Find the Cerulean Maven in the library

The cold, smokeless flame of Feyish crystals lights your way deeper and deeper into the wood-panelled room. The priceless folios and modern prints are not ordered by any discernible system, and the writing on the spine of {if Feysilvered Lenses > 1} some {else} many {endif} appears to be gibberish. {if Feysilvered Lenses > 1} Others are written in cypher or in some obscure Feyish dialects. {endif} Your footfalls, heavy on the polished stone, echo between the shelves.

There is a desk ahead, a lit lamp and an open book. You do not know if the Cerulean Maven left them there, or if she indeed came here at all. There is silence in the library, and the words are familiar to you. The memories of a Starry-Eyed Sailor, its printing long banned by the Censors and with copies sold in every port. Novice Mariners read it to familiarize themselves with the dangers of the Sea. {if A Heretic = 1} And aspiring occultists scour the pages for revelation – for the truths whispered at Sea, truths they not yet dare experience. {elseif An Occultist = 1} You yourself once scoured the pages for revelation – for the truths whispered at Sea, truths you not yet dared to experience. {else} And occultists scour the pages for hints of the Darker Things, for whispers of the horrors that lurk at Sea. {endif}

The version on the desk is old, older than you thought possible. Handwritten letters in jagged script on yellowed paper. {if Feysilvered Lenses > 1} The manuscript. {endif} You do not dare turn the pages and deciphering the writing takes some effort, but you manage to glance some insights elided from later printings.

You have gained [1] Wise Word

You now have {@-11 Wise Words} Wise Words

You do not hear her steps, only the muffled scream behind you and the sound of a book dropped to the floor. The Cerulean Maven, mumbling something between an accusation and an apology, hurries to pick it back up, allowing you only a glance at the cover. {if Feysilvered Lenses > 1} But a glance is enough for you to identify The Tribulations of Althea. Thought to be written by a Fey poet before humanity mastered the art of letters, the rediscovery of this salacious tome led to the founding of the High Office of the Censor for Literary Matters. {endif}

”What are you doing here?” she asks, clutching her book.

You offer a half-hearted apology and a genuine smile.

”No, I am sorry,” she mumbles. ”I didn’t – please feel to browse. I was just...” She trails off, embarrassed or afraid, and **** for understanding.