Mattiverse Next - Session 30

Cracking the Library Vault

• Having located the probable entrance, Bobwhite sets off to find a key. He uses the locate object scroll, procured for exactly this kind of purpose. It indicates the librarian's office.
• 'Possum flitters off into the stacks to provide a distraction while Bobwhite searches. One of the guards gets up to take care of the mysterious bird.

The back office of the halfling librarian’s circulation room is a chaotic symphony of clutter. Stacks of parchment and ancient tomes teeter perilously on every available surface, threatening to topple at the slightest disturbance. Shelves meant for organization are instead crammed haphazardly with scrolls spilling from their confines, ink pots balanced precariously atop them. In one corner, an overstuffed armchair sits buried beneath a mountain of mismatched cushions and discarded book covers, a forgotten cup of tea growing cold on a nearby side table. The scent of old paper mingles with that of ink and wax, creating an air thick with scholarly neglect. It is clear that amidst this jumble, the halfling librarian navigates by memory rather than sight, each piece of disarray holding its own peculiar place in their mental map.

The desk before you is a chaotic symphony of clutter, each item vying for attention in a cacophony of scholarly disorder. Stacks of ancient tomes and scrolls are precariously balanced, their yellowed pages spilling over with forgotten knowledge. Quills and inkpots are scattered amidst the chaos, some tipped over, leaving dark splotches that mar the wooden surface. Amidst the scholarly detritus, small personal effects peek through—an intricately carved pipe rests atop a stack of parchment, next to a half-eaten apple turning brown at its core. Tiny spectacles perched on an open volume suggest recent use; perhaps the halfling librarian paused mid-research. A faint scent of lavender and old paper lingers in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of pipe tobacco. It’s a mess that tells stories not just from books but from a life steeped in curiosity and carelessness.

• It takes quite a bit of searching, but he finally finds a safe hidden very carefully in the floor. He cracks it--it contains several books, and a velvet pouch.

GM: This thing keeps avoiding me! GM: Fine, just zap it! GM: It'll hurt the books! GM: Get over here! GM: i'm not supposed to move! GM: You are cleaning up this birds shit then GM: Fine, so be it! GM: Just zap the thing! Just use a non-targeted cantrip like Sacred Flame! GM: He's a fast little shit!

• There is a key in the velvet pouch. Bobwhite rushes back and tries it, to discover it only fits the Northern lock.

GM: got em!

• They're running out of time. Beldon casts sleep on the guard remaining at the table while Bobwhite simultaneously picks one lock and turns the key in the other. The stairs reverse themselves, revealing another stairway and a door at the bottom. They rush in, open the door, and close the staircase, just as the searching guard returns to investigate his napping companion.

In the room is a harpsicord. On one wall is a mural of a choir of solars singing a song to the rising sun. On another wall is a giant brass sculpture of an orosboros.** `v1` > You step into a room of resplendent grandeur, where the cool touch of marble greets your fingertips and the scent of polished stone fills the air. The walls, immaculate in their alabaster sheen, rise to meet a vaulted ceiling adorned with intricate carvings. Dominating one corner stands an exquisitely crafted harpsichord, its wooden frame inlaid with delicate filigree and mother-of-pearl accents that shimmer in the ambient light. > > To your left, a mural sprawls across an entire wall—a celestial choir of solars, their radiant forms singing a hymn to the ascending sun. Their golden voices seem almost audible as you gaze upon their serene faces, bathed in hues of dawn's first light. Opposite this divine tableau is an imposing brass sculpture: a colossal ouroboros, its serpentine body coiled in an eternal loop. The metal gleams with a burnished luster, capturing both the weight and fluidity of time itself. The room hums with a quiet reverence, as if holding its breath. You step into a room of resplendent grandeur, where the cool touch of marble greets your fingertips and the scent of polished stone fills the air. The walls, immaculate in their alabaster sheen, rise to meet a vaulted ceiling adorned with intricate carvings. Dominating one corner stands an exquisitely crafted harpsichord, its wooden frame inlaid with delicate filigree and mother-of-pearl accents that shimmer in the ambient light. To your left, a mural sprawls across an entire wall—a celestial choir of solars, their radiant forms singing a hymn to the ascending sun. Their golden voices seem almost audible as you gaze upon their serene faces, bathed in hues of dawn's first light. Opposite this divine tableau is an imposing brass sculpture: a colossal ouroboros, its serpentine body coiled in an eternal loop. The metal gleams with a burnished luster, capturing both the weight and fluidity of time itself. The room hums with a quiet reverence, as if holding its breath. You step into a room of resplendent grandeur, where the cool touch of marble greets your fingertips and the scent of polished stone fills the air. The walls, immaculate in their alabaster sheen, rise to meet a vaulted ceiling adorned with intricate carvings. Dominating one corner stands an exquisitely crafted harpsichord, its wooden frame inlaid with delicate filigree and mother-of-pearl accents that shimmer in the ambient light. To your left, a mural sprawls across an entire wall—a celestial choir of solars, their radiant forms singing a hymn to the ascending sun. Their golden voices seem almost audible as you gaze upon their serene faces, bathed in hues of dawn's first light. Opposite this divine tableau is an imposing brass sculpture: a colossal ouroboros, its serpentine body coiled in an eternal loop. The metal gleams with a burnished luster, capturing both the weight and fluidity of time itself. The room hums with a quiet reverence, as if holding its breath.

• The Ouroboros radiates of powerful magic, with a conjuration aura. The harpsichord shows signs of frequent use.
• Thinking for a bit, they retrieve their copy of hymns and reference the page they had mapped out in their previous investigation. Beldon leads their makeshift choir and...
  • ..the ouroboros is not amused. Its eyes glow red. Beldon lets out a sigh, and they take it from the top...
  • ..to no applause. The glow becomes more urgent. "Get it together, guys! Bobwhite, you're pitchy! Four, stop attempting vibrato! Banner!... Actually you were great, no notes. AGAIN!"....
  • ..and the eyes change to green. A giant, perfectly black circle appears, like a mirror showing nothingness rather than a reflection.
• They step through into a magnificent chamber. Chests are perfectly aligned in alcoves all along. From a sphere in the middle radiates an antimagic field.
  • Each alcove is numbered, though the system does not correspond to anything the Boys know.
  • Searching chests by hand, they find... coins. Potions. Gems. All things of great value, but nothing in the way of tremendous artifacts.
  • With enough random searching, they decide that this is not the real chamber. In desperation, and with no small amount of lucky guess, they check the chest labeled with 00, out-of-place in the numbering system.
  • Instead of the regular contents, it has a switch. Flipping the switch causes a staircase to descend, and it reveals another chamber. There are four statues, which Beldon recognizes as STERROS (wielding a long sword), MYTHRIAN (wielding a long sword), DADTIM (wielding a hammer), and KIVAN (wielding 2 short swords). Each has a regal pose which displays their signature weapons.
  • There are chests, in alcoves, with a more familiar numbering system--it corresponds to the treasure inventory. They have, at last, found the vault.
• Session ends.