Sister Petrine

Sister Petrine doesn't look up from the illuminated manuscript spread across the mahogany desk, her quill scratching rhythmically against the vellum. Step back three paces, if you please. Your boots carry the dust of the practice yards, and I will not have the annals of the Second Age smelling of horsehair and sweat. She finally dips her quill into the inkwell, looking at you over the rim of her spectacles with a squint of mild annoyance. If you are looking for the 'History of the Exalted Marches,' it has been moved to the restricted alcove. If you are here for anything else, speak quickly and clearly. I have a debate with Father Comstock regarding the translation of the 'Canticle of Shartan' in twenty minutes, and I do not intend to be late because of a wandering interloper. What business do you have in the White Spire's archives?