The engulfing whiteness of the snow is fading - now you see brown bark, green needles, gray clouds, like the world being painted back into reality.
Odakotah runs out of the fog, brandishing his spear. He booms, "Is everyone sound? Are there more of those big, icy horned things here?"
Wamblee turns to Odakotah, his wounds less raw than they were with the cold.
"The severed hand of Sire Fiercesco TreeBurn was hidden in that cart. Supposedly only known to the Inquisition. Oreads embedded with gems stole the hand while the stone yaks assailed us. Oh, and Hearth is wracked with turmoil after mercenaries fought darkspawn and disagreed with the Inquisition. Do I have that about right?", he finishes, turning to his kin.
Odakotah looks expectantly at the rest of you, clearly hoping that Wamblee is joking.
The warrior-merchant shakes his head, trying to clear it, or organize his thoughts. "What...ah, was that about a...severed hand? Did I hear that right?"
"Apparently the hand can be used to create great conflagrations. Which the priest here implied would help oread at the meet to 'see reason' in helping the Inquisition restore order in Hearth."
Odakotah frowns, the expression ugly on his normally jovial face. "And why is he still alive?"
Wamblee glances at the priest, then looks at his family, the mercenaries, and Odakotah.
He then turns to the priest:
"You can answer her question. Whom knows how to use the hand's power?"
Wamblee has considerable patience. But perhaps even his is running thin.
Finally satisfied that's he's made a serviceable habitat for Spes, Samen re-joins the party.
"I'm not a diplomat or anything, but wouldn't executing this guy be a declaration of war on Hearth? Admittedly, his extortion plan wasn't a good one either. Maybe a compromise? Strip him naked and send him south on his own?"
The priest shakes his head violently at Wamblee's question, sensing the crowd turning against him. "No one save the inquisitors who keep the relics!" He looks at Iniga as he talks, pleading for her support. "No one outside the Inquisition should have any knowledge of the mission, and no one should know how to command the relic!" He speaks these words as if his belief in them will make them true.
Yeah... They didn't steal the thing to get a fancy trinket for their mantle. They either know how to activate it or are selling it to someone who does. Either way, it's no problem of mine. Are we ready to go now, or what?"
"He's alive because we can't exactly tell who the villains are in this little story," says Samoon. "At least this priest has been giving us some information. Factor for an unreliable narrator and you have approximately one quarter of a story."
Samoon crosses his arms and blows steam like a frustrated mephit. "We're off to the Meet. We can tie up the priest, or not. He's lost his bargaining chip in any case."
Samoon adds, as an afterthought, "Sagrazze," and bows to the priest.
"Aye. There is much left to pick apart. I recognise the difficulty in tracking these thieves. Perhaps they have gone to the Meet. Regardless, we should get back on the road."
Margherita is already grabbing rope from one of her fellows. "I vote tied. Priests can do too many tricky things with their hands." She pauses. "And their tongues, for that matter." She pulls out her sharp, functional dagger, and walks over to the shaking Saggezza Grico.
"No! You can't-!"
The mercenary crouches down, chuckling. "Don't worry so much, Wisdom! I'm just-" she grunts, tearing a large swath of his fine robes, "-making a gag." She brings the blade close to his mouth. "Unless you try something. Then maybe I stick your lingua up your culo." She shoves in the gag, not waiting for a response.
Wamblee's body language is as if the priest no longer exists. He makes no move or word to halt Margherita now.
Marianne furtively grabs a wand from the priest's belt as he is hauled away.
Odakotah instantly regains his pleasant demeanor, clearly glad the priest has been handled. "And the rest of you! My friends!" He indicates the Firenzes, Iniga, and the mercenaries. ""Well done in slaying these beasts! I say we crack open a barrel of barley beer that is about to expire, and celebrate our victory!" He holds his spear up and laughs.
Wamblee cracks a slight smile.
"I would not refuse such. I hope not to have to slay any more stone beasts this day."
Marianne smiles. "I know at least two brothers who enjoy beer more than I do, and we need someone who is both sober and not Samen to keep watch." She glances over at her dour brother. "No offense."
Odakotah and Oga take one beer each, as is traditional with hosts, but decline any more after that. Margherita allows her els to get drunk, but stays ash-cold sober herself.
The beer is thick, practically more barley than water. Black as dead Sky and bitter as a praying sylph, it goes down surprisingly smooth after the first pull or two. It is a beer for nursing quiet thoughts.
Wamblee smiles at Marianne.
"A moment of laxity, which I will not further indulge this night. I will keep watch."
Samen doesn't even notice the slight.
Iniga remains uncharacteristically quiet as she drinks. She wants to juggle the relationship between the priest and Margherita to her advantage but cannot think of a solution - yet - to ensure she could improve things. She sits next to Margherita and sips her drink quietly.
Margherita nods to you. "Damn priests, thinking they know best. Same thing in the field, eh? Think they are better than us, doing the healing, but never getting the scars."
Samoon sits with his brothers, nursing a cup of the thick beer.
"Samen. You've been doing all kinds of chit-chat with elementals, it seems. What's the trick? My little voice of light within Father's staff is quiet and weak. I wonder if it's been suppressed or damaged by the Dark."
"Mine seems difficult to rouse.", Wamblee adds, curious as to what Samen will say.
Iniga nods thoughtfully. "Yes, that is indeed the problem with most of the priests that I have met. Always disrespectful, never working up a sweat. I should probably have a word with him at some point and remind him the meaning of the word respect"
"You mean respect," she puts her hand palm up, "or...respect?" and punches into the palm with a red fist.
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Samen shrugs. "I dunno. They seem easier to talk to than most of elenkind to me. You just need to meet them at their level. Abby was violent and manic. The woodcut is pure hatred. Spes is cute and impressionable."
He scratches his head for a moment as he takes a slow drink. "Samoon, I've only ever seen your thing do its thing underground. My guess is that being light-based, it is eclipsed by greater lights. Try talking to it where it's really dark. I'd be curious to see how that elemental would respond to true Darkness."
"Wamblee, I think yours just requires supernatural patience to deal with. Perhaps try meditating with it? He gestures at his tattoos. "I could mark you up to increase the volume of its communication, but rocks move slowly and you can't really rush it."
Wamblee thinks, then speaks.
"I agree that the main thrust must be patience. It seems....slow. I do not believe that I will require markings. Thank you for your advice Samen."
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Samoon seems stunned after Samen's casual revelation. "All that time in Root...blast me for a fool. Dark and underground. I need to think of this little thing as a...firefly. Hmmmm."
A cold, clear morning greets you, the strange white fog gone with the deaths of the frost-rimed yaks. Black Sky is free of clouds, peering through the tops of snowy pine trees. The sounds of packing and rein-tightening are accompanied by hungover groans from some of the ifrits and oreads. Martino is noisily emptying his stomach behind a fallen log.
Wamblee awakes, refreshed and reinvigorated from his rest.
He has much to do.
Samen, you notice that Spes becomes, for lack of a better word to describe the actions of an extraplanar being, cranky. It refuses to take any more energy. Your best guess - it wants to get out of the container. Nothing is wrong with the place you made for it, but--just like any growing mind--it wants to explore. Restless, wordless whines are all you can get out of it.
Wamblee, when you finally find the time to meditate, you hear the slow voice of the crystal immediately.
Hoooooooooooootah?
Iniga, the el guarding the priest's wagon is Fillipo, Margherita's second-in-command. Fillipo is the merc you have had the least amount of time to interact with. You suspect stone-faced Fillipo may have more than a hint of oread blood in his veins. He nods at you, but says nothing, scanning the horizon.
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Wamblee, when you finally find the time to meditate, you hear the slow voice of the crystal immediately.
Hoooooooooooootah?
Waaaammmbbbllleee. replies Wamblee, deciding to try and match the elemental.
Whhhooo yooouuu?
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Samen nods as he comprehends Spes's needs. "I hear you. I would love to let you take root and grow, but it's not safe out here. Come, join me in a world wider than you know."
He prepares his staff in a similar fashion to when he housed Abby, with markings and magics suitable for the young elemental. "You will have an excellent view from up here." He attempts to implant Spes into the top of his staff.
Samen, before your very eyes, fractal crystalline growths spread. The top of your staff is now encrusted in a thin sheen of diamonds and emeralds in a complex, swirling pattern that echoes the shapes of the runes beneath. A single garnet, glaring in confused contempt, sits cockeyed away from the rest of the gems.
Eyes flashing, earrings chiming, the ele simply says, "For free, of course. And a few games of 'shala."
Wamblee nods.
"Certainly. Which rules?"
Iniga glances at the locked wagon door before turning her profile fully towards Fillipo, trying to give him a charming smile. "You wouldn't have the keys would you? I'd like to be able to have a brief chat with the priest here. Margherita might have told you why, but if not, she can vouch for me. Can to assist?"
Fillipo squints at you for a moment, assessing, then nods. "You saved our porco back there with that big thing. Thanks." He unlocks the door with a long, thin key. He settles back on the wagon and points his thumb in.
Wamblee, Oga replies, "Heh heh, which rules, he asks. So proper. Sure then, let's do Roots and Shoots."
Wamblee nods and concentrates.
Though apparently, not very well.
Samen grins as Spes takes root and makes the staff home. He swings it around a few times to get a feel for the new balance. "Fantastic! You are not a single jewel, or even a single type of gem yourself. You grow them in response to stimuli. Tell me, are they your limbs, your waste, or your young?"
ek gaan spesiaal wees!
Wamblee, Oga laughs. "Typical. Build your roots so quickly, you think you will get anywhere? Come, play one more, and we'll see."
Iniga, beyond the gloom of the opening, you see the priest's bound form in the corner. For a moment, a strange vision flashes before you,
the priest, naked, crouching, weeping, white teeth showing even through the gag, tiny efreets dancing on his shoulders, drawing blood with teeth and claws,
but the next moment, it is gone, and a proud priest in a torn silk robe peers at you with red-rimmed eyes.
Iniga sits for a moment in front of the priest, cross legged on the floor before observing him intently for a long moment in silence.
"I have some advice for you, and some questions, if that would be agreeable to you. I'm sure that your current situation is not something that you are thrilled with, but I wanted a brief chat."
Iniga waits for a moment to be sure that the priest can both hear and understand her, as well as the ability to reply or respond as required.
"Firstly, the advice. I would recommend mending your relationship with the mercenaries that you were travelling with. I can tell you how if you wanted, and I can tell you how they might respond in a more favorable fashion if you asked any requests of them, but I think choosing to keep your relationship with them as it sits currently would be a bad idea"
"Secondly, the main question I might have, is it learn about the mission, and the relic, as well as how to use it. Its just you and me in this room - you need not worry about anyone else."
"Roots? Yes, I must make sure those are sturdy."
Wamblee tries once again.