Following the group poe crawls through the machinery; quickly untangling any cloaks that get caught in the gears, correcting ropes that jump the pulleys, and jamming any brakes that are not braking.
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Julius, or rather, now Julia, gives Yndra a stern look. The first time ever he seemed to be annoyed. "Listen here, missy. I am no halfling. I am a gnome. Learn your species."
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On stage, Julia comes out and waves the sword. "Rovagug, your time has come! Prepare to suffer for all the cruelty you relish in!" Julia starts patting her feet in a rhythmic movement, clicking her boots in a pattern that both plays a rhythm that looks like a combat stance.
With deft movements, the tapping of Julia's feet reminds the gnome of a merry song he played back at home whenever he had to watch others go into battle. The tap-tap-tap rhythm is quick beat that could inspire any one to dance a jig!
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After getting herself acquainted with the machine, Yndra starts to control the front legs. She channels some inner rage over not daring to take the role of Sarenrae, and conjures the image of a fierce bull. She stamps the front legs on the ground while roaring, then drags one of its claws across the pavement in anticipation of a charge. She counts off for the benefit of the others. "Lunge on three. One... Two... Three!" Along with the forward movement, she raises Rovagug's right claw high in the air, threatening to strike Julia. Then, for further dramatic effect, she casts a spell. I'll just have to tweak the magic a bit. She hopes to add some nice effect to the machine's claw, a wicked steel shimmer, blood and smoke perhaps?
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From his vantage point at the front, Graves seems less interested in the pageantry at first, and concentrates more on making sure he's got the hang of the contraption itself... as he works to ensure each lever and pulley does what he thinks its going to, and when.
He leaves the public display to the others for now, and just works on getting the faux-Beast to move as expected!
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Just before Julia begins Fate casts a spell on the wooden blade. He works his clay into the shape of a fire. The shaman then closes his fist tight, trapping the clay within. He squeezes as hard as he can. Slowly drips of light fall onto the entire length of the blade. He looks to 'Sarenrae', "You look very much the part. Now your sword glows with holy power. It should last nearly as long as your disguise."
From inside the belly of the mechanical beast, Fate cups his hands together and 'roars'.
Aunty Julia proves to be the shortest, and noisiest, Sarenrae in the annals of the Sunwrought Festival. Her rhythmic performance gets the crowd clapping along, and a chant goes up: "Sar-en-rae! Sar-en-rae!"
Mr Graves gets to grips with the machinery, manoeuvring the monstrosity expertly. Tem stomps the beasts rear feat, whilst Poe keeps the relatively complex internals clear. Yndra menaces 'Sarenrae' convincingly; Tschass just manages to avoid tripping over inside the contraption. Fate manages a sort of a hiccuping noise.
Overall though, the effect is an entertaining spectacle - there is a great cheer as Aunty Julia's glowing blade strikes down Rovagug, and the crowd bursts into applause; the choreographer-priest breathes a great sigh of relief.
"It's like I was really there! Surely the Goddess herself is among us!” says one onlooker.
Then, the crowd parts like water as the High Priestess herself appears.
If clergy were meant to be the embodiment of their deity, then this woman is a living effigy of Sarenrae, her gold and white vestments aflame with vitality that seems to radiate from her dark, elegantly coiffured hair via the golden pins and combs that hold it all in place. Her deep bronze features are elegantly made up, kohl framing an already relentless brown-eyed stare over high cheekbones; her voice is a tightly controlled flame of passion.
“So, you’re the outsiders who got into the Contraption, hmm? I admit, it’s not often our foreign guests are quite so bold. Or silly. But boldness and just a little silliness in the name of the Dawnflower go a long way, I find. I loved your performance! Very musical. I trust, however, this wasn’t done entirely because of your undying love for the Goddess. So, speak.”
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With restrained fury at the undercurrents of strife within the city, Tem elaborates; Your city is agitated. Your people speak of the Roidirans. You have extra guards on patrol. Whatever these knowledge seekers found, it is problematic. We as Pathfinders are exceptionally qualified to manage problematic knowledge..."
"Pathfinders, yes? Phantom and all?" High Priestess al-Sabha briefly scrutinises the letter of introduction, then smiles warmly at all of you. "Meet me at temple for dinner this evening. We can discuss this properly after my duties are completed for this holy day." She takes her leave, putting off any questions till your later meeting.
You have a few hours at least before needing to attend the temple. As you make your way around the festival market you find that every merchant has marked their prices up - but not for everybody. When you ask about it, each explains the price inflation away as some form of legal surcharge or taxation, but it's apparent that not everybody has to pay it. The merchants just shrug off your protests. You often spot brass bracelets or other small items of jewelry on the locals who are not subject to such charges, each accessory bearing some form of stylised rune or symbol.
These accessories indicate the wearer's patron.
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Peering at the departing priestess, Tsschas ponders the mysteries of the cities and its folks. The priestess was somebody well respected indeed from what little he can see.
Following his fellow pathfinders, he notices the difference in accessories worn by the locals and the conspicuous lack of it on his or his companions persons. The price of the local merchandise was higher then what he was accustomed too. Was this how this particular city functioned or has a silent war being declared among the Rodians and Sarenites even in trade.
Since Julius had already explained the matter, the nagaji didn't have too.
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Yndra stays silent during their encounter with the high priestess. She seems just a little impressed by the woman, and it seems only right of course that the star of their performance would earn the credits. She's still not sure what to make it the phantom with its grippli attendant. He seems reasonable and composed enough.
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With their audience secured at dinner, Yndra roams the city for something suitable to dress. Her previous outfit for hot weather was meant for the Mwangi jungles, and wouldn't do at all. She determined to find a cool dress in black and white that fits her. She notes Julius's remark about the pricing and patrons, but doesn't pay it much attention. By the time that she finally finds something to her liking, she'll pay anything and considers the markup just another insult from the Qadiran city that doesn't agree with her, at all.
The afternoon and early evening are spent enjoying the remainder of the Sunwrought Festival. Whilst the grossly inflated prices of everything from dresses to refreshments are a little annoying, the populace are friendly enough - except if you bring up the subject of the Roidirans.
Suitably refreshed and cleaned up, you attend the Grand Temple for your dinner appointment. You recall the words of your Venture-Captain: "When you meet with the high priestess, be sure to put your best effort into impressing her. Represent yourselves well, and she could prove a powerful ally in the future."
The Grand Temple is where High Priestess al-Sahba makes her home. The imposing building's vast, gilded dome and soaring minarets are visible for miles around. Each is capped with a stylised holy symbol of Sarenrae, holding aloft a brass and turquoise sunburst. The communal dining quarters are more modest. The great extravagance of the room is found in its stained-glass windows, whose arches depict the triumphs and trials of Sarenrae. Dinner with the High Priestess takes place beneath a vast window depicting Sarenrae’s flaming sword piercing the heart of Rovagug himself.
Junior clerics and temple initiates take your cloaks, and any large (or obvious) weapons. They also serve you at the table.
The High Priestess welcomes you. ”Now that my formal duties for this holy festival are ended, and the blessed sun sinks below the horizon, we can talk and take our ease.”
Al-Sahba holds the letter of introduction from Venture-Captain Esmayl ibn Qaradi in front of her: “It seems our interests are aligned. But before we get down to the business of the Roidirans, tell me about yourselves.”
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Uncle Julius decides to offer a more mild approach in the presence of the church.
"Aye, that we have in common indeed! We are Pathfinders from our glorious society, and we have come to help you clear up all this shenanigans with the Roidirans. Our Captain wants us to try to learn what we can. To do so, we have come to ask for your patronship and support in our investigations."
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Fate considers the request. "I am from the jungle of Mwangi. However, I have been blessed with a curious nature. The powers that guide my journey have advised me to seek out knowledge among the various cultures. This eventually led me to the Pathfinder Society, and, by extension, here to making your acquaintance." He pauses as he contemplates the events of the festival. "I would have to say that fortune has smiled upon us all this day."
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When it's her turn, Yndra speaks. She does her best to keep both eyes steady on the High Priestess, but finds her right eye occasionaly twitching and glaring despite her best efforts. "My name is Yndra Marthaun. Like yourself, I am a woman of faith, though I would not dare to compare our positions." She does her best to be humble, which isn't too hard considering al-Sabha's radiant presence. "As a follower of Nethys, I know full well the destructive power that knowledge can hold; that this can have unfortunate consequences, both for the seekers of such knowledge and for innocent bystanders." Her right eye hones into the High Priestess with unusual intensity. "We understand that you are in a delicate situation. The situation seems tense, and might grow worse. Please let us investigate. We have no theological stake in this particular matter, and might diffuse the situation without getting caught up ourselves. With your blessing, of course..."
Yndra, you may roll Knowledge (religion); not an aid roll.
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Tsschas bows as he speaks.
"May the light of Dawn always shine upon you. I am Tsschas Blackfang. I hail from the acrid desertsss in Tien. I am a follower of the blessssed Dawnflower and despitess my disabilities, I seek to follow her light and spread its warmth. Like my companions, I too am a member of the society and we have being sent here to investigate the Rodiarian's actions and seek your patronage." keeping an eye on her as he speaks in order not to miss her expressions and likely replies.
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Graves observes the proceedings with his typical stoic demeanor. Social engagements were not really his forte.
Finally, he nods politely, and introduces himself to the High Priestess.
"Samuel Graves." He finally says. "As the others, I currently represent the Pathfinder Society, though before that, I tended the Grey in Korvosa, along with many faithful to the Lady of Graves."
"I had a particular penchant for investigation... usually the reasons for our charges' deaths... but skills that proved equally valuable in learning other mysteries. Thus I am now here, as we try to discern what has riled up the Roidirans so, hopefully with your support."
"Would you happen to know what it was they found, outside of the city, that has disturbed them so?"
"Yndra, you say you have no theological stake, but I sense that Nethys' wisdom has a relevance here yet, for you are right to say that knowledge can be dangerous."
"Tsschas, a brother in faith from the far Dragon Empires! Truly, Sarenrae's light encompasses all Golarion! It warms my heart to have you with us."
"Samuel, the Roidirans have become aggressive lately, whereas previously they were not, and I fear it seems to be connected to strange pilgrimages they make from Qaharid to the wilderness."
Mr Graves recounts what your Venture Captain said in his instructions to you: The Roidirans follow the goddess Roidira, the Dark Sister of Knowledge. To Roidirans, nothing matters more than following their goddess’ example and rejecting established wisdom to uncover universal truth. Recently, Roidirans have been returning from forays outside of Qaharid in the throes of grief and causing quite a few disturbances. Whatever knowledge the Roidirans have found in their pilgrimage must be significant.
The High Priestess continues: "The Roidirans are little known outside Qadira. They vex me. They were never violent, until recently. I think your Venture Captain may be right about their pilgrimage being relevant to this change." Al-Sahba becomes somber. "A void is not silent; it screams with its utter pointlessness until it is the only sound your very soul can hear. To listen to these Roidirans talk, that is what they seek. They begin every incantation, every prayer, with the mantra ‘There is no presence; there is absence. There is no meaning; only knowledge.’ To reach this terrible state of grace, they abjure everything we’ve ever known. They reject the knowledge of our libraries and universities, the collected wisdom of centuries of Sarenite faith, and the stacks of debate about our laws and politics. To them, these are the playthings of lesser minds, and only the secrets that Roidira keeps are true knowledge.”
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Yndra can't help but burst out. "They sound mad. That's not what knowledge is. Even if they were to achieve this dark knowledge that they crave, I'm sure they would instantly reject it as soon as they would accept it for truth, ever-questing for different knowledge!"
She thinks for a moment. "Are we sure it's mere knowledge that causes them to act this way? Couldn't there be some magic at work, a stray artifact that causes them to lose their minds, or be compelled into violence?" She seems eager, since her entire mission is to capture such magics and keep them safe from making victims.
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Yndra isn't one for flowery speech, but she usually seems to know what she's talking about, especially when it comes to religion. She seems to flounder now. "No, not absence. Knowledge. Which is the same as meaning. If it doesn't mean anything, it's not knowledge. Just gibberish... Gibberish." She stammers, then suddenly knocks herself on the side of her head a few times, as if she's shaking something loose.
"My apologies, High Priestess. What I meant to say, is that absense and presence are two sides of the same coin. They cannot live without one another, like black and white," - she points at her dress - "or light and dark. The same holds for meaning. If something doesn't mean something, it isn't knowledge. The Roidirans must be on a very dark path, indeed."
"Tem, I do not know of any such pressures."
Al-Sahba nods at Yndra's words. "It seems that Nethys has useful wisdom in this regard, Yndra. Do not be surprised to hear a High Priestess of Sarenrae honour other gods. Sarenrae is not an evangelist, and she condemns faith imposed by the sword. As in her heaven, so on Qadira’s earth. Our laws enforce religious pluralism, and this protects even Roidira’s devotees. But as of late, they have not returned the gesture of goodwill. You were fortunate to arrive on a day free of disruption from them. Yesterday they flooded the Temple Square holding signs and haranguing festival-goers, even children! Telling them that there is ‘only darkness’ and that ‘even breathing is pointless.’ This incensed citizens, some of whom started fights. I myself had to intervene in a scuffle—on my temple’s doorstep! It’s all gone too far.
Under such conditions I cannot leave the city, especially not at the apex of the Sunwrought Festival, which practically doubles our population. But clearly something must be done, and if you can do it, and act on my behalf, then that is to the good of all. I would have sent some of my paladins, but our numbers are stretched too thin by the tourist population and I need them to keep order here."
"Brother Tsschas, I know of two places that you might make enquiries this evening, each representing very different sectors of Qaharidi society, where you could find more information about the Roidiran cult. The first is a local tavern and gambling hall frequented by mine workers called the Flaming Scimitar, and the second is an elite private club called the House of Two Rivers. There you will find Vashti al-Amiyyah, of the White Feather."
As the meal concludes, al-Sahba gives each of you a brass ring emblazoned with her house’s device, to demonstrate her patronage.
“There is another matter. As your venture-captain most certainly told you, I serve the satrap as one of his Peerless advisors. While I am not at liberty to discuss the satrap’s precise wishes, know that he has taken an interest in this matter as well. Powerful forces indeed are watching your moves from here on out.
I have a few small items that I will gift you. My shade to you tomorrow, Pathfinders. Go with Sarenrae.”
Al-Sahba provides you with 2 potions of Endure Elements and 1 potion of Cure Light Wounds each (that is, you each receive 3 potions; companion creatures sadly do not receive anything extra); In addition, al-Sabha gifts you a partially charged Wand of Lesser Restoration (14 charges) and a pair of Healer's Gloves.
Al-Sahba sees Tem's look of longing and replies: "I am sorry I do not know how to relieve your pangs, phantom. I pray that your companion, Poe, one day finds a way.
The Roidiran cult has drawn members from across all sections of our society; that is why I propose you visit both the Flaming Scimitar and the House of Two Rivers."
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Yndra takes the gifts, and immediately dons the brass ring. She especially eyes the gloves with great interest. "These are great boons, Your Holiness. We thank you for your trust and generosity. I am not sure if the rifts in your society can be quickly mended, but if we can somehow aid in preventing further conflict, we will."
Yndra quickly concurs with the others. "Let's head to the Flaming Scimitar indeed. If they're mine workers, maybe they know about the area..."
The streets of Qarahid throng with revellers celebrating the shortest night of the year, all under the watchful gaze of Sarenrae's paladins. It does not take long to find your way to the Flaming Scimitar. Two guards on the doors of the gambling hall look sceptically at you as you approach, but smile and part when they see your brass signet rings.
The Flaming Scimitar thrives at this hour. The clatter of dice and gems on tables threatens to drown out the surging conversation and clinking steins around the bar. It’s a rough place, where the smoke clings to the ceiling as if in respect of the strength and grit thronging beneath it. The smell of tobacco and incense is thick enough in the air to drink. It seems every dockworker, sailor, miner, and farmer in Qaharid is here, the men and women whose labour moves the city.