Fenn hopped up the creaking stairs, internally pondering a cheery song. It kept his mind off of the creepy nature of the mansion for a moment, at least. Skeleton? What skeleton? He had seen no skeleton! Behind him, Daugi padded up hesitantly. He swung open the door at the top of the steps and took a cautious peek around. Nope, no spooks here. Just a lot of rooms attached to a long, broad hallway. There was wide windowed wall at the very end; this window was sprinkled with salt like the rest of them.

The first room to the left gawped open invitingly. Fenn bounced over and peered inside, preemptively checking the room for any spooky skeletons or such unhappy things before entering.

This had to be Clemont’s study. A glut of sour rot-smell smothered the air. The source of it; thick tomes and curling stacks of paper. They weighed down sturdy oak shelves, shelves which matched a scarred desk. Fenn could hardly take a breath in through his nose without wanting to gag. Daugi tolerated it a little better, twitching her nose perplexedly at each gob of fuzzy fungi. The little fae made a face and wrapped a length of his tattered cloak over his mouth. Truth be told, it made him more than a little antsy. If it weren't for all the books, he might have considered skipping the room entirely.

Taking care to restrain his squirming gag reflex, Fenn stepped inside, scanning the shelves for some clue as to where the frost fae research might be hidden.

He attempted not to squint at the confusing aspects of the room, instead opting to inspect the furniture. What caught his eye immediately was a curious item on the desk. A statue of a mangled fungus-eel thing squatted on an unbalanced pedestal, both dusted with looping characters. Surrounding it like a halo was a circle of salt. A slip of paper fastened to the statue simply read ”Rothaerh-Shash” and odd scrawlings in another language. The look on its face was ghastly. Odd creature! Fenn made a ghastly face back before he set to work pouring through the shelves. Half of the books and loose papers piled onto the planks were spotted with hairy mold. Many were written not only in foreign tongues, but alphabets entirely alien to the little Fae. The covers felt fragile and crunchy under his frosty touch, like dry leaves. He tried not to destroy anything as he searched the titles.

A Guide to the Great Unknown, Blight of Wychcraft, The Art of Runes, A History of Raiaera, Protection Charms and You, Summoning Ancients, Beyond the Tap Eternal, The Outer Ring, Jungle Folk; the Fae of Dheathain, B’gnu-Thun Alack, A Manifesto on Magicyte Use…

Some of them were written by Professor Clemont herself. She had some interesting tastes in literature.

It wasn't until Fenn had found himself at the desk that he made some headway into finding what he needed. There was a thick stack of paper bound by leather cords set at the farmost corner, touched by rot like everything else. He hadn't noticed it initially in lieu of the grotesque statue sitting nearly on top of it. The title sent his heart soaring, and he jumped up in delight.

Needle in a Snowdrift; The Elusive Fae of the North.

Fenn grabbed for the script with a near squeak of excitement, only to stop short as he found its corner to be trapped underneath the ugly statue’s perch. He sighed and took hold of the pedestal. It radiated a creeping warmth that was normally reserved only for magic, but he wasn’t sure why someone would enchant such a thing. It must have been used in whatever rituals used to take place here. Disturbing it felt wrong, and yet, what other choice did he have? There was no way he was leaving without what he came for. Carefully, he lifted the pedestal up and slid the manuscript out from underneath…

The statue toppled off the desk and out of the salt circle with a great WHUMP, splintering the floor under its weight. Daugi bayed in fright at the disturbance. Fenn skittered back a few feet from his mistake, clutching the manuscript in hand. He ran a hand over his friend’s hackled mane, shushing her as she snarled and snapped at the fallen idol.
They waited a moment, holding their breath, listening.

An distorted drippy sound had started up in the distance. Fenn slumped in shaken relief. The washcloth must come loose from the faucet. It was that, and nothing more.