Samen follows as well, hoping not to find more crazy sylphs.
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You find more crazy sylphs. At the bottom of the stairs, you find them sleeping, muttering, clucking on the floor. Their robes and labcoats are tattered, and they smell from lack of bathing. You would say there are thirty or forty of them.
"Drunk's Candle, indeed.", Wamblee state.
"I doubt we will get anything sensible from this lot. Let us keep moving."
Samoon groans, half-asleep as Wamblee nearly steps on him while moving across the room. "I knew it! You and Obdurate have grown to the size of a mountain!"
"Samoon!", Wamblee exclaims.
"I am no mountain, brother. Here, up you get."
Wamblee extends his arms to help his brother to get up.
"We should leave. There's too much cwmwl...something bad is going to happen."
Samen takes Samoon by the other arm and helps drag him out. "No kidding. Once you're sober we're going to have a long talk."
Samoon frowns. "Am I drunk again? When did that happen?"
Some of the sylphs stir at the sound of voices.
Iniga attempts to sneak out quietly.
Samen is more concerned with getting to the bottom of what happened to Samoon than being sneaky.
"What? Mar said you were out of your mind. Presumably high off of cwmwl."
"Was I? Don't remember much after we went looking for those magic glasses. Very stylish by the way, Mar, that slight touch of librarian really accentuates the whole outdoorsy bow and arrow thing."
Whispering loudly, "Would you two shut up and come on!"
"Come. We must leave.", Wamblee says, as he walks off.
You head back up the stairs, but now you hear a voice at the bottom muttering, "Who's there?"
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You wisely remain still and say nothing while the elen goes back to sleep.
You make your way cautiously back up the stairs. You are all back in the central chamber, surrounded by purplish ceramic and silver-gilt Maker Script.
"How long was I down there for?"
"Couple hours, seems like. Mar said you went all nutty and silver-eyed on her. It sounded a lot like what happened back home, to be honest. Glad you're mostly coherent now."
He grips his staff a little tighter. "If it changes, I won't hesitate to thump you."
"There's no brass on me this time, and no weird hypno-dragon thing, but I see where you're coming from. And yes, by all means thump away if I start foaming at the mouth."
On your way out, you see the door to the bird laboratory is open - you cannot remember for sure if you shut it or not. Inside, a vulture-- sleek wings tucked and still wider than Wamblee and Samen combined--is slowly, calmly eating the remains of the sylph that you knocked out.
Wamblee does not wait for the vulture to continue feasting on the deceased sylph.
He rushes forward to drive a stony fist at its foul head.
Iniga half glances towards Marianne in case the bird whisperer wanted to do or say anything. If she responds in a similar manner as Wamblee, she triggers her Inspired Rage ability, triggering an aura of heat to flow through the air as she lights up once moe.
Marianne's face is grim, intent on bringing down the vulture. "Stinking carrion eaters."
The vulture lets out a grak of surprise as fists and arrows pummel it.
The dead sylph wheezes, "Blasphemy! Do not interfere with the eater of the dead!"
"Umm, here's an idea - let's just run away? Go out the exit right here, maybe close the door so the thing can't get out of the bird lab?" Samoon is already headed for the exit, keeping one eye on the vulture as he does so.
"Withdraw!", Wamblee replies, aiding his kin to escape the room before slamming the door shut.
Samen, who hesitated to attack the bird since Sky Burial is thing, is alarmed by the objection. "Blegh! Volc'ing weirdo. Die properly!"
Despite the command, he is not willing to assist in carrying it out and flees with the others.
You do not provoke the vulture further, so it goes back to eating the corpse, which falls silent. The door closes, blue ceramic sliding smoothly.
Outside, Samoon leans against the curved wall, catching his breath. "Ok, so we still need to get my staff back, convince Instra to stop production of cwmwl, and plunge into the Breathless Valley, all before the town falls apart under curious sylph disease. Does that about cover it?"
"Damn. That would have been quite a spirit to stitch to the hawk wings."
"Ehh... I don't think you'd want to share your body with it. That about covers it Samoon, though it shouldn't be too hard to demonstrate a relationship between cwmwl and sylph madness. That will go a long way to convincing Instra. As for your staff... how's that going Iniga?"
"Any sign of it? Or of our presence being detected?"
"We can have calm, measured discussions when we are at least in the illusion of safety. Table it until we get to my place."
"So, Samoon, now that we have that illusion of safety, speak freely. What happened earlier tonight?"
"I was just in a stream, like carried away in a current of sylphs, mostly alchemists. Next thing I know I'm waking up, and all I have is vague memories of making more cwmwl. Umm, this really annoying music was playing, too."
"Making cwmwl? I suppose you don't remember anything about the process? If I had to guess, some chemical you alchemists imbibe in your concoctions made you vulnerable to manipulation, probably associated with that music. Could you hum the tune? Could be a clue in it."
"Ehh... I don't think you'd want to share your body with it. That about covers it Samoon, though it shouldn't be too hard to demonstrate a relationship between cwmwl and sylph madness. That will go a long way to convincing Instra. As for your staff... how's that going Iniga?"
"Its unclear at this stage. I managed to beat him in a bit of a mind game and its clear hes not best pleased with me. I don't have it yet, but its possible that I could still exploit that opportunity down the road."
"Beating Joey at mind games? I'm impressed, cousin." A pause. "Also tired. I'll try to remember any details, Samen, but for now my head's just too foggy. There's food in the pantry. Night all."
Samoon wakes up in bleary-eyed agony. "Getting drugged and conscripted by a mob of crazy alchemists comes with a hangover headache too? Come on!"
The city seems...completely normal. There is no sign of the frothing mad sylphs that populated the night; only excited citizens going to work as brickmakers, chemists, and glassblowers. An old gasworks blows steam into the air, looking black against the yellow morning peaklight. Celerity hums thickly in the air, with the occasional pop of relieved pressure from steel coils overhead.
"Where is the heart of this production, Samoon? Who controls it, ultimately?"
Samoon shakes his head. "This city is too diverse for a simple answer to that question. There are different schools and disciplines within the University, all of which have labs and master alchemists performing independent research. There are commercial alchemy companies that have nothing to do with the University. Private entrepreneurs like Rentwyrth have their own little groups. Probably a fair amount of solitary geniuses and crackpots too. No one controls it all."
He walks in silence for a few moments, thinking, as a vulture grunts from a nearby rooftop. "If we're looking to minimize the damage as much as we can, Helen is still the elen to talk to. If anyone has her fingers in these crazy cloud pies, it's her."
"Then Helen is whom we should consult with once again."
"Who's to say she isn't in on the benders? Still, though, I guess we've got no other options."
You continue along the conspicuously clean streets, and beside you walk the curiously calm citizens of Light, going about their daily business. You come to the same weather-beaten stone building with the words "Chymical Supplyes" written in yellowed ivory. Now three vultures are perched on nearby poles.
Wamblee quietly asks Samoon:
"Samoon, what is the matter with the vultures?"
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