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The first knee goes through a leering phantom. The second elbow, a near miss, sails through an illusory face a moment later.
And the third, a brutal, heavy, exasperated fist, hits the murderous, ridiculous el right in the face. He falls to the ground, half raised on his elbows. The echoing facets sit down beside him.
Not allowing the satisfaction of the blow reach his own face, Wamblee remains ready to pursue and knock over the wily el with his assegai.
Angry now, Iniga channels her building rage, the old battle fury, into a lump of fire, and-
expels it out of her hands, a banshee's wail both flame and scream.
- and Matoskah falls to the ground...
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Last in first out, Samoon's right arm slowly slides into being, already lobbing a long, thin phial of lightning at a nearby bush. You all see a head pop up, an oread el you recognize as one of Matoskah's brothers - Maht. Younger than his brother Matoskah, Maht is covered with leather bracelets, necklaces, and armbands. Each strip of leather contains various charms - this one bones, another gems, and a third of stones.
The charm-bedecked Maht spits a few arcane syllables, but is immediately interrupted by a storm of glass and celerity that shatters in his face. Samoon's mouth returns to visibility in time to smirk.
Marianne is now looking around for other threats.
Iniga, Wamblee, and Samen, you notice that despite Matoskah's current state, the mirror images have not echoed his defeat, nor have they disappeared. They now look upon each of you with unsettling directness. As they turn toward you, they gleam for a moment, like well-cut diamonds.
Samen is uninterested in these illusions.
True to his ever-elegant combat style, he moves up to the crouching mage and attempts to have a wizard's duel with him.
Iniga ignores the illusionary images, and moves up to attack Maht.
Both Samen and Iniga hit hard, the umlumbi barely keeping his balance as he is assaulted with sword and staff.
In sudden desperation, Maht cries out, "Bafowethu! Kude!"
The umlumbi shapes a quick spell in the air, leaving a crystalline distortion floating in his wake.
Marianne lets loose an arrow in a different direction, but there is another flash, and another of Matoskah's brothers has disappeared.
"Mac soith!"
As the rest of your family runs toward the magician, you notice a spear puff into existence beside Matoskah. It is the murder weapon, gemmed like its owner. Matoskah is still utterly knocked out from your attacks, and makes no move toward the spear.
This will not escape!
Wamblee does not hesitate. He places his foot on the spear, not to damage it, but to secure it. His attention is mainly focused on the insensible Matoskah, though he tries to keep aware of his surroundings, mainly through the very earth.
Wamblee calls out loudly:
"The murderer and the spear both lie at my feet!"
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In hopes that it's a short range teleport, like dimension door, Samen casts detect elementals to see if he can hone in on where he might've jumped to.
There is no voice, precisely, but a waiting, coiled presence within the spear. Strong magic courses through your boot, not painful but noticeable.
Wamblee, you see the Ambrosia Chieftain approaching, finally present among his tribe.
His face, glowing and happy when last you saw him, is now crestfallen. Flanked by warriors, he hurtles over to you in great bounding strides. He looks back at his warriors, who nod to confirm this is indeed the spear that killed the griot.
"You have done a great service to Ambrosia, Wamblee son of Hotah. I wish we had met under happier times, but you seem to be quite the el to have around in a time of crisis." The chieftain seems to have lost perspective of the near-riot surrounding him; his focused anger is the false calm in the eye of a storm. Drawing a sharp knife from his belt, he cocks his head to the side, coldly assessing Matoskah's limp form.
Although you cannot see exactly where Maht went, you do see a faint shimmering outline, like a handful of gem dust in the air, that goes in a straight line up the hills into a denser treeline.
Samen peers around for a bit as his vision adjusts. He interrupts the chieftain as soon as he has a lock. "No time! He went that way! I have his scent! Follow!"
As best he can, he follows the trail as fast as he can safely make his way through the trees.
Marianne and Samoon follow Samen's lead, hoping to catch another of the dangerous oread brothers.
From the opposite direction, you hear an ifrit voice --you are almost certain it is Margherita-- screaming in despairing anger. The wail comes from downhill, among the wagons.
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Wamblee gives a brief nod to the Chieftain and says:
"Chieftain of Ambrosia, I too would have spoken with you in happier circumstances. I must assist my kin in apprehending or slaying this one's brother. Beware the spear - it contains a coiled, powerful presence."
With that, Wamblee departs as swiftly as he can, to catch up with Samen's call.
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Wamblee pushes forward like a River-tossed boulder. He meets up with his siblings.
Samoon drinks another invisibility potion.
Marianne nocks an arrow, eyes searching.
and Samen leads them forward, his Sight sniffing rainbows of gemmed magic from the cold, pine-scented air.
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Iniga winces slightly as she hears Margherita yell out as Samen tears off in the opposite direction. Torn for a moment she hesitates, before dashing toward Margherita's voice and towards the wagons downhill.
Iniga, you sprint across the open space toward the wagon and livestock area. You see Margherita, her face ruined by grief, cradling Martino like an infant. He is still, and deathly pale.
Beyond the mercenary captain, you see their wagon. The side panel hangs open, lock cut neatly in two. There is no one inside the wagon - just some general supplies, a bit of wrinkling bedding, and a copy of the Rove Voce, dropped on the middle of the floor.
Samen leads his siblings toward the treeline while Wamblee and the others keep close by.
As you are running for speed, not stealth, Maht hears you coming. He pokes his head out of the bushes some fifty feet distant. He is breathing hard and looking utterly bewildered that you have followed his trail.
Fumbling at his belt, Maht raises what can only be the Hand of Sire Fiercesco TreeBurn. The sinewy red hand is gnarled into a fist, the pointing finger askew. The magician says one word in flaming High Ifrit
"Morietur!"
And a ball of roaring death, like a bonfire catapulted onto your head, crashes into your midst,
Samen ducks as his vision grants a split second's notice. He then unleashes some air magic as he streaks like lightning toward Maht.
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Wamblee dives aside but even great speed can only help so much against a torrent of flame.
However, even a torrent of flame can only help so much against an angered Student of the Stone, as Maht will soon discover.
Wamblee charges directly at the surprised wielder of flame, and drives a stony fist at his form!
Wamblee's right hand returns to join his left in grasping the assegai, ready to strike down Maht should he attempt to flee!
Iniga runs over, before slowing slightly as she sees that Martino cannot be saved. Unsure of how best to comfort Margherita she rests a hand on the commander's shoulder, squeezing it slightly in reassurance while looking across the scene in detail.
Wamblee and Samen pummel the wheezing Maht onto the ground. Charms of bone and hair crackle and sizzle as if they are absorbing the blows, but finally the attacks break through, bruising and breaking no longer the charms but the charmer.
"Wamblee, grab that stupid Hand! Cut all those charms off and burn them or something, Samen." The restrained violence in her voice almost reminds you all of a harsh scolding from Mother.
"Now the question is, should I kill this one and we keep the leader? I think he has too much magic to be safe." She raises her bow a few inches, but not all the way, waiting for her siblings to reply.
Samen looks at Marianne quizzically. "I remember when I became a bloodthirsty murderer, but I don't exactly recall when you became a monster. He killed their story teller, so I figure he should face their justice. Besides, we might get more information by threatening torture to either one or the other of them."
As he's talking, he dutifully removes the charms, but holds on to them for inspection at a more opportune time.
Marianne yells at you, "It's not being a monster if you are killing bad els who are murdering old storytellers at festivals. Someone has to kill the monsters, and it seems like we're pretty good at it. You can't rely on other people, and you can't rely on the gods, so we just have to-"
She checks herself for a moment, realizing you had simply said the words in a cold analysis, not as an insult.
"Um. Wow. Sorry. Assuming we've caught all the guys I think I need to be alone for a bit." She walks into the treeline, climbing the first opportune pine. She is lost, like a pale sylph spider, among a web of branches, needles, and stubborn leaves.
Wamblee reaches for the hand, speaking as he does so.
"Even with the hand and all his charms, we smashed this one to the ground. I say we drag him to the els of Ambrosia and throw him down. He tried to help the griot's murderer flee."
Samen nods. "If nothing else, this should be entertaining."
Iniga, based on the scene, it seems that another of these oread raiders came after the wagon, killed Martino, and absconded with Grico. You see no trace, no struggle, no trail.
Samen drags Maht through the underbrush back to the chief. "I found his brother, though there might have been more out there. You want to interrogate them, or what? How does justice work out here?"
"Good work, Samen. Let us head back. I shall keep watch over your back."
Wamblee follows Samen, determined to ensure that no ally of Maht gets the jump on them.
**********
"Chief, we would have answers and see justice done."
Iniga, you wait with Margherita as she composes herself. The grief is gone - she is a captain again. "He's not getting planted, even if we are in the middle of Forest. We need to figure out where we're allowed to burn him."
She spits. "Then I might think about getting the volc out of here. Everything is turning to merde around here. What about you?"
Wamblee, The Ambrosia chief holds up his hand, gathering the attention of his own tribe, as well as the surrounding tables who ran over to aid Ambrosia. When all are quiet, the older el grasps Wamblee's hand in a firm warrior's grip of respect.
Speaking with sudden formality, he intones, "Ambrosia recognizes Wamblee Cedarsmoke as the Meet speaker for his tribe, as no others are present. For his efforts, Cedarsmoke is hailed as true friends to Ambrosia."
Releasing the grip, he faces the gathered oreads. "And finally, I submit that these traitors," he points to Maht and Matoskah, "simply be killed. They are sly murderers of the worst kind, using gemmed magic no less, and must be put to death." He looks around. "What say you, chiefs and speakers? Who will support this? Who will oppose?"
Samen knows better than to speak up at a time like this.
Wamblee accepts his role as speaker for a tribe that he barely knows a thing about.
Then he realises that he must use that voice.
"These are foul thieves and killers, and deserve punishment by death. But we should make them speak of their reasons for murder - and their allies."
Matoskah smiles, a kaleidoscope of broken gems. "Irae Domini Vulcunus-" The same spear that killed Yatshela now kills Matoskah, straight through the heart. And with a puff, it returns to the Ambrosia chief's hand. And thud once more as Maht falls.
"I know the words of a foul ifrit curse when I hear them! I call these brothers tribeless!" A clamoring of approval from the crowd.
as Matoskah was saying those words in High Ifrit right before he died, the Hand was heating up considerably--even painfully--against your side.
"I'll be staying I think. I'll want to avenge Martino and I'll hunt down whoever took Grico. He might not deserve it, but he is still an ifrit and if it was me abducted I know I'd be wanting someone to come after me." Iniga replies to Margherita.
Wamblee does his best not to wince at the pain.
He speaks again.
"Even their words are dangerous. Do any know why these gemmed killers would strike down the griot?"
Iniga, Margherita sighs. "I know, I know, you make a good point. We're still under contract with the priest, and we need to do our best to find him." She hits her fist on her leg once, twice. "I should know I'm not gonna make any smart decisions before we've taken care of Martino."
Turning her head, Margherita yells, "Hey Fillipo! Go ask around about where we can burn our dead like decent people!" Fillipo nods and leaves.
Sighing again, her broad shoulders slump. She looks at Martino's peaceful form, contemplating it. "Losing elens. It never gets any easier."
Wamblee, the chief frowns at the still bodies that twinkle gemfire in the dim evening peaklight. "Those who make bargains with the Fey, for the tempting gifts of power and magic, are often consumed by their greed. There are few els in the world who can resist being driven mad by the jeweled laughter."
"The question of why, in their madness, they chose to do the things they did, does not interest me. These ubuhlanya hold no wisdom."
After a moment, the chief asks, "What did my griot speak of, before his death?"
Wamblee listens carefully to the chief's words, his full attention upon the el.
"Griot Yethela told the tale of Skyward Ash, and posed the question of where a tribe of peace may be found."