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Triix's attempt to communicate with the slug reaches a dead end of sorts. Like attempting to pilot a boat across land, or attempting to climb upwards using only fog as footing. Or however her mind conceptualizes a language barrier.
"That's a hard one to answer, really..." Oria says before trailing off. The thought balances precariously on the tip of her brain before losing its footing and falling into the abyss. Almost as if something gave it a little push.
"Ugh. The details always slip my mind. But I was..." Studying. "Studying." Exploring ruins. "I was out exploring some ruins." The slug squeezes tightly around her arm from the inside of her robes. She ignores it, attempting to grasp at the slippery thoguht. "There were voices, whispers... they..." They promised you. "They promised me something. Was it power....?"
No, it was not. Oria barely had the gumption to make use of power that was given to her, nevermind the ambition to seek it out. One last slippery grasp at the memory yielded a glimpse into her past self's actions.
A glimpse of utter oblivion.
"No." she says to herself as much as anyone, or anything, that may be listening. "My memories may have been part of the deal I made." she says, vaguely enough to not technically be lying to her allies. But certainly not skillfully enough. "We should be looking in the Arcanamirium, right? Let's get ready."
You move through to the Arcanamirium. It is the oldest and largest magical college in Absalom, as well as perhaps the most prestigious academy of arcane arts in the entire Inner Sea region. The campus is dotted with gothic-style stone structures and imposing marble towers, with apprentice wizards hurrying between buildings on their way to classes.
You enter and are greeted cheerfully by the students who are currently manning, elfing and dwarfing the front desk.
What can we assist you with today? says a bright eyed apprentice mage.
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Triix frowns. I've been studying the writings of Ralzeros the Overwatched. Seems to me you might have fallen into the same sort of deal. Still, you're still a Pathfinder so it can't be that bad. Come on. Let's go nerd out together in the Arcanamirium.
She basically grabs Oria's hand without a 'by your leave' and nearly drags the other girl in the right direction while grinning gleefully to herself.
While here you have the oportuninty to gather some further informaton also.
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"We are looking for the location of three devices. The items we seek are called Beacons of Ralzeros."
...
"Thank you for the information."
The wizard turns to his fellow pathfinders.
"One is in the office of a journeyman wizard Maren Fuln’s office right here on campus and the other is on display in the Blakros Museum."
Kaervek then smugly tells the rest of the party everything he knows about the dark tapestry, which is actually quite a lot.
Arriving at Maren's office you find the door locked. After knocking on it you hear a voice from inside.
I have no time to speak to the administrators of the Arcanamirium until much, much later this decade. Now go away please. I am busy.
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Kaervek then smugly tells the rest of the party everything he knows about the dark tapestry, which is actually quite a lot.
Oria rolls her eyes upon hearing the first bits of information. "If you wanted to know that, you have someone right here who's felt the touch of the dark tapestry."
Of course, as the information continues to flow, she realizes that such a trickle is closer to a river. Flowing, abundant, and beyond her disappointingly inadequate ability to swim through. By the end, the best she can do is slouch and shrink away. "It's.... still different... to use."
Arriving at Maren's office you find the door locked. After knocking on it you hear a voice from inside.
"I have no time to speak to the administrators of the Arcanamirium until much, much later this decade. Now go away please. I am busy."
"We're seeking knowledge, and we need it to contain some dangerous magical items that have connections to the dark tapestry. Please... can we come in?"
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Candledark finds some old treatise on a nearby shelf, opens it to a random page, and begins reading aloud.
"...'Cometh he to the 9th Plateau of Enlightenment, the Donjonmeiſter learnſ the ſecret of perpetual youth. He no longer feelſ the infirmity of age and cannot be magically aged'...somethingsomethingsomething, dadadadada...'The Donjonmeiſter is ſtolen away by horrible entitieſ when hiſ time is up, and he iſ never ſeen again."
"...How bizarre."
"Why do you sound familiar? And definitely not part of the Arcanimirium with that tale." Footfalls can be heard through the door, before the lock tumblers sound a sharp click. The door swings open as the young mage looks over the party. "Ah, Pathfinders, of course. Come to consult again, master Kaervek? Come in, come in."
As Maren opens the door further, you see the workplace is layered in charcoal and gravel, with mounds of incense burning in regularly spaced wall sconces and two metal braziers to the north. Worktables, chairs, and haphazard stacks of papers take up the eastern half of the room.
A glass sphere floats above a desk in the western section of the room, holding a roiling mass of dark liquid. Faint motes of light fly from the orb to a wide summoning circle that has been carefully drawn in the stone and ash, illuminating its circumference with subtly shifting numerological sigils. Within the circle is a floating ovoid creature with long thin tendrils waving lazily through the air.
"Mistress Triix, a pleasure to see you again. What exactly are you lot after then?" The mage leans on the desk as he awaits your answer.
How do you leave memories behind, when you are wrapped in skin?
The voice is not a voice, not a sound, just a impression in your heads as the lone single eye on the oval body opens and peers at the group filing in.
"This is Nggilth-Tsa, a temporary guest I called here. Not who I expected to call, however, and I think the beacon is the cause. We've been discussing what could have caused this event." Maren gestures with one hand to the glass sphere that floats in counterpoint to the summoned being.
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Oria is immedietly fascinated with the creature before her. She steps closer to the circle, being careful not to make direct contact with the carefully drawn seals. "It's nothing like my Xaya'lorash..." is what she manages to say, vaguely and somewhat stupefied. For all the corrupted mockeries at her beck and call, she had little power to draw a true traveler between the stars.
She sits cross-legged, staring at it intently.
How do you leave memories behind, when you are wrapped in skin?
She looks back at the group, the subtle nuances of her usual deadpan expression showing disappointment. "I wish I knew, I would have prepared a ritual of communion."
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Within the circle is a floating ovoid creature with long thin tendrils waving lazily through the air.
It takes a lot to drop the jaw of Candledark...but his cloth mask momentarily distorts as it now does.
Seeing as this thing doesn't need a jaw to communicate, however, he tries approaching it more as a peer - potential danger be damned, he'd never forgive himself if he passed up an opportunity like this!
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Nice to meet you, Nggilth-Tsa. To answer your question: We leave memories behind in a few ways. We write them down, teach younger persons what we know - or let the ones who are good at it sing songs and tell stories.
Kaervek looks smug... like he always does when he gets the chance to be an insufferable know-it-all share his knowledge.
"I'm sure I don't need to tell you to avoid touching the summoning circle," Maren speaks up as the party gathers around the trapped outsider. "But I do wish to avoid disturbing the beacon as well, lest it act out in unexpected ways yet again."
Streaks of jet. The ribbons ripple and lap against ankles. Why are all your senses on one head?"
"If you are seeking answers, our guest is knowledgeable, if circumspect. Feel free to inquire about what you are after."
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Oh? Sir. What do you mean by acting out in unexpected ways?
"Perhaps it puts on a straw hat and does a jig?" Suggests Candledark, scarcely moving a muscle. "I wonder how its kind...dances? Perhaps it wonders the same of us...."
Streaks of jet. The ribbons ripple and lap against ankles. Why are all your senses on one head?"
He raises his voice just the faintest bit to address the entity, his tone as cryptically even as ever.
"Regrettably, our other heads are in all the shop right now, and our senses demand a leave of absence at least once per fortnight, preferably more - guild rules, you understand."
"In any case...what do you think of flowers? Do you have a favorite color thereof?"
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Oria seems to recognize the spell. She leaves the front door to her mind open, trusting an ally and acting as a good host. Perhaps the fear of alienating her allies is why she puts up no resistance? Anxiety seems to course through her psyche like blood through her veins.
"Was it that easy?" she asks herself as much as she asks her guest. Her previous attempt at communication, layering abstractions upon abstractions, was as much an attempt to convince her of her own capability as it was to initiate chatter with the extraplanar being.
"Stop that." she thinks, most definitely directing the statement inward.
It really is a mess in here. Surely you have something more interesting to focus on.
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The shaman takes a deep, long breath before releasing it. Her attention turns entirely towards the creature in the circle, so much so that she barely notices her own corrupted slug familiar crawling out of her robes and onto her shoulder.
"I am essence. Flowing in the hands of beings from beyond the planes. Woven to shape, given breath and life. I am the master of my own way. Revel in my presence, and join my choir" she states, manufacturing the bravadio of a competent conjuror. And again, with the music metaphor.
Oh? Sir. What do you mean by acting out in unexpected ways?
"Such as warping the summoning magic I performed. I was attempting to call an azata to consult with, but Nggilth-Tsa showed up instead." Maren shrugs his shoulders helplessly. "It has been a setback in the research, but the experience is valuable either way."
"Regrettably, our other heads are in all the shop right now, and our senses demand a leave of absence at least once per fortnight, preferably more - guild rules, you understand."
"In any case...what do you think of flowers? Do you have a favorite color thereof?"
Lights, bright lights, to hold in the dark. When the dark pushes back, the lights shine brighter, and there is balance, a seal on the gate. But the dark is everywhere now, even within the light, for the light now shines from the darkest stone in orbit. Maybe Corners of Spheres can now unseal the gate from inside. The hue of burst stone does not form blossoms but fractals in elegance.
"I am essence. Flowing in the hands of beings from beyond the planes. Woven to shape, given breath and life. I am the master of my own way. Revel in my presence, and join my choir" she states, manufacturing the bravadio of a competent conjuror. And again, with the music metaphor.
A door, a copper wall that moves. Pass from one side to the other, and the space changes. Pass from the other side, and it squirms. Built by a man going home from home. Could not quite make it, so he brought some of home through the door—made a house beyond the void. But his guests are homesick; they want to see the worlds. Would you kill to keep your taste?
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Darkness, near-pure darkness, to hold in the light. When the light pushes back, the darkness pulls deeper, and there is balance, a seal on the gate. But the light is everywhere now, even within the dark, for the darkness now shines from the brightest stone in orbit. Maybe Corners of Spheres can now unseal the gate from inside. The hue of burst stone does not form blossoms but fractals in elegance.
Candledark squints his eyes oddly in contemplation before they suddenly pop back into shape.
"'The brightest stone in'...Ah, you mean *this* world, with its relative lack of portals and gates?"
He turns to the others again.
"Smile, everyone; do bear in mind that what one eye sees, so might the other, unless perhaps it's not open!"
"As long as the summoning circle remains, I doubt we have to be concerned about what might be watching." Maren offers. "Once we've learned what you need to know, dismissing them should be simple enough."
"'The brightest stone in'...Ah, you mean *this* world, with its relative lack of portals and gates?"
Corners of Spheres. One who craves memories. One who longs for day to understand night. It is hard to warm a cold void. If you stop breathing, do your thoughts change color?
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Oria picks up on Xanac's hint and decides to rise to the challenge. Something observing her through this conduit does not sound so surprising. After all, existing as a singular body with a singular mind is a very Human concept, and eldritch entities are not limited by such rules.
Xaya'lorash slithers its tiny body along the shaman's arm and into her outstretched palm. The oily purple thing extends a tentacle of surprising length over the circle and within range to touch Nggilth-Tsa.
Attempting communication as a simple shaved ape with flapping lips and gaseous pockets might be what's limiting her more than anything, save her limited mind and subdued will. So Oria instead opens her mind in its entirely, in a similar fashion as to how she receives her spells. So often does she work with foul mockeries of terrestrial beings, she can't possibly squander this opportunity to peer into the cosmos through manyfold eyes.
Well, you can't fault her for trying. The greats stand in the shoulders of enthusiastic fools. At this rate, she may as well try eating the thing to see if she learns something.