently polished. Faded paintings of old music hall acts adorn the walls. Tables cram the hold, littered with hideous and broken ornaments: shepherdesses, kittens, the tentacled Rubbery Men of old London all vie for your eye.
Trigger conditions[]
Area: Limbo
Frequency: Always (100%)
Interactions[]
| Actions | Requirements | Effects | Notes | |||||
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| Request another reading of the Word
"Bring me pen and ink. You may copy the text from my skin so that you may have it with you always, even when you travel from this place."
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Things lost
His emaciated breast is marked with what appears to be a timetable. "The trains leave from Moloch Street between the hours of twelve and twelve. This is on Ladybones Road." He continues, reciting scraps of knowledge from old London. He traces a scar running down the curve of his chest. "And here, the address of a honey-wrecked detective is on the mend." He traces a honey vial that hangs above a rib. "Such things we have pulled from the drifts by the Gate. Messages left behind. Perhaps they came through; perhaps they were abandoned."
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| Continue your study of the Word
"Bring me a memory of old London, as she might be now. Quiet and peaceful, with her most troublesome elements all fled to the sky. Tell me of Wolfstack and the zee, the smoke and the smog."
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Yearning?
The Illuminated Archivist pulls a handful of battered pages from his trouser pocket as you make ready to speak. He motions for you to go on, his expression rapacious.
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Speak of vices enjoyed
In Veilgarden, where dandies dream in honey and drown in wine.
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The Illuminated Archivist listens intently, a blissful smile spreading across his slim face. After a while, he closes his eyes, and only the occasional gasp or sly smile convinces you he's still listening.
When you finish, his only feedback is to correct your tenses. "A heart ripe and raw," he says, "That shall be next."
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| Speak of mysteries uncovered
In Ladybones Road, where trains leave for Hell and criminals and detectives hunt one another in the shadows.
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The Illuminated Archivist listens intently, his green eyes sparkling with excitement. After a while, he closes his eyes, and only the occasional intake of breath or wry chuckle convinces you he's still listening.
When you finish, his only feedback is to correct your tenses. "A mask, black and midnight," he says, "That shall be next."
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| Speak of mettle tested
On Watchmaker's Hill, where the Observatory stands over the marshes, and the fens are filled with horrors.
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The Illuminated Archivist listens intently, his eyes wide as the Horizon. After a while, he closes his eyes, and only the occasional shiver or shocked laugh convinces you he's still listening.
When you finish, his only feedback is to correct your tenses. "A beast, wild and roaring," he says, "That shall be next."
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| Speak of larceny enjoyed
In Spite, where poverty and profit collide in the soggy, gaslit alleys.
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The Illuminated Archivist listens intently, his hands fidgeting as he tracks your movements in your story. After a while, he closes his eyes, and only the occasional hissed intake of breath or sudden laugh convinces you he's still listening.
When you finish, his only feedback is to correct your tenses. "A hood and cloak, midnight and dagger," he says, "That shall be next."
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| Continue your study of the Word
"A feast! Not for the traitors nor the murderers. Just us. Tea – as it is written! – and scones – as it is written! – and those little cakes that melt in your mouth – as it is written!"
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Fond remembrances
The Illuminated Acolyte claps his hands with delight at your spread. Supralapsarians crowd into his little chamber to partake of your bounty. They speak to each other of plans to visit this or that boulevard, to attend this concert or seduce that tenor. The names that fall from their lips are but dim memories. No places bearing those titles exist on this side of the Horizon.
At last, when the dishes are cleared away and everyone has toasted the Wandering Bazaar, the Archivist unbuttons his shirt to reveal writing upon his scone-filled stomach. Scraps of poetry on the wonders of old London, deep and dark and marvellous.
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| Discuss your studies
You have advanced far in the Archivist's Book. What does it all mean?
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 A Close Reading of the Text
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| Return to the Flotilla
You have read enough. Your eyes are sore with it.
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 Aboard the Flotilla
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| Ask the Illuminated Archivist to come to Langley Hall
He is handsome, stubborn, and his memories are not as they should be. He might be Lord Langley's lost lover.
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The Illuminated Archivist purses his lips. "Who? Where? Is that near Veilgarden? It sounds like a brothel."
He raises a hand, preventing you from explaining. "I don't have the time to listen to tall tales about made up places. If you're not here to study, I have some meditation I could be getting on with."
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| Ask the Illuminated Archivist to come to Langley Hall
He is handsome, stubborn, and his memories are not as they should be. He might be Lord Langley's lost lover.
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The Illuminated Archivist glowers at you. "And you thought I was mad." He traces a pattern under his right collarbone: a collision (or perhaps a collusion) of suns. Finally, he speaks again. "All right. I may as well see what has gotten you so excited that you believe this rot – if only so I can learn how I failed you as a teacher." He gathers his things and gets ready to board your locomotive.
Aboard the Flotilla
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| Ask the Illuminated Archivist to come to Langley Hall
He is handsome, stubborn, and his memories are not as they should be. He might be Lord Langley's lost love.
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The Illuminated Archivist shakes his head. "There's no such place in London. And I know everywhere in London. Have you been at the Prisoner's Honey?" He eyes you curiously, with more than a hint of displeasure.
"No, I won't go meeting any phantom lords you've conjured. My place is here, in London, and always has been– and as my student, you should know that." He stalks away, closing the matter entirely.
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Links[]
Links In[]
Links Out[]
A Close Reading of the Text, Aboard the Flotilla
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