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Rolando tears through the pages, taking in every word with ease and able to make connections few could've made. The interns look on as his useful notes pile higher and higher, and they can barely bring him documents quickly enough. With a satisfied "Aha!", Rolando closes a book and leans backs. He knows where you have to go.
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Well done everyone, well done! Someone's been tampering with the reports, trying to throw us off the scent. But all codices involving magical items at Blakros are registered with Forae Logos. Ready for a jaunt over to the library? They'll have the unaltered documents there and we should be able to find our lantern. This is turning out to be vastly more exciting than I originally predicted. Shamak, you're wonderful, but remember the rule in the library: six-inch voices.
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The Forae Logos is easily within walking distance to the Blakros Museum, though the less-crowded streets in the Wise Quarter make it easy going for the carriage. Some of the interns stop by their lodgings at the Arcanamirium on their way to gather fresh supplies and change into slightly nicer outfits.
The Forae Logos is a tremendous building, as much a cathedral as it is a library. Beyond its imposing entry arch stands the grand foyer, an immense chamber of tiered balconies decorated with ancient marble statues, creeping ivy, and an overhead skylight decorated with astrological designs.
In spite of the structure’s serene grandeur, a palpable sense of tension hangs in the air. Dozens of heavily armored guards brandishing halberds observe the foyer from the balconies, and few visitors grace this spacious hall, making it feel unwelcomingly empty.
“Excuse me!” calls an immaculately groomed man with a thick Kelish accent, dull orange skin, faintly incandescent tattoos along his neck, and golden eyes that seem to flicker like candlelight. Accompanied by two of the Learned Guard, he swiftly moved to intercept the visitors. “I am Second Archivist Qilaus Sandaril of Forae Logos. I regret to inform you that we are in a state of heightened security at present and can only admit visitors on a case-by-case basis for the foreseeable future.”
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He leans in to look at Silas's holy symbol and shakes his head, "“An unknown party broke into a sealed records wing several days ago. An altercation of some nature occurred, whereby dangerous magic was unleashed. We have contained this effect but have yet to discover the nature of the intrusion or undo the damage. I can’t let you in there without the permission of Head Librarian Brivit Nae, and barring any official warrant or the like, I doubt she would allow visitors.””
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My friend means well, Rolando says, holding out a hand to silence the booming half-orc. But subtlety is not his strength. Let me guess, the records that were disturbed were from 47 years ago, codices detailing artifacts housed in the Blakros Museum? I think we can help you. We come on behalf of the Museum and, well, those who hold the true power in Absalom.
Rolando produces the writ showing that the party acts on the authority of the Decemvirate.
I suppose that will suffice? Lead the way, if you please.
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"Yes, yes. My friends are happy to handle all types of issues for you. As Pathfinders, magical mayhem and mystery is somewhat of a specialty. Perhaps if we worked with your investigative team, we could combine our efforts to resolve this quickly and quietly. Perhaps you would like to summon Head Librarian Brivit Nae to make this official, or would you rather us assist you quietly? We don't mind giving you the credit, so long as we get the information we seek." Lord Ras'ka winks.
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As Torean yells at him, the smile on Qilaus's face slips from a natural smiles into a more forced one. Qilaus slips on a leather glove lined with a metal mesh as he examines the writ.
"That is a compelling legal document. I am not one to deny the Decemvirate their will, of course, and perhaps the head librarian will think likewise. One moment, please.”
He nods and takes the letter with him, quickly walking down the hallway and turning a corner. A few minutes later, he returns. Handing the writ back to Rolando, he says “This is not an ideal situation, mind you, but you have permission to enter. I must profess we are at a loss as to what the infiltrators were attempting to accomplish there. Perhaps you might be able to discover their reason for entering Forae Logos and what caused their altercation. Archival codices are located on the ground floor, records retention, stack six. You are permitted to research it yourself, or I can send someone to retrieve a copy of the desired indices for you.”
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"I am naturally inclined to let the interns gather what we need from the public records while we head into the sealed wing. However, I'm afraid that the criminals may have left something nasty there for anyone who goes snooping."
It's not that I highly value their lives, it's that I don't want to get into some liability discussion that will lose my clout with the Arcanamirium. I suppose this is something I'll just have to do myself.
"Shall we stop at the codex archive before heading into the sealed wing? Do we want to split up and cover more ground?"
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Second Archivist Sandaril escorts the PCs to the library’s sealed section with a quartet of the Learned Guard. "I am obliged to inform you that the following area has been dimensionally locked by one of our mages. The damage from the fallout has not been categorized yet, so there may be additional dangers. Tread carefully, Pathfinders."
Second Archivist Sandaril dismisses the ward sealing the wing with a wave of a wand. After sparks cease dancing across the doors, two of the Learned Guard move to pull them open to reveal a ten-foot-wide hallway littered with scorched books and drifting motes of multicolored light. Where the hallway turns, shifting hues of iridescent light drift like oil slicks in the air, accompanied by strange, disembodied noises of distant laughter and whimpering agony.
Sandaril looks anxious as the group enters and the Learned Guard swiftly shut the door before you. A muffled incantation passes through the door, preceding a final click.
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Lord Ras'ka jumps as the door hits him on the behind. "Well, that certainly was rude. Remind me not to recommend this place."
He takes a moment to gaze around at the strange lights and sounds. "Curious... Lord Roland, what do you make of it?"
"Obviously, I have a few notions, but I wanted your opinion first..."
Lord Ras'ka shifts his weight back and forth, uncomfortably.
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Rolando breathes deeply before entering, reminding himself of the legends of old.
Rolando nods knowingly, but has the grace to play along with Lord Ras'ka.
Of course, my Lord. I appreciate the courtesy. I do believe I've seen something similar to this in my travels...
I understand, friend. I can take it from here.
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Rolando's casting surges with power, the spell singeing his fingertip as it completes. The entire building shudders violently.
Under the initial shock, Torean, Lord Ras'ka and Rolando tumble to the ground. As the ground continues trembling, Silas and Shamak soon fall as well.
After the surge of primal magic dies down, the other casters are able to control their magic and cast normally. Lord Ras'ka is able to easily untangle the weave of magics and illusions. The lights fade, leaving behind only the plain stone walls.
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Torean yells as he falls. "Rolando! What did you DO?!" He dwarf falls the short distance to the ground and rolls around as the ground continues to quake. Once it stops he pauses for a moment before looks up at the others.
"Is it over? What the devil was that?" He looks around the room for any enemies.
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Torean yells as he falls. "Rolando! What did you DO?!" He dwarf falls the short distance to the ground and rolls around as the ground continues to quake. Once it stops he pauses for a moment before looks up at the others.
Helped get rid of this deceitful magic, clearly, Rolando says, dusting himself off as he rises to his feet. He shadows Torean, helping him search for anything important or dangerous.
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Once a repository for dangerous magical books, the library now resembles a battlefield. Tables are overturned and books litter the floor. Some of these tomes float listlessly in the air as if they weighed nothing, their pages slowly turning by unseen hands. Others lie in smoldering heaps on the floor, arcing with sporadic gouts of electricity or flame. Haunting music fills the library, a mixture of Taldan nursery rhymes and lilting, arrhythmic tunes plucked on invisible strings.