Overflow Archives, an increasingly notorious repository where innumerable texts and relics accumulate in an unclassified jumble while awaiting proper attention. The archive had once served as a temple to Desna early in Absalom’s history before being refurbished by the Society.
You have been summoned by Master of Scrolls Kreighton Shaine to the Archives to investigate a sudden influx of seawater. You must find the source of the seawater so you can save the Archives before it is too late.
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A young man, ready for battle, walks to the Archives.
Nearly six feet tall, he has a mane of blonde hair, blue eyes, and a few scars across his well-muscled body. He's wearing an old studded leather armor, and a wooden shield is strapped on his back. A big warhammer and a battle axe are his main weapons, but he has a light crossbow too.
He carries himself with an air of supreme confidence, puffing his chest, and enter the place, checking it for foes and allies.
He roars with youthful enthousiasm
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A muscular man in a chain shirt and what appear to be workmen cloths enters carrying a large scythe.
He scans those with him and smiles.
Well he is loud and she is quiet. Seems as good a start as any to my new career in the Society.
Despite the large, unsual weapon he is fairly unassuming at the moment.
"Greetings everyone. How can I prove myself to the Society? I am anxious to get started but not without knowing what we can."
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Lars may be tall, broad, and fair, but one other in the group is the exact opposite. Slender, dusky, and diminutive, the shadowy figure armed with an array of knives and daggers is one of those near-mythical wayangs from afar.
"It appears we've got encroaching seawater to destroy," the wayang replies. "Hope you can swim."
The rogue gestures ambiguously. "My name is Tanniralirul. Feel free to call me Tanni, or Tanner, if you wish."
You gather in one of the Grand Lodge's outbuildings.
“I have no love of puns,” announces a peeved Kreighton Shaine, the Master of Scrolls in the Grand Lodge, “Yet it cannot
go unremarked that the Overflow Archives have begun living up to their name.” The pale elf gestures across the library’s stone lobby toward a pair of shut double doors from beneath which water steadily seeps. He is only one of the midnight visitors bearing witness to this disaster.
Next to Shaine, Paracountess Zarta Dralneen stands with folded arms, glaring at an initiate whose hair and clothes are utterly drenched.
All three speak at once, but Shaine’s shrill voice rises above the din.“Magical shenanigans in the archives are prohibited, especially this soon before the Grand Convocation!”
“Let us prioritize,” Dralneen suggests. “Are the artifacts within the vaults in danger?”
“How should I know?” Shaine barks back. “This delinquent initiate—what was the name? Wormell?”
“Virml, sir,” replies the sodden Pathfinder. “Virml says he sneaked into the archives on a dare,” summarizes Shaine, painfully emphasizing the initiate’s name with scolding disdain. “Presumably, he thought the holdings would be harmless. Instead, in his naivete, Virml triggered some dormant curse or other. So, yes, thanks to Virml here, the archives and the vaults below continue to flood, threatening all the books therein.”
Miserably, Virml holds up an armload of soggy manuscripts. “I salvaged a few, sir.”
Sighing, Shaine leads Virml towards the stairs. “Take them up to the scriptorium. Start making dry copies.” Then, turning to survey the rest of the room, he continues issuing orders.“The remainder of you should wade in there and plumb the origins of this deluge. Stop it, if you can. I must report this debacle to my colleagues and begin organizing the cleanup.” Abruptly, he seems to notice the paracountess for the first time.“What are you doing here, Dralneen?”
Zarta smirks and shrugs.“Unlike you, Shaine, I love a good pun.
The three seem uneasy and eager to leave.
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Silvanthur bows to the Paracountess and the Master of Scrolls. "Sir, madam. I stand ready to serve in any way I might. I will endeavor not to embrarass myself as this initiate has." He looks smug as only elves can.
"I am Silvanthur Arcanotheign, servant of Nethys. I will see these archives dried out and recovered, Master Shaine."
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"Forgive me but I have a question. If Virml triggered a cure that accidentally caused this are there places or things we should avoice? I would not want to make things worse."
The ex-farmer continues growing less sure as he speaks.
"For a flood on the farm we used sandbags, is it worth lugging in a couple?" Think man, if it was that simple someone would have done it.
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"Per chance is there other "curses" that may be activated that you are aware of, or is it a hope for the best prepare for the worst type case with in these Archives?"
thinking a bit to her self a moment
"and I'm sure there are probably other items in the Archives, is there anything we should avoid with them?"
Virml feebly volunteers that he rescued a few texts before Shaine interrupts.“Don’t waste your time with the individual pieces. You must arrest the flood at its source—or reverse it, if possible.”
"You ask what the Overflow Archives are?" Zarta Dralneen answers, “Oh, they are merely an annex of Master Shaine’s vast libraries. Specifically, this is where he stows the oddities he doesn’t know what else to do with.”
Kreighton Shaine frowns at the blunt admission and begins to relate that the building was once a temple dedicated to Desna before it collapsed and the Pathfinders built the Grand Lodge, but Dralneen chides him after a sentence or two, claiming this is no time for a longwinded history lesson.
Shaine reports, “Our delinquent initiate here is vague on the details. But clearly, some unclassified item in there must have borne a well-concealed curse.”
Virml sheepishly relates, “I…I merely picked up a wee scroll, read part of it aloud for fun—some kind of riddle about birds and fish? And then it flew to bits in my hand, and I caught the quickest glimpse of a handsome man…and then ker-sploosh! I washed out here!”
Kreighton Shaine quickly reviews the titles. “Let’s see…various accounts of the First World and the fey that inhabit it. Nothing
here is priceless, but it is worth recopying, thanks to the severe water damage.”
Virml sheepishly produces a dripping fragment of a scroll.
Shaine snatches the parchment and hands it over, saying “It appears to be one of the rhymes from The Name of the Fox. It’s an odd little scroll of Varisian doggerel, scripted in Sylvan. There’s nothing remarkable about it—” “Nothing until now, perhaps?” quips Zarta Dralneen.
As the Pathfinders finish with their questions,Shaine leaves the building through the west doors, and Virml is scene headed upstairs to the scriptorium to copy the soaked tomes.
Zarta is scene wandering about.
This spacious library is a damp catastrophe. A lake of dark water clogged with books, scroll cases, and a few overturned shelves obscures the floor. Steps descend into the brine from the western doors, while at the east end of the room a spiral staircase rises from the water to a mezzanine above. The same metal staircase must descend into a basement below as well, for the water there burbles downward in a dark, lazy whirlpool.
There is a small drain on the west of the room, near the entrance, it seems to be clogged with papers/scrolls
In the distance, near the spiral staircase, you notice two figures on a makeshift boat, created by one of the shelves in this area nonetheless, they look to be fishing
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As the Pathfinders enter the room they notice a scroll of bull’s strength and a scroll of comprehend languages floating in the water. As Grast tastes the water he notices it tastes quite fishy.
As you approach the figures, you notice that they don't look like normal creatures, they can only be described as medium sized creatures wearing grey and green light armor, they have grand wings, and one of them has the head of an owl, and the other one, an albatross!
Prior to your approach, you hear them bickering with each other, over a scroll."Hey I caught that! This should be mine!" the owl bickers.
"I saw it first! It's mine!"Rebukes the albatross.
You recognized these creatures as Gathlains.
According to some fey ballads, gathlains were one of the first peoples awakened in the primal world of fey. They were created from the seeds of an enormous magical tree, with the tree’s mistletoe grown into their flesh forming their strange wings.
Mischievous and capricious, these creatures have discordant temperaments. They act purely to entertain themselves and sate their immense curiosity about the world around them. That very curiosity has caused many to migrate to the Material Plane and adventure there. These gathlains seek out and attempt to mingle with gnomes. However, gnomes often find gathlains too undisciplined, random, and foolish for their tastes.
As the Pathfinders approach them, they both stop bickering towards each other and take out their anger on them! Hey Hey! Don't come any closer! You're spoiling our spot, you'll chase away our fish!" They start waving their fishing spear and rods at you!
"Give that to me."says the albatross.
"No its mine" says the owl.
Reluctantly the albatross hands over the not to Aelin due to her supreme diplomatic skills.
"Here is scroll we caught.
"Please we don't want to be eaten by the big sleeper. I think she down stairs"whispers the albatross.
"Please don't bring back the smarty pants dog cat who let us out. We don't know where he is. He splash down in our fishing hole and scare all the fish away. Please we don't want to be eaten."The owl whispers so not to raise commotion.