Seif-al-Din raises an eyebrow.
"What on Golarion do we have here?"
Seeing as nothing immediately attacks Mohgwier, he mutters a brief benediction to the Dawnflower , and begins to *cautiously* explore the room...
"Mohgwier, do you smell anything? Seif, stay close, let her check it out first. Remember, she can't die like we can."
Seif starts to take a few steps into the room before halted by Muqaq's command. Mohgwier takes a few steps forward, sniffing and looking about.
Mohgwier sees and smells nothing unusual, but as he nears the tables, Sief sees something strange. The liquid in one of the bottles starts to move! Seif opens his mouth to call out a warning when something bursts from a tiny drain in the floor beneath him.
A green slime gushes up underneath him, slamming into the Suli-man from beneath. After the attack, it reconstitutes in a space adjoining him.
Just as the first attack occurs, the bottle on the table bursts and a second slime leaps across the intervening space to attack Mohgwier.
Seif-al-Din stares in disbelief as two piles of slime attack the party, but it does not take him long to formulate a response!
Sati is shocked as well, and does her best to react quickly. She raises her crossbow and targets the slime threatening her Eidolon.
Mohgwier reacts instantaneously to the new threat, lashing out with tooth and nail.
Each of the slimes is destroyed, almost as quickly as they arrived, leaving everyone standing in stunned silence.
"Well. That was odd." Muqaq says, walking over to examine the tables. "Sati, care to carefully examine that door to see if it's trapped?"
Xanyon blinks and lowers his pistol before realizing the slimes have been destroyed.
"What were those?"
Seif notices that some of the slime mold has stuck to him where it struck him.
The mass of beakers and alembics is fascinating, but there is nothing here that bears any meaning to you.
Seif-al-Din's nose wrinkles in disgust when he sees that some of the green stuff has stuck to him.
"Charming."
Pulling out a dagger, he attempts to scrape it off.
"If there is nothing here, shall we keep going?"
"After Sati makes sure the door's not trapped."
Sati checks the door, but is unable to find anything she thinks is suspicious.
As Seif attempts to scrap off the mold he notices something odd; the greenish colour seems to be permeating his skin. There is a hot sensation in that arm; not painful, but definitely alarming.
"I hate to be a bother, but I may need someone to look at this..."
Gradually you start to become aware of something; a presence. It is not evil, but rather a benevolent presence, fiercely independant (Chaotic Good). It is not an intelligence that touches your mind, but it still seems to have desires of some sort. The first thing it tries to tell you is that there is something it lost... upstairs... back in the courtyard; it is buried there. It is something useful, and the presence wants to reclaim it.
There is other knowledge there too; flashes of insight flow through your mind, like tiny little snippets of memories you know are not your own.
"What's wrong Seif?"
Even examining the door thoroughly, Sati still cannot find any sign of traps.
Muqaq will go over and open the door.
"Seif, is everything alright?"
Seif-al-Din rubs at a patch of skin, where there is a fading greenish tinge, which melts away before the viewer's eyes.
"That felt... weird. I think there was some sort of sentience in the mold, which was passed on; I am not getting thoughts - not exactly... more like emotions, feelings. It is hard to make sense of it, let alone describe it. I do, however, have the overwhelming sense that there is something buried upstairs in the courtyard... something that I need..."
"Something you need...or something it needs?"
It's just like home! No, it's not. This is not the Mana Waste.
"Strange, and possibly untrustworthy. Lets finish exploring this place and then we can see about investigating the courtyard."
The opening beyond the doors reveals the monasteries crypts.
The monastery’s undercrypt is a series of ten-foot-wide rough-hewn passages dug in a double-cross formation. The main thoroughfare runs north to south, with two similar eastwest passages crossing the main hall about fifty feet apart. An eerie silence pervades the cool subterranean funerary network, which must contain the bodies of scores—if not hundreds—of honored worshipers of Sarenrae in shallow niches carved into the walls of the east-west passages. Many of these skeletal remains have been roughly tossed from their niches, and countless bones and skulls line the floor.
Not all of the bones here were looted in the attack by the Kelmarane cultists 20 years ago. In fact, some of the bones belong to those cultists, as the crypt was the site of the final battle between the uncorrupted monastery clerics and the enraged followers of the village flock. Even a casual look at the remains littering the floor shows signs of the struggle. Some skeletons lie jumbled up against a wall where they fell, their skulls crushed by the blow of a weapon. Many wear the faded orange robes of monastery clerics, often with signs of crippling injuries suffered at the hands of their betrayers. Yet a few valuables still remain.
At the end of one of the first cross passages a pile of skeletons bearing terrible broken bones lies. A fine looking light crossbow is still clutched in the bony grip of a skeleton here. An old quiver with 9 bolts lies nearby.
Down a second passage lies the corpse of a man in yellowing leather armor — clearly not a member of the monastic community. The flesh of the man is long gone, and not even a smell remains. The armour he wears appears finely crafted. The dagger in his belt glows with magical light when pulled free of its sheath.
Buried under a jumble of bones at the end of the last passage you explore is a small teak box emblazoned with the holy symbol of Sarenrae. The box contains a wooden holy symbol of Sarenrae suspended from a silver chain and a finely wrought silver and gold broach.
The group remains for a while, making certain that nothing has been missed, and keeping an eye out for anything that might denote a secret chamber or hiding place, but no such place is revealed. After a time, you become satisfied that the area has been fully explored.
"This broach will shield one from magical missiles."
"The dagger has an enchantment that gives it a modest boost to how effective it will be in combat. The light is a permanent effect, and it could be used as a torch by anyone who cannot see in the dark.
"The crossbow is also enchanted in that way. It will enhance accuracy and penetration."
"A horrible battle that occurred here. I don't want to offend, but how do we know they will...stay dead?"
Despite Xanyon's expressed concerns, the dead show no sign of moving, nor is there any indication that they have moved from the places they fell at any point since they died twenty long years ago.
"It seems our work here is done for the time being. Lets head back to the camp."
"Two things before we do... One, I would like to 'reconsecrate' the crypt. Two, I am curious as to what the thing I feel is buried in the courtyard, is; I would like to dig it up."
"Ah, the stress must be getting to me. How could I forget your experience with the oozes so quickly? We should certainly investigate the courtyard. I have no objection to blessing this place, but we can do a more thorough job of that once the rest of the caravan is here."
"I don't like the thought of listening to the thoughts of another creature. We don't know what it wants or why. These things are commone in the Wastes, and they are not friendly."
"Seif, how did the presence feel?"
The blessing of the tombs does not take long, the three worshipers of Sarenrae bowed in prayer, and the follower of Torag silent in respectful observation. It will take far longer to separate the remains of the cultists from those of the faithful, and see the bones from the crypt returned to their niches, and the martyrs properly interred and venerated for their sacrifice.
As the group returns to the surface level, the other's question Seif, while he leads them to the courtyard and searches out a specific place. He walks to one corner of the garden as though he knows exactly where he is supposed to dig, almost as though he buried something there himself.
It takes some time, but after some digging, around three feet down, Seif finds and pulls free a long cloth bundle with something hard inside. Unwrapping the rough burlap, within he finds an ornate sword, still garbed in its scabbard.
The sword is a large, gently sloping blade, with an extremely long handle. It is styled like a two handed scimitar. The overall length is around six feet.
What follows is a description of its power. You instinctively know that it is a magically enhanced blade, an Artifact even, and that its power will grow to match the will and power of the wielder. Your mind is flooded with memories of using this blade to rend foes and avenge many wrongs. You can feel the righteous fury of the man wielding it, knowing what he was doing was right, and that he was a force for good.
"Woah. Cool." Muqaq says as Seif pulls the weapon free from the ground.
"Tempest"
Seif-al-Din holds the blade point up, closes his eyes, and then turns to face the sun, going through a series of graceful practice moves, before turning to the others with moist eyes.
"I can... see... so much, now; but it is like a garbled dream... This blade's name is Tempest, and its former wielder was a great man, full of righteous fury, who truly believed that he was a force for what was right and good... It will take a long time to process all of that, and truly unlock all of the secrets that this blade contains..."
He then frowns.
"I still have no idea why he died, or what his essence was doing inside a pile of mold... It is not a consciousness that I feel; not exactly... more like a fragmented, disembodied intellect."
"Well if we now have a potent weapon for good, all the better. Any objections on returning to camp now?"
Xanyon edges away from Seif.
"That is...not encouraging. Be careful Seif. I think we should head back. We've cleared this place out and our employer has the grunts to finish the task. We've lost two and I need time to make more ammunition if every fight is going to be like that."
Has he been possessed by the sword?
You arrived in the camp last night with your wagonload. You were commissioned to bring out a variety of supplies, including a large water barrel, foodstuffs, and a small sealed box that was described as a special delivery for Almah's hands only.
You were well received, particularly as it seems all the water possessed by the camp had been mystically summoned the day before, and that it all vanished yesterday morning, with no one available in camp to replace it. There was a mad scramble throughout the day to search for more, and every last drop of wayward water was collected from every container in the camp to make sure that everyone had enough to drink. Were the holymen who summoned the water in the first place still absent by morning, Almah had planned to send out runners to retrieve them.
You met with Almah, and she was very pleased with your precipitous arrival with fresh supplies, especially the water. She praises your efficient work and orders her men to help you unload the wagon. You are then given billets for the night in an empty tent, apparently set up for six.
The trip back to the camp is uneventful. As most of those present in the team can see in the dark without difficulty, the decision is made to return to camp immediately. The walk takes a hour, perhaps two, as all maintain a leisurely pace, but while also trying to keep a keen eye out for dangers, such as the giant scorpion encountered the other night, or gnoll scouts. No such dangers are encountered and the group hears the sentries call out to them in the moments just before dawn. As before, the guard on duty tells you to report to Almah as soon as you're settled.
Gruthic cheerfully helps unload his wagon, taking in the sights and sounds. The camp looked rather recent, but ordering supplies indicated to him that it might be around for some time. Perhaps they were treasure-seekers. He'd dealt with those before, in Osirion.
He humbly thanks Almah for her praise and gruffly declines her billet, preferring to sleep under his wagon in a hammock strung between the axles. Before retiring for the night, he will chat with Akhom over supper.
"Well, lad, we're out of the city. It's different on the road, and people tell me they miss being away from home. I can't vouch for that, as I was born on the road; it is my home. Anyways, how does it suit you?"
Akhom's eyes roam around the camp constantly, his youthful curiosity coming to the fore as they enter. He follows Gruthic's lead as they meet Almah, bowing low in acceptance of her praise. He loses the battle with his inquisitiveness as she stops speaking.
"Pardon ma'am, but what is the purpose of this camp? Is it a scouting, or raiding party against the beasts of the desert?" he asks politely.
The boy shrugs in response to Gruthic's question. "Home is where you make it, I guess. Solku stopped being my home when I lost my parents to the gnolls. I just couldn't stay any longer."
"I think the road suits me just fine," he says with a smile. "How do I suit it?"
"Freshen up, then we go to see Lady Almah." Muqaq says to the others upon arriving back at camp. He will find a private place and strip out of his robes. He creates water over himself and his clothing as much as necessary to wash it clean. After he is finished cleaning himself he sets the phylactery on his forehead between his horns, and hangs both the aegis of recovery and his mother's ornate holy symbol of Sarenrae around his neck. He dons his tattered robes, frowing at the cuts and tears in them. Have to fix those later... Finally he slides his dagger though his belt and strides back into the main part of camp to await the others near Almah's tent.
As the team approaches Lady Almah's tent, the guards nod in your direction, and seeing the serious look in your eyes, they almost seem to non-verbally offer their support. Their eyes say, We've all seen battle, experienced it's horrors, and lost friends. In that we are comrades.
Inside the tent, is Lady Almah, fully dressed, and for the first time since you met her, armed. She is wearing a fine chain shirt, and has a finely wrought scimitar belted to one hip. Her headscarf is tied in place neatly, framing her beautiful sun darkened face, and making her pale blue eyes stand out by the dramatic contrast.
As always, Garavel is at her side. On this occasion he appears to be writing a letter, or at least had been before you entered.
Lady Almah stands from her folding seat when you enter and turns to look you over, straight backed and confident. You see her eyes pass over the rips, cuts, and tears in your clothing condescendingly, and you see her tilt her head to spy out if there are any more of the group waiting outside the flap doors of the tent.
She addresses Muqaq first, "It is good to see you, my captain. It appears you encountered resistance. Please, report. Is the Monastery ours?"
"Well, you suit it right back. Couldn't ask for a more charming partner. I'll bet you could sell sand to the Sultan."
As Gruthic finishes his supper and prepares to turn in for the night, he offers one last bit of wisdom.
"Being on the road can be quite exciting. Don't let it keep you up at night, unless it's your watch. You need good rest to deal with what the road throws your way - and you never know what that might be."
Xanyon stands, weary from the journey and events at the monastery. Although calm at the time the events of the last week have started to catch up to the young man and it's obvious he needs a night of rest. Still, he stands and waits for Muqaq's report.