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You return to Omira and inform her of your findings. When the question of altered memories comes up, she responds...
"The idea did cross my mind, but people around here think I am crazy. So I went through the process of creating a mindscape for myself, but I didn't trust anyone enough to explore it. Since you are Pathfinders, perhaps I could trust you to sift through my memories for me. What do you think?"
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Uhh ain't no way I'm letting anyone in my head! Scratch oddly pulls his helmet down a little tighter as the conversation turns.
"I mean, you can certainly trust us, there isn't anything we can do in there that'd hurt would it? Trip over something important or leave something behind?" Scratch explores the obvious possible issues, at least for him.
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Rhaegal scratches his head. "We can go...inside your mind and see your memories?" He considers this for a moment. "Will it be real? We won't be leaving our bodies, right?"
Rhaegal turns to Jinlong and claps him on the shoulder. "We shall be Imagined Dragons!"
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With Omira’s preparations, you enter the mindscape when she opens it, but to navigate it effectively, you must attune yourselves to the disorienting swirl of thoughts within.
Spiraling sets of stairs, weaving through one another in a byzantine pattern, lead up and down from a central platform. Doors are interspersed along their paths in improbable locations, and it’s difficult to make sense of where one path ends and another begins. Every so often, a bright purple door appears in view, though it seems to vanish whenever it’s viewed directly.
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"Alright I'm goin' in." Scratch takes his boots off just to be polite, not wanting to track dirt through Omira's mind.
Oh this ain't bad, kinda trippy!
He pulls out his wayfinder and tries to find an appropriate path towards that slippery purple door. Well, she's right, there's a purple door..
Scratch almost veers off the wrong path but he knows how important his guiding skills are to a group. Don't fall for that trick, come this way!
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You proceed past the circle and up a set of stairs in the distance, you come to a door and when you reach for it, there is nothing. No door, no stairs. You feel yourself falling. Eventually you reach the bottom floor again. You regain your bearings and are in the midst of the ritual circle. The chanting has grown louder. The shadow of a thin, wolflike creature looms but when you turn to look for the source, there is only darkness. A single door lies ahead.
(DC 19 basic Reflex)
[ooc]Everyone can make 2 more sets of checks.
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"Meeek!" Jinlong involuntarily yelps as he falls down a flight of steps. He manages to grab onto something solid, though scaly. Rhaegal's sudden yelp declares that Jinlong had managed to grab his hero out of desperation.
Calming himself, Jinlong attempts to regain his focus and beseech Abadar for guidance.
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You continue into the darkness eventually coming to a sinister looking door decorated with a jackal-skull relief.
Beyond the door is an altar decorated with actual skulls upon which a thurible burns with incense. Omira approaches the altar and smashes the thurible. The altar then fades.
With nowhere else to go you turn back. Once outside you turn to look back. In the room you see a team of Pathfinders beset by several creatures that look like the gaunt shadow you saw before, but now clearly can be seen as gaunt jackal creatures. Omira stands catatonic, not able to come to the aid of her colleagues. A bipedal, jackal-headed creature stands behind her, silver wisps pulled from Omira's head into its hands. The purple door closes before you can react and disappears.
You return to consciousness and Omira anticipates your report.
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"Grim news, Jackal skulls are a symbol of Trelmarixian, the Lysogenic Prince, Rider of Famine, one of the Horsemen of Abaddon." He comments out loud. "Looks like Omira really pissed off someone smashing that altar!"
He doesn't understand just what's going on in the final scene.
Coming to Scratch peeks one eye open and looks around, his hand tucked into his inner shirt, just in case. Confident there's no immediate danger he hops up and puts his boots back on. "You pissed off this Trelmarixian, the Lysogenic Prince, Rider of Famine, one of the Horsemen of Abaddon. I think he got you back though at the end." He describes the scenes, doing his best to be most thorough on the last one.
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Omira is disturbed by the revelations.
"Looks like I'll have to make an appointment at the temple to have this taken care of. I thank you for assuring me that I wasn't crazy and what happened to my team wasn't my fault. For years I assumed I'd just frozen in fear when the daemons arrived. I assumed I wasn't cut out to be a Pathfinder any longer. But it would be like daemons to take revenge on me by forcing me to watch their slaughter."
As promised, Omira unlocks the parchment for you. It details the fate of one of Omira’s former companions, Mauhrim; he and Omira were separated in the tomb when a hallway collapsed. Trapped below in the tomb’s vault, Mauhrim observed that the sarcophagus exuded a dark miasma that appeared to be slowly rebuilding the corpse within. Though he knew he’d perish before any help came, he wrote down his findings and pushed the parchment through a crack in the stone ceiling, hoping someone would eventually discover his warning. The PCs know the Pathfinder Society will be interested in this account of an ancient tomb and its potentially undead inhabitant.
Before you leave Omira gifts you a misdirecting haversack.
Biglock is pleased when you return and make your report.
Biglock asks Mr. Glovely to bring out “the ol’ doorstops.” The gloves disappear through a door momentarily and return with a set of four grimoires, bound in black leather with metal clasps. Biglock shifts forms from a chest to a table, and Mr. Glovely sets the books down on top of him. “Nice tomes, huh?” Biglock says, as Mr. Glovely gestures over the books.
“They’re grimoires, written by five different wizards, each one a student of the last. The authors were all shadowcasters, and their grimoires contain a lot of insights into shadow magic and spells. Unfortunately, this isn’t a complete set; the last grimoire is missing. The Society did find all five of them in the vault—they’re catalogued as such—but we lost track of one. Seems it was mistakenly placed in a batch of other items the Society was selling, some artifacts discovered on an expedition in Varisia.”
The table quivers slightly, as if shaking a non-existent head.
“Luckily, we managed to trace where the grimoire ended up, and even more luckily, it hasn’t gone far! Only as far as the Grand Bazaar, in fact; it was purchased by the proprietor of the Historia Reliquary, an iruxi named Erikanesh. They’re a bit… persnickety—I’m sure you know the type—so getting the grimoire might take more finagling than just buying it back. But I’m sure you can work something out, resourceful lot like you! Here’s a few silvers for the shop admission fee.”
In addition to covering the entrance fee, Biglock lends the PCs a brooch of inspiration and a greater choker of elocution granting fluency in Aklo, Draconic, and Shadowtongue, hoping it will allow them to impress Erika with their scholarly knowledge.
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Scratch sits on the corner of the table, picking at his teeth with a stick "Sometimes its better to be lucky than good, at least some think that..." He listens along to their instructions, perking up somewhat when hearing about iruxi.
"I just got back from a sailing trip out to their homeland, somewhere's down to the southwest off the Mwangii. Humid as all get out, really puts the damper on the gunpowder if you know what I mean." He chuckles at the inside joke, more so than is warranted.
"They really like astrology and weather, so any talk of that stuff usually gets 'em riled up and excited, at least those down there did. Maybe Erikanesh isn't as into it though." He declines the items, not being all that suited for them.
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When the PCs arrive at the Historia Reliquary, they find the front of the building is covered in a black curtain, blocking off the view of the windows. A box sitting next to the door is labeled, “Admission: 1 silver Item sellers, please ring bell.” Once the PCs place their
coins in the box, the door unlocks and swings open.
The inside of the Historia Reliquary gives the impression of being a museum rather than a shop, with neat exhibits encased in glass, all carefully labeled with lengthy descriptions of their contents. The items showcased near the front of the shop are Avistani, arranged by region, while a painted sign reading “Garundi Artifacts” points toward the shop’s rear. Floating orbs above the displays provide illumination, giving off a warm glow, and the scent of sweet rolls and tea suffuses the room.
The iruxi looks up from their desk... "Hmm?"
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"Are any of you particularly learned in scholarly pursuits? A 'Historia Reliquary' and an owner buying rare books both speak to academic interests." Samna has more practical knowledge, but she's been known to keep at least fake it with conversation on lore.
"Do I look like any regular country bumpkin? I can talk the eyes outta a potato on the history of firearms in Golarion, not to mention all manner of explosives preparation, storage, and usage. And, if I'm in the right mood, a brief bit on common engineering practices." He puffs his chest out a bit before licking his fingers to tame his eyebrows to look more presentable.
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Scratch regrettably drops in the silver piece, feeling less of a pang since it wasn't actually his to begin with. "Quite the museum here..." He mumbles, wandering around trying to find the fire arms section as fast as possible