“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.”
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Grimacing at the idea of water anywhere near old and likely valuable manuscripts Stefan steels himself. The warpriest can already feel his librarian sensibilities crying out at the likely loss of some of the manuscripts.
"By the holies! Where is all this water coming from? Did Virml open a portal to the realm of Water?" he rhetorically asks. Considering his fur and the weight of his armor the witchwolf prays to Iomedae for there not to be any need for any swimming.
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A short and fairly emaciated girl, bearing many scars from bad experiences in the woods, rushes into the area with a look of frantic concern on her face.
"Archive??? Water!? Over... flow... Dark archiv-"
She stops, realizing that she is where she needs to be.
"Sorry, new here, had no idea where this place was... How much is lost? How do we stop?!"
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The sleep-deprived elf somehow gains an even more exasperated expression on his face after hearing the news.
"But I just cleaned the robe..."
Zahd heaves a deep sigh. You've been through worse. A little water won't hurt.
"Well, I suppose all that's left to do is salvage what hasn't been reduced to a muddy pile of ink, parchment and lost knowledge."
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A handsome, slender half-orc with slicked-back hair and a charming smirk steps up, declaiming "Ah, it is, of course, as the stars foretold. Akiton in retrograde as The Bridge Ascends...I knew I should have worn galoshes this morning, sunny skies or no!"
He tuts, softly, and then the barest hint of what could onlly be described as extraordinary menace glints from his eye as he continues "Ah, well. Any items of particular value that should be secured?"
Kreighton holds up a hand ”One at a time. One at a time.” 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. It does not appear to be some sort of portal to the Elemental Plane of Water...though I admit that could be a possibility. As far as fear of swimming, I don’t think that will be much of an issue. ”
Zarta Dralneen turns to the Mwangi Ranger, “Oh, these are no Dark Archives, 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 long winded history lesson.
Kreighton Shaine speaks up again, ”We won’t know the extent of the damage until you all get down there. And stopping it is up to you as well.” He reviews the titles of the salvaged books “Speaking of which. 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 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.”
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Hoo turns to Vozzik and responds in still broken polyglot. She seems more familiar with the language than common, but still doesn't quite get it.
"Do not know, Pathfinder Society found me in Northwest, before that had not talked to person in 13 years. Still learning... Grammar? They say I'm learning fast though."
She quickly gains a more serious expression and starts speaking in common again.
"Already said, no time. Talk while going!
Virml sheepishly relates, “I…I was simply in the Archives, among the rows of shelves. 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!”
Shaine interrupts, ”I agree with you all: time really is of the essence here. Any more questions? As far as access after this...we shall discuss the possibility when this is all taken care of.”
Shaine leaves through the western doors and Virml head upstairs but Zarta lingers behind. Zarta pulls Stefan, Hoo, and Zahd aside, away from the others.
“The Dark Archive thrives by the good graces of the Decemvirate and Ambrus Valsin, yet I can tell that some still doubt our ability to handle truly dangerous relics and the rare disaster like this. As a result, there remain many storerooms barred to our
comprehensive study, including the Overflow Archives—until today, that is. It is critical that you minimize the damage to these archives and do so in as professional a manner as possible. If I can demonstrate that my agents are capable and trustworthy, we may win permission to study the truly mysterious treasures beneath the Grand Lodge.”
She shrugs and smiles before continuing. “That said, I know that there is more than junk beyond those doors. I’ve heard that someone squirreled away a copy of The Darklands Precepts somewhere in there, and it’s far too dangerous a tome to leave
lying about. Get it out of there and return it to me, no matter what excuse Shaine might make to toss it back in the pile.”
Zarta leads the trio back to the rest of the Pathfinders then follows Shaine. Just before the group opens the eastern doors, Virml bounds back downstairs.
"Wait! I felt like you all should have this." Virml produces a waterlogged scrap of parchment that was once part of a scroll. "This is part of the scroll that I read right before everything got all…" he shakes a few drops of water from the parchment. "It's wet and in Sylvan but still legible. It says
'May the winner wear gold while the loser eats crow
Knowing nothing save that which he knew not to know.
Cross! Cross was the owl at the albatross
For catching the bulk of the fish
So the owl cast deeper, awaking a sleeper
Who made of both feathers one dish.'
See? Basically gibberish."
Virml hands the scrap to whomever will take it and peeks over his shoulder at the western doors. He sighs in relief and heads back up to the scriptorium.
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"Not completely gibberish. "That which he knew not to know" sounds like referencing some ancient secret, buried. Although, to be fair, that sounds like most things that would be in there." He starts reaching for the scrap, but pauses. "Perhaps it would not be a bad idea for the scrap to be held by someone who is more..." He holds his hand above his head in the universal sign to indicate height. "Considering the flooding and all. I wouldn't want to wreck our only current clue because I couldn't keep it above water."
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.
Two, small creatures have converted a bookcase into a fishing pier and are currently casting lines from their crude poles into the water near the spiral staircase.
The owl headed creature shakes a fist at the group of Pathfinders, "Hey! Yous guys are gettin' a tad too close to the best fishin' spot! This is our spot!"
You recognize the creatures as Gathlains. Though they do appear a little different than what is considered the norm. Since, ya know, one has an owl head and the other has the head of an albatross.
Small Fey with quick yet poor flight , Gathlains are known to use a small assortment of spells such as Color Spray and Entangle to disrupt their enemies in combat. Not particularly hardy creatures, Gathlains prefer to cast spells from a distance while flying around their opponent.
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.
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Xavier attempts to hop over to the table that Boomer went to.
The albatross headed Fey leans back as if fighting a large fish on his line.
"Owl. Owl! I gotta big one! Get th' net ready!"
The owl headed Fey, apparently named Owl, looks around in distress. He finds no net and resolves to hold out his hands, "Pull 'im up, Albatross, 'n' I'll snatch 'im right off yer line!"
Albatross struggles another moment. And then Xavier splashes out of the water and onto a table. Albatross falls backwards, his line whipping up without a catch.
"Owl said you was too close! Look at what you did! That was a big one fer sure." Albatross deflates and rests his head on his knees.
Owl shakes a fist at the group, "Yous thinks that 'cause you own this cellar that yous has a right to mess with our fishin'. We may not have caused this lake to form but we is sure gonna take advantage of it." The fey points at Hoo, "Whaddya mean 'share a goal'?"
Albatross smacks Owl with his fishing rod, "It means it wants t' make some sort o' deal, I bet."
Owl looks at his friend, "Ooooh. Ok."
Not only was there clearly nothing on Albatross' line, neither of the Fey seem too keen on doing anything other than relaxing. Despite their outward grouchiness.
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"As you say, we own this cellar but you're taking advantage of it! Surely an arrangement can be made, here? We could possibly be convinced to let you continue taking advantage of it while it remains in its current condition in exchange for whatever information you can share on our watery situation and the presence of yourselves and other creatures, here...and believe me, you would much rather be trading with us than warring with us."
"What're you on about with that 'civil people' comment? Yous tryna say we ain't civilized?" Owl kicks a crude spear into the water.
Albatross whacks Owl on the shin, "Didn't ya hear what the big one said? They wanna leave us ta fish. We just need ta offer some info!"
Owl rubs his shin before speaking again, "Well, that's all theys had to say, no? So, there we were, deep in th' belly of that big ol' goldfish-"
"She's not a goldfish."
"Fine, in th' belly of th' big sleeper when our journey began!"
Albatross shushes Owl but ends up talking just as loud as he gets more excited, "Not so loud, in case she’s listening—I don’t want to get eaten! We traveled up past the Gilded Gills and found our way here."
Owl chimes in, "Yous forgot about that smarty-pants dog-cat. He splashed down into the fishin’ hole, scarin’ away the bestest fish.”
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Nodding as though all of that made sense, Vozzik sloshes forward next to Stefan, never taking his eyes off of Owl.
"The Gilded Gills? Are those a part of this golden sleeper you speak of whose belly had until recently been your prison? Or are they a...more mundane place below this one? And this dog-cat creature, it came after the golden sleeper arrived? Did you see where it came from, then?"