There were weapons once, at least a couple of smaller daggers more for show than use. These have been largely tidied away out of sight, or even moved to the back. The whole collection had been somewhat shuffled around to put the pointier stuff at the back of the shelves, though in his anxious wait for the Knight to report back, Lemm had somewhat messed this attempt around again as he tried to kill time.

"All of them are interesting," he replies, brightening considerably. And then quite abruptly he dampens it and has a re-think.

Because - the Knight has written to him once on this topic, and it had been when he'd been dismissive of their losses. I found the corpses of other bugs who must've thought the same. A lot of them made it far. I sold some of their journals to you. He doesn't need to, but Lemm finds himself staring at their notes again.

He looks up a moment later, somewhat more gathered.

"Hm. A lot of them ended unpleasantly. I gather you're aware of this." Lemm slips out of his seat and begins sorting idly through a pile of Wanderer's Journals, hunting for any with less morbidity. "You'll forgive me for being enthusiastic. That's just the thing about history; everyone's gone and died before I read about them and I'm a bit far removed from that fact by now. D'you have a preference on location?"