Act 1. Phaulkonmere

Melannor blinked, as if her voice had drawn him up from the roots themselves.

"Yes… Branric has a good sense for sending the right people, when it matters."

He stepped aside, gesturing for them to walk with him along a stone path winding beneath arching vines. As they moved, his voice dropped, growing more focused.

"The City of the Dead is more than a resting place. The roots run deep there — through catacombs older than the city itself. And now… they are stirring. Sinkholes have begun to open. Graves collapse into voids beneath. Some of the caretakers whisper of movement in the night — things shifting in the dark."

He paused, laying a hand gently on the bark of a twisting tree beside the path.

"It may be simple decay, but I do not believe so. Necrotic energy, perhaps. A buried curse awakening. Or worse — something unnatural, clawing upward. Ankhegs, carrion crawlers… maybe even something that slipped from the Lower Planes. It is too soon to say, but I fear it is not merely ghosts."

He sighed, fingers brushing a frond absently.

"If you are willing, I can guide you to the nearest cave-in. I also know of a Sage, a Sun Elf, who might be willing to help you investigate this. I can offer potions, herbs, and goodwill. After that... let the roots guide your way."

The elf's expression shifted subtly, a hint of recognition flashing in her eyes. She closed the tome gently and gestured toward a staircase at the back of the shop. "Upstairs. Go ahead."

---

The stairs creaked underfoot as Cormac and Sif ascended to the second floor of Serpentil Books & Folios. At the top, the narrow staircase opened into a small studio, more study than sitting room. The walls were lined floor-to-ceiling with shelves sagging beneath the weight of scrolls, tomes, and curious trinkets sealed under glass domes. Starlight filters, brass astrolabes, dragonbone styluses, and delicate crystal matrices filled every spare niche. A cluttered writing desk overflowed with parchment and inkpots, and the faint scratch of a quill echoed from within.

The room was dimly lit save for a tall arched window facing the harbor, where threads of sunlight spilled over a single high-backed chair. Seated in it was a Sun Elf woman, her features statuesque and angular, timeless in the way only ancient elves could be. Her long, pale hair shimmered with gold strands, swept loosely to one side and clasped with a brooch shaped like a stylized eye.

She wore layered robes of midnight blue and dusky amethyst, runes embroidered in silver thread tracing down the sleeves like veins. Her eyes — pale lilac, almost opalescent — turned to the newcomers with a distant curiosity.



To one side of the room, seated cross-legged on a thick rug and surrounded by open books, was a male elf — younger - reading a thick volume titled The Tangled Lattices of Limbo and the Ethereal Web.

Theryssa gestured to a pair of low stools before her chair, her fingers marked with smudges of ink and faint glimmers of magical residue.

"Yes? Can I help you?" - she asked.

"Indeed, Melannor's message reached me," she said, and gestured toward a nearby shelf, where a detailed map of Waterdeep was unfurled, highlighting the expansive grounds of the City of the Dead.

"The City of the Dead is more than a cemetery; it's a vast, walled park that serves as the final resting place for many of Waterdeep's citizens. By day, it's a place of reflection and leisure, but by night, it's closed to the public, though not always devoid of activity."

She leaned back, her gaze distant.

"Beneath its serene surface lies a network of catacombs, some dating back to the days of Nimoar's Hold. Over time, space became scarce, leading to the creation of portals by mages, connecting tombs to demiplanes for interment. If one of those old portals was found, disturbed, or perhaps even broken open... Something may be using it as an entrance to the City of Splendors"

Turning her attention back to Sif and Cormac, she continued,

"As for the sinkholes and disturbances, several creatures could be responsible. Ankhegs, large insectoid predators, are notorious for their burrowing and can cause significant structural damage. Other potential culprits include Purple Worms, whose tunneling can destabilize the ground, Stone-Eaters, Giant Ants or even extraplanar entities."

Theryssa watched the exchange with a calm, unreadable expression. After Elestar's introduction, she turned to one of the nearby cabinets, unlocking it with a whispered word and a flick of her wrist. Inside were tightly rolled scrolls tied with colored ribbons, each glowing faintly with arcane energy. Turning her pale gaze to the group, she asked evenly:

"If I were to offer you three minor scrolls — of your choosing — what would best serve your strengths? Something to empower your allies? Strike down your foes? Or hinder them with arcane interference? One of each?"

Theryssa turned her gaze toward Sif.

"A fair question," she said. "Magic scrolls are not like potions or enchanted items. They are distilled intent — spells written in the language of creation, woven into parchment with rare inks, rare materials, and rarer still, precision."

She picked up the scroll of Scorching Ray and held it between them.

"To use a scroll, you must understand not just the words, but the rhythm of them — the cadence, the breath, the subtle turns of the hand as you speak the glyphs aloud. It’s not unlike playing a complex piece of music... except a single mistake means silence. Normally, it takes years to learn how to safely read and activate the power woven into scrolls. Some people never do — the magic refuses them. For those who can, the scroll casts the spell stored within... but in doing so, it burns itself out. The knowledge is consumed. One chance only."She glanced at Elestar. "Your scholarly companion, I suspect, has the training."

Then she looked back to Sif with a more contemplative tone.

"There are scrolls that can resurrect the dead, summon storms of flame, turn a charging warrior into a rabbit mid-step, or bathe a battlefield in radiant healing. Such power is not thrown about lightly — which is why major scrolls are rare, and most are kept under lock and key."

"These that I have here, I should say, are minor scrolls," she clarified. "Not the great spellworks of legend — no fireballs to shatter armies, no resurrection to cheat death. But still... useful tools. Clever magic. And in tight places, cleverness often wins where brute force fails."

She paused, then added.

"Even if you cannot cast them yourself," she said gently to Sif and Cormac, "your insight is still valuable. Choosing the right scroll for the journey ahead is no small thing. You two know how you fight. You know what you and your companions might face. So lend that knowledge here — help Elestar choose wisely. Strategy isn’t only steel and reflex. It’s knowing what to bring into the dark."

Theryssa listened to both men. When Elestar finished, she gave a single nod.

With a deft movement, she returned to the cabinet, put away the Scorching Ray scroll, and selected three other scrolls, each marked with a rune engraved on its seal. She placed them before the group with a care that suggested they were not things to be treated lightly.

"Melf’s Acid Arrow," she said, indicating the first scroll wrapped in a burnished copper ribbon. "A spell of corrosive force. Ideal for foes that resist blade and flame — or anything that thinks armor makes it untouchable."

She tapped the second, wrapped in earthy green.

"Barkskin. It toughens the flesh like old oak. Not as flashy as a shield of flame, but far more likely to keep someone standing when the blows start to fall."

Then, the last — a pale blue scroll with silver thread sealing it.

"See Invisibility. Creatures from other planes, old spirits, or certain conjured things often shroud themselves. This will reveal what others miss. Use it wisely — there are some things best unseen unless you’re ready."

She stepped back.

"They are not world-breaking spells," she said, "but each one may be the difference between falling into the dark… or walking back out of it. I give them freely. But I trust you’ll put them to use when the moment is right."