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Cork looks at the animal horns trying to figure out what they are. His focus is interrupted with the newcomer.
"Hello," he says, after Dale switches to common. "Glad to have you along. I don't see why you don't just jump right in. Take a look at these animal horns here."
Cork points to the contents of the chest and steps aside so that Dale can get a look.
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Dale smiles and nods "Yes, wonderful! Did you know there are a multitude of horn types? The evolutionary significance can't be understated!" He starts to drone on, walking past Cork and handing him all of the broken pottery, skeleton skull, and statue arm he'd collected on his trip in.
Dale reaches in and pulls out the most interesting horn first, turning it this way and that as he gets a good look for engravings and markings, holding it up close to his ioun torch. "Very interesting, someone should be taking notes here, you know how the Society is always VERY staunch in their stance for well detailed notes." He turns and waves his hand at the plump one with the shield to get to note taking.
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Morallo's face darkens, but he finds himself torn, well notes are very useful and if I take them I will have them...
"I trust you are able to write? While I agree that notes are useful and valuable tools I am not presently inclined to take them. However once we have cleared out any dangers I would be glad to compile them. There yet remains an unexplored passage way."
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Collectively the group doesn't know anything about the magic on the horns save the aura of divination. But you suspect the magic is likely ancient and no longer practiced, thus lost in time.
As Dale picks up the first horn, his eyes momentarily turns clouded with white before it returns to it's normal state.
As you reach in, and your hand comes in contact with one of the horns. Immediately you receive a flash of a vision. You feel as if you are a disembodied, floating being, always in the presence of a woman dressed in Ancient Osiriani garb. Any distinguishing features of the woman blur and shift. The voice, you recall to be the same as the one that spoke when you entered into the ruins. The spoken language is Ancient Osiriani, but you seem to understand it even if you normally don't.
The woman stands surrounded by the aftermath of a great battle in the desert. She examines the wounded and dying with interest, ignoring their cries for help. She kneels by a dying man, places her hand on his forehead, and says, “Were you one of ours? One of theirs? It matters not. The Plague loves all of you the same. Do you feel it? As your body dies, does your mind cling to life? Yes—I sense it. Wonderful! I must try again. Soon even the Lady of Graves will have no hold over my fate.”
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Cornelius looks closely and believes him to be in some sort of trance whenever his eyes turns cloudly.
His eyes does the same thing a second time as he reaches the next horn.
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Dale repeats the brief bit of dizziness, half stumbling on his feet as he picks up the second horn "Even MORE interesting!" He looks on as the Diplomat grabs up the third horn "Hey now... NOW you're ok being a guinea pig?" He taps his foot as he waits for a chance to check out the last horn. Only then will he reveal what he knows...
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Without surprise, Diplomats eyes turn cloudy white, and Dales after as he touches the last horn.
Feelings of intense pain and desperation accompany this vision. The woman mockingly waves one of the horns into view. “What better material to preserve a memory than the horn of a creature fundamentally obsessed with knowledge? Perhaps I shall find others like you, take their essence, and perfect my magic. Pain? Yes. There will always be pain for you. I will leave you those memories. A suiting gift for a traitor.”
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Morallo edges towards the exit shield raised, ready to run just in case the Pathfinders have all been mind controlled by some ancient spirit trapped in the horns or some such.
"Nobody else touch the horns until we have an explanation! If they are being controlled by something best to isolate the effect..."
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Once its over Dale returns the last horn back to the chest and a smile lights up his face. His eyes have returned to their normal brown and his hair is as thick and voluptuous as ever. "As I said before, now would be a good time to take some notes, my memory IS impeccable, but who knows if I'll make it out of here alive."
He watches Morallo slink back away from them in fear, Dale shrugs his shoulders and takes off his pack and pulls out his own journal, ink and pen. He closes up the chest and takes a seat on it to begin to write and recount what he saw. "Each horn contains its own memory and tells a story, let me recount them for you."
As you reach in, and your hand comes in contact with one of the horns. Immediately you receive a flash of a vision. You feel as if you are a disembodied, floating being, always in the presence of a woman dressed in Ancient Osiriani garb. Any distinguishing features of the woman blur and shift. The voice, you recall to be the same as the one that spoke when you entered into the ruins. The spoken language is Ancient Osiriani, but you seem to understand it even if you normally don't.
The woman stands surrounded by the aftermath of a great battle in the desert. She examines the wounded and dying with interest, ignoring their cries for help. She kneels by a dying man, places her hand on his forehead, and says, “Were you one of ours? One of theirs? It matters not. The Plague loves all of you the same. Do you feel it? As your body dies, does your mind cling to life? Yes—I sense it. Wonderful! I must try again. Soon even the Lady of Graves will have no hold over my fate.”
Screams echo around the dark halls as the woman snarls. “They die too quickly! There is no time. I need healthier subjects.” She looks up, but her features remain obscured. “Go to the training grounds. Tell the captain I require another full squad of his most able-bodied guards for the Dungeons of the Ever-Dying. Perhaps they can survive long enough to further my studies. No—not one squad. A dozen fresh recruits each week.”
Feelings of intense pain and desperation accompany this vision. The woman mockingly waves one of the horns into view. “What better material to preserve a memory than the horn of a creature fundamentally obsessed with knowledge? Perhaps I shall find others like you, take their essence, and perfect my magic. Pain? Yes. There will always be pain for you. I will leave you those memories. A suiting gift for a traitor.”
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"Wow, ok, what a vision.." The Diplomat stops speaking, at a loss for words, which is extremely rare for him. He steadies himself, gains some composure, and begins to speak slowly "While I Cannot confirm what Dale saw in his other visions, I can confirm that he saw what I saw in mine. What do they mean? I don't know, yet. And, truthfully, I might never know. And, for that matter, what do they have to do with the creature that came from here? But, back to the present, shall we continue on?"
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The Lady of the Graves is almost certain a reference to the Pharasma, the goddess who shepherds Golarion's recently-departed souls to their final reward.
You don't know anything about this dungeon of the Ever-Dying, it certainly doesn't exist in the present.
The horned creature may likely be referring to that of a Div, namely a Doru as with some of the other hints in the ruins suggest.
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Domrilin thinks for a moment and says "Perhaps this is in close relations to the "Floating head" we heard about earlier, after all you said yourself you felt disembodied. Maybe these horns were made to torment this floating head creature. Another thing that grabbed my attention you said that at the end it mentioned a traitor and when we entered there was a message that also spoke of a betrayal and punishment." Then he looks at the party. " I think we should check the other passage for more insight on this." After that he mumbles something and casts Guidance on himself.
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The party backtracks their steps towards the entrance and then continues down the unexplored path into a series of small chambers. A chest, made of wood now rotting, sits in the first room’s western alcove. Although in a poor condition, looking easily breakable, the locks surprisingly hold.
Within are mostly dozens of small, dull gray stones with no apparent value. Many of the stones have cracks, divots, and pockmarks. Four onyx gemstones stand out as possibly being valuable.
The stones were once flawless gemstones and that they were likely used as components in the creation of a spell or magical effect.
These stones represent failed attempts at necromancy of some kind.
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"Yes, let's move on. We've got a job to do." Cork follows the group as they explore room to room.
"Hmm. Looks like more than just a box of random rocks. I didn't know that gems could be destroyed like this when used for magic. It must have been some strong magic. I wonder if there is any residue." Cork cast's detect magic on the chest and the stones.
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The stones do not emanate any magical auras.
Further in, Detritus litters the next room, including bits of metal, broken furniture, crushed glass, leather strips, and shredded parchment. The walls, ceiling, and floor are covered in deep gouges forming words and phrases in multiple languages. You attempt to decipher the words written covering very surface of this room. An opening leads west towards the next chamber.
“I will seek the Dungeons, find the screams, remember your name, KILL YOU”
“I will seek the Dungeons, find the screams, remember your name, KILL YOU”
“I will seek the Dungeons, find the screams, remember your name, KILL YOU”
Taking some time to study the room, you decipher that the room once contained a table with thick leather restraints, a single stool, and a small writing desk.
You note scraps of parchments that contain Ancient Osiriani writing, arcane symbols, and sketches of gemstones and humanoid skulls.
Although illegible, these musings date back to the Age of Destiny, around seven millennia ago
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Dale squints one eye and scratches his mop of hair as he tries to read the second phrase. "Well, the first phrase and the last are the same: “I will seek the Dungeons, find the screams, remember your name, KILL YOU”. Perhaps the middle is as well? Please tell me it is, a great way to compare languages..."
He then looks over the rest of the room with the others, wondering if they are always this quiet...
Dale holds up a few pieces of parchment and coos excitedly "Aha! More Osiriani.. arcane spell musing perhaps? And they involve gemstones, maybe the ones we found earlier?" He holds the paper up to the light of his Ioun torch and finds an ancient water mark "These are over 7000 years old! Historical treasures! We must get them to the historians back at the Lodge!"
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Dale pulls out his journal and pen once more, taking notes on the phrases and scraps of papers as the others mill about silently. Good thing I showed up, I think these fellas would be lost without me.
"Quite an interesting language, so much different than the others I'm familiar with. If I haven't already invested so much time in learning Azlanti I'd put more into learning this one... one must have goals!"
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Intrigued by your discoveries, you traverse once more deeper into what seems to be a curving hallway to a dead end. Over a dozen small alcoves line this hallway, each containing rusted shackles bolted to the walls and copious amounts of dust. Three of the alcoves contain brittle skeletons hanging from the shackles. Frantic whispers echo around the otherwise-silent chamber, seemingly originating from the skulls of the deceased.
You know that unquiet spirits can be put to rest through spell use (bless, consecrate...etc), or possibly holy water if one is able to say the right prayer.
The bones once belong to adult humanoids who suffered from multiple horrific and fatal diseases.
Only magic or divine energies could have kept these people alive long enough to contract so many deadly diseases, and that force is likely what preserved the bones.
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"Horrible someone must have used divine magic to keep these people alive long enough to contract so many deadly diseases - it must be that magic that preserved their bones. Does anyone have holy water, perhaps with a prayer to an appropriate deity, Pharasma? Or if anyone can cast a blessing to quiet these restless spirits?" Morallo says, the grim sight shocking him out of a petty circle where he now wishes to take notes, but pointedly refuses to do so.
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Dale does his own personal investigation and happily confirms Morallo's determination "Yup, my thoughts exactly. I do happen to have a single holy water left over from my trip to the jungle. I do have a bit of an attachment to it, it was made by the elder Ekujae chieftain, an Elf of great renown. He was also kind enough to cure me of the plague.. I'm still pretty confident I could have fought it off..." Next time don't dose yourself so damn often and maybe! Shut up self.
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Dale shrugs his shoulders at Domrilin's thoughts on the matter "You'd be surprised on how important quelling the restless dead COULD be in our solving this mystery."
Dale takes out the holy water vial, contained in a large, stoppered nut shell and begins to sprinkle it around the skulls and bones while repeating Pharasma's prayers. I hope this works...
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Dale chants a short prayer that he recalls was used by clerics of Pharasma to put spirits to ease before their passing into the next plane. Imbued with holy water sprinkled on to the openings in the walls, a bright calm light is momentarily released from the alcoves, and slowly the whispers die as the chamber returns into darkness.
Although there are a few questions left unanswered, the ruins seemed to have revealed as much as it can to you. Satisfied with your discoveries, you thread back to Obahar who waits patiently and eagerly for your return at the entrance of the ruins.
"Well, what have you discovered?" He immediately asks when you are within reach, as he frantically jots and goes through his notes of the ruins and incidences that have taken place. He head nods rigorously as you relay every detail you can to him "Mhmm. Mmm."
"I have not heard of the Dungeon of the Ever-Dying, but there must be a means to discover this." He states, ever so eager to learn more of the situation at hand. "You should rest for the day, let me compile my notes on the leads for you. I suggest you visit the Thrice-Shrouded Necropolis in case the reference to the Lady of Graves is significant. Come back to me when you have enough clues and maybe we can figure out where this Dungeon is."
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"Alchemist shop? Yes, double yes! I'm always curious to the queer discoveries my peers produce!" Dale asks where they may find the man in question.
"I'm looking forward to your thoughts on the matter my bearded man. There was a lot going on down there, hopefully we discovered everything possible. If not we can always make another trip down tomorrow."
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After a day's rest, the Pathfinders take a visit to meet the wayward alchemist. It doesn't take much to find the man and his shop, or what used to be his shop. A cramped, single-room establishment full of empty shelves. A large sign is posted across the windows. "Closed for business."
An irritated voice yells from the inside. "I don't sell nothing no more!"
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A worn looking man, with heavy eye-bags, and a very unkempt look approaches you. His body odour reeks as if he has not showered in days. "Well, I see you must have heard that I am the chosen one. Yes, it is true, the ugly horned demon has come to me revealing me the secrets of life." He proclaims proudly, somewhat delusional you think.
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Dale's face goes quickly from smile to frown as the alchemist seems to have closed up shop "Damn, and I was hoping to do some window shopping." He mutters as he heads up to the store front with the others.
"Hello fellow Alchemist, my name is Dale. I was really hoping to have a back and forth with you over alchemy. The alchemists of this land are renown over every inch of Golarion!" He sits and takes an account of the man as best he can as the other guy chats him up remarkably well.
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Dale doesn't beleive him to be lying in any way.
The man continues his confident stride, "If you seen the face itself, you would know, hideous being, like an disfigured orc ugly you know? Well I wouldn't be able to tell you the actual formula itself, it's secret you know, but it involves pretty complex stuff, mainly immortality. Of course, it does come with a price of a few experimental test which cause some poisoning, but that couldn't be help ya know, for the sake of alchemy."
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Rolvark shrugs Aren't all you bookworms supposed to be the experts here? Suppressing his irritation (somewhat), Rolvark clears his throat "This man is an alchemist right? Surely he has the formula for this...immortality written down somewhere? Why not ask him for that? Maybe it's a curse or some such."