"I mean, they're all in Golarion drow, but yes, I know all the verses." And she will sing the bawdy hymn to Nocticula for him.

He takes it down faithfully. It passes the time going down the staircase, which extends about a hundred feet down from the golems' layer.

Eventually, though, they reach the bottom. There's another door here, much less faithfully maintained. It, too, turns out not to be a trap, and it opens with a rusty screech.

Behind the door is a fantastically messy chamber, all the more impressively cluttered for being about fifty feet to a side. There are teetering stacks of paper, tables covered with body parts worked from metal or ceramic or a strange glossy material, and dozens of open cabinets lining the walls and providing a view into their dimensionally enlarged interiors.

"Wow," comments Belmarniss, "this is, uh, roomy. - hello? Anybody home?"

There's a long pause.

Then: "What? Who- who let you in? I'm, I'm very busy, and - well - I suppose I could take a short break... it's been so long since I had visitors."

From behind a desk stacked very high with papers, an eight-foot-tall golem unfolds itself. It's wrought from what must be adamantine, with mithril chasing and glittering black diamonds in its eye sockets. "I, I do hope you're not here to - loot my tomb of its treasures, or anything like that. You'd be disappointed."

"- classy," she says, of the chassis. "And, no, not looting today. Are... you the guy who made the golems upstairs?"

"Yes, yes - not my finest work," he says ruefully. "I was trying for sentience, for the spark of life, but, mm, it didn't really pan out... I don't suppose you ever look back on something you did a few centuries ago and think well, I could try to fix it, to, to make it a real piece of art, but if I look at it long enough I'll die of embarrassment..."

Deekin winces. "Deekin know feeling. Deekin sometimes feel like that about book from three years ago."

Alsigard nods fervently. "The creator's curse! Truly, truly dreadful."

"- they're, uh, pretty chatty and contemplative. Were you hoping they'd be, what, painters, I concede we didn't see them paint."

"Chatty? Contemplative? I tried for half a decade to get them to answer in anything other than yes or no! Gods, the blank stares they gave me... I had a touch more success with the more elaborate ones, the gold golem and the demonflesh, but even they would stare blankly if I asked them a question with any nuance."

"The silver golem said, didn't it," Jojo says slowly, "that they had become more self-possessed over the centuries? And Aghaaz said that the civil war had only started fifty-six years ago -"

"The what."

"Civil war! Or at least theological dispute. Man, I'm glad to hear they weren't sapient the whole time, that's way less sympathy boredom for me right there. You should go say hi, catch up."

This golem's face is rendered in significant enough detail that his eyes can widen. "I- they have theology? About what?"

"You, as it turns out. There's the loyalist faction, they seem to have taken you at your word when you said to stay right where they were, and there's a splinter heresy that wants to travel the world and grow as people. But they can't do it without the Power Source, which is currently under the control of the loyalists. It's very messy."

Alsigard begins pacing frantically. "By every god in the planes. The - the Power Source must have had some kind of - additive, accretive effect - this changes everything. Everything. I - I have tests to run, apologies to make, is there - did you need anything else? Is there something I can do for you, to compensate you for, for bringing this to my attention?"

"Got a talking sword who wants a body. Also we are about to have some warfare and could use more personnel on that."

He turns to examine Enserric, looking enthusiastic and like he has completely forgotten about the problem of the sentient golems. "Oh, how fascinating - that's not a standard intelligent weapon, is it, I can see the soul-strands woven into - that'd be quite tricky but I do believe I have something in here that'd fit, let me-"

He strides over to one of the cabinets and begins rummaging through golem chassis. After a few minutes, he hauls out a six-foot-tall iron golem, fully articulated and looking more like a suit of armor than a standard golem. "Here's the thing! Bit of an early draft of my current form - it's fully functional but I wanted something with more, mm, form than function, you know how it is..."

"And... how would the transfer be made?"

"Oh, your wielder would simply touch the blade to the soul housing in the golem's chest."

Deekin promptly does so.

And the chassis wakes up.

Its eyes clang open, revealing two glowing blue sparks. It flexes its hands. It lifts one leg, places it down, lifts the other.

It lifts one hand to gingerly touch its intricately articulated face.

"I... believe it has worked," Enserric says. "By the gods, you've done it."

"Congrats," Belmarniss tells Enserric. "Comfy?"

He reaches out takes the sword from Deekin. It shimmers and transforms into a longsword, which he puts in a resting position over his shoulder. "I am now."

"Oh, good. - how's putting yourself in a golem work?"