[b][center][h3][color=orange] Lein [/color][/h3][/center][/b]
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[b][color=orange]Location:[/color][/b] Aimlenn Streets, Steffen's Office
[b][color=orange]Interactions:[/color][/b] [@The Otter] [@Conscripts]
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	[color=orange]"Many more have tried and failed."[/color] Lein shrugged, his gloating smile unchanged. [color=orange]"Best you don't disappoint me, hmm?"[/color] With a wave, the wayward Hundi hitched a ride on a passing carriage and melted into the stream of farmers.

	[i]What was that, just then?[/i] Some kind of esoteric magic? Lein was careful not to show any reaction, as it was rather clear that Fionn was simply trying to badger and intimidate than consider actually chasing through Lein through the crowd. No, what really ruffled Lein's feathers was that insidious look on Fionn. As far as Lein had tracked of Fionn's routine, there was nothing under the Veltian that prodded at suspicion. The man was refreshingly as simple as he presented himself - sometimes training, sometimes relaxing with Gerard and Renar. But having skipped out on checking in on his fellow knights' routines these past days, Fionn suddenly developing weird arcane conditions wasn't out of the question. 

	Whatever. There were too many headaches to consider, including the real one that just about blinded him with how insistently it clamored for his attention. First, a good drink.

---

	[color=orange]"Records...arrivals...two years? No, three back."[/color] Lein murmured to himself, drinking tea out of what he assumed to be Steffen's tea cup, though in Lein's hands it was more akin to a mug. He was familiar enough with the Ingvarr's office layout and habits to know how to pick the entrance lock, that Steffen would be out of his office around about this time, and that Lein was to be careful not to pull on the door knob too hard lest its fragile hinges break again, but he had never paid quite so much attention to the tidy wall of records that had lined a side of the desk. [i]Hilda. Grey Peaks. Hilda.[/i] Lein turned the name over on his mind, honing each syllable so as not to forget. A smaller but firm voice stalked each repetition. [i]Or not.[/i]

	Being several heads shorter than the intended user meant that Lein had to get a little creative with his approach. He tip-toed upon a precariously balanced stack of books, knocking off a heavy tome from the bookshelf. Leaning the tome against the bookcase, Lein started to browse quickly through the pages. Rows and rows of studiously recorded identification papers, each organized to time, associated requisitions and complete with cursive notes on incomplete entries. Lein was careful not to let his fingers smudge the disciplined line-work.

	[color=orange]"Steffen, you twisted menace."[/color] Lein chortled, [color=orange]"This is why you're by your lonesome so much.[/color]" The amusement did not linger, however, as even with the meticulous indices the elusive 'Hilda from the Grey Peaks' remained unrecorded. He tossed as many attributes he knew of the woman. Lein stared holes into the book, flying through the pages and de-scrambling each eloquent note. Check all blacksmiths. None. Check all iron-workers. None. Words blended into each other, ink beginning to take on its own mocking meanings. The precise factual notation became taunts and jeers. Check all blacksmiths. No. Arrivals from the Grey Mountains. No. 

	5 appendices and 4 encyclopedias later, Lein imagined tearing out the pages and throwing each and every insufferably silent entry fluttering through the window. Of course there would be many, many of the populace that would go unrecorded - Lein himself having a hand in facilitating the deception - but having dug through half the castle archives and found nothing of cause left nothing but a gnawing irritation. Lein decided to drown his disappointment with the last of the foul drink and slammed the archival book shut. He didn't have the luxury of a next time, but pushing this search was the only option available to him. [i]Just curious. Nothing more.[/i] Lein told himself, completely spent on all his willpower. He was sure to have nightmares of reading cursive now.

	His exit was just as methodical as his entry, working radially backwards out. Replace the books in their clerical order (thought it took a while for Lein to remember the proper order). Tidy up the sheaves of paper near the window. Dust floor and desk to clear footprints. Refill the inkwells and replacing the tea leaves. Oh, and let Steffen know that he really ought to get a quieter door frame.