Augusta's page

There's also a slight chance I'll be your T-port source, depending on where you go. I would convey you via airship, but I understand you have time constraints.

Augusta sighs. "YES. I have planned ahead. I have procured, scribed, and prepared arcane sight, as well as the more mundane detect magic." She lays out two sheets of rolled parchment. "In addition, I have acquired, at great personal expense, two scrolls of true seeing. One for you, and one for me- the spell is touch-distributed. I was hoping to save them for absolute necessity and scribe one into my spellbook once I can fully decipher the magic therein, but obviously that is not to be in my future."

She sighs heavily, then lights another cheroot with a gesture from her thumb and index finger. "From what I can deduce, the illusion effect will prevent many far-seeing divinations, but localized detection should reveal the magical auras. Or do you know of a way to disguise such auras that I should be aware of? This is hardly a singular item obfuscated by simple magical aura; this is a region veiled by illusions. It will be a beacon of dweomers. At most, we are searching a 600-foot cube of space, or an equivalent area, and we have almost twenty minutes to do so, assuming my twice-casting arcane sight."

Chuckling, Augusta says, "may I ask, when did you become such a scholar of the arcane? It seems in my recent experience that such matters were left to my purview. Not that I'm complaining; I'd love to talk further regarding magical theory and its intricacies."

Before Faiza can respond, Augusta continues. "Ammelon VI I have no intention of facing in combat. I intend, once our forms are impro- er, restored, to transfer, via incantation, our persons to the safety of our camp, as overseen by our companion Ozzie.

"As for our unexpecting host: Ammelon VI was, in life, a potent spellcaster, gifted of bloodline. His ab-dead apotheosis and long unlife have granted him great expertise in the fields arcane, above that of his magical lineage and living experience. Should we face him in the long battle, we would surely perish. However, if we can survive his initial onslaught, or avoid it outright, we should escape unharmed.

"As for the potential for our demise- well, I am putting as much- more, I should note, given our previous and current sizes- flesh into the game as you." Augusta is clearly missing the absolute danger Faiza is trying to put across, and may be incapable of experiencing it.

"Now if you have further inquiries, I am happy to explain all that I know- a prodigious amount, I may add. The histories, natural philosophy, localities, and theorem arcanae regarding our quest I am ever willing to discuss."

Augusta lays open the book she was flipping through, displaying a map of the Sodden Lands. "Alright, darling, here's the area in question. The western coastline is heavily wracked by storms from the Eye of Abendego, so we'll be sailing around the northern horn, close to the coastline, and disembarking about a twenty miles southeast of Xanthuun. The going will be a tough slog through swampland and dense jungle, so it will take us a few days to arrive at the ziggurat.

"Now comes in the really clever part. The ruins of Xanthuun are a flooded mess full of awful horrors both natural and maddeningly non. But the Golden Phoenix Aviary hides in a natural grotto mostly above the water level, veiled by potent illusions. No one's found the above-ground entrance, instead having to pass through Xanthuun's tangled passages to gain entry. But a coating of illusions like that should glow like a will-o-wisp at midnight with divinatory magics, yes? So we shall range across the surface near the ziggurat while I sense for dweomers until we find the veiled entrance, and through trial and error, prove to our meager senses the untruth of these magics, gain passage, and be in and out before the old cyclops ghost-king even knows we're there."

She pauses. "I, um... I mentioned the still-extant King Ammelon VI yet haunts these ruins, yes? He is nothing to be trifled with." She looks to a pile of other books, their titles hinting at contents full of undead and ethereal lore and chuckles nervously, emitting an accidental hyena-like giggle at the end. "I'm sure we'll be fine. Any questions?"

Augusta sighs, rolls her eyes, and opens the door to her room, cheroot clamped firmly in her teeth. "At this juncture, I'd gladly accept the Old B&+$!'s telepathic mutterings in lieu of the pedantic drolleries of our financier. Come on in, Sassling. I bid thee enter."

Augusta's room, seen from the hall, sits more or less as the last time Faiza left it: cluttered with assorted books, scrolls, writings, and arcane materials, all of which are impeccably clean to the point of almost gleaming. Her regular prestidigitations make the clutter of the room seem almost staged: a place this full of assorted clothes, unkempt sheets, and empty bottles and spent cheroots should possess some modicum of filthy veneer, but everything sparkles and shines like it was just crafted. The only new items are a recently-drained bottle of rum and a crumpled sheaf of paper with writing on it, both of which laying unloved in a corner.

Augusta sits on her bed and begins thumbing through a book. "Bad news: our beloved druid benefactor is an ass with a juvenile sense of humor. Good news: our expedition is funded. The Master of Gales has commissioned a fishing vessel, captained by a man, simply named Gerald, in the style of our compatriots Nutzloss and Muchango. So expect low breeding. Word has it he has powerful friends, so we should treat him with gentility no matter how much chew he spatters upon our garb. I also infer that this means our travels should be free from interference from piracy; word of his associates has reached even the Hurricane King. And if even one such as he walks upon eggshells within their presence, lesser scoundrels would best leave us be.

"Our Gerald will arrive upon the 'morrow in the early hours. His cousin, Ozzie, will be our guide, which is fine, since every skilled traveler of the Sodden Lands seems to have disappeared from our vicinity." She points to the crumpled paper on the floor. "Feel free to peruse the missive. I shan't bring myself to again view its crass contents a second time. When you are done, we can discuss our preparations and plan of attack, as it were."

Augusta sits stunned. Her jaw trembles slightly, and she crumples the note and hurls it across the room.

" 'If you think you are impressing me, you are most certainly not,' " she says mockingly in a nasally voice. "Maybe next time you address ME, you swamp-sucking poltroon, you'll treat me like a LADY!" She stomps to the window and lights a cheroot, seemingly savoring the sodden city skyline, but the rictus snarl upon her muzzle tells a vastly different story.

Under her breath, the following can be heard...

"If he'd stop fondling plants so much, maybe he'd find less brambles in his crotch..."

"GODS-DAMNABLE SKY VERMIN!" screeches Augusta as she wipes the leavings from her snout. She mutters a magical incantation to cleanse her face, rubs the sleep from her eyes, and spots the note at last, which has by now rolled onto the rough woolen blanket. She gasps and unfurls the small parchment...

"Erm. Um. No, thank you." Augusta looks askance at Faiza. "Nor would I take any drastic measures surgically adjusting your particular current form, were I you. I'm not an expert on wishcraft, and I'd hate for us to find out that such alterations don't translate well when we are returned to normal."

She clears her throat. "As to your original point, I believe the Master of Gales to be more interested in our success in this endeavor than even you or I. Were I not otherwise affiliated, I would surely take the findings within the hidden depths of this Ghol-Gani ruin and auction them to Magaambya or the Pathfinder Society, whoever bids higher, and he knows it. The Colloquium of Abendego is a fine enough institution of learning for one founded a handful of years past, but compared to Magaambya's multi-thousand-year history, the Society's globe-spanning excavations, or any number of a dozen or more places of learning across the Inner Sea and beyond, they are a young upstart with very little to lay claim to as their own original work. If the Master of Gales wants his school to be taken as more than a place for ill-mannered pirates to learn their letters, he'll jump on the opportunity to make an historical breakthrough."

Augusta pushes back her chair, sealing the letter with a daub of fuchsia wax and her signet ring as she stands. Producing a bird feather token, she speaks the command word, attaching the letter to the odd metallic bird-thing that forms from the minor magic trinket. She whispers to the artificial creature, and it cocks its head, lets out a tinny shriek, and lifts into the air, flying through the open window. "Either way, I suppose we shall have our answer in a matter of days."

DAMNABLE BOARDS! RECOGNIZE MY GENIUS!

"FAIZA!" Augusta growls, attempting to add some aspect of Taldan gentility to the gutteral yips of her new form's bestial vocalizations. "Come in here! I'm writing a letter to the Master of Gales. I think he'll assist us in our quandry. Or at least not laugh into our metaphorical visages upon completion of his perusal." Augusta sits at the small table of their ratty private room, inkpen clutched daintily in her speckled paw. She licks the nib with her black-spotted tongue, dips it into her inkpot, and begins writing:

Most Gracious Master of Gales–

-Marquessa Augusta Chastity Petrovia Jeggare II, Co-Lady of the Rock

"Do you wish to append a missive of your own, Fair Doctor?" Augusta inquires, reclining upon the crude wooden chair and only risking upending herself twice. "DAMN THIS BESTIAL FORM!" she roars. "I'd sooner be a deceased and reanimated catfolk than operate these vile appendages. And this curved tail makes reclining an impossibility. No wonder the hyena-things are such a rotten lot." She shuffles in her ill-fitting outfit uncomfortably.

One-Point-Five.