Caliphas - the capital city of Ustalav and many would say the region's beating heart.
It had been a long and arduous journey for Zengi'a. Crossing across Golarion always was. It had been worth it though. The experience had taught him much about the world outside the Mwangi Expanse. And he had learned some new tricks along the way. It would not be as hard to return as it had been to get here.
He shook his head. He had studied up on Ustalav. Being next to the Worldwound, a matter of serious concern for any druid, he had learned about it in his studies. But right now, he was tired, and could barely remember anything. Perhaps a night's rest, and he'd be able to recall information about the city of Caliphas in the morning. Sighing, he drags himself to an inn, mask tucked under an arm as to avoid alarming anyone.
A dwarf dragged himself into the tavern. He had a sour look on his face. He wore a suit of plate armor, despite the fact that he was in the safety of a major city. The armor was immaculate, without a single scrape, dent, or even a trace of dirt on it. On his back was a strange combination of spear and shield. A close look it revealed that the metal seemed to ‘flow’ as if though it was made out of some sort of liquid steel. Nobody looked up when he came in, proof that he was a well known sight. Plopping down on a chair which groaned under the weight he rubbed his eyes. He had slept horribly, having had a nightmare about…well…it was another nightmare. And at least it was different than the others. He didn’t call out to be served, knowing that the innkeeper would get to him.
As Sothis, the capital city of Osirion, had frequent airship traffic, Bhornkild's journey from the desert lands to the dead lands of Ustalav was not the most trying he had ever undertaken. It was the longest he had been on thus far. Most of his work was done in Osirion and Geb, lands almost perpetually under siege by the undead. The strange dream he had that lead him to Ustalav did not disturb him overmuch; such dreams had come to him for as long as he could remember. Pharasma guiding him to tormented souls, bound cruelly in undeath, that he may bring them to peaceful final rest. He was unsure what Pharasma wanted him to accomplish here. Fiere, the wise and all-seeing owl spirit, whispered to him of this land's corruption, their near-worship of undeath. He could not bring an entire nation to see the evils of of undeath, especially if they coveted it for themselves, erroneously believing it would grant them eternal life.
Not wanting to descend directly into the unknown capital city of Ustalav, Bhornkild disembarks the airship in nearby Vigil, and follows the Path River south, sometimes walking, sometimes finding passage on boat or raft. He nears the end of the long journey, the high walls of Caliphas looming in the distance. Do not stray too far, Máii iiłtsoí. The rage prophet cautions his constant spiritual companion in nightsong, the whistled language of Pharasma's sacred whippoorwills. If the people here look upon vampires with envy, who knows what necromantic spirits stalk these lands. The mischievous fox looks at him. With the twitch of an ear, the spirit animal disappears into the underbrush.
”Ye speak loud.” A nearby, heavily armored, dwarf said, regarding Bhornkild. ”Be ye not afraid that the servants of said vampires would overhear?”
15th day of Rova
4712
A sense of déjà vu comes over each of you, as you close your eyes and soak in the warming rays of the sun, despite the cooling autumn breeze coming off of Lake Encarthan, some miles to the SW. You open your eyes and find yourself in Beacon Park, its hedges neatly groomed and maintained. The park is exactly five miles north of Caliphas, according the sign marker when you first entered the park. Each of you has taken your own lengthy journey to reach this place for your own reasons. Several benches are scattered throughout the park, occupied by noble citizens and families with children enjoying the beautiful sunshine and scenes of nature around them. You count about 20 or so persons in this small park. Strangely, there are no guards around either. In the center of the park is the monument of a soldier on horseback. Kids play in the grass, their giggles and laughter filling the air. The scene is identical to the one you experienced before.
Máii iiłtsoí growls, ears flattened against his head when he sees the familiar park from the haunted dream. This is not the first time Bhornkild has arrived at a destination to find it identical to locations he has seen in dreams, but Bhornkild's usual destinations are desert tombs and sunken crypts nestled safely away in dark forests, not public parks in the heart of a city. There are no two ways about it: Bhornkild is an imposing figure. He is a giant, even amongst his fellow Shoanti. His massive adamantine earth breaker is far too large to be stowed in any way, so it is always carried in hand. The Rage Prophet makes his way towards the statue at the center of the park, doing his best to not look unfriendly. As he advances, he scans the edges of the park for encroaching undead. It was unrealistic to think ghouls and zombies lurked around here, but Pharasma did not send Bhornkild meaningless dreams.
Sven strode through the park, feeling at ease. He stopped to look at the monument of the soldier on horseback, taking but a moment to mentally critique the craftsmanship. But the humans, especially the younglings, seemed happy enough. Shaking off the strange sense of deja vu, he continued on.
Zengi'a well knew from his time in the Mwangi Expanse that a seemingly tranquil scene could erupt into violence at a moment's notice. But more important was the vision. Divination were never set in stone anymore, not after Aroden.
Look for any anachronisms he told himself. What was different than his dream? Had that strange man with the earthbreaker always been here? What about that dwarf? Slipping on his mask, Zengi'a casts detect magic, and moves closer to them. Perhaps other people had been sent here as well. Although for good or for ill?