Wamblee, Marianne catches up with you after your victory and your parting words with Chapawee. She looks over your shoulder, perhaps trying to catch a last glimpse of someone.
Eyes back to you now, she smiles. In a light singsong voice, she teases you as only a sibling can, "Wamblee has a belle...Wamblee has a belle..." She laughs.
"Good for you, big brother. I always hoped you would find someone, rather than meditating and moping in silence for another ten years."
Samen rolls his eyes upon realizing this is just an incredibly foolish child. "Yes, I'm the twll casgen for not dying for your ambition and then having the gall to spare you. Go back and tell your master you won something better than the games, that you won wisdom and humility. Better yet, actually learn from this sioe cachu and don't make it a lie."
He walks off in disgust, ready to get away from Elenity for a while.
Wamblee is also looking off in the same direction until he snaps out of it and turns to Marianne.
"Meditating has its benefits. Though on reflection, I stray into gloom more often than I would like. In any case, Chapawee is quite wonderful and I am trying to work out how in Forest's name I am going to even give a bond a chance being one of a family of trouble magnets."
Marianne nods, the teasing done for now. "That's fair. Can't say I have a good answer for any of it."
She waves to Samen, just coming from his duel. "Hey Samen! Do you have any answers to life's conundrums?"
He huffs out of frustration. "Elenity is stupid and deserves worse than it gets. An end to us all would merely be justice."
Marianne puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Hey. Remember there are lots of sucky people, but there are a few good ones, too." She smiles, trying to coax a smile out of you.
"Hey, you can conjure fire right? Think you could warm up a bath for me? It's been forever, and I'd like to get the smell of soapstone hog off my skin."
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You all walk along the slopes of the valley, as the flat areas have been claimed for a sprawling match of siphithiphithi. Ambrosia and Nightshade players form one team, with Wyrmwood and Bullslayer on the other. They are playing a very old variant of the sport, where teams must roll a three-hundred pound boulder across the field in order to score points. Chaotic movements appear here and there across the field as players try to run ahead and block a play, or knock an opponent down onto the cold ground. The freshly fallen snow soon becomes trampled with footprints and crisscrossed with boulder paths.
Many of the non-oread attendees have already left the Meet, having finished their business and sold their wares. Rocks are the only thing for sale among the wagons and carts of the evening. Oread children mimic the siphithiphithi game below, crashing into each other with youthful recklessness. A juggler tosses a dozen gems into the air while reciting their names, but is nearly knocked over by one such youth. Laughter in the crowd as the juggler scrambles to grab all of his gems before they hit the ground.
Wamblee, you do not see Chapawee as of yet, but the grounds are large. A few oreads, el and eles both, catch your eye and congratulate you on your victories.
Wamblee begins to amble through the crowd, in a rough zig-zag that will eventually bring him towards the area where Tall Oaks have pitched their tents. After all, he does know the way.
Samen, Jikijolo the Wyrmwood magician seems to suddenly appear at your side, rancid breath announcing his arrival. "You take care of that elderberry vision you were so worried about, eh?"
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He starts at suddenly being addressed. "Er, yes, I believe so. That is, if I didn't somehow cause it to be fulfilled by attempting to avoid it. How's your chief's son doing?"
Samen, the magician laughs and laughs. "Worryin bout self-fulfillin prophecy, yes! That's a good way to root yourself in crazy." He sobers as he contemplates your question. "Chief's son still not there. He went somewhere with the Fey, left his body behind. I see what I can do to help, but it's him decide to come back, yeah?"
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Wamblee, you make your way to Tall Oaks, and still you do not see her - even though the whole delegation seems to be here. You even look over to the head table, where you see the severe matron who serves as chieftain for the Oaks, and-
-where Chapawee stands as heir-apparent for her tribe, at the right hand of her grandmother. Chapawee's green vines are done in a complex style that arranges her marigold blossoms in an elegant bow. She is dressed now in evening silks rather than traveling leathers.
Iniga watches both teams, before making hey way over to the Ambrosia / Nightshade tribe. She is sure that the Bullslayer / Wyrmwood tribe would be more aggressive and rough, and Iniga prefers to go against the harder challenge. Besides, she hadn't forgotten the head Hunter / Guard Captain of the Wyrmwood tribe that had been so rude earlier, and she would consider it enormously satisfying to pound that tribe into the dirt.
Iniga reflects, before heading over to the Captain of Ambrosia / Nightshade. "I'd like to play. I know I don't look like much but thats the point - I like to be underestimated. Before you say no, check this out" she mutters, before murmuring a few notes. The oread feels the effects of her Song of Strength for a few moments before Iniga stops the enchantment.
"Feel that? My very presence can make your entire team stronger. Is that really an ability you want to give to your opposing team? I could ask them if you wanted?"
Iniga lets the sentence hang for a moment before smiling "I"m kidding. I want to beat Wyrmwood just as much as you do. I found them very rude and I would feel ever so smug driving them into the ground. Keen to let me help?
Samen, arms crossed stoically as he watches the festivities, responds contemplatively. "I hope he has the strength. The Fey, the elementals, the madness of els near and far. Something is tearing at the seams of how we understand life, and it seems for once the Dark has nothing to do with it. All I ever wanted in life was to be left alone, but it seems my lot in life is to bash things with a stick until I can bash no more. I just wish I knew which things to bash."
Samen, Jikijolo waggles his eyebrows. "Bet it wasn't just hittin with stick that got your gem-whatever-magic unstuck outta yo' staff and outta yo' future. That took brains and magic." He chuckles to himself, then opens his drinking horn, and steps back into the crowds.
"Take care Samen Cedarsmoke. You take care."
Iniga, the Ambrosia captain stands head and shoulders above you, looking down at first with doubt, then with interest as your song takes effect. He claps his hands together, and says, "Yes! My fortune said it was a day to take chances, so I will take a chance on you, singer! Come, make my teammates strong!"
Iniga, despite their outward aggression, the Wyrmwood/Bullslayer team is quickly and mercilessly outmatched by the Ambrosia/Nightshade. Some of it is player skill, but there is an undeniable change in the course of the game the moment that you start your song. Legs pump faster, shoulders hit harder, and you see the players revel in this newfound strength.
Demoralized, the opposing team loses spirit, which you can tell will cost them the game in the longterm.
You have met Tashunk on the field twice now - once, you knocked him over, and he has replied in kind. You can see his distaste for you flicker across his features as he tucks his head and begins to charge toward you on the final play...
Wamblee takes a moment to take in the sight of Chapawee - and the surprise of realising her role.
Wamblee looks for a friendly sort of oread who might tell him something of Chapawee the heiress.
"Your thoughts on Chapawee?"
Iniga, your foot finds a small indentation in the field, causing you to stumble. Tashunk takes advantage, laughing, and knocks you to the ground...
as your teammates roll behind him, scoring a point right before the end of the game. The hunter's smile turns to a scowl as he realizes his tactical error. He grabs the grisly amulet around his neck, displaying the severed ifrit finger for you. "You don' watch out, you end up on my chain, you hear?"
Wamblee, the el, well into his cups of sour beer, turns his head lazily to you. "Eh? You have eyes for the heiress, young el? Haha! Don't let her grandmother catch you, or you're liable to lose one of those eyes, friend. Maybe one of your berries while she's at it, hoho! No, she knows her granddaughter has a wild streak, and never lets the girl out of her sight, as I hear tell. You're just as likely to get a kiss from Volcano, boy!" He takes another swig, spilling a bit on his shirt.
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Iniga's eyes flare for a moment. Her first response to a threat is never to back down, instead you get your retaliation in first. It might not be pretty but things rarely were in the real world and winning ugly was still winning.
Still, though, despite every instinct she had telling her to slam a fist into Tashunk's face, Iniga restrains herself, and takes a breath, mastering her fiery temper.
"Take this defeat as a lesson Tashunk. Your hatred or dislike of my race cost you this game. It was your blind spot, it caused you to focus on me when you should have been focusing on the big picture - my team pushing for the win. I mention this because if you are not careful, its going to cost you much more. Look around you, while you were busy hating my race, Gem Magic took root within your own tribe. Look at the damage it wrought on your watch. While we stand divided, outside forces grow stronger - its no coincidence that the Fey are up to their old tricks, Gem Magic takes hold, and the Dark rises all at the same time. Wake up, put the vendetta behind you, and go into the future with two eyes wide open."
Iniga pauses for a moment, gauging how effective her words might have been. If she feels that Tashunk is still hostile, or unwilling to change, she adds a little more.
"With that said, I don't take threats lightly. So if you want to have a go Tashunk then please, take a swing. See how well it goes. Be warned though, I am not one of those helpless females that needs someone else to fight my battles for me. Lay a hand on me, and I'll break your face, for starters. When I'm through with you, all that's left of you will be a strip of charcoal and that's if I'm feeling generous. So hotshot, what is it going to be?"
Tashunk looks up at your hair, which has momentarily become a fiery promise of burning death. He takes several steps back. After your deep breath, it dims, echoing your restrained temper.
Even with your fiery presence dimmed, something in your glowing eyes causes him to flinch, or perhaps he is visualizing the charcoal strip he might become; regardless, he is the first to blink. He backs away, mumbling something about stupid ifrits as he turns and walks away.
Samen, you feel a small pulse of magic in your Sight. A small envelope poofs into being in front of you, then slowly floats to the ground. It unfurls itself, showing in large ostentatious handwriting,
You are Hereby Invited to a School of your choosing at The Magerium,
Located in Light
this offer expires in one year
"I see. I appreciate your candour. Has she many deeds to her name?"
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Samen chuckles to himself as he imagines himself ensconced within the legendary schools of Light. He picks up the note and pockets it, careful not to damage it.
That wouldn't be all that bad, actually. I could finally have the time and resources to develop Applied Elemental Fusion as a respected field of study. At least it's a reason to keep living, if only just to see how many Sylphs I can annoy. If whatever is at the Breathless Valley doesn't kill me, it will surely be worth researching.
Samen, Marianne comes jogging up to your side. "I saw a little flash of light or something nearby. Are you ok?"
Iniga, you receive a hard clap on the shoulder. When you turn toward the potential threat, you see the Ambrosia captain beaming at you. "Help us beat those Easterns, and you make Tashunk look like a fool? You're my favorite ifrit of all time!"
"Hmm? Oh, it's nothing, just my reward for performing well during the magic duels. Apparently I was competing for a scholarship in Light. Once we figure out what our role is in this whole mess, I think I'll take it up."
Iniga nods her head at the Ambrosia captain. "You took a chance on me when others might not have. Also, we won. I guess that makes you one of my favorite oreads" she smiles back, slightly amused.
"Seriously though, we probably wouldn't have won without the outstanding teamwork between Tribe Ambrosia and Tribe Nightshade. That teamwork wouldn't have been possible without the leadership of an outstanding captain so please, take some credit for this victory yourself, along with the rest of your tribes!"
Wamblee, the el laughs. "Ha! Just making it through the Tall Oak trials should be deed enough. I heard for her hunt she killed-"
But the el is interrupted by the sound of a long, low horn. The closing ceremonies have begun, and tales are about to be told.
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"Thank you for your conversation.", Wamblee says, and decides to leave for the closing ceremony.
With our luck, monsters will strike. Hah! I am starting to think like Samen.
As the siphithiphithi match draws to a close, the players exit the field by following the valley river - Wyrmwood/Bullslayer head south, and Ambrosia/Nightshade go north. With the grounds cleared, the chieftains descend now, a motley of magicians following in their footsteps. Chief and advisor- no more, no less.
You see proud Ambrosia, the loss of his griot clear on his face; Tall Oaks, the straight-backed matron; the mad, war-painted Bullslayer; the dark, enigmatic Nightshade; and many more; but no Wyrmwood - likely he is still grieving the deaths of his sons.