”And such a brilliant scholar would be able to bypass the wards on the college.” Käinen started, bringing a hand to his chin. ”What if our dear scholar has other ways to reach other people? Tell them to steal a certain tome?”
That would mean that finding the note was a tremendous coincidence and for once he hoped it to be. The one other option was that L was an unbelievable master of divination.
”Or maybe someone like him did so.” A less convenient option and so, to the goliath, more realistic. ”Either way, it seems that the best use of the note is researching it but Rowan is right. We should assume our new acquaintance can meddle with minds and to avoid researching the note alone.” He turns his eyes to tiefling. ”Both you and the professor are our go to researchers. Let’s tell him what you found and let him work on it with you. Just fix your clothes before and bring the third volume of Runael’s Transitional Theorems.”
At that point they didn’t need the excuse. Vasha’s eagerness in sharing her findings made it clear that she simply lost herself in research. But one should keep with their tales, even when it doesn’t look necessary.
Vasha’s tail twitches once at Käinen’s sharp suggestion, perhaps a flicker of offense, or simply a rare emotional spike slipping through her usual stoicism. She draws in a breath, fingers smoothing the front of her robe, where a few creases betray her long hours of leaning over parchment and ink. “The house was called Vaelthryn,” she answers finally, gaze flicking briefly toward the parchment as though reluctant to part from it. “Little is preserved about them. Their crest matches the ring exactly, though: twin arcs framing a downward eye. They were archivists during the early era of the Academy, before Luminaar’s independence. If they are truly of that time, who knows? They might have helped design the arcane infrastructure we still rely on.”
She doesn’t protest when you suggest she bring the findings to Professor Marsh. In fact, she moves quickly, sweeping the folio and ring into a neat satchel with practiced care and gathering the requested tome from a nearby shelf without further delay.
The walk back through the stone hallways is brisk and quiet, save for the distant echo of campus bells marking the approach of evening. As you return to Marsh’s cluttered quarters, the man looks up from a precarious stack of note cards balanced atop a tea tin. “Oh! Back already? And with no blood or scorch marks. That’s promising,” he says brightly, though his eyes narrow with faint curiosity when he sees the satchel in Vasha’s hand. “Did you manage to track her down, then? Was she... where I suspected?” Vasha simply nods. “Well then, the others should be nearing the eastern annex about now. No one should stop you, just avoid the floor warden with the brass-rimmed spectacles; she lives for writing citations.” He waves you off toward the exit, already pulling the satchel closer and unfastening the flap with practiced precision. “Go on, now. I will try to get a sense of what this is in the meantime.”
Ellanise, who had begun to grin at their success grows concerned quickly at Teryn's words. "What are you saying?" she asks. "Should we ... not go through with it?"
Teryn closes his eyes in thought, pondering the words of his Patron: "Would you snuff him, little star? Would you rewrite the truth for a lie? A delicious turn, isn’t it? You should." Breaker's Greed, Binder's Lies...
"We'll make alterations. The truth is too dangerous to become common knowledge. Hm...is Eltrax correct, or did he make up a lie just to stall Saelric's ambitions?" He opens the folio to read through it's contents, looking for anything that rings false based on what he's learned.
Rowan shifts from one boot to the other, brow puckered like a field left fallow too long. “Professor, Vasha—mind you keep that bauble where folk can find it, not vanish it into some back corner o’ the stacks,” he says, voice low but earnest. “Our friend Teryn’s got the brains for runes and riddles; reckon he’ll want a peek afore we plow any deeper. Would ease my mind to have more than one pair o’ eyes on that parchment.”
He tips an imaginary hat, then nudges Käinen with an elbow. “Come on, big fella. Let’s get ourselves to the annex and see how the vault team’s furrow’s runnin’. Never hurts to bring an extra hoe before sundown.”
You don’t find anything overtly false in Eltrax’s work. The arguments are well-reasoned, supported by diagrams, theoretical models, and even correspondences with unnamed peers. In fact, they feel frustratingly reasonable, but what does linger in the margins is a certain reverence for potential. Eltrax is warning against lifting the restrictions, yes, but out of hope, a belief that the possibilities are wondrous, dangerous, and real. His caution seems to stem from a desire to guide that awakening carefully, not smother it.
In contrast, Saelric’s theory presents a more clinical dismissal of that potential out of pride. His work frames Eltrax’s research as outdated, reckless, and unworthy of academic merit.
Rowan & Käinen
The corridors of the faculty wing grow quieter with each passing minute. The din of the academy day fades behind you, replaced by the soft creak of aging floorboards and the distant echo of closing doors. Your boots carry yourselves across a tiled causeway connecting the buildings, the campus’s spires now silhouetted against a setting sun. Inside the adjacent wing, the shift in atmosphere is immediate. The air feels older here, dustier, more reverent somehow, lined with plaques of long-past scholars and portraits whose eyes seem to follow passersby. Käinen’s broad shoulders barely avoid scraping a narrow arch as you both step inside.
Not far ahead, the familiar outlines of Teryn and Ellanise come into view. The pair stand in a secluded area just outside an old building with tall vines of ivy encroaching the weathered brick walls. Teryn holds the retrieved inkwell cradled in one hand, but his eyes are distant and drawn to a loose scattering of notes as he rummages through the folio acquired from Saelric earlier.
Teryn lets out a long, frustrated sigh as he shuts the folio. "Bollocks, Saelric...Eltrax's reasoning is sound, his wholehearted belief in every word. No one with a brain is going to believe he suddenly changed his mind for any other reason than fear for his life." The elf shakes his head. "Though it is a relief. Saelric seems to be in favor of not meddling with the monoliths' restrictions at all, so doing him this ridiculous favor won't doom the world at least."
"Yes, unfortunately for Eltrax, this time they do. Keeping the Concordance out of the wrong hands takes priority." Teryn answers with a nod, feeling renewed determination in their mission.
Rowan clears his throat a few paces back so his boots don’t give anyone a fright, then ambles up with an easy nod. “Evenin’, you two. Got the ink pot already, or have you even gone and finished the whole brush-stroke without us?” he asks, thumb hooked under his belt.
He waves off any reply for a heartbeat, lowering his voice. “Käinen an’ I tracked Vasha—no skulduggery, just her nose buried in that parchment from the ring. Seems she reckons it’s a letter-box reachin’ clean through time—claims she’s writin’ with some scholar what lived here a thousand summers back.” He gives a soft whistle. “Tall tale, maybe, but the runes look stranger than scarecrows in a turnip patch. Marsh has both ring and page now, chew-in’ the mystery over. Figured, Teryn, you’ll want a gander once we’re done in this vault.”
Rowan tips his head toward the archive doors. “So—where’s the furrow stand? Ink pot in hand, passage picked, or do you still need an extra set o’ steady fingers?”
Ellanise turns to watch the halfling and goliath approach. She is at first amused, and then she is comforted by her feelings.
When Rowan clears Vasha of all charges, however, she can't help but scowl again. Something about that tiefling seems off. But perhaps I'm just being paranoid, she thinks.
"We have the inkwell," the elf says, returning to the moment. "If we can get Teryn's head out of the clouds, we can proceed to the next part of the plan."
”We may just need his head on the clouds before proceeding.” Käinen started after Ellanise spoke. ”The intellectual from the past identifies as L. Vasha traced the marks on the ring to one House Vaelthryn. Some kind of old family that disappeared around the time of the old university’s construction. The kind of mind that would know how to bypass the basis upon the wards used today were built.” The goliath turned his eyes to Teryn. “Now, finding the responsible for the theft like that, through a thing we acquired by coincidence, sounds way too convenient. But maybe another elder arcanist is using an item like the parchment and orchestrate the whole situation – get the tome, do some ritual that he could not perform during his time.”The book dealt with celestial bodies, as far as he understood. It would make sense if the old mage had to literally wait for the stars to align. “Maybe this mastermind is also collecting every channel other like him could use to meddle and we found one.”
That would make the finding of the parchment a byproduct of their investigation rather than a strike of luck. And the situation with the tome a part of a ancient conflict between arcanists. One that disregard time itself.
"You're the most academically inclined of us. What do you think?"
Teryn lets out a slow breath, the weight of Käinen’s theory settling over him like a lead cloak. "Communication...through time?" he repeated, half to himself, brow furrowed. "I didn’t even think of that. I was so focused on the where, not the when."
He turned slightly, eyes drifting toward the sunset-tinged skyline of the campus, though he wasn’t really seeing it. “House Vaelthryn...” he murmured, digging into his memory for anything about them, as well as any similar time magic he may have heard of.
Ellanise grins and shakes her head. All of this talk is apt to give her a headache.
She leans against a wall and strokes her braid as memories of times before she left home replay in her mind. If her father had had his way, all of this would be right up her alley. As it is, she feels her stubborn streak shutting down her engagement.
Rowan’s jaw hangs open a heartbeat, then snaps shut with an audible click. “Merciful soil, Käinen—when’d you furrow all that out?” he mutters, eyes wide as saucers. “Time-skippin’ scholars wranglin’ star-books and snarin’ parchment messengers… feels like you just hitched every mule in the county to one cart.”
He scrubs a hand through his hair and exhales. “Tales or truth, that vellum’s slicker than eel grease, and I’d not leave Marsh and Vasha stewin’ in its ink too long. Let’s scratch Saelric’s line, plant the inkwell, and be back afore the quill on that letter starts writin’ by itself. Teryn can eyeball the page then, with all of us standin’ guard.”
Rowan nods toward the vault door, resolve settling in. “Quick stroke, clean getaway, and we’re back to keep watch on our scholars. Sound seed to everyone?”
The building before you looms in near-silhouette. Lights flicker from a few upper-story windows. You hear the faint creak of settling stone and the distant clatter of a metal latch somewhere deep inside. As you gather just outside the entrance, the conversation draws to a natural lull.
Teryn’s brows furrow in concentration as he searches his memory for anything about House Vaelthryn, the sigil etched on the ring. A half-formed thought, a missing piece, but nothing rises. Vasha's obsession, the intentions of “L,” and the implications of communication through time and space linger. Whether fate, mischief, or something orchestrated, none of you can say for certain.
Rowan’s voice breaks the silence, practical and forward-facing. The final moment of stillness before action. Behind you all, the building’s door stands slightly ajar. Not wide, but wide enough to tempt even the most novice of thieves. Inside is the quiet wing of the Constellarium’s lower levels.
Teryn lets out a sigh, looking slightly embarrassed. "Ah, all of my study fails me. This is a true mystery indeed." Rowan's words are a much needed reminder of the present and more practical concerns.
"Yes. There'll be time to think on this later. First, let's get this errand done." He takes a minute to regain some of his Pact magic with a short ritual (Magical Cunning for 1 slot), before letting the others lead the way inside.
When the word is given, Ellanise is ready to go. Something about the situation has changed her heart toward the whole ordeal. She's ready to get below and finish this task. The sooner they can recover the tome, the sooner she can truly start the simple life in Ilmater's service she had planned.
The door groans as it slowly swings open, revealing a narrow hallway beyond. It's dim, dust-choked, and eerily silent. No guards, no reception, just ancient stone lit by the faint blue glow of everburning torches. The air is colder inside. It is dry, too. The kind of air that hasn’t been disturbed in days, maybe weeks. You cross the threshold and feel the sensation immediately: a faint prickle at the back of your neck, as though stepping through a membrane of some sort. The wards know you’re here. Whether they’ll act on it is another matter.
The floor beneath your feet is veined with thin, silvery filigree. An arcane circuit-work built into the tile, mostly inert but you can sense it humming faintly with potential.
The corridor leads to a small antechamber. Here, three stone doors greet you: The leftmost, likely leading to the scribe's annex as there is a sigil of quills and scrolls, the center door, reinforced with cold-iron bands is marked with a sigil denoting restricted access, the right, partially open, its hinges rusted, revealing the faint outline of a spiral stair descending into darkness below.
However, as someone looks to consult the map for certainty, something catches your eye. You are drawn to something else.
Nestled in a corner of the antechamber you are in, is an archival retrieval automaton, slumped and inert. Something a staff member would use to fetch records from the complicated and nuanced sorting system inside. At first glance it looks deactivated, but Teryn can sense that these constructs are rarely truly off. They sleep until disturbed or propositioned for work.
A single beam of blue light flickers in the recessed eye of the automaton. Not bright, not hostile, just... aware. The automaton doesn’t move, but the faint hum of the arcane magic within its casing suggests it could, given cause.
Teryn takes a cautious step toward the automaton, his boots scraping softly against the filigreed floor. He casts a quick glance back at the others, one hand hovering near his satchel in case he needs to draw his arcane focus. He clears his throat, then speaks with measured clarity, as though addressing an ancient librarian rather than a machine.
“Directive inquiry,” he says, mimicking the formal syntax often used when addressing older constructs. “Can you direct us to the vault belonging to P. Eltrax?"
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”And such a brilliant scholar would be able to bypass the wards on the college.” Käinen started, bringing a hand to his chin. ”What if our dear scholar has other ways to reach other people? Tell them to steal a certain tome?”
That would mean that finding the note was a tremendous coincidence and for once he hoped it to be. The one other option was that L was an unbelievable master of divination.
”Or maybe someone like him did so.” A less convenient option and so, to the goliath, more realistic. ”Either way, it seems that the best use of the note is researching it but Rowan is right. We should assume our new acquaintance can meddle with minds and to avoid researching the note alone.” He turns his eyes to tiefling. ”Both you and the professor are our go to researchers. Let’s tell him what you found and let him work on it with you. Just fix your clothes before and bring the third volume of Runael’s Transitional Theorems.”
At that point they didn’t need the excuse. Vasha’s eagerness in sharing her findings made it clear that she simply lost herself in research. But one should keep with their tales, even when it doesn’t look necessary.
”By the way, what’s the name of the old house?”
Vasha’s tail twitches once at Käinen’s sharp suggestion, perhaps a flicker of offense, or simply a rare emotional spike slipping through her usual stoicism. She draws in a breath, fingers smoothing the front of her robe, where a few creases betray her long hours of leaning over parchment and ink. “The house was called Vaelthryn,” she answers finally, gaze flicking briefly toward the parchment as though reluctant to part from it. “Little is preserved about them. Their crest matches the ring exactly, though: twin arcs framing a downward eye. They were archivists during the early era of the Academy, before Luminaar’s independence. If they are truly of that time, who knows? They might have helped design the arcane infrastructure we still rely on.”
She doesn’t protest when you suggest she bring the findings to Professor Marsh. In fact, she moves quickly, sweeping the folio and ring into a neat satchel with practiced care and gathering the requested tome from a nearby shelf without further delay.
The walk back through the stone hallways is brisk and quiet, save for the distant echo of campus bells marking the approach of evening. As you return to Marsh’s cluttered quarters, the man looks up from a precarious stack of note cards balanced atop a tea tin. “Oh! Back already? And with no blood or scorch marks. That’s promising,” he says brightly, though his eyes narrow with faint curiosity when he sees the satchel in Vasha’s hand. “Did you manage to track her down, then? Was she... where I suspected?” Vasha simply nods. “Well then, the others should be nearing the eastern annex about now. No one should stop you, just avoid the floor warden with the brass-rimmed spectacles; she lives for writing citations.” He waves you off toward the exit, already pulling the satchel closer and unfastening the flap with practiced precision. “Go on, now. I will try to get a sense of what this is in the meantime.”
DM : The Shade Over Runewarren | Vaelen Gravesong : Shadow of Eternal Night
"Fear is the weight we carry, love is the treasure we bury."
Ellanise, who had begun to grin at their success grows concerned quickly at Teryn's words. "What are you saying?" she asks. "Should we ... not go through with it?"
Teryn closes his eyes in thought, pondering the words of his Patron: "Would you snuff him, little star? Would you rewrite the truth for a lie? A delicious turn, isn’t it? You should." Breaker's Greed, Binder's Lies...
"We'll make alterations. The truth is too dangerous to become common knowledge. Hm...is Eltrax correct, or did he make up a lie just to stall Saelric's ambitions?" He opens the folio to read through it's contents, looking for anything that rings false based on what he's learned.
Investigation: 16
Rowan shifts from one boot to the other, brow puckered like a field left fallow too long. “Professor, Vasha—mind you keep that bauble where folk can find it, not vanish it into some back corner o’ the stacks,” he says, voice low but earnest. “Our friend Teryn’s got the brains for runes and riddles; reckon he’ll want a peek afore we plow any deeper. Would ease my mind to have more than one pair o’ eyes on that parchment.”
He tips an imaginary hat, then nudges Käinen with an elbow. “Come on, big fella. Let’s get ourselves to the annex and see how the vault team’s furrow’s runnin’. Never hurts to bring an extra hoe before sundown.”
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Elf Rogue - Wildnis || b'Reh - Stig Cleric - Humblewood || Rowan - Halfling Giant - Runewarren || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Tribute || Arista - Frost Sorcerer - Old Keep || Zephirah - Demonic Bard - Sands || Merry - Gifted Surgeon - Short || Marasatra - Blood Mage - Avernus || Lan - Dwarf Dragon - Wuxian ||
Teryn & Ellanise
You don’t find anything overtly false in Eltrax’s work. The arguments are well-reasoned, supported by diagrams, theoretical models, and even correspondences with unnamed peers. In fact, they feel frustratingly reasonable, but what does linger in the margins is a certain reverence for potential. Eltrax is warning against lifting the restrictions, yes, but out of hope, a belief that the possibilities are wondrous, dangerous, and real. His caution seems to stem from a desire to guide that awakening carefully, not smother it.
In contrast, Saelric’s theory presents a more clinical dismissal of that potential out of pride. His work frames Eltrax’s research as outdated, reckless, and unworthy of academic merit.
Rowan & Käinen
The corridors of the faculty wing grow quieter with each passing minute. The din of the academy day fades behind you, replaced by the soft creak of aging floorboards and the distant echo of closing doors. Your boots carry yourselves across a tiled causeway connecting the buildings, the campus’s spires now silhouetted against a setting sun. Inside the adjacent wing, the shift in atmosphere is immediate. The air feels older here, dustier, more reverent somehow, lined with plaques of long-past scholars and portraits whose eyes seem to follow passersby. Käinen’s broad shoulders barely avoid scraping a narrow arch as you both step inside.
Not far ahead, the familiar outlines of Teryn and Ellanise come into view. The pair stand in a secluded area just outside an old building with tall vines of ivy encroaching the weathered brick walls. Teryn holds the retrieved inkwell cradled in one hand, but his eyes are distant and drawn to a loose scattering of notes as he rummages through the folio acquired from Saelric earlier.
DM : The Shade Over Runewarren | Vaelen Gravesong : Shadow of Eternal Night
"Fear is the weight we carry, love is the treasure we bury."
Teryn lets out a long, frustrated sigh as he shuts the folio. "Bollocks, Saelric...Eltrax's reasoning is sound, his wholehearted belief in every word. No one with a brain is going to believe he suddenly changed his mind for any other reason than fear for his life." The elf shakes his head. "Though it is a relief. Saelric seems to be in favor of not meddling with the monoliths' restrictions at all, so doing him this ridiculous favor won't doom the world at least."
Ellanise relaxes. "OK. So it seems doing this will be helpful? And then we can get the professor's book back, and that's helpful."
She looks away, rubbing one hand down her braid. "The ends justify the means?"
"Yes, unfortunately for Eltrax, this time they do. Keeping the Concordance out of the wrong hands takes priority." Teryn answers with a nod, feeling renewed determination in their mission.
Rowan clears his throat a few paces back so his boots don’t give anyone a fright, then ambles up with an easy nod. “Evenin’, you two. Got the ink pot already, or have you even gone and finished the whole brush-stroke without us?” he asks, thumb hooked under his belt.
He waves off any reply for a heartbeat, lowering his voice. “Käinen an’ I tracked Vasha—no skulduggery, just her nose buried in that parchment from the ring. Seems she reckons it’s a letter-box reachin’ clean through time—claims she’s writin’ with some scholar what lived here a thousand summers back.” He gives a soft whistle. “Tall tale, maybe, but the runes look stranger than scarecrows in a turnip patch. Marsh has both ring and page now, chew-in’ the mystery over. Figured, Teryn, you’ll want a gander once we’re done in this vault.”
Rowan tips his head toward the archive doors. “So—where’s the furrow stand? Ink pot in hand, passage picked, or do you still need an extra set o’ steady fingers?”
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Elf Rogue - Wildnis || b'Reh - Stig Cleric - Humblewood || Rowan - Halfling Giant - Runewarren || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Tribute || Arista - Frost Sorcerer - Old Keep || Zephirah - Demonic Bard - Sands || Merry - Gifted Surgeon - Short || Marasatra - Blood Mage - Avernus || Lan - Dwarf Dragon - Wuxian ||
Ellanise turns to watch the halfling and goliath approach. She is at first amused, and then she is comforted by her feelings.
When Rowan clears Vasha of all charges, however, she can't help but scowl again. Something about that tiefling seems off. But perhaps I'm just being paranoid, she thinks.
"We have the inkwell," the elf says, returning to the moment. "If we can get Teryn's head out of the clouds, we can proceed to the next part of the plan."
”We may just need his head on the clouds before proceeding.” Käinen started after Ellanise spoke. ”The intellectual from the past identifies as L. Vasha traced the marks on the ring to one House Vaelthryn. Some kind of old family that disappeared around the time of the old university’s construction. The kind of mind that would know how to bypass the basis upon the wards used today were built.” The goliath turned his eyes to Teryn. “Now, finding the responsible for the theft like that, through a thing we acquired by coincidence, sounds way too convenient. But maybe another elder arcanist is using an item like the parchment and orchestrate the whole situation – get the tome, do some ritual that he could not perform during his time.” The book dealt with celestial bodies, as far as he understood. It would make sense if the old mage had to literally wait for the stars to align. “Maybe this mastermind is also collecting every channel other like him could use to meddle and we found one.”
That would make the finding of the parchment a byproduct of their investigation rather than a strike of luck. And the situation with the tome a part of a ancient conflict between arcanists. One that disregard time itself.
"You're the most academically inclined of us. What do you think?"
Teryn lets out a slow breath, the weight of Käinen’s theory settling over him like a lead cloak. "Communication...through time?" he repeated, half to himself, brow furrowed. "I didn’t even think of that. I was so focused on the where, not the when."
He turned slightly, eyes drifting toward the sunset-tinged skyline of the campus, though he wasn’t really seeing it. “House Vaelthryn...” he murmured, digging into his memory for anything about them, as well as any similar time magic he may have heard of.
History: 7+5 book= 12, Arcana: 10+5 book= 15
Ellanise grins and shakes her head. All of this talk is apt to give her a headache.
She leans against a wall and strokes her braid as memories of times before she left home replay in her mind. If her father had had his way, all of this would be right up her alley. As it is, she feels her stubborn streak shutting down her engagement.
Rowan’s jaw hangs open a heartbeat, then snaps shut with an audible click. “Merciful soil, Käinen—when’d you furrow all that out?” he mutters, eyes wide as saucers. “Time-skippin’ scholars wranglin’ star-books and snarin’ parchment messengers… feels like you just hitched every mule in the county to one cart.”
He scrubs a hand through his hair and exhales. “Tales or truth, that vellum’s slicker than eel grease, and I’d not leave Marsh and Vasha stewin’ in its ink too long. Let’s scratch Saelric’s line, plant the inkwell, and be back afore the quill on that letter starts writin’ by itself. Teryn can eyeball the page then, with all of us standin’ guard.”
Rowan nods toward the vault door, resolve settling in. “Quick stroke, clean getaway, and we’re back to keep watch on our scholars. Sound seed to everyone?”
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Elf Rogue - Wildnis || b'Reh - Stig Cleric - Humblewood || Rowan - Halfling Giant - Runewarren || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Tribute || Arista - Frost Sorcerer - Old Keep || Zephirah - Demonic Bard - Sands || Merry - Gifted Surgeon - Short || Marasatra - Blood Mage - Avernus || Lan - Dwarf Dragon - Wuxian ||
The building before you looms in near-silhouette. Lights flicker from a few upper-story windows. You hear the faint creak of settling stone and the distant clatter of a metal latch somewhere deep inside. As you gather just outside the entrance, the conversation draws to a natural lull.
Teryn’s brows furrow in concentration as he searches his memory for anything about House Vaelthryn, the sigil etched on the ring. A half-formed thought, a missing piece, but nothing rises. Vasha's obsession, the intentions of “L,” and the implications of communication through time and space linger. Whether fate, mischief, or something orchestrated, none of you can say for certain.
Rowan’s voice breaks the silence, practical and forward-facing. The final moment of stillness before action. Behind you all, the building’s door stands slightly ajar. Not wide, but wide enough to tempt even the most novice of thieves. Inside is the quiet wing of the Constellarium’s lower levels.
DM : The Shade Over Runewarren | Vaelen Gravesong : Shadow of Eternal Night
"Fear is the weight we carry, love is the treasure we bury."
Teryn lets out a sigh, looking slightly embarrassed. "Ah, all of my study fails me. This is a true mystery indeed." Rowan's words are a much needed reminder of the present and more practical concerns.
"Yes. There'll be time to think on this later. First, let's get this errand done." He takes a minute to regain some of his Pact magic with a short ritual (Magical Cunning for 1 slot), before letting the others lead the way inside.
When the word is given, Ellanise is ready to go. Something about the situation has changed her heart toward the whole ordeal. She's ready to get below and finish this task. The sooner they can recover the tome, the sooner she can truly start the simple life in Ilmater's service she had planned.
The door groans as it slowly swings open, revealing a narrow hallway beyond. It's dim, dust-choked, and eerily silent. No guards, no reception, just ancient stone lit by the faint blue glow of everburning torches. The air is colder inside. It is dry, too. The kind of air that hasn’t been disturbed in days, maybe weeks. You cross the threshold and feel the sensation immediately: a faint prickle at the back of your neck, as though stepping through a membrane of some sort. The wards know you’re here. Whether they’ll act on it is another matter.
The floor beneath your feet is veined with thin, silvery filigree. An arcane circuit-work built into the tile, mostly inert but you can sense it humming faintly with potential.
The corridor leads to a small antechamber. Here, three stone doors greet you: The leftmost, likely leading to the scribe's annex as there is a sigil of quills and scrolls, the center door, reinforced with cold-iron bands is marked with a sigil denoting restricted access, the right, partially open, its hinges rusted, revealing the faint outline of a spiral stair descending into darkness below.
However, as someone looks to consult the map for certainty, something catches your eye. You are drawn to something else.
Nestled in a corner of the antechamber you are in, is an archival retrieval automaton, slumped and inert. Something a staff member would use to fetch records from the complicated and nuanced sorting system inside. At first glance it looks deactivated, but Teryn can sense that these constructs are rarely truly off. They sleep until disturbed or propositioned for work.
A single beam of blue light flickers in the recessed eye of the automaton. Not bright, not hostile, just... aware. The automaton doesn’t move, but the faint hum of the arcane magic within its casing suggests it could, given cause.
DM : The Shade Over Runewarren | Vaelen Gravesong : Shadow of Eternal Night
"Fear is the weight we carry, love is the treasure we bury."
Teryn takes a cautious step toward the automaton, his boots scraping softly against the filigreed floor. He casts a quick glance back at the others, one hand hovering near his satchel in case he needs to draw his arcane focus. He clears his throat, then speaks with measured clarity, as though addressing an ancient librarian rather than a machine.
“Directive inquiry,” he says, mimicking the formal syntax often used when addressing older constructs. “Can you direct us to the vault belonging to P. Eltrax?"