Cygnus raised his eyes to give Altair a peculiar stare, holding it for a long moment.<i>He can scribe, </i>Cygnus thought.<i>The thought never occurred, though now I recall that he once boasted about how he was the most valuable item on the ship. Educated in reading and writing, and the art of fucking. Though, I did focus on the fucking part. </i>He eyed Altair already reaching for a quill, and he gave Altair a stare that said '<i>don't touch the quill unless you want me to beat you.'</i>He reached over for the quill that Altair touched, picked it up, and began to twirl it in his fingers. "Hmm, perhaps..." he said.<i>I may be literate, but my scrawl looks as if it was painstakingly written with the splinter of a shattered stick, being wielded by a man with giant hands. Undoubtedly, this slave will have neater writing than mine. But any scribing that I would need from him would require him having to log the inventory of the ships. There is something else that I can ask him. </i>With the flick of his wrist, Cygnus tossed the quill he was holding to Altair.<br/><br/>"You inevitably write neater than myself. I have little in the way of beauty when it comes to my writing. At times, I find it difficult to read my own writing. I've only gained the skill of reading and writing for a handful of years now. So, do scribe," Cygnus said. Opening the bottom-most drawer of his desk, he pulled out a large book. The cover was bound in leather and undecorated, the pages rather immaculate. He opened the book to a certain section labelled 'Dusan'. Then, he placed his finger on a blank page. "In this language we speak now, write for me about your goddess. Paint for me a picture of your goddess, and who she is." He picked up his inkpot and stood up, setting it in front of Altair. "There are pages that have already been written in, titled. The foods of Dusan. The culture of Dusan. Fill in what you know."<br/><br/>He was five inches away from Altair. Reaching his hand forward, he gently tipped Altair's chin up, a long finger stroking where Altair had been cut by the sword. "If you make a fool of me and write falsehoods, I will make sure you don't return to your goddess whole. I know a Dusanian who can tell if you've written something false," Cygnus lied. In truth, he knew no one from Dusan. Although, he likely could seek someone literate and versed in knowledge of Dusan. "Dogs will have your bones if you write false in this book. This book is the combined knowledge of any educated slave I have dealt with, and their homelands." He lifted up all of the pages, keeping the blank page he wanted Altair to write on marked by his finger, to reveal the last piece of parchments, unique compared to the rest. Whereas most of the parchment that made up the book were a shade of brown, these pages were more yellow, like stained ivory. "One slave once thought to write falsehoods in this book. Now, he is<i>a part of this book." </i><br/><br/>Without further explanation to his words, Cygnus returned to his seat, staring at his log once more as he quietly scribbled away into his log.