"Worry not, friends, I think I can stop Malgrim from doing us any more harm... you two concentrate on damaging that unquiet spirit," Arimar looks thoughtful for a moment, "Though Benaiah, you might be hard pressed to harm it. Caerador, you look like you want to say something. What is it?"
Arimar searches through all the spells he has ever prayed for and believes he has come up with the perfect solution. He grips his amulet in anticipation.
He steps back and chants:
"Calm emotions," he prays, again not bothering to disguise its divine origins. He makes sure to only clip Malgrim, and not affect those companions who are still acting of their own volition.
Malgrim's mind buckles under the the contrasting commands and mental influences, suddenly losing the violent glare and glancing around with a confused look.
Malgrim ceases his momentary attack at Benaiah, and looks around with a bewildering expression. He wants to kill those he does not want to kill, but cannot act on his murderous impulse.
"That's better, Malgrim..." Arimar says soothingly, "We are your friends. Friends are not for killing, unless they sleep with your spouse or something like that."
Caerador seems to mutter something under his breath, "Flames you say, Caerador? Benaiah, bombs away!"
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Benaiah ducks the massive stone he had seen so many times used against their enemies. He is grateful for their familiarity with each other and is already out of the way by the time the missile coalesces in the air.
Just as he is about to step in and give his friend the most uncomfortable bear hug ever, Arimar controls the situation, as only he can. The large man cocks his head sideways with a grin, "Heh. Nice work!"
Not completely taking his eyes off of Malgrim, just in case, he accepts Arimar's suggestion without question. A viscous, clear liquid is poured into a pouch of dry powder reagents, which swells suddenly, growing warm in the man's hands. He carefully tosses it into the pool where the dead faces in the water were, wondering if all of his nightmares could be so easy to get rid of.
Yes. Burn them all...
The floating skulls seemed to have cracked and splintered as Arimar cast his positive energy at the haunt earlier. This time the Barbchemist's hurled alchemical concoctions set the small pool ablaze. Fire roils through the water burning desiccated flesh and cracking bone alike.
"" screams Caerador. The Companions turn as one to the broodish elf, only to see him tear at his face with clawed fingers. He sprints full speed directly at the haunt. The Companions hold their collective breath as they reach out to detract the elf on what appears to be a suicide mission, but he lithely avoids their grasping hands. Using his momentum, he leaps into the air a few feet from the rim of the pool. He gracefully extends his harms and cups his hands as he executes a perfect dive into the pool. He pauses momentarily as his outstretched fingers make contact with the surface of the pool, then he is gone.
Benaiah, immune to the wiles of the haunt, peers over the edge and sees noting but the burned and blackened remains of the skulls. The water slowly is receding leaving slick rocks and bone fragments on the cavern floor. It will be a matter of minutes before it dries up all together. No sign of Caerador can be found.
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"Caerador " Benaiah reaches for the nimble elf, only to miss as he dives into the pool. Unwilling to give up, the chelaxian grasps again for Caerador's suspended body, only to find that the elf has mystically disappeared.
With a shocked look on his face, he turns to Arimar, then to Malgrim, then to the ceiling.
What is going on here?
Shaking slightly, Benaiah pulls some rope out of his pack. He tries his best to remain calm, vaguely understanding that Malgrim is not himself currently, and that Arimar's spell is only a temporary bandaid until the spell wears off.
"Here you go buddy. I'm just going to keep you warm with these ropes. Yes I need to coil it a few times around to make sure I cover your body. Trust me, keeping your arms at your sides will help keep body warmth in. There you go, that should keep you warm and safe." He pats Malgrim on the shoulder and offers a smile that attempts to hid his confusion at the strange turn of events.
"What the $*%& do we do now?" he says, turning to Arimar.
Malgrim remains stoic as he watches the sacrifice of his companion. One less to kill... wait, why should I want to kill him?"
At Benaiah's prompting, he calmly accepts being tied, then sits quietly as he stretches slowly in his bonds. "These ropes do not give me a feeling of safety, nor do they aid me in my task of killing all humanoids I find. Though it is strange that I am content with that."
He sighs as he sits cross-legged. "Should we continue our exploration? Though I will re-iterate my well founded distrust of water."
"Caerador!" Arimar dives into the water after the elf, only to find that he hovers one inch over the surface of the liquid, "Huh. Forgot I had that water walking spell cast on me. I wonder how he managed to dip beneath the surface..."
Scratching his head in puzzlement, Arimar is broken from his reverie by Malgrim's comments. "Ah, so you're free of the compulsion to kill Benaiah now? Great to hear. Remind me to talk to you about some devices that help to resist mind control. At the very least, I could weave you a cloak like mine... or give you mine and weave a better one for myself. Hmm... yes, maybe that option!"
Soon, the water is gone completely and Arimar is even more puzzled. "Why do you think he did that? Bah, never mind. The elf is crazy. We'd best search through the rest of these caverns. I'm starting to wish we killed that drake so I'd have another minion to animate and send forth ahead of us. A flying skeletal drake would be quite handy!"
After waiting for Caerador to return for what he deems to be an appropriate amount of time, Arimar suddenly gets up and brushes bone and sand off his robe. Great, I just know that somehow that sand will have managed to find its way inside my britches...
"Well, nothing else for it, let's push on!" he declares, waiting for Benaiah to lead the way.
Before pushing on, the Companions take another cursory look around the cavern as the water drains out the bottom. Inspecting the small piles of bones, the Companions notice that there are tell tale signs of teeth marks on the bones indicating that something ate the humans.
Looking closer, they can tell that the teeth marks do not seem to resemble sharp animal teeth, but rather the blunt teeth marks of a humanoid creature.
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"Hey Arimar, in your previous dealings with Pharasmites, were they known for cannibalism? These teeth marks are odd. As is a room that is haunted like this in a temple supposedly dedicated to Pharasma."
Benaiah is torn in his mind, afraid of what happened to Caerador, but pragmatic enough to know there doesn't seem to be anything they can do about it right now, other than to push on deeper into this place. Perhaps this Collector they were going to visit would have answers for them.
And his magical enhancements would only last so long.
Pushing and squeezing some more, he looks back at Arimar more than once, wondering if the enlarge spell needs to be dismissed, but stubbornly presses on.
Finally having shaken free of the various mental impulses, Malgrim looks truly apologetic for his lapse of willpower. "I am sorry, companions, for failing to to resist the... whatever that was. You are corect, perhaps an investment in mental protection would be... wise." He turns to Benaiah. "I am more thanful that I did not bring injury to you."
Looking to where Cenaiah vanished, he attempts to investigate with little success, before trudging on deeper into the caves.
Fleeing the receding haunt and unsure of where their friend has gone, the companions decide to push deeper into the caverns to find the oracle. Benaiah squeezes through the passage to the southeast and emerges into a relatively circular chamber.
A small fire smolders slowly in the center of the room filling it with a greasy, grey smoke that makes the eyes water. A smell of charred flesh barely overpowers the smell of unwashed humanity and excrement. In one section of the room there is a fraying straw bedroll that looks like a major nesting ground for bedbugs and other insectoids, a shredded blanket whose original color is indiscernible, and a rolled up hodgepodge of multicolored rages bound by criss-crossing leather cords which could only be a pillow.
In another section of the room rests a small wooden shelf propped up by two different sized hewn rocks. A few books lie drunkenly on their side. Completely out of place is a beautiful gilded book laying open resting on a polished and well oiled stump next to the shelf. There is a half-burned tallow candle and a kneeling mat with two permanent knee impression worn in next to the wooden lectern. A brief glance reveals that it is indeed The Bones Land in a Spiral.
Next to a wooden bucket is the only clean spot in the entire cavern. An eight inch circle has been scrubbed almost a bone white by continuous scrubbing.
As they gaze towards the walls of the cavern, a single sconce holds a burnt-out torch. Other than than, every single available space is taken up by drawings of swirls of every size, shape, and color imaginable.
Resting against the cavern wall is a boarding gaff.
But all that is inconsequential as two humans sit crossed legged, staring at the fire. The first human is gently rocking from side to side, muttering under his breath. He sports a long unwashed beard with sea shells tied in, a dirty tunic ripped to his navel, and worn leather sandals with broken straps tied together. On his gaunt chest is scratched swirls, scabbed and bleeding,
Across from him is a man about 30 years old. He looks to be white skinned but it's hard to tell because he is very, very tanned. Also, it's hard to tell about his skin color because he is covered in very dark, tribal tattoo that reach around almost every inch of his body and form weird, blocky geometric patterns. His head is shaved, with tattoos even covering some of his face and atop head. He's decently muscular. Resting next to him are a pile of armor and weapons including a chainshirt, katana, nodachi, and longbow.
The scraggly man turns to the companions, ”Here. They are here Keoki. As I said they would be. Yet they are not ALL here. There is a missing companion. Problems with no solutions, and enigmas with riddles for answers. Yet the way is true and outcome is etched in stone swirls. Cannot be changed the future by looking into the past.” He smiles. ”Hungry? Keoki is.” and with that the man doubles over in laughter.
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As the bearded man with shells woven into hair speaks in riddles and uncertainties, the tattooed man looks on at his companion with a none-too-subtle hint of annoyance. With an almost interceptable shake of his head, the tribesman looks up from the flame. "Keoki hungry," the tattooed man apparently called Keoki refers to himself by name. "More full now... hunger worse in old days." The man then looks down again to the flames, but it is clear he is not looking into the fire itself, but rather at a small skewer of meat that is cooking and spreading a faint smell throughout the chamber.
The tattooed man now turns to the new comers. "They come. Keoki have food. Meant to be. If hungry," he says, his manner of speak a bit disjointed and odd, but clearly attempting to offer the companions food.
These men clearly are insane...
Malgrim keeps his hands open, palms up, as he regards the men-of-questionable-sanity. He glances at Arimar to make introductions, but something in the Riddler's manner makes him speak up. "We hunger for knowledge, more than repast. We seek the future yet learn from the past." He remains impassive as he inquires. "We have traveled long days to search for the sage Idmon. Do you know of him?"
"I am Idmom, man who throws stones. If you learn from the past then there is no need to seek the future for the future is really just the past yet to happen as all things are that have been and are going to be." the bearded oracle spews toward the hobgoblin.
"If you are hungry you should eat the meat. Though food is life, one must die so others can live. Who died so you may live Keoki?"
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The tribesman again takes his eyes up from his cooking. "Three men. Travel to see oracle," he begins, reaching close to the flame and quickly turning the skewer of meat. It seems he is not talking of the newcomers, but another group of three. "They brave men. Fought bravely. We consume them to honor them."
"You. Big man with many scars," Keoki says looking to the companions and noticing the colossal size of Benaiah. "You look as great warrior. Come. Honor those as fought bravery. Help me honor them." The tribesman holds out one arm and motions for Benaiah to take a seat beside him.
Now turning to Idmom, he continues, "I should have no fast before meet you. You to be my advisor. But after meet you, me not want you advise me. Keoki fast as is mistake. Keoki then hungry. Keoki emotions.... get loose. These men die... because... me no honor you. Because... you live."
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Benaiah screws up his nose at the strange conversation.
It takes him a minute, but eventually he puts the grisly details of Keoki's offering together.
What the fffff?
"Lots of chatter. That's good. You'd think I would be more inclined to want to sit down and have a meal and talk to people after having been on a rowboat for a week straight with barely enough to eat. Suddenly though," Benaiah looks at the skewer dubiously, "I'm not all that hungry."
Benaiah moves to the side of the room, hoping to make space for Arimar and Malgrim. He ducks his head so as not to scrape it on the ceiling, stubbornly clinging to the magical size enhancement.
"We were four, but now we are three. Here to see Idmon at the behest of our boss. Our ship is stuck in an unnatural calm on the open water, and we are here on the chance you may know how to help us get out of that mess. And now that our fourth is missing, we were hoping you might be able to help us figure out where he went."
Benaiah blurts out the main points of their questions, oblivious to any decorum or protocol after having traveled for so long. He nods to Keoki, offering a cursory, insincere apology for barging in and stating his questions before bothering to find out if Keoki was done getting his own answers.
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Turning to look at the large Chelaxian, "Questions? Too many questions. I never answer questions as the answers deserve, no require more questions. Then we are talking and that is never fun for anyone.
"Wait, I am getting something. From beyond. Your daddy. He is ... saying something. Come here quick. Closer. Bend down here so I can tell you."
As the enlarged man tries to unceremoniously squat down next to the oracle, Idmon flicks out and strikes Benaiah in the under-protected region under the codpiece.
Smiling as he slaps the man's sensitive parts, he begins to guffaw loudly. "Haha hohoho. He says you are weak and worthless. Haha! That is what all good Hellknight dads say. What a bunch of asshats." he tells to Keoki.
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S&%&. Came out with the goods too soon again. Everyone always wants to chit chat.
"OOOFFfffff..." Benaiah's eyes cross as his boys bounce off each other, sucking the wind from his lungs. It takes about 10 seconds, but eventually the pain from the slap begins to radiate through his nether regions, his lower gut and inside thighs. The large man turns over onto one knee, leaning forward with his weight on one hand as well. His leg that isn't kneeling on the ground is stretched out behind him and slightly to the side as he tries in vein to find a position that will alleviate the pain.
He takes deep breaths, breathing out slowly as the pain begins to subside finally. "Go suck a goblin's ball sack." he spits out between gasps, snarling at the oracle.
With a few breaths to calm himself, he sits down. At that moment, the enchantment giving him his gargantuan size finally wears off. While still large, he shrinks to more normal proportions. His mutagen, which give him the elongated claws and distended muzzle, remains however. He flashes the razor sharp teeth while flexing his enhanced neck muscles at the oracle, and the oracle's strange companion.
"He would say something like that... Bastard just can't seem to... wait... How did you know he is a Hellknight?" Benaiah freezes at the realization.
From beyond? The old codger isn't dead is he? That would be an interesting turn...
Arimar screws up his face at the question. "Cannibals? We don't even know if these folk were the same species as whoever consumed them, but no, Pharasmans are not known for eating humanoids. Speaking of those cursed priests, though, I would say that they are long gone from this place. Even that indolent lot would not suffer a haunt in their own halls. They are nothing if not uniform in their hatred of the formerly dead."
Turning to Malgrim, he chuckles, "You needn't worry. We knew you were a liability when we signed up with you. I wasn't sure how much, but I'm not surprised you tried to kill us." He winks at the hobgoblin and moves into the next cavern.
The sight of the strange occupants of this forgotten temple has Arimar stunned into a rare silence for a time. He settles down and observes Benaiah and Malgrim's interactions with them.
"You are clearly more intelligent than your behavior would have us believe," Arimar purses his lips as he tries to get a measure of the men, "So please stop fondling Benaiah's dick and get to the point. Mistress Lanvi sent is to this place because she thought you could help us. If you don't like questions, then fine. I will make a demand: tell us how to get our ship free of the Sargassum, or at the least how to save its crew. If you require something in kind for this then let us know what it is and we can be on our way."
"Oh look here Keoki. The brave one ... no that is not right." he pauses to scratch his head dislodging a few errant lice. "No not brave like 'I will jump in front of that arrow to save a friend brave.' More like 'abuse some street harlot brave.' All words and bluster. You need to speak in a more respectful tone, boy, or I will shove my boarding gaffe up your ass sideways."
Idmon stands and moves over to Arimar. Standing uncomfortably close to the Aasimar, quick as a serpent Idmon's hand shoots forth and grips Arimar tightly around the wrist. Idmon's thumb is resting over the makeup that hides his tattoo. He starts to slowly rub his thumb back and forth, smearing, but not wiping the make-up away.
"Think I am smart do you? Going to sit down and listen to my advice like good school boys and girls?" he glances at Benaiah when he says 'girls'.
"You want prophecy or my educated guess mister big shot leader? Feel free to share in Keoki's feast while you mull it over. I hear his meat is mouth watering."
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"Dinner be done," Keoki says slowly, his eyes gazing into the fire. The tattooed man laughs a little under his breath as the companions attempt to draw the answers they seek from the oracle. He tends to the cooking meat and eventually draws the smoldering morsels from the fire. Tenderly prodding the meat, he gently, and with great ceremony, removes the cooked meal and places each piece upon a flat slab of rock. Regarding the food before him and taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes and continues to sit crosslegged.
"True oddity is how Idmon explain his meanings," Keoki says, his eyes remaining closed. "Me be sure he can explain all things... but not so knowing if you can make own truth."
"Oracle like walking his words in circles," the tribesman adds a final thought before resting both hands on his knees and seeming to meditate. "Must keep mind on toes to catch his truth."
"Keoki bet his dinner you three get crooked answer and a lot of angry, and still not know how move forward..."
Malgrim seems taken aback by the strange behavior of the two men. While never the best at social interactions on the best day, the two apparently deranged men are far beyond his breadth of experience. He does perk up at the word 'prophecy', however.
"While I would decline dinner, I am most interested in this prophecy..." he trails off. Perhaps this man is touched by the gods. That would explain his condition.
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Benaiah scowls again at the abrasiveness of the oracle. He feels the pesh high in his blood, coming unbidden to his mind.
Nope, don't break any necks. The Mistress wouldn't be to happy if we killed the guy we are supposed to be here to get answers from.
Wanting to break something, and not sure he can hold back his frustrations, Benaiah stands back up, careful not to turn his back to the oracle.
He moves towards the entrance to the room, knocking over bones and generally not caring to respect the stuff around him.
Just try and call me out you f&$^%#er. Just push that button one more time...
He slaps Malgrim on the chest and grabs Arimar by the arm. "Come with me. I need to go break something before I break something I'm not supposed to." The big man drags Arimar with him, figuring the aasimar's reaction would be quite similar.
Once outside, Benaiah opens his clawed arms wide, looking up towards the sky and releasing a thunderous roar of frustration. He looks around the little inlet, only seeing an extra boat that most likely belongs to the strange bald man in with the oracle and the rickety dock. He ignores the looks from Mistress Lanvi and her handmaiden and draws his flail.
Swing after swing bounces the heavy weighted and spiked ball off of the stone wall, producing cracks and bits of stone dust while the sharp crack of metal on stone echoes in the waterlogged chamber. Only when his arms are red and his face flushed with heat and exhaustion does he finally stop.
He turns towards the two women. "Sorry boss. Better this wall than Idiot-o-modnman's head. Don't worry, we'll get this taken care of." Unceremoniously, he stomps back into the room.
Arimar watches Benaiah's display with an amused grin on his face. "Done?" he asks rhetorically, "Don't worry, friend, the so-called 'all-knowing' are often obscure and obtuse. We'll play his game and bet our dinner with his friend. At least Keoki seems well disposed to help us navigate Idmon's babble."
The aasimar shuffles into the room after Benaiah and picks up his plate. He had only eaten part of it. While eating human flesh wasn't technically cannibalism, the strong celestial taint to his blood could be no stronger than a quarter and the rest of him was definitely essence of human. "Alright Idmon, I will be more respectful and shall try to seek the meaning beneath your words. Keoki, if we cannot make more sense of Idmon's advice than you, I will relinquish the remainder of my meal."
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Again the tattoed man laughs aloud, though it does not seem to be at the expense of three companions, it seems more that he knows what they are going through when trying to extract useful information from the convoluted riddles of the old, crotchety oracle. Still remaining crosslegged with his arms resting gently on his knees, and his eyes closed as if in meditation, the tribesman's laughing comes to gradual stop as his breathing settles.
Then he takes a deep breath and inhales the aroma of cooked meat wafting from the stone slab and spreading throughout the chamber.
"Try be calm, man with many scars," Keoki says, his eyes remaining closed. "Try not let Idmon climb under skin."
Now addressing Arimar's statement, though clearly unsure to whom he is speaking, the words pronounced aloud and to all in the chamber. "Me be hoping you find many truths out of oracle's twisting words. Hope you gather many more truths than Keoki be able. But... you no have take food if you no want. It an offer for new friends. Happy greeting bet... But Keoki would hope you be having fruits on you, that might share with new friend, Keoki..."
The words being spoke slowly fade to silence, which holds for a moment before the tattoed man once again resumes muttering unintelligibly under his breath.
Malgrim glances back to his companions with a shrug. "We have been at sea many days; I do not believe we have much in the way of fruit. Perhaps some iron rations?" He shrugs. "Beyond that, I am glad you are not insulted in our lack of joining your meal. After recent events I have become somewhat particular about my food, given a cook that may have been trying to cause us injury."
"Fruits?" Arimar snorts, trying to keep the derision from his voice, "How many sailors do you know carry fruit? We've been at sea for weeks also. Any we had would be spoiled by now." An idea does occur to the aasimar, though, and he decides to share it with Keoki, "If you have any spoiled fruit, though, I can restore it to palatability for you."
Idmon looks at Malgrim. "Interested in prophesy you say. Odd for one so grounded as you. The earth shifts over thousands and thousands of years. Small cracks widen, tall mountains wither, rivers slowly etch away their banks. But every now and again, every once in a while, Something big happens. The earth is moved in a profound way.
"What will it take for you to move in this way Malgrim?"
Idmon looks at the companions soberly. "The Lady of Graves has seen fit to allow me to see bits and pieces of the future. You call this prophecy. It is a a terrible gift. Once you hear it you can never unhear it. Once you know it you will forever let it cloud your choices to either make it happen or avoid it all together. Is this what you want? To be burdened with the what ifs and what could bes?
"If I cannot dissuade you from this course of action, then you must meet the price."
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Benaiah rolls his shoulders, working out any kinks and trying to relax his short temper. He smirks when Keoki asks for fruits, and Arimar's response. Reaching into his pack, he pulls out a dried strip of salted meat.
"Here you go. Fruit of the boar." he says, tossing it to the calm man.
"I'll pass on the bet. Mostly because I don't want to win..." he follows up, crinkling his nose while looking at the meat roasting on the stick.
"Hey wait... We found human teeth marks on the bones in that pool back there. Is this...? Are those...? It was you, wasn't it?!" Benaiah begins to actually piece everything together.
"What did you say about three others and coming here hungry? And you, Idmon, what does that have to do with why Caerador disappeared?"
Benaiah shakes his head, and realizes that the oracle doesn't seem to care about his questions, at least right now. He shrugs his shoulders in mock resignation with a huff. "Fine. I already know my fate. Death at the hands of the hellknights for the bogus charge of Heresy. It will be tortorous, painful, and likely end with my entrails being fed to a minor devil or imp. Anything you've got can't be worse than that, so hit me. Then answer my questions." He crosses his arms, being careful to keep his nether regions out of arms reach of the spunky oracle.
Idmon gives Benaiah a condescending look. "Don't you listen dumbass? The Lady of Graves chooses to speak through me from time to time. This is called prophecy. You good sir are asking me questions. I am an oracle, a vessel for which my goddess speaks through me. I am not omniscient.
"I knew you were a Hellknight whelp from your bearing and accent. You strode into this room as if it was your bedchamber and I was one of your man-boy servants here to feed you grapes and wash your balls.
"And as for the missing fourth, I could hear you shouting from the next room over. No, I am not a god, just have my eyes open.
"And see how the hobloglin trails his hands along the cavern walls, disturbing my holy swirls? You can feel him try to draw forth energy from the rocks.
"But you my aasimar friend. You are a tough nut to crack. You claim to be something you are not to hide what you where but want to become. You wrap yourself in petulant fits of indignation to cover your true feelings. You will walk a storied path.
"But as I said, I am no god, nor flabby breasted mother for you to rest your sobbing head upon as you spill your inner most thoughts.
"So if you pay the price, I will perform the ritual, and the goddess will speak through me. What she will say, how she will say it, what questions will be answered, that is not up to me.
"Who has the price?"
Slowly her breathing resumes to normal, ”Malgrim, the only other information that I can share is that Idmon asks for a gift for services provided. Should you wish to converse with him, you might want to bring something.”
"I would prefer if it my Handmaiden and I stayed with the shallop while you search the caverns for the Sage Idmon. Once you find his whereabouts you can return for us. "
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"Me no insulted," the tribesman responds first to Malgrim. "Meat offer by Keoki only to help be new friends for you."
Without opening his eyes, and remaining ever calm, the tattoed man speaks to Arimar. "As fate have it," he says, continuing to breathe slowly. "Three arrive before you three. They carry few rotten lime."
"In bag, grab please," he adds, but does not break his meditation.
At Benaiah's outburst, seeming to teeter on the edge of rage, Keoki tries to make what happened before this group of companions arrived very clear. "Big man with many scars. I try explain before. Sorry not clear for big man with many scars..."
"Keoki hope Idmon be advisor when sit on Fifty Father's Throne. But oracle meat be sour, so no can be advisor. Keoki be fasting for long while, but that mistake. Keoki then hungry. Keoki emotions.... get loose. Before you come. Three men travel see oracle too. They brave men. Fought Keoki bravely. Now, Keoki consume them to honor them."
"Keoki must honor them," the tribesman says, as the smell of cooking meat wafts heavily throughout the chamber.
Malgrim grimaces at the cannibalistic display, but nods. "Such is it among some of the peoples of the caverns, taking in strength from the fallen. I do not follow such a path, though have seen nothing that disproves it."
He then looks somewhat helplessly back at the rest of the party, unsure what sort of a gift would be of worth to the sage.
"The one that sought you out will likely have the price to be paid. She sent us forward to clear through the dangers the cave has held, but would probably be interested in coming forward now."
At the mention of the Lady of Graves, Arimar stiffens. So many things rise unbidden to his mind, but he manages to keep quiet for the most part. "Some Pharasman you are," he mutters, unable to completely control himself, "Living next door to a unquiet spirit."
Arimar tends to the fruit while the sage tries to crack the shell he has carefully erected over the last century or so. In short order, the limes become edible. The aasimar laughs as he notes they have maintained their squashed and despoiled shape, despite having been made fresh once more.
"I'll get Lanvi," Arimar offers to Malgrim, "She'll have a better idea of what payment would suit Idmon over here. I wouldn't be surprised if her handmaiden was the payment. I further wouldn't be surprised if she ended up being these two's next meal." With that, Arimar departs to retrieve their employer.
"Found him," he notes in a very matter-of-fact tone, "He has a friend, too. 'Keoki', I think. Might be you would be better at coaxing information out of him than we are. He seems to be demanding payment now, but feels we should know what it is."
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Benaiah's face lights up as he remembers that they were supposed to go find the boss after the coast was clear, reminded by Arimar. He instantly tries to cover it up, not wanting to broadcast that he forgot such an important detail.
He takes a few deep breaths, hoping to keep himself calm and collected for when the boss shows up.
"You know Arimar, I'm beginning to think that unquiet spirit has just recently moved in. You know, the horrors of being killed in battle then having your body consumed..." Benaiah moves his eyeballs without moving his head, from Arimar to Keoki, then back to Arimar. He repeats the motion two times, then a third, even though the perceptive aasimar surely put the pieces together before Benaiah decided to say it out loud. The wafting smell of roasted meat serves to accentuate his point, along with the content smile of the apparent royal heir.
Oracle's meat too sour, can't be advisor?
Though Benaiah is not a dumb man by any stretch, his aversion to cannibalism, and the taboo around it doesn't allow him to think through things clearly, subconsciously dismissing certain possibilities.
Such as the possibility that in order to become an advisor to a cannibal king, one must be eaten...
While they wait for Arimar to return with the boss, Benaiah breaks the uncomfortable silence. "So, Keoki. What brings you to this Oracle. Your ship get stuck in a dead calm too? At least you wouldn't run out of food for a lot longer time... heh..." He chuckles uncomfortably, instantly regretting his terrible attempt at humor.
The Companions move out of Idmon's chamber and head back towards the harbor and Mistress Lanvi. They pass the disquiet of the haunt, still looking for signs of their missing friend, through the empty cavern, and past the drake's nest.
They emerge to Mistres Lanvi in close discussion with her handmaiden, Raim not far away with a yard long ribbon of spittle dangling from his mouth, and Fido lounging on his back.
"Ah, good. Did you find him? And where is Caerador?"
After listening to Arimar, Mistress Lanviv responds. "Yes, I have the payment." She glances back at her Handmadien. "He has a friend you say? Odd for an oracle. They tend to live solitary lifestyles."
The Companions walk Mistress Lanvi back through the caverns, thankfully the walk is devoid of all threats. As they emerge in Idmon's chamber, Mistress Lanvi looks around at all the swirls. She is suddenly overcome by another of the all too familiar wracking coughs the Companions have heard on their brief journey.
"Oh my, she is a pretty one. Haven't seen a woman much less one so pretty in years. Don't mind if I do."
Idmon reaches his hand down his pants and pulls out his manhood. A few quick strokes and he ejaculates in a small puddle. He sits down and exhales loudly. "Best sex I've ever had." he loudly declares. "Now about the price."
Recovering from her cough, Mistress Lanvi, Madam of Brothels, cannot hide mild discomfort at the man's display. "I have the price Oracle, but what of you friend? I do not believe that I know your friend. Your goddess's message is not fit for his ears, nor my bodyguards for that matter."
"You all will hear every list word, or none at all. The Price."
With a resigned sigh, she nods to her Handmaiden. The young woman reaches into a handbag and removes a blackened rose with its thorns removed.
"The Price. As you demanded."
"Ah excellent. Perfect. Perfect. But I want a bit more. This one." he points a swollen knuckled finger at Arimar. "A year and a day of service from this one."
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The tribesman is able to remain quiet and undisturbed as Benaiah raises his concerns to Arimar about the origins of the haunt in the adjacent room. His mediation remains focused, though his head to does nod ever so slightly at the large man's words, as if it say, Yes, big man with many scars. Keoki fear he create unquiet spirits. Apology for trouble to big man with many scars and his friends...
However, the tattoed man cannot keep his composure at the oracle's disgusting display. Raising one eyebrow, and opening one eye along with it, he looks to the oracle at the sounds of heavy, labored breathing and near grunting. Luckily for Keoki, he looks on at Idmon a moment too late, and doesn't see the actual act just the remains and a brief, and quite unpleasant, view of the strange man's strange manhood.
"Keoki presence mean no harm," he says to the newly arrived Mistress Lanvi. "Keoki on quest find advisors for when he King of Enya. Wanted convince oracle be advisor. Then I honor him. But... Keoki change mind after actual meet Idmon... Coincidence me being here at time same as you."
The tribesman then looks to Arimar, to see how he will react to such an insinuating request from the oracle.
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Benaiah bristles as the oracle points his bony finger at Arimar, both in a natural reflex of defensiveness for his friend, and expecting a sharp retort from the necromancer who is no stranger to slightly unstable reactions.
"Woah, woah, woah. Woah. WOAH." he says, patting the air down with both hands at each word. "First of all, What the hell is that thing," he points to the black rose, "that a year and a day of service only qualifies as 'a little more'? And you better do a far better job of defining what qualifies as service..." Benaiah finishes by sticking his chin out a bit, which flexes the muscles in his neck. To add to the odd look, he raises a single eyebrow for emphasis.
"Fido, Raim, guard the rowboat," Arimar commands, "Let none back on it without my say-so."
"Service to a Pharasman? Surely you jest!" Arimar snorts, "For the ills that priesthood has foisted upon me, I should slay you where you stand. However, we needs must free our ship to continue on.
"Besides, it appears our 'mistress' has already promised me to another," Arimar grouses, though he is actually glad of another excuse, "This 'Collector' fellow. Say we play along for now... precisely when would this service begin, must it be continuous or can it be done in portions, and - as Benaiah has requested - what kind of service is expected? I will not be your slave, Pharasman." That last word is spat out as an insult, but Arimar knows full well that Idmon would not see it as such.
All in all, though, a year and a day for one who can live upwards of a century isn't so bad. They have more pressing matters to hand, though, and he could not tolerate immediate service to this fool unless it were possible to heap that on to his existing contracts.
These thoughts were all purely theoretical, however. Arimar would rather kill this man and pry the information from his corpse than serve him.
The audacious request is enough to draw out a raised eye-brow from the normally unshakable Malgrim. "A year of service is an exceptional cost for a questionable return, yet is one I myself would be willing to bear. Unlikely, though, for my companions. Why him, specifically?"
Idmon the oracle squints towards Arimar. "Slave. For what? I have nothing, want nothing, and need nothing. I would never subject someone to that depravity.
"But you are known to my goddess. She knows of you and about you. By serving me, you would be serving her. That chaffs, does it not? That angers, does it not? There is no love lost between you and her. Yet look at what you have done with your life. Look at what you have accomplished. No truer statement shall I utter, she wants your services back.
"Terms if you wish, it begins today, after I have performed the ritual. Once I am done, you are free to go ... whereever. I shall contact you at times that are prudent, and let you know the direction my goddess wishes you take. You are to, in good faith, honor her wishes.
"After a year and a day, you are to return here. Hopefully ready to come back to the fold. Think on it if you wish."
There is a sadness in his eyes as he unfolds the terms for his service.
"Hellknight whelp. This is a rose. No more. No less. Food I care little for. Money I do not have. Riches I do not want. But this." he turns the rose over in his hands, "This I cannot get and is much revered by my goddess. It shall empower me to do her bidding in this life."
Turning to Malgrim, "Such selflessness in such an otherwise selfish race, or so they say. Stone thrower, you are a good and decent man. My goddess wishes you good fortune until you meet, but she has desires for another."
"And Keoki, you are as foolish as you are grotesque. This is not Coincidence at all." he ends with an odd cackle.
"'Back' into the fold?" Arimar scoffs, "I was never in the fold. My first experience with a Pharasman and they poured hot coals into my mouth. I was six years of age. Did your thrice be-damned goddess tell you that?"
Arimar wants nothing more than to strangle this arrogant f!#+ for daring to voice the wishes of that bɨtch Goddess of Graves. The aasimar restrains himself and takes stock of the situation, however. Caerador is gone, Princess knows where, perhaps never to return. There are men, good men, stranded at sea and with no real hope other than this mission here. An occasional request over the coming year? This is nothing he wasn't willing to entertain at the hands of the Pathfinder Society. Why not replace one arse hole in charge with another?
"Very well, you have your deal," he says at last, and none are more shocked than he to hear him agree, "But if I find out that whore you worship is behind the Sargassum, the deal is off and I am coming to kill you. I will summon an undead horde to f~*! you until you are begging to join them rather than continue suffer the torment. Understand?"