The carefree creature smiles, her teeth oddly translucent. "Marianne, dear, if you ask me to leave your friend, I will. Permanently." It is both a promise and a threat.
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I've never been called a peacock before. Is that insulting or honoring? I feel like I should be insulted, but peacocks are neat.
Putting random thoughts aside, Samen once again offers his cold worldview. "Do it Mar. Punctuate it with an arrow. This beastie is no different than the dragon and it's using Bree's flesh to manipulate us, just like the dragon used the townsfolk. We'll find our answers, and we'll find sky, but they won't come from this devil."
Samoon looks at the creature that could still have Bree somewhere in it--around it, and thinks.
"We can help you, you know, if you'd just tell us what you're planning. We might be on the same side. Wouldn't it be better to have willing allies?"
His clenched hands and unsteady voice are none too convincing, though.
Wamblee swings down at the darkspawn, and then feels a pain in his dislocated shoulder than even he can not ignore. He continues to grasp the staff with his other hand and stows it from sheer practice, but he knows he will need to have that shoulder tended to.
And then the wings rose, he shouted, and everything went into a quiet hell.
He glances at Mar and Samoon, seeing the pain in their faces and hearing it in their voices.
And he does not know what to do.
He decides to wait and listen. And support his brothers and sister, whatever comes.
An ugly image floats in and out Samen's brain, but leave no lasting impression beyond a shiver.
Samoon, however...you all hear a dark, dread whisper. "Do not insult me with petty lies..."
buried in a gritty, cold beach of tiny glass shards
the razored briars cut your lips
polluted waves crash over you, the waves' oily charm
clinging with a greasy slime-odor
every ugly thing you've ever seen or thought
things that make you clench your teeth and hate yourself
all these unforgettable need-to-be-forgotten etches
compose into a face
you can't look at it
your heart clenches your breath catches
Samoon's eyes go far, far away.
His head shakes in negation. "no..."
His body trembles in naked, abject fear.
Your elder brother collapses onto the hard stone ground. You do not hear him breathing.
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Wamblee breaks his wait, rushes to his fallen brother's limp form and sees what resuscitation he can perform.
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Marianne freezes at the elemental's words, a look of shock and a twinge of horror on her face. Choose. Dead Sky! Family or God. She told me to choose! Family or God. I... she told me to choose. Family or God. That means she can't be as bad as the dragon, right? Family or God. This is an air elemental, a servant of Dead Sky, she can't be dangerous to us... assuming that's what she is. Family or God. From Wamblee's story, dragons should be our allies against the Dark, or at least against the ifrits. Family or God. And yet that thing was as Dark-ridden as they come.Family or God. She is still frozen when Samoon attempts to bluff the being. Why? Family or God. Why would she hurt a sylph?! Family or God. Impudence yes, but she knows he loves Bree, she's shown it. Family or God. But, who am I to judge an elemental? Family or God. Who?
An ele. A fletcher. A ranger. A zealot. A sister. That is who I am. That is all I am. Head pounding with uncertainty and fear, she gazes at her trembling brother, and sees a nightmare in those eyes as he falls into the deathlike sleep. The sister turns away, and the zealot's eyes blaze. "Enough!" the sylph with eyes like flame shouts in the silence, as much at herself as the being she now faces. "You are no thing of His, no servant of Dead Sky, bringer of nightmares and pain. You told me to choose, and I have. Leave, abomination. I call you a thing of the Dark and denounce you. If you were His once, you are not now. When Sky turns His Eye upon this world once more, he will see you, and find you unworthy of His grace. The roar of a tempest. For the briefest moment, so slight even she might not have noticed, the raging winds around her lift her off the ground. Just an inch.
In a place without wind, far from the surface, a young ele makes her choice, and the winds answer.There is no choice. What is the point of gods if they would force that choice? No. I serve Dead Sky, and I love my family. I will not relinquish that. And woe unto anyone who would try to make me. Family and God.
The elemental nods. "As you wish. The body is vacated."
Albreane's hair, eyes, and skin all pale to a pure, snowy white. She falls down, opposite Samoon. Both are still.
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Wamblee, it is strange to see your brother like this. He is always moving; walking, talking, thinking, or even eating, there is always movement to him. Now here he lies, quiet at last. He looks smaller, on the ground.
Your heart rate does not rise. You reason that panicking will accomplish nothing, therefore you do not panic. He needs to breathe again. You try a few resuscitation techniques, but you are hampered by your arm.
Suddenly, you have a different idea. You find your center within the earth. You feel the small souls of roots far away in the soil.
With just the right amount of force and concentration, you jab two fingers in a spot right above his heart. Samoon's entire body goes rigid, as if struck by lightning, then he goes limp.
A twitch. A cough. A gasping, desperate gulping of air, and Samoon is awake. And alive.
The stillest I have ever seen him, even in sleep., Wamblee thinks, even as his own body moves.
With the blow, comes movement from Samoon once again. And joy.
And the sinking realisation that he likely cannot do the same for Bree.
But he will try regardless, leaving Samoon to recover himself.
Samen shouts down the hole. "What happened? Did you shoot it, Mar? I didn't hear an arrow, but I did hear a thump. Are you guys coming out, or should I go fetch you some food or something?"
Wamblee's left arm hangs limply at his side and Bree does not stir.
Wamblee grits his teeth, and tries to compress her chest with only his right arm.
Samoon blinks back tears, unable to speak.
He manages to roll his head and neck towards Bree, his breath coming in wheezes and coughs as he beholds her still, whitened form.
Laboriously, he raises himself up, tears forming tracks upon his dirtied face, and half kneels, half crawls towards Albreane.
She held it in, somehow. A small exhalation brings two words, meant for your ears only. Her last breath. "Breath." A pause. "-less."
Samen, sensing trouble from the quiet sounds of agony coming from beneath him, feels helpless. "Hang on a second, guys, I'll be right back."
He goes back to where they left the prisoners and looks for Bertrude. "Hey witch, I need you to crawl down a hole and fix my brother. And maybe my other brother. And maybe my sister? I'm not really sure what's happening, but can you help?"
Samen, the witch scowls at you. "Ye couldn't wrestle me into that pit of angry magic even if yer thumbs said please, ye filthy warlock! Ye fit yer own great, inked face into that small place and you fix 'em!"
Everyone can plainly see Albreane is dead. Samoon weeps.
Finally, even Wamblee sees that further action is fruitless. Still on his knees by Bree's body, he sits up. Looking at Samoon, he shakes his head, redness in his eyes.
"No. NO," says Samoon, too weak to even beat his fists against the floor. He remains near death, his face greying with shock and grief.
Samen, you feel a faint blip from your woodcut. Nothing dangerous, just a small, niggling feeling.
It is like walking through a slow nightmare. Eventually, after a long silence, the need to leave this place impresses itself upon you. Slowly, you all make your laborious way back up to the charnel forges. Seeing Albreane's body, none of the townselen say a word.
It is like a nightmare, but with no end. Each footstep seems slow, but before long you are back at the tunnel exit. Wamblee climbs the ladder of wooden planks with only one good arm, still retaining the balance of Root. Samoon's eyes are far away.
As if to remind you that there is no waking up from all this, you see the body of Carl Birotta, killed by Big Sitter as a way of saying hello. Beyond the body, down the hill...there is smoke. Something in the town is on fire.
"Fine, old bag. I thought you might've been grateful, but I suppose I underestimated your selfish pride. I'll get them out myself." He spits on the ground in front of her.
Samen pulls out the woodcut and peers at it, specifically at the breathless valleys where the lights had been before.
"Ugh. Sitter's on a murder spree, isn't he? You know what, I don't even care anymore. I need to give Bree to Krissa, but then I never want to see this place again."
"We need healing," says Samoon matter of factly, not really looking at anyone. "And I don't want to bury Bree here. I want to go to the high places. Up-slope. We still don't know how to free those enchanted by the brass, and to be honest, I hardly care about them. This town didn't give us much anyhow."
After that somewhat long speech for a brutally wounded el both in body and soul, he slumps against the side of the tunnel.
On the way out, Wamblee does not complain.
He says little at all.
Once outside, he nods at Samoon's words.
"If they are not free by now, there is little we can do for them. But we need to speak with Bree's sister."
A small red blip right at the Valley close to Light. It lasts a few minutes, then the woodcut goes back to sleep.
Old Bertrude somewhat more at ease outside of the mine, clucks to herself while tending to the Firenzes' wounds. She refuses to touch Samen, but places a bandage roll at his feet for his shoulder.
"What now, dearie? This places holds a curse. Better to get out while we can."
"We need to retreat. Find Krissa. Get out of town," says Samoon. "Hide and heal."
His eyes go to Albreane's still form, then looks up the slope of Volcano.
Samen looks the other way, into the distance. "The map still wants us to go to the Breathless Valleys. I'm not sure what to do when we get there, but it can't be worse than here."
He looks down at Bree's broken body with remorse. "Krissa has managed well enough on her own, and while it seems our families are fated to destroy each other, I'd rather leave her out of it. I say we give her the news, and the remains if she wants them, then get out"
Volcano's dim peaklight is smothered by distant clouds. The bright fires below have already spread to adjacent forges. You can smell the dirty smoke, an acrid reminder of your time at Forge. The flickering arms of the flames seem to be waving to you, saluting your sorrow.
The night air goes from bracing to unpleasantly cold in a matter of minutes. It is a small blessing that there is no wind. The brittle grass crunches beneath your feet as you cross the hills from the mine to the Rentwyrth house. The windows, perhaps the last unbroken windows in town, merrily reflect the burning village. As you get closer...
The front door has been splintered and torn. The lower third of it still hangs on to the hinges, but the rest lies in sharp pieces on the ground. The heavy bureau has been pushed over, leaving a gaping wound in the immaculate mansion.
Samen groans when he sees the door. "Alright, if she's been taken, we kill Krissa first, then leave."
You see a smattering of large, bloody footprints on the white floor. The interior looks nearly untouched, save for a piece of paper crumpled up on the table.
B,
I see some fires starting up, and I'm scared. If you read this, meet me at J's.
-K
Samen reads the note and harrumphs. "Anyone know anyone in or out of town whose name starts with J?"
"We track Krissa--Marianne, if you can--then rescue her, kill her kidnappers, and de-brass her or kill her, and then let this damned town burn," says Samoon. "We take Bree to the high places. After that I don't care."
Wamblee has been quiet, and has been favouring his left arm.
When he sees the broken door, he snaps to full attention, and rushes forward.
While the others speak, he searches the house. Just in case Krissa wrote the note, then had to flee inwards.
Wamblee, you see an obvious rope going out the window of Krissa's bedroom. There is no sign of violence. You see a few small-footed tracks going away from the mansion.
Her tracks are a few candles old. You would guess she left almost immediately after you entered the mine with Big Sitter.
"She's one person. We need to find her, and rescue one person from this place. Besides Bertrude and the lot," he says, speaking of the prisoners .
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Marianne's voice is sharp. "Samoon, if you're going to make plans, pay attention. She chose to leave here on her own, and if I'm not mistaken there's a heavy snow coming that will cover her tracks before we can make any real gain." Her eyes show an apology for the insult.
Then she grins, and the shape is sadness and determination. "Besides, I know where she's going. Joseph - he's the only family she has left. So we can climb a mountain on the way to Light, and make a bird with two wings."
You have all been distracted by death, broken doors, and exhaustion. As far as you can tell, the priest and the other two or threee ifrits fled as soon as you started heading toward the mansion. Bertrude persists.
"I know ye don't count me as no prize, potion boy. Ye damn sams are mad fools."
Samen peers at his woodcut. "Looks like the breathless valley is on the other side of Light, so we might as well swing by. If anyone cared enough to report it, we're probably wanted there too, though. We shouldn't stay long."
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"My apologies, Marianne, if I was a little distracted while tending to the corpse of my beloved," says Samoon, acidly.
He glances at Bertrude. "Are you coming with us? We're on the road to ruin and perdition, it seems, and the Dark and the air itself, and perhaps ifrits, are conspiring to kill every last thing in this cursed land."
"Ehh... It's probably just us."
Bertrude's eyebrows raise in surprise at getting a reply from Samoon. "Well, that's a pretty offer, and I think I'll take ye up on it for now, what with the roads bein' so dangerous these days." There is still an undercurrent of old, sour sarcasm in her speech, but she is mostly courteous.