The vast library, filled with pictograms, research, and of course books seemed to be similar to a makeshift office. The air was thick with the scent of parchment, ink, and age-old knowledge. Dust danced in the beams of light that filtered through high windows, as if time itself had slowed within these hallowed walls. A low and rasp voice spoke up.
”Ah, you five. I assume you’ve received my message?”

Ianjin leaned casually against the stone wall of the library, his vibrant plumage catching the warm glow of filtered sunlight. His wind-touched feathers—shades of gold, orange, and red—fluttered faintly, as if responding to an unseen breeze. His minimal monk attire, designed for agility, draped comfortably over his lean, athletic frame, leaving his powerful wings free. The intricate feather patterns along his arms and crest gave him an almost regal presence, though his relaxed posture kept him approachable. His bright, keen eyes held a warmth that made it easy to trust him, yet there was a sharpness beneath them—a tempered discipline from years of training.

With an easy nod, he acknowledged Merlin’s words. “Aye, received and understood,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with curiosity. He shifted his stance, arms loosely crossed over his chest. “But these creatures… are they all the same kind, or are we dealing with something different each time?” His beak tilted slightly, his expression thoughtful. “If they're all cut from the same cloth, we can plan accordingly. If not, well… then we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.” Though not the most scholarly of minds, Ianjin knew that understanding one’s opponent was the first step to victory. His feathers ruffled slightly as he waited for Merlin’s answer.

Igneous was the opposite of Ianjin in just about every way. His outfit was a drab brown and gray with splotches of what might have been mud or possibly some other material of similar color and consistency. Although loose elsewhere, the robes were tight in the arms, apparently just barely winning the effort to constrain Igneous' large arm muscles. He had a shield and a longbow over one shoulder and a quiver and pack arranged neatly on his back. A longsword was apparent, as well as the dagger set on the outside of his right boot.  

His chain mail clinked musically as he smoothly walked into the room. Upon entering the area of learning, Igneous' eyes went wide in astonishment, saying in a low whisper to no one in particular, "My momma told me stories about these sorts of places. I never thought I would see one in person." His head and eyes sometimes went cross-eyed as he attempted to quickly scan the room. At the same time, his body shrank down and he looked visibly concerned that he might accidentally touch something. Igneous absentmindedly stuck out his left hand that was closed in fist in expectations that Ianjin would reciprocate by lightly bumping fists and said quietly to his new companion, "Uhh, hey, rooster-man, are we safe here? I have heard that magicians can turn people into frogs or other animals. I don't want to be a frog."  He kept his right hand steady near his sword and his eyes steady on Merlin. 

Ianjin glanced at the offered fist and, without missing a beat, lightly tapped it with his own in a quiet gesture of camaraderie. His sharp beak curled into an amused smirk as he tilted his head at Igneous, bright eyes twinkling with mischief. “Rooster-man, huh?” he mused, ruffling his own wind-touched plumage for effect. “Wait a minute… Are these feathers on my arms? They’ve already turned me into a chicken!” He gasped dramatically, clutching at his chest as though just realizing the transformation.

For the briefest of moments, he let the joke hang in the air, gauging Igneous' reaction. Then, unable to hold it in any longer, he bellowed into a hearty, feather-ruffling laugh, the sound full of warmth and good humor. He clapped a winged hand against Igneous' shoulder, the impact light but reassuring. “Relax, my friend. If Merlin wanted to turn us into frogs, I reckon he’d have done it before inviting us here. We are safer than safe.”

Still grinning, he shifted his weight back against the wall, glancing at Merlin before nudging Igneous with his elbow. “Though… if you do get turned into a frog, don’t worry. I make a mean insect stew.”

Igneous broad face goes from shock to embarrassment to friendship during the conversation. He reciprocates Ianjin's nudge with a left jab to the shoulder but overdoes it, sending a few feathers flying. Not noticing the impact, he replies, "I'm sorry if I offended you by calling you a rooster-man. I do that often, that is, I mean, offend people by accident. But you're alright. Although I still don' wanna try your insect stew. My name is Igneous, by the way. I'm usually moving heavy objects on a farm or protecting local merchants from attacks." 

Ianjin barely flinched at the jab—he was used to rougher tumbles—but a few loose feathers drifted lazily to the floor. His sharp eyes tracked them absently before flicking back to Igneous, amusement still dancing across his face. “Offended? No, no, my friend. No offense taken—none at all,” he assured with an easy grin, brushing a hand over his shoulder where the feathers had come loose. “If anything, you set yourself up for that one, and, well… I couldn’t resist. I should probably be the one apologizing for taking advantage of the opportunity.” His beak twitched in a smirk, but his expression remained warm and open.

He extended a hand, talons lightly curled in a firm but friendly grip. “Name’s Ianjin—but you can call me Ian, if it’s easier. Sounds like we both know a thing or two about keeping people safe, huh?” His feathers ruffled slightly, a subtle sign of his good mood. “And as for the stew—fair enough. More for me.” He gave Igneous an approving nod before leaning back against the wall again, clearly feeling at ease. “Glad to have you along, Igneous. Should be an interesting time.”

Fitzroy, a dwarven man with red hair and a medium-length beard, turns around quickly from facing a bookshelf. Upon any close inspection, it appears that he may have been startled. An ornately decorated tome rests in his right hand while his left-hand holds open his jacket slightly from his chest. He quickly clears his throat and puts the tome back, almost reluctantly, on the shelf. "Oy, this?" He motions to the book, "I was just giving it a glance. I'm a sucker for a good binding." He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small flask, making his way over to the speaker and taking a small drink along the way. 

The clothing he wears is worn, dusty but neat. Fitzroy overhears the "rooster-man" comment as he makes his way over, giving a little chuckle. Fitroy will take a spot next to Igneous, giving him a hard slap on the back. Trying to release some tension, Fitzroy speaks up, "A stew ya say?" talking to Ianjan. "A sod like you could go a long way in a stew, I'd imagine. This one time, we got an aarakocra going in a pot. A little too gamey for my palate." Fitzroy hands the flask toward Ianjan, a brass container with an ornate sun carved in the front. "Now, as fun a libraries are," the sarcasm is heavy, "what are we doing here?"

A white furred fox woman in tight dark leathers, festooned with blades enters the room and pauses in the doorway. She takes a long look around and draws in a deep breath.

Places like these are at once familiar and cloying. While she worked hard to get away the smell of books does feel like home.

"Hello gentlemen, I'm Valeria," she bows "I'm sorry I'm late, the foot traffic at this hour is murder."

She murmurs to Fitzroy, and gestures towards Merlin,  "The mature guy over there with the beard wants to reward us handsomely for gathering information and heads." At least Valeria was hoping the reward would be nice. Nothing is free in the world.

If you look closely, you see a tiny brown bat poking its head around her neck.

Ianjin let out a low, amused whistle at Fitzroy’s comment, his crest feathers ruffling as he gave the dwarf an appraising look. “Aarakocra in a stew? Yeah, I believe that,” he said, tilting his head in mock consideration. “Not the tender sort—either in meat or in manners.” His beak twitched into a smirk, his voice dripping with playful mischief. Accepting the offered flask without hesitation, he took a casual swig, the burn of the liquor tracing a warm path down his throat. With an easy grin, he raised the container slightly in Valeria’s direction before speaking. “To our success—and the fine rewards waiting for us at the end.” His eyes glimmered with good humor, but there was a knowing glint in them as well, as if acknowledging her own pragmatic outlook.

Turning toward Valeria, he gave a slight, theatrical bow, wings spreading just a bit before folding neatly again. “Ianjin—Ian, if you prefer. Seems like we’ll be working together, Valeria. Pleasure to meet you.” His tone was light, carrying an effortless charm as he returned the flask to Fitzroy. Running a taloned thumb over the brass surface, he let his gaze linger on the intricate sun carving before handing it back. “That’s a fine piece—quite beautiful, actually.” His voice carried genuine appreciation as he tilted his head in thought (History/Religion 21 to recall information about the carving - in case there is any you are willing to share @Fitzroy). “Can’t say I know the meaning off the top of my head, but something about it feels… familiar.” He gave Fitzroy a curious look, wondering if the dwarf might elaborate, or if he was just admiring a well-made flask. 

Then, settling back against the wall once more, he let the moment breathe, observing how the others carried themselves, feeling out the rhythm of the group. He had a feeling this was going to be an interesting bunch.

Heading over to the callers voice with Valeria. "Fitzroy Hammerstone," the dwarf says reaching out a hand. "If he be offering some coin, I surely am peaked in my interest. Hopefully not a fool's errand. Never know about town folk and their ploys."

To Ian: "Aye," he says with a pause. "Home, or at least it was." Fitzroy take the flask back and downs another swig. "Mount Sungard, not far from here. That be our clan insignia. Crafters of metal mostly. Fine wares and such." 

Igneous turns red and looks to the floor when addressing Valeria, "I'm just a farmer, ma'am, not a gentleman. Perhaps these others are real gentlemen." He looks up from the floor but down to the dwarf to say, "Fitzroy, I should tell you that Ian is my friend so we will not be cooking him." He adds, "I've heard of Mount Sungard. Your clan does beautiful metalwork. A rich family I once worked proudly displayed a few pieces in their house." 

Merlin emerges from one of the isles in a hurry, standing as an enigmatic figure, his long black hair framing a face that, was surprisingly young for a half-elf. Draped in a midnight blue robe adorned with faint, glowing runes, he carried a tall, gnarled staff topped with a radiant sapphire, its soft light casting a glow. There was a quiet power about him, as if he had witnessed the rise and fall of civilisations.

“You’d be correct, you’ll be paid well for the mission. As for the type of monsters you’ll be facing, they seem to be a species of the nine hells.”

He shows the group various sketches of otherworldly horrors. Most of them seem to be of fiends and oozes, with multiple types of abilities. Their skin an unnatural shade of ashen gray, red, or carbon black. Their eyes glowed with an eerie, blood-red light.

To Igneous: "Of course, we won't be eating Ol' Ian here," a pause comes before continuing. "While he is still alive, of course." Fitzroy then lets out a laugh and gives Igneous a couple slaps on the back. "Yes, my boy, the metalwork is fine, mighty fine, keeps us in gold, but the real treasure is what we keep in the bottles inside the compound. Ya see, I was never much of a metalsmith myself. I pursued another passion. One of which that'll put hair on yer chest." Fitzroy will offer Igneous the flash. "A personal concoction I brewed up. 'Sungard's Burn,' which is quite flammable." Fitzroy will retrieve the flask and take a drink before putting it back inside his coat pocket. 

Upon receiving the sketches from Merlin, "Oy, are these creatures of the Underdark?" Fitz speaks up to the group, "not the kind of mercenary work I was expecting. So what's the issue with these creatures. They don't seem to be loose on the streets here. If that were the case, I think a little more panik would be in order."

Fitz will roll a nature check to see if any of these seem familiar. 21 

Valeria makes a sharp intake of breath when she sees the pictures. Surly those can't be right. When she answered the bulletin for aid, she thought they would be chasing goblins or orks not creatures from nightmare and children's tales.

"'These are an accurate record of our foes?" sighing, she rubs her brow "How do we find these things? What are their weaknesses?"

Bah, it's still probably just inflated rumors and story, she thinks.

Ianjin chuckled warmly at Fitzroy and Igneous’ exchange, clapping a winged hand lightly over his own chest. “Well, I appreciate you both ensuring I stay off the menu,” he teased, beak curved in a playful grin. “Though if we ever get truly desperate, I do hear my kind pairs well with a nice citrus glaze.” He let that sit for a moment before winking at Igneous, ensuring the big man knew he was only joking.

His attention shifted back to Fitzroy as the dwarf spoke of Mount Sungard and its famed craftsmanship. Ianjin nodded, rolling the name over in his mind. He might not have been a smith himself, but he knew quality when he saw it. “Your clan’s work is renowned, that’s for sure,” he mused, tilting his head as he considered the insignia on the flask again. “And here I thought the real treasure of dwarves was under the mountain—turns out, it’s in a bottle.” His grin widened as Fitzroy downed another swig of his Sungard’s Burn. He makes a mental note to engage with Fitzroy about how he makes the brew, being a brewer himself he's always for the lookout to improve his own skill. 

When Merlin stepped forward, however, the air seemed to shift, taking on a different weight. The young-yet-old wizard carried himself with an aura that made Ianjin straighten just a bit, instinctually reading the room’s change. He watched as the sketches of the creatures were laid out, his keen gaze sweeping over the unnatural fiends. Their ashen gray, carbon black, and blood-red eyes sent a wave of unease rippling through him. His eyebrows shot up. “Well, you weren’t kidding about strange creatures,” he murmured, stepping closer to get a better look. He tilted his head, eyes darting between the sketches, taking in their varied and grotesque features. Fiends and oozes. That didn’t sit right. A thoughtful expression crossed his face as he glanced up at Merlin. “I have to ask—does anyone have a theory on how these things are appearing?” His voice was measured, curiosity laced with concern. “I mean, these don’t exactly look like the kind of creatures that just spring into existence.” He gestured to the drawings, feathers shifting slightly as worry crept into his voice. For a brief moment, a dark thought crossed his mind: 'If things like this got loose in the countryside—if they made their way to farmsteads or villages...' Ianjin exhaled through his beak, shaking off the mental image. He was quick to recover, slipping back into his usual tone, though the edge of concern still lingered. “Where have they been seen?” he asked, glancing between Merlin and the others. “Are they scattered, or is there a pattern?” His keen eyes flicked toward Valeria, catching her unease. If she was unsettled, that meant this was serious.

Igneous looks at the drawings for just a short time and quickly passes them on. He knew he wasn't going to know the beasts or remember them, and figured he would attack them like he would any other being that threatened him and his friends. "Just tell me when and where I can hit them, Mr. Merlin-man. I'll knock them out like Barnabas Bombast did to his enemies!" he said confidently. He looks around expectantly, as if someone else would invoke the name of his hero, someone who only exists in the bedtime tales his mom made up when he was younger.  

He paused, his brow furrowing in thought, as if pondering the enormity of what lay ahead.

“The source of their appearance is not an accident; it is no mere coincidence. If we do not act swiftly, this kingdom will face horrors beyond imagination, horrors that even I may not be able to stop. I will seek the root of this disturbance, but I need your help. We are all bound by the same fate now. I do have a few leads. Firstly, the source of these creatures seem to be a secret organisation. They go by ‘The cult of Atlas.’ Secondly, I happen to know the location of the cathedral where a meeting will take place. Your job is to gather more information. Fourthly, the problem is that many people have been going missing and many devils are roaming the kingdom, tricking its residents. Fifthly, these monsters seem to be weak to acid.” His voice wavers, unsure whether he thinks he can stop this threat. “And lastly, are you ready?”

"What sorta meeting are we talking about here? I'm all for doing a little sleuthing, but I don't have much interest walking into a powder keg, even less an ambush." Fitz seems to think for a moment. "Never heard of an Atlas before. You mean to say this cult has been summoning demons to the surface?" 

OOC: This is a different town other than the one we are currently in, correct? 

Ianjin watched Merlin carefully, his feathers fluffing slightly as the wizard spoke in such a cold, matter-of-fact manner. No flourish, no grand declarations, no sense of adventure—just grim certainty. 'Not much for showmanship, is he?' Ianjin mused silently, a stark contrast to Igneous’ enthusiasm for a fictional hero. Merlin wasn’t here to tell bedtime stories. He was here to talk about nightmares made real. Still, if Merlin wasn’t going to dress things up, neither would he. Ianjin took a breath, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted to the weight of the moment. He’d always been an optimist, but he wasn’t naive—if these creatures were being summoned or controlled, that meant someone wanted them here. That meant people were suffering. That meant villages and families, like the one he grew up in, could already be in danger.

His wings shifted, settling more tightly against his back as he dialed back his usual lightheartedness. “Alright,” he said, voice steady, though a bit of his usual brightness still lingered. “So you want us to go to the cathedral and see what we can find out about this cult of yours? That’s the job?” He glanced at the others, then back to Merlin, his beak tilting slightly. “No fighting, no smashing, just information gathering—for now?” His golden-orange feathers smoothed as he exhaled, already preparing himself for the task ahead. “Fine by me,” he said with a small shrug. “Though, if they do start throwing punches… I hope you don’t expect me to just sit there and take notes.” 

"Oh, I don't take notes all that well. My teachers never liked my writing, and the paper was too weak for my arms and hands." His tone switched from whining about school back to its usual can-do attitude. "Hmm, but maybe I can make sure no one goes missing or surprises us. Yes, that is what I can and will do." His forehead contracted in concentration before he continued. "But wait, did you say there was something else - a last point - or did I get confused?" While he was not a good student, Igneous was trying to pay attention and be helpful since this all sounded important. And without knowing it, he had become comfortable enough to rest his shoulder on the door frame of the library office, although one arm was swinging dangerously close to a table.