As you go about your day(or night, or whatever), doing the sorts of things epic heroes of great renown do, you each suddenly receive the following message via a Sending spell:
"*Brave heroes, I implore your aid. Sinlord Kazsethil has returned, establishing complete dominion over Larisen. Travel to Paragon’s Torch if you wish to learn more.* The mysterious message is spoken by a female, though you are all well versed enough in magick to know that could be a disguise. Still, that somebody is calling upon your specific help must mean the situation is dire indeed.
Paragon’s Torch is a ruined lighthouse in the swamps of Southern Larisen, long since plundered of its riches by other adventurers. Created by Kazsethil long ago to illuminate a now-vanished city, Paragon’s Torch has since fallen into decay, its spells faded and its guardians slain.
Rahlmaat doesn't even pause in her conversation with her daughter Akila as she listens to the message.
"...though the region will continue to suffer from demonic taint for many years. It should be interesting to watch from time to time," she says, even as she considers the sending.
'Brave hero' is an... interesting descriptor for her, given she is neither. She can see how some of her actions would be interpreted as such, but the plural suggests this was sent to multiple beings. First question: who sent this? Answer: deliberately obfuscated, indicating either a trap or worries about interception. Trap is unlikely. A trap would have been more personally tailored. The 'Sinlord' would, of course, be capable of powerful divinations and the like, so worry about interception of messages is reasonable.
Second question: Who else is being summoned? If she and others are being contacted, it seems likely that said others are of a similar level of capability to Rahlmaat herself, which is a short list of beings. Likely most or all familiar faces.
"What was the sending?" Akila asks as Rahlmaat continues her analysis.
"Unknown sender, saying that the Sinlord Kazsethil has returned, and requesting 'brave heroes' go to Paragon's Torch," is her reply.
Sinlord Kazsethil... Rahlmaat remembers her mother speaking of them. As the others had made their appearances, Rahlmaat had been planning to make a point of visiting Kazsethil when they appeared. And now the time had come, as she'd anticipated.
"You're going." Her daughter knows her well enough that it is not a question.
Rahlmaat smiles down at Akila--though in truth, the height difference is not that great. "You will watch the temple."
"As ever."
"I shall depart after making a few preparations," she states as she pads off towards her lair.
After arranging her travel gear and making certain her various enchantments were active, Rahlmaat teleports a few miles away from Paragon's Torch in human form, planning to walk the last distance so as to observe the situation.
Melkyzadyk sat, as he often sat, high on a mountainside, overlooking one of the few passes through the Barrier Wall. Mostly, he watched nature. Occasionally, he watched caravans. Rarely, he plotted the best approach to totally destroy an incursion of evil demon cultists from the Garundi jungle. Today, there was little to see. But he had no other particular duties. His latest regent could run Lastwater without his help, usually. That was the point of her office, to free him up to do other things. And to keep the humanoids from knowing that a dragon actually controlled the town. That tended to scare them. he grew tired of explaining that he wasn't one of those dragons, and that they had nothing to fear so long as they obeyed his laws. Easier to rule in the shadows. Even here, on the mountain, he spent most of the time in his elven form. Few people looked twice at a lone elf in the wilderness.
*Brave heroes, I implore your aid. Sinlord Kazsethil has returned, establishing complete dominion over Larisen. Travel to Paragon’s Torch if you wish to learn more.*
He glanced left and right reflexively, even as he realized the sending was inaudible to anyone but him. A Sinlord is back? Well, that can't be good. He knew sending was a fairly simple spell for any accomplished caster, the really interesting part was knowing that someone had contacted him in particular, and done so directly. Curious. Most curious. A Sinlord would be a great challenge for him alone, but the message had said "heroes", so surely others were being contacted as well. Unfortunately, he knew few of the sort of spells that would allow him to observed the proffered destination without traveling there. One obvious solution, I suppose. he thought. He stood up and began walking back to town. His regent would need to know he would be gone for some time, and he needed to gather his tools.
These days, Arykiel spends most of her time at the grand temple to Sarenrae in Magnimar, evangelizing local Larisians (Varisians) and glorifying the goddess. Truth be told, she has been a little bored since the momentous events of a few years ago, and part of her was expecting and even hoping that something would go wrong and she would be called upon to do something. She is just surprised that it is coming from someone other than her patron deity.
She explains to her familiar what the message said. "The Sinlord Kazsethil-- that name is both familiar and unfamiliar to me, and I do not know why. I think someone has been meddling with time again, for otherwise my memory is playing tricks on me! If my instinct is correct that this is the same person that I knew as Sorshen the Runelord of Lust, then I assume what this message means is that she-- he, now!-- has left New Thassilon-- or whatever it is called now-- and abandoned her-- his-- peaceful demeanor." She wrinkles her nose in dismay, an expression she hasn't worn in more than five years. "It is doubtful that our friendship endures these changes. I think we had better go where the voice directs us, without delay. Paragon's Torch? I think I recall where that is, though I once knew it as Lady's Light. It is about fifty miles south."
Arykiel's familiar, Spirit, makes a soft ringing sound of agreement, and responds in their shared language. "As you say, mistress. I am ready."
The two of them step outside, with Spirit attaching itself to her belt, and they become invisible and take off into the sky. Arykiel simply imagines that gravity is pulling her upward and southerly, and falls in an arc toward her destination. She guides herself around obstacles with her wings, and when she gets close she changes her perspective so that gravity is instead pulling her backwards, to keep herself from falling to the ground. She hovers over the Lady's Lagoon and scans the shoreline for any sign of her summoner or the other "brave heroes" mentioned in the message.
Kravenkus. Sometimes it was hard to believe that the Sky Hold was once more a bustling city, but then again, much had happened that was hard to believe. It was said that Torag’s blessing had infused the city, for not only had the Darkland threats been beaten back, but the mines that had once been tapped out had been expanded deeper below ground. For many a century, this task had fallen on the shoulders of Bolvar Gemforged, whose stubborn refusal to abandon his ancestral home had led him to become oath-bound to his deity. But these years? Enough dwarves had moved in to once more make the city self-sufficient. As for Bolvar himself? He was in his forge when the sending had come, keeping a watchful eye over smiths who had come to receive his tutelage.
”My lord?” The smith whom he had been observing asked, seeing the distraction upon Bolvar’s face. The smith was a master within his own right, whose advanced age had come with a lifetime of hard work and hard-won experience. Bolvar turned to him and sighed. ”A sending.” He replied. ”A sinlord has returned, and my aid has been requested.” The question of whether he would go was left unsaid, but it hung in the air. All around him the sounds of the forge slowly died away, as master and apprentice alike ceased their work to turn and listen. He still felt uncomfortable with the hero worship within the hold, and some days he looked fondly back at the simple days of living alone within the formerly abandoned halls of the Sky Hold. But then he reminded himself that it was for people like them that he was gifted his powers, and it was for them that he had fought for. ”I will go.” He said, and a murmuring began to spread with the news. ”A threat like this must at least be investigated.” He announced, as he walked out of the forge and into the Hold proper. Despite his desire to have some time alone, it made his heart soar to see the halls so full of life as he strode through them. The gates opened, as news of his coming departure preceded him. He looked up at the sky and realized that he hadn’t seen it in many, many years. The air certainly felt different. Taking a deep breath of it, he took a step forward, rising up into the air as he walked. With each step, a layer of flames formed for his ascent, until the flames carried him forward, the dwarf blazing across the sky and towards Paragon's Torch.
It was cold outside. Well, it was always cold outside, but now it was cold cold. Not freezing, though. To compensate, Vika had just placed a steaming bow of fiskisupa in front of Erasmo. The smell alone was incredible and the taste, he knew would be even better. Vika was a great cook, that she was, and that was why he'd hired the gnome girl to begin with.
"Oh, oh!" A sending spell thing. Yora had sent him a couple of these back in the day, so Erasmo knew he could reply. He clears his throat and spread his fingers in front of him to help him count the words. "*The f@*& are ye? Ye got the wrong halfling, I'm no hero. Larisen is far as f$*+! Not that curious or interested. Do elaborate!*"
As he finishes his reply, Vika's head pokes around the corner, raising her eyebrows in a question. "Tis nothing, girl, just some magic message from some a+%!*+#." She nods and smiles, crossing the room buck naked. Then she returns, points to the soup, twiddles her fingers, then points to him, then up, mimics grabbing something with her hand close to her mouth, making some repetitive motions while pressing her tongue against her cheek on the opposite direction. Winks and she is gone.
Oh, for f*#%s sake. Across the table, Brutus giggles and squeaks. He throws a piece of bread at him, but the squirrel deftly dodges it, continuing to giggle. Erasmo wasn't young anymore. He was retired. Sure, he was pleasantly surprised when Vika slipped into his bed the first time it happened, but now? She was too much energy for him and Erasmo was actually concerned she'd eventually rip his prick off!
"Gather the gang, Brutus, we're going on a trip." He orders as he finishes his soup. He then downs the rest of his ale, takes a deep breath, and then follows Vika upstairs. He can't go out without his stuff and one last screwing with her would not be bad.
---
Two hours later, Erasmo opens the windows of his porch and unfurls his wolf skin on the ground. All the squirrel gang was there: Brutus, Cheeky, Phillip, Red and Sir Reginald, all on his shoulders. "See ye girl!" He waves for Vika and she winks back from the bed. With a command word, the wolf pelt takes off and Erasmo flies through the window.
Ethulfel chuckles softly at his old friend's words as he stares off at the cloud of stars hanging in the sky above. He always so enjoyed his time on Cynosure, and the company of Umena- an especially lovely cynosoma whose droll humor he enjoyed. "Sadly," he answers after a pause, "I won't be able to stay long this time."
Leaves rustle nearby and Moonshadow--a large, white-furred tiger with brilliant blue eyes--emerges as if called, along with a second, less-handsome, version of himself.
"I've just received word that another Sinlord has returned to Golarion," he explains to the moth-winged woman, "and I must go and investigate the claim."
"I thought you'd dealt with that already several years ago?" she asks with earnest curiosity.
"I dealt with the return of one, yes," he clarifies, "but there were others: seven in total. I was off wandering the planes during their first reign but have determined that I will do what I can to stop their tyranny from spreading again."
"Then I suppose," Umena answers with a soft smile, "this is goodbye, for now."
He gently takes her hand in his and raises it to his lips, softly kissing her knuckles. "Goodbye for now," he replies as he walks to Moonshadow and his own double. Together, the three fly to a nearby pool of water and disappear into it. The briefest of moments later, they emerge with a faint splash into the air above the Paragon's Torch.
The massive, towering statue that is Paragon's Torch looms before you all, yet it is not as it should be. You have all passed by here before, or at the very least, heard stories of the gigantic depiction of Sinlord Shorsen, staff raised high, lighting the way for those traveling the coast.
What you see before you is not a monument to what many consider the most beautiful woman to have ever existed, but rather one showing a bare chested man, whose exposed 'skin' is covered in obvious arcane sigils. Instead of the blue flame shining from the staff, a bright purple one dances merrily in a torch.
Something very strange is going on here.
Rahlmaat cocks her head to one side slightly, one eyebrow quirked in curiosity. "Has someone been altering the past again?" she murmurs.
Her mind flicks through possibilities, particularly the visage of of the new statue--which she suspects is Sinlord Kazsethil. Perhaps it was Sinlord Shorsen, suddenly bereft of her proper past, that had called them here?
For them it truly was. She could see others arriving, as well, and an actual smile split her face. This was proving to be very interesting indeed...
Erasmo jumps off from his flying wolf pelt and eyes the strange woman with a healthy degree of suspicion. Erasmo is a middle-aged halfling with a long grey beard that would not be out of place in a fellow dwarf. No armor, but light and worn clothes, a furred vest, leather gauntlets and slippers, a blood red bandana with claws and teeth sewed into it, a damp-looking cloak, a dwarven helmet under his arm and a boarding axe on the other hand.
"So... ye're the one who sent me that message?" He asks. "Do I know ye? My memory was never crispy with faces and names."
Bolvar chuckled as Erasmo landed and posed his questions. He looked over the halfling quizzically. Rahlmaat he knew of, for he had been to Osirion many a year ago and had studied its' ancient language in learning the crafting skills of the Pahmet. In doing so, it was hard to not hear of the legendary Sphinx. Upon arriving and seeing her, he knew that whomever had called them was in dire need of assistance. But the halfling? He was almost a dwarf in build. He tried to place the face...
"Never met ye." He said, thoughtfully. Where the halfling was wearing a furred vest with leather gauntlets and slippers, the dwarf was dressed like a smith, complete with all of the tools of his trade. It was only at certain angles that the ghostly outline of plate armor could be seen encasing him.
"Name is Bolvar, of Clan Gemforged." He said, staring the halfling in the eye. "Nay idea who sent for us. But I have heard tale of a halfling hero who bested Baba Yaga. Be ye the same?" He had no idea what the name of said hero was, but as this was the only halfling hero that he could recall who fit this one's build, he figured that it was worth the guess.
When Arykiel sees a group of people beginning to form near the base of the monument, she flies in closer, overhearing Rahlmaat's question ("Has someone been altering the past again?"). Though she is instinctively wary, she thinks it likely that the tall woman is one of the heroes mentioned in the message. "You noticed that too?" she chirps, her melodic voice ringing invisibly from an insect-sized area in the air just above Rahlmaat's head. "I thought I was the only one who retained her memories of the timeline before the Runelords' temporal meddling! I take it you also received a message requesting your help?"
When she hears the others meeting and introducing themselves, she makes herself visible and bows politely as she hovers in the air on miniscule wings. "May Sarenrae's light shine upon you, I am called Arykiel." I imagine some of these heroes can see the invisible, she thinks as she fades again from normal view afterward, but it's not like it's easy to see me anyway.
An incredibly handsome man with large, blue butterfly wings growing from his back descends to join the growing group. He is wrapped in the star-filled night sky like a cloak and accompanied by a large white tiger (who flies without wings) and a man who appears to be a lesser version of himself. "Well, this is quite the assembly," the man calls out in a clear, friendly voice. "Rahlmaat, always a pleasure. Bolvar, thank you again for the literal star knife- it continues to serve me well."
He turns to look at the tiny servant of Sarenrae just as she vanishes again and continues, Arykiel, I don't believe I've had the pleasure yet, but your name is known to me. I am Ethulfel Umbrada, High-Stargazer of Desna. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I suspect that with the power of stars and sun working in tandem we will be well equipped to contend with any threat."
Turning once more, he looks at the bearded halfling, one eyebrow raised inquisitively. "I'm afraid, sir, I haven't the slightest idea who you are... nevertheless, since you seem to have received the same summons as the rest of us, I'm pleased to meet you as well. What might we call you?"
"So... ye're the one who sent me that message?" He asks. "Do I know ye? My memory was never crispy with faces and names."
Rahlmaat grins. "Now why would you think that, Erasmo? I'm notoriously averse to company."
She nods to Bolvar as the dwarf arrives, seeing his recognition, but says nothing to him at present.
When Arykiel sees a group of people beginning to form near the base of the monument, she flies in closer, overhearing Rahlmaat's question ("Has someone been altering the past again?"). Though she is instinctively wary, she thinks it likely that the tall woman is one of the heroes mentioned in the message. "You noticed that too?" she chirps, her melodic voice ringing invisibly from an insect-sized area in the air just above Rahlmaat's head. "I thought I was the only one who retained her memories of the timeline before the Runelords' temporal meddling! I take it you also received a message requesting your help?"
Rahlmaat had sensed the small being even before Arykiel entered the range of her true sight, so she shows no surprise at the voice from above her head. "Arykiel, grettings. Why would I be here if not summoned? Why would a sphinx of my age be undefended against such things?"
An incredibly handsome man with large, blue butterfly wings growing from his back descends to join the growing group. He is wrapped in the star-filled night sky like a cloak and accompanied by a large white tiger (who flies without wings) and a man who appears to be a lesser version of himself. "Well, this is quite the assembly," the man calls out in a clear, friendly voice. "Rahlmaat, always a pleasure. Bolvar, thank you again for the literal star knife- it continues to serve me well."
A slight frown comes over Rahlmaat's features. "Ethulfel. Have you at *least* gotten some comprehension of the relationship between probability manipulation and quantum mechanics by means of electron cloud prediction? You've had millenia."
A elf approaches the group, silver-haired, but of indeterminate age.
Somehow he seems both cautious and confident. His form is blurry, as though the observer had only just awakened from sleep. But he raises a hand in greeting. "Rahlmaat, Ethulfel. It has ben a while." He looks around the others. "I'm not sure we've all met, but if you are here in the company of these two, you must be the rest of the "heroes" that sending mentioned. I am Melkyzadyk." he says, simply, leaving it at that. Perhaps they know that name. If not, they will learn his capabilities soon enough.
"Never met ye." He said, thoughtfully. Where the halfling was wearing a furred vest with leather gauntlets and slippers, the dwarf was dressed like a smith, complete with all of the tools of his trade. It was only at certain angles that the ghostly outline of plate armor could be seen encasing him.
"Name is Bolvar, of Clan Gemforged." He said, staring the halfling in the eye. "Nay idea who sent for us. But I have heard tale of a halfling hero who bested Baba Yaga. Be ye the same?" He had no idea what the name of said hero was, but as this was the only halfling hero that he could recall who fit this one's build, he figured that it was worth the guess.
"That'd be me and the hag had it coming." He spits on the ground as protection. "Did not do it alone and not without cost. But so is life. And death, and anything in between." The word hero doesn't sit well with him though, and his face shows.
Turning once more, he looks at the bearded halfling, one eyebrow raised inquisitively. "I'm afraid, sir, I haven't the slightest idea who you are... nevertheless, since you seem to have received the same summons as the rest of us, I'm pleased to meet you as well. What might we call you?"
"Figure I'm as far away from 'sir' as one gets." He says, crossing his arms. "Well, not to the point of crossing the line into 'lady', but I reckon ye get my meaning. I'm Erasmo Oakkeg, Iobarian pirate. Retired."
Rahlmaat grins. "Now why would you think that, Erasmo? I'm notoriously averse to company."
Erasmo shrugs. "The voice in the message was from a woman, asking me to come here. Ye seem to be one and ye're here." He scratches his beard. "It took me a full week to get here. I'm tired, hungry and hungry, so cut me some slack, uh. Ye'all seem the sort of thinking folks so I reckon tis time for ye to put yer noggins together and start to figure this out, uh?" He then points to the statue. "Out o' curiosity, is that what the varisians take for a lady, 'cause, we from Iobaria call that a man, and we are supposed to be the ignorant savages."
He spits again as the last newcomer includes him in the 'heroes' team. With a 'squeak', a squirrel emerges from Erasmo's cloak and apparently speaks with the halfling. "Oh, right ye are Brutus." So he rests his axe against his leg and flips his buckler. Upon close inspection, one might notice it has four squirrels painted in it. It had actually, for after a whistle, each image animates and leaves said buckler, joining the previous squirrel. "And these are Red, Cheeky, Phillip and Sir Reginald, the whole mob if ye care." Brutus, the first squirrel, has a belt like thing, as well as a scarf and a satchel by his side. The other squirrels also have similar belts, with one also having a golden circlet and another one a cap with what looks like a candle on top. Figures.
Arykiel's voice shows signs of concern. "Did you say 'Varisians'? Curious, very curious. Because at some point in the last year or so, I think they suddenly stopped being Varisians and started being Larisians. Presumably the statue's gender changed at the same time? And unless I am wrong, this place is no longer called 'Lady's Light,' but 'Paragon's Torch' instead. I feel like something is not right; I feel it in my bones. Maybe I'm wrong, but it seems like the Runelords are interfering with history again." After a slight pause, her voice continues, "So, none of you were responsible for the message? Strange. Where is the sender?" She looks around, flitting back and forth between the group and places where a person could be hiding. "Spirit, see if you can find any signs that others are nearby while we converse," she instructs her familiar (which those with true seeing can see is an aether elemental, though it is so small that it is only a speck).
"Ah, Melkyzadyk, I wondered if you'd be called too when I got the message," Rahlmaat says, sparing a nod for her neighbor before turning to address the gathering. "As for the sender, I would suspect Sorshen, or apparently now 'Shorsen', as most likely to have the combination of knowledge, motivation, and power to bring us together. If that is the case, it's quite possible that calling us here is all she's capable of doing if her place in history has been usurped."
She turns to the statue. "Now... hmm, let me change into a more useful form."
Golden-brown fur sprouts from her arms and legs, a leonine tail takes shape behind her, and a pair of falcon's wings spread from her shoulders, all in an instant. Her head, however, remains just as human-like as before.
"Given we may need to enter some humanoid-made structures, my hybrid form seems more appropriate than my sphinx form," Rahlmaat says.
"Now, we may well have all the clues we'll be given as to how to start unraveling this riddle. So," she waves at "Paragon's Torch", "What more can we learn here? What does this tell us that we haven't already spoken of?"
A slight frown comes over Rahlmaat's features. "Ethulfel. Have you at *least* gotten some comprehension of the relationship between probability manipulation and quantum mechanics by means of electron cloud prediction? You've had millenia."
Ethulfel chuckles at the sphinx's funny joke and answers, "You know very well that I haven't. I did come across a world, however, where the sun never rises nor sets- on one side its always day and the land is only burning sands and barren rock, but on the other side seven moons provide ample light throughout its endless night and cool, clear waters cut through lush forests and verdant plains. Truly a remarkable place to visit, if one can tear themself away from the library long enough..."
When Melkyzadyk arrives, Moonlight (the tiger) bristles slightly but Ethulfel smiles and replies, "A few centuries at least, I think. Welcome. If there's danger ahead your strength will be a nice addition."
Rather than engage in pleasantries with the others, the dwarf instead stood and studied his surroundings.
Arykiel:
Spirit:
"That does sound fascinating, Ethulfel," Rahlmaat remarks, though her eyes don't leave the statue. "I am familiar with worlds tidally-locked to their sun, obviously, but seven moons is an unusual number for a rocky planet. Were they always on the dark side of the world? Did you check for gravitational anamolies or observe any sort of orbital resonances?"
She cuts off her quizzing to spread her wings and fly a slow loop around the statue, making sure to look at it from every angle.
”The moons rose and set normally,” Ethulfel answers, casually flying along beside Rahlmaat, “each along its own path, and at its own pace, save for the twins: a pair of like-sized moons that forever chase each other across the heavens, one setting as the other rises. If not for that, there would almost certainly be divergences during which no moonlight fell on the living side, but as it is the light waxes and wanes but never fails.”
This statue was crafted via incredibly powerful magic, likely at least by somebody as strong as you, if not stronger. The list of such mages, at least that you're aware of, is very short indeed. Especially since you're clearly not the builder.
The statue radiates as if a major artifact, and then some. Were you not used to such auras, you would have been struck permanently blind. Even then you get the impression that you probably shouldn't stare directly at the statue for too long, else will indeed lose your sight.
You can easily tell that the statue has been here for hundreds if not thousands of years. There’s not even the slightest traces of construction, tracks, or anything else that might indicate that it was even semi recently built. In fact, as you survey the area, it seems like the terrain and flora have shifted and grown around the tower, clear signs of just how long the statue has been here.
Not only has this statue been here for likely thousands of years, it’s always been here. You know for a fact that even though your memory suggests otherwise, the records, history books, even people you’ve talked to, all verify it’s most ancient existence. Not only that, but now that you really think about it, you too have seen this statue, of the man and not Sorshen, here before.
Local legends dating back hundreds of years confirm that this statue has always been here. Stories abound about the purple flame in particular, as that’s the color often associated with royalty. Some claim it was placed in the torch by Aroden himself. Others say a Sinlord set the flame. A few believe some otherworldly entity lit the fire. Whomever is responsible for it, that purple flame has never gone out in well over a thousand years.
Some form of mythic being created this statue, though whether it was the Sinlord it depicts or somebody acting on his behalf, you aren’t sure. What you do know is that there’s some crazy theories about the flame(see Local), with one of the most outlandish being that the soul of a minor deity of magic fuels it, keeping it forever ablaze.
There is absolutely zero evidence that anybody has been around this statue in well over a decade. There’s no tracks, no broken branches, no distributed dirt, nothing. You also see no way in or out of the statue, not even the hints of a crack or secret door. The entire thing appears to be one completely seamless structure.
"Clearly, the statue has been here for a very long time, perhaps even thousands of years. The terrain has shifted around it, and the trees have grown their roots across it in places," she chirps.
Bolvar nodded, as he listened to Arykiel. ”Mythic power is at play.” He added. ”We’re the first ones to be here in at least a decade. The entire structure is seamless, without any physical way in.” It was all very disconcerting. ”The question is, why have we been brought here?”
Erasmo cracks some nuts for the mob and bites an apple for himself, letting the others do the thinking. "Ye are late to that question, Bolvar. I've already made it when I've arrived."
The dwarf shrugged. ”Late to the question, aye. But am I late to the answer as well?”
Rahlmaat looks to be about to answer Ethufel, but then frowns. Suddenly she shifts forms again, swelling to many times the size of human, changing from bipedal to quadrupedal as she takes the form of a massive sphinx.
"This statue is not simply a sign of a changed past, it is also a powerful artifact, one whose purpose is not immediately clear to me," she states, all hints of playfulness gone from her tone. She comes in for a landing with the rest of the group again.
"We seem to have confirmed well enough the hypothesis that history has been changed, given I have two contradictory memories of the long history of this place. I can confirm that this statue is, indeed, of the
Sinlord Kazsethil. It may be we were called here to make us aware of the problem before our memories were entirely replaced, or it may be that whoever called us--Sorshen still seems probable--meant to meet us here but was prevented from doing so. That is the closest I have to an answer, Bolvar."
"Arykiel, you are closest to the history that is likely changed. What do you remember of your adventures? Anything that has changed as you think back on the rise of New Thassilon? What is the current state of New Thassilon, so far as you remember?"
"New Thassilon?!?" Ethulfel repeats with a mixture of surprise and annoyance. "When did that happen? I couldn't have been gone for more than two... three... What year is it?"
"I thwarted Karzoug when he tried to return. How did this happen?"
Arykiel frowns and becomes visible again. "The last time I heard anything about it, New Thassilon was only a small and developing nation in northern Varisia, newly established by the two surviving Runelords, Sorshen and Belimarius. The capital was Xin-Shalast, in the Kodar mountains, originally established by Karzoug. You see, when the Runelord Alaznist woke in... oh, when was that? Seven years ago? 4718, I want to say? Alaznist had an artifact called The Scepter of Ages that allowed her to travel back through time and alter events in the past. She tried to undo your efforts, Ethulfel, and re-establish the realm of Thassilon. Working with her rival, Runelord Sorshen, I and several others managed to stop her, and Sorshen vowed to establish a new country in Karzoug's former domain. I thought we were friends."
Arykiel nods with greater confidence. "Wait, if this is 4720, that means these events happened only two years ago. By Sarenrae's light, time flies swiftly! I visited Xin-Shalast upon its founding, and Lady Sorshen was a gracious host. She seemed like herself."
"So how about we go there and take a look?" The halfling proposes.
Arykiel frowns and becomes visible again. "Alaznist had an artifact called The Scepter of Ages that allowed her to travel back through time and alter events in the past..."
"And what happened with the Scepter of Ages? Certainly it seems likely to be involved with any changing of history," Rahlmaat muses.
She glances at Erasmo. "Going to Xin-Shalast does seem a reasonable course of action, but if the rest of you can be patient for an hour or so, there are some divinations I would like to perform before departing."
Arykiel thinks carefully. "As I remember it happening, my friend Dolora wrested the scepter away from Alaznist, and there was a devastating explosion. We realized that we and the Sihedron heroes had been returned to our original timeline, and the scepter was nowhere to be found. Dolora later said she thought it had been destroyed by something that she called 'temporal feedback.'" She shrugs. "Dolora's really intelligent, but I suppose she could have been mistaken. I would suggest we ask her, but I have no idea how to reach her since she ascended to Elysium. She worshipped Desna, so perhaps Ethulfel might be able to communicate with her through their goddess? That's all I can recall."
Melkyzadyk nods to Rahlmaat. "I certainly have the time. I would say, though," he says, looking around the group as a whole "that we should be cautious about just strolling into Xin-Shalast. If Sorshen has become someone else, she might not be so gracious a host. Only very foolish pray walks directly into the dragon's gullet."
You do not learn anything new about the statue, however, you do see images pertaining to the creation of the torch. You clearly see some sort of binding ritual, and while you can't truly make out the soul, you get enough of a glimpse that you can try to identify it.
The soul, or at least a fragment of a soul, that is being merged with this mystical flame is none other than that of Amaznen, the ancient Azlanti god of magic.
As you all discuss the possibility of journeying to Xin-Shalast, a voice emanates from the statue and also within your minds. *"I did not go through the trouble of summoning you all here only for you to leave before we have spoken. Come, let us discuss your concerns."* For those of you have spoken to Sorshen, this does not sound like her, though it is female.
Suddenly, a door appears at the foot of the statue, and slowly opens, revealing a set of stairs leading upwards.
"That does not sound like Sorshen," Arykiel murmurs, looking to the others to see what they will do.
Muttering to himself low enough that it wasn't possible to make out, the dwarf strode forward to meet the mysterious person who had summoned them all. While there was the possibility that this was a trap, it would take a remarkably foolish person to do so against so many heroes all gathered together.
"Two years sounds about right..." Ethulfel confesses thoughtfully in response to Arykiel's report on the timeline. When contacting Dolora comes up he answers, "I could use a simple sending spell to ask her, though the answer might be too complicated for the spell's allowed response... if you know where in Elysium she is I could take us all there to ask her?"
When the voice finally summons them to the newly formed door he smiles and says, "ah, I'd wondered when this would finally happen," before falling in with the others on their way inside.
Arykiel sadly shakes her head and is about to respond to Ethulfel's question and offer to take them to Elysium when the group is distracted by the voice. She vanishes, and then says in her tiny voice, "I suppose we should stick together. I am following Bolvar." She then flies beside the muttering dwarf, keeping about 10' of distance between them.
Melkyzadyk shrugs and follows Arykiel.
"What a fascinating twist to this riddle," Rahlmaat murmurs with a grin of excitement. It's unclear if she's saying this in response to the invitation or the results of the divination she just barely finished.
She shifts back to her hybrid form as she walks toward the door. "Given the scepter's connection with time and its sheer power, it is not impossible that it was destroyed in the present and yet also thrown back into the past, or that its destruction altered its own past in some way specifically to prevent its own destruction. Or numerous other possibilities: after all, how many time-altering artifacts are there? What basis do we have for analysis of them with so few examples?"