Perhaps as Ivar crosses back over the grand hall thinking about Treasure, he recalls the skeletal champion wielding a very fine scimitar against him.
Nothing seems out of place with this door.
As he checks the door Ivar is distracted by the thought of the skeletal champions gear. Returning to the previous room he asks, "Moira vould you have vone of der skeletons open der other door? I'm going to search der Skeletal champion."
True to his word, he leaves Moira and her undead minions to their own devices and returns to where he left the skeletal champion, searching the bones for anything of value.
"Go ahead and open this one too, m'hearty Sparty party! Everyone else, stay back!"
Ivar recovers a Keen Scimitar from the pile of bones that was the skeletal champion.
The spartolos opens the next door without issue. Beyond is a long room that extends to the north and connects again to the grand hall through another door. Other than stone columns supporting the ceiling, the room lies empty. Directly across the way is a tattered curtain hiding a room beyond. On the northern end of the room is a passage of stairs curving down below.
"Please see what's behind the curtain, Spartoi."
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"I hope it's a good prize. We need these sparties on permanency."
Realizing Moira has sent the Spartoi ahead to investigate the door, Ivar unhooks the scimitar's scabbard from the skeleton. Sheathing the weapon, he tucks the scabbard in his belt and quickly follows along with Moira and Zeetri.
The spartoi pulls back the curtain to reveal a storage area. Rows of shelves fill this space, lined with a variety of stone and clay jars and coffers sealed shut with wax.
"Ok bonelads... bring those bottles and jars over here and set them down."
To the others she says, "If the shelf itself is trapped, they'll trigger it."
"I have no idea what they can or canopic be."
Moira jests, but she's probably on the right track. Only way to know for sure is to open them.
Watching as the skeletons bring the jars out, Ivar is relieved that the room wasn't trapped. Staying back probably a little further than he needs to, Ivar squats down, gesturing at the Jars. "Maybe some sort of food or trade goods for der land of der dead." He furrows his brow, "Or maybe de are der trap. Maybe have one of der Spartoi open vone of der vessels."
"Step back, everyone. Spartoi? Crack into one of those and see what's inside."
The spartoi exchange glances with each other. Embodied spirits of the best warriors from the ancient past, honed and disciplined for combat, the sorting and inspecting of crockery seems beneath them. Even so, orders are orders, but their time on this mortal plane is ticking away.
A lid is popped off and...
This pot seems to contain some well preserved spice. No, not that kind of spice.
"Ok, take them one by one and see what's inside."
About half of the containers contain what seems preserved herbs and spices, poultices and ointments, oils and unguents. All in all you find:
1xEmbalming Fluid, 1xCasting Plaster, 1xDose of Unguent of Revivification, 1xDose of Healy Myrrh, 1xDose of Bodybalm, 1xThurible, 1xIncense, 1xAnointing Oil, 1xApplication of Alchemical Glue, 1xAlkali Flask, 1xDose of Prepared Black Amaranth, 1xDose of Prepared Nightsage,
1xVial of Mugwort Extract, 1xVial of Myrrh, 1xVial of Realgar, 1xVial of Salt, 1xVial of Saltpeter, 1xVial of Urea, 1xAlchemist's Lab
The other half contain nothing but ash, the insides of the jars scorched, perhaps in the holy conflagration which destroyed Soma for good.
Moira is more excited than one might think. She explains to Ivar and Zeetri, "I used to work as a sort of itinerant funeral director and professional mourner. I would have killed for some of this stuff! Well, not killed, but it would have been really nice to have some real myrrh. And I might have killed for an unguent of revivification--there was this one time I had to get the body back to his family. His family, who lived in a town 100 miles away. It was a rough ride."
As she scoops things into her sack, she smiles over her shoulder. "Don't get any ideas, now. I'm not looking to run funerals anytime soon. Just keep breathing, please."
She looks thoughtfully at the Spartoi. "I'll say a few words for them before they go."
Realizing the 'jar party' was going to take a bit, Ivar leaned his axe against the wall and watched the spartoi almost begrudgingly begin to open the containers. As things of value begin to appear he listened as Moira explained her interest in dead things. Realizing she was moving to the pile of grave goods, he decids he should help. Taking his rucksack off as he approached, he chimes in, "As far as I am concerned, no mourners, no funerals, yah." Resting his pack on the other side of the pile as hers, Ivar also began to load 'grave goods' into his bag.
When Moira comments about 'words for the Spartoi,' Ivar remembered the magic keeping them undead would dissipate soon. Looking up from his pack he asks, "Vonce de are gone vill ve find a place to hold up for der night?"
"Yeah, I could use a rest. We can head back up to our Lunar Naga friend's place."
Túrante notes, "Perhaps some of these medicines will be useful to other folk who are still among the living."
"There does not seem to be much reason to remain here now that we have completed our mission."
Following Moira back to the Lunar Naga's nest, Ivar nods in agreement with Túrante. It certainly wouldn't hurt to sell the medicines to folks that might need them. When she observes that they'd finished the mission, he asks, "Dis is true, and you had searched all der other areas for treasure de last time you ver here?"
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With the defeat of Lord Soma the Pale behind them, our heroes return to Belhaim laden with treasure and tales of victory. They find the forest town bustling with activity as the people prepare for the Coronation of Khari as new Heir to the Barony. They find a literal royal feast waiting for them at the Wise Piper Inn, as Talia bustles back and forth, busier than ever in her cooking and serving. Of course, Brother Nilos and the Shrine of the Seven Roses is in full swing providing beautiful song and dance for the ceremonial festivities. Even the good bankers at the House of Abadar have opened their vaults to help fund the event, writing it off as an economic stimulus. Even Fenchurch is allowed out of her jail cell to join in the celebration.
At the culmination of the ceremonies, Bassy the Chronicler leads Lady Origena Devy out from the manor. The Baroness looks as if she is feeling every emotion in this moment, but she carries it well. At last, Khari emerges from the manor to complete the procession. Only two of our heroes know of her true identity, and perhaps they wonder how long she can keep up the charade. The band strikes up a triumphant march as they proceed to the stage where the Coronation will commence. But, something begins to throw the musicians off their rhythm. The crowd murmurs and looks around for the source of the disturbance. There's another drum beat off in the distance. Moira may be the first to spot it, the sound of war drums. Across town, a boulder the size of a bear hurls through the air over the treetops and crashes into the moss covered walls protecting the town.
...
Elsewhere, elsewhen, we see another forest town, this one a little bigger, at least in terms of population. This is Whispil, the city of gnomes in the Verduran forest, and like Belhaim, is in the throes of preparing for a festival of their own. It is the first full moon after the Spring Equinox, which is a mark of celebration as it is when the local dryad emerges from her oak to mark which trees are safe for the town to harvest in its monopoly over the timber industry in the region. But, as the town prepares to celebrate, we move away from the town and over to the forest grove where stands the dryad's mighty oak. A group of darkly cloaked figures move about, dropping some black substance onto the ground around the oak's roots. Soon, the ground turns dark, and the grass withers. The blackness creeps up the trunk of the oak as it's branches curl and twist into wicked forms. Seeing their work done, the clandestine group move on.
...
Elsewhere, elsewhen, we see a pair of fine leather boots hurriedly pacing the floor. Rising up, we recognize the figure of the Marquis Markus Lambert, who looks worried. He stops momentarily to look out his office window into the yard of his trading post, where a few wagons have gathered and men mill about: prospectors, hunters, woodsmen, all foreigners, and all here for first dibs on the bounty the Verduran provides. The Marquis glances fretfully at his desk, where incomplete contracts wait for the newly ratified treaty to be signed.
...
Elsewhere, elsewhen, a pudgy little red imp uses a stick to draw vigils in the dirt at the five pinnacles of a pentagram while a tribe of spriggan watch on. Finally, after the last sign is drawn, he pours the blood of an innocent from a sacrificial silver chalice into the dirt and mixes it in with the stick. He then begins chanting and dancing around the circle, the spriggan looking around at each other in mild bemusement, until a crack appears in the earth gushing forth a gout of flame. Then, wide eyes watch as a creature climbs forth out of the fiery pit, red skinned, horned, fierce eyed, with a twitching beard, it clutches a barbed glaive. Stricken with awe and terror, the spriggan warriors fall to their knees.
...
Elsewhere, elsewhen, a drunk Rear Admiral Trudos sleeps passed out on his desk, a half emptied bottle of brandy spilled across a mess of papers, obliviously unawares of the sounds of shouting a combat taking place in the yards outside his office. A fierce pounding at the door fails to rouse him, but when his door is forcefully kicked in and bangs loudly on the wall, he lifts his bleary eyes to see Captain Rodrigue standing there, blood on his cutlass. "You sicken me," the captain sneers, "I hereby declare you unfit for your position. From here on out, I am assuming command of this naval base." Rear Admiral Trudos nearly vomits as he pronounces, "Mutiny!"
"Call it what you like, sir. Arrest this man for insubordination and failure to recognize real leadership!" Rodrigue calls out and armed sailors rush in to drag the Rear Admiral off into the night.
...
Elsewhere, elsewhen, we see a small sleepy village, nestled in the plains beneath the foothills of some misty mountains, with a mighty river rolling by in the distance. It is night, and all seems peaceful a strange and alien sound breaks the silence. Strange to folks on Golarion, but to us, the unmistakable sharp crack of gunfire echoes off the nearby mountains. Screams break out in the night as buildings and homes are alit in torchfire.
...
Elsewhere, elsewhen, Nightail the Glib and Hak the baby allosaurus triumphantly lead the surviving kobold warparty back to the home of the Hangtooth Tribe, proudly holding the Spear of Methluissee the Lesser. Their return is met with much joy and celebration, and the tribe seems to welcome Nighttail back as a hero. But, then the tribe falls silent, as from the back of the cave steps forth their tribal leader, the Devilspeaker. He be consecutive Nighttail forth with the spear, and from out of the shadows behind him steps a creature, looking part carrion eating insect and part gaunt humanoid corpse, with a scorpion-like tail and stinger. Nighttail falls back in terror and screams.
...
Elsewhere, elsewhen, a silent grove stands beneath the solemn moonlight. Then, a colorful light appears at the edge of the Grove, and out of the light steps Iagon, accompanied by Dr. John the Night Tripper, the fey badger. Iagon appears confused, but Dr. John brings him to the center of the grove. "What do we do now?" asks the young man. "We wait," answers the badger, "Treants sure do take their time."
...
Elsewhere, elsewhen, another bustling, busy location, but this one a hobgoblin war camp hidden among some ruins deep in the forest. We follow the head of the camp, the warlord as he moves toward the center of the ruins, towards what remains of an ancient well. A few lieutenants step back and salute and allow their warlord to approach. As he does, he peers into the darkness down the well, and hears echoing up from the darkness the screams of terrified victims. In the hobgoblin tongue he speaks, "We can't waste anymore good men on keeping this thing satiated."
Then, emerging out of nowhere behind him appears a creature, insectoid in appearance, and the air around it seems to freeze upon contact. It answers, "What it wants is the blood of demons. We must wait until the time is right to strike, Sog the Conqueror."
Sog turns and nods, obediently, "Hell has blessed The Crimson Bow."
We see the scene play out again in the reflection of a set of eight black compound eyes watching from the tops of the nearby trees.
...
Elsewhere, elsewhen, in the Imperial Senate chamber, an elder statesman addresses his colleagues, speaking about the necessity of meeting the enemy head on, and the importance off a good defense, which is offense, before casting his vote. A contentious cheer mixed with boos erupts from the senate floor, as it is the vote needed to reach majority, and after many decades of standstill, the Empire of Taldor declares war of the Kingdom of Qadira.
We follow this elder statesman as he later walks the empty halls of the senatorial building to his office. He locks the door behind him, removes his robes and sits at a desk. Before him, he uncovers a mirror, a d begins an incantation. The image in the mirror swirls into Amistad, and out of the mist we see the recognizable face of the Marquess Monica Lambert, "Good evening father. How was the vote?"
"Splendid. In a few weeks time the country will be in turmoil, our armies decimated on the battlefield. We are poised to strike with precision amongst the chaos, and the Verduran will be ours to rule. Speaking of, how is your husband?"
"He frets. The men sent out with the treaty have failed to return, and two more have been sent after them. He fears our business partners will be pulling out their support."
"And how are you my love? Have you told him?"
"No, not yet. But I won't be able to keep it from him much longer."
"Be well, my love. Within you is the future ruler of the world."
The image in the mirror fades and returns back to the man's normal reflection. But, behind him, in the reflection, we can now see the room is filling with a swarm of flies.
...
Elsewhere, elsewhen, we return to the grand hall of Lord Soma the Pale, and move down the corridors to yet to be explored portions of his tomb, past a secret wall hidden behind a set of shelving, past a heavily armored door, barred from the inside, and through a series of caverns, increasingly occupied with the presence of fungal and fungoid creatures and gigantic vermin. We move past a large set of doors carved into the natural rock, decorated with serpentine motives, but covered in a massive black pulsating ooze. We move past this and deeper, deeper underground until we move into a massive subterranean chamber. The walls and ceiling of this cavern are shaped and supported by the root system of some gargantuan tree at the surface. Down the center of the cavern, a..massive pillar-like taproot descends and ends wrapped around a gigantic crystal the size of a small house. The crystal pulses with a dim light like a heartbeat.
All about the cavern, fungoid creatures mill about, harvesting a black paste from infected and rotten roots. Near to the crystal stands a creature, magnificent in her appearance, composed of various fungi like a royal headdress and robes. She directs subordinates around her in some sort of grotesque ritual about demonic symbols painted onto the ground in the black paste. We hear them chanting the name, "Cyth-V'sug! Cyth-V'sug! Cyth-V'sug!"