The scent of vellum and stale incense hangs heavy in the scriptorium. Dust motes dance in the slivers of moonlight piercing the high, arched windows.
Brann
A shivering bard sits atop a reading desk, clutching his lute like a shield. He stares at the ink pooling upward off a discarded parchment, forming the translucent, jagged silhouette of a weeping monk.
Brann
The Baron claims the debt is paid in coin, but the spirit says otherwise. Look at the ledger, traveler. The ink... it refuses to dry.
Kingnasir
The ghost is tethered to the scroll, its hollow eyes fixed on the heavy iron lock of the scriptorium door.
A rhythmic thud echoes from the hallway outside. It is the sound of boots marching in perfect, heavy unison, accompanied by the metallic scraping of blades being drawn against stone. The ghost lets out a soundless, desperate wail, pointing a trembling finger toward the ventilation shafts near the ceiling.
Kingnasir
If I help the bard, I am locked in this room with whatever is coming. If I flee now, the secret of this haunting dies with the ghost.
+ Scene Quest Added
Escape the scriptorium ambush
“Strikes throwing fire flames”
Missed — Guard 1 struck back but missed
Kingnasir thrusts a palm forward, chanting in a raspy, ancient tongue. A brilliant gout of Draconic flame erupts from his fingertips, but the magic falters, splashing harmlessly against the heavy oak bookshelves instead of the armored sentinel.
Guard 1
The soldier lunges through the smoke, swinging a heavy iron mace with crushing force. His boot catches the edge of a loose floorboard, causing his strike to whistle wide through the air, shattering a wooden inkstand beside the monk’s spectral form.
Kingnasir
My focus is shattered. The flames are dying, and these soldiers are relentless. I must find a way to break their formation before I am cornered against these crumbling walls.
Guard 2
The second soldier kicks the scriptorium door wide open, his steel pauldrons scraping against the frame as he advances into the room, eyes scanning the shadows for the bard.
“Uses stealth to knock him off”
FAILURE (Mediocre Stealth, rolled +0)
Kingnasir
I slide toward the second guard's ankles, hoping to trip him into the path of his comrade. My boots fail to find purchase on the slick, ink-stained stone. I lurch forward awkwardly, stumbling directly into the center of the room.
Guard 2
The soldier barely registers my movement, sidestepping my clumsy dive with ease. He drops his shoulder, slamming his armored weight into my ribs.
Kingnasir hits the cold floor with a sickening thud, his knife sliding across the room to rest beneath the scorched bookshelf. The breath leaves him in a ragged gasp, and his vision swims as the guards converge.
Ghost
The phantom monk reaches out with a translucent, desperate hand, his gaze fixed on the ceiling vent above as the sound of heavy boots surrounds the fallen youth.
Guard 1
Standing over Kingnasir, the guard raises his mace high, the iron head catching the dim light of the flickering wall torches.
“Punches him and then fires”
Missed — Guard 1 struck back but missed
Kingnasir
I must act now or this monastery becomes my tomb.
Kingnasir lunges upward from the floor, his fist whistling through the air as he drives a punch toward the guard's jaw. The soldier jerks his head back with a surprised grunt, the blow brushing only empty air. Kingnasir follows through with a frantic burst of draconic energy, but his fingers only spark and fizzle against the humid library air.
Guard 1
The soldier grins, his teeth stained dark with ink as he pivots. He brings his heavy mace crashing down, but Kingnasir rolls to the side, the iron head shattering a mahogany table leg instead.
Guard 1
You are fighting ghosts, boy. Your magic is as broken as your spirit.
Kingnasir
My hands are shaking, and the air smells of ozone and failure. I need to reach that vent, but the iron mace is blocking my only path to freedom.
“Brann help”
SUCCESS (Poor Persuasion, rolled +0)
Kingnasir
Brann, now! Throw your weight into the bookshelf!
Brann
The bard, eyes wide with terror, abandons his frantic pacing and lunges toward the heavy wooden casing. He slams his shoulder against the edge of the shelf just as Guard 2 approaches.
With a loud groan of protesting timber, the massive bookcase tilts and then topples, pinning Guard 2 against the stone wall. Ink bottles shatter against the floorboards, creating a slick, dark tide.
Guard 1
The guard stumbles back, his mace swinging wild as the floor beneath him turns into a skating rink of spilled ink. He loses his footing, arms windmilling as he crashes down into the mess.
Kingnasir
This is my chance. The path to the ceiling vent is clear of iron and steel.
The ghostly monk glows brighter, its ethereal finger pointing upward with urgent intensity. Above, the ceiling vent hangs loose, a square of darkness beckoning Kingnasir toward the cool night air outside.
“Gets on the ceiling bent with brain hurry lets go”
SUCCESS (Mediocre Athletics, rolled +1)
Kingnasir
I scramble up the jagged edge of the toppled bookshelf, my fingers digging into the dust and dry wood.
Brann
Don't look back, Kingnasir! Just get us out of here!
Kingnasir
My strength is fading, but the gap in the ceiling is wide enough. If I can just reach the ledge of the vent, I can haul myself up into the rafters.
Kingnasir leaps, his palms scraping against the rough stone of the interior wall. He hooks his fingers around the edge of the vent frame, the cold metal grating groaning under his weight as he begins to pull his body through the opening. Below, the ink-slicked floor claims the legs of the struggling guards, leaving the scriptorium in chaotic disarray.
Guard 1
A curse upon you, half-breed!
The ghost flickers, its hollow gaze fixed on the opening as if guarding the path to freedom. The dark night sky waits beyond the vent, promising a reprieve from the iron-willed hunters below.
Quest Complete
Escape the scriptorium ambush
Skill Upgrade: Athletics Mediocre→Fair