Samen:
Byron's thoughtful look is interrupted by a flash of a silver fist smashing into his jaw.
The silver golem intones: "Treasonous Talk Detected. Surrender Or Die."
Iniga:
Krissa completely eschews the normal social niceties like nodding and showing her attention, playing with her wavy hair instead.
In a slightly amused tone, she says, "You don't trust me. Tell you what - you pick a place to talk, like a restaurant or something. Make sure we're not being followed." She smirks, as if the idea is ridiculous.
She takes a black cigarette out of a thin metal box, then stows the rest in her waist belt. Striking a match and inhaling deeply, her shoulders relax. "Lead on!"
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"That helped!", calls Wamblee as his fists fly faster and faster at the golem. There!, he thinks, and the martial artist repeatedly slams the same point from multiple angles!
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Samen always knew it would come to this.
More resigned than angry, "Volc. Aren't you supposed to at least give an el a chance to surrender before clocking him?"
Samen readies his staff and wracks his brain for which elements are effective against golems and which aren't.
This is stupid, but so is it, so worth a try. "Heed golem! Query: On whose authority is our talk treasonous? Corollary: As a non-citizen of Light, is it legally possible for me to commit treason? Surely it's sedition, at the worst."
Wamblee:
The golem falls to pieces under your assault. Arms and legs fail at the joints, and the torso is cracked in two.
Samen:
The golem does not spend even an instant processing your query. With the momentum of violence it steps toward you -
Volcing Sky!"
He almost fumbles it, but Samoon manages to lob a cold bomb at the golem. It slows noticeably.
Samen's ribs, just starting to feel better from the eel attack, snap under the crushing blow. "Oooof! A proper rhetorical rebuttal, I see."
Samen charges up his staff with cold magic and unleashes the best he can muster.
Iniga:
Between the University of Alchemy and the Bladed Academy, there is a large area--several brutbreve fields' worth--of manicured lawns, gardens, and trees called the Bright Lanes. There are long stretches of walking avenues, as well as secluded benches. The silvery leaves are lightly dusted with snow, giving the area a glowing, otherworldly feel.
Krissa lets you lead the way until you pick a spot that suits you.
"So, long story short, Joey doesn't know about all your fancy relics. I'm the one that told him to grab Samoon's staff. He just wanted to hurt your family, and I gave him an idea he liked, in a way that made him think it was his idea."
"So what's your interest in Joey? Or are you still pretending you aren't?"
Wamblee:
Instra is breathing heavily, though she contributed little to the battle. "Come. We have one more large hub to persuade, then we must head back and see how your strange siblings are getting along."
Samen:
Slowed by cold and creaking at the joints, the golem punches only once:
-which misses your head by a generous inch or so.
Meanwhile, Samoon drops his cold bomb from shaking hands, but thankfully it does not go off.
It fell. Thank Forest for that.
Wamblee winces as the rush of combat fades and the sting of his deep bruises rises.
"Certainly, Inara. As we walk, I would ask how a golem could be compromised so."
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Iniga sits and listens for a moment within the space. "You know, the problem with disguises is that when someone wants to be earnest, you cannot trust who the person says they are"
"I'm here, because everyone has to be somewhere.Why are you here though Krissa? You talk as if you are worried about Joey, but you pushed him to play his silly games with Samoon."
Iniga looks sternly at Kirssa before folding her arms. "I don't give a shit about Joey, because I wasn't there or part of what your family did to my extended family or whatever started this feud. Which makes me the impartial one in all of this. Samoon? I'm sure he feels differently, I'm sure he wants to get even after what you and your brother decided to do. So, if I was in the mood for some helpful advice, I'd encourage you and your brother to put your heads together, and use those clever minds to smooth things over with him. None of this explains why you want to chat with me though."
Trying not to think about what would've broken if that blow had connected, Samen weaves through his standard forms of precision and brutality, magic and strength.
Iniga:
"Oh, you're talking about that stupid game he plays with the illusions, right? Yeah, that's ruined other relationships of mine, too."
"The reason I found you, first of all, was to make sure you weren't with Samen. Because Samen is mine. I wasn't playing silly games with big-brother Samoon, either. That staff contains a...friend of mine, and he wasn't doing my friend any favors by abusing that power. What is it with sylphs? Give me a nice grounded oread any day." She finishes one cigarette, and immediately lights another. Dark smoke hangs in the air around her.
"Anyway, I'm getting bored. I want to come to a happy, peaceful end without your crazy family killing anyone else. If you don't believe me, why don't you go get Samen? I probably know him better than his siblings, which is kind of sad. He'll know that I'm me."
Samen:
The golem cracks and fractures, steam faintly rising from freezing the metal.
Samoon throws up on the floor, the smell of bile like concentrated fear. "Ugh. I was scared of golems before I knew they could go berserk. Another city ruined for me, I guess."
Wamblee:
Instra shakes her head wearily. "It is impossible. For one thousand years we have made silver golems, and for one thousand years they have listened only to their creator. The same formula that Silver-Bringer brought to elenkind before the gods began their Slumber."
She points a lecturing finger at you. "I made those golems by hand, monk. I did not command them to kill us. Nothing should be able to do that. Nothing."
Panting, "It didn't go berserk, Samoon. It was following orders, probably Instra's in her mind-controlled state. That's the rosier option. The other, less appealing option is our slumbering demigod has corrupted them into its personal brute squad."
Samen looks around for the jumpy Byron. "You still with us, or are you unconscious or dead?"
Iniga looks a little confused at her remarks. "Uhh, no Samen is not with me. He is extended family anyway as well so...I don't really know why you needed to confirm that but hey. As for getting Samen, no, I don't think I will. Like I said, no-one is in a particularly forgiving mood right now. Don't believe me? Go right ahead and see how they take it or you could instead show up with the staff, and look like the answer to all of Samen's problems instead of being the architect of them. Your pick darling."
"If that is the case, golem-maker, then when did you order that golem to attack?", Wamblee asks in a level tone.
Samen:
"I'm-still-here-maybe-we-should-go-to-the-salt-rooms-and-see-if-we-can- denature -the-cwmwl-before-more-golems-come?-or-just-run-away"
Wamblee:
Instra looks annoyed, then horrified. "What if I did program obscure instructions into them while my mind was adrift?"
She sighs heavily. "There's nothing to do but go to the last hub and-" She cuts off as you round a corner. Across the street, there are two golems guarding the Maker building. Several bloody sylph bodies lie on the ground, broken eagle masks around them.
Iniga:
Krissa looks absolutely delighted at your remarks. "That's certainly something to think about! Thanks!" She abruptly stands up, and takes a sharp corner.
"We've got a job to do and we'd best hurry. Do these golems have a hive mind? That is, are they all going to be hostile immediately, or will they individually wait until they witness us doing something offensive?"
"They-can't-telepathically-talk-if-that's-what-you-mean-just-don't-let-anot her-one-see-that-scrap-pile-there-haha"
Samen banks on golems not being that investagatory or curious and does his best to cover the thing with furniture, or a tarp, or whatever happens to be handy nearby.
"Alright, that'll do for now. Lead the way to the salt rooms."
"Grab-the-sacks-from-that-cart--no-all-of-them-I-have-potions-that-will-let -us-carry-a-large-amount-on-our-backs-so-we-can-dump-it-all-at-once-I-hope- it-works-what-if-it-doesn't-work-"
Samen dutifully grabs all of them. "If it doesn't work we try something else. For now lets stay focused on one plan at a time."
Wamblee quietly adds:
"Any magic that you can use to slow them down or boost my defenses would be greatly appreciated. We defeated one already with no preparation, after all."
Wamblee:
Instra frowns at you deeply with wrinkled matronly disdain. "I'm exhausted, nearly out of personal bombs, and I will fall to the ground like so much sylphan trash if I am punched even once. Then you will have two silver golems on either side of you, and I wish you the best of bloody luck with that, Mister...are you also a Firenze, like your brother?"
She makes a brusque chopping gesture with her hands. "Regardless, I am strictly of the opinion that we head back and check in with Samoon and the rest. No foolhardy moves while I play the game, do you hear me?"
Samen:
Marianne catches up with you, Samoon, and Byron. She has seen no movement in the corridors that stretch beneath the Chymical Supplyes Building.
Byron--the distracted alchemist rifling through his coat pockets like a magpie in his nest--produces just enough vials of shiny red fluid for each of you and himself. He assures you, as you drink, that it is not blood, but rather ant exoskeletons in clear honey.
After a moment, the taste recedes, and you feel...lighter, and stronger.
You find the salt rooms. As the airtight ceramic door opens, you step into a room that is so dry you immediately feel the change on your lips and on your eyes. You quickly fill the sacks with simple white table salt, using the shovels outside the door. No one bothers you and you do so.
"Understood, Inara, and yes, I am a Firenze. Rejoining my kin makes sense. We should get moving."
"I've heard of this tincture. There was talk of using it in the mine back home, but it wasn't going to be cost effective. I'm glad you've got some on hand."
Despite the magical support, Samen does still have some cracked ribs, which slows him down a little.
Wamblee, Samen:
Wamblee, you come back to the basement of the Chymical Building without further incident. The streets are still strangely silent, but there is a waiting feeling, a charge in the air.
Samen, you see Wamblee and a flustered Instra come back down the stairs. You are just about to start dragging the sacks of salt into the stockpile room.
Instra nods. "Denaturing the cwmwl itself by dehydrating it. Clever."
She shifts to business immediately. " We experienced success at most of our locations, but the last was guarded by silver golems. Speaking of which, am I to assume that the golem assigned to you also attacked, as if it were ordered to do so?"
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Wamblee steps forward, ready to assist in moving the sacks, still showing bruises from what must be a recent exchange of blows.
"The golems take a reasonable amount of pounding to put down. Did you have any trouble with them?"
Only now does Wamblee notice the glinting flecks of silver still remaining on his knuckles.
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Samen winces as he sets down a sack to share with Wamblee. "It got its licks in, for sure, but we took it down. I'm glad you're here. I expect more resistance as soon as it susses out our intent. Let me take a moment and heal us up a little before continuing on."
Samen conjures small globs of acid and rubs it on himself and his brother.
"Ah, cousin, you're back! We're about to pour salt on the cwmwl! Did you have a chance to seduce or perhaps kill Rentwyrth?" In spite of the gravity of the last few days, Marianne still seems glib as ever.
Wamblee grasps his side of the sack and nods gratefully when Samen splashes him with acid.
"That was needed - those golems can punch through my stony skin. My thanks, brother. Where to with these?"
"Actually Rentwryth's sister was the brains around his idea to take the staff. She found me, and I encouraged her to consider making amends. Hopefully that involves returning the staff. Apparently she is keen on
Samen still." Iniga replies shortly to Marianne
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Suddenly, briefly, Samen is no longer a battle-hardened warrior or an experienced mage. Instead, he's little more than a child. "Krissa? She's here? She's keen on me? What did she say? I mean... ahem."
And just like that, cynical Samen reasserts dominance. "That doesn't sound like Krissa. She's smart, but not smart enough to manipulate Joseph. Besides, she couldn't be interested in me. I killed her father, and freed the elemental who killed her sister. It's gotta be a trap."
Samoon briefly updates Iniga on the plan to denature the cwmwl, and hopefully negate the effect the stockpile has been having on the sylphs of the city. "Everyone ready? No telling what will happen once we start dumping the salt."
Marianne is suddenly pointing a nocked arrow down the hall. In a loud voice, she says, "Alright, I know Byron and Instant are here already, so you need to decloak or whatever, now."
Slowly sauntering into visibility, before you stands the grayest elen you have ever seen. Bald headed; older but not ancient; grinning smugly under huge-goggled black-framed glasses; an el so devoid of color as to be maddening.
He is dressed in priestly robes of monochrome black, with a single slice of white crescent smile upon the front. "What are you doing?" His manner is congenial, if a bit stilted.
Samen looks up at the newly revealed inquisitor. "Does anyone around here just walk around visibly? Is this a local custom or something?"
Sarcasm aside, Samen waits for someone else to address the actual question and instead considers the puzzle of the unusual sight before him. Bloodless and stilted. Sounds like a certain chicken I once knew. Perhaps someone has perfected the technique? Worth a check, I suppose.