Despite the changes to his views, Shaggar is keenly aware of the predatory drive bred into his bones. Watching the woman's nervousness is almost pleasurable - frightened game. He feels a brief wave of regret then steps on it, carrying on with his role.
The gnoll places the statue in the woman's hands, supporting it lightly, and then pushes his long muzzle toward the side of her neck. He sniffs at her skin and hair while keeping an eye on her reactions.
As the white-clothed woman is being 'greeted' by Shaggar, Javi leans in, "Do you know the halfling who just made that bid on the scrolls?"
Heldar tries to pay attention to all that is going on at once - he smiles at the fact that Rosalia has the auctions well in hand, and watches Shaggar sniffing at the young woman, out of the corner of his eye.
Particularly interested in the woman-in-white's approach, he addresses her - "Still... The straight path will be the one being taken, when time is of the essence, the joys of the roundabout routes being appreciated after the objective has been achieved"
Javi: they look fairly genuine to you, inasmuch as you can tell what scrolls that are thousands of years old are supposed to look like. You <I>have</i> seen documents stained with tea, and this doesn't seem like that-- the discoloring and age seem genuine. Based on their age alone, you'd guess they ought to fetch around 800 gold.
The top-knotted halfling flicks a glance back at Rosalia when she bids, then smiles ruefully and gives her a shrug and a bow across the auction hall. The Kemeserian looks gratified at Rosalia's betting, but it dies as he realizes that nobody else is about to try and bid higher.
Between Shaggar and Rosalia, it has not been an economically profitable day for him. (Alright, technically the low price of the scrolls is more the Chelaxian's fault than Rosalia's.)
"Sold to the northern lady," he says with a disgusted sigh, gesturing a servant to arrange to take the payment.
The woman-in-white seems amused by all this, if the crinkle of her kohl-lined eyes is to be believed.
The young woman stands stock-still while Shaggar sniffs her, looking very very nervous. Her wide eyes flit to Javi at his question, confused, before darting right back to keep an eye on the gnoll who is in such close proximity.
"No? Sh-should I?" she asks with a stammer, while clutching the statuette closely. Shaggar, she smells of kohl (unsurprising, as like most Osiriani she is wearing some around her eyes), and ink, and dust, and nervous sweat, and a little perfume.
Javi: You think she's telling the truth with regards to not knowing the halfling. Probably most people would be too nervous to lie with Shaggar's hyena-jaw that close to their throat.
While there is sniffing and appraising going on in the back row, the auction is yet continuing: the next auctioned item is another set of scrolls, a bound portfolio of charcoal rubbings of hieroglyphic inscriptions. Even the rubbings seem old, the parchment crackling with age as the auctioneer carefully shows off the a few choice examples. The Arch Docent seems determined to take these, and rapidly drives the bidding up to 250 GP.
"Going once... come, good citizens and visitors, get in your bids; we have but one item remaining after this... going twice..."
"Finally, for your pleasure, citizens and visitors, this superb sculpture..."
The auctioneer reveals a six-inch tall bronze sculpture of a muscled man with a cobra's head and a serpent's tail.
The Crook Bearer and the Arch Docent enter into a bidding war over the small statuette.
"Educational as this has been..." the woman in white murmurs quietly. "Please. Follow me, but do not make it evident that you do so. There are many eyes."
She turns on her heel, and starts out of the pavilion, her lone guard following her at her gesture.
"No? Sh-should I?" she asks with a stammer, while clutching the statuette closely.
Javi shrugs, "Not sure… just trying to figure out all the players here."
As Rosalia's bid wins out, Javi gives her an encouraging pat—far enough away from her gear to avoid raising her paranoia—and attempts to gently pull her lower to whisper in her ear before she can claim her prize. "That doesn't look like tea-staining to me, but if our Chelaxian friend doesn't try to flay us for ruining his fun, you should be able to make back quite a bit more than you paid for those." He flashes a brazen grin, "... so good job!"
Bored with the auction, Javi is more than happy to follow the woman, though he gives her to the count of twenty before he motions the others to follow her.
Rosalia blinks, a little confused that their top-knotted halfling "friend" had given up so quickly. Perhaps her theory of a sneaky underhand attempt by the Chelaxian to get his hands on the scrolls for a steal was wrong...? She shoots a quick glance his way, trying to gauge whether her 'win' (so to speak) had any effect on him.
Aaaaand now she was the proud owner of... only the gods knew what. She happily pays the servant the eleven gold and accepts her prize, hoping that the low-low price had managed to tick off the Chelaxian at least--that would make it worth her wallet.
Pretending to be incredibly fascinated by what the scrolls contain, Rosalia walks off a short while after Javi leaves, taking a roundabout route with her eyes largely locked on the ancient text. When she reaches the doorway she rolls the scroll back up and slips it into its protective case and from there into her backpack.
After receiving no response from the woman in white, Heldar decides to ignore her, and becomes ompletely distracted by the activity at the Auction House, almost missing the others as they leave.
His curiosity piked about the next piece up for bids, he did hear the request for them to follow their contact outside so, after allowing some time for Rosalia to step out, he follows suit.
The young woman hurriedly sketches the shape of the statuette in her book, looking mournful as it becomes apparent that the group is ready to move on with their purchases. She passes it back reluctantly to Shaggar.
Rosalia, you see the halfling watching you with knit brows, before he shrugs and scans the crowd for someone else just begging to be parted of their gold.
Javi, you are content that you are not being followed-- your keen eyes track every bit of movement, from the Chelaxian sweeping out to the glares of the Crook Bearer and the Arch Docent at one another-- but nobody seems to be paying you, or the woman in white, much attention.
You are able to follow her, after a discreet distance. (Heldar, it appears the Arch Docent purchases the intriguing little cobra-headed statue.)
Several twists of the bazaar later, and the woman-in-white is waiting for you, no sign of her earlier bodyguard. The woman in white lifts her veil enough to give you all a glimpse of delicate half-elven features and the coloring of a Katapeshi native.
"I apologize for all the secrecy, but I assure you that this find merits it. You--" she glances to Heldar, "spoke of a straight path, but I have found the straight path in life is often trapped. Walk with me, my friends."
She leads you a criss-crossing path through the warren that is the Malhitu Bazaar, talking as she walks.
"Nicely spotted, with regard to the scrolls... and well-bid, on that and your other.... purchase," she says with a smile tugging at her lips. "Perhaps they will offer you some insight into the task ahead. As you have no doubt guessed, I am the so-called Mithral Scarab; I fear it is the only name that I may offer you.
"You have all come a long distance to be here. The Society appreciates your willingness to come at such short notice. I wonder, however, if you will appreciate the significance of what I am about to say: the Pyramids of the Four Pharaohs of Ascension have been found.
"The battles between the spirits of earth and air have been especially fierce, this season. The shifting sands have revealed the funerary complex of the God-Kings of ancient Osirion: figures who come to us as more myth than men."
The Four Pharaohs of Ascension were Anok Fero, the Cerulean Pharaoh; Hetshepsu, the Fiend Pharaoh; Ankana, the Radiant Pharaoh; and the Pharaoh of Numbers, whose true name is lost to time. Although each brought different strengths to the union, all were equal.
Legends say the Four Pharaohs of Ascension were bound by a magical pact that intertwined their fates: they lived together, ruled together, and were fated to die together.
The Pharaoh of Numbers was both an astronomer and an architect. His passion was his study of the distant planet Aucturn, and some legends claim Aucturn inspired the magic that fueled the pharaohs’ binding pact and its influence infused the design of the pyramid that now entombs the bodies of the four pharaohs.
As the Mithral Scarab speaks, she leads through ever-more-narrow alleys and increasingly shabbier tents and booths.
"More accurately, it is one pyramid. But the complex appears rather differently to those who do not have the key. Even now, a score of would-be treasure seekers are thronging the funereal complex... to no avail. Gods willing, and with a bit of luck, you will be the exception to this. You see, my own researches have led to a bit of insight which I believe gives us an edge."
The Scarab stops walking. You stand in cramped, twisting pathway that leads now between heaps of rubbish. Mud dirties the bottom hem of the Scarab's stark white robes. A stray dog sniffs at a pile of refuse. An old woman with a wooden hook for a hand digs between the trash for anything of value. Thin, hungry-eyed children watch you warily from in between makeshift caverns in the refuse around you. You have definitely left the better parts of Sothis behind.
The Scarab lowers her voice. "This is not the first time that the tomb of the Four Pharaohs has been exposed. Fifty years ago, the fortunes of sand and wind similarly conspired. A team of experts was secretly assembled-- as the throne of Osirion was less tolerant of... visitors... in those days, and they pierced the mystery that obscures the crypt.
"Only one man ever returned. His name is Raegos. For five decades he has lived haunted by the things he saw in that tomb. The rest of his story is his to tell you, but I have convinced him to meet with you on one condition only: you must not carry anything with writing on it, into his presence. Scrolls, books, holy texts, maps-- anything of that nature.
"You do not know how many years I have coaxed this man to be willing to speak of these things at all. Are you willing to hear what he has to say, and to abide by his condition?"
Heldar is completely taken in by the half-elven's tale - he knows his share of History, and more specifically of Osirian history, but he really cannot remember having read anything beyond what has been revealed about this particular topic, besides the name of the Pharaohs, which he recounts to himself in silence.
"We will obviously speak with him, since it ties in with the reason why we have been brought here" - he comments solemnly - "What can you tell us of this Raegos? For what reason has it been so hard to convince him to talk about his incursion? Is it fear? Is he in hiding?"
Taking a hold of himself, and his torrent of questions, Heldar pauses, waiting for a reply.
The Scarab nods soberly at Heldar's words. "Fear, yes. He is a man ruled by it. It is his tale to tale, though.
"I will hold any books or scrolls that you wish, in the meantime."
(Assuming you are each willing to divest yourself of such,) the Scarab takes them, and gestures at a nearby tent-flap with her head.
"Raegos! I have brought you the guests I spoke of," the Scarab says softly.
A pause, and there's the sound of hesitant footsteps within the tent hovel.
"No writing? They haven't brought any?" comes an old man's quavering voice.
"No, Raegos. No writing."
"Come in, then... I, heh, I must... warn you to watch your step..."
The tent flap is pulled to one side. The first thing that greets your eyes is... string.
A dozen white strings are threaded through metal rivets in the canvas wall, and disappear into the dimness of the tent. The form of a hunched old man hobbles away, one gnarled hand following one of these strings as he quickly (for an old man) skitters out of sight down a ladder.
The interior of the room is rather larger than might be thought from the outside. The reason for this is quickly evident: the old man has been digging, expanding his home past its original dimensions, down into the sand and clay of Sothis. Wooden and brick posts support tent roof and the sandy walls. Scavenged wooden slats help buttress the pit from collapsing in on itself.
There are no holes for light beyond the flap by which you came in, and no lamps. The air is thick and musty, stale, smelling of old food and an old human's particular odors.
And everywhere there are the strings. They criss and cross in a maze whose pattern becomes evident only as you watch the old man move among them like a spider through its web: he uses them to navigate around his strange hovel.
The reason for that is clearer once your eyes adjust to the dimness: you can see that his eyes are heavily swathed in a thick and crusty blindfold that must block all sight.
"Sit. Sit. Find a spot. Don't touch the strings, yes? No words, no pictures, you've brought none? I don't mind visitors, no, no, nice to have visitors, but no words and no pictures, they won't get me, friends, no indeed, I'm still alive..."
Javi follows the group in, giving the woman in white one last curious look before the darkness swallows them all.
Javi finds an out of the way spot before sitting.
It's definitely sort of a strange request... you can see how, perhaps, it might be a way to separate wizards or the like from their spellbooks, but it hardly seems like the most effective way to take away the advantages of a group of trained adventurers such as yourself. After all, Shaggar can cut somebody up just as easily whether or not he has a scroll in his backpack.
You don't get the vibe that the Scarab is trying to run off with your books, or anything. She only seems concerned for the old man, at least as far as the 'no writing' issue goes.
"Nicely spotted, with regard to the scrolls... and well-bid, on that and your other.... purchase," she says with a smile tugging at her lips. "Perhaps they will offer you some insight into the task ahead. As you have no doubt guessed, I am the so-called Mithral Scarab; I fear it is the only name that I may offer you."
Rosalia arches an eyebrow at this comment. "I only did it to annoy the Chelaxian, really. I figured it would be worth something down the track, but... useful in this mission? I was just hoping to make bank." She nevertheless follows the Mithral Scarab in otherwise complete silence, hoping that the riddle-like sermons could stop and the woman could start talking logically sometime soon.
The Scarab stops walking. You stand in cramped, twisting pathway that leads now between heaps of rubbish. Mud dirties the bottom hem of the Scarab's stark white robes. A stray dog sniffs at a pile of refuse. An old woman with a wooden hook for a hand digs between the trash for anything of value. Thin, hungry-eyed children watch you warily from in between makeshift caverns in the refuse around you. You have definitely left the better parts of Sothis behind.
The sudden shift from riches to rags digs at Rosalia's cold heart, and she looks sadly about the slums as they pass through it. For all the garish opulence of Sothis thus far, it seemed that the Osiriani were still no better or worse than most other humans she'd ever met to allow their citizens to live in such poverty.
"You do not know how many years I have coaxed this man to be willing to speak of these things at all. Are you willing to hear what he has to say, and to abide by his condition?"
This condition has Rosalia very nearly up in arms, but the obvious seriousness of the situation causes her to bite her tongue and sigh instead. What a poor man, to live without writing... I'd rather off myself than let things come to that. She leaves her entire backpack with the Mithral Scarab, not wanting to sift through the various contents to remove what was kosher and what was not. And besides--Rook could keep an eye on her spellbook for her while she was out of its sight.
And then, of course, they entered the strange tent shrouded in darkness and criss-crossed with a spider web of string. Rosalia is quite surprised by the place, by the old man's blindfold and his obvious paranoia, and she chokes back any snide comments that float to mind in respect for his obviously tentative mental state. The poor thing. He must have gone mad. Is it from what he saw in that pyramid?
"Raegos, yes?" Rosalia nods her head to him before realising he couldn't see her anyway. She continues gently, "Hello. Did the Mithral Scarab introduce us? We're from the Pathfinder Society, and we're here to investigate the Tomb of the Four Pharaohs. Might you tell us what you saw there?"
The old man pauses at Rosalia's voice. "Ah. A woman, a girl. Northern, you are? I hear Brevoy in your speech. I worked a caravan there once. Long ago. Sit, Pathfinders. If you can find a path. Ha!"
The old man gropes his way to an upturned, rusted kettle that serves him as a seat, and sinks down onto it.
"Scarab. Oh yes, the Scarab. I've told her to leave it. I've told her to let it all stay buried. Told her and told her, but you people, you never listen, and me-- well, heh, I'm hungry. Can't eat ghosts. Bread costs gold, and Scarab gives me gold, yes. So gold loosens this tongue of mine, heh, from behind my teeth, and I speak of what I oughtn't...
"You want to know what I saw there.
"There's the rub, eh? Yes, yes. Always comes back to seeing. What I saw, what you'd better not. What I didn't see, so I'm still breathing."
Raegos trails off into silence, his head hung between his shoulders. For several seconds he says nothing. A dog barking in the street makes him shudder, and he resumes talking.
"There was a man named Imivus.
"An old man, Imivus... old then as I am old now. Fools, fools, old men seeking the places of the dead-- you'd think we, heh, we'd spend our remaining time above ground, as much as we can-- but no. Imivus went into the grave, and now...
"Now I dig my own.
"But that's not what you're here for, is it? Not to help me dig. Heh, heh. Let's see. What can I tell the path-seekers, the path-finders?
"Imivus was a scholar, a wizard... maybe an astronomer. Always going on about the stars, the Ringed Planet... He was from somewhere north, like most of us, heh, like most of us vultures coming to Osirion....
"He hired ten of us, to be his team, to help him loot the tomb. He told us-- he told us the pyramid was on another-- plane of existence, that is how he said it. What do fighting men, heh, know of such things? But he had the key, you see. The key to bring the pyramid back here."
The palsied old hands grope in the air, as if sketching the shape of something that is nearly tangible to the old man. "A funeral mask. Oh, such a pretty thing. Gold, gold. Had a headdress of feathers, red and black. I can see it clear. Fifty years and I can see it clear. Well, heh, not surprising, eh... no, no, ahead of myself, I am.
"We set out in the desert. Came to a place of four pyramids-- big bastards, too. And Imivus, he put on the mask. Heh. Called the greatest grave of the world to him... fool. All of us fools."
The old man clears his throat. His fingers grope for a waterskin on a peg behind him. He drinks, water spilling down his chin to wet his simple robe. He does not notice.
"One minute, the desert... the next, the pyramid. Vast. Vast! Green and massive. The gods bury themselves in such a place. We went in, heh.
"We'd been going a while. Passing all sorts of script. Imivus had an apprentice who was good with languages-- the boy deciphered some of the inscriptions... said that the Four Pharaohs had declared that all intruders would be doomed to live out their existence as guardians of the tomb."
Raegos's voice sinks to a raspy whisper. "Symbols, see. Runes. Runes for each Pharaoh. Runes of dark power... the seeing of them to damn you and doom you."
He bursts in a desperate giggle, too high-pitched for comfort. "Irony, that's what it is! Look on the treasures of the pharaohs and it's the last, heh, heh, last thing you see!
"Imivus told us it was all bluster. Scare for the natives. For the superstitious. Well, in we went. Our eyes peeled like good soldiers!
"We saw the runes. And Seraton, he was our archer... best eyes of all of us... well, he saw 'em all, heh.
"He yelled a warning, I remember that much. Just a short one, told us all not to look... not to look at the last rune..."
Raegos is silent a few seconds, head bowed to his chest, rocking back and forth.
"Before my eyes, he became an old man... age ran over him like sand. He withered and rotted and fell to the floor a dessicated husk of a man. Bad. Bad way. Man should go fighting. Not like that. Oh, not like that.
"Heh. Didn't know it could get worse. It did.
"He got back up, see. Oh, he got up. Seraton grabbed Imivus and-- clawed the heart right out of him, broke his ribcage like you'd break an egg, yes, yes. And Imivus withered too: all the way to dust, old man to bones and bones to only sand. Fine sand, spilling out his fancy robes.
"The mask landed at mt feet. Gods alone know why I picked it up. But I did, heh-- maybe it was that it was just so pretty. All that gold. All that color.
"I ran, path-seekers! Remember that: I ran! Run the other way from the pyramid. Don't go in it. Your friend, the woman, oh, I've tried to tell her, you know, I've tried.
"I ran... we all ran. Each time I looked back, we were less. Five, then four... then two... the screams, lads, the screams. Sand underfoot, and Seraton chasing us.
"At last I found the door again. I stumbled out, back into the sun. Heh, I had the mask-- my fingers about to break, I was holding her so hard--! yes, I had the mask. I looked back. Fool me!
"Keros, he was at my heels. A few feet more and he'd be out, I could see it.
"The pyramid wouldn't let him out. I don't know how to say it other than that, my gods, my gods. He stood there hammering on the air, clawing at it-- his fingertips bleeding as he scrabbled at nothing at all-- poor bastard!
"I would have helped him. I would've. Heh. Heh. If I hadn't seen Seraton coming. But I did. I saw too much. I saw too much. But never the fourth rune. Never saw that, heh."
The old man rocks back and forth, falling into silence again. His gnarled fingers clutch at the air, trying to hold something that is no longer there.
Rosalia listens in silence to the old man's often-times rambling tale, trying to take mental notes of the important parts as he went--normally this is where she'd be scribbling in her journal, but, alas. She considers his key points, summarising them in an organised way that only a wizard would. But there were a few things that stood out to her.
Imivus. An astronomer. A ringed planet. Rosalia's mind drifts back to the scrolls she'd purchased on a whim for a song and mentally consigned them to the Blakros Museum or some such. The Kemeserian had said that they were about Aucturn, the ringed planet... a strange coincidence to be sure. Or perhaps not one at all.
"This Imivus. Did he talk about Aucturn at all? Is that the Ringed Planet you speak of?"
A funerary mask to bring forth the pyramid. She squints into the darkness at the mad old man, trying to imagine him in his story, running wild across the sands away from... god knows what.
"What of the mask? Do you still have it? If not, where did it go?"
The old man's face wrinkles in thought, one hand rubbing at his whiskered chin. "Aucturn... Aucturn, yes! That was the name he mentioned. It's been so long since, heh, I heard it... but he was always muttering about it, about zenith and orbit and other words..."
He spreads his hands, wide and empty. "Long gone, Brevoy-woman. Gold becomes bread, and bread becomes dirt, heh. Sold it, sold it, I was hungry, and dead from hunger is as bad as dead from curses.
"I sold it to a man who smelled of money. Collector of relics, heh, he said it belonged in a museum. Ha! Only place it belongs is underground, yes, like old Raegos... I never asked his name."
Shaggar hunches quietly in the corner trying to avoid setting off the old man. "The man who bought your mask - did you tell him your tale? Did he know what the mask could do?"
Rosalia nods, making a mental note to read those scrolls much more closely. She also makes a mental note to not let the Mithral Scarab rub it in about being right.
"Thank you, sir. I appreciate you telling us all this."
Raegos starts a little at Shaggar's growly voice joining in the conversation. "Eh? No. No. Didn't tell him. Just told him it came from a crypt... he seemed pleased enough. Doubt he knows what he bought, heh! Salvation, cheap... well, he paid a hundred for it. That was a lot, then! But long gone, now..."
He sighs, withered hand plucking at his maze of guide-strings, making them shiver in the close air around you.
"It's so easy to get lost, path-seekers. I've laid string. I can find my way back, to the world of the living. Can you...?"
He gives Rosalia a gap-toothed smile. "Don't thank me, girl. It'll only get you killed."
Javi sat quietly through the whole story. It was a good story.
"The runes," he says, cutting through the momentary lull in the conversation. "... did you actually have to read them? Or just see them? Ya know, for all the badness to happen?"
"You say the mask was some sort of funeral implement? With a headdress of feathers, red and black, correct?"
Maybe it will not be too hard to track down... Heldar ponders.
"And the one who bought it - you did not get his name, but could you describe him to us? How long ago was it?" - Heldar refrains from further questions so as not to bombard the apparently frail man.
"I don't plan on leaving the world of the living any time soon," Rosalia says firmly to the old man, but not maliciously, "Osirian curses be damned. I've got far too much left to do for that." It seems she's saying this less for his sake and more for her own.
@ Heldar: (Religion-) Technically, Raegos has really only mentioned the one creature, but by the sounds of it, he is obviously describing some form of undead. It's the mention of the blow from the mummy turning Imivus to dust that jogs your memory: the legendary mummies of ancient Osirion are rumored to possess powers beyond even those that the latter-day Osiriani have created.
The hands of these ancient mummies, if they land a killing blow, turn a person's body directly to the dust of the desert, bones and teeth and all... nothing remains of the original person.
Additionally, the ancient mummies were rumored to move with blinding speed when they wished it.
(History) While you wouldn't go so far as to say you're an Osiriani history buff.... you are a curious Pathfinder. In the course of your Pathfinder training you read through Volume VII of the Pathfinder Chronicles, which discusses much of Osirion through the adventurer's eyes. The Pathfinder who had penned most of it, a man named Thoth-Anu, had included a description of the Sothis Exhibitionary, the museum that the Arch Docent now presides over. You think that there had been a mention of a golden funerary mask of unknown heritage there, with red and black feathers...
(Local) S*!%, son, you don't know. You're not from around here!
---
@ Javi: Raegos shakes his head. "Just seeing them. I cannot read their meaning-- they were nothing but lines to me, and to most of the men. Seraton could read no ancient runes-- and they took him, surely enough! No, your eye passing over their cursed nature is all it takes. I've considered gouging out my own, many a time. Never gone through with it, heh!"
@ Rosalia: Raegos aims a gap-toothed smile your direction. "Such a brave girl, heh. They seek life, seek bold spirits. Stand fast... die first."
(Local) S%*!, son, you don't know. You're not from around here!
[/b]
Heldar comments to the others absent minded - "I may know where the mask could be located - I remember having read about it once, but cannot be sure if it is still there"
Raegos smiles gap-toothed at the question of what the man looked like-- and wordlessly lifts a hand to point at his blindfold.
"I cannot tell you his face, my path-seeking friends. He smelled-- rich, though. Perfume and easy living, spices for the skin. It was fifty years gone. Long enough to be born, live, and die, for some..."
Heldar nods - "Fifty years... Even if we had a description, it would't probably be of much use - changes in one's phisionomy can be dramatic over the course of such long time"
Turning to the others he whispers - "I am out of questions to be honest, unless...." - he again raises his voice - "Raegos, do you recall at all any directions towards where you found that accursed place, any landmarks or guidelines?"
At Heldar's further question, Raegos just laughs, a belly-laugh, his wrinkled face crinkling up like a crab-apple.
"Oh, I know the road! The road is not the problem. Surviving the road is another matter, yes, yes... fifty miles from Sothis as the vulture wings it, south-by-south-east. To go straight-- as the vulture flies-- would be the path of a fool... that route crosses the Underdunes, and more men die there than ever come through them alive."
Raegos pauses, shakes himself slightly, burying his gnarled fingers into a hub of strings near him and fretting at them as though they were the strings of an instrument.
"But Imivus did not take such a path. We sailed up the Sphinx, the great river, til we came to the village of Nemhep. From there we landed and took camels due east.... twenty, perhaps twenty-five miles, skirting south of the Underdunes but not passing in their shadow, heh. It took us four days, from leaving Sothis. We were so impatient on the journey! Now I would give all, everything, to have those days back, heh."
"I'm ready to leave when you are," Rosalia replies to Heldar in a mutter. Truth be told she was bustling to get out of here and read up on those scrolls. The sheer coincidence of it all was burning a hole in her heart with coincidence - and suspicion.
Heldar nods at Rosalia, then turns to their host - "Very well master Raegos. We thank you for having shared all this information with us, and assure we will go through great lengths to heed your cautions and warnings"
Standing up, he motions to leave.
"May whatever, heh, path you find... be better lit than mine," Raegos whispers drily. His old hands tangle in the labyrinth of string as, one by one, you make your way back into the fresher air of the city.
Rosalia says one last "Thank you" to Raegos before leaving, although her hurried footsteps make it clear that she's been antsy to leave for quite some time. She immediately rushes to where the Mithril Scarab waited for them and reclaims her bag, rummaging through it (much to the annoyance of Rook who had been sleeping in there previously). She draws out the Aucturn scrolls and flips to the beginning, skimming over it for anything interesting that stands out... pyramids or pharaohs or mummies, for example.
The Scarab wordlessly returns Rosalia's things to her, standing there with her hands clasped behind her back as the group reunites in the somewhat-cleaner air.
"I feel for him," she says of Raegos. "The life we lead... heading into the unknown... it is not always one kind to the psyche, or the soul, is it?"
She listens to your thoughts so far, brows knit slightly beneath her veil, and nods in approval.
"I have other operations to oversee-- as I said, this tomb is not the only one the recent storms have uncovered-- but I shall be in touch, to learn of your progress. I believe you are all skilled Pathfinders and that the matter is safely in your capable hands.
"Find the mask, if you can. Journey to the funeral complex, and use the mask to gain entrance... explore, report, cooperate." The Scarab's kohl-lined eyes crinkle briefly, as if she found that particularly amusing. "Endeavor not to become undead.
"Should you need to contact me, a message left with the Dung Beetle's barkeep for Nephthys will suffice. Do you have any further questions for me?"
After she has answered any other things you may wish to ask her, the Scarab takes her leave. She walks some fifty feet away into the crowd on a busy main thoroughfare, and vanishes from sight quite literally-- gone one moment, and unseen the next. A few passersby blink at where the woman-in-white had stood, but nobody lingers over it.
Rosalia, the scrolls are all in the hieroglpyhic script of (very) ancient Osirion. Beyond the fact that some of the diagrams seem to be star charts (shocking, I know), they are a complete mystery to you unless you have something clever up your sleeve.
Rosalia stares blankly at the scrolls for some time, apparently hoping that if she glared at them for long enough the hieroglyphics would magically start to make sense. Finally, she sighs. "I don't know what I expected," she mutters under her breath.
Finally, she turns to her companions. "I don't suppose any of you can read ancient Osiriani?" Rosalia asks, not really expecting anything from it. She frowns, considering their options.
"Perhaps we could try magic," she concludes shortly thereafter.
The gnoll's red eyes look over the pale woman's shoulder at the scroll. Shaggar delicately underlines a couple inscriptions with a sharp claw. "This is the cartouche for Sekathot - the astronomers' patron. And these glyphs speak of the position of old constellations and their importance."
Rosalia stares at the gnoll with a mixture of bewilderment, amazement, and, though she would hesitate to admit it, respect.
"You certainly are a bundle of surprises," she murmurs, passing the scroll to Shaggar so he could get a better look at it.
The gnoll's hands are careful with the scrolls, an odd juxtaposition of delicate papyrus and the hyena-like claws.
Shaggar, you can read the scrolls, more or less-- there are a few hieroglyphs you do not recognize, probably symbols introduced at the time of the scrolls' writing that later faded from common use-- but it's enough to be getting on with.
A brief survey of the scrolls as you stand outside Raegos's tent reveals that they contain many astrological observations on Aucturn (the eleventh planet from Golarion's sun, as one of the diagrams shows you). The scrolls seem mostly concerned with observations as to Aucturn's orbit, and, especially, with marking out those eras at which Aucturn's eccentric orbit carries it closest to the life-bearing world of Golarion.
The scrolls are an academician's treatise, and much of the text is comprised solely of equations: you're a pretty smart gnoll, but a lot of the math is lost on you.
Still... something about predicting the cycles of when Aucturn comes close, maybe? You think that if you sat down with the scrolls for a good read-through you might be able to learn more, but studying them while standing in the bad part of Sothis, at night, will probably get tiring before you get a chance to read them through.
Rosalia, Osirion is a city that happily caters to, and makes money off of, the rush of incoming foreigners who seek to plunder the country's history. Scrolls to aid those who do not speak the nation's ancient tongue are certainly obtainable.
"You certainly are a bundle of surprises,"
Shaggar gives the woman a snarl-like 'smile' showing too many incisors. "I am the desert's son, Sayyidah. We both carry many secrets."
He quickly conveys what he can read of the scrolls, his guesses as to their meaning, and expresses frustration with the mathematics portion. "Give me more time to look at it, in better light, and maybe I can tell more." He carefully hands the scrolls back to Rosalia.
The Scarab wordlessly returns Rosalia's things to her, standing there with her hands clasped behind her back as the group reunites in the somewhat-cleaner air.
"I feel for him," she says of Raegos. "The life we lead... heading into the unknown... it is not always one kind to the psyche, or the soul, is it?"
Heldar nods, still pondering the man's disturbed recounts - "Sometimes I wonder if we do not have all a madness of our own, that drives us to such pursuits - call it faith, adventuring or curiosity - wading directly into Evil embrace surely has a hint of crazy to it all" - he smiles
She listens to your thoughts so far, brows knit slightly beneath her veil, and nods in approval.
"I have other operations to oversee-- as I said, this tomb is not the only one the recent storms have uncovered-- but I shall be in touch, to learn of your progress. I believe you are all skilled Pathfinders and that the matter is safely in your capable hands.
"Find the mask, if you can. Journey to the funeral complex, and use the mask to gain entrance... explore, report, cooperate." The Scarab's kohl-lined eyes crinkle briefly, as if she found that particularly amusing. "Endeavor not to become undead.
"Should you need to contact me, a message left with the Dung Beetle's barkeep for Nephthys will suffice. Do you have any further questions for me?"
The half elf bows as the Scarab takes her leave - "Thank you for ushering us into the path, we will make sure to thread it - alive"
Rosalia stares blankly at the scrolls for some time, apparently hoping that if she glared at them for long enough the hieroglyphics would magically start to make sense. Finally, she sighs. "I don't know what I expected," she mutters under her breath.
Finally, she turns to her companions. "I don't suppose any of you can read ancient Osiriani?" Rosalia asks, not really expecting anything from it. She frowns, considering their options.
"Perhaps we could try magic," she concludes shortly thereafter.
The gnoll's hands are careful with the scrolls, an odd juxtaposition of delicate papyrus and the hyena-like claws.
Shaggar, you can read the scrolls, more or less-- there are a few hieroglyphs you do not recognize, probably symbols introduced at the time of the scrolls' writing that later faded from common use-- but it's enough to be getting on with.
A brief survey of the scrolls as you stand outside Raegos's tent reveals that they contain many astrological observations on Aucturn (the eleventh planet from Golarion's sun, as one of the diagrams shows you). The scrolls seem mostly concerned with observations as to Aucturn's orbit, and, especially, with marking out those eras at which Aucturn's eccentric orbit carries it closest to the life-bearing world of Golarion.
The scrolls are an academician's treatise, and much of the text is comprised solely of equations: you're a pretty smart gnoll, but a lot of the math is lost on you.
[dice=Shaggar Kn Nature/Geo]d20+10
Still... something about predicting the cycles of when Aucturn comes close, maybe? You think that if you sat down with the scrolls for a good read-through you might be able to learn more, but studying them while standing in the bad part of Sothis, at night, will probably get tiring before you get a chance to read them through.
Rosalia, Osirion is a city that happily caters to, and makes money off of, the rush of incoming foreigners who seek to plunder the country's history. Scrolls to aid those who do not speak the nation's ancient tongue are certainly obtainable.
"Friends, I believe we should visit the Sothis Exhibitionary - from what I have read in Volume VII of the Pathfinder Chronicles, which discusses much of Osirion, there was a description of a golden funerary mask of unknown heritage, with red and black feathers supposedly in exhibition or storage in that exact place. It is perhaps a lead worth following"
"wading directly into Evil embrace surely has a hint of crazy to it all" - he smiles
Javi shrugs from atop the perch on which he stands to peer over Shaggar's massively hunched shoulders to get a peek at the scrolls. "I don't know…" he mutters distractedly, "just seems like good fun to me."
When the scrolls are handed back, he picks at his fingernail with a splinter of wood pulled from a rickety stall. His voice is kept low, "Agreed. But I can't help but wonder at a few things." He seems to dislodge whatever it was in his fingernails, then pops the splinter in his mouth, chewing on it as he speaks. "We have a rich guy looking to drive down the prices on our scrolls here… possibly in league with an amateur thief. You think it's likely the Chelaxian is putting together a team to try this same thing? If he is, and we assume he knows what we know, we need to get that mask quickly."
Also, he pulls out the brass skeleton key and holds it up for the two pathfinders. "Either of you able to tell if this thing is magical? I swiped it from the other halfling, so if we need to get ahold of him, we might be able to."
Rosalia nods, taking back the scrolls and carefully fitting them back into their storage case and from their into her backpack.
"Perhaps we should head back to the Dung Beetle--" Rosalia reflexively shudders a little at that awful name, "--book ourselves a room for the night and read up on what we've picked up so far. We can puzzle out the strange people we spotted at the auction as well. In the morning we check out the Sothis Exhibitionary, and from there...?" She shrugs.
At Javi's request, Rosalia takes a look at the key. She utters a single arcane syllable, her voice strangely deep and echoing as she does so, and her eyes briefly shimmer through the entire colour spectrum before returning to their normal blue-grey.
Ping-a-ling ding ding! Yes, the key does glow with some minor enchantments. Rosalia studies them intently.
You have acquired inventory item: The Housebreaker's Friend. This masterwork skeleton key of wood and brass has a few odd but useful minor enchantments placed upon it...