Books and scrolls sat neatly lined up each in their own separate compartments on the shelves, running the gamut in terms of materials, age, size, and style. From wooden sticks and frayed parchment, to ornamented gold and pristine, doubtlessly enchanted vellum, and much the same went for the books - crack-cowered, barely bound journals stood alongside great tomes bound in perfectly preserved, dyed, gold-inlaid leather.

Zelsys even cautiously took a few in hand, those that looked sturdy enough to not fall apart at the slightest manipulation but not elaborate or ominous enough to risk some sort of sealed abomination. Not all of them were in Old Ikesian - some were in Pateirian, one was a thick sheet of leather with cuneiform pressed into its still-soft tissue. Another still was written in what Zel recognized as Orthodox Ecclesiastical, an intentionally obtuse form of Grekurian specifically designed to look grandiose on paper, sound grandiose in speeches, and be inscrutable to the common man.

Quickly realizing and coming to terms with the fact that the sect’s older texts would fight tooth and nail - possibly literally - to stop her from appropriating their contents, Zelsys decided to just go through the library, look around, get a good mental map of the place, and try to see if there was more than just these shelves. Indeed, it quickly became obvious that there was.

At the far end of the room, in the corner diagonally across from the entryway, there was yet another door, wrought of black, hammer-marked metal. This one, too, was sealed, its lock plastered with some half-dozen seals. There was also a piece of mundane paper affixed there, with a message in the same Old Ikesian handwriting as the letter.

Zel squatted down in front of the door, giving it a close look, pulling off and examining the paper. Despite not understanding the vast majority of it, one word in Old Ikesian seemed to have remained nearly identical throughout the ages, such that she could read it.

It was the word “beware”.

Of course. Of course there was a warning.

There was no doubt in Zel’s mind that the material contained beyond this door was terribly dangerous, some of it might even be cursed, but she was confident she could at least take a look without risking too much. After some effort she managed to break the seal, the door swinging inward to reveal a narrow passageway, at its other end yet another door, this one even more heavy-duty, though conspicuously lacking any visible door handle or lock. There were eleven distinct floor plates and the passageway was lit dimly, suspiciously so.

Zel cautiously made her way through, watching out for any indication of a trap, using her cleaver to press on each floor panel in turn in an effort to detect pressure plates. First, second, third, fourth, nothing. Fifth, sixth, seventh, still nothing… Until the door lit up. A complex glyph upon its surface came alive with pale white light, and by the time Zel had reached that seventh panel, the door had even opened, though it was still a good couple meters ahead.

Beyond it was a small, sequestered alcove, obscured by a barrier so dense it couldn’t be seen through.

Before she could come within arm’s reach of that sequestered little alcove that doubtlessly held the most closely-guarded of the elder’s scrolls and books, she stepped onto a panel which she had thoroughly tested, finding it to be motionless just like the others. However, the moment she set foot upon it, its entire surface lit up with a heretofore invisible glyph, a burst of silver threads erupting forth and instantaneously forming a Fog Vortex.

The very moment her instincts screamed out, the ground gave way beneath her feet, and in a split-second she found herself nearly up to the waist in a scorchingly hot liquid the consistency of tar. Not feeling the bottom with her feet and acting on impulse she instantaneously reached to the edge to try and pull herself up, only to find that not only was the substance too adhesive and too dense to escape, not only was it already causing her minor burns, but it was actively eating away at what of her was submerged. Escaping wisps of Fog brought the liquid to an ominous bubble as both her boots and trousers strained to pull themselves back together, despite the obvious fact the caustic tar’s properties were beyond her garments’ limited capacity for regeneration.

If she didn’t escape quickly she was certain she wouldn’t escape without serious injuries. The pit’s contents would eat away at her flesh in a manner which would effectively render pointless her newly-gained ability to pull herself together, since there wouldn’t be any parts to pull back together.

Her boots and trousers both were hopelessly caught in the tar, and thinking quickly, she willed both of these articles of clothing to release their hold on her, simultaneously using all her strength and a lungful of Fog to pull herself up. In one motion, the seething envelope of goop unable to hold her, Zelsys freed herself, looking back on the trap as her pants were consumed by the muck in a flurry of Fog-filled bubbles.

The next moment the vortex had dissipated, the panel returned to flat stone. Instead of a physical mechanism with an actual pit beneath the floor, it seemed that a gate glyph had been placed that probably led to a pit somewhere else in the sect.

Not looking back for another moment, Zel forged on with the full intent of at the very least seeing what was on the other side. The barrier yielded to her, and even as it did, walking through it was the precise opposite of easy. Its myriad layers made every centimeter of movement a concerted effort, and when she at last forced her way through, she was faced by a rectangular portal in the wall, leading to a solid surface plastered with…

“Another fucking seal?!” exclaimed the half-naked beast-slayer, frustrated but undeterred, putting her cleaver away as she readied herself to attempt breaking the seal. She’d broken the one before, she could break this one just as well. Its style was different to the first, the style obviously linking it to the dead elder.