Ari’s eyes widen as she takes in the will-o-the-wisp, for that is surely what it is. Last night was one she is unlikely to forget in a hurry and the similarity between the glowing orb ahead of them and her divine messenger is unmistakeable. She can’t help but flick a glance down at her hand but there’s no sign of movement, no noticeable recognition or awareness. Not that she was expecting anything but she does reach towards her new dagger, checking its solidity as if to prove that the whole thing wasn’t a figment of an overactive imagination.
”I think that’s a sign from Leira,” she whispers to Shaggar. Such creatures are often used to convey messages or to show favour. We should pay attention to it. Don’t expect anything to necessarily be straightforward where the Mother of Illusionists is concerned though,” she adds, a half-smile playing on her lips.
The tiefling slinks over to the wall the ball of light disappeared through and starts to examine it.
Sasha tries to hear Ari's whispering to Shaggar, trying to tell what is happening...
She then looks curiously at the pair in the lead, wondering what kind of creature they saw...
Shaggar gives Ari a long, appraising look. He neither tries to stop her nor makes any move to follow. At a subtle sign, the gallerok slithers in pursuit.
Sahalya slides silently across to the wall and then up it. Her scaled and muscled body finding little difficulty moving up the vertical surface.
Shaggar pushes forward around the corner and sees the building that the will-o-wisp moved through has a sign saying 'Brazenthrone Grand Archive'. Sahalya crawls up the side of the building but doesn't find any windows or entrances up there.
Seeing that CLIMBING maybe involved, Rutilux winces and waits for instruction This place is grand, but I feel a wee bit overwhelmed and lost. For now, follow the caravan and hope the lead driver isn't drunk.
Sasha follows to the corner's edge, looking around and seeing the others consider a wall that would be well beyond her abilities to easily climb. She notices Rutilux's expression and nods - she's not the only one who would be unable to easily follow without some sort of magic to help.
With no hint of living deep gnomes in the ‘feast hall’, and Ari thinking this strange floating glow-ball is some sort of ‘sign’… Shaggar diverts to what may be a side door to the Grand Archive. He listens carefully at the door before gently testing to see if it is locked.
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Having decided that the wall is solid enough and not hiding anything obvious, Ari tiptoes over to Shaggar. "While I do think this might be important, I also don't like leaving those trogs behind us while we go wandering off. Besides, I don't think it's likely to lead us to an axe of ugly-son-of-a-b#$@! slaying, even if that would be nice. This place is huge and we don't know our way round it," she whispers. "We do know from that miserable excuse for a dorm that there are dozens of them. Taking them out in small groups is better than trying to fight the whole tribe - that probably only ends one way. But are we better staying quiet and not provoking fights we don't have to?
Rutilux gives Sasha a grateful look, and then when the group again moves on ahead he still feels nervous. Feels like we're going deep into the throat of a dragon here. Eventually it's going to swallow.
Kiley hurries to catch up to Shaggar and Ari.
"Honestly, I would rather catch them asleep if we can. We could probably beat them in small groups, but I don't think we can do that before they get off an alarm."
”You said the glowing ball is a sign. Do you believe it? If so, this is the right choice.” He opens the door and moves quietly inside. ”Whoever comes last, close the door.”
Nothing can be heard through the door and when Shaggar tests it the door swings open easily, revealing what looks to be the reception room of a library. There's two doors other than the one you entered in, one clearly leading forward into the archive itself and one heading off to the right towards a supply closet. The door into the archive itself is barred with an intricate looking lock, all made of twisted brass with a keyhole directly in the middle.
The librarian's desk standing next to the archive door is carved from a rich looking mahogany that you haven't seen any other sign of in Brazenthrone at all, whoever used this desk must've been an important position indeed. The top of the desk is covered in a wide variety of papers, all mostly sorted and ordered the way they must have been when the city was alive. A quick glance tells you most of it is in dwarven, but there are enough translations to clue you in that most of the papers are mundane things like permits, checkout forms, visitor guidelines, the like. Searching for anything useful would require a bit more attention specifically on the top of the desk.
Alone amongst the personal items as catching your eye is an unsigned hand-written note: “You always said the Archive’s purpose was to outlive us. I believe you now. Thank you for teaching me that memory is a kind of mercy”.
The donation ledger is mostly mundane, individuals, the various churches, etc, but one name stands out as appearing multiple times: 'House Vael'. This House donated large sums of money to the archives, alongside many a collection of books. The last entry under their name states: 'Personal bequest of Patriarch Setharine — full personal library to be integrated upon retirement.'
Other than the piles of papers, a collection of other items sit on top of the wooden desk: a small tarnished bronze bell, a thick leather tome bound closed with a band of cloth, a frazzled feather quill and long dried inkwell, an engraved silver name plate reading 'Curator Ildram Velithar', and a book surprisingly titled in Common as 'On the Proper Care of Animated Quills'.
Shaggar leaves the ornate and locked door for Ari, their expert. He does look around the room, trying to imagine what the lives of the dwarves here were like. The paperwork catches his attention, suggesting that the strange disease they were fighting may have been the death of the city. ”They spent much coin on items of necromancy. Their need must have been great.”
”You said the glowing ball is a sign. Do you believe it? If so, this is the right choice.” He opens the door and moves quietly inside.
"I do," Ari replies seriously. "I've had such visitations before, though very rarely. The last one brought me a boon - I think," she adds, "though it was not a bargain made without cost." As the gnoll acts decisively and slips through the door, Ari considers that ironically perhaps she needed a little more faith.
* * * * *
Shaggar leaves the ornate and locked door for Ari, their expert. He does look around the room, trying to imagine what the lives of the dwarves here were like. The paperwork catches his attention, suggesting that the strange disease they were fighting may have been the death of the city. ”They spent much coin on items of necromancy. Their need must have been great.”
"If by "great" you mean "desperate" then yeah, I agree," Ari says. "Me, I'd always rather bodies stayed hidden and very much dead."
Looking at the desk, Ari raps lightly on it, listening to the sound of the wood. "Someone was doing alright for themselves. I've not really seen anything this fancy outside of nobles' houses and important public buildings - town halls and the like." Taking her own advice, she whispers a prayer to Leira and explores the desk, hoping that it will reveal any secrets it may possess to her.
Arcing her slender fingers into the back of the drawer, she bends them back into an angle that would be unnerving if anybody could actually see them working. She feels a small knot of wood and pressing it in, releases a small hidden drawer. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" she says to herself, looking pleased. She removes the contents and carefully spreads it out on an empty corner of the desk. Ari looks from the ornate brass key to the similar-looking lock on the door. "I'm guessing this will save us - by which I mean me - a job," she says, holding it up.
She starts flicking through the accounting book and lets out a quiet whistle. "With donations like this it's easy to see how they got to have a fancy desk. Whoever House Vael were, they were clearly keen on the archives judging by the amount of gold they funnelled its way."
Giving the main archive door a once over, Ari figures that there's no harm asking for a little more divine inspiration. "Shall we?" she asks, before trying the key.
When she finds the secret drawer in the back she pulls out the contents and considers the key and the nearby door. With a shrug she hands it to Ari for the other woman to try.
Sasha has Pheliks guard the party, keeping watch for unexpected threats, as she move to look at the papers and desk with Shaggar and Ari. At the discovery of the key and additional information she smiles and shrugs, unsure of what to make of it all. "Let's stay quiet, but sure...I still think we need to deal with the trogs while we have the element of surprise, but learning more first might help too..."
Realizing that she's in a library, Kiley has to sit on her sense of curiosity rather firmly, at least until Shaggar mentions necromantic goods were being purchased rather frequently.
"L-Like the kind that make undead," she squeaks, not able to hide the note of fear in her voice thanks to the surprise revelation.
"L-Like the kind that make undead," she squeaks, not able to hide the note of fear in her voice thanks to the surprise revelation.
The gnoll’s response is matter-of-fact. ”Yes. But it seems likely they were fighting a deadly contagion, not the dead.” Kiley’s question does make Shaggar reflect back on the city’s entrance, potentially casting it in a different light…
The tusked skull sits at the head of a massive snake-like skeletal outline, but that isn't even the worst part. You can see the pile of bones nearly to Shaggar's waist covers the floor on the other side of the skull, and a serpentine skeleton connected to the giant skull weaves through the hoard of bones scattered in the entrance hall. There must be hundreds of skeletons in all, most of them seeming to be intact.
Was that their final battle? Was one side or the other undead? Was that a snake or the remains of Luxvoryna’s kin? Was it mutated by this odd plague? Could it be that every skeleton in that murder hole was the enemy? Led in there, trapped, then wiped out? It would certainly explain how so many bodies were unbroken. The gnoll leaves aside further speculation to address more immediate concerns.
"Shall we?" she asks, before trying the key.
Shaggar moves closer to door and waves Ari on with a claw. ”You unlock and open it. I’ll go through.”
Wordlessly signalling her agreement, Ari waits till Shaggar is ready and then turns the key.
Leaving the rest of the things on top of the desk for later investigation, Ari discovers that the peculiar brass key fits the intricate brass lock perfectly. With a whir of unlocking mechanisms the door swings open slowly, almost reluctantly, fighting against a century of disuse. The sound of the door finally opening reverberates through the tiny reception room, making your teeth clatter a bit.
The room beyond is not lit by any source except the light drifting through behind you, but Ari and Shaggar can both make out (though only in black and white of course) the view inside. The air past the brass door is stale and dry, the archive having not received any visitors in many, many years.
Several writing desks sit in a semicircle throughout the archive's main room, each desk holding neat stacks of books, scrolls, and slates; obviously work left unfinished, quills resting in hardened inkpots, papers weighted by smooth stones. The arrangement is almost too orderly, as though the scholars simply rose one day and never returned.
Lining the walls of the room are floor to ceiling bookshelves lined with all sorts of books and documents. Each shelf is lined edge to edge with books with no gaps, no sign of reorganization or recent touch. At first glance, they look ordinary: rows upon rows of volumes bound in muted shades of yellowed brown and gray, their spines cracked and faded with age. But the longer you look, the stranger the uniformity becomes. Not a single one leans or sags. The shelves are immaculate, packed so tightly that not a single volume has slipped forward or tilted.
Finally, sitting at the head of the semicircle behind a much larger and more unorganized table sits a single figure, extremely desiccated, slumped forward at a great desk piled with records and sealed documents. His robes have faded to a papery gray, and his hands, little more than bone wrapped in parchment skin, still rest upon a ledger splayed open before him. The quill in his fingers has long since gone brittle and the ink well on the table has long dried up completely.
Since the glow-ball isn’t floating in the room to indicate something, Shaggar advances warily, alert for danger. He moves towards the desiccated corpse and the desk, presuming that’s what they have been led here to see.
Kiley swallows as she looks around and spots the lone occupant of the room. Ari can hear her breathing catch as panic sets in for a moment before she realizes it isn't moving.
"It's okay. It's okay. It's not moving. It's not undead," she whispers to herself in a voice that is meant to be soothing, but is belied by the way it quivers.
Sasha considers the idea of undead with a look of distaste that turns into a visible wince at the sound produced by the opening door. "Hope that doesn't wake the neighbors..." she says quietly as she follows Shaggar. When she sees the figure at the desk she tugs at his clothing and says, "Careful! Could be an undead caretaker!" as she considers the quality of the collection of books around them.
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Unfortunately for Kiley, Shaggar is sharp eyed and aware enough to notice that the corpse isn't exactly dead. As he approaches closer, the once dull and lifeless sunken eye sockets flare back to life, empty holes flaring back to life with a blazing blue fire. The things' arms begin to move, paper-thin skin cracking and falling off in whole sections.
The book on the desk shudders, and the pages lift as if caught in an invisible wind. A whispering, unintelligible chant rises from the skeletal throat, the sound filling the chamber with an almost tangible weight. Dust and small debris swirl around the thing, forming faint spirals that mimic the motions of its raised hand.
Its head tilts slowly toward you, the sound of grinding bone echoing as the jaw creaks and the neck grinds. The robes shift unnaturally, as though the fabric itself is alive. From the shadows of its skeletal frame, faint sparks of magical energy flicker, illuminating the cracked, hollow skull. The corpse's voice, when it comes, is dry and brittle: "Visitors...to my archive...long overdue..."
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As Sasha carries out her plan of tugging at the thing’s clothing its skull rotates to face her, the cold blue light illuminating her face. The piece of cloth shreds off of his robe, coming away in her hand before disintegrating into nothing before her very eyes.
”Another…petulant child, then…come to pester me…?” The cracked mirthless voice echoes once more from the thing’s mouth, each word seeming to only be said with great effort.
Rutilux has no expertise in religion but when eyes light up on a dead person? YIKES!
"Your pardon. No insult meant. You're clearly a being of education , I mean, your collection here is amazing. I'm Rutilux Freewind, how should we call you?" I have no idea what this is but it is TERRIFYING, so treat it like a Tempos worshiping barbarian and put on your sales face Ruti, like your parents taught you. Besides, we might learn something.
(+1 more to gather info.)
Sasha smiles and waves from behind Shaggar, still content to remain out of melee with the undead librarian and see where this goes...
Shaggar only has a common man’s knowledge of the undead. But he’s certain (due to both rumor and reason) that mindless undead were dangerous and mindful undead must be a great deal more dangerous. Common talk said the undead were irredeemably evil… Of course, the same was said of gnolls. And was Shaggar himself not an exception to that rule? So, the fact that the desiccated librarian had not attacked makes him pause.
Caution demands the gnoll pulls his axe back, ready to try his large blade against brittle bones, papery skin, and necromantic flesh . But Shaggar hopes – between the glow-ball leading them here and the intelligence of the creature – there is another way forward and a chance to learn more. He pieces together what he’s seen in the last few minutes and plays a hunch.
”Are you friend, foe, or neither? And might you be Curator Velithar? We are in need of an expert about this city and what has happened here.”
Bullets (20): xx
Arisen 4HP (1):
Moonmaid Reroll:
Nose Ointment (4): x
Effects:
DEX DAM – 1 pt
Nose Protection – 4 hours
Arisen - Die at -18 HP
Diehard
to identify the type of undead.
At the sound of the ancient voice, Ari's hands instinctively jump to the daggers at her hips. The fact that the undead creature - a dwarf almost certainly, and a librarian presumably - spoke rather than just launching an attack when it had the advantage of surprise keeps her twitchy fingers from pulling them, however.
Content to let Rutilux and Shaggar take the lead for the moment and not overwhelm the skeletal figure with too many questions, she stays silent and wary. Ari scans the room looking for further signs of movement or life.
Kiley manages to keep her wits, at least for now, and follows Shaggar into the chamber. Still, she can't keep her hands from shaking as she waits to see what answer this undead will give her friend.
Kiley and Sasha have heard rumors of creatures like this before, though the specific details are quite hazy. They called it an 'archivor', an undead guardian of libraries unnaturally anchored to and protected by the archives they guard in turn.
"I...am...the Archivist." the bone dry voice answers, somehow getting its voice to make sound through the dust filled throat. "I am...the Archive itself. I am...not friend nor foe...I just am. Although...perhaps we could...get along." the thing croaks, sounding almost as if it were desperately parched.
"I was...Velithar, yes. That person does...not exist anymore..." the Archivist continues. "All that is...left is me...and the archive."
It takes in a deep rasping breath with whatever is left of its lungs before speaking again, if you could call the painful sounding voice crawling out of its mouth between its sharpened teeth speaking.
"I need...a favor, first...revelation. I am so...thirsty...my shelves empty...my brain hollow...revitalize me. Then I shall...assist..."
"Ah, Archivist Velithar or formerly known as at least. We'd be delighted to help you I'm sure. How do we revitalize you specifically? Find some books for you? Share our lore in turn?"
Relieved that things have remained civil so far, Ari listens carefully, trying to parse the archivist's words. "So you're saying that you were previously the archivist but now you have... melded with the archive itself? Or you're now a physical manifestation of it?" she asks.
With a deep breath Sasha steps forward, extending her hands out with palms up and says, "Greetings, Archive. We come with news from the surface world, tidings of both darkness and light. Though your great city lies in ruin we also have good news to share of honorable allies within its halls, and violent usurpers. The troglodytes are nearby and could endanger your sanctum - would removing them aid you enough to ensure our safety in your presence?"
So you're saying that you were previously the archivist but now you have... melded with the archive itself? Or you're now a physical manifestation of it?
”Both…either…the difference is…minor. I am the…archive now and…it is me…”
would removing them aid you enough to ensure our safety in your presence?
The archivor rotates its head to stare as only the undead can at Shaggar as it answers Sasha’s question. The snapping and popping of the exertion echoes throughout the dry library air. Shaggar gets the feeling it understands the purpose of the posture the gnoll has taken.
”You need not…fear me. Respect the…archives, and you…shall be safe…here.”
How do we revitalize you specifically? Find some books for you? Share our lore in turn?
”For now…a drop…just a sip…of knowledge, little…one.” it replies to the halfling and at this, its bony, parchment thin skin-covered hand extends out towards Rutilux, the curved fingers slightly bent by time and use into the appearance of a claw. ”Just a single…thought. Or…memory. That’s…all I need…and then I…shall assist you…”
Rutilux arches a brow "Wait, do we keep these thoughts or memory and just share, or do you take them from us forever? Seems an important clause to consider... exclusive rights to the subject matter is far different from right to copy."
”That, I leave…to you. It…will not be as…nourishing as surrendering…them to the…archive, but will…serve my purpose. Should you…have any you…wish to be…rid of I…can do that.”
It replies, arm still outstretched to Rutilux.
”You can even…choose.”
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To be sure, Ari has no shortage of memories that she wouldn't be upset to lose. A childhood of brutality at the Twin Towers, dozens of moments of prejudice, each a tiny brushstrokes on the canvas of her life. Losing a barely remembered comment - casual, callous - well, she's got plenty of those to spare. She doesn't consider herself a victim though, hasn't for a long time. Perhaps she's got some edges that could be softened. But people aren't wood to be endlessly turned, smoothed and shaped into functional forms.
Naturally she doesn't trust the archivist. The request sounds easy, perhaps too much so, though the tiefling is sceptical about hidden costs. At least they know that assistance is to be the other end of the bargain. Is this where you were leading us? Ari wonders, glancing around for a sign of the firestar. Looking at it from one angle, the archivist is essentially a repository of secrets. Her tail swishes slowly from side to side metronomically, the thick white fur on the tip standing on end as she stands alert.
Certainly she could see how tempting it could be to give away bad memories, once you've committed the first to give another, and another. At least if you seek escape in a bottle or the arms of an unwise bed companion the morning will bring a lesson in the form of a painful reminder. There's a wisdom there, of sorts, at least if you squint a bit. No such mementos here. How easy it would be to keep going in a bid to push away the pain. And if you give away too much of yourself, is the person that remains the same? That's a question that would keep sages busy for years, something that needs more than a moment's snap decision. So for now Ari waits, wanting to see if one of her companions will volunteer something.
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Sasha doesn't hesitate, stepping forward and saying, "I will give you a memory - fully. I choose to forget my given name, which I don't use and never intend to use again. Will that do?"
Standing confidently before the undead, Sasha doesn't look at her companions, her expression making clear that she is thinking intently about something painful, with an angry tear falling from one of her mismatched eyes. Pheliks pads up silently behind her, nudging her hand with his big, furry head and giving her his support through his presence.
Rutilux gapes, "And here I was just going to share my memories of Neverwinter's Blacklake district."
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The archivor slowly turns its head away from Shaggar to face Sasha, its expression somehow even more grave than you'd expect from this thing. It slowly nods, the bones in its neck popping and cracking with little puffs of dust being expelled in the motion.
"That will...suffice." it replies, the withered flesh of that awful arm creaking as it shifts to point towards Sasha, clawed hand outstretched. The meaning is clear and nigh unmistakable: take the hand, accept the deal.
Sasha takes a look at the emaciated limb, only thinking for a split second before reaching out and taking the offered hand. Immediately, she feels the power surging through the undead creature, its cracked and ruined claws digging into her arm deep enough to draw a thin line of blood with each sharpened tip. Or wait, no, it's surging out of her and into the archivor. A visible thin white tendril is slowly pulled out of Sasha's head and along her shoulder, down her arm, and ultimately along the archivor's arm before being sucked into its now open maw.
But it's not just one tendril, as soon a handful more appear and are drawn into the thing's mouth. Then a dozen. Then half a hundred. Finally they all merge into one long flowing stream of memories and knowledge being extracted from Sasha's past and present. With every second that passes, the white tendrils feeding the archivor start to have the rejuvenating effect it said the process would have. Each fresh memory fills it with more and more artificial life, and the flowing energy restores its flesh to its body in a horrible sight that perhaps you could have lived without.
Finally, after only a handful of moments, the tendrils stop flowing and eventually disappear altogether. Sasha stands stunned for a moment before realizing that it worked, perhaps a bit too well: she cannot recall what name she used to be called, but also finds that she cannot remember anyone who has ever used it to refer to her. There are stretches of time from before she left Hillsfar, but the vast majority have been siphoned permanently from her brain. She is free of that particular past.
Where once sat a desiccated near-mummified corpse, now stands quite the interesting figure. The parchment that you once thought was its skin is now an intricate gold leaf wrapping covering most of the archivist's body. His head has regrown long luscious white hair, though his eyes are still blazing blue with the fire of undeath. His robes have been restored as well, a set of beautiful deep blue robes draping his slight frame, small pieces of golden jewelry completing the look of an affluent librarian.
"Ah, that's more like that. I must say I appreciate the 'refreshment', Sasha. I am so very sorry about the circumstances that led you to make that decision." he says, gently laying a hand on her shoulder. "But I must admit that it is great to finally greet you as I prefer; I am in fact the Curator Velithar you inquired after. Now that I am rejuvenated, I may assist you to my fullest potential. How may I help?"
A whisper "Sasha, are you ... all right?"
During the process Sasha grips the ruff fur of Pheliks' neck firmly and grits her teeth, committed to her decision but obviously a bit surprised at the intensity of the pain involved with the exchange. She doesn't cry out, but when it is done she sags a bit, leaning heavily into Pheliks and holding on to the tiger with both hands.
After the Archivist introduces himself and Rutilux checks on her, Sasha stands tall again, her expression distracted as she considers her memories - or lack thereof. "Mother? She's gone...That's not what I meant, but..." she says quietly, shaking her head as if the motion might help jar something loose. When it's clear that the memories aren't coming back she takes a deep breath and sighs. Louder, she answers her halfling friend, "I will be fine. I know why I chose that, and I still feel the same about it, but...the effect is strange. There are holes now where people and experiences once were."
Turning to the undead dwarf Sasha greets him with a nod. "Curator Velithar, how long will that...offering...last you? It seems to have been more than I intended, but you are nearly hale again...? Do we have minutes, hours, or even days with you in this state?"
Sasha gets the feeling that the archivist may have once been a dwarf, but is now a completely different sort of creature. He certainly doesn't have the stature of a dwarf, standing nearly (but not quite) as tall as Shaggar.
There are holes now where people and experiences once were.
"From what I've heard of the experience, you quickly get used to it. Your mind will repair itself, build around the missing memories. Mortal minds are so strange to me, so resilient yet so fragile."
how long will that...offering...last you? It seems to have been more than I intended
The archivist's face turns down for a moment, imitating what a human face must look like when it's guilty. You don't know if the undead can feel guilt, but this one at least looks like it is. "Ah, my apologies Sasha. I did not mean to take more than was offered. Take comfort in the knowledge that your...'offering' will give me a handful of days, at the very least. Small memories are useful for a time, but even the energy they give me quickly burn away."
He sits back down in his chair, as if settling in for a long chat.
"But that means we have plenty of time to converse. What is it you were looking for in my archive?"
Sasha starts a bit when she realizes how large the ex-dwarf is, but looks most disheartened when she hears about how her own mind will react to the experience. She nods as the undead explains, muttering, "It's alright - I accept your apology," and steps back, staring into the middle space for a bit and allowing the others to converse with the Archive a bit before she engages again.
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Ari mentally lets out a low whistle. Rutilux has the right of it, now that is a good secret. I hope you appreciated that one, Mistshadow, she silently pays her respects to her patron.
She turns to Sasha. There is probably a time and a place for such things, and almost certainly they have more pressing matters, though neither of these things have necessarily ever stopped Ari from speaking up before.
Besides, she thinks, eyes darting to Kiley's shaking hands and the fear she appears to be trying to mask, perhaps the tone could do with a little lightening.
"Please tell me your given name was Princess Sugarsparkles," she says to Sasha, a mischievous grin on her face. The tiefling holds up a blue-skinned hand before the obvious rebuttal can be made. "Yes, I know that you literally now can't - that was the point of the exercise, after all. Just know that it will amuse me greatly to think so." The smile vanishes from her face as quickly had appeared. "In all seriousness though, that was quite something. Your reasons are your own to guard but that was no small thing and I respect that."
Ari returns her attention to the Curator, craning her head back to look up at the decidedly non-dwarf-sized archivist. She tries to get a read on the more hale but still clearly undead figure.
What do we hope to learn? Lots of things, she thinks. So I hope Sasha's bought up a good amount of credit with that. She has plenty of questions that she's sure they all share - information about what happened to city and other things that may more directly affect, and ideally aid, their quest - but perhaps selfishly they aren't her top priority. Is it selfish if your concern is of your goddess? she wonders fleetingly, before shrugging. It's not going to change to her mind.
"Well met, Curator Velithar. Have you seen a ball of pale blue light withn?" she asks. "About this big -" she holds her hands out to show the rough size, "a creature like a will-o-the-wisp, sometimes called marshlights or witch's candles. We saw one and it seemed to be leading us here. I believe it to have been a divine manifestation."
Kiley steps up next to Sasha after her ordeal and takes the priestess' hand. Sasha can feel Kiley trembling with the effort it takes not to give into the fear she feels and stay close to the undead archivist.
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Shaggar lowers his axe – for the time being. He waits his turn to ask questions of the archive. ”Do you have a map that will show us the route to the Black Lake? What can you tell us of the…” he’s not sure what word is appropriate to describe what happened here, ”… tragedy that struck Brazenthrone?”
Bullets (20): xx
Arisen 4HP (1):
Moonmaid Reroll:
Nose Ointment (4): x
Effects:
DEX DAM – 1 pt
Nose Protection – 4 hours
Arisen - Die at -18 HP
Diehard