Silence in the Library

The City Library of Alexandria, mid-day.

The Explorer's Guild had a somewhat urgent posting, and that's how a group of adventurers with varying levels of familiarity have met each other this fine rainy day in Alexandria. The City Library, which is half-public library and half-place of worship for the god of knowledge, Navos, is usually a busy place. People are _typically_ in the library trying to find things, or they're just bored on a rainy summer day and happen to be here.

The thing is... It's empty. Save for the ragtag group of adventurers and one beleaguered librarian's assistant, a gnome by the name of Prisca Paulaneia. She's perpetually holding a stepstool on her shoulder, and she looks like she's absolutely terrified.

"I do not know what's in there," she says, gesturing to a nearby door that's shut tightly. "But whatever it is... It scared the daylights out of me. I _thought_ I saw some of the magic items that we have on display in different parts of the library were gone, but I just started here, and you know, maybe one of the librarians took them down for cleaning or something, but... I went in there just a couple of hours ago, and there was magic flying everywhere. And this _awful_ racket!"

She sighs deeply. "I don't know what's going on in there. Please just help. The head librarian's out sick for the day and I don't want to be yelled at for clearing out the library due to public safety concerns. I can answer questions, but I didn't see much before I got out of there."

A black and red armored, middle aged human man stands half soaked as his oiled cloak didn't ward all the water away. Seeing the gnome was frazzled and armed (not an armed chair), he's already sliding on an armet helmet with the visor up. "The head librarian's out?" Warrick echoes, sighing. Seems like this wasn't the first time something has gone awry here when the scariest librarian in Alexandria stepped out.

"Relax, you're safe now, what kind of racket?" he inquires, unslinging a large crossbow off his back from under the cloak.

How the hells did he get into this? Oh yeah. Money. Harshad needs it, and beggars -- or adventurers -- can't be choosy. He's dressed in his 'work clothes', the laborer's tunic and pants, tucked into work boots. Over that, he's got the leather guards and the canvas coat, and out of deference to sensibilities, a shoulder bag, long and narrow.

"See, this is why finger-wagglers are trouble. One probably donated something and it was like rolling a thunderstone into one of the Goblintown apothecary shops." Clearly, Harshad has -opinions-. He heaves a sigh. "Did you see anyone go in there beforehand? And 'magic flying everywhere' is kind of nonspecific..."

"So I says, 'You don't know the legend of Grimble Stonebeard? Hero of the Battle of the Five Hedges? What kind of mewling halfwit are you anyway? Why I oughta push you offa roof!'"

With the lengthy stem of an elaborate stone pipe clenched between his teeth, a somewhat grubby-looking dwarf is regaling his audience with a tale of only moderate interest to any right-thinking person. The stone bowl is packed to the top with a heap of very fragrant leaf, and produces a very thick smoke which tends to sink toward the floor rather than rise up from the bowl.

It takes him a little extra effort to keep up with the group, but he's done an admirable job so far of not falling behind. Not only does he have short legs, but he's apparently also a heavy smoker. The odds are not great that the flask on his hip is full of water.

"So anyway... now I'm single. But it gives me a lot more time to devote to meself. And me hobbies. You know... never dated a librarian before. I bet you know all about Grimble Stonebeard."

Menel takes one look at the frightened gnomish woman and offers her a kindly smile. Something comforting that says that everything will be taken care of. Even though he doesn't really know what is going on in there - it doesn't comfort poor Prisca when it's clear that she doesn't know either.

Whatever magic is afoot, needs taken care of, and Menel - though not terribly fond of magical mishaps - knows that there are few who are as equipped to handle the unusual as he (and hopefully his companions) are. "Can you describe the noise you heard? And anything you did see might be helpful. Even if you didn't see much; any hint of what we're dealing with could mean a difference."

Hopefully someone other than him knows something of magical stuff since his experience is... not helpful.

"Well, I'd say this problem is long... overdue, ahuh, for being solved!" Palomas informs the frazzled employee who certainly does not get paid enough to deal with this nonsense, smiling at his own joke. He nods as others step in with leading questions for more information, so he steps closer to the door and attempts to listen in, seeking the telltale signs of ambushes.

He leans in, leading with his ear as he scoots closer, bracing his arm against the barrier.

GAME: Palomas rolls perception: (17)+4: 21

Reithak was one of the adventurers who had answered the call, and after several near death experiences, the egalrin was finally ready to get back into the field. Even if that field was a public building in the middle of the city.

"Aw, don't you worry, I'm sure you've got a good reason to be this concerned about things." Reithak answers, stopping long enough to offer a sweeping bow. "We're here to help, however that might be. Don't worry, we'll throw the book at the problem! Just not actually, I know some of those tomes are quite important."

The pun onslaught that's brought towards the poor librarian assistant actually makes her cheer up a little, laughing softly. "Oh, well. You're all very sweet. I hope you get rid of problems as well as you tell jokes." Although she looks at the dwarf who is flirting with her and deadpans, "Are _you_ Grimble Stonebeard? Maybe ask me out on a date later; I don't make good decisions when I'm stressed."

Then she makes a face like she's eaten a frog. "Shit. Wait. Maybe that was a bad decision." She sighs deeply. "The racket was like... Umm. Kind of like birds calling at each other? You know. Really annoying birds? But I didn't get a good look at what was making the racket. I just saw magic spewing across the room and got out of there. It's one of our reading rooms."

GAME: Reithak rolls knowledge/arcana: (13)+6: 19

Giving Harshad a side eye, either from a previous assignment together or their tale, Warrick instead is more vested in Zigrun's tale. Unable to hide the snort that echoes in his helmet, he shakes his head, and instead looks over the others that are gathered here. The book puns elicit a quirked brow, along with another huff of air. At least the librarian was getting a kick out of the sequels of pun.

"Really annoying birds, huh?" he grunts, the sound of twine straining as the crossbow is wound back, 'clicking' into place. "You know, one time there was a sea druid that got all the pigeons in the docks to steal fresh fish coming off the docks. We couldn't find them for weeks."

Thunk. Bolt in place. "I dislike pigeons." He takes a half step towards Palomas to cover them out of habit.

Stalwartly, Menel ignores the light-hearted jokes of his companions, not wanting the poor librarian to think that he is taking her plight with any lack of seriousness. However when she chuckles he feels significantly better and the warmth of his smile goes up a couple of notches. "Not to worry now, we'll have a look to see if we can't figure out what it is and how to deal with it."

Birds. Birds in a library. Not the best combination. He hopes they aren't real birds. Then they'd really be winging it. Menel smiles to himself and turns toward the door. To him it seems like there is no time like the present so he heads on over; noticing that there's already one of his companions listening at the doorway. He shrugs and follows suit. "Hear anything good?"

GAME: Menel rolls Perception: (2)+1: 3

Harshad just shakes his head at the hurricane of puns. Pure pun-ishment. He stares back at Warrick blandly, before nodding. "This city is weird," he grumbles. "Other day someone told me there was an incident where the -books- in the library were attacking people. How does anyone survive here?"

He opens his bag, and removes a well crafted rapier, along with a long dagger. Hanging them off his belt, he tucks the bag away in a pouch. He glances over at where Palomas and Menel are waiting at the door. "So, who goes first?"

Palomas's buckler'd arm pushes off the door and he rejoins his comrades, hands on hip. "Well, with a quick listenup, I didn't get much more information. Some sort of lasting enchantment or active magical casting, like a woosh, and then laughter. The weird kind, like someone having a gag at the trouble they're causing. Some manner of mischievous spirit maybe?" He shrugs his shoulder, "Best way to know for sure is to brave the danger, innit?"

"The racket was probably just somebody tryin' ta get outta this dump. Can't say I blame them, to be honest. No... I don't think I could work in a crummy place like this. Smells like book mold and old maids. Err... no offense, miss lady. But this here? This is the sort of place you go when your landlord won't let ya's adopt no more cats."

Looking around with a rather pronounced expression of indifference, the dwarf seems to be looking not so much for any books or threats. Rather, he almost seems to be looking for either a toilet, or a well-hidden pub. The odds of Zigrun's search being fruitful are doubtless very slim.

"You know... maybe it ain't book mold that my delicate nostrils are picking up? Could be bird shite. Wouldn't say as I'm an expert on the subject... we didn't have any birds down in the mines. Well... we had one. But it was... whoa! Hold on there lads... If anyone's going first, it oughta be... what I mean to say is, I'd be more than happy to go in first. But then... who would stay here and protect this fair damsel?"

Palomas says, “Don't worry, fella, I don't mind going first! Got to keep you tip-top shape for romance after all!”

"Y'know, I don't think I've heard of you, but I feel like I should! Name's Reithak, nice to meet you all!" The egalrin hums, offering another long bow with a sweep of their oversized hat. "Don't you worry, I make sure my skills at the arts are backed by skill with a blade and magic to match."

"Annoying sounding birds? Well, I don't think I'm the annoying sounding bird in this scenario, and it'd be real obvious if it was an egalrin study group in there regardless. Just gotta look at the books, we've always got spare feathers for bookmarks so it's pretty obvious." Reithak chuckles.

"No, hang on, I magic spells and birds? could be a council of witchcrows in there. Wouldn't be surprised if they're in there for the magic items on display." The egalrin considers, tapping the side of their beak. "Careful folks, if they are witch crows, kind of like me, they've got some magic in those talons of theirs. Best be on our guards, alright? I don't think there's any reasoning with them."

"Oh, I'm not staying in this place while you guys handle it," Prisca Paulaneia says, waving off Zigrun. "It's almost my lunch break. Actually, that's kind of half the reason I put in a call to the Explorer's Guild to go take care of it? I am _starving_ and I want to go get a bite to eat at the Arcanist Society's dining hall."

Her eyes go wide at Reithak possibly identifying the terror in the reading room. "Oh! Oh wow. I hope all of you are safe in there." And then she goes to the doors of the library, giving the adventuring group a wave. "I'll be back in half an hour! Maybe. Probably."

And out she goes through the doors, leaving the adventuring group to their decision of who goes first.

Menel smiles at his companions. "I think it's me and whoever wants to guard my six." He nods to Palomas who volunteers and shrugs. "Whatever it is, it's our job to take care of it." At this he pushes open the door and draws his left-handed blade from his right hip as he moves, readying himself for whatever happens to lay within. At least he'll have the attention of whatever is inside?

"I can provide cover," Warrick offers to those opting to go in first, hefting the large crossbow to tuck into his shoulder. Zigrun gets a quick look after the librarian's lashing, before the visor on the helmet closes out his expression. "Half my work was books," he comments, voice echoing louder in the helmet "I actually liked the paperwork."

He shifts his weight, helmet turning towards Reithak. "Noted, I'll keep an eye up."

A gauntleted hand waves Prisca off. "Lunch is important, as well as your safety. Please vacate, we'll take it from here." Seeing as others were pushing in, Warrick strides forward behind Menel, leaning against the door frame and switching the crossbow to his other shoulder, ready to pop up it at the ready at a moment's notice. "Covering."

"This city, I swear by Lady Luck and the Behemoth, is so messed up...." Harshad moves up next to the door, carefully sliding his weapons out of their sheaths. The rapier is well crafted, but looks to be steel, but the dagger has the dull finish of a cold iron blade. "Better to be safe than sorry," he remarks, before moving in behind Menel.

Quietly, he growls to Menel, "Don't take chances. Dead men don't get to buy drinks." His step is surprisingly soft, despite the half-oruch's size.

"Bah."

As Zigrun watches the gnome librarian leave, his expression is more or less completely obscured by an overgrown beard, a pulled down hood, and a thick cloud of pipe smoke. But though his expression is inscrutable, his aura has undeniably become one of sadness and yearning. It might not be because the gnome is gone though. Perhaps he really was trying to find a toilet.

Keeping his pipe clenched between his teeth, the dwarf pulls first one axe out of his belt, and then a second. They're a simple set of iron hatchets, more or less identical, presumably of dwarven craftsmanship. He slides the blades against each other a few times to check the sharpness, and seems satisfied with the result. Or it might just be a nervous tick.

"Let's hope this doesn't go horribly wrong. But don't worry lads, if it DOES, I'll just drop a smoke bomb and skedaddle on outta here. No need to worry about old Zigrun."

He probably won't do that unless it's really desperate. Right?

GAME: Reithak casts Bless. Caster Level: 5 DC: 13

Palomas arms himself with his strange stick, loading a painted stone into the leather band. He seems confident in his strange weapon choice, as he takes a third position with the rest of the sneakies.

"You get used to this place, there's never a dull moment, all things considered. I wouldn't discount a library instantly you know, lots of great things to learn about there, and so many cool stories, you know?" Reithak laughs, resettling her weapons and heading to the door with the rest of them. "Now, I know I'm just a troublesome finger waggler, but here, let me at least do something to keep you all safe alright?" The egalrin offers, waving one hand and chanting a brief prayer that bestows a modicum of divine strength on the party. "Better safe than sorry right? So, let's take care of it!"

The reading room, as it turns out, is essentially another chamber of the library, with more books that appear to be of general interest to the public. There's more than a few Crimson Pen novels on the shelves, complete with titles like _The Archmage's Staff_, _Passion of the Monk, _Sey You Later_, _Crystal Sunblade_, and more. But that's not so much the concern as much as it is the sound of cackling that sounds... off, coming from far off into the room.

Unfortunately, the bookshelves make it rather difficult to have an easy line of sight.

"Helllooooooo." A horrible little voice croons this word from some far corner, away from where the group of adventurers are positioned. Another cackle, and then the room is dead silent, save for the sound of the adventurers' breathing.

GAME: Harshad rolls Stealth: (3)+11: 14
GAME: Zigrun rolls stealth: (18)+6: 24
GAME: Palomas rolls stealth: (4)+6: 10

Well, it's a library. There's books. What can you expect? Harshad mouths a curse as his rapier's scabbard bumps into one of the shelves, drawing his attention. And then he looks at the titles and his expression gets even -more- confused. "What the f..." he mouths, pointing at 'Passion of the Monk'.

Seeing Menel moving ahead, the dour half-orc grits his teeth, and tries to move along, though he suspects they're already blown.

Menel moves forward cautiously, drawing his other sword as he does so. The voice calling out to them is certainly creepy enough, but he's trying to distract whatever foe exists in here from his allies behind him so he responds in a similar fashion. "Come out, come out where-ever you are!" He wonders what manner of books these are anyways.

Shhh, sneakies! Palomas creeps after the others, minding every step. The Crimson Pen collection does not draw much attention. Half the fun is knowing to whom such fine literature is homage to, after all, and right now is certainly not the time for it. Instead, he tilts his head to the voice, and resists the urge to call back in greeting.

It's INCREDIBLY rude not to respond but gosh darn it, they're on a mission here!

Warrick watches the others say their piece and step forth. "You get used to it," he comments to Harshad, hunkering down some. "I'll keep that in mind," he mutters to their dwarven companion. Hopefully they wouldn't run too soon. Morale is what makes or breaks a situation.

Feeling a rush of power, he briskly steps in with the others, crossbow pointed high to low. Posting up at the corner is an aisle, the tip of the bolt briefly pauses from the creepy giggling beyond. In one brisk movement, he palm-thuds the side of his weapon, dislodging the bolt before swapping it to another, darker and shinier rod of metal from the quiver resting on his lower back. The fingers off the trigger, he takes a slow step deeper within.

"Well shave my backside and call me an elf... this is an unnerving situation."

Spitting out of one side of his mouth while still keeping his pipe clenched tightly in place, Zigrun keeps to the rear, letting the taller folk confront whatever creepy cackling monster wants to rip them apart. His voice is low, practically a whisper, certainly quieter than the creaking of the door's hinges.

But though his natural inclination would just be to turn around and head to the nearest pub, something seems to be filling Zigrun with an abnormal amount of something awful. Something dreadful. Someone has infected him with courage, that raging pestilence that brings early death to so many simpletons. Of all the times to catch a case of it.

"Fuggit... spreadin' out..."

And with no more explanation than that, the dwarf enters a crouched stance, and creeps across to get a better view of the aisle ahead.

He makes a note to pick up a copy of 'Stuck in the Mine Shaft' for later.

GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+9: (11)+9: 20
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+9: (4)+9: 13
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+9: (1)+9: 10 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+15: (4)+15: 19
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+15: (16)+15: 31
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+15: (15)+15: 30

Reithak brings up the rear along with the others, keeping one hand on their rapier hilt and the other ready to grab the crossbow on them. Perusing the books would have to remain for another time. "Not sure what exactly they look like, but be on your guards. Don't want to get ambushed by magic crows when you don't want to be, and they might have a real easy time if they're keeping to the shadows." She warns before heading in with the others, attempting to keep a lower profile

GAME: Menel rolls Perception: (6)+1: 7

Silence exists in the pause between movements and breaths. For a moment, as the adventurers move about the library, all is quiet. Until there comes a voice that's quite a bit closer than before, coming down the row of bookshelves where Menel is. This one almost sounds like a child. "Where areeeeee youuuuuu~?"

It giggles. "I wanna play! Don't leave me behind."

GAME: Harshad rolls perception: (4)+8: 12
GAME: Palomas rolls PERCEPTION: (20)+4: 24
GAME: Menel rolls Perception: (1)+1: 2 (EPIC FAIL)

Warrick provides overwatch as the others creep forward, his attention more or less focused above the stacks. His helmet turns a half tick towards Zigrun as he mutters that he was spreading out. "Peeling to right flank," he gestures to the others before stepping back past Reithak, trying to keep both groups in his line of sight. The eerie sounds elicit nothing save for an index finger trailing along the edge of the trigger. <Handspeech>

Menel looks down the line of bookcases, but spots nothing that could have made the sound. "I'm right here." He is confused, uncertain if this is the danger that had been suggested that it might be. He moves slowly to accommodate those following him in a more stealthy manner. "Who are you?" He smiles to himself. "Have you a name to give?"

Palomas waves his stick, the ribbon's bright colors enough to grab nearby attention. He points it toward the center of the room. Seems like he might have caught where that's coming from. Or, where it 'seems' to be coming from. It is quite clear to most that they're dealing with tricksters now.

GAME: Zigrun rolls acrobatics: (11)+6: 17

Harshad's hands tighten on his weapon hilts, but he doesn't react... his head turning left and right to try and locate the voice. With an unheard sigh, he stalks along behind Menel, watching the other man's back. Glancing back, he catches sight of Warrick peeling off, and Palomas pointing, and he moves forward briefly to tap Menel on the shoulder, tilting his head towards the center of the room.

Now that the creepy presence has made some sort of contact with the party, Zigrun realizes that he wants absolutely no part of it. Unasked for courage be damned, the dwarf climbs up the nearest bookshelf as quickly and quietly as he can. But though it might look for a moment as if the dwarf is taking the coward's path and hiding from what sounds like a small child, let's not all be so quick to judge him, lest we all be judged ourselves. Though it doesn't look great that the dwarf is putting away the pair of hatchets back onto his belt once he's at the top of the shelf.

But what's this? Suddenly Zigrun is the tallest member of the party! Oh the irony! Oh the sudden advantages as his status becomes elevated along with his body.

And what an excellent position to scope out the surrounding environment.

Reithak brings up the rear of the group, one wary eye on the surroundings. Just one however, as the other is occupied by one of the books she finds. "I'd recognize that sassy egalrin anywhere." The inquisitor snickers as they look at one of the books. "I'll have to ask if I can take that book out later."

Right, back to work. The inquisitor creeps further into the room, unable to pinpoint the noise for the time being.

GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+7: (9)+7: 16
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6+1: (1)+1: 2

Out of the quiet, wings come.

Talons strike out at Menel's face, drawing blood from a scratch at his cheek, and then it keeps flying, landing on the bookshelf nearby. It's visible now, laughing at the misfortune of the poor sod below it. "Hellooooooo," it croons.

It's a crow, but it's not right. Arcane magic pours out of its eyes, and when its beak opens, one can see it has a mouth of arcane energy, glowing like its eyes.

GAME: Warrick rolls weapon19-2-2+1: (17)+10+-2+-2+1: 24
GAME: Warrick rolls weapon19-2-2+1: (12)+10+-2+-2+1: 19
GAME: Warrick rolls xbowDamage+4: aliased to 1d10+1+4: (10)+1+4: 15
GAME: Warrick rolls xbowDamage+4: aliased to 1d10+1+4: (10)+1+4: 15

Warrick watches Zagrun clamber atop the bookshelf, looking mildly impressed as he watches the tallest dwarf he's ever seen. He looks back and- a sound catches attention, and the swoop of a bird zips past down the aisle. "CONTACT! Left flank, high!" he suddenly barks, announcing his position as the large crossbow changes grip, one hand on the turning winch and another on the trigger as two quick KA-CHUNK KA-CHUNKs whistle out, slamming into and threatening to staple the crow to the ceiling.

Upon being given those two deadly-serious bolts, the witchcrow rather does not appreciate the gift it has been given, squawking with its rapid-fire impalement. It hisses at Warrick, opening its beak to reveal its glowing mouth--before vanishing. Only the sound of wings beating gives any clue as to where it's going.

GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+7: (14)+7: 21
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6+1: (2)+1: 3

Seeing the second one appear out of thin air, Menel steps to where the other one had been and launches a set of attacks upon where it had been. His swords find nothing there however, though he suspects this confirms that the raven has flown to greener pastures. "It's gone!" He says, just to let others know not to waste their time there.

GAME: Menel rolls Will: (18)+1: 19

One witchcrow appears, fly-by attacking Zigrun with a talon and drawing blood as it lands on a nearby bookshelf, laughing at the dwarf's expense with that glowing inner-beak. Another witchcrow flies onto a bookshelf, glowering at Menel with eyes that glow all the brighter for a moment, but Menel shrugs off the worst of its evil gaze.

GAME: Harshad rolls acrobatics: (5)+11: 16
GAME: Harshad rolls acrobatics: (8)+11: 19
GAME: Harshad rolls weapon1+1: (1)+8+1: 10 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Harshad rolls weapon1+1: (11)+8+1: 20
GAME: Harshad rolls damage1: aliased to 1d6+2: (2)+2: 4

Crows. Talking, magical crows. "I told you about this city," Harshad snipes, though he lets out a yelp as one gives Menel a set of scratches, before vanishing. "Gods damn, I hope these things can be cut or stabbed..." He turns, and scrambles up the side of the shelf, accidentally kicking out half a set of Doctor Barnabus Bizarre books as he leaps onto the shelf top.

"Watch yourself, Zigrun! I'm coming over to help!" And with that the half orc leaps across, landing on the opposite side, wobbling just a bit before his rapier licks out, cutting a bloody line across the crow's wing. "Gotcha!" the rogue grins.

GAME: Reithak casts Lend Judgment. Caster Level: 5 DC: 13

"Gonna hope they can be shot at the very least." Reithak muses as she takes the rather large crossbow off her back, watching the crows that appeared. Followed by glancing at the guard near them. "I've got a feeling you're a way better shot with that thing than I am, big guy." The inquisitor points out, patting Warrick on the shoulder. "Chin up, you'll do great! Let the surety of your purpose guide you!" Reithak chants, filling Warrick with even more divine strength. <Auran>

GAME: Zigrun rolls ranged: (10)+3: 13
GAME: Zigrun rolls ranged: (19)+3: 22
GAME: Zigrun rolls damage5: aliased to 1d6+2: (2)+2: 4

Just when it looks like Zigrun did the smart thing by getting out of the line of fire, he unwittingly played right into the enemies' trap! For the top of a bookshelf is only a safe place to hide from small children. It is rather less effective against the attacks of creepy magical crows. Though, in Zigrun's defense, he had reasonable cause to suspect that whatever they were up against was actually a very fearsome child.

As his mistake becomes apparent, the grim dwarf gets a vicious peck from one of the evil crows as it conducts a fly by attack upon him. It's nearly enough to make him drop his pipe, but not quite. It IS, however, enough to make him go 'GRAAGK!', sounding a bit like a creepy squawking crow himself. Dwarven blood has been spilled this day, and will probably leak all over someone's copy of 'Lady Greenleaf's Bodice'.

"You sonova... I oughta!"

The bookshelf starts to wobble precariously as the bulky dwarf regains his balance. Just in time to watch the half-orc scale the nearby shelf and attack the pesky crow. Reaching for the axes on his bandolier, Zigrun produces not one, but two simple throwing axes and rotates to track the crow as it flies toward a nearby shelf.

Tossing both of them at the crow with the other at the ready, the dwarf curses in dwarven, and then shouts through partially-clenched teeth.

"THIS IS WHY NOBODY READS NO MORE!"

GAME: Palomas rolls ranged: (7)+7: 14
GAME: Palomas rolls ranged: (19)+7: 26
GAME: Palomas rolls 1d6+4: (3)+4: 7

Palomas steps out from behind the bookcase, whirling the sling's staff band over his head. The high pitch whine is most likely some sort of customization, another halfling eccentric combat technique that relies on being annoying more than outright effective. What does seem to be effective is the well-polished stone that CRACKS across the witchcrow's head, bouncing somewhere out of sight.

Someone's gonna trip over that later, absolutely. "Huzzah!" Palomas cries, pleased with his success as he palms a second shot for later. "Call me a scarecrow, cause I'm, uh... gosh dangit!" Lost track of that joke.

GAME: Warrick rolls weapon19+1+1: (20)+10+1+1: 32 (THREAT)
GAME: Warrick rolls weapon19+1+1: (16)+10+1+1: 28
GAME: Warrick rolls xbowDamage+xbowDamage+1+1+2+2: aliased to 1d10+1+1d10+1+1+1+2+2: (3)+1+(5)+1+1+1+2+2: 16
GAME: Menel rolls Will: (9)+1: 10
GAME: Menel rolls Will: (16)+1: 17 

More people were climbing on shelves, Warrick squinting behind the helmet. This will make shooting... difficult. "They better be," he huffs to Reithak, pulling out another fistful of bolts. Spying the large crossbow that that inquisitor reveals, he grunts once, shuddering as even more power floods him, making his weapon glow brighter. Making a snap judgement, the crossbow snaps straight upward. "Shot!" he barks out in warning to the two on the bookshelves. The bolt slams to the fletching into the magical creature with a plume of feathers. "Focus!" he shouts up at the two.

He points at Reithak, then to those on the shelves. "You, cover them! he orders, rushing forward in a jog to get around the shelves, spreading their ranged supremacy and consolidating the front line.

The witchcrow that Warrick had grievously injured earlier, while invisible in the shadows, gives Menel a glare--one that burns on Menel for all but a moment. The man shrugs it off, however, and the magic spent by the witchcrow causes it to become visible again.

GAME: Menel rolls 1d20+7+1-2: (8)+7+1+-2: 14
GAME: Menel rolls 1d20+7+1-2: (11)+7+1+-2: 17
GAME: Menel rolls 1d6+2: (3)+2: 5
GAME: Warrick rolls will: (11)+3: 14

Menel scurries across the ground, his arms feeling like lead under the weight of whatever magic that the crow levied against him, but he doesn't allow that to stop him. He reaches one of the creatures and his sword bites immediately into flesh and feather. "Steel works fine!" He yells back at the others, knowing from the look alone of Warrick's bolts that they're made of cold iron. No need to waste.

GAME: Harshad rolls weapon1: (18)+8: 26 (THREAT)
GAME: Harshad rolls weapon1: (6)+8: 14
GAME: Harshad rolls damage1+damage1: aliased to 1d6+2+1d6+2: (5)+2+(5)+2: 14

Meanwhile, the witchcrow in front of Harshad decides to extract vengeance against its near-murderer. It opens its mouth and hisses, and _something_ about that eldritch sound weaves an unlucky woe against Warrick. Maybe the sight of that glowing inner-mouth lodges in his head.

Whatever the case, it takes flight...

But as the witchcrow takes flight, Harshad is -right there-. "Oh no you don't, you little shit," the rangy half-orc growls. There's a flash of steel in the reading room's lighting, a quick needle-sharp flash -- and a black-feathered form goes tumbling out of the air to land next to the shelf.

GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+7: (15)+7: 22
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6+1: (6)+1: 7
GAME: Palomas rolls melee+1: (2)+5+1: 8

With its ally fallen, one of the remaining two witchcrows take flight, seeking vengeance against Warrick as it soars through the air. Its talon strikes true, drawing blood on Warrick's face. Blood to misfortune, misfortune to woe.

GAME: Harshad rolls acrobatics: (19)+11: 30
GAME: Harshad rolls weapon1+1: (17)+8+1: 26
GAME: Harshad rolls damage1: aliased to 1d6+2: (6)+2: 8

One of the magic crows is dead, which... well, it doesn't -please- Harshad, he's not that kind of guy, but it's just a job to do. Seeing Warrick getting sideswiped by another crow, the half orc vaults across to the next shelf. "They bleed from regular steel, don't worry about cold iron!" Indeed, Harshad's rapier flashes again, drawing another bloody lash from the witchcrow as he presses his attack.

GAME: Reithak rolls ranged -4: (1)+7+-4: 4 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Zigrun rolls ranged: (20)+3: 23 (THREAT)
GAME: Zigrun rolls damage9: aliased to 1d10+0: (5)+0: 5
GAME: Zigrun rolls ranged: (19)+3: 22
GAME: Zigrun rolls damage9: aliased to 1d10+0: (10)+0: 10

"Alright, I'll cover them!" The inquisitor responds, taking aim at the crow which was harassing Harshad at the time being. It may be very large for a bird, but it was still a bird, and trying to shoot something that may be pecking and clawing at an ally was not the easiest of shots.

The bolt goes flying into the ceiling, well past the bird but thankfully not into Harshad. "Oh Ceinara's corset, I'm going to have to pay for structural damage aren't I."

Having carelessly tossed away his throwing axes with minimal effect, Zigrun would appear to be in a desperate spot. At least that would be the case if it weren't for the rather large crossbow strapped to his back. But that takes him a second to get ready.

Smoke billows out of the bowl of his pipe as he prepares his weapon, taking advantage of the respite from any unwanted attention from the crows. It doesn't take him long to pop a bolt into the heavy crossbow, and he brings the weapon up to his line of sight with a smooth motion.

"Oi! We're gettin' embarrassed here. Maybe we should try believin' in ourselves!"

Taking a deep inhale of smoke and his own foul breath, Zigrun lines up his shot, believes in himself, and pulls the trigger.

Almost immediately, there is a very satisfying spray of bird guts in the spot where there used to be a very creepy, slightly bitchy magic crow.

"Just like Grimble Stonebeard!"

GAME: Palomas rolls ranged+1: (17)+7+1: 25
GAME: Palomas rolls 1d6+2: (3)+2: 5

"One last thing!" Palomas says as his little bare feet pitter-patter. WOOSH!

His second shot is as clean as his first, the crow poofed in a cloudburst of feathers. He should feel bad about it.... that fist pump says something else entirely.

As the combat draws to a stop, there's a noise that comes from down the reading room. It sounds like... A yawn?

"Mmm." It's a noise that sounds like it comes from a particularly tired and bored child. In fact, looking down one row of the library room reveals... A young boy? Except he looks almost like a walking, talking inkblot. His short hair is black. His skin is the exact color and almost the luster of obsidian. He wears robes that look like the darkest night. The only color he has are his summer-sky blue eyes, which glow.

He gives a nice big stretch. "Well, that was unpleasant." His tone is very dignified and elegant. Some nobleman's child, maybe, except... There's a gravity to this child that should not be on anyone. "I greatly appreciate you all getting rid of them for me."

GAME: Zigrun rolls perception: (14)+8: 22
GAME: Warrick rolls acrobatics: (6)+6: 12

Menel wipes the swords he has in hand off on his pants rather than the birds. Then he sheathes the weapons only to hear the sound of the yawn. Like the others he gravitates toward the sound and upon finding a child-like being there he blinks. "Pardon, but... would you mind telling us who you are? And why you're in the library." Not for a moment does Menel believe that this is a real child. Not in the sense of innocence and childhood.

Warrick turns his head towards Manel, belting a quick, "A-firm!" Another smack on the crossbow, and a regular steel bolt is slotted in. He glances back and up, only to peer into the magical void of that beak. A perfect target.

Not so perfect to stare at, unbeknownst to him.

One of the talons gets through one of the slits in his helmet, dragging a line across his visage. That was the whole point of a helmet! What (un)luck!

He manages to dislodge the avian, drop a bundle of bolts, then steps on them- there's a throaty "Agh...!" And now the arbalest is doing the splits!

He all but pants in pain, seeing as the others have picked up the slack. There's some gesture of 'good work', but its all sloppy as he limps down the aisle towards the sound with the others. He stares. A heavy exhale escapes him, and his head lulls.

Harshad clambers down from his perch on the shelves, hopefully not leaving too many unexplained bootprints in his wake. While the place isn't a mess, he hopes they won't have to clean up. Wiping off his sword and resheathing his weapons, he speaks up. "So, uh..." he looks at Menel and Warrick. "Do we just... leave, or--"

The appearance of the small child has him turning to stare at the intruder, hand reflexively going to his sword again before stopping. "Hey, she mentioned a bunch of magic items being moved around." He points to where the child is standing. "You don't think...?"

"Althea's ass! It's some kind of Crow Person! Quick, somebody get some acid!"

Zigrun is a bit reactionary, perhaps, but nobody can say that Auntie Bludstein's favorite nephew died trying to befriend a child.

Racking another bolt into his crossbow, the dwarf looks as if he's perfectly ready to perforate the newly-awakened, innocently-stretching child. However, his finger stays just shy of touching the trigger.

The stone bowl begins to fizzle out, as the last of his pipe leaf is finally burned up.

"Any more? You got them all?" Reithak shouts, glancing at the others and finally relaxing. "Good work! You alright? I'll patch you folks up in a moment, just give me a shout."

Then someone is talking, and the egalrin stalks down the halls to the source. "They're all gone, it's safe now." Reithak admits. "There might be more though, so I don't think it's safe to stay here." She states.

"Easy there," Palomas chides Zigrun. Either his willingness to bare the weapon at the child or his heretical epithet about the Lady of Compassion's bottom. He, too, is put off by the strange youngling though judging by his thoughtful stroking of the beard. "Got 'em all, but got a stranger sight as you can see now." The Lucht says to the Egalrin.

GAME: Reithak rolls spellcraft: (17)+6: 23

The boy seems almost entirely unconcerned with what is going on around him, barely acknowledging any of the questions asked of him or Warrick's loss of control. He lifts a hand and... The magic items that are around his feet in a circle glide slowly and serenely through the air, landing back in the spots where they are supposed to be: hanging from the walls in displays.

The likelihood that this is a child is rapidly decreasing.

"To answer your question: "I am Observer Number Two-Thousand, Nine-Hundred, Ninety-Nine, in the employ of #####. My name is Zenith." The last word he says before the sentence that contains his name is a noise that's almost painful to the ears. Whatever he said, it falls away from the mind, unable to be recalled.

He gives a little bow. "I came to clean up this aberration in time and space, but... Circumstances I did not account for saw me... inconvenienced." The last word is said with a horribly dry sense of sarcasm. "At any rate. I will take my leave now."

Those blue eyes look at Zigrun in particular. "Your action will be recorded."

He glows. And then he's gone. So is the magic circle, whatever it happened to be.

Then the doors open, and in walks Prisca Paulaneia. She squawks in surprise when she sees dead birds. No, several dead birds. "Oh! Oh shit, they really were birds! Giant ones, too!" She gives Zigrun a little wave. "You guys really saved my hide. ... Oh, hey, the magic items are back!"

All's well that ends well?

-End