Candlekeep

"First Reader," Aiwë begins with a seriousness the others have never seen on her before. "Wirrow was attacked by an assassin while reading in the Pillars of Pedagogy. She overpowered and killed her attacker. Whether they were an Avowed or were merely pretending is currently unknown. Sir Chief Keggruk instructed me to gather everyone here, where he will meet us." She stands military-straight with her hand on her sword, clearly on guard and ready for any instruction.

Tethtoril gasps in shock. "Oghma's Truth! An attack within the Pillars of Pedagogy! Where is Wirrow? Ah, there she is. Are you alright, girl?" Seeing her unharmed, he shouts to one of the other Avowed. "Quickly, lock the front door! If there was one killer, there may be more."

The First Reader holds out a hand to Wirrow, beckoning her to step away from the group. "Child, this may be a traumatic event for you, but understand that now that we are aware of the threat, we will see to it that no harm befalls you. But please, in order to understand our enemy, I must know if there is any reason an assassin might have for targeting you."

Shelur watches carefully as the Avowed lock the door. As Tethtoril beckons to Wirrow, Aiwë steps in beside her. She doesn't speak, but quickly examines Tethtoril before averting her eyes from the two to watch their surroundings. Her hand never leaves her sword.

"Did you know, Wirrow, that one of Bert's best friends growing up later became an assassin? He said it was because grieving widows were a guilt free... Well, it doesn't matter what he said about those poor women, what really matters is assassins take pride in their work, and often kill/attack in a unique manner as a signature of sorts. If you know the signatures, you can figure out who attacked you. Though figuring out who hired then can often be more difficult."

Bert doesn't move at all.

"Interesting, I'm not familiar with this assassin's signature, sorry. They're likely new and poorly trained. Much like Sergio, I don't think he'll be around much longer."

Bert releases a small amount if air which almost sounds like a sigh

Wirrow tries to see if she can bring herself to trust this 'First Reader' any more than the rest of the Avowed at the moment.

...I didn't think so.

It's impossible to for her to tell anything about him besides his seemingly genuine concern that he voiced; she didn't exactly have much practice (any, really) reading people. Something about staying inside her whole life...

Keggruk said he could be trusted... so if bad things happened, it would be on him...

Still, she doesn't test her luck. As Aiwe moves up, Wirrow edges ever so slightly behind her, and shakes her head as an answer. "I don't know!" she mumbles fearfully. "I've never done anything, been anything, thought? of anything that might make assassins want me dead!"

From what Shelur can tell, none of the Avowed appear armed, at least not with anything heavy. Daggers may be hidden somewhere in their voluminous robes. But from the expressions of shock and confusion on their faces, none of them seem very suspicious. As for Tethtoril himself, he seems as friendly and concerned as ever.

Tethtoril nods slowly, his eyes on Wirrow. "Very well, child. I shall contact the Keeper of the Tomes and see what the sages of Candlekeep can learn. It's best that you all stay here, where we know it's safe."

He moves to a corner of the scribes' workroom and kneels in prayer.

Rift still can't believe he has wings! Flying is not as easy as his mother makes it look, but he thinks he's getting the hang of it.

After following the strange smelly man around again, he finds his way back to the group of adventurers. They seem upset about something, but Rift is too obsessed with his new wings to pay much attention.

When no one is looking, he practices heroic landing poses. This might be the best day of his life!

With night’s shadows falling, the Avowed light the House of the Binder with candles and a few magical lights. The First Reader spends most of the time kneeling in prayer and murmuring quiet spells, trying to find out what is going on in the rest of Candlekeep.

It is perhaps an hour before a heavy knock sounds on the doors. After discerning that the visitor is Keggruk, Tethtoril tells the Avowed to let him in.

The orog walks in with calm, measured steps, but those who know him recognize the quiet anger in his posture. He drops down various bags of equipment - the party’s things from their rooms. His eyes quickly count out each of the party members, marking them present and checking their wellbeing. "Collect your things and be ready to leave if we need to."

Then he calls Bert and Ossein aside.
After that, Keggruk goes to speak with Tethtoril, and the two engage in a hushed conversation. At one point they both glance over to Wirrow with unreadable expressions, then resume talking.

Finally, Keggruk throws up his hands (In defeat? In frustration?) and walks back to the group. "We’re leaving. Right now."

Aiwë obeys without pause, running to collect her things and handing Wirrow's to her. "Yes, Chief."

Wirrow checks her swords at her side, then accepts her satchels from Aiwe with a dip of her head. Black on the left, brown on the right... then bow on her back, And that's everything.

Despite being taller than at least a couple of the people present, in the face of Keggruk's frustration and glances--and in the wake of attempted assassination, or course--Wirrow seems at the moment like the smallest, least imposing member of the group.

"I’m sorry your stay in our blessed halls had to end like this, Seekers. I especially apologize to you, Wirrow. No assassin should have been able to get within our walls." Tethtoril gives a sad smile. "I understand why you must leave. Please, take these with you."

He produces three vials of red liquid - potions of healing - and hands them to Stella to safeguard for the party."I will send word to the Gatekeeper that you be allowed to leave."

Keggruk leads the party out of the House of the Binder and into the Court of Air. They make it about halfway across the courtyard when they are stopped by a group of Avowed, Ulraunt at their head.

"These would be them, wouldn't they? Ah yes, I recognize a couple of them as miscreants, having a propensity for violence. I should have guessed members of this group would prove troublesome."

The Keeper of the Tomes holds up a forbidding palm to the party. "I command you to stop. The investigation of a murder in the Pillars of Pedagogy is underway, and we have reason to believe members of your party may be involved."

Aiwë gives a heavy orcish curse. "Politics interest you now, I suppose? If the roads were better guarded an assassin would have never entered your walls. Let us go and count yourselves glad we protected ourselves, lest every pilgrim around know that Candlekeep is not safe for their learning or offerings."

Ulraunt raises a finger, obviously unused to being scolded so. Something in Aiwe's argument makes him pause and think, however. "It is not a matter of politics, young lady," he says, obviously trying to remain civil. "When blood is shed within our own walls, in opposition to our rules, we must take an interest."

He thumps his staff on the flagstones. "We will allow you to leave after we have searched your things. After all, if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear." He turns to the Avowed around him. "Check their bags. Be thorough." He catches Aiwe's eye and winces slightly. "And respectful. Thorough, but respectful!"

"Excuse me, are you perchance looking for the torch you just gave me, I have it right here if so."

Bert holds up Ossein as a small mace instead of Happy which remains low in his other hand.

Ulraunt sighs and rubs his temples. "No. No I am not searching for the torch. Just keep your insipid animate out of the way."

The Avowed grab and open each of the bags, rifling through the contents. A few of them even cast divination spells during the search, revealing several magic items in the group's possession - the Blade of Aihonen, Ug's loincloth, some potions, and, of course, Ossein. One of the spellcasting Avowed looks carefully at Wirrow. Ulraunt appears to have noticed the same thing, for he approaches the young woman. "You there. Hand over your satchel. The magical one."

When a paladin speaks, wise people tend to listen. When one shows anger, wise people clear the way. The Avowed moving towards Wirrow skitter backwards in uncertainty when Runeson makes his stand.

Ulraunt gives an exasperated sigh and taps one slippered foot on the ground. He's waiting for Wirrow's answer, but it's obvious that he's losing patience.