Late in the evening, as the moonlight casts long shadows across the cobblestone streets, a hooded figure matches your stride beside you without a warning. Their face is obscured by darkness, but you sense urgency in their demeanor. With a careful hand, the stranger presses a sealed scroll into yours. Before you can utter a word, they vanish into the night, leaving only the echo of your heartbeat in the silent air.

Curiosity compels you to carefully break the seal. A short message awaits you inside:

“Your skills have come to my attention. Please, I beg you—come to my study at once. Show no soul this letter and speak of it to no one.
—A. Marsh”

A subtle thrill sparks in your mind, a promise of secrets and, perhaps, a touch of danger. Whether by coin, curiosity, or the call of intrigue, something compels you to heed this summons. You sense that whoever wrote these words is either deeply desperate or remarkably bold—maybe both.

In the nights that follow, across the breadth of Luminaar, several individuals receive the same cryptic note. Unknown to each other, they share a common thread: the clandestine eye of Professor Alden Marsh, an unassuming scholar renowned in certain circles for his expertise in astronomy and arcane lore. Dressed in a ragged cloak and hood, someone has spent the past week wandering the city’s back streets and hidden corners under the guise of a mere vagabond, quietly judging who might be worthy—and discreet—enough to help.

Now, at last, the professor waits in his study behind a worn, but sturdy, oaken door with his name on a brass plaque fashioned to the front of it. The warm glow of a half-dozen candles dancing lights across the singular window in the upper floors of Marsh’s humble workspace, located inside the academy walls, beckon you in to his chamber of dusty tomes and curious instruments. The hour grows late; city bells will toll midnight soon. By his reckoning, his invitations have surely reached their intended recipients.

Each of you has been summoned—secretly, urgently—to Alden Marsh’s study. The letter offered no details beyond the brief plea and instructions on how to arrive at your earliest convenience under the cover of night. The city of Luminaar, with its grand observatories and winding alleys, has seen its share of mysteries, but something about this summons feels uniquely pressing… and somehow personal.

Initial OOC (Out of Character) Prompt:

Please take this time to introduce your character in a cinematic style—share their appearance, mannerisms, and frame of mind as they make their way to Professor Marsh’s study. Describe your journey/entrance. Are you in a hurry, or do you stroll casually with confidence? What do you look like in this moment? Do you arrive early, or does something delay you until the last minute? 

In the nights of Luminaar, a small dwarf found himself in a rush, running through the dancing lights of the city. He wore a shining paladin armor made of shining silver, with the back having engravings that looked like dragon wings, and his helmet's opening had small teeth-like spikes that appeared like a dragon's mouth. He kept running for a long while, taking deep breaths, until he finally reached his destiny. 

He removed his helmet, revealing long ginger hair braided in a crown-shape, as well as a long braied hair. His blue eyes stared at the door for a few seconds, before raising his hand to knock on the door. However, he stopped upon noticing his hand was shaking; He was nervous. Eager for answers, eager for retribution. it was not a good first impression. 

He took a small green vial from his pouch, drinking a bit of the contents. His face scrunched up, coughing a bit as he hit his chest with his fist, swallowing the liquid before returning the vial back on his pouch. The dwarf took a few long breaths, calming himself, before carefully knocking on the door. Then, if someone answers, he would enter it quickly, betraying his now calm attitude. Looks like he arrived early; He had ran at the moment he read the letter.

The soft chime of midnight’s approach echoed faintly through Luminaar’s winding streets as Teryn Amathis strolled toward the appointed meeting. The city’s cobblestones gleamed like wet silver beneath the moon’s gaze, their cool glow a fitting mirror for the elf’s calm and composed demeanor. His fine clothes, tailored in hues of deep emerald and charcoal, caught the soft light, the silver embroidery weaving fey-inspired patterns like whispered secrets along the edges of his cloak.

Teryn’s long, pale blond hair, loose yet impeccably groomed, cascaded over his shoulders, a sharp contrast to the shadowy alleys he passed. His silver eyes, cool and bright, surveyed the path ahead with serene curiosity. He was unhurried, his steps deliberate and precise, as though even his gait was an extension of his noble upbringing.

As he turned onto the quieter streets leading to the university’s walls, the faint scent of old parchment and candle wax drifted on the air—a sign he was drawing close. A quiet thrill hummed beneath his calm exterior. The mysterious summons, penned with desperation yet veiled in intrigue, piqued his insatiable curiosity. This was not the idle politicking of his family’s court nor the endless games of influence he had long left behind. This was different—a secret, an opportunity, and perhaps a danger all in one.

When Teryn arrived at Professor Marsh’s study, the soft light of the upper window illuminated his sharp features as he paused briefly before the oaken door. A faint smirk touched his lips as he reached out, his long fingers brushing the brass plaque engraved with the professor’s name. Without hesitation, he knocked once—firmly, yet politely—and waited, adjusting his cloak with an air of composed anticipation.

Rowan Underfoot arrived in the stillness of early evening, hours before the city bells would toll midnight. From his chosen vantage point amid stacked crates across the narrow street, he watched as a stocky figure in gleaming, draconic-themed armor tentatively approached Alden Marsh’s door. The dwarf lingered only seconds before vanishing inside. Not much later, an elf—tall, elegant, and draped in a finely embroidered cloak—did the same. Neither reemerged. That meant they were either locked away in whispered conversation, or—more likely—they were part of whatever meeting had also drawn Rowan here.

The halfling spent the next few minutes scanning alleyways for more visitors, but no one else appeared. Eventually satisfied, he crept closer under the cover of a waning moon. He paused at the sturdy oaken entrance, one hand idly grazing the brass plaque. No light shapes flitted past the threshold to suggest anyone else was about to leave. A mischievous grin tugged at his lips as he glanced upward. Why enter the same way as everyone else when he could test the limits of his runic-enhanced gauntlets? With a quiet chuckle, Rowan stepped to the side of the building, searching for footholds in the worn brick and ivy. Hand over hand, he began to climb, each movement surprisingly effortless thanks to the latent magic in his gloves. Slowly, carefully, he neared an unlatched second-story window. He crouched on the narrow ledge, heart pounding, then placed a fingertip on the sill, preparing to raise the window and enter silently.

Athletics: 13
Stealth: 18

He was no stranger to secretive messages so when the hooded figured extended the envelope Käinen wasn’t exactly surprised. It was unexpected, sure, but in his line of work it was also far from strange. A smile took hold of his lips as he read between the lines of the letter. Urgency had a price and the academics of the University had coin to spare. No reason to hold back fleecing the bastard, he decided while committing the directions to memory.

Walking to the campus the goliath wore the night like a mantle, sticking to the shadows when all eyes sought torchlight. It was the only way for one of kind to pass unnoticed in a crowd, since standing at seven and a half feet he towered over most people. His skin was pale grey, with a subtle tint of blue while his hair and eyes carried the hue of clear skies. His ears were pointy and his face chiseled to the point of being angular. He wore a black sleeveless robe tied by a waistbelt that like his boots was made of brown leather. Under it a simple white shirt and grey breeches. His fists and forearms were wrapped in dark cloth.

On his way to the study Käinen scouted his surroundings, always staying mindful of the closest exit, ready to dash at the first sign of an ambush. It boded well that he reached the destination without facing anything of the sort. He knocked twice, waited for an invitation and opened the door. Standing at the crossing for a second, he took notice of the room and its single window, and entered with relaxed steps.

“Mr. Marsh awaits, I presume.” The goliath said with a calm voice. Not a sign of expression on his face.

Returning to Luminaar had taken all of Ellanise's courage. Kaelion, her savior, her mentor, had insisted that she return to the place of her undoing. Only after conquering her past will she truly be free, he insisted.

Earlier, walking in broad daylight along a busy street and attempting to feel comfortable doing so, she almost gasped as a scroll was thrust into her palm. She glanced down at it for only a second, but when she looked up to identify the individual gifting it to her, they were gone. The elf twisted around, her long, auburn hair flying as her blue eyes took in the spattering of townies also traversing the lane. No one looked familiar or responsible.

She looked down again at the scroll in her hand. Was it from the Duskrats? She's only been back a few days. Were they already contacting her with a promise ... or a threat? She finally unrolled the scroll and read it. Her unlined brow creased in consideration. Despite its message, it could still be a trap. Closing her eyes and taking a calming breath, she could heard Kaelion's deep voice urging her to trust. She rerolled the scroll and tucked it into her belt. Even if it is the Duskrats, she can't avoid her old gang forever.

Now, the sun has descended, and she once again walks as silently as possible through the deep shadows of Luminaar. This is where she is most comfortable. But this is also where she got into the most trouble. Relying mostly on her ears, she listens for the tell-tale sounds of approaching danger. While this particular area was never Duskrat territory, she has no way of knowing — yet — if or how things have changed. The years she has been away — first in prison and then at The Shrouded Spire — may have turned Luminaar into a completely different place. New boundaries could have been drawn. New leadership could see her return as a threat.

The thief-turned-monk slips into the academy grounds and breathes a sigh of relief. No guild would work here. Not at night, anyway. She knew there were those who preyed on the students, their fears, their worries, and the pressures they are under. But that was daylight work. This was when the nighttime jobs were executed. Flashes of memory rise unbidden, and Ellanise frowns in disappointment. Though she knows it's impossible, she feels the mark on the inside of her wrist burn, and she tugs at that sleeve's cuff to make sure it's hidden. That isn't her any longer. Ilmater, give me strength, she prays. Help me to rise above my past so that I may offer sanctuary and help others find strength through discipline and spiritual healing as I did.

A short while later, she finds herself at Professor Alden Marsh's door. She has unconsciously counted the steps it took for her to get here. Releasing the number into the night, she raises a hand and knocks on the door.

Late as it is, the academy corridors are eerily quiet, lit by the pale glow of lamps set at regular intervals along the stone walls. The faint smell of parchment and ink mingles with the drifting scent of candle wax. Somewhere deeper within the building, you think you catch the muffled sputter of a Bunsen burner or arcane apparatus.

Then, a gentle knock echoes against a sturdy oaken door.

Byldeth Bouldergrip

The door opens just enough to reveal a young Tiefling woman. Dark grey skin and sleek black hair frame her face, her straight bangs nearly brushing her brow. Two black horns curve backward, each adorned with a small gold clasp. Her expression is calm, almost impassive.

She casts a quick glance at the dwarf’s ornate, dragon-themed armor and offers a nod. “You must be Byldeth,” she says, voice low and unhurried. “I’m Vasha. The Professor is waiting.” Her firey eyes flick to the trembling of your hand. She says nothing of it, only steps aside. “Down the hall, third door on your left. Please go on in, others should be on their way.”

You glimpse towering piles of books as you pass, bound in varying shades of worn leather, tottering precariously at the edges of tables and bookshelves.

Teryn Amathis

A few moments later, another knock sounds, and once again, Vasha opens the door. Her eyes briefly flit over your fine cloak and silver embroidery, taking in your poised demeanor. She offers the same calm greeting: “Teryn, I presume?” When you confirm, her tail flicks faintly, perhaps the closest hint of any emotion.

“Welcome. The Professor is just around that corner—third door on the left. Join the Dwarf.” Before you turn to go, she studies you a final moment. Then, politely yet firmly, she adds, “He’ll be grateful for your punctuality.”

Rowan Underfoot

From within the still corridor, there’s a soft scuffling noise near the second-story window. A slender halfling figure enters, quietly testing a window latch. A moment passes before there is a small zapping sound followed by a dry voice to break the silence: “Careful there. Security wards might have given you a nasty shock.”

Vasha stands below, hands folded in front of her, one eyebrow raised. She gestures toward the main door with her chin. “You’re quite resourceful, Rowan… but the Professor would prefer we don’t add ‘broken window’ to our list of problems tonight.”

When you descend (or otherwise rejoin her at ground level), she leads you the same way. “Third door on your left,” she repeats in that even tone. “I trust your climb gave you a sufficient look at the architecture,” she quips, then steps aside.

Käinen Merrick

Another visitor arrives in hushed footfalls—a tall figure stepping from the shadows. Vasha’s gaze flicks upward to meet your pale blue eyes. Undaunted by your towering height, she simply says, “Käinen? The Professor is this way.”

Your acknowledgment is enough. She steps aside, offering a curt, “Professor Marsh is just around that corridor. Third door—on the left.” She gives a slight bow of her head, “He’s ready to speak with you.”

Ellanise

Finally, yet another knock—the last, perhaps, of the night. As Vasha opens the door, she meets your careful gaze. Her eyes dip momentarily to your cuffed sleeve, but she makes no comment.

“You must be Ellanise,” she says with the same quiet composure. “The Professor expected you. Please, go in. Third door on your left.” She pauses, as though about to add something, then thinks better of it and simply steps aside with a gentle nod.

One by one, or in small clusters, you find your way to a modest office that can only be described as organized chaos. Bookshelves line every wall, overflowing with tomes on astronomy, arcane history, and the occasional bestiary. Stacks of parchment are piled on any available surface, some upright, others sliding precariously close to collapse. In the middle stands a single large desk with scroll tubes at odd angles, quills in disarray, and a globe with painted celestial constellations.

Seated behind the desk, rifling through a stack of mismatched journals, is Professor Alden Marsh. His disheveled brown hair sticks out in tufts, as though he’s been tugging at it absentmindedly. Circular spectacles perch on his nose, sliding down with each emphatic nod. He glances up, sees you all, and nearly drops the armful of books he’s clutching.

“Oh—oh, you’ve arrived! Splendid, splendid!” he exclaims, awkwardly setting the books on a nearby tower that wobbles dangerously. “Vasha, you found them all? Excellent! I can’t tell you how relieved I am.”

His assistant stands at the threshold, arms folded neatly. “They are here, Professor. Do calm yourself.”

“Yes, yes, right—calm, of course.” Professor Marsh brushes off a stray note clinging to his sleeve. “Thank you all for coming on such short notice. You see, I—I didn’t want the city guard meddling. It might have… complicated matters. If the thieves get wind that I’m onto them, well…” He trails off. “Anyway, it’s better this way, trust me.”

He gestures around the room, indicating a large corner by a window—an apparent reading nook furnished with old chairs and even older cushions. “Forgive the mess. I run a tight ship here, just, er, in my own manner. Organized chaos, as they say.”

Vasha, expression never wavering, quietly points to a forlorn bookshelf behind his desk. “The tome was last seen there, two nights ago, correct?”

Professor Marsh snaps his fingers. “Yes—right there on the third shelf from the bottom. Stolen under our noses, can you believe it? We must find it. Oh, the knowledge inside that tome is… well, let’s just say it’s not something one leaves lying about for thieves to profit from.”

The Professor steps aside, ushering each of you toward the shelf and the small table next to it. “Feel free to have a look yourselves. The crime scene, as it were.” He rubs his temples, eyebrows scrunched in worry. “Anything you can discover—a footprint, a sign of forced entry, a magical residue—anything. Please, let me know. I’ll be in my reading area over there while you investigate.”

Glancing over at the pile of notes on his desk, he breathes out a ragged sigh. “I promise to explain every detail I can once you’ve had a look around.” His gaze darts among you, earnest yet anxious. “I… truly appreciate your discretion. If we act swiftly and quietly, we stand a better chance of recovering the tome and catching the culprits.”

Vasha clears her throat softly. “If you need me to retrieve anything—records, ledgers, or equipment—just let me know. I should be able to locate it.” Her neutral tone contrasts sharply with the Professor’s restless energy, and it’s obvious she’s used to managing his scatterbrained tendencies.

With that, Marsh gives an encouraging nod. “Right, then. Investigate away, my friends. The fate of my research hinges on what we discover tonight.”

The room falls to a quiet hush as the Professor settles into a high-backed chair near the door, scribbling furiously in a small journal. Vasha, hands clasped behind her back, stands to his side, poised to offer guidance or point you to any records or supplies you need. It’s clear both are depending on your expertise to uncover how—and why—this precious tome was taken.

 He nodded as the tiefling confirmed his identity. Her mannerisms reminded him of the Wardens and that made Käinen feel comfortable. Silent like a shadow he moved to the study, keeping her position in mind. She seemed delicate, refined, beautiful in fact, and all of that made him imagine she was dangerous. Misdirection was the first trick learned by criminals. One should always pay special attention to the seductive and the delicate.

The presence of more hired hands told him the work wouldn’t be simple. But then again, when was anything simple in his life? A genuine smile took hold of his lips as professor and assistant exchanged words. Either the man was an excellent actor or a rather endearing eccentric.

 “It is a pleasure to meet both of you, but I feel there is a couple of questions we need answered before going any further.” Käinen started while approaching the professor. He spoke in a warm voice, like someone trying to calm other person. “First, when you say that the thieves would be alerted if the guard was called – do you mean it on the sense that they would hear spreading rumors or do you believe they have connections in the guard?” 

If Marsh had so much as a inkling that whoever stole the tome had connections with authorities the job would become much more dangerous. And expensive.

Notes (Questions): Does Käinen believes the behavior of either the Professor of Vasha is artificial (does he think any of them is "putting a performance" to hide their true natures)? Does he believes in what the Professor is saying?

At Käinen’s measured question, Professor Marsh’s scribbling halts as though a clock’s gears have jammed mid-tick. He looks up slowly, worry written across his features. A breath passes while he gathers his thoughts. When he speaks, his voice is quieter than before, tinged with an uneasy sincerity.

“Connections in the guard? I—I’m not entirely certain, my friend. Luminaar’s city watch is generally trustworthy, but you’d be surprised how quickly rumors can circulate through the rank and file. If the thieves catch wind that I reported this—” He motions vaguely to the empty space on the bookshelf. “They’d surely vanish into the night, and the tome with them.”

Vasha steps forward, folding her arms neatly. “The Professor has no direct evidence that anyone among the authorities is in the culprits’ pockets,” she clarifies in a calm, level tone. “But we can’t rule out the possibility either. Even a simple rumor, loose talk at a tavern about a ‘stolen tome,’ could prompt the thieves to go further underground.”

Professor Marsh nods vigorously, his eyes darting between Käinen and the rest of the group. “Precisely so! We’re trying to remain discreet. The last thing we want is—oh, goodness—some official notice published about a stolen artifact from the University, naming me as the victim. Or worse, a citywide bulletin. I’m convinced whoever took the tome is still nearby—perhaps even counting on me to remain silent, or at least… unsuspecting.”

He fidgets with a loose slip of parchment on his desk. “That’s why I sought more unofficial help. If they learn I’ve enlisted specialists outside official channels, maybe they won’t be so quick to vanish—or it could catch them off guard entirely.” He runs a hand through his already disheveled hair, nearly dislodging his spectacles. “I hope I’ve not put you all in any danger, but… well, the tome—” he shakes his head, “it’s too important to ignore.”

Vasha’s firey eyes settle on Käinen once more, as though taking stock of the goliath’s measured composure. “If you fear complications from corrupt guards, we can’t offer you absolute assurance. But the fewer people know, the better. For now, it’s just us, and we intend to keep it that way.”

Professor Marsh manages a faint, almost apologetic smile. “I pray it won’t be more dangerous than necessary, but… yes, that is the risk.” He glances to each of you in turn, letting out a soft sigh. “If anything else concerns you, please ask. Otherwise, I—I encourage you to search the room for clues. The theft occurred in this very office. Vasha and I will do all we can to assist.”

Note: Despite their unusual methods, it is fair to assume the Professor and Vasha are being completely honest with everyone and are, in fact, not putting on an act. 

As the professor launches into a hurried explanation of the missing tome, Rowan can’t help but notice how cramped the study feels with its rows of crowded shelves and looming stacks of parchment. Despite being a halfling himself, he finds the clutter mildly suffocating—perhaps he just prefers a wide horizon overhead to this tangle of books and dust motes. He forces himself to focus on Marsh’s words, nodding now and then, but a small part of him keeps imagining the cool night sky outside, where he’d rather roam free than stand elbow-to-elbow with centuries of bound volumes. Still, he listens attentively, his curiosity piqued by the professor’s flustered account, though he can’t yet place why this tome is so vital or whether it connects to anything he’s remotely interested in. For now, he simply files away Marsh’s feverish words, hopeful that remaining patient—and polite—might clear up the mystery soon enough.

When Professor Marsh invites them to investigate, Rowan offers a noncommittal shrug. For a heartbeat, he wonders if this is some kind of audition—call in random strangers off the street, see if they measure up. The professor hasn’t even dangled a potential reward or explained precisely what’s so precious about the stolen tome. Still, out of respect for his connection to Professor Ermun Greystride, Rowan decides to play along. Hunching forward, he tries to recall if there’d been recent rain that could have left muddy footprints. Carefully, he begins inspecting the floorboards near the shelf. “Were there any signs of forced entry?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder at both Marsh and Vasha. “Scratches on the lock, windows jammed open—anything at all? I just entered through a window myself and it triggered an alarm. Are all entry points secured in this way?”

Survival (or other skill you see fit) for checking for potential tracks on the floor: rolled 7 +5

"I am Teryn Amathis." The warlock's voice was smooth and deliberate, his manner refined as he turned his gaze to the others and offered a small, polite smile. "I look forward to working alongside you." His tone carried a quiet confidence, though his curiosity about the gathered individuals was evident in the way his eyes lingered briefly on each of them.

As the Professor finished his frazzled explanation, Teryn’s attention shifted to the described crime scene. He stepped toward the indicated shelf, his movements deliberate yet light, as though the air itself bent to accommodate his passage. Pausing a moment, he rested a hand lightly on the edge of the shelf and closed his eyes.

“Might I shed a little light on the matter?” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

With a subtle gesture, he called upon his patron’s granted power. A faint, shimmering aura pulsed around him as he cast Detect Magic, his silver eyes opening to reveal a faint glow as they scanned the scene for arcane traces. His voice remained calm as he spoke, relaying his findings to the group.

"I’ll search for any lingering magical residue—a spell signature or enchantment that might suggest how this theft was orchestrated.”

He glanced briefly toward Vasha, acknowledging her poised readiness. “If there is a trail to follow, I trust we’ll find it soon enough.”

His focus returned to the shelf and surrounding area, his calm demeanor unshaken as his mind methodically parsed through the energies in the room.

Byldeth coughs, adjusting his hair to not seem as unkept as it is. He nods, thanking the woman silently as he entered the room. Scanning around, he is impressed by the number of books. He must be a very renowed scholar for such a vast collection . . .

Once he sees the professor, Byldeth simply stood, hearing what he wanted to say. At first the processor seemed shady . . . Thiefs? not letting the guards know? and . . . were they supposed to be detetives? Well . . . The order of shining scales would never allow a thief go unpunished. But there were higher things at stake . . .

. . . No, maybe he could find leads while working for this professor. He looked at the other called individuals, noticing that they were starting their own private investigations. "May i ask . . . what is in that tome? Does it contain undisclosed information? or . . . Magic, of some kind?" The dwarf questions, while looking around the entrances; any kind of signal of lockpicking or entry.

Investigation: 16

A delicate hush settles in the study as you each begin your inspections. Stacks of books loom overhead, and the flickering lamplight dances across the motes of dust floating across the room. The soft rustle of parchment underfoot mingles with your steps.

Rowan

When you direct your question about forced entry toward both Professor Marsh and Vasha, the Tiefling assistant steps forward in her measured way. “I don't anyone could bypass the academy’s wards so easily. Especially from the outside, given the height of this tower. All windows here are spelled to repel intruders.” She glances up at the study’s narrow window, frowning. “They’re definitely supposed to trigger an alarm. We just assumed no one would try scaling a four-story drop.”

Kneeling near the base of a crammed bookshelf, you attempt to discern whether any footprints or scuff marks suggest forced entry. It’s difficult to make sense of the jumbled impressions on the worn floorboards—too many overlapping tracks, and the thick layer of scattered parchments hasn’t helped. Still, you notice some faint, dusty footprints that appear oddly out of place. They aren’t deep, but they don’t match the Professor’s nor Vasha’s lighter steps. It’s hard to say exactly how many sets, but you suspect at least three, maybe four people came snooping around the shelf. They seemed to shuffle around the area, as if searching for something specific.

You can’t spot any scratch marks or broken locks, but your gaze flicks once more toward that high window. Perhaps that’s where the trail leads, but you aren't completely sure.

Teryn

A faint shimmer drifts over you as your eyes glow with arcane scrutiny. Professor Marsh, ever the anxious host, watches with equal parts fascination and nervousness. “Ah—yes, yes, by all means, check for enchantments. That’s a fine idea.” Drifting past the shelves and the rickety piles of journals, your magical senses sweep the room. Most items here radiate a dull hum of standard arcane enchantments—some protective charms on the books, a few magical baubles stashed away. But something in particular catches your attention, or rather, the absence of something: the window’s ward is completely inert. Where you would expect to sense the presence of the academy’s protective spell, there is only a void, suggesting the ward has been deactivated or drained. Whatever triggered Rowan’s alarm upon climbing outside doesn’t seem to apply here anymore.

Byldeth

As you look over the entrances—particularly the door and the surrounding floorboards—you notice similar faint tracks near the window. It’s nothing conclusive, but the footprints definitely don’t seem to belong to the absentminded scholar or his meticulous assistant. They suggest multiple individuals were here, and they weren’t tiptoeing around either; it’s as if they weren’t terribly concerned about leaving traces. You’re left thinking that either they didn’t expect a careful inspection, or they wanted to leave in a hurry.

When you pose your question about the tome, the Professor stiffens with a mix of pride and concern. “I call it the Celestial Concordance—well, that’s the common name. It’s an ancient compilation of star charts, planetary alignments, and certain… let’s say ‘esoteric’ notes that have been lost to mainstream scholarship for centuries. The text was never meant for casual study. If used improperly—or sold on the black market—well, it could have dire consequences.” He draws in a slow breath, the worry evident on his face. “The tome contains research on rare celestial phenomena. Some unscrupulous individuals might exploit that knowledge to predict events—or orchestrate them—for their own benefit. It’s more than just an expensive artifact. If the wrong people decipher what’s inside, there’s no telling what they might do.”

Note: For Rowan, it would be an investigation in this case. I used your roll and amended the modifier to continue the story along, though.

"It seems the culprits were multiple . . . They also didn't bother about hiding their traces . . . maybe they didn't mind being discovered? or . . . they were in a hurry." He relates to the others.

Hearing the scholar's explanation, he nods. "It seems like an incredible useful thing for a spellcaster to have in his hands . . . so, it's safe to assume we are dealing with someone that meddles with the arcane? Or maybe someone that doesn't know what they are doing." He finishes, walking towards the middle of the room. "Either way, this is suspicious. I fear there's trouble coming ahead . . . Professor, do you have any enemies? Maybe someone that envies your work?" He questions, taking a bottle from his pouch, drinking a bit of the contents before coughing, grimacing as he shook his head

Teryn’s silver eyes narrowed slightly as he focused on the window. He turned toward Professor Marsh with a calm but pointed expression.

“Professor,” he began, gesturing toward the high window with a slight tilt of his head, “your wards—specifically the one meant to protect this window—are no longer active. There’s no trace of the academy’s usual protective spell.”

He paused, allowing his words to sink in before continuing. “Given the nature of this theft, I find it highly unlikely that this lapse is a coincidence. Whoever orchestrated this knew precisely where to strike and how to bypass the defenses. Either they had intimate knowledge of the academy’s wards, or they possessed the means to manipulate or nullify them entirely.”

Teryn crossed his arms lightly, his long fingers brushing against his sleeves as his gaze drifted back to the window. “It might be prudent to determine who, if anyone, has the authority or ability to adjust the wards in this area—or whether an external force could have disrupted them.”

Professor Marsh’s eyes dart to Byldeth first, lingering on the small bottle the dwarf drinks from. His gaze then slides to Teryn’s calm, incisive presence. He exhales, clearly juggling a swirl of concerns at once.

At Byldeth’s question regarding possible enemies, the Professor hesitates, smoothing down a stray page of his notes. “Enemies? Well… I wouldn’t say I’ve angered anyone directly. I’m—er—mostly a lecturer, a researcher. My work focuses on celestial alignments. You’d think it wouldn’t be all that controversial, but… the academic world can be surprisingly cutthroat, I suppose.” He drums his fingers on the desk, eyes drifting briefly to Vasha as though silently asking her to confirm or deny. She merely shakes her head with a measured shrug. “I do have a few rival scholars who scoff at my ‘unverified hypotheses.’ They might want to see my research fail, but outright theft? That seems extreme.” Marsh’s voice drops. “If there’s someone out there who does know the tome’s deeper secrets… well, let’s say the stakes are higher than just bruised egos.”

When Teryn points out the missing ward, Marsh’s eyebrows hike upward as if he only now realizes the full weight of the revelation. “The ward is… gone? By the stars! That shouldn’t be possible—at least not easily. The Academy’s wards are maintained by a team, and typically only a small circle of mages or security staff can modify them legally.”

Vasha speaks up, “I can retrieve the academy’s warding logs if needed. They record updates and repairs to these matters. If there’s no record of this ward being lowered, we have a clear sign of tampering—either an unauthorized internal source or someone with potent magic from outside.” She crosses her arms, tail flicking once behind her. “Given the professor’s academic field, we can’t rule out that the thieves had inside help—someone who knew precisely which ward to drop and when.”

Professor Marsh nods fervently, adjusting his spectacles. "Precisely! And if they managed to disable it without leaving an obvious magical trace—other than, well, the absence you’ve detected—it points to skill or resources beyond a mere petty thief.” He looks to each of you in turn, a hint of gratitude in his anxious eyes. “I’m relieved you noticed these footprints and the ward’s failure. That confirms there was more than one intruder. Likely at least three or four, as you say.” He offers Byldeth a small, uneasy smile. “Thank you, my friend. And do be careful with that bottle you keep sipping—wouldn’t want you keeling over on me.”

Stepping closer to the toppled stacks of parchment, Marsh gestures around the cluttered room. “I’m not much of a detective, but it’s plain that these thieves knew what to look for and how to reach it. If we can figure out who had the motive and means to bypass those wards, we may get a lead on where they’ve taken the Celestial Concordance.”

Vasha inclines her head, her tone even as ever. “Shall I retrieve the logs now, Professor?”

He nods, letting out a short sigh. “Yes, please. With luck, the records will point us to anyone with the authority—or the audacity—to meddle with the wards. Meanwhile, while she fetches the records, if any of you have more questions or wish to search for additional clues inside or out, please—feel free.” Glancing at the high, empty window one more time, Marsh furrows his brow. It’s clear he’s troubled by the notion of infiltration from above—or from within. As Vasha quietly strides away to find the warding logs, the Professor looks to you all, resolve shining through his worried expression. “Let’s hope we can unravel this before whoever took my tome can unlock its secrets.”

With that, the muffled click of Vasha's departing footsteps punctuates the moment, leaving you in the lamplit study to decide your next steps.

"I've seen enough of humanity to know that sometimes, greed and ego can make you do unspeakable things. I woudn't be surprised if the perpetrator was one of those rivals." He comments, carefully stroking his beard, moving his fingers between the knots of the braids. He stared at the professor upon his comment of his bottle, "Ah- D-don't worry! There's no need, it just . . . helps me concentrate and calm myself. AHEM. Let's try to focus on the matters at hand, aye?"

He looked down, a question appearing on his mind. "I guess it doesn't hurt to ask . . . Was there any kind of . . . weird black smoke around?" The dwarf asks, waiting for the answer with high expectations.

Rowan exhales quietly, recalling how he used to track stray foxes near his family’s fields. He steps up to the tall window Teryn indicated, gently running a calloused hand along the windowsill to see if there are any rope burns or chipped mortar—practical details that can hint at someone climbing in or out. While riddles aren’t his favorite pastime, he’s learned that much like catching an early sign of blight in a crop, ignoring small clues can lead to big problems down the road. He also glances over the floor beneath the window, noting any dust disturbed or footprints that might mark a hidden path. (Investigation: 12)

Standing there, he can’t help but feel a little pinched by the cramped study—his mind drifts back to open skies, and he mentally shakes himself to stay in the moment. His gaze flicks between Professor Marsh and the shelves of scattered papers, then settles on the professor again. “There’s one thing you might consider,” he begins, tone measured and calm. “If this tome is so unique, I figure only a handful of folks would know its worth and its whereabouts. Maybe even fewer know how to make use of it, or sense of it. So who are the top experts in this field? Because chances are, whoever swiped it either is one of ’em or hired one.”

He pauses, letting the idea hang in the air, then offers a small, empathetic shrug. “Could be that your rivals, or even folks outside the academy, have heard rumors. And if that’s so, they’d want the best knowledge money can buy. I don’t fancy tangling with thieves, but if we can pin down which experts might be in on it, we might find out who’s really pulling the strings. Anyway, if they only snatched the book, that sets it apart from your run-of-the-mill burglary—like gleaning only the best produce and leaving the rest behind.” Despite the wary edge to his posture, Rowan’s voice stays calm and steady, more practical wisdom than restless curiosity guiding his suggestion.

 He listened to their answers carefully, paying attention to the voices, expressions and gestures. Finding neither dissonance nor sign of stress the goliath becomes convinced the employers were being truthful. That left him free to ask other essential questions. His eyes turned to Byldeth as the dwarf spoke of the footprints, then darted towards the shelf and back to the professor.

“The marks of searching by the book location means not only that it was no coincidence the tome was taken but that our thieves had a reasonable idea of its appearance.” A list with few names, if Alden’s secrecy about the robbery was any indication. “Professor, who knew how the Celestial Concordance looked like?”

All the better if one of those names was amongst either the specialists or warding mages, Käinen said with the voice of his mind, before turning to the magic detecting elf.

“My name is Käinen Merrick.” The half giant mentioned with a subtle smile. “Teryn, would you be able to tell if someone is being controlled by magic?”

It was not an idea he wanted to entertain, but considering that the wards were lifted either someone in the academy orchestrated the robbery or was forced to enable it. Given the place it was just fair to think of spellcraft.  

'The Celestial Concordance' . An interesting sounding tome. Teryn tried to recall if he had ever heard of such a book before, absentmindedly fiddling with an odd, iridescent coin he withdrew from his pocket as he thought.

History/Arcana(Not sure which this would qualify as)): 24/19

Teryn turned his gaze to Käinen, his silver eyes meeting the goliath’s with an air of calm composure. He nodded slightly, acknowledging both the introduction and the perceptive question.

“Well met, Käinen. To answer your question, yes, it is within my capabilities to detect such influences. If someone is under the sway of enchantment magic I should be able to detect it, though there is no way to discern the exact spell just by looking." The elf was...well-versed in such magic, to say the least, thanks to his patron. People tended to respond negatively if they found out, but he felt no real need for concern here; charm, at least the magical variety, was something he used sparingly and typically planned far ahead of time to avoid detection by someone like himself.

His gaze shifted briefly to Professor Marsh before returning to Käinen with a small smile. “However, there are limits to such detection. If the magic has already dissipated or was crafted with extraordinary skill, perhaps using a powerful artifact, it may evade even a trained observer."