The moment Lanfearys opened Ithan's diary, he realized the error of his ways. He saw her write in the book every now and then, binding it with a chain and closing it with a key afterwards. She insisted it was a necessity - the King of Winter had power over minds, and she needed a way to etch the truth into something he could not affect. According to her, the fae was tricked into giving away his dominion over flesh, so it was flesh she used when making her book. Garbed animal skins for the pages, sinew to bind it, her own blood to write in it.
She tried to keep it safe, especially from Lanfearys - no wonder, considering what he told her - but even she needed sleep. Unfortunately, he failed to convinced her to sleep with him, and the traps she set always woke her up whenever he tried to sneak in. That called for Plan B; he pretended to be injured and unable to escape to Faerie - the latter even wasn't a lie. She bound him with a cold iron chain, a really kinky-looking gag, and placed him in a circle that could probably hold a fae, but wasn't a problem to him. After a really spirited interrogation, she left to gather herbs for some ritual, leaving him alone.
That was his chance! He slipped out of the ropes, carefully left the circle and rummaged through her bags. Fortunately, she left the book there rather than take it on her hunt. The moment Lanfearys opened the book, his satisfied smirk vanished, replaced by confusion. Of course. She was writing in a language he was not familiar with.
He would have to look it up later. He carefully turned every page, memorizing their contents quickly. His nearly eidetic memory would be of help, and perhaps one of the libraries had a dictionary of barbarian tongues. He was worried that Ithan would return soon and find him, but his fears were unfounded - he finished the entire book. The original plan was to get back into the restraints and see what she had in store, but he wouldn't be able to slip back into the rope. That was troubling. Unless...
He flung wide the window, letting the frozen air of the north inside. The wind blew in, throwing the salt making up the magic circle into disarray. Lanfearys smiled, a new idea coming to his mind. The dwarf would come and find that the King of Winter has freed his servant. Now, for a final touch... He picked up one of Ithan's knives and closed his hand around it, opening a vein. He used the blood to draw a warning on the door. It would be his grand finale - he was already growing bored a bit with her.
His performance was a resounding success. Ithan left so fast, it left the Starstriders quite surprised with her sudden absence. Lanfearys had to work hard to stop himself from smirking whenever she was mentioned. His reputation really didn't need another hit - it was hard enough finding new targets as it was. He was getting bored.
After seven more rejections and no hope for proper entertainment, he headed to the library. Of course, he had to wait for the lorekeeper to be distracted in order to sneak in - after what happened, she threatened to cut some choice limbs off if she ever saw him again. Mutilation was not on today's schedule.
Of course, it meant that he would get no help searching for dictionaries. He always preferred getting his information from people rather than books, but at least books wouldn't refuse him because he lied. Or tricked others. Or did a variety of amusing things that they had narrow-mindedly considered wrong.
Translating the pages took him a few weeks, but it kept him busy. It was engaging enough, but couldn't really compare to playing with people. He was a socialiser, not a scholar. He was only doing this out of boredom, and to try to wring every last bit from Ithan, even after she was gone. He hoped for some insight into her thoughts, but it was mostly a record of her pursuits and notes on the King of Winter.
But there was one tidbit that he found especially interesting. A ritual to see into the Faerie and possibly spy on its denizens. That intrigued him. The fae did not share his people's morals, perhaps they'd be more interesting to play with. An entire new culture, with its own intricacies, customs and ways... Perhaps this was an avenue he should take.
Finding most of the items required for the ritual was simple enough, but one was problematic. A mirror that has never reflected anyone. The only solution he could think of was having it made from scratch - and it wasn't something he ever learned. He ended up commissioning a glassmaker - put on a good show of paranoia, too, ranting about how this mirror was meant to see him and him only, and reflection of anyone else would 'spoil' it. It was wrapped in cloth when delivered to him, and he hoped that the craftsman was careful enough. It was time to put the mirror to the test.
The ritual was to be done under an open, clouded sky. He carefully set the mirror on the floor of his balcony, circling around to avoid being reflected in it. The necessary herbs were being burned in a nearby brazier as he chanted the incantation, his voice low and betraying some of his expectations. The smoke was low, coiling against the floor, covering the surface of the mirror wholly. The final word out of his lips, he completed the ritual and looked down.
Into the Faerie.
