Then she gets some entirely reasonable answers from some racist humans. They seem otherwise normal enough.

Well at least they're mostly being racist against people all can fundamentally do mostly the same things they can, and not something like otyughs which has a completely different skill set that they're horribly wasting. Not that she has much hope for how they treat otyughs, but it's always possible they're better there.

Fortunately for her, she also doesn't need to spend very long here. Talking her way around actually asking any questions which would be weird took a while, and it's probably getting close to the scheduled hour.

A few hours pass. It's early evening. Tencednil should probably make her way back to the teleportation chambers.

Back she goes. By now she's mostly recovered from the horrible consequences of rapidly leaving a mountain, and back to breathing normally, which is nice. Janderhoff had its advantages but mountains are far more irritating to deal with than she had previously known. 

She picks up her bank draft for Almas, makes her way to the teleport room, and... waits.

Over the next few minutes the other passengers gather in the room. Soon enough, the wizard walks in. This time it's not Victor, but the process seems to be the same.

Mass reduce person.

She is small! Janderhoff architecture made sense from this perspective. Canorate architecture, unsurprisingly, does not.

Into the bag she goes. It's very similar to the last one. The wizard pulls it shut.

She continues to be available for calming anyone who seems to need calming. Hopefully this one will go as smoothly as the previous.

Teleport.

The bag opens. This time there's no problems with Tencednil's ears. The wizard ushers the passengers out into the arrival chamber. It's decorated differently than the ones at Janderhoff and Canorate.

Wow this is a much more pleasant process when there are no random mountains involved. Out! Deposit the bank draft! And it's late enough that she should find a place to sleep for the night, and try to get in contact with people tomorrow. Almas probably does not have well-designed inns like Janderhoff did, but can she find something which isn't going to be too bright in the morning? Decent curtains are too bulky to bring along with her, and she would prefer not to be woken by sunlight if she can help it.

The sun will set soon. Tencednil exits the Bank on to a wide street. The stunning architecture of a dozen temples, churches, and sanctuaries surrounds her. From this street's position, near the top of East Hill, the city stretches out before her. Enormous stone bridges, a quarter mile long each, cross the intersection of three mighty rivers. A vast din of noise flows across the city.

...What is with those bridges. How are they so long. How many arches even is that, that must have taken so much work to build. Wow.

Almas is impressively busy even this late, which is nice. She needs to find a place to sleep before actually doing anything, though. Inns are the first priority, even if she will definitely be impressed by some of the more absurd constructions here as she searches.

She can find an inn to spend the night. Unlike Janderhoff, Almas does not have any places to sleep she can find that are particularly dark. Everywhere is rather loud and big.

Loud and big are both fine, but bright is less ideal. She will try to find a room with as few windows as possible, at least, and then she will get to sleep early because she will be woken early tomorrow by the sun.

Elsewhere...

Togomor has finally gotten around to finishing the seer's fetch quest. Vorel Foxglove. He can't say he's ever seen someone fuck up becoming a lich quite that badly before. Time to decode the third letter.

The third and final letter decrypts smoothly to his name.

At this point, you have a large quantity of blood willingly donated by the Korvosan populace. Do not use all of it in the targeting ritual. Using all of it makes the source of the sacrifice incredibly obvious, and even with the resulting power, the resulting opposition will be problematic. Instead, select about one in every five to ten of your donors. This should be a cross-section of the populace apparently selected at random. When they die, Togomor should declare this a final gasp of the Urgathoan menace, a secret second stage of the plague which the first step of the cure was insufficient to resolve. This will be unprovable, but believable, and misdirect attention away from you. You may nevertheless face some difficulties, but your path will be easier.

You may also be wondering who I am. The answer should be evident, but not all are as clever as I. The first and clearest part of this is that I do, as you have seen, have access to prophecy. Its erasure was incomplete. To demonstrate this, first note this letter was sent to the Bank the day prior to the breaching festival. Nevertheless, I can tell you how it went. First was the master thief, whose cards allowed her to pick many of the locked doors. She failed at the Symbol of Death, which first destroyed her protective jewelry, then took her with its second pulse. Second was the barbarian. He smashed his way through the prismatic wall and the subsequent elementals, but then his fury was burnt out, and he could go no further. Third was the Academae professor. He breached his way to the Doors of Scouring, twice becoming as ice — at first for many doors, then again after it was dispelled by the Symbol upon the Door of Flame to negate the risks of the shadows. His only weapon against the Doors of Scouring, however, was a scroll of Disjunction. After seeing his performance, the other contestants admitted defeat, refusing to make their own attempts even after the doors recovered their magic.

So, who might have handled the fall of Aroden well? Think on what you know of my traits.

Once you put the pieces together, you will note this explains many things. My taste for information, connections, and properly swaying the public with the release of information is evident. My delight in operating undercover, without anyone's knowledge, and especially under the nose of a god like Abadar is well-known. And, of course, my enjoyment of a plan like this, especially with its true origins secret and ripe for blackmail, is clear. My agent in writing this letters would not acknowledge the truth of my claims, and in fact you will find them unprovable. I would not write this if anyone could prove it. As far as anyone knows, I will remain as I ever was, most certainly doing something suspicious, but not ever quite, provably, violating the laws of the divine. As law is nothing without crime, though, crime is no fun with nobody who could possibly spot it. The only price I ask of this part is that you demonstrate my cleverness, not on Golarion, but to other deities. You cannot prove my access to prophecy, but your evidence will ensure nothing gets too easy for the other three. They're getting a bit boring.

—You Already Know