Iolar: Two of the drow bodies both have a +1 rapier, a mithral shirt, a masterwork buckler, a masterwork hand crossbow, and 10 bolts. The other two both have a masterwork hand crossbow, masterwork studded leather, 18 bolts, and a short sword.
Altogether, the dead drow have 4 scrolls, 2 potions, a wand, 3 masterwork hand crossbows, a masterwork whip, a masterwork flail, 2 suits of masterwork studded leather armor, a suit of full plate armor, a heavy metal shield, 2 short swords, 7 iron bolts with resin-coated tips, 10 metal bolts with a glass section in the middle filled with what looks like acid, 2 smokesticks, and a silver holy symbol .
Back in the room where you fought the demons, you find seven of the orbs stationed on top of the short pillars, still intact, each of them showing vague shifting images of an ancient elven city. One of them, when you pick it up, displays an image of a scholarly-looking elf, who then speaks to you. "I am Eloquan, Chief Lorekeeper of Celwynvian. What would you like to know?"
Iolar eagerly examines the magic items on the roof. She hopes to find a wonder of Nethys' craft, but she is disappointed and dismissive. Magic swords of no extraordinary power. Have these dark elves no wonders to show us, or are they merely degenerates who have been lost too long in darkness without the nurture of Gozreh's benevolent side and sun and stars?
She shows more appreciation for the mithral shirts. {I] A material rare and fine, allowing the safety of heavy armour simultaneously with the truest expression of speed and elven grace in combat. [/I] She stares covetously and regretfully at the shining mail. And Gozreh makes my use of this treasure taboo.
The hand crossbows she scorns. Even the half-man knows what a true bow is.
The others may find use for these. She strips the two bodies of their mithral and scoops up the magic rapiers before returning to the ground floor.
[b]"Gifts for you from the fallen drow slain by Vendric!" But the others were not in the first chamber any more. Scowling with anger she advances deeper into building.
Lothan is startled when the orb speaks. "Okay, that is just freaking cool! Hey guys! Check this out! The orb talks! It's name is Eloquan!" He hollers for the others as he looks around for Iolar. "Where is bird-lady? I bet she would have some questions that may help us. I don't really know what to ask about this place."
Iolar returns to find the others searching either end of the library.
In the book room, on a desk that remains mostly in tact, you find a collection of six tomes and several parchments. Inspecting them reveals that all of these books deals with either astronomy or the Great Beyond. One bookmark in particular denotes a page dealing with the "realm of shadows" and how time can be "mutable in suck a domain".
Underneath a pile of ancient and crumbling pages, you find a scroll; also, a thin, locked book, bound in iron and silver; both in pristine condition.
"I do not see the tactical benefit of this location, other than as a defensive hub; this place is filled with the spawn of entropy and decay, and little more..."
Nevertheless, Tyrrol takes a look at the scroll and the book, casting a couple of spells...
Iolar stalks into the library. "I thought I told you all to wait," she begins angrily. "You really should list..." She stops and looks about. How long since a true elf entered this room? What mysteries are hidden in the stacks?
She drops her load ( 2 each of +1 rapier, a mithral shirt, a masterwork buckler) and says absently, "Gifts of Vendric's prowess. There's more but this is the best of the spoils."
She walks into deeper into the room and begins looking over the curiosities.
Turning wide-eyed to Lothan's discovery, he offers with amazement in his voice: "Ask him about the drows!"
"I thought about that but what the heck do I ask? How many there are? How to stop them? Heck, I don't know." He shrugs as not long after Iolar walks in. "Hey, Iolar, check this out!" He shows her the orb. "There's someone inside it. Says his name is: 'Eloquan, Chief Lorekeeper of Celwynvian'. I think this is right up your alley! You know, a know-it-all talking to a know-it-all. Go ahead, try it!" He hands it to her and as he does, "And uh, we did wait but we got bored," he tells her, clearly catching the irritated look she loves to show off. "Hey, thirty seconds is a long time! I nearly fell asleep," he says, shrugging.
Iolar takes the orb from Lothan and peers into it. She follows the shifting image and starts slightly when Eloquan makes his announcement. Impressed by the magic involved and unsure whether this is some sort of recording or if the Lorekeeper has committed his soul to the orb, she opts to be polite."Greetings, Lorekeeper. I am Iolar Eitilt, Searcher of Skies. What can you tell us of the drow?"
The image flickers, but doesn't respond.
There are three scrolls of cure moderate wounds, a web, and a clairvoyance. The whip and wand have faint evocation auras. The potions have faint conjuration auras. The book has a moderate transmutation aura, but is still locked, so you can't open it.
Vendric picks up one of the potions and begins examining them. When done he will prepare a identify Extract if he has time.
As Lothan peers over her shoulder to watch, a look of irritation forms as nothing happens. "What?! What the... gimme that!" He quickly snatches the orb from her, completely oblivious to any cross looks she might be giving him as he peers intently at the orb. He then slaps it against the palm of his opposite hand a few times before, "Hello hello! Where are you?! You can't just disappear, pal, we got questions!" he hollers into it. He shakes it vigorously, putting it up to his ear wondering if he might get a response.
Iolar does indeed glare at Lothan while he snatches the orb back. "Give that back! It won't to respond to your gauche buffoonery!"
She doesn't go so far as to try to grab it back. A tug of war would be unseemly. And she would probably lose.
You don't find any poisons.
The elf still doesn't give a response, and just looks back at you calmly and waitingly.
As the elf within the orb simply does nothing, "Fine by me," he says as he hands it back. "For a minute I thought he'd left but all he's doing is just standing there like a boring person." A wry grin then slowly forms as a thought occurs to him, "Hey, bird-lady, he wasn't your boyfriend back in the day before he became ball boy, was he?" He gives a wink to the others.
"No, he wasn't," Iolar answers testily before she's aware that she's being made fun of. "I am fairly confident he died well before I was born." Slowly the realization that Lothan was poking fun at her sinks in and crimson sheets across her cheeks. She turns away as she turns her attention back to the ball.
"Eloquan. How can you help us?"
Eloquan doesn't respond to Iolar, but answers Zoltan. "This city was founded by a group of scholars and artisans who migrated here from Kyonin over three millennia ago."
"I think you are on to it, Zoltan."
Iolar looks at the small scholar in the globe. "What could he tell us?"
Eloquan remains silent.
He doesn't respond.
He still doesn't respond.
Tyrrol frowns.
"Mayhaps the Elves will be interested in it. I wonder how long it will take them to come and reinforce this position?"
He then settles-down calmly, to wait.
"I tried to tell ya. That guy doesn't do anything but just stand there and stare." Lothan shrugs. "So, now what do we do? Shouldn't we keep moving or what? Let's go take us out some more bad guys!" He pumps his fist, excited at the idea.
Tyrrol shakes his head.
"We were asked to take out the drow forces here, and then secure the building, since it was being used to prevent ready access to further into the city. We should wait until other forces arrive to reinforce this position, before we move on."
"Lothan, if you return to the main elven force and announce our success, then we could move on. In the meantime, Zoltan can search the library, and I will continue to draw information from this sphere."
Iolar returns her attention to the globe. "Eloquan, who made this talking sphere and how was it done?"
Eloquan still doesn't respond.
Looking to Zoltan as he objects, "Z is right. Splitting up is dumb. First thing I learned growing up in Riddleport: NEVER go anywhere by yourself. That's suicide. No, we all can search the library." A thought then occurs to him, "Hey! Or you can go alert the elf force," he tells Iolar. "Just turn into your bird-lady self, and fly to them. That's far more insconpic-, inconspic-, inscipic-..." He stops, groaning in frustration as he's unable to pronounce the word properly. "Whatever! Far less noticeable! - is what I mean to say." He rolls his eyes, shaking his head in irritation. "Man I hate words," he mutters.
Once his extract is done he drinks it and starts examining the potions and objects.
I wish this man who hates words would use far fewer of them.
"I can only transform a few times in a day. I don't think telling Kaerishiel Neirenar that we've won his battle for him is important enough to use one of them. Meanwhile there are treasures of elven culture to be found here."
Iolar lays down the globe and turns her attention to the stacks.
Eloquan disappears.
You identify two potions of cure light wounds, a CL3 wand of magic missile with 10 charges, 3 scrolls of cure moderate wounds, and a scroll of web.
"Okay, so what do we got here? Anything useful? Hey, I'll take one of those blades! They look pretty nice." He picks up one of the rapiers and examines it before sheathing it. "Okay, I'm good. The rest of it looks lame." He shrugs.
Tyrrol shrugs disinterestedly.
"None of those items are of interest to me."
He then settles down patiently to await reinforcements.
After endless searching, you find nothing. Eventually, a contingent of elven scouts enters the library to hold the building. One of them informs you that Eviana awaits you back at the camp to give further orders.
"Well alright! Looks like our work here is done! Well, as far as this building is concerned anyway." Lothan cracks his neck to one side and then the other, and then sniffs all tough like. "Man we are some bad half-elves." He then looks to Iolar through narrowed eyes and with a slight grin, "Okay and elf too. And when I say 'bad', I mean 'awesome', Iolar. I explain that because I know you don't understand street talk - unlike myself of course - seeing how you're all, bird lady flyee elf person." He pantomimes by flapping his hands and looking absolutely ridiculous doing it. "AND," he exclaims, the pantomiming instantly coming to an end, "I think I've got the perfect name for our little group. You ready?" He glances around at them all, letting the suspense build a moment before, "The BA's, bay-bee! The Bad A##es! Heck yeah!" He nods several times, quite cockily. "Alright, I'm ready, let's roll!" Lothan then takes the lead back toward camp, an exaggerated walk that's FULL of confidence. Probably so much so that's it's more foolish looking than anything else.
When the elves arrive, and give the party their new marching orders, Tyrrol nods, gets to his feet, and heads back to the encampment; his placid silence providing a stark counter-point to Lothan's amped-up joviality.