Despite being confused, Truffles makes only a half-hearted attack on Sugarsnap, missing the halfling.
Krago uses the magical staff to send another Fireball into the room and those near the door smell the odor of fried worm emanating from mists.
The white enemy then closes on the door, taking an arrow to the face.
The remaining enemy then makes a few impotent strikes with its shortsword, only to quickly meet its doom to Xakon's rapier and Freodwen's arrow.
On the worm creature's bodies you discover 3 masterwork short swords, a wand of web (6 charges), and 2 wands of magic missile (CL 5th, 12 charges). Around the neck of one of them, you also discover a pouch containing an Emerald Spire transport token.
A closer examination of the mist-filled room also reveals that when shifting air currents thin the fog, they reveal that the walls connect at precise, unnatural angles and are decorated with strange geometric designs.
Having examined all the rooms, the group decides to head back to the surface. After reporting your findings to your superiors, they agree to send a team of spellcasters down later to clear out the spider creature with fireballs.
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It has been many months since the Pathfinder Society has taken enough of an interest in the Emerald Spire to send in a team to explore the many levels of the Azlanti structure. But as with anything, situations change, and upon your reemergence to resupply within Fort Inevitable and renew your licences a message, or rather a plethora of messages, arrive for various members of your team. Most of them are requests from Venture-Captain Valsin, requesting reports. One of them though is a message for Olaf, requiring him to return to Absalom urgently.
And thus you find yourselves down to four; hoping that perhaps the Ten, in their infinite wisdom, will manage to send in replacements before you attempt the next leg of your journey to the root of the strange green rock that transfixes, and indeed gives its name to, the Emerald Spire.
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After a few days of waiting and lurking about Fort Inevitable, a missive arrives for you from Ambrus Valsin.
"Pathfinders,
In spite of my requests for assistance, the Ten and my fellow Venture Captains have either not responded or denied me any further help in the exploration of the ruin. I wish it were not so, but we must make do with the hand we have, and not the one we dream of. Be careful. There is no telling what kind of Azlanti trickery remains within.
The gods watch over you all. Explore, Report, Cooperate.
Venture Captain Ambrus Valsin."
And it is thus that you find yourselves returning to the ancient tomb you had last uncovered and begin heading downward, along paths that go ever deeper into the bowels of the earth. By Krago's silent reckoning, you are well beyond the upper layers of the Darklands. These corridors bear the trappings of caverns only mentioned in the oldest of Dwarven records. Nar Voth. The long-forgotten, long-abandoned homelands of the dwarven people.
Nothing good remains within this layer.
You finally arrive within a narrow chamber, with what seems to be a narrow corkscrew stairwell going downwards. Time has not been kind to the mortar, stone and clay that once composed this stair, leading to a rather treacherous path down. The landing is at the edge of the dwarf's darkvision. Old flagstones, barely kept. Dim light filters up.
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Krago begins to step down the circular steps, followed by his companions. As he begins the final descent on the rickety metal rungs, he stops as something catches his eye. After careful inspection, it appears that some sort of cube made of transparent matter lays directly at the bottom of the ladder, waiting patiently for its next meal.
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With Krago pointing out the creature to his allies, Lady Sugarsnap not only identifies the creature, but remembers that it is immune to electricity and, owing to it's lack of clearly defined organs, anything to do with precision work or anything to do with hitting it in a sweet spot. However, nothing with regards to fire. And as she begins to cast the spell, Frēodwēn manages to pop his head in to confirm the identity of their obstacle, but also a couple of key features.
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With the threat identified, the pathfinders decide not to take any chances and start firing at the beast from above. Unable to duck out of the way, it dies without even having the good sense to understand that it has ceased to be. Satisfied with their work, the group finally heads on down.
At the bottom of the shaft lies a chamber with walls formed from opaque green glass. Doors exit the chamber to the south and west. While there is nothing magical about the room or its contents, a strange handprint resides where a door handle would be on either aperture.
Opening the door to the south exposes the pathfinders to the aromas of old herbs. Tea to be specific. The odor wafts in from the room as the last pathfinder makes their way down.
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Sugar decides to check out the hand prints but failing to figure anything out about them, she returns her attention to the open door.
well you gonna take any of it? might be interesting to see where it comes from, being underground and all.
Sugar goes to examine where the smell is coming from and examine it.
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Looking through the rather large storeroom, the pathfinders find that it is bereft of anything that might interest you, magical or not, unless one is possessed with a desire to acquire ancient tea leaves.
Moving back to their starting point, Krago pushes the remaining door open to reveal a narrow hall, leading to a small foyer. Patterns of shadow, reminiscent of ripples on water, pass over the green glass walls. No light casts them; indeed they seem to be illusions, figments of the imagination. Of whose imagination remains to be seen. This chamber surrounds a low platform engraved with a massive mystical pattern.
Two points of egress lead from this chamber; a simple door alongside the corridor leading to the dais, and a double door, engraved with a scene of humanoids, relaxing in a pool of water.
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Sugar decides to check out the hand prints but failing to figure anything out about them, she returns her attention to the open door.
"Well you gonna take any of it? might be interesting to see where it comes from, being underground and all."
Sugar goes to examine where the smell is coming from and examine it.
The smell of tea seems to emanate from a number of silk bags, packed to the brim with dried tea leaves. Lady Sugarsnap walks up to one such bag, picks it up and struggles to keeps the bag from escaping her grasp as the tea within turns to powder even under the most careful of ministrations. While it may have retained its potency, it'll have to be blended into hot water rather than soaked in.
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Krago is not terribly interested in the tea. Possibly of some value to the right person, but that could be left for later. The mystical pattern on the low platform is probably not a trap (or his Trap Spotter would have picked it up), but it could be important.
"Sugarsnap, Frēodwēn, any idea about this magical pattern?"
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Unsure as to what to make of the platform, the pathfinders double back to take a look at what lies beyond the single door. While the dim light makes it hard to see, Krago can make out a tasteful white marble basin in one corner of the room, which seems to serve as a latrine. A mirror and a crystal orb are mounted on the wall across from it.
[spoiler=Spellcraft or Knowledge (Arcana) DC 17]These magics are simple, yet intervowen they form a powerful enchantment that will dispose of waste and filth within moments.
The engraved double doors swing open, revealing a cozy room, seemingly untouched by time. The couch by the crackling fire is richly upholstered, and a massive painting hung above the fireplace depicts a fearsome wizard battling a titanic golem. A small door to the west lies closed, as do the set of double doors in the eastern wall. Embroidered place settings are daintily laid out at a warn chestnut table, surrounding the most incongruous piece here: the head of an automaton, much like those you have fought off as early as on the surface of the Spire.
Its eyes light up with glowing, pulsating green energy. And then...
"Aaah yes. Finally. Welcome honored guests. Please, make yourselves comfortable and be seated" it enunciates in impeccable Common, a rich almost Taldane accent in its voice. A contrast to the blurt of sound it emits, before continuing "Server Two? Guests for tea."
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"We assumed you would return" replies the head laconically to Frēodwēn, as Krago moves towards the westernmost door, which he opens using his magic. Inside, three sad, decrepit looking clockwork automatons move with arthritic grace, preparing what smells like tea, along with what appear to be finger cakes. Seeing him peer in, the constructs attempt to increase their work cadence, leading the one doing the chopping to stumble and lose his knife hand as the string keeping it in place becomes undone.
As another clockwork creature goes to re-attach the loose limb, Frēodwēn considers the automaton head and believes that if he were to destroy it, a task that would be very easy, the creature would cease operating. He also believes that this clockwork robot used to have other pieces, but time and possibly other hazards have stripped that away from him. Looking to the others through the door, his opinion is further reinforced: these creatures are no challenge at all.
"Please good patrons, be seated for your refreshments. Might I be so bold as to add that you look rather tense, and the lady looks rather disheveled. I can arrange for a kinetic massage and perhaps a modest facial treatment if this would please you" the head continues, unperturbed by the wary demeanor on display.
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"If you speak of yourself in particular, I'm afraid I do not remember my lord's particular countenance. But the Patrons of this here Salon are unmistakable in their appearance. The flesh you see" replies the head unflappably, continuing as what could be described as a frail old clockwork construct begins to move towards the room, a tray with a piping hot kettle of tea in a tray in its hands, along with four porcelain cups, decorated with hand-painted multicolored petals. "Patrons such as yourselves have been absent for a pronounced amount of time my lord. But please, you must be weary from your travels. Do not hesitate to seat yourselves and enjoy these simple refreshments. I'm certain Chef Two will have fingerfoods available in no time."
While the head cannot shift, it nonetheless attempts to look in Xakon's direction. "Excellent. I'm sure Massage One and Beauty Two will be delighted to help you soothe your weary flesh. Please, if you will, go through the double door to your left."
The untrapped, unlocked doors open onto a large chamber with a similarly large pool at its center. Steam gently wafts out, the comforting scents of sandalwood, orange peel and mint reaching out invitingly. Faint chimes echo through and the light, while not quite dim, is definitely lowered in this room to allow for a premium experience. One automaton, looking rather bulkier than the other, stands besides a curved massage table. Another, equipped with many arms the ends of which possess fine, dainty brushes and puffs, looks to you and gracefully re-arranges salves, powders and other unguents at its station. Inviting lounging chairs await on the other side of the pool, and small bools of fresh fruits dot the scenery.
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Fresh fruit? How is that possible? Magic, I suppose.
Krago looks around, fascinated.
"This seems like a pleasant enough place. A welcome change from the last level, and not what I was expecting. If all these construct servants work as they are supposed to, one could sell access to this level for a substantial price. Is this what life was like in the Azlanti Empire?"
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"I imagine it must have been slightly more palatable than these simple accommodations my lord. Time and the distance of this outpost from Azlant have considerably altered the quality of care we are able to provide here" replies the robotic head. "As well as some more recent developments. But I am terribly rude. I am Steward, and it is my pleasure to provide service."
The clockwork servant sets the tray upon the coffee table and looks with an almost reverential awe to the Pathfinders. "Have the Patrons returned for good?" it attempts to whisper to the head. If a clockwork head could express disapproval, it would as it emits a micro-second burst of noise, to which the servant responds to with a chastised demeanor.
In the Oasis, Massage One states: "I humbly beg your pardon, but it will be incredibly difficult for me to apply my meager skills to your muscle groups should you remain armored and fully clothed my lord Patron. My most abject apologies."
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"Millennia to be certain" replies Steward as Krago tastes a potent, yet delicately spiced tea. "My timekeeping capabilities have somewhat deteriorated in the interval my lord Patron." It waits for you to take a seat before continuing. "The reclaimers have been somewhat of a nuisance over the past ten centuries. A pity. Might you desire to take some rest? I am told that the recliners within the Oasis are passably comfortable, suitable for a meaningful yet short rest."
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As Xakon, having removed his armor and most of his clothing begins getting a massage the Steward replies: "We all have our place. Ours is to maintain these quarters for the benefit of the Patrons. The Reclaimers maintain the remainder of the facility's automata. In the time since you have left us to our own devices they seem to have become possessed with the idea that we need to be smelted down, our gears reforged into spare parts for the defensive sentries you see. And while I wouldn't begrudge such a decision from yourselves, I do confess I have become quite fond of the state of existence I find myself in and disagree with the Reclaimer staff that they have purview over our parts, as insignificant as they may be. And the remaining staff does seem to share in this sentiment, if I may be so bold. Of course the Reclaimers are rather opposed to such a notion, and have repossessed Massage Three, Servants One, Four and Six, as well as Chef One."
He pauses and adds: "Might I inquire as to whether the tea is satisfactory?"
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The Steward ponders Krago's question for a moment as the finger cakes come out of the kitchen area, their warm aroma filling the air as they are carried towards the couch by another clockwork servant. "The Reclaimers are for the most part creatures of steel. I do not believe any of their current number to be flesh. We share... A disturbing amount of similarities. Hmmm..."
His eyes flash on and off as the senior automaton begins to think.