Episode 22: Line
General Summary
Entering the cracked foundation of the Citadel, the party pushed their way into the first chamber. The room was the cross section of four alcoves, each barred by an iron gate, but left unlocked. In the west outcrop, the alcove was set up with refined bedding, heavily themed with purple and gold, something Olette picked up to be a combination of House Dreux and House Aurelian's colors. In a box hidden beneath some of the fine pillows, Tyra found several letters dating back to just after the end of the Western War, with the most recent dated to just before the Accords last year.
J̸̢̧͇̦͙̼̺͓̻̜͋u̶̧̬͚̤̥̱̦̺͍̤͑̎̅̅͆̆̀͘͝ͅs̶͖̻͙̖͓͕̊̎̒̊́̍͒̃̔̍̆͐͗̈́̌͘ͅt̶̢̡̛̛̛̙͔͖̣͍̪̙͔̰̟̦̿̿͌̎̈́̓̍̅͘͜͜͝ ̶̯͚̼̜̥̫͔̦̂̍͒͊̃͌̈̏ā̵̢̢͍͚̤̪͈̦̚ ̸̧̢̲͙͍̯̯̬̙̯̺͓̰͕͊̀̐̋̒̅̽̂̊͜͝ͅm̷̢̨̢̖͓̮̰̗̠̭̖̯̜̤͓̬̒̍̏͌̒̈́͒̚o̶̧͔̹̞͉̹̟̥͚̰̣̖̓̔m̶̦̬̠̻̪̭̭̲̗̃͂̑̃̊͗͐͊͝͝ͅͅę̷̼͍̦̯͕̄̈́͑̊͐̉̈́̀̈́̒ň̶̹ẗ̶̢͎͙̟̪̹́̀͗̈͌̂̑̂͐̿̊̕͜͝ ̵̠̣͙̜̹̹̱̣͉͕͎̙͓̠̳̉̈́̿̒̄̈̃̽̑̿͘͝ͅs̷̨̧͖̪͓̣̳̺̭̞̙͖̠̯̗̳̎̒̍̇̒͐͛̏̔͘͝h̷̺̣̗̱̳̏͊͗̾͌̇̓̿͋̚ē̶̢̢̠̎̏̊̈́̈́̎́̔̀̈́͛̃͘͠͠ ̶̟̞̺̖͚̘͎̱͕̘̭̲̼͊́́̈̅́̓̏͝l̴̜̬̺̳͖̖̟̻͇͕̺͍͎͖̏̓̐̏̈́ͅe̶̯̗̜͖̠̱̟̬̦̤̊̈́̍ṱ̸̢̡̧̬̭͍̩̖̼͙̜̝̓̍̑͑̈͌̽͛̅͒̍̍̕̕̚͠ ̸̛̮̜̗̋̿̍̅̾̀̆̚͝s̷̱͖̟̠̭̦̎̿̔̾͝l̷̨͓͛͘ǐ̷̛͔͈̗̞̟̓͒̃͑͂̈̉̊̈́͂̊́͝͠͝p̸̛̰͇̲͎̼̻͎̮̟̱͖̪͖̖̪̫̦̀̊̿̏̐̑́̿̃͐̕͘
The letters detail a tryst between two lovers, Iris of House Aurelian and Aurora of House Dreux. The letters follow the flow of their relationship, beginning with Iris being enraptured with Aurora's beauty, and Aurora flattering something she call's Iris' "sparkle." The amorous letters go back and forth for some time between the two, complete with explicit drawings at some points. The phrase "throbbing, prismatic tree-shaker" is thrown around more than once in reference to Iris' member. But after the first signing of the Accords, Aurora sent Iris a message that essential said "If you will not see her, then you will not see me" and the letters stopped for ten years.
̶̛̛͚̊̋̽̆͋̏̈̀̂̕͠͠O̶̢̝̲̱̐͆̆́͗̀̓̉͊̒́̓͒̀́̚͜ͅn̸̻͂͐̔̽́l̶͖̼̤͚̠͐ͅÿ̴̢̠̫̹̖̹̣̬͕͉̩͕̝̲͓͗́̽͂͂́̀̿̚͝ͅ ̴̡̩͇̻̝̭̪̮͖̦̓̈́̄́̾̊̐̎̎̊͘͘͝͝a̸̳͓̞̍͋͛͂̈́͆͆́̐̈́͐͐̊͛͌̂ ̵̡̹̖̥̥̠̟̼̩̩̦͇͖̀͗̑̽̋́̓́́̂̀͝m̵̧͈̖̲̼͉̙͓̦̜̼͈͚̜̺͎̉̃̆́̄̎̽̈̇̑̔̇̌̆u̴̢̞̪̫̫̬͖̫̽̆̈́͐͗r̷̡͔̰͓̫̬͉̯͔͒͒̔̈́͗́̑͐̐̈́̈́͒̒̈̐̚ḿ̷̨̰͓͔̙̙̺̯̤̣̹̳̞̽̏̃ụ̴̧͇̱͙̪͕̜́͂̄̃̈͋͘͜͜r̷̨̢̨̛̘͙̜̬̦̽ ̵̘̬̀͗̇͗̍̈̃́͗͛͋̕ą̸̧̹͚̩͈̱̟̤͍͈̮͆̐͐̃̈́͗͒̑̋̑́̚͝͝c̵͔̘̥̦̩̻̻̬͉͑͆̂̀̈́͋͆̾̄͝r̴̢̟͖͈̙̬̳̹̭̼̰͙͎̫̳͗̽̉̏̒́͗̋̀̂͜͜o̶̧̢̦̱̲͊̍̇̕ṡ̷̨̳̙͈̥̖̦̜̳̹͍̬͙̰̂̔̑̐̉̑̍̅̈̑̾͂̅̚͜͠ͅͅş̷̣̖̋͐̇̎̌̀̎̔̆͆͋̕͜͝ ̸̧̡̹̰̰̥̳̖̬̱͎̯̩͒̓̌͠h̵̡̡͎̰͈͙̞͍̱̬̘̗̬̹̯͇́̓̈́͒͗͂ͅe̷̥̬̓ŗ̵͈̟̹͙̠̮̫͇͚̩̊̐̌̐̒̓̽ͅ ̵̡̟̙̻̗͍̟͎͙͍͈̪͕̺̆̽͂̐̈͐͠l̴̝̥̜̖͇͈̼͇͎̠̜̊̿͋̑̌͛̏̑̇̒̽͒́͛͝ḯ̸̦͐̈́͛̾̈́͝p̷̧̨̧̣̞̜͔͍̑͑͘
But, they resumed with a letter from Iris, apologizing. "I am sorry," it read. "I should have been there for both of you then. Please let me be there for you now," along with some other gushy stuff about how Iris cannot live without Aurora in his life. Aurora responds in kind, and while the letters cease, there were evidence of water damage along the edges of the more recent letters, as if someone had cried into them.
̴̨̧̛̮͈̳͈̜̦̗̘̤̼̜͌̌̒̑͗̋̀̒͑͑̔͒͗͘͝S̸̟͆̀͋͆̒̔͆̾̕h̸͕͕̫̖͇̄͐̀̅̑̿̕͜͠e̸̳̮̜̽̊͋͐̆͌̅̕̕̕͜ ̷̢̧̝̥̜̳͎̥̦̠̲̖͙͕͉̈́̓̋̚r̴̡̖̼̪̰͓̼͈͌̆̀͆́̈̃͆̚̚ẽ̸̡̳̳͕̱̲͉̝̥̳̫͙͎̤̟͙͗́͛̇̓̏͊̃̐͌̑͆̒̎͘͝l̴̢̢̜̲̉̔̿̓̉̑̒͂̆͝͝a̸̯̤̔͘x̷̧̻̼̂̅̐̈͛̈̑̓͠e̵̪͔͕̟̙̻͑̆ḋ̶̳̯̤̑̇̈́̄̂͊̓́͐͋́̆͂̚͜͝͝ ̵̧̡͎̼͚̦̩̱̪͛͜͜h̶̫̦̓̂̏̕̕͝e̴̡̛̹͔̲̞̞͕͍̯̮̎̅̔́̋̄̂̎́͠ͅͅͅr̵̺̜̱̭̜̤̠͖̲͊͒̊s̴̛̥̑̈́̈́̈͝ẹ̸͖̜̮̑̽̀̊̂l̴̛̳͇̜̭̦̩͖̬̅̓̃̑̀͊̋̌͊͆̀̈́̃͘̕͝f̶̢͉̦͔̝̱̖̺͇͉̮̱̟̠̀̍̈̓̐͆̇̿͂̕̚͘͘͝ ̴̨̲̺̙̲̻̻͎̹̞͉̙̽̅̿͗͌̒̈́͛͘̕͜ͅw̷̧̺̰͎͇̼̎͊̓͌͌̏̆̐̈́̆̽́̐̚ẖ̷̢͓̙̲̮̆̈̂̚̚į̷̨̘̝̭̝̜͙̗̥̹̽͊̂ͅl̴̛̯̯̓͗̎͑̿̀̋e̴̢̡̛͔̗͈͕̥̙̥͖̬͖͔̗͕̳̽̅͐̅̌̅̈́͂̇͘ ̶̺̣̩͙̜̺̤̲̠͇̹̖̤͒̎̇̏̀̉̔̽̔̾͝͠h̶̲̝̅̌e̶̯̘̯̻̼̞͈͎̣͉͊̃͒̋̊̈́̈́̽̏͘͜ ̶̛̛͓̫̘̩̦̻̤̺̏̅́̂̈̀w̶͇̥͕̠̦̾̔̋͑͑͌̑̚ą̵̛̛̪̫̥͓̖̟͚̗̝̺̘̅̈́̿̊́̽̿͊͊̂̈̓̐͘ͅs̷̢̧͙̩̳̲̠̤̖̦̦̜̻͚͐͑͂̋̑̅̏̄͘͘ ̶̨̲͓͍̘̳̀̂̓̑́̆͜a̶̮̼̍̍̃̐ẁ̸̛̩̤̠͑̒̄͝á̵͕̙̠̗̮͕̱̹̼̞̈̒͒͆́̽͐̑͜y̷̢̙̘̭͆
Moving to the east vestibule, there was the image of the Silver Tree carved into the stone, fixed with the regal flags of all six houses; the royal purple of house Dreux, crimson of house Deveraux, blue of house Bouclier, steel gray of house Le Epee, the green of house Laureate, and black of an unknown house. Upon closer inspection, it was discovered that the Tree wasn't carved into the wall, it was shaped into it by the roots, and casting spells into it caused the roots to flex and extend, pushing the door open.
̵̡̡̨̡͇͙̻̹̤̠̻͎̰̰̣̓͌̃̉̋͊̌̇̐̄̕̕͠Ę̵̛͚̞̫̖̫̖̠͈̖͇̼͒̂̀̊̓͗̓̆́̇͐͊͆ͅn̶̢̨̲̮͎̲̰̲͙͇̻̓̑̕͜t̸̛̝͓͓̬̱̏̊͂͐͂̆́̇̾́̅̚̕͝͝ȓ̴̡̧͙̻̰̟͚̭̺͎̦̼̖͕̇̐͐̀̿ͅẻ̷̳̮̏̑͆͌̇̈́͝a̵̢̩͙̳̼̗̳̗̠͔̐̀͐́̓͘t̷̛̮͉͚̗̠̣͔̜̹̬̪̱̮͍̽̀́̄̑ͅe̸͉͖̮͚̽̿͐̎͛̂͛̎͐d̶̟̦̞͍̲̾̋̿͂̕ ̶̢̢̧̛̝̻̫̮̽̃̽̋̈̾͊̒̒͜h̵͎͕͈̥̼̣̯̰̬̥̫̟̣͇̱̮̕e̴̡̼̝͓̟͖̘̲̰̭̟͕̓́̓͜ŗ̸̛͈̣͔̟̪̟͕̠̦̤͙̞͕͆̀́̊̌̑̌̾̆̅̎̚͘͜͝͝s̷̡̛̟͓̯͍̘̳̫̘͗̽̄͗̀́̀͛̃̔̈́͊͘͝e̵̝͓͇͋͐́̔̈́̈́́̽̊̐̓l̷̙͎͊̈́̈́̋f̴̦͕̪̙͚̬͖͈̠͂̃̒͌́̑͌̿ ̸̧̜̣̮̭̰͓͕͔̠̇͆́̓͒̐͐͊͘̚͘͜͝͝͝t̶̢̯̪́̔̎̉̓̓̔̋͛ö̷͓̠̹̗̭̩̳̗̳̯̖̬̼̥͇́̅̎̊̌͂͛̎͐ ̶̨̜̰͓̰̯͉̠͉̏́̿͂̈́͒̾͒̈́͒̎̊͂̓̕̕ȧ̶̢̡͙̩͎̦̜̪̥̤̓̔̏̇̀̀͒̂͂̍̈́͆͜͝͠ ̷͍̜͍̥͙͔̲̝̓̏͑͜͜v̶̢͍̔̍i̴̧̤͌͐̍͑̀͗͗͑̎̉͆̃͆͝͝ş̴͎̣̘̹͙̝̻̪̾͐̿͛̎͗̏͌͝į̷̭̣̞̠̲͔̰̭̙̱̣̪̲̥̰̿̎t̸̝͈̗̹͖̉͑̈́͐́͝ ̵̛̫̯͎͚̜̼̲͔̳̺̩̦̟̐̋̇̆̑́̏̔̌̊̿͘͝f̸͖̫̗͙͈͇̋͒͋̓̿̄̆͐̑̉͌̊͌̊͘͠ŕ̶͉̯̙̮͒̔̈́̔̀́̾̅͋͌̽̂̚ơ̵̧̫͔͕̯̦͆̅̂̓̊̚ͅm̸̟̪͍̬̉̃̈̏͋̈́̿̑͗̾̓ ̵̧̢̧̰̠̠̬̖͙͕̪̝̤̟͙̺̽͊͗̈́̒͋̀̄t̷̡̛͕̃̆̊͛́̈́̐͌͗̅͛͘ẖ̵̡̢̧̢̧̼̙̠̘͔̟͖̙̹̭͈̉͗̆̚͝e̷͓̰̖̯̭͖̙͑̋̍͂̀͑̍̃̀̓͂͛͐̈́̿ ̴̡̨͈͇̫̱̥̭̗̹̥́͛̆͐͑ͅF̸̨̡̠̯͖̰͔̜̻̱̞̺̀̍̍͜ę̴̭̝͙̪̹͎̺̽̎̈́̄̂́̈́̚ͅy̴̛͖͙͒̎̐̓͒͑́̚͘ͅ
After a brief conversation with a heavily blighted wood elf who could not remember it's own name, let alone the house it came from, the party solved a puzzle that revealed a thinly veiled metaphor, leading a snaking vine from a statue of the unnamed house to a statue representing house Deveaux on the far side. This revealed the way up, as well as the word "Voylemeur" scrawled across the far wall.
̶̯͈̔͛̉͑͊̀́̑͊̈́̈͝P̵̨̞̘̬̙̺̦̺͇͈̘̘̫̳̀̊̓̒̒͌͗̽͑́̊͘͘i̷̢̦̲̟̯͚͕̜͎͈͎̺̯̻͑̃̐̅͊̂̔̌͆̓͛́̃̓̕͜͠n̴̢̨̺̮͇̦̟̬͎̮͍̖͎͗̀̓̈́̈́̌̇̓͛͜è̸̳̰̅̇̈́̓́͋̓̐̍̈́̽̊͌͘͠ ̷̧̧̬̜̠̮̮̰̟͓͎͌̆̈́a̴͉̖͔͎̱̿̇̈́̎̓̍̿͆̄̔̒́̆͘s̴̱̈́͂͌̍̈́̈͋̍̒̚ ̶̨̺̗̳͍̼̜̱̜͎͉͎̟̘̝̹̱̌̆̎s̵̨͍̩͇̫̝͙̬̖̥̮͑̀͗̀͛̏̑͑ḩ̶̡̤̤̼̝̼͇̅̃͊̉͆̅̇͆͗͝ĕ̴̢̡̘͍̮͈̠͇̼͚̝̘̫̟̘̀̾̓̈́̇̕͘ͅͅ ̷̛͍͗͋́́̐̆̍͂͛͑̂̽̚͝ͅw̴̨͎͍̞̠͙͔̫͇̥̤͖͎̝̰͍̆̃̌̎̇̂̈́̎̊͌o̵̺̗̞̰͊̊̀̊̎͗̌̈́̃͊̈̓̿̑̃̚ụ̷̦͍̬͍̫̼͙̔̎͊̄̌͝ͅļ̷̡̢̤̰͖͙͙̲͌d̴̖̤͚̮͂̑̔͝ ̷͕̥͐̑̅́̋͐̈́̅̉̚̚͝͝f̴̭̮̖͉̺̘͑̽́͋̈́̇̇͛̍̀͌̕͠͠͝ô̵͎̪͖̒͊̈́̎̿̋́̍͠͝r̵̩̯̺̳͖̠̖̻̱͙̔͒̋͗̉̇͠ ̶̨̨̗̰̰͉̠̦̦̩̞͖̜̦́͜o̸̳̩̼̜̊̀̀̾̋̀̀̆̐̎̔̈́͑͘͝n̷̨͎̫̰̣̹̺̟̽͌͛̄̌̈̈͊̽c̵̡̢̢̲̖͉͎̤̱̙̘̪̙̔̇͆̀̊͠ê̵̛̬͈̯̪͙͎̩̦͙͉̏͊̀̆͊̃̍͒͊̀͑̿̋͘̕ ̴̢̣͈̰͙͓͙̘̼̯̝̹͇̮͂̓͋̊͗͛͗̀̉͑̐̉̑̚͝ͅŗ̶̼̮̙̻͎͇̳̟̻̽̑͂̎̈́̉̏́̈̐̋̑̑ę̷̛͈͎̰͓̭̤̤̍̎͒̄̇̇̽̐̉͘̕ṕ̶͓̳͚̯̫͚̬̦̥͋̇̍̓ŗ̷̡̘̱̜͉̳͉̫̤̜͐͋̕͝i̴̫̽͊͗s̷̨̛̛̮̪̰̙̰̑̑̍͒̃̀͋͋͑̇̎̽͘̕͘ẻ̵͇͕̔̀̊̔
To keep this brief, there's some shenanigans with ghosts, a Monty Hall puzzle that ends with Olette getting the goatly spirit of Jackie Daytona, a powerful druid trapped in goat form even in death, before the party fought an ancient construct that defended the secret entrance to a bunker, thought to be held by the mysterious tri-star organization.
̴̧̡̫̩̹̎Ḩ̶̧̺̮̙̥̗̥̼̺̲̥̤͔́̏́̈́̑̅͒͆͘͝ͅí̶͙̗̣̮͔̹͓͔̥̠̀̈̋͐͋̃̀̃̍̉̕͘̚͜͜͠͠ͅs̷̡͇̠̲̝̠̗̟̱̙̣͌̓̊̍̓̀̆̓͋͑ ̷̟̮̫̳̺̞̱͕̤̙̝̝̃͑e̷̢̜͎̽̒̕ǹ̸̘̠͔̙̀̈́̑̊̑̆̑͆̎̓͠ͅḑ̵̧͇̤̦͚̖̙̩͔̠͓͎̺́͋̾͝ ̴̢̼͇̫̣̙̗̯͔͉̥̗̰̀̿̌͌̂̈́͒͆́͜͜ͅé̸̞̼̜̪ń̵̢̺̩͇̯̮̞͕͜ͅs̵̡̠̫̫͇͔̲̥̪̮͈͖̽̒̈͠ͅu̴̫̍̅̄̀̆̒͋͋̾r̶̨̢̰̙̫̲͓͇͉͐̿͂̊̋͑ę̶̧̞̙̱̺̤̪̾̂͊̆͌͘͜s̶̢̛͈̼̱̘̗̀̈́̿͌̂͒̀͑͠͝ ̶̨̨̦͎͎̰̞̝̤̣̘̯͎̅̒̃̋̎́̍̐̕͘͜͜ḣ̶̬̻̜̮̫ȅ̸̫͓̱͆͆̏̇̀̽̌́͂̓̕̚͝r̴̤̳̮̭͌͌̏͊͛̽̎́̽͐͜͠ ̶̻̬̺̩̭͕̰͚̩̓̔̏s̴̢̨̢̼̮̦̲̞̬̪͚̘̪̥̓́̌̽̊̾̊̀͑̉͐͘̚͝͝w̷̗͍̲̲͉̤̮̘̩̫̏̆͋͜͜ë̸̛͈̱̟͓̠́̓̿̍̃̂̏͘e̴̢̡̛̮̙͚̤̠̻͓̖͉̰̙̗̓́̏͑͌̊̇͘ṯ̶͇͉̩̜̰̪͊̈́̉͊͒́͑̌̕͝ ̶̧̢̘̥͓͔̣̮̱̳̑͊̓̈́̐̓̃̍͜ͅr̸̡̲͓͙̙̜̦̀̈́͠͝e̶̱̽̍̀͑̓̂͌̆̔̇̈͑̌̋̕̕ͅl̸̡̖̳̗͚̲̤͇͈͗ͅȩ̶̧̘̮̜̠̻̖͍̘̹̭̣̐̈̓̋͂̏̉̈́̈̍̈́͋̈́̚͝ä̶̢̨̳̦̖͈̤̩͔̙̪s̶̞̈́̌͊̎͐̋͗̿̍̏́͑̈̽͘ẻ̷̡̛̼̤͔͓͔͎̘͔͓̙͚̥̟̈́̽̈́́̉̉͒̉̈́̑͝͠ͅ
While Callisto, Jules, and Lady Bouclier waited outside, the rest of the party pushed their way into a great hall. Opening the doors into this room, magical lights flicker on, filling the grand hall with warm lighting. The room clearly used to be beautiful, a long mahogany table running the length of the middle, filled with maps and charts, the walls lined with shelves heavily laden with books. Above, running the length of the table are grand chandeliers flanked by illustrious tapestries, featuring the sun of Aurelia, the great tower of Zhestia, and trees of Arborea, and at the far end, the strange symbol the party keeps running into on the largest banner of all.
̷͉̳͔̲̭͚̫̓̏̏͒͜I̶̛̹̣͆͆́͐̒́̍́͆͑̇̔̚̕͜͠͠n̴̨̺͍̣̺̺͉͓͎̟̞̮͖̍ͅţ̸͉͇͎̩̟̪̞͚͇͉̘̀͜͜͜è̴̡̧͔̺̭͍̤̫̜̫͇̤̔̍̑̋͆̓͊̀͝ͅņ̷̨̛̻͕̖͚̲͈͕̝̔͠ã̷̧̟̦̥̺̯̲͕̯̹̳̩͉̿̂̓̽͂̿̊̽̾̈́̌̕͘ͅb̷̟̲͎͔̪̍́̒l̸̢̠̣͇̪͉̹̊̈̊͐̂͆̏͆͛͑̈́̌͆e̵̡̘͙͇̲͋̿̌̾̌͑̽̈́̕͝͝ ̵̧̛͔̻̣̥̹̙̺̤̙̲̺̹̟͕̣̪̒̇́͐̀ẉ̴̛̺̙̄̀â̸̡̮̦͕̩̩̖͚͉̥̥̅͌͑̒̋͊̾̿̎̓̊̇͗͋̂̔͜ͅs̴̨̝̗͚̳͖̯̪͎̺͉̪͍͌͛͗̈́̌͘ ̸͉̜̞̮̩̟̟̥͈̬̮̝͘͜ḩ̷̢͖͚͈̺̜͖͆̋ḛ̶̢̩̼͔͑̑̊̍̄̍̈́̇̐̆́̽͘͘ṟ̷̡̮̮͎̥̜̭̩̘͐͛̍̀̌͌͗̈́̎̔̚ ̶̧̨̢̡̧̠̬̮̠̼͓͖̤̮̟̳͑̍̆̉̃̓̑̓̐͌͊̀̄̊̕͠m̶̨̛͚̮̹͍͖͓̱̲̦̻̬̲̉̈́̐͐̾̍̿̈́̂́̓̅̿͝͝ơ̵̹͇̼̜̬̼̟̟̦̬͖̞͙̐̏̊͆̈́̈́͆͘͜t̵̡̺̫̯̝̹̲̗̋̽͗́̾̄̊͆̇̑̒̒͂̔̚͜͝h̶̲͌̆̊͗͑̽̃̒͌̕͜͝e̷̘̠͚̬̖̒͑̽͆͐̽͐͑͛̐̓̌̒̐͠r̶̫͎̘͙̰̘̥͔͚̠̲̣͐̕͜ͅ’̵̧̛͈̼̺͖̠̮̦̼̜͕̟̲͈͈̙̐̋͆̒́̂͑͒́̆̒̓͘͜͝s̷̢̤͓̭͙̬̝̘̈́̄͊̈̒̐̉̈̎́̌̈́̆͘̚ ̵̨̡̺̼͙̃́͒̈̋͛̊̆̄́̕̕͝t̵̺͍̟̣̘̬̘̍̆̒̕͜ö̶̱̘̹̮̼̗̩̪̫͈̫͗̈́́̃̅͊͐̓̉͑̈́͝͝u̷̧̢̼̗͓͕̺̖̿͐̅̓̿͌̓͂́̀͜c̴͎̯͖͉̙̪̽̄̇́̀͗̓͌h̴̨̥̥͎͖̥̣͚̳͓̟͚̭͌̆͛̒̋̊͊̿́̍̽͋͛̚̕͝
Were it not for the destruction, it would be breathtaking. While it clearly took place quite a long time ago, it is still painfully prevalent. The chandeliers hang at strange angles, broken from their supports, the banners are moldered and withering away with age, and the bookshelves haven't faired much better. But worst of all are the two dozen bodies strewn throughout the room. Their faces contorted in visions of agony, their armor blasted away by some tremendous force. A black fluid fills their veins near their ancient wounds and a black smoke seems to still simmer from their corpses.
̷̻̲̞͕̮̥͚̻̘̻̲͓̣͎̳̮̎̅Ņ̷̧͇͍̼̮̺͉̣̗̦̬̬̇̉͆̓̒̇̋̾̑̀̌͆͘̚ǫ̵̦͎̤͈̟̦͕̀͐̉͐͊̊̐̃̑̑̎͘͜w̴̡̧̭̺̥̬̙̥̱̪̟͆̓̓͗͌̍͆͠ ̵̡̦̱̺̩͈͈̻̭͚̖͚͈̮͒̀̆̿̆̎͑̂͌͠͝f̷̛̻̹̟̝̩̤̪͒͗̂͋̇͒̂͛ó̶̧̯͚͓̥̯͉̹̥̯̲̙̮̰͛̎̈́̆̽̕u̶̡͈̜̹͇̬͊̄͆̿̃̄͆͊̈́̀̒͗̆̍͘͝ņ̶͈̤̞̖͙̘̂̒́̎̔̾͗͊̀̚̚͜͠d̴̢̨͍̊͋̍̉̃͠ ̶̧̛͚͉̜̘͋̐͊̄̔͗̏́͛͠t̵̢̨͈͚̟̩͕̳͖̲̳̦̖͋̈̀ó̷͍̹̼͈̈̌̇̾̂̓̀̀̈́͝ ̶̻̻̟̤̼̬͓͖̽͂͛̈̓̀͋̒̈́͒̕̚͜͠b̴̡̦͚̬̹͌̒̊͐̀͒͒̇̒̋̐̈̕̕͜͝͝e̴̛͈͚̟͍͙͔̮̗͌̀̅̐͋͌̉̓͌̅̾ ̸̡̡͈̤̻̖̙̹̗̘̥̥̰̗̪͉͓̍̈́͂́̎̇͝t̵̖͑͛̇̾̉̂͂͐̃̕̚̕͝͝ò̴͉͇̱͚̈́͊̋̾͘̕̚ǫ̶̙̹̦̜̺̼̖̟̟̳̤͇͕̠̠̺͝ ̴̨̡͉̭͍̱͍͙̯͍͙͇̲̓̇͛̀̆̀͒͂͘͜͜ṁ̸̫̭͖̙̤̬̠̣͖̩̮̭͌̌͋̃͘̚͝ͅü̴̧̢̖͍͇̖̣̟̣̗̳͈̖͖̙͍̉̓͑̊̉͆̽́͂̾͜͠c̷̡̝͉̞͒̽̄̏̒͂̄̇͌̓̇͐̂̄́̉͝h̸̫͕͎͙̟͚̻̯͇̰̞̲̳̯̉͊̿̓̓͑̍̏̐̔̊͊̚̚
Walking in, Vanderlith seemed to suffer a panic attack, green flame starting to spark from his eyes as he screamed, seeing flashes of what this place was when it was in use; a beautiful trove of knowledge, and all the people struggling to keep it safe. His vision flashed between the people he knew, Kenora, Berindel, Naorim of the Burning Mane, Angora Crown of Arborea, the maddening rhythm of his heart tore his vision between the smiling faces of the past and the pain of the present. He knows these people, he has fought beside them and would die for them in a heartbeat, but they are husks here before him. And he doesn't know why he loves them.
One corpse seems to have died protecting something. Investigating her corpse, Olette touched it and was touched by it, being teleported to another time, seeing a memory through another's eyes. She stood in this vault as it burned with black fire, defiantly staring down the being of pure darkness punctuated only by a pair of painfully bright white eyes that bore down into every fiber of her being. She is the glorious mind of her age, the Crown of Arborea, this is her inner sanctum, the flags of her allied nations wave around her, and she put up a most glorious fight. But her strength wanes, and the last thing Olette sees as the darkness consumes her is her flag, three rising stars on a midnight field waving shakily above her.
As Olette snaps back to the present, a ghostly hand could be seen retreating from her brainstem, and she plucked a letter from the pocket of the deceased archmage. After some clever deciphering and detective work, it was translated from an ancient text to the following:
The Calamity has come for us. The Order of Omniscient Dawn has made the Darkness flesh and sent it to tear down our walls. The Pathfinders are no more. House Voylemeur is no more. We have lost.
After saying the name of the Adversary out loud, a secret hatch clicks open, revealing the Kings Atlas.
More ghost shenanigans! This time, it revealed a large allip that had been stalking the party for the first time, as well as hundreds of other, less powerful spirits that harbored the pained memories of the past. One of these touched Vanderlith, sending him into the a memory of the Monarch, towering high above the fields of battle in glorious golden plate armor, wreath of radiant light shining behind its head as it lifts a single hand, pulling Kyrr into the sky, while the other rakes a sword of fire through the hillsides of Fulminaria, cutting the vision with a blinding light. But, the party made it upstairs.
Coming out on top, the party witnesses four Inquisitors using the roots of the tree to do something... weird. They each were entangled with it, and appeared to be exchanging some sort of psychic energy. When they fought, the Inquisitors were sloppy, almost drunk, and were dispatched with ease. One was left alive to question, but that was held off for later, as the party had come to a huge door, emblazoned in the center with the silvery image of a dragon's head.
J̸̢̧͇̦͙̼̺͓̻̜͋u̶̧̬͚̤̥̱̦̺͍̤͑̎̅̅͆̆̀͘͝ͅs̶͖̻͙̖͓͕̊̎̒̊́̍͒̃̔̍̆͐͗̈́̌͘ͅt̶̢̡̛̛̛̙͔͖̣͍̪̙͔̰̟̦̿̿͌̎̈́̓̍̅͘͜͜͝ ̶̯͚̼̜̥̫͔̦̂̍͒͊̃͌̈̏ā̵̢̢͍͚̤̪͈̦̚ ̸̧̢̲͙͍̯̯̬̙̯̺͓̰͕͊̀̐̋̒̅̽̂̊͜͝ͅm̷̢̨̢̖͓̮̰̗̠̭̖̯̜̤͓̬̒̍̏͌̒̈́͒̚o̶̧͔̹̞͉̹̟̥͚̰̣̖̓̔m̶̦̬̠̻̪̭̭̲̗̃͂̑̃̊͗͐͊͝͝ͅͅę̷̼͍̦̯͕̄̈́͑̊͐̉̈́̀̈́̒ň̶̹ẗ̶̢͎͙̟̪̹́̀͗̈͌̂̑̂͐̿̊̕͜͝ ̵̠̣͙̜̹̹̱̣͉͕͎̙͓̠̳̉̈́̿̒̄̈̃̽̑̿͘͝ͅs̷̨̧͖̪͓̣̳̺̭̞̙͖̠̯̗̳̎̒̍̇̒͐͛̏̔͘͝h̷̺̣̗̱̳̏͊͗̾͌̇̓̿͋̚ē̶̢̢̠̎̏̊̈́̈́̎́̔̀̈́͛̃͘͠͠ ̶̟̞̺̖͚̘͎̱͕̘̭̲̼͊́́̈̅́̓̏͝l̴̜̬̺̳͖̖̟̻͇͕̺͍͎͖̏̓̐̏̈́ͅe̶̯̗̜͖̠̱̟̬̦̤̊̈́̍ṱ̸̢̡̧̬̭͍̩̖̼͙̜̝̓̍̑͑̈͌̽͛̅͒̍̍̕̕̚͠ ̸̛̮̜̗̋̿̍̅̾̀̆̚͝s̷̱͖̟̠̭̦̎̿̔̾͝l̷̨͓͛͘ǐ̷̛͔͈̗̞̟̓͒̃͑͂̈̉̊̈́͂̊́͝͠͝p̸̛̰͇̲͎̼̻͎̮̟̱͖̪͖̖̪̫̦̀̊̿̏̐̑́̿̃͐̕͘
The letters detail a tryst between two lovers, Iris of House Aurelian and Aurora of House Dreux. The letters follow the flow of their relationship, beginning with Iris being enraptured with Aurora's beauty, and Aurora flattering something she call's Iris' "sparkle." The amorous letters go back and forth for some time between the two, complete with explicit drawings at some points. The phrase "throbbing, prismatic tree-shaker" is thrown around more than once in reference to Iris' member. But after the first signing of the Accords, Aurora sent Iris a message that essential said "If you will not see her, then you will not see me" and the letters stopped for ten years.
̶̛̛͚̊̋̽̆͋̏̈̀̂̕͠͠O̶̢̝̲̱̐͆̆́͗̀̓̉͊̒́̓͒̀́̚͜ͅn̸̻͂͐̔̽́l̶͖̼̤͚̠͐ͅÿ̴̢̠̫̹̖̹̣̬͕͉̩͕̝̲͓͗́̽͂͂́̀̿̚͝ͅ ̴̡̩͇̻̝̭̪̮͖̦̓̈́̄́̾̊̐̎̎̊͘͘͝͝a̸̳͓̞̍͋͛͂̈́͆͆́̐̈́͐͐̊͛͌̂ ̵̡̹̖̥̥̠̟̼̩̩̦͇͖̀͗̑̽̋́̓́́̂̀͝m̵̧͈̖̲̼͉̙͓̦̜̼͈͚̜̺͎̉̃̆́̄̎̽̈̇̑̔̇̌̆u̴̢̞̪̫̫̬͖̫̽̆̈́͐͗r̷̡͔̰͓̫̬͉̯͔͒͒̔̈́͗́̑͐̐̈́̈́͒̒̈̐̚ḿ̷̨̰͓͔̙̙̺̯̤̣̹̳̞̽̏̃ụ̴̧͇̱͙̪͕̜́͂̄̃̈͋͘͜͜r̷̨̢̨̛̘͙̜̬̦̽ ̵̘̬̀͗̇͗̍̈̃́͗͛͋̕ą̸̧̹͚̩͈̱̟̤͍͈̮͆̐͐̃̈́͗͒̑̋̑́̚͝͝c̵͔̘̥̦̩̻̻̬͉͑͆̂̀̈́͋͆̾̄͝r̴̢̟͖͈̙̬̳̹̭̼̰͙͎̫̳͗̽̉̏̒́͗̋̀̂͜͜o̶̧̢̦̱̲͊̍̇̕ṡ̷̨̳̙͈̥̖̦̜̳̹͍̬͙̰̂̔̑̐̉̑̍̅̈̑̾͂̅̚͜͠ͅͅş̷̣̖̋͐̇̎̌̀̎̔̆͆͋̕͜͝ ̸̧̡̹̰̰̥̳̖̬̱͎̯̩͒̓̌͠h̵̡̡͎̰͈͙̞͍̱̬̘̗̬̹̯͇́̓̈́͒͗͂ͅe̷̥̬̓ŗ̵͈̟̹͙̠̮̫͇͚̩̊̐̌̐̒̓̽ͅ ̵̡̟̙̻̗͍̟͎͙͍͈̪͕̺̆̽͂̐̈͐͠l̴̝̥̜̖͇͈̼͇͎̠̜̊̿͋̑̌͛̏̑̇̒̽͒́͛͝ḯ̸̦͐̈́͛̾̈́͝p̷̧̨̧̣̞̜͔͍̑͑͘
But, they resumed with a letter from Iris, apologizing. "I am sorry," it read. "I should have been there for both of you then. Please let me be there for you now," along with some other gushy stuff about how Iris cannot live without Aurora in his life. Aurora responds in kind, and while the letters cease, there were evidence of water damage along the edges of the more recent letters, as if someone had cried into them.
̴̨̧̛̮͈̳͈̜̦̗̘̤̼̜͌̌̒̑͗̋̀̒͑͑̔͒͗͘͝S̸̟͆̀͋͆̒̔͆̾̕h̸͕͕̫̖͇̄͐̀̅̑̿̕͜͠e̸̳̮̜̽̊͋͐̆͌̅̕̕̕͜ ̷̢̧̝̥̜̳͎̥̦̠̲̖͙͕͉̈́̓̋̚r̴̡̖̼̪̰͓̼͈͌̆̀͆́̈̃͆̚̚ẽ̸̡̳̳͕̱̲͉̝̥̳̫͙͎̤̟͙͗́͛̇̓̏͊̃̐͌̑͆̒̎͘͝l̴̢̢̜̲̉̔̿̓̉̑̒͂̆͝͝a̸̯̤̔͘x̷̧̻̼̂̅̐̈͛̈̑̓͠e̵̪͔͕̟̙̻͑̆ḋ̶̳̯̤̑̇̈́̄̂͊̓́͐͋́̆͂̚͜͝͝ ̵̧̡͎̼͚̦̩̱̪͛͜͜h̶̫̦̓̂̏̕̕͝e̴̡̛̹͔̲̞̞͕͍̯̮̎̅̔́̋̄̂̎́͠ͅͅͅr̵̺̜̱̭̜̤̠͖̲͊͒̊s̴̛̥̑̈́̈́̈͝ẹ̸͖̜̮̑̽̀̊̂l̴̛̳͇̜̭̦̩͖̬̅̓̃̑̀͊̋̌͊͆̀̈́̃͘̕͝f̶̢͉̦͔̝̱̖̺͇͉̮̱̟̠̀̍̈̓̐͆̇̿͂̕̚͘͘͝ ̴̨̲̺̙̲̻̻͎̹̞͉̙̽̅̿͗͌̒̈́͛͘̕͜ͅw̷̧̺̰͎͇̼̎͊̓͌͌̏̆̐̈́̆̽́̐̚ẖ̷̢͓̙̲̮̆̈̂̚̚į̷̨̘̝̭̝̜͙̗̥̹̽͊̂ͅl̴̛̯̯̓͗̎͑̿̀̋e̴̢̡̛͔̗͈͕̥̙̥͖̬͖͔̗͕̳̽̅͐̅̌̅̈́͂̇͘ ̶̺̣̩͙̜̺̤̲̠͇̹̖̤͒̎̇̏̀̉̔̽̔̾͝͠h̶̲̝̅̌e̶̯̘̯̻̼̞͈͎̣͉͊̃͒̋̊̈́̈́̽̏͘͜ ̶̛̛͓̫̘̩̦̻̤̺̏̅́̂̈̀w̶͇̥͕̠̦̾̔̋͑͑͌̑̚ą̵̛̛̪̫̥͓̖̟͚̗̝̺̘̅̈́̿̊́̽̿͊͊̂̈̓̐͘ͅs̷̢̧͙̩̳̲̠̤̖̦̦̜̻͚͐͑͂̋̑̅̏̄͘͘ ̶̨̲͓͍̘̳̀̂̓̑́̆͜a̶̮̼̍̍̃̐ẁ̸̛̩̤̠͑̒̄͝á̵͕̙̠̗̮͕̱̹̼̞̈̒͒͆́̽͐̑͜y̷̢̙̘̭͆
Moving to the east vestibule, there was the image of the Silver Tree carved into the stone, fixed with the regal flags of all six houses; the royal purple of house Dreux, crimson of house Deveraux, blue of house Bouclier, steel gray of house Le Epee, the green of house Laureate, and black of an unknown house. Upon closer inspection, it was discovered that the Tree wasn't carved into the wall, it was shaped into it by the roots, and casting spells into it caused the roots to flex and extend, pushing the door open.
̵̡̡̨̡͇͙̻̹̤̠̻͎̰̰̣̓͌̃̉̋͊̌̇̐̄̕̕͠Ę̵̛͚̞̫̖̫̖̠͈̖͇̼͒̂̀̊̓͗̓̆́̇͐͊͆ͅn̶̢̨̲̮͎̲̰̲͙͇̻̓̑̕͜t̸̛̝͓͓̬̱̏̊͂͐͂̆́̇̾́̅̚̕͝͝ȓ̴̡̧͙̻̰̟͚̭̺͎̦̼̖͕̇̐͐̀̿ͅẻ̷̳̮̏̑͆͌̇̈́͝a̵̢̩͙̳̼̗̳̗̠͔̐̀͐́̓͘t̷̛̮͉͚̗̠̣͔̜̹̬̪̱̮͍̽̀́̄̑ͅe̸͉͖̮͚̽̿͐̎͛̂͛̎͐d̶̟̦̞͍̲̾̋̿͂̕ ̶̢̢̧̛̝̻̫̮̽̃̽̋̈̾͊̒̒͜h̵͎͕͈̥̼̣̯̰̬̥̫̟̣͇̱̮̕e̴̡̼̝͓̟͖̘̲̰̭̟͕̓́̓͜ŗ̸̛͈̣͔̟̪̟͕̠̦̤͙̞͕͆̀́̊̌̑̌̾̆̅̎̚͘͜͝͝s̷̡̛̟͓̯͍̘̳̫̘͗̽̄͗̀́̀͛̃̔̈́͊͘͝e̵̝͓͇͋͐́̔̈́̈́́̽̊̐̓l̷̙͎͊̈́̈́̋f̴̦͕̪̙͚̬͖͈̠͂̃̒͌́̑͌̿ ̸̧̜̣̮̭̰͓͕͔̠̇͆́̓͒̐͐͊͘̚͘͜͝͝͝t̶̢̯̪́̔̎̉̓̓̔̋͛ö̷͓̠̹̗̭̩̳̗̳̯̖̬̼̥͇́̅̎̊̌͂͛̎͐ ̶̨̜̰͓̰̯͉̠͉̏́̿͂̈́͒̾͒̈́͒̎̊͂̓̕̕ȧ̶̢̡͙̩͎̦̜̪̥̤̓̔̏̇̀̀͒̂͂̍̈́͆͜͝͠ ̷͍̜͍̥͙͔̲̝̓̏͑͜͜v̶̢͍̔̍i̴̧̤͌͐̍͑̀͗͗͑̎̉͆̃͆͝͝ş̴͎̣̘̹͙̝̻̪̾͐̿͛̎͗̏͌͝į̷̭̣̞̠̲͔̰̭̙̱̣̪̲̥̰̿̎t̸̝͈̗̹͖̉͑̈́͐́͝ ̵̛̫̯͎͚̜̼̲͔̳̺̩̦̟̐̋̇̆̑́̏̔̌̊̿͘͝f̸͖̫̗͙͈͇̋͒͋̓̿̄̆͐̑̉͌̊͌̊͘͠ŕ̶͉̯̙̮͒̔̈́̔̀́̾̅͋͌̽̂̚ơ̵̧̫͔͕̯̦͆̅̂̓̊̚ͅm̸̟̪͍̬̉̃̈̏͋̈́̿̑͗̾̓ ̵̧̢̧̰̠̠̬̖͙͕̪̝̤̟͙̺̽͊͗̈́̒͋̀̄t̷̡̛͕̃̆̊͛́̈́̐͌͗̅͛͘ẖ̵̡̢̧̢̧̼̙̠̘͔̟͖̙̹̭͈̉͗̆̚͝e̷͓̰̖̯̭͖̙͑̋̍͂̀͑̍̃̀̓͂͛͐̈́̿ ̴̡̨͈͇̫̱̥̭̗̹̥́͛̆͐͑ͅF̸̨̡̠̯͖̰͔̜̻̱̞̺̀̍̍͜ę̴̭̝͙̪̹͎̺̽̎̈́̄̂́̈́̚ͅy̴̛͖͙͒̎̐̓͒͑́̚͘ͅ
After a brief conversation with a heavily blighted wood elf who could not remember it's own name, let alone the house it came from, the party solved a puzzle that revealed a thinly veiled metaphor, leading a snaking vine from a statue of the unnamed house to a statue representing house Deveaux on the far side. This revealed the way up, as well as the word "Voylemeur" scrawled across the far wall.
̶̯͈̔͛̉͑͊̀́̑͊̈́̈͝P̵̨̞̘̬̙̺̦̺͇͈̘̘̫̳̀̊̓̒̒͌͗̽͑́̊͘͘i̷̢̦̲̟̯͚͕̜͎͈͎̺̯̻͑̃̐̅͊̂̔̌͆̓͛́̃̓̕͜͠n̴̢̨̺̮͇̦̟̬͎̮͍̖͎͗̀̓̈́̈́̌̇̓͛͜è̸̳̰̅̇̈́̓́͋̓̐̍̈́̽̊͌͘͠ ̷̧̧̬̜̠̮̮̰̟͓͎͌̆̈́a̴͉̖͔͎̱̿̇̈́̎̓̍̿͆̄̔̒́̆͘s̴̱̈́͂͌̍̈́̈͋̍̒̚ ̶̨̺̗̳͍̼̜̱̜͎͉͎̟̘̝̹̱̌̆̎s̵̨͍̩͇̫̝͙̬̖̥̮͑̀͗̀͛̏̑͑ḩ̶̡̤̤̼̝̼͇̅̃͊̉͆̅̇͆͗͝ĕ̴̢̡̘͍̮͈̠͇̼͚̝̘̫̟̘̀̾̓̈́̇̕͘ͅͅ ̷̛͍͗͋́́̐̆̍͂͛͑̂̽̚͝ͅw̴̨͎͍̞̠͙͔̫͇̥̤͖͎̝̰͍̆̃̌̎̇̂̈́̎̊͌o̵̺̗̞̰͊̊̀̊̎͗̌̈́̃͊̈̓̿̑̃̚ụ̷̦͍̬͍̫̼͙̔̎͊̄̌͝ͅļ̷̡̢̤̰͖͙͙̲͌d̴̖̤͚̮͂̑̔͝ ̷͕̥͐̑̅́̋͐̈́̅̉̚̚͝͝f̴̭̮̖͉̺̘͑̽́͋̈́̇̇͛̍̀͌̕͠͠͝ô̵͎̪͖̒͊̈́̎̿̋́̍͠͝r̵̩̯̺̳͖̠̖̻̱͙̔͒̋͗̉̇͠ ̶̨̨̗̰̰͉̠̦̦̩̞͖̜̦́͜o̸̳̩̼̜̊̀̀̾̋̀̀̆̐̎̔̈́͑͘͝n̷̨͎̫̰̣̹̺̟̽͌͛̄̌̈̈͊̽c̵̡̢̢̲̖͉͎̤̱̙̘̪̙̔̇͆̀̊͠ê̵̛̬͈̯̪͙͎̩̦͙͉̏͊̀̆͊̃̍͒͊̀͑̿̋͘̕ ̴̢̣͈̰͙͓͙̘̼̯̝̹͇̮͂̓͋̊͗͛͗̀̉͑̐̉̑̚͝ͅŗ̶̼̮̙̻͎͇̳̟̻̽̑͂̎̈́̉̏́̈̐̋̑̑ę̷̛͈͎̰͓̭̤̤̍̎͒̄̇̇̽̐̉͘̕ṕ̶͓̳͚̯̫͚̬̦̥͋̇̍̓ŗ̷̡̘̱̜͉̳͉̫̤̜͐͋̕͝i̴̫̽͊͗s̷̨̛̛̮̪̰̙̰̑̑̍͒̃̀͋͋͑̇̎̽͘̕͘ẻ̵͇͕̔̀̊̔
To keep this brief, there's some shenanigans with ghosts, a Monty Hall puzzle that ends with Olette getting the goatly spirit of Jackie Daytona, a powerful druid trapped in goat form even in death, before the party fought an ancient construct that defended the secret entrance to a bunker, thought to be held by the mysterious tri-star organization.
̴̧̡̫̩̹̎Ḩ̶̧̺̮̙̥̗̥̼̺̲̥̤͔́̏́̈́̑̅͒͆͘͝ͅí̶͙̗̣̮͔̹͓͔̥̠̀̈̋͐͋̃̀̃̍̉̕͘̚͜͜͠͠ͅs̷̡͇̠̲̝̠̗̟̱̙̣͌̓̊̍̓̀̆̓͋͑ ̷̟̮̫̳̺̞̱͕̤̙̝̝̃͑e̷̢̜͎̽̒̕ǹ̸̘̠͔̙̀̈́̑̊̑̆̑͆̎̓͠ͅḑ̵̧͇̤̦͚̖̙̩͔̠͓͎̺́͋̾͝ ̴̢̼͇̫̣̙̗̯͔͉̥̗̰̀̿̌͌̂̈́͒͆́͜͜ͅé̸̞̼̜̪ń̵̢̺̩͇̯̮̞͕͜ͅs̵̡̠̫̫͇͔̲̥̪̮͈͖̽̒̈͠ͅu̴̫̍̅̄̀̆̒͋͋̾r̶̨̢̰̙̫̲͓͇͉͐̿͂̊̋͑ę̶̧̞̙̱̺̤̪̾̂͊̆͌͘͜s̶̢̛͈̼̱̘̗̀̈́̿͌̂͒̀͑͠͝ ̶̨̨̦͎͎̰̞̝̤̣̘̯͎̅̒̃̋̎́̍̐̕͘͜͜ḣ̶̬̻̜̮̫ȅ̸̫͓̱͆͆̏̇̀̽̌́͂̓̕̚͝r̴̤̳̮̭͌͌̏͊͛̽̎́̽͐͜͠ ̶̻̬̺̩̭͕̰͚̩̓̔̏s̴̢̨̢̼̮̦̲̞̬̪͚̘̪̥̓́̌̽̊̾̊̀͑̉͐͘̚͝͝w̷̗͍̲̲͉̤̮̘̩̫̏̆͋͜͜ë̸̛͈̱̟͓̠́̓̿̍̃̂̏͘e̴̢̡̛̮̙͚̤̠̻͓̖͉̰̙̗̓́̏͑͌̊̇͘ṯ̶͇͉̩̜̰̪͊̈́̉͊͒́͑̌̕͝ ̶̧̢̘̥͓͔̣̮̱̳̑͊̓̈́̐̓̃̍͜ͅr̸̡̲͓͙̙̜̦̀̈́͠͝e̶̱̽̍̀͑̓̂͌̆̔̇̈͑̌̋̕̕ͅl̸̡̖̳̗͚̲̤͇͈͗ͅȩ̶̧̘̮̜̠̻̖͍̘̹̭̣̐̈̓̋͂̏̉̈́̈̍̈́͋̈́̚͝ä̶̢̨̳̦̖͈̤̩͔̙̪s̶̞̈́̌͊̎͐̋͗̿̍̏́͑̈̽͘ẻ̷̡̛̼̤͔͓͔͎̘͔͓̙͚̥̟̈́̽̈́́̉̉͒̉̈́̑͝͠ͅ
While Callisto, Jules, and Lady Bouclier waited outside, the rest of the party pushed their way into a great hall. Opening the doors into this room, magical lights flicker on, filling the grand hall with warm lighting. The room clearly used to be beautiful, a long mahogany table running the length of the middle, filled with maps and charts, the walls lined with shelves heavily laden with books. Above, running the length of the table are grand chandeliers flanked by illustrious tapestries, featuring the sun of Aurelia, the great tower of Zhestia, and trees of Arborea, and at the far end, the strange symbol the party keeps running into on the largest banner of all.
̷͉̳͔̲̭͚̫̓̏̏͒͜I̶̛̹̣͆͆́͐̒́̍́͆͑̇̔̚̕͜͠͠n̴̨̺͍̣̺̺͉͓͎̟̞̮͖̍ͅţ̸͉͇͎̩̟̪̞͚͇͉̘̀͜͜͜è̴̡̧͔̺̭͍̤̫̜̫͇̤̔̍̑̋͆̓͊̀͝ͅņ̷̨̛̻͕̖͚̲͈͕̝̔͠ã̷̧̟̦̥̺̯̲͕̯̹̳̩͉̿̂̓̽͂̿̊̽̾̈́̌̕͘ͅb̷̟̲͎͔̪̍́̒l̸̢̠̣͇̪͉̹̊̈̊͐̂͆̏͆͛͑̈́̌͆e̵̡̘͙͇̲͋̿̌̾̌͑̽̈́̕͝͝ ̵̧̛͔̻̣̥̹̙̺̤̙̲̺̹̟͕̣̪̒̇́͐̀ẉ̴̛̺̙̄̀â̸̡̮̦͕̩̩̖͚͉̥̥̅͌͑̒̋͊̾̿̎̓̊̇͗͋̂̔͜ͅs̴̨̝̗͚̳͖̯̪͎̺͉̪͍͌͛͗̈́̌͘ ̸͉̜̞̮̩̟̟̥͈̬̮̝͘͜ḩ̷̢͖͚͈̺̜͖͆̋ḛ̶̢̩̼͔͑̑̊̍̄̍̈́̇̐̆́̽͘͘ṟ̷̡̮̮͎̥̜̭̩̘͐͛̍̀̌͌͗̈́̎̔̚ ̶̧̨̢̡̧̠̬̮̠̼͓͖̤̮̟̳͑̍̆̉̃̓̑̓̐͌͊̀̄̊̕͠m̶̨̛͚̮̹͍͖͓̱̲̦̻̬̲̉̈́̐͐̾̍̿̈́̂́̓̅̿͝͝ơ̵̹͇̼̜̬̼̟̟̦̬͖̞͙̐̏̊͆̈́̈́͆͘͜t̵̡̺̫̯̝̹̲̗̋̽͗́̾̄̊͆̇̑̒̒͂̔̚͜͝h̶̲͌̆̊͗͑̽̃̒͌̕͜͝e̷̘̠͚̬̖̒͑̽͆͐̽͐͑͛̐̓̌̒̐͠r̶̫͎̘͙̰̘̥͔͚̠̲̣͐̕͜ͅ’̵̧̛͈̼̺͖̠̮̦̼̜͕̟̲͈͈̙̐̋͆̒́̂͑͒́̆̒̓͘͜͝s̷̢̤͓̭͙̬̝̘̈́̄͊̈̒̐̉̈̎́̌̈́̆͘̚ ̵̨̡̺̼͙̃́͒̈̋͛̊̆̄́̕̕͝t̵̺͍̟̣̘̬̘̍̆̒̕͜ö̶̱̘̹̮̼̗̩̪̫͈̫͗̈́́̃̅͊͐̓̉͑̈́͝͝u̷̧̢̼̗͓͕̺̖̿͐̅̓̿͌̓͂́̀͜c̴͎̯͖͉̙̪̽̄̇́̀͗̓͌h̴̨̥̥͎͖̥̣͚̳͓̟͚̭͌̆͛̒̋̊͊̿́̍̽͋͛̚̕͝
Were it not for the destruction, it would be breathtaking. While it clearly took place quite a long time ago, it is still painfully prevalent. The chandeliers hang at strange angles, broken from their supports, the banners are moldered and withering away with age, and the bookshelves haven't faired much better. But worst of all are the two dozen bodies strewn throughout the room. Their faces contorted in visions of agony, their armor blasted away by some tremendous force. A black fluid fills their veins near their ancient wounds and a black smoke seems to still simmer from their corpses.
̷̻̲̞͕̮̥͚̻̘̻̲͓̣͎̳̮̎̅Ņ̷̧͇͍̼̮̺͉̣̗̦̬̬̇̉͆̓̒̇̋̾̑̀̌͆͘̚ǫ̵̦͎̤͈̟̦͕̀͐̉͐͊̊̐̃̑̑̎͘͜w̴̡̧̭̺̥̬̙̥̱̪̟͆̓̓͗͌̍͆͠ ̵̡̦̱̺̩͈͈̻̭͚̖͚͈̮͒̀̆̿̆̎͑̂͌͠͝f̷̛̻̹̟̝̩̤̪͒͗̂͋̇͒̂͛ó̶̧̯͚͓̥̯͉̹̥̯̲̙̮̰͛̎̈́̆̽̕u̶̡͈̜̹͇̬͊̄͆̿̃̄͆͊̈́̀̒͗̆̍͘͝ņ̶͈̤̞̖͙̘̂̒́̎̔̾͗͊̀̚̚͜͠d̴̢̨͍̊͋̍̉̃͠ ̶̧̛͚͉̜̘͋̐͊̄̔͗̏́͛͠t̵̢̨͈͚̟̩͕̳͖̲̳̦̖͋̈̀ó̷͍̹̼͈̈̌̇̾̂̓̀̀̈́͝ ̶̻̻̟̤̼̬͓͖̽͂͛̈̓̀͋̒̈́͒̕̚͜͠b̴̡̦͚̬̹͌̒̊͐̀͒͒̇̒̋̐̈̕̕͜͝͝e̴̛͈͚̟͍͙͔̮̗͌̀̅̐͋͌̉̓͌̅̾ ̸̡̡͈̤̻̖̙̹̗̘̥̥̰̗̪͉͓̍̈́͂́̎̇͝t̵̖͑͛̇̾̉̂͂͐̃̕̚̕͝͝ò̴͉͇̱͚̈́͊̋̾͘̕̚ǫ̶̙̹̦̜̺̼̖̟̟̳̤͇͕̠̠̺͝ ̴̨̡͉̭͍̱͍͙̯͍͙͇̲̓̇͛̀̆̀͒͂͘͜͜ṁ̸̫̭͖̙̤̬̠̣͖̩̮̭͌̌͋̃͘̚͝ͅü̴̧̢̖͍͇̖̣̟̣̗̳͈̖͖̙͍̉̓͑̊̉͆̽́͂̾͜͠c̷̡̝͉̞͒̽̄̏̒͂̄̇͌̓̇͐̂̄́̉͝h̸̫͕͎͙̟͚̻̯͇̰̞̲̳̯̉͊̿̓̓͑̍̏̐̔̊͊̚̚
Walking in, Vanderlith seemed to suffer a panic attack, green flame starting to spark from his eyes as he screamed, seeing flashes of what this place was when it was in use; a beautiful trove of knowledge, and all the people struggling to keep it safe. His vision flashed between the people he knew, Kenora, Berindel, Naorim of the Burning Mane, Angora Crown of Arborea, the maddening rhythm of his heart tore his vision between the smiling faces of the past and the pain of the present. He knows these people, he has fought beside them and would die for them in a heartbeat, but they are husks here before him. And he doesn't know why he loves them.
One corpse seems to have died protecting something. Investigating her corpse, Olette touched it and was touched by it, being teleported to another time, seeing a memory through another's eyes. She stood in this vault as it burned with black fire, defiantly staring down the being of pure darkness punctuated only by a pair of painfully bright white eyes that bore down into every fiber of her being. She is the glorious mind of her age, the Crown of Arborea, this is her inner sanctum, the flags of her allied nations wave around her, and she put up a most glorious fight. But her strength wanes, and the last thing Olette sees as the darkness consumes her is her flag, three rising stars on a midnight field waving shakily above her.
As Olette snaps back to the present, a ghostly hand could be seen retreating from her brainstem, and she plucked a letter from the pocket of the deceased archmage. After some clever deciphering and detective work, it was translated from an ancient text to the following:
The Calamity has come for us. The Order of Omniscient Dawn has made the Darkness flesh and sent it to tear down our walls. The Pathfinders are no more. House Voylemeur is no more. We have lost.
After saying the name of the Adversary out loud, a secret hatch clicks open, revealing the Kings Atlas.
More ghost shenanigans! This time, it revealed a large allip that had been stalking the party for the first time, as well as hundreds of other, less powerful spirits that harbored the pained memories of the past. One of these touched Vanderlith, sending him into the a memory of the Monarch, towering high above the fields of battle in glorious golden plate armor, wreath of radiant light shining behind its head as it lifts a single hand, pulling Kyrr into the sky, while the other rakes a sword of fire through the hillsides of Fulminaria, cutting the vision with a blinding light. But, the party made it upstairs.
Coming out on top, the party witnesses four Inquisitors using the roots of the tree to do something... weird. They each were entangled with it, and appeared to be exchanging some sort of psychic energy. When they fought, the Inquisitors were sloppy, almost drunk, and were dispatched with ease. One was left alive to question, but that was held off for later, as the party had come to a huge door, emblazoned in the center with the silvery image of a dragon's head.
Report Date
30 Jul 2022
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