Roughly 80% sure that none of that was code for "lure the infidels into a trap and murder them", the party can oblige!

I-1 leads them through the corridors. Flesh and clay golems step out of their way and bow as the iron golem passes by.

Soon enough, they come to a grand iron door set into a wall. It bears no sign of rust, and the hinges look to have been freshly oiled. The handle is carved into the shape of a demon's head.

"From here I cannot lead you," I-1 says neutrally. "But we will all await your return."

"Thanks!"

Standard make sure the door doesn't eat you protocols ensue, and in they go.

The door does not eat them! It opens into a steep spiral staircase, clearly made by Stone Shape.

"Jojo," Garrus says as they descend, "what was that about with Aghaaz? You looked very... uncomfortable, in that special paladin way you have."

Jojo shrugs. "I think it was, erm, the method of his construction, that caused his aura. Unless he was very good at presenting a false face, which of course I cannot discount. But him being literally made of demon flesh is an obvious reason for him to read as Evil, and there's no particular reason it'd affect his actual personality."

"And hey, even being a literal demon isn't always permanent. Back on Golarion there was a demon queen who went neutral. There's a bawdy hymn about her smuggling half a dozen of her lovers out of the Abyss under her clothes."

Jojo's eyebrows raise. "Wow. That's - fascinating, from a planar lore perspective - I wonder if we have any corresponding entity?"

"Belmarniss remember lyrics of hymn?" Deekin wonders. "Deekin always looking to expand repertoire."

"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."