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Forgrim and Agirran combine their knowledge and competences to take very useful notes on the priests’ rituals and regalia while Ptolomeo and Tenibri scratch their heads to understands what's written on the walls. Maybe it is because these were drawings, not writings.
There seems to be another area to explore in the temple, however, you heard word that there was a ritual to stop in the Ophidian Rectory, just below where you stand.
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You begin your descent and discover that, indeed, deep within the temple lies a truly unholy site: a pinprick in reality where Ydersius once reached through reality to sire a demigod thousands of years earlier. Here, the temple’s high priest and Ydersius’s blessed descendants gather to pray and make sacrifices to their god. As you learnt from the azlanti earlier, they have captured an incredible prize to feed the serpent god for the occasion of Spent Coils: The Azlanti general Krahnaliara Lac Suhn. Lac Suhn managed to kill one priest in his struggles, but he has finally been restrained and is ready for sacrifice as you arrive down there.
Some heavy presence within this massive, domed chamber claws at the chest and weighs the air itself down. Strange glows emanate from the cardinal points of this massive, circular chamber. In the center of the room, an elevated, spiraling staircase entwines a column of stone, atop which sits an altar.
As you arrive into the room, you witness the temple’s high priest, the ancient and twisted serpentfolk cleric Xassvissec, utters prayers over the chained form of the Azlanti general Krahnaliara Lac Suhn while preparing the sacrifice. Various serpentfolk and reptilian abominations touched by Ydersius’s divine nature stand by to witness the rite. Some of them notice your presence and walks towards you with the intention to fight you! Among them, four skeletons and a big snake!
Tenibri, Ptolomeo
Ssssssss
Agirran, Dewdrop, Forgrim, Kyran
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Tenibri begins chanting arcane syllables as he works his hands in an intricate pattern. He pulls a small bit of powdered iron from his pouch and lightly blows it into the air. The grains of iron float through the breezeless chamber, finding and settling on Agirran as Tenibri whispers a final word. "Alaa"
Agirran begins to grow larger as the casting takes effect.
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Tenibri begins to cast a spell.
At the same time, the skeletons and the snake approach you and try to take you down! Three try to take down the tough Ptolomeo while another and the snake stand behind, waiting for having a clear path to their preys. The skeletons hit with their rusty scimitar!
Their swings are rather clumsy and only one blade manages to connect.
Agirran, Dewdrop, Forgrim, Kyran, Tenibri, Ptolomeo [13/17]
Ssssssss
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Tenibri finishes the casting of the spell that he'd started last round. Seeing no other viable target, he settles on the dwarf at the front. If he gets bigger, maybe that will push these skeletons out and clear some room for the rest of us to act.
He then summons up some of his internal arcane power, muttering minor words of magic as he motions his hands to concentrate the energy. He hurls a small ball of acid over his compatriots heads at the lead skeleton.
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Ptolomeo misses his blow and suddenly afterwards, he grows bigger, forcing everyone around to squeeze into the corridor.
Kyran retrieves a crowbar, which provoques a reaction from the nearest skeleton but it misses his swing. The crowbar misses however.
An acid jet comes from behind but touches only stone with a hiss.
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I can't hang around for that! Agirran says recognizing the spell. That, and I don't wanna get caught in a tight tunnel when it takes hold. Here's hoping the little guy can keep up!
"GRRRRAAAH!"
"Well you got our exit more plugged up worse than someone's grand full of cheese! And here I wasted my corkscrew on comprehend languages! GRRRR!!"
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A crack of thunder and the tang of ozone cut through the complex. The figures before you, and indeed the walls, the floor, even the air itself seem to crumble and fall away like glittering sands through an hourglass. Unfamiliar figures—their heavy, hooded robes embroidered with the symbol of a winged eye—stand about the field, their hands crackling with lightning. Dozens of Pathfinder spellcasters lie dead at their feet. A gargantuan image of a woman appears and shimmers like a desert mirage. She has a regal bearing, but her features are lined as if by years of endless duty.
”Arrogant Pathfinders! Your ridiculous Society spends fortunes and lives to reassemble a treasure that turns time itself like the pages of a book—a key that could undo all the misery and suffering our world now knows—and you use it for this? Poking at snakes and playing at heroism? Golarion knew a true hero once! Our Lord Aroden—who raised the Starstone from the sea and imprisoned the undead tyrant Tar-Baphon—could already walk the world again were it not for your petty games and delays. Every death in your hours of playtime now hangs as a weight around your collective necks, you spoiled children.
“I am Lady Arodeth, and on behalf of the Harbingers of Fate and the God of Mankind himself, I have seized your Sky Key. Its defenders threw their lives away trying to stop compassion and destiny from returning to this world. I advise you not to throw your own lives away attempting to do the same.
“Behold the return of the Last Azlanti! Behold Aroden!”
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A crack of thunder and the tang of ozone cut through the complex. The figures before you, and indeed the walls, the floor, even the air itself seem to crumble and fall away like glittering sands through an hourglass. Unfamiliar figures—their heavy, hooded robes embroidered with the symbol of a winged eye—stand about the field, their hands crackling with lightning. Dozens of Pathfinder spellcasters lie dead at their feet. A gargantuan image of a woman appears and shimmers like a desert mirage. She has a regal bearing, but her features are lined as if by years of endless duty.
”Arrogant Pathfinders! Your ridiculous Society spends fortunes and lives to reassemble a treasure that turns time itself like the pages of a book—a key that could undo all the misery and suffering our world now knows—and you use it for this? Poking at snakes and playing at heroism?”
"Actually we used it for landscaping." Agirran mutters.
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The battlefield slowly fades away from your eyes and the vision of the woman and her harbringers casting lightning is more and more real to your eyes.
The robed Heralds begin casting, and arcs of lightning leap to the rods made of skymetal. A deep thrum from somewhere below reverberates with chest-tightening force, then the earth begins to heave and quake. Emerald green miasma lashes out, snaking back along the arcs of arcane lightning and infecting hooded casters throughout the crowd. Your body—or perhaps the whole world—crumbles to dust and you hear a distant scream of “She’s overloaded it!”
And just as swiftly, the world is whole again, but in place of a flower-speckled field stands the sprawling marketplace of a small city. Ivory-white buildings and columns feature reliefs and endless statuary all depicting physically perfect human specimens in poses of glory over serpentfolk. A chiton-clad crowd of gawkers stares, both at you and at the roiling dome of green light that encompasses nearly a square mile of territory, beyond which this strange city stretches on.
Robed Heralds panic as they sprint beyond the edges of the glistening dome, only to collapse just beyond its border. There they scream and writhe, their bones cracking as flesh and sinew age to dust in mere moments. Meanwhile, those unfortunates consumed by the green miasma scream and stagger, their features warping and bloating as if the power seeking refuge within them were too big for mere flesh to contain.
And high overhead, a looming stone glows with a light visible even in the growing light of dawn.
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You do not arrive unnoticed. The Harbingers’ temporal bubble delivered you to a sizable colony city. The citizens here have endured a long conflict with the aboleth and their ulat-kini minions, yet for the past several hours, they have fearfully watched a star in the sky grow brighter and more ominous.
The crowd of onlookers grows angry, then defensive, yelling threats in Azlanti to order you out of their city and summon the guards.
"Go away! Back off!"
"YOU BROUGHT DOOM UPON US! BASTARDS!"
The crowd shouts in Azlanti.
You recognize one of the most pivotal moments in Golarion history: Earthfall! You recall that this event resulted in the destruction of the empires of Thassilon and Azlant, the latter being consumed by the sea. It marked the beginning of the Age of Darkness.
You can deduce that you likely have less than 2 hours before the asteroid above crashes into Golarion and plunges the world into a thousand years of darkness.
You recognize the architecture around your group as Azlanti.
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The battlefield slowly fades away from your eyes and the vision of the woman and her harbringers casting lightning is more and more real to your eyes.
The robed Heralds begin casting, and arcs of lightning leap to the rods made of skymetal. A deep thrum from somewhere below reverberates with chest-tightening force, then the earth begins to heave and quake. Emerald green miasma lashes out, snaking back along the arcs of arcane lightning and infecting hooded casters throughout the crowd. Your body—or perhaps the whole world—crumbles to dust and you hear a distant scream of “She’s overloaded it!”
And just as swiftly, the world is whole again, but in place of a flower-speckled field stands the sprawling marketplace of a small city. Ivory-white buildings and columns feature reliefs and endless statuary all depicting physically perfect human specimens in poses of glory over serpentfolk. A chiton-clad crowd of gawkers stares, both at you and at the roiling dome of green light that encompasses nearly a square mile of territory, beyond which this strange city stretches on.
Robed Heralds panic as they sprint beyond the edges of the glistening dome, only to collapse just beyond its border. There they scream and writhe, their bones cracking as flesh and sinew age to dust in mere moments. Meanwhile, those unfortunates consumed by the green miasma scream and stagger, their features warping and bloating as if the power seeking refuge within them were too big for mere flesh to contain.
And high overhead, a looming stone glows with a light visible even in the growing light of dawn.
A tall, gawky, unkempt kid draws up beside Forgrim and gives the dwarf a sidelong glance. He demands in voice filled with teenage accusation: "WHAT?!"
Then the kid looks up at the rapidly approaching extinction-level event and sighs. "I really time travel."
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Tenibri translates the Azlanti for the rest of the party, seeming to be more excited about understanding the language than actually comprehending the meaning of the words. It's only when he sees the other party members respond to the translated shouts that he starts to understand that the angry crowd is shouting these threats at him and his friends.
Understanding now where he is and what he's about to witness, the arcanist shudders. "We shouldn't be here…. is the only thing he can eek out.
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Agirran focuses on his magic and calls out: "INEH CHOH!"
"" Hefting his huge axe the now giant boy aims a low growl at the crowd. People feel it vibrate their sternums before they hear it with their ears.
"Dammit! I've lost some of my gravitas!"
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"Sooo..." says Kyran, struggling with the implications. "Some goddess has the thing we all busted our humps to assemble and has dumped us into the most dangerous time in history with no way to get back. Is that about the size of it? Well, let's get away from these yokels and have a last drink, then!"
"Unless someone's got a way home?"