uhh they are now going to the library, they had just been to the temple.
In the midst of various devoted people in prayer to their deities.
As
Hargle sees the bricks of the library…
There is another signature amongst the brickwork that says “Ironbrow”… he ponders this name, scratching the dandruff off his head. He comes up with nothing.
There a large U-shaped library.
The academics are stroking their shit (beards) crazy style. We walk past a group passionately discussing books, there is a set of large wooden doors. Inlaid in quartz there is a symbol of Quiroc, a god of wisdom.
The symbol appears like a crescent moon that inset within a frame.
There is a smell of old musty paper. The bookshelves stretch from floor to ceiling all along the campus of the library, and there are many more books. Piled upon shelves, tables, and the laboring arms of the pupils.
Bartimaeus talks about dark souls.
There is an older man with greying hair, quinty green eyes, a shriveled mouth, a green robe lined in white. There is a symbol of Quiroc upon his garbs. He appears aggrivated from the parties approach.
“Good evening”
“We are looking for Knosos”
“Go over there, to the eastern wing of the library.”
There are several sings that point toward the eastern wing of the library. They look about
Hargle notices a book, “The Gods and Their Musings”, containing some generic mantras of their teachings.
Martyr finds a book of nursing rhymes, there is one with a depiction of a shadowy obscure picture, and has themes about betrayal and the breaking of a promise.
Bartimaeus zeroes in on a thick book bound in red thread. It is written in an unknown language. [comprehend language] “Tears of Blood and Betrayal”, it is about the betrayal and manipulation of Silv. The book seems as though it was signed in blood by “Lillith” on the back of the book.
Heywood conks out in an obscure reading nook, restoring some health.
Bartimaeus is looking for other books that are possibly written by Lillith, but doesn't find anything that seems to match. Finding an academic, he directs the party to investigate an area near a central desk, “If it be here, it is there. Though that is not an uncommon name here.”
Hargle finds a book written by “Lillian Goodfellow”, titled “Flowers of the Southern Coast”, it is a field guide to various flowers in the area.
Bartimaeus and Martyr both end up in the same spot. They both find a book written by “Lillith the Gobsmacker”, it isn't particularly religious in nature, but has some crazy advice on cheating a game of Tyris Hold 'Em.
Hargle wonders what Shiggorath must feel about a place like this, but can hardly sense the presence. Based on previous experience he knows it would be a delicious base for inoculation.
Heywood abruptly awakens, spooking a thin elven scribe, “Sorry sir, but you can't be sleeping in here…” Heywood screams.
Hargle looks for books about “The Pit”, and is directed for a section on the topic. There are many books on the subject ranging from the accounts of adventurers to the ecosystem within the dungeon.
Martyr looks for books about the cult of Knosos, the disheveled man at the desk strokes a dandruff off his beard, and produces forth a dusty book on the subject titled 'Cruelty Squad'. “This won't be on these shelves anyway, go ahead and make use of it.”
Hargle finds a leather bound journal from an adventurer, “Thomas Mazekin”, detailing their journey and near poisonings. There is also something curious, hardly a book but rather a bundle of papers hastily written in vulgar common. It details some crazy shit, how the old country is backing the cult of Knosos, and how the pit is used to breed exotic monstrosities for profit, how the lizardmen are taking over the very pit itself, the involvement of the temple of Tyr through mining operations in search of a secret substance. There are several scribblings of the symbol of Knosos. Hargle attempts to scry whether there is a deeper meaning, but no matter how much benefit given to doubt, it appears to only be the ravings of a madman.
Heading toward the center of Tristram, a quick jaunt over, the party heads toward the Adventurers Guild.
Bartimaeus and Heywood turn it into a friendly race, the former dashing ahead and rounding a corner, Heywood quickly closes the distance and gets ten feet ahead. Hargle golumfs behind next to Martyr.
Bartimaeus gets just ahead again, crosses by a Fruit cart, grabs it, and flings it and the contents across the pavement. Heywood doesn't skip a beat, vaulting over the rolling fruit and launching himself over the head of Bartimaeus.
Thrilled, Bartimaeus attempts to put Heywood asleep with magic, but just narrowly fails to subdue the goliath. Heywood involuntarily yawns but does not break his sprint; running across a barrel, he grabs it and flings it toward Bartimaeus.
Bartimaeus barely stumbles and continues, readying a second sleep spell. Heywood is, once again, unaffected and continues to barrel toward the guild. He nears the enormous wall of the guild.
Heywood makes it there first, and the party assembles around him.
Hargle is entirely out of breath, despite walking slowly.
⇐⇐⇐ THE ADVENTURER'S GUILD ⇒⇒⇒
Entering the adventurers guild, Bartimaeus runs up, Heywood provides a foothold, and the bard loudly smacks the apex of the entrance to the guild. Everyone golf claps.
The doorway is opened thankfully, one observes, otherwise the bard would have smacked face-first into it.
“That goes without saying, retard.” Another bystander states.
Within, there are many wares, such as artifacts and the hides of large beasts, and a central counter.
Bartimaeus, still high from the athleticism, loudly proclaims, “All in a hard days work.”
The occupants of the guild perform another round of golf claps.
There is a staircase that appears to have been grown from a tree which spirals skyward from the ground. There is a tavern to one side, the party rushes toward it.
Bartimaeus immediately spots the finest wench, gives her a gesture like casting a fishing line to reel her in, and says “I would like some fresh milk”.
The wench winks and produces a note from her bosom containing an address, it is by the beach and three blocks down from the Barking Spider. Bartimaeus pulls on his collar and his tongue unravels onto the floor in thirst.
The lead guildsman is nearby, notices the party, and has a brief expression of relief before resuming a stern visage. “How did it go?”
Hargle mumbles a summary of the events, but it is hardly intelligible amidst the gulps of ale. Heywood instead recounts the events, and the entire guild has gone very silent. The old Guildmaster appears, “I would like to speak with these boys… immediately.”, the guildsman is amazed, “You have caught his attention, it would seem.”
They are led up the stairs and toward a door scrawled all over with runes. “Heed but this warning…” The guildsman whispers, “The Guildmaster can be quite eccentric.”
A large knocker is slammed against the door, and it soon creaks open.
“Keep outside this door, lad, and keep the noise out.” The Guildmaster says to the guildsman.
All around the room are bizarre and singular specimens and trinkets, even a bejeweled finger sticking directly out of the table. Bartimaeus inspects the contents of the room, and notices that there is an overwhelming aura of magic surrounding a massive desk.
The Guildmaster, dressed in plain tan robes, sits at this desk in front of a giant tome, like some kind of turbo-virgin. His eyebrows are thick and white as snow, and whispy hair similarly pale.
Bartimaeus says he has beautiful eyes, remarking the piercing blue stare of the apparent wiseman.
“Thanks lol” Guildmaster says, “You are a handsome lad yourself.”
Snapping his thin fingers, four luxuriously cushioned seats manifest as though from nothing.
“Well, well, well, well…. well… You lot seem to have been through much lately.” His piercing gaze shifts to Hargle. “You have something… that I would like to see.”
Hargle stares back for about four seconds, then frantically roots through his bag and pockets to find the weird little orb they got from the corpse of Enym. He places it firmly upon the palm of the the wiseman.
“Introductions are in order… my name is Deckard Caine, who am I so lucky have as my company…?”
Hargle proudly proclaims, “Myself, late initiate of the circle of pale cedar. Um… I mean to say… initiate of Shiggorath.”
Heywood introduces himself, “I'm heywoodjablowme. I were a sailor.”
“I was cast amongst this lot from my temple, I'm alright.” Says Martyr.
“Bartimaeus be my name, handsome.”
“Very well met then… Now, where did you find this orb?” Says the Guildmaster, donning a far more serious visage.
“Dead twink, sea of trees, all burnt”
The Guildmaster frowns slightly, wills it to levitate, and it erupts into a flood of light, then dims into the image of a black beating heart.
Bartimaeus attempts to scry the mind of the Guildmaster, seemingly without the latter noticing, and sees emotions of confusion and apprehension.
He slowly seems to notice the intrusion, but instead of resisting, the wiseman seems to relent and pull Bartimaeus further still into his mind. In fact, each of the party members seems to be pulled into the deep mental wells of the master.
“You have gotten involved with something larger than you could realize.”
The minds of everyone seems to travel back millions of years into the past, passing over charred lands of strife and the manifestations of conflict.
In the distance there is an incredible sight, a shadowy humanoid figure nearly blots out the lights of the sky. The view seems to jerk to the side, there is a celestial figure that cracks a hammer against the being. The momentum of the swing carves gorges into the very earth itself. A shimmering dragon hovers over and unleashes a wave of carnage, and delivers a deafening shriek toward the shadow figure. The celestial figure cracks the shadow figure again with the hammer, bringing it to its knees, while two female celestials approach the impossibly titanic creature.
The shadowy figure seems to crack apart like drying mud, collapsing, and suddenly there is a piercing white light that floods everything.
There is a female celestial that is mourning the loss of Silf, holding a golden orb close to her chest and moistened with tears. Releasing the orb, the land is grown over with vegetation and the formation of great mountains.
As though from a dream, the party comes to consciousness from the depths of the mind prison of the Guildmaster.
“What was that black heart?” Bartimaeus asks.
“I'm not sure… but from now on, I will be leading this investigation further. Thus far my delgates have failed to gain satisfactory ground.”
Hargle is skeptical of a Wisemans mind prison…
“Before we go any further, it is time for a test of mettle.” The Guildmaster declares, standing abruptly, lifts his arms at both sides, and thus the room seems to splinter off into pieces. The surroundings shift into a broad stone arena. Hargle is uncomfortable with such mysticism.
There is a mystical beast composed of wind that is manifested for the party to fight.
BEGIN ENCOUNTER
Bartimaeus whispers harmful words to the elemental.
Martyr approaches the elemental and wills a spiritual weapon,
“Tyr, grant me your light!” He shouts, as a celestial pike manifests next to the elemental. It whirls around on its own and strikes the elemental in the side, visibly inflicting a wound. It lets out a faint howl as it is struck.
Heywood rushes forth and launches a javelin forth toward the elemental. Although the aim was true, the forceful winds fling it harmlessly away from the elemental.
The elemental levitates and approaches both Martyr and Heywood, both of whom barely keep their footing amidst the winds. They are still thrashed by the winds and are visibly damaged. Then, it begins to float into the air while giving both Martyr and Heywood an opportunity to attack.
Hargle runs up, tries to use chill touch but fails to hit, and then pulls the final creature of the day from the Gross Bag of Tricks. A druegar is pulled forth and Hargle summons it next to himself. The underdark dwarf immediately enlarges, becoming a relatively massive dwarf.
Bartimaeus cripples the elemental with vicious mockery.
Heywood thinks of how to land a strike when the elemental is 30 feet in the air. He jumps high into the air, kicks as though against the air itself, launching himself higher, and swings a mace at the elemental. The strike deals some damage against the elemental, grazing some of the wind from it. With a deal of athleticism, he lands gracefully on the ground unscathed.
The elemental descends to the ground, hargle spores it and lightly inflicts damage with spores.
The elemental whips hargle with wind, removing a thin layer of spores.
Hargle spores it again, inflicting an infectious blotch upon the elemental.
Bartimaeus cries, “Release me!… Release me!”, only an ambient chuckling is heard. The bard then attempts to whisper harming words toward the master of the mind prison.
The clouds of the elemental harden briefly into stone, “You want to play underhandedly… get back to work…”
Martyr, standing by the elemental, lays a hand upon the gaseous vortex. He channels necrotic magics and inflicts significant damage to the elemental, tearing away a bulk of the magical vortex. He then wills the spiritual weapon toward the elemental and to attack it. The warhammer crashes against the enemy and deals another significant portion of damage.
The elemental lets out a sort of shrill hiss.
Heywood strikes against the elemental with both mace and bare fist, it feels viscous but rips more mass away from the elemental.
The summoned Druegar, remembering he himself exists, picks up his jagged pickaxe studded with iron. A small mass is removed from the elemental.
The elemental attempts to whip the entire party with wind, both Heywood and Hargle stand their ground against the vortex and suffer minor scrapes. Martyr is pushes back and decently battered by the winds.
Hargle attempts to attack with spores but fails, instead he strikes with the scimitar (covered in mildew), and deals a small chunk of damage.
The summoned Druegar acts again, swinging the pickaxe and rips another chunk of wind away.
Bartimaeus whispers some healing words toward Heywood, restoring him slightly. He then turns to the elemental and boldly sings aloud, calling it a “Fart-a-mental”.
Martyr gets touchy with the elemental again, pouring more spellcraft in it than ever before. The Elemental seems as though to unravel upon itself, finally disappearing into nothing.
The surroundings seem to twist about, and phase back into the musty study of the Guildmaster.
A brief moment of silence is broken by Bartimaeus: “Erm, check please.”