Samen does as instructed. "Sorry about this. I know you were only doing your job. With any luck you can convince the guards the other guy killed the banker."
To his brother, "She won't remember it because she wasn't there. It's best you begin mourning now. On the bright side, an air elemental is alive, which means sky must be too. All the more reason to get out of here quickly."
Wamblee rises to his feet.
Somehow, his resilience radiates.
"A shame about Ferri. He could not help his irritating qualities. He did not deserve this end. Now, let us go before we meet a similar one."
Albreane looks distant for a moment. "Yeah, I guess I do have a 'rider'. Trust you to come up with a word that is both efficient and horrible." She shakes her head. "Let's worry about the implications of that when we have the time. For right now, did anyone pay attention to exactly how to get back to the stairs?" She glances at each of you.
Samen will check Ferri's pockets for any keys or other things that might be helpful in getting out of here.
Some part of Samen's mind (likely the part that was ignoring Ferri on the way in) was idly memorizing the turns you took getting here. You arrive at the stairs with nary a misstep.
Marianne is silent, staring at her friend with a contemplative expression as the others clean up after the battle. She continues her silence as they begin to ascend.
Wamblee also keeps an eye on Bree, wary of the strange events - and her apparent possession by a fragment of not-so-dead Sky.
"We'll figure it out, Bree. Tell me what you feel. Are you aware of it? And also--Samen, don't jump to conclusions. There are ways to expel spirits," he says, without much heat in his voice. The fact that he doesn't actually know a method is never something that has deterred the bookish Samoon.
He considers the corpse of Ferri as they leave. "I suppose we well and truly have to go to the constabulary. I'd be lying if I didn't want a cup of strong tea and some eggs with turkey mushrooms. And a game of Eite. I think near death made me hungry," he says to Albreane, looking her in the eyes.
Her eyes are her own again - crimson and gold, warm. She smiles, unsure. "Uh, yes and no? I can remember pieces, but it definitely was not me. But we have other irons in the fire right now, wouldn't you say?" She abruptly changes subjects.
Albreane eyes you all critically. "It's amazing you all grew up around mining injuries and never learned a thing about treating a few cuts..." She briskly cleans up Samoon and Wamblee, applying bandages where necessary. She also chides Samen to clean the brain matter and blood from the bottom of his staff.
Wamblee is quiet as Bree tends to his wounds.
"Samoon, will you take point?"
"Of course," Marianne responds breezily to the clerk.
Once they are out, Marianne finally joins the conversation. "Bree, we are going to have a long talk. I can't remember any specifics about it myself," there is a short muttered apology to Dead Sky before she continues, "but I need to know exactly what is going on with you," she finishes, voice a disconcerting blend of concern and hunger. Turning away from her friend, she calmly shoots down Samoon. "I'm not going to some lazy freetan bullies over this. There is too much their small minds wouldn't comprehend, and they would probably be too lazy to investigate the parts they do understand. We need to leave. And we cannot ignore that dragon. It is either a blessing from the gods, or a demon straight out of the heart of Darkness. Either way, I do not trust anyone else to see to this properly."
Samen nods soberly. "I agree with Mar. Justice ends with us at the end of a rope. We need to get out as quickly as possible and never come back. I'm not sure what we can do about a dragon, but it's as a good of a place to start looking as any."
Samoon rolls his eyes. "Lawless mercenaries it is. I suppose the epic poets will correct the record later," he says, considering the exit strategy.
He jerks the ifrits to their feet and makes sure they are gagged as well as bound. He then apologetically slides a knife into their side and shoulder respectively. "It probably won't kill you," he says.
"People without blood all over them, Samen, Albreane, you leave first. I'll deal with the clerk."
Samoon staggers up the stairs, arrows still in his body. "Murderers! They got Mr. Ferri--two are still down there! Quickly, call the guard!"
While the attendant looks bewildered at Samoon's statement, Albreane hands the nearest guard with a weapon some clinking amount of coins into his closed hand. She whispers a few words-you know you hear the name Rentwyrth-and walks away. With alacrity, the guard springs into action, beckoning a few close companions and heading down the stairs. The attendant seems relieved at this solution, and mutters a few words about doing something to make up for the inconvenience. He seems quite happy to begin sweeping the situation under the rug, and getting you out of the building.
"Let us find a way to that dragon."
You knock at the door of the kindly sylph doctor. He ushers you in with pale, professional hands. Waving away questions, he simply says your Mother has been waiting to see you. Closing the door of the patient's room behind you, the doctor gives you a solemn nod then leaves you alone with your mother.
Lying brittle-boned upon the bed, her bruise-shadowed eyes regard you. She looks...tired. She looks...old. She looks...
none of you say it but-
"Dying." She nods. "Losing Hotah took everything from me, and now it's time to go. Give me your hands, little chickadees." Her thin fingers reach out for yours.
Wamblee gently takes Mother's hand.
"All ends. But you gave us a beginning."
Samen frowns and crosses his arms petulantly. This is not how things ought to be, but then, what is these days?
"If it's any consolation, Rentwyrth was unsuccessful in stealing his legacy, though we'll no doubt soon join you in the afterlife in consequence. Rest peacefully, mother."
Samoon takes Mother's other hand and kisses her forehead gently. "I love you, Mother. You were always the best mother I could have ever had."
His eyes fill with tears and he simply squeezes her hand, feeling the warmth there that has not yet left.
"This has not been in vain...none of this..."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Hotah decided to be ash and smoke, but Mother is made of lighter stuff. Not fog, exactly, not quite dandelion fluff, but something ethereal that naturally floats away from her in gusts that feel like a cool hand upon a fevered brow. There is an open window across the room, and a kind wind kisses each of you on right cheeks as dust-mote faeries flit north in the awakening midmorning peaklight.
And then she is gone. The bed is empty.
Wamblee stands there, more akin to the typical stone in stance than the airy creature whose passing he just witnessed.
But the observant will spot moisture welling on the edges of this near-statue's eyes.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Marianne approaches last, gently laying her hand on Mother's chest, right over the heart, while the other holds the open scroll. Her winds are barely enough to stir their hair as she stays motionless for a long moment. Then, the scroll stills, despite the breeze, and the letters shift as new ones appear, and Marianne begins to read aloud. "O Prionsa Raven nach féidir a fháil, d'fhéadfadh na réaltaí a shineadh tríd na sroicheann endless chun an cosán i bhfolach a chur in iúl i dtailte na spéir.
Bhanríon mór na Zephyrs, lig do bhréagáin na rúin a bhaineann leis na mairbh amháin.
Seachtainiúil ciallmhar, tá an t-aon duine seo romham réidh le do ghlacadh. Tóg í isteach i do airm, agus é a threorú chuig a teach nua thar na scamaill." There are tears in her eyes when she finishes, and as the body fades, three more words slip out to hang in the silent air. "I love you," and then she is crying on the closest brother's shoulder, great heaving sobs as she clutches him tightly.
"O unfathomable Prince Raven, may your stars shine through the endless reaches to light the hidden path into sky's lands.
O great Queen of Zephyrs, let your breezes carry the secrets that are only for the dead.
O wise Ancient One, this ele before me is ready for your embrace. Take her into your arms, and guide her to her new home beyond the clouds."
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Samoon holds Marianne as she weeps, her tears wetting his shoulder.
"Faigh an spéir, Mother," he says, choked up. "Faigh an spéir."
You say goodbye. The doctor mouths professional platitudes at you. You are walking toward a gate, and now is the time to make a plan to get out.
Away from prying ears, Wamblee utters tersely:
"The dragon. Sacred or an abomination, we must find it."
"Er...that's in the city, isn't it? Or did he mean back home?"
He turns to Albreane. "Are you--all right? You're caught up in the whirlwind now. Did you need to get anything from your..." He realizes he's not exactly sure where she lives.
"We'll need papers if we want to get past the guards. I think I can make something reasonably official looking, as long as nobody inspects it too closely."
Albreane shakes her head absently. "I was always traveling to one mine or another - the house in Forge was just a place to sleep between journeys. I have everything I need with me." She smiles at Samoon.
Samoon gulps. "Er, right. The guards."
"I will keep an eye out for any unwelcome ifrit - or darker things."
Marianne attempts to guide the party in a way that will reduce their being noticed as they make their way through Forge.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Focusing on the tidy world of letter and ink, happily ignoring the loud, strange city, Samen fashions an authentic-looking day pass for the family, based on the ones he had seen from previous visits.
As Samen does this, Wamblee keeps a lookout on the crowds, and with Marianne's help they subtly steer their kin away from alleys and roads that would be better avoided.
At the gates, Samoon glibly converses with one guard about last night's brutbreve game while assuring the other guard that yes, the family had a wonderful time in Forge and will be visiting again at the next possible opportunity.
You are waved through; the gates are behind you, and shrinking with every step you take. Past the brutbreve fields, through the sparse crops that feed the city, and away from the choking smoke that pours from the countless forges. Though the burden of so many deaths is as heavy as the strongbox strapped to Samen's shoulders, there is a breath of relief in the cleaner, freer air outside the city. You are on your way back to Rokerenge, to see what Finnegan Rentwyrth found worth killing for and dying for.
As soon as they pass the last field, Marianne turns to Bree. "Okay, spill. Now," she demands, not an ounce of give in her voice. Seemingly realizing the harshness of her words, she quickly adds with a faint, strained smile, "Please. I need to know."
Wamblee turns to look, but says nothing yet.
He turns again, to keep an eye out for danger.
Bree looks a bit...surprised? annoyed? offended? by Marianne's urgent questioning. Masking the emotion with a smile, she shakes her head, auburn ponytail swinging, and shrugs. "How did I get my wind? Well, how did you get your wind, Mari?" She waits a beat. "Right, and since you don't know, I'm surprised you think I have more answers." The response is both bald truth and a mild rebuke to your enthusiasm.
"I think what she means is something more like, 'how did you contact an air elemental, and why is it in your body'? Your possession is both curious and historic, and it warrants more investigation. We're the only elen who have even the slightest inclination to help you, so if you are hiding anything, stop."
"You volcing-"
"-boulder brain!"
Samen, you are taken off your feet by a solid rush of wind; you are bowled over, coming to rest about five feet away.
Albreane has fallen to her knees, weeping. "You killed my dad, but I still asked you to stay with us as part of the family. Now after I say I don't know anything, you volcing accuse me of lying for no volcing reason. Just stop!"
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"Could we ALL please stop infighting until perhaps we know just a little more about the conspiracy to turn things to brass, slay two fathers, and unleash the volcing Servants of the Dark upon us all?"
Samoon rarely raises his voice.
"Samen, Bree, please." He says more calmly. "And Bree, if there's an air elemental residing in you that plans to betray us, absorb you, and-or kill you or us, it might be good to know. I for one am rather tired of surprises and would appreciate a somewhat linear path in this murk." . He takes her hand. "Feel free to relay the message to whatever it is that I walked through far much blood today to lose you again."
"...and if that is possessive or presumptuous, just blast me with wind as well," he says with a weary smile.
Wamblee remains quiet for now, using hand gestures to lead the way.
Bree squeezes Samoon's hand back, falling into step naturally beside him as you hike away from the city. "Listen, I know something weird happened in the basement of the Auream, but is it really that much weirder than Samen being 'possessed' by some air spirit and floating around like a weirdo? Or Marianne's arrow miraculously bending in the wind to peg that wolf in the eye? Or whatever you did with your cross-staff when we were caught in that cave-in? I just don't get why I'm being singled out when odd things are happening to all of us."
"A voice spoke that wasn't you. ...As far as I'm concerned, we may be dealing with multiple possessions. I appear to be the least affected," jokes Samoon, then grows serious. "Your condition appears to be the most, er, affected. And you are dear to me." He grows a little pink at that point.
She quirks an eyebrow, then blows puff-cheeked into your face, pushing your hair back slightly. "A tad bit possessive Samoon, but no blast of wind this time."
Samen gets up silently, sufficiently chastised. There would be no benefit to antagonizing her further.
"I honestly don't see any problem here. Whatever that was was clearly an air elemental, so it will be fine. I apologize for pressing though, it's just... well, you know better than I could explain why I might get, aggressive, when trying to gather information on a real air elemental."
"Mar does have good reason. We should find somewhere to rest once we are away from the big smoke."
"I agree that we need rest, but we also need discretion. I would suggest hunkering down like fugitives in the woods."