(122-01-05) Sneaking at the Sept
Sneaking at the Sept
Summary: Camillo notices something odd going on in the Sept.
Date: Date of play (05/01/122)
Related: http://gobmush.wikidot.com/log:122-01-03-leandro-s-code
http://gobmush.wikidot.com/log:122-01-06-warlocks-and-dragons
http://gobmush.wikidot.com/log:122-01-05-sneaking-at-the-sept
http://gobmush.wikidot.com/log:122-01-07-rare-plants-and-dreams
http://gobmush.wikidot.com/log:122-01-08-maesters-behaving-badly
http://gobmush.wikidot.com/log:122-01-09-a-conspiracy-of-books
http://gobmush.wikidot.com/log:121-01-10-geeks-and-cider
http://gobmush.wikidot.com/log:122-01-12-another-dream-of-dragons
http://gobmush.wikidot.com/log:122-01-04-old-scroll-researches
http://gobmush.wikidot.com/log:122-01-17-maesters-and-mysteries
http://gobmush.wikidot.com/log:122-01-17-motifs-and-maesters
http://gobmush.wikidot.com/log:122-01-23-a-maester-without-chains
http://gobmush.wikidot.com/log:122-01-28-the-treasure-hunters
Players:
Camillo..

Although there is not a service just now, the Sept is surprisingly well attended today. There are Septas and Septons, presumably occupied with private prayer and contemplation, but quite a few Maesters are here as well.

Camillo slips in with his usual unobtrusive manner and keeps out of the way of the crowd, particularly anybody who looks important. He finds his way to a donation box and slips in a couple of coins.

The atmosphere is weird today. Sharp eyes will notice several Maesters are surreptitiously writing when they think others are not looking. Eyes of both Septas/ons and Maesters seem more on the decor and each other than focusing on devotions. They look on each other with suspicion.

Camillo finishes his donation and then slides toward the nearest wall to take up a quiet post an observe. He picks out one Maester and one Septa in particular for particular case study.

This particular Maester seems very interested in the floor. He's fifty if he's a day, and rather bald. The Septa is of a no nonsense sort and her sharp eyes seem to be taken up with watching the goings on amoung the Maesters.

Camillo keeps his peace and bides his time, very still against the wall, though his posture is relaxed, as he may be here for some time.

No one seems inclined to leave amoung the Clergy, though Small folk come in and out for prayers and the like. The Septa/ons and Maesters each keep their distance from each other, though a clever observer might notice that the septa's interest is only in about half of the others. Also, one might notice that none of them are under forty or so.

Camillo gives the room a quick scan just in case anyone has dropped any note papers.

They are all being very, very careful about notes, those that are taking them.

Camillo stays still in his place for some time more.

Eventually, and elderly Septon who had been gazing at the ceiling, stands and starts to slip out.

Camillo hesitates a moment, then follows the Septon out.

The man is heading in the direction of the Citadel, but he keeps looking over his shoulder and realizing he is observed, he slows his steps and wends towards the Scribes Hall instead of the less public bits of the Citadel.

"Excuse me, Septon," Camillo says, raising his voice enough that it might be heard, though he doesn't shout.

The Septon stops and turns. His irritation quickly covered by an appropriately fatherly benign expression, "Yes, Son?"

"Forgive me," Camillo says in a respectful tone. "I only wondered, is everything all right? Only there seemed some air of unease in the Sept…"

The Septon can't quite hide the alarm in his eyes, but he covers it quickly, "No, no, nothing is wrong. It's just so many were lost to this illness recently, that those who remain are particularly fervent in their prayers. nothing to worry about." He starts to give Camillo the standard blessing.

Camillo stands reverently (and patiently) to receive it. Then he nods. "Thank you," he says. "I should make an extra offering in remembrance." He turns to go back into the Sept.

The Septon looks relieved at his going and starts hurrying along his original path.

Camillo slips back into the Sept and takes up a post on another wall, noting a few faces at a glance in case they are needed for future reference.

Several more have slipped out in his absence. Those who are left are mostly suspiciously watching each other, including the septa from earlier.

Camillo remains quiet a while longer, watching.

It's like the handful still here are all impatiently waiting for the others to leave.

Camillo finds a quiet spot to hunker down in what at least appears to be meditative prayer. Of course, he keeps toward the back of the hall where he can see best, but he doesn't watch as obviously anymore.

The tension builds. The impatience is obvious. The tolling of the supper bell at the citadel finally breaks it. They hesitate, but the Maesters go, leaving the Sharp eyed Septa, a very decrepit old Septon, and a rather weasley looking forty something Septon in possession of the field, all eyeing each other. The Old Man and the Septa share a Look, then turn their most disapproving gazes at the weasel. He starts sweating and soon retreats. The Septa sighs and crosses to the codger and leans over to speak to him. They seem to have forgotten Camillo.

Camillo does not move. But he listens, surely.

Perhaps it is a trick of the acoustics or perhaps one of the Seven smiles on Camillo. For whatever reason, he hears the woman ask, "Any luck?"

He sighs, "I'm not sure. I think we'll need to compare notes with our friends in the Citadel."

"I've made note of who was here. At least we'll have an idea who the Opposition is." She is particularly vehement, "The traitors."

His tone is more mild, "Likely they would say the same of us and are making their own list of names. Keep an eye on them. We can't keep them from looking, but we can at least keep an eye on what they are up to. I'll meet with our Maester friend tonight and see if they've any luck over there."

She snorts, "Maesters…." She takes a deep breath, "If I even had an afternoon in the High Valyrian collection…"

He clucks chidingly at her, but his tone is sympathetic, "We must all fulfill our rolls." He stands, "I'll send another to relieve you in a bit. I trust your eyes, but even you need to rest sometime."

She dips respectfully and the codger heads towards his tower.

Camillo remains some time longer, then slips out as quietly as he came in.

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