Selter reaches up and tugs on the corpse, but it does not budge from where it is integrated into the ropers craggy form. A grunt is the only indication that the aberration even noticed the Pathfinders actions.
The ponderous bulk twists, the eye turning to regard Not-Trixie for a moment before turning back to the images on the inner surface of the dome. "It has been ages since such suitable adornment was found. But it means little to the watching." The rocky flesh of the roper ripples, shifting to release the corpse of Meskhenet. The body falls to the floor, followed by a staff that had been pinned between it and the roper.
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"Oh." Not-Trixie scrambles to find her wits as her attempt at diplomacy works much quicker than anticipated. "Um, thank you kindly." She waits for a moment for Selter to collect the released corpse and staff from the safety of the underground before continuing, "If I may ask, what are you watching from inside this great dome?"
"I have been set to watch the ages pass, that they may be remembered and acted upon should calamity befall them."
”Eons have passed since the masters molded me for the task. They took away hunger, age, death, that I may perform my task unburdened. I wait. I watch.”
"They have veiled themselves through history. When my work is needed, they shall return." Selter finds that the staff detects as magic, but none of the jewelry still attached to the corpse does.
The ring on the corpses finger does not budge when Selter attempts to remove it.
”Once I had a name. Now I am the Watcher of Ages. No other is needed.” The red eye blinks slowly in consideration. ”The echoes of the spirit recalled a phrase spoken at death. ‘Shiman-Sekh hides the source’.”
Not-Trixie recognizes the scenes as matching the locales of several Inner Sea nations and terrain that matches the hinterlands of the more untamed regions.
Whatever the veiled masters set the Watcher to, it is even more inscrutable than the roper itself.
The Watcher grunts, its attention turning back to the many scenes playing out before it.
With the roper returned to its inscrutable task, it is an easy matter to climb out of the underground halls. No morlocks remain to harry your departure and the caverns appear to be mostly bereft of any further dangers. The journey back to Sothis is quiet and uneventful, while your return is celebrated as a quiet success.
The meeting with Venture Captain Balentiir is notably different this time, as a platter of sweetcakes and a steaming pot of tea are set out when you arrive at the meeting hall. He wastes little time getting to the point of the briefing.
“Rumors stir in Varisia, rumors of a long-lost Osirian concubine named Kamilah and her fantastic treasure. According to my sources, her tomb lies somewhere near the lakeside community of Whistledown. While mere tomb-raiding is beneath Pathfinders of your experience and skill, my sources claim that this concubine wore a simple silver ring bearing Osirian glyphs, and wielded the famous silver sword, Desert Raven. The ring, historians say, commands ancient and forgotten powers and is likely quite dangerous. Go to Whistledown and find the concubine’s body as well as her ring and sword. Return them to me, and you’ll likely be remembered in future chronicles as the heroes of Osirion!”
"If you have competition, it has been very careful not to reveal itself. I am certain some have heard the same rumors I have, but the cost of such an expedition is not negligible. That is in part why I have gathered you here as a small group. You will be less costly and far quicker to arrive than a full excavation crew. It is my hope that you will be able to beat any larger parties to the prize."
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Bo skips the more extravagant fare, settling on tea and a honey-cake. He looks toward the others slightly guilty. He holds up the pastry as if making toast. "In celebration of our victory...or for good luck on our new adventure?" He seems chagrined, but it is not enough to stop him from taking an oversized bite.
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"Maybe a bit of both?" Not-Trixie offers as she eats her own sweetcake. "Is this ring like the other two? Neither of them have had any sort of magical aura that I could determine, so it's difficult to believe they really are keys to commanding ancient powers. Of course, there are magics to avoid such divinations. Perhaps if we have resources remaining, I can try to unravel any such effects."
”The rings you have found so far have been difficult to analyze. We are working under the assumption that all of the rings are interconnected in some way to allow greater effects, possibly through a ritual separate from the rings themselves. What those effects are, we do not as yet know.”
Vendalfek proceeds to pour himself a glass of tea and take up his customary perch on his master's head. Quite right, quite right indeed. Perhaps this time you won't feel the need to abandon half your team at the first sign of inconvenience. He sniffs for dramatic effect and slurps his tea loudly.
"Whistledown is located at the western edge of the Fenwall Mountains, along the shores of Lake Syrantula. It is known as the heart of Varisia's gnome population but has almost as many humans living there as well. The town is named for the wooden charms customarily hung from each house and the haunting melodies the night winds produce from them. I would suggest you prepare yourselves here, as Whistledown is a small settlement and likely has little in the way of expensive supplies. As for where you will find the tomb, I cannot say. You will need to investigate the area and see what you can find."
"Kamilah could be the concubine of any number of the thousand Osirian princes, but the reference to her ring suggests a connection to your last two successful expeditions. I would not be surprised to learn they were all beholden to the same lord."
With the meeting concluded, the venture captain arranges passage to your destination, advising the party to sign on with a merchant caravan for the overland journey. The voyage across the Inner Sea to Varisia is rough but uneventful, while the travel to the town of Whistledown is smooth and boring.
A ragged dog picks its way along the outskirts of the small, wooded town that runs along the edge of a vast, still lake stretching far into the gray horizon. Wide, overhanging branches of the tall juniper trees scattered throughout the community shade the simple white cottages that make up the homes. Wooden chimes hang from the eaves of nearly every dwelling, clinking gently in the light afternoon breeze.
The townsfolk, a mix of gnomes and humans, go about their business with a scarcely concealed tension, tossing nervous glances over their shoulders and ushering children hurriedly indoors. As the party makes way into the streets, a hushed excitement charges the whispers of the townsfolk.
It is not long before an officiously dressed gnome rapidly approaches the party, speaking up as soon as you are within easy earshot. “Brave travelers, surely you must be hungry and thirsty after so many hours on the high road! I am Adagre Bagalom, town magistrate. I beseech you to listen to my tale, perhaps over a pint of ale and a warm meal at our inn? My treat, of course!” The magistrate offers a warm smile, although the perceptive among the party can tell it is at least partly forced, with the same nervous energy of the town as an undercurrent.
"Excellent! Then, if you'll follow me to Thagin's Rest, I'm sure you'll find it more than satisfying." Adagre leads the way down the street to a solidly built inn, sized for travelers rather than the gnome population. Plenty of the other buildings appear to be much lower set, obviously residences and workplaces built for the smaller folk.
"We have guests! Dinner and a round of drinks for all of us!" The staff jumps quickly to the magistrate's call, with bowls of meaty stew and fresh baked bread soon set out around the table shortly after the party is seated. Mugs of pale ale are freely poured as you dig in.