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"It can't be helped, greatness is a gift that only I have. But you won't understand it since you're not the chosen one." He claims as he hands over the book to the diplomat.
Perusing the pages, you realise this is not a formula book at all! The book is written in Ancient Osiriani and filled with notes on necromantic experiments. Although, they contain mere snippets of knowledge attempting to achieve something rather than actual details of experiments, like a journal.
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Dale eagerly takes the book to learn what he can "Hrm, more of that old sand dune speech. Give me a minute and I'll mix up something to translate it." He hands the book to the next in line then promptly takes off his backpack and has a seat, pulling out some vials and powders that he mixes up in a specific order.
"Do you know the extract I'm creating here my alchemist friend?" Let's see if he really IS a real alchemist...
After about a minute Dale drinks down the creation and takes back the book to have a read.
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Morallo watches on in brooding silence, exasperated that he does not speak Ancient Osiriani only its modern equivalent he resolves to correct that in the near future.
While Dale studies the book Morallo studies the alchemist, attempting to appear casual, a lunatic can snap at any moment and it would be prudent to note whether the fellow is armed.
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He recognizes the compounds used for Dales extract, but cannot really detail which specific extract it is that is being brewed. Clearly he is an alchemist but an incompetent one at that.
The journal itself holds no specific formulas, but vivid details of how specific substances contribute to means of torture, possible necromancy and a few accounts of experimentation to prove the point. It gives a list of market traders as well. For certain, you are sure that there is no real answers to immortality in this book.
Believing you will find no more answers from him, the group heads over to the Temple of the Redeeming Sun in search for more. This temple is the largest in the city. It boasts a massive courtyard where the faithful congregate to pray under the open sun. The gold plating on the surrounding buildings focuses the rays of the sun inward on a tremendous altar at the center of the courtyard, it's been told that the heat at the apex is so intense that the priests require protective magic to survive giving their sermons.
One of the side buildings, providing shelter from the burning sun is the hospice wing where the sick are kept. Inside you are able to find Mauta, the woman mentioned in the briefing as you are escorted to by a priest named Herhut. Mauta lies in a small room separate from the other patients, and her mad screams echo through the halls. The priest explains that Mauta started rambling in garbled Ancient Osiriani shortly after arriving at the temple. They are doing their best to care for her, but they are unable to ease her wild ramblings and hallucinations. She is strapped down to her bed, in her mad state, she yells incoherently, as if she's lost the ability to speak properly.
You discern the words “seek,” “she,” “spiral,” and “death."
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Dale stands and listens to the woman's ravings, some of the lingering magic still in his head he recognizes a few of the words she's saying “seek,” “she,” “spiral,” and “death." He repeats "Well that's morbid. This whole investigation is pretty morbid. Its a good thing the Society has a solid health plan.. at least for the more seasoned agents."
Dale pulls out a small bundle of rubbery leaves with strips of cloth wrapped around it for a binding. He lays it down and begins to untie it, revealing a number of bottles, vials, and shells containing salves. "I am a trained physician, maybe I can take a look at the woman, see if I can't help calm her?"
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With the diplomat's silver tongue in attempting to calm her to her senses, she begins to speak slower. Perhaps she understands you, and wants to help, but her madness has not left her. She continues to repeat her words, but she speaks with a bit more clarity.
من به دنبال کسی هستم که مارپیچ مرگ را می پوشد! من احساس حضور او را دارم! خادمان خورشید سعی داشتند فرشته ها را مخفی کنند، اما آنها باقی مانده اند! آنها کجا هستند؟!"
“I seek she who wears the spiral of death! I sense her presence! The Servants of the Sun tried to hide the Dungeons, but they remain! Where are they?!"
“spiral of death” is reminiscent of Pharasma, the Lady of Graves, whose holy symbol is a spiralling comet.
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Dale nods along with the Diplomat as he translates for everyone "“I seek she who wears the spiral of death! I sense her presence! The Servants of the Sun tried to hide the Dungeons, but they remain! Where are they?!" He repeats, pausing for naught a moment before filling in some more information “Spiral of death” is reminiscent of Pharasma, the Lady of Graves, whose holy symbol is a spiraling comet." Dale looks to the others with a bit of pride in his never ending, sagely knowledge.
"Seems we have some more leads here. Go and let Obahar know what we've found and see what he could contribute, or check out the Necropolis. Do we know of Obahar's allegiances? What about these servants of the Sun..." He gestures to the temple they are now inside... "Servants of the Sun.. Sarenrae perhaps?"
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Satisfied that you are unable to learn more from the wayward alchemist, you return to the Scholar's address to report what you've learnt so far in hopes for more answers. Obahar’s home, a small one, is a dilapidated, ancient stone structure that seems out of place among the more modern dwellings surrounding it. While originally three stories tall, most of the top story fell away long ago. The front door hangs slightly ajar.
Thinking something's amiss, you enter cautiously. Inside the home, the you discover that Obahar lives an austere life—the main floor consists of a tiny kitchen, a sitting room, and a simple bedroom. The second floor is a single large room—the scholar’s study—with a blocked staircase that once led to the third floor. Obahar crouches on a desk in his study, wearing only one shoe and chewing on a scroll. He is addled and unable to speak or understand speech. There are bite scars on his neck and shoulder, though they have mostly healed.
Conveniently, the documents relevant to your investigation—maps of the city from long ago, official records from government archives, and the like—are strewn about Obahar’s desk. However, before you are able to gloss over them, an unexpected guest arrives.
“Good thing I was around, or the old man would be long dead. Those wounds were a lot uglier before I showed up.” The armored half orc tells. "I am Zurnzal, an agent of Grandmaster Torch, and I've come to lend my aid."
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Domrilin believes Zurnzal to be sincere, that he is telling the truth and hides nothing from you of the incident with the scholar.
Zurnzal explains, “My employer has been watching recent events in Merab with keen interest. The doru attacks seemed to draw the eyes of Amenopheus’ agents, and Grandmaster Torch shares mutual concerns with the Sapphire Sage; both of them think there is more to the sage jewels than anyone dares to believe. I am here to offer information to aid in your search for the Dungeons of the Ever-Dying”—the half-orc smiles knowingly—“if you give the Society’s guarantee that when it comes time to act on the threat to the Jeweled Sages— whatever it may be—Torch will be welcome to stand alongside his, ah, colleagues, in the Society.”
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Dale looks around confused at the scene, just about to take a closer look at the man who earlier in the day was their primary contact at the dig site, when the half orc shows up mysteriously. "Hello. Please don't be offended if I have my reservations, there is a lot going on here that needs figuring out. It is funny you mention that dungeon, we've come across it in our research so far."
As Dale and the others chat with the new comer, Dale tries to make a diagnosis on the addled man. Seems we're following the trail of something that really destroys minds... my mind is far too precious to be destroyed!
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Dale also believes Zurnzal to be sincere, that he is telling the truth and hides nothing from you of the incident with the scholar.
There are no visible injuries on Obahar, and he looks to be drained mentally.
Grandmaster Torch has been known to be a pain in the Pathfinders sides, not necessarily an enemy but definitely not an ally in anyone's eyes. He is known to be a information broker that keeps to his word, but sells a hard price that always has been paid with a heavy heart.
The Jeweled Sages are said to have been an order existence from the time of the Song Pharoah, however they were drove into inexistence throughout history. Little is known about them at this time, except that they have a surviving member, Amenopheus, but the whole Pathfinder order Scarab Sages is out there to seek answers on the illustrious Jeweled Sages.
"I recognize this as a difficult decision, but I assure the information I have would be worth your while" He iterates, as he stands patiently waiting your decision.
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Dale relays the small bit of information he knows about the subjects to the others "Seems in my opinion, which is no where near the majority, that as it currently stands we are in need of the information he possesses. Maybe if we can restore the lost sanity to our friend here he can help us... hopefully." He looks to the others for their decisions.
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"Please excuse us for a moment Zurnzal while we discuss the matter amongst ourselves," Morallo waits pointedly for the half orc to leave. If he does not Morallo sniffs in annoyance and beckons the others to come away from the half orc.
"It does seem we are lacking information, both regarding the location, and in my case about the nature of this Master Torch. I am inclined to think we have little choice, given our lack of information, is there any reason to suppose this Torch might do something particularly ruinous? Or indeed that he could not simply do so without us if he can find it and we cannot?"
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Rolvark's eyes narrow as he considers all that has happened here and he speaks in a low voice to his companions "We have not thoroughly investigated everything yet. There may yet be information undiscovered at the necropolis, and we should check this place to ascertain if this Zurnzal attacked Obahar or not. Let us exhaust our options before throwing our lot with this Torch"
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Grandmaster Torch's name has been thrown infamously around among seasoned Pathfinders. Although an corroborator to the society, his intentions are never clear and he is one not to be underestimated; Rumours have it that he was once a prominent Society member. More than once has a person paid more than they realised for an information. Not necessarily in a bad way, but most definitely in a troublesome way.
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Rolvark makes a chopping gesture with his hand, cutting off the Diplomat while speaking to Zurnzal"What my companion means to say is, that we will consider your offer and come back to you if we wish to accept your aid. Where did you say we can find you again?" He mutters to the others "I would prefer we do what we can first before allying ourselves to this...Torch. I've heard those who have accepted his aid in the past have paid for it...dearly"
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Rolvark makes a chopping gesture with his hand, cutting off the Diplomat while speaking to Zurnzal"What my companion means to say is, that we will consider your offer and come back to you if we wish to accept your aid. Where did you say we can find you again?" He mutters to the others "I would prefer we do what we can first before allying ourselves to this...Torch. I've heard those who have accepted his aid in the past have paid for it...dearly"
Ignore my companion, we will happily accept your assistance."
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"Exactly, as this is my first mission for the Society, and not even having time to take my Confirmation, the last thing I want is to fail at all. Help, in whatever form, is always appreciated." The Diplomat states, matter of factly, but contritely, hoping to foster good will with Morallo and the group as a whole.
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Cork steps to position himself between Rolvark and the Diplomat. Not that there was any real threat of violence between the two, but he'd seen his share of shipboard disagreements that escalated way too fast. "It seems we have a disagreement but the majority of us would like to go to the necropolis first. So let's all work together. When both side of the boat row in different directions, we just go in circles."
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“You Pathfinders are all the same. Don’t expect Torch to give up so easily. You will not be able to find me, but I will find you.” He barks and hastily makes an exit.
In search for answers, you head to the last possible lead, the necropolis. Priests of Pharasma, the Lady of Graves, oversee a large graveyard and several small shrines surrounding it. For reasons unknown to anyone, the necropolis possess some unique traits: the sun’s light shines weakly upon it, causing the graveyard to be dimly lit even on the brightest days, every sound made in this area is difficult to her, almost as if everything is muted.
Oddly enough, everybody feels calm and emotionless when wandering the necropolis.
When you arrive, you are immediately greeted by a mid-ranking priestess. "Good day, I am Renofre, have you come here to pray?"
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The Diplomat, unhappy that the group didn't accept the assistance offered and instead went to the Necropolis, shakes his head. "No. We are here because they," he points over his shoulder to the group behind him, "felt it necessary to come here."
The Diplomat takes a step back. "Go for it, you wanted to come here, you guys go ahead and take charge." Clearly pouting.
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Dale frowns at the attitude his ally displays "We're here to gather information actually. Do you know anything about the Dungeons of the Ever-Dying? There's been a development in the city. An ancient being escaped some newly discovered ruins and we found mention of these Dungeons of the Ever-Dying frequently. We've got some reason to believe it may be headed there, or hope to find some more clues from it." He asks sincerely, trying to be polite and reasonable.
"There were many references to the Lady of Graves as well, maybe we can trade some information?" He says, pushing his long hair out of his eyes.
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Initially, the woman looks genuinely puzzled at the situation laid before her but soon makes a connection. "I do not know of this Dungeon that you speak of, but now that you have mentioned about a recently loose creature, a disembodied head, I do recall that we sent an acolyte recently to cleanse a minor undead menace that was reported to be a floating head. The acolyte was successful in deterring the menace but the whole thing has scared him. Perhaps you could speak to him regarding this."
With that, she leads you on to a a small catacomb where they are holding the acolyte—a cool, dark room that has yet to be used for any burials. The acolyte, a young blonde man, sits in the corner with his arms around his knees, rocking back and forth.
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Dale points to Rolvark and nods vigorously "YES! A floating head may have been a better description, thanks Rolvark. Your young priest's symptoms sound consistent from others we've seen so far, thanks." Dale happily follows along, somewhat distracted by the architecture along the way.
"This place has a very calming affect, and the sun is muted. I'm to assume this is a magical effect?" He runs his hands up along the catacomb's walls "How long ago was it built?"
Dale greets the blonde man with a crisp "Hello!" before approaching him, curious of his reaction. On his way here Dale pulled out his journal and writing pen and occasionally jots down a few notes on his observations Very interesting place. Helpful priest. Oh, that sounded like a desert sparrow call! Focus!