A deep growl, like thunder, rolls out from the red smoke. "Fiammetta, sei tu?"
"Hold on my love, it will all be over soon." Fiordelise chants, hoping she can keep it off guard to let her finish this.
"Byron, is there enough solution left in this to contain that? Maybe a direct blow from Odebie's hammer will shatter it and increase the surface area to hasten the reaction."
Osric will hold his action until the carving and/or hammering is complete, and put as much of it as he can into the solution.
Fiordelise uses her longsword to cut deeply and savagely into v'Manco's flesh. The raging spirits around her shriek with delight as her song reaches a violent crescendo. v'Manco's chest and head are now ruined meat with legs and arms attached.
With the ruby well and truly severed from v'Manco, Odebie grabs it in gloved hands. The ruby, however, is much heavier than it appears; Odebie's arms shake as he lifts it up toward the glass jar.
Byron makes a few lightning-quick calculations in his head, adjusting for the size of the new ruby, the altered nature of the used-up solution, and the presence of efreet-tainted blood on the ruby. Though his calculations are correct, the adrenaline from the fight causes him to add too much magnesium phosphate, causing a splash of acidic fluid to spill on Byron and Osric (who is holding the jar)
In spite of this, Osric's hands remain steady as Odebie drops the ruby into the jar. The scarred sylph quickly reseals the jar. The solution is no longer a clear, bright blue; it is now a cloudy, rusty red, pulsing with an angry light. The feeling of the protective field returns - the process appears to have been a success.
The red mist is now contained within the jar, but the half-formed head is not dissipating. Instead, it engulfs Fiordelise. Fi, you cannot see anything beyond the red smoke and yellow eyes that surround you. A few tendrils attempt to touch you, but encounter some invisible resistance a few inches from your skin.
In Ifrit, the booming thunder-voice intones,
"
Before my eyes doth Fiametta stand?
In armor, anger dressed and sword in hand?
Your lover kneels, abject, and is betrayed;
Where then her beating heart wandered and strayed?
So answer me one question maiden fair:
"
Odebie, Byron, and Osric all smell smoke, and notice that the elementals have not only set the banquet tables on fire, they are currently headed toward the banners that reach all the way up to the ceiling, and the rafters.
Karina, still sprawled on the floor, coughs weakly at the smoke.
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Fiordelise swings her sword at the mist, though expects little result while responding in kind:
You are a relic of times long past;
Your time is over, they could not last;
You would destroy my friends to gain my affection?;
Your love, oh dearest, feels like an affliction.
Fiordelise am I, not your lost Fiametta,
Begone from this place, or fulfill your vendetta,
Burn me if you will, let the others go free.
I'll no longer be part of your grand tapestry.
Just in case
Byron grimmaces as the solution splashes on him, but has little time to delay. The elementals are a definite problem, and he is out of ice bombs.
He lifts his crossbow and fires at the elemental he'd hit before, though he doubts it will be effective.
"We will likely need to vacate the premises before these fires compromise the structure's integrity," he comments clinically to his companions.
Osric will pick up and drag Karina toward the door, but first, he will accept Fi's rage for the round and let the totem get a swipe in.
(To move Karina)
"Nhhhh... My thoughts exactly." Re-sheathing his hammer and doing his best not to limp, Odebie hefts the jar with the too heavy ruby in it and gestures towards the door.
Under the snarling assault of the raging spirits, the red smoke becomes less and less substantial. Only a hateful face remains, suspended in front of Fi. Its yellow eyes flare, causing crescent-shaped afterimages to dance around your vision.
There is a ripping sound, like a vast piece of cloth being torn asunder, as Odebie struggles to pull the jar away from the smoke. With a final tug, the resistance breaks, and an ear-piercing scream echoes through the room, then dies.
The red mist disappears, but is quickly replaced by billowing black smoke as the elementals set fire to the dozens of banners upon the walls. The room is uncomfortably hot, and it is becoming hard to breathe.
"That sounded rather final. I suggest we get out of here and let those elementals burn themselves out. You're welcome to take them out, Fi, but you'll need to do it on your own. Odebie and I are in no condition to continue, and Byron is out of icy juice."
Fi nods, and follows the others out of the room. She continues to sing, the others look in a poor state and she's unsure if that's all that's keeping them on her feet. And it may be doing something to keep Karina breathing.
Once away from this place she can try some curative magic, but for now... Best put some distance between them.
Ehhh, I needed to rest anyway.
Fi will assist Osric if he looks like he needs it, otherwise she'll be rearguard in case the elementals get bored.
"The necklace... nrrr... on your friend..."
As you escape the fire and madness of the throne room, your individual attentions are drawn to a few fleeting images:
Odebie, in spite of the heat you feel a chill go down your spine as you watch the North Tribe's green staff-and-bull banner consumed by flame. What was it doing there?
Byron, your clinical mind cannot help but wonder why the small elementals are turning blue. Is it the composition of what they are burning that determines their color?
Osric, as you slowly turn toward the entrance carrying Karina, your eyes are drawn to the altar in the back corner of the room. You assumed it was an altar to Volcano, or perhaps the Cauldron Lady...but what was that symbol engraved upon it, that looked like a smiling mouth?
Fi, a piece of parchment swirls out of the throne room and, by a trick of the heated air, lands at your feet. The elegant handwriting is ruined by wandering lines and oddly capitalized words, like a madman attempting calligraphy. The words "Fiordelise", "Fiammetta", "silver dress", and "help me!" stand out, all underlined and bolded. There is a badly-drawn heart, almost childish, in the corner. An ember upon the paper catches fire, and the parchment becomes ash.
Your breathing is loud and labored, echoing back at you in the stairwell. The journey up seems far longer than the trip down, taken only a candle ago.
You emerge from the stairwell, with the almost noble-looking efreet statue staring into the distance. The rust-cloud solution pulses dully in Odebie's hands. Neither the statue nor the steam react to your presence. You are alone. You have defeated v'Manco.
"There is something deeply troubling about this place. It is a relic of forgotten history, and I am not certain we've laid all its spirits to rest. I very much wish to sleep in my own bed, but we need medical attention and will need to debrief at the watch. I'm getting way too old for all the beatings I've taken today."
"With luck there will not be another widespread fire it would have been better if we could have stopped the elementals obviously but with v'Manco that did not seem to be possible we will have to return later though we will not have another ruby..."
"It will be underground, though, so will burn for too long. Agh, I need sleep as well. Back to the watch - for healing and talking."
"Thank you friends, there is still much we don't know, but at least it's over for the moment." her mind dwells on the note she saw. It was a plea for help too late to do anything. She guesses she'll never know how much of what she knew was v'Manco and how much the thing that bonded to him... maybe it's better not to think about it.
Knowing it to be a safe route, you trace your steps back through the Steam Slums, exiting the same way you entered. The early autumn evening is quickly turning chilly, especially compared to the heat and humidity of the Slums. As Volcano looms into view once more, the red glare from the peak seems in tune with the heart-beat of the ruby's light. The pulsing from the cloudy depths of the jar creates fleeting shadows upon the street and buildings, as if darkspawn are creeping after you. Karina is dazed and utterly silent as you walk.
Considering the riots on Garden Street you heard of earlier, it is unsurprising that the avenues around Garbage Alley and Cleaver Street are deserted. The few elens you do see give you a wide berth, or simply turn around in order to avoid the gang stalking about in bloody clothing and holding a sinister red light. It strikes you that the four of you might somewhat resemble an ancient tale yourselves, in your current state.
Traveling cautiously, you finally approach the Dims Watch. In the distance, you can see the remains of Brightfield Arena, its jagged pillars like broken bones poking out of skin. The sight reminds you of how much has been lost these last few days: homes burnt to the ground in the Dims, Misters murdered in their own sanctuary, and sylphs strangled to death for a grisly profit. As you gaze upon the copper insignia of the bell-and-snuffer, you can only hope that some fires can be put out for good.
The cold hinges of the crooked door squeal as you walk into the Watch. In the foyer there are several oread and ifrit guards, all members of the Dims Watch, sitting in chairs or simply lying on the floor. They are all wounded, some severely so; one ifrit is clutching a bandaged stump where his left hand should be. A figure garbed in the black-and-red flames of inquisitor's robes is kneeling next to one of the guards, with his back to you. He finishes some sort of incantation as you enter, and nods to himself.
Turning to the sound of the door, the inquisitor stands up. He is one of the infamous undine inquisitors of the Temple. A wide smile, framed by a silvery goatee, reveals a set of very white teeth. Round, black-framed glasses make his eyes appear huge and distorted. "Just the elens I was waiting to see, and with no small degree of anxiety!" He claps his hands together twice, for no discernible reason. "I know you are wary--I still have some healing magics left at my disposal, if you wish--so I will make this short. You four," he points to each of you in turn as he emphasizes his words, "are being declared heroes of the Temple!"
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Osric, tired and wounded, briefly indulges in a quick smirk before jumping right in.
"You do us more honor than necessary, your mercy. We are simply servants of Volcano, eliminating the rogue element as you instructed. I shudder to think how much more destruction might have been wrought on the city had you not, in your wisdom, elected us for this special assignment."
"Now with your leave, your mercy, please allow us to complete our mission by debriefing the captain, so that these elens, the true heroes, may receive the generous reward promised by the temple for their noble sacrifices. Furthermore, as instructed by your foresight, we shall continue to study and learn the secrets of this accursed rock to mitigate any more such abominations that may crop up."
Osric, everyone else is looking at you during your proclamation; you are the only one who sees the inquisitor's face. His gigantic eyes widen with just a hint of surprise, and--for a moment--something darker. Then the moment is gone.
He begins laughing in manic merriment, clapping again as he makes his way toward you. The undine speaks with an exaggerated emphasis on certain words, like he is lecturing a small child. "Oh but Osric, old boy, you've ruined the surprise! How much more glorious it would have been to have all this revealed during the medal ceremony!" He laughs again, the sound quite unsettling in the presence of so many wounded.
His wide smile, happy as a shark's, challenges your smirk. "I am glad, however, that with all this in the open we can finally get past all those nasty rumors of the Temple being involved with Corazon. I certainly hope that whoever started them will think better of it next time. A true pleasure, Osric. Do come see me about that reward money tomorrow."
Without another word, walks out and pulls the door shut in a series of weak jerks. His eyes and his smile, stark white against the darkening evening, are the last thing you see.
Fi watches as the Inquisitor departs and her hopes that they had already rooted out the problem was dashed with his too bright smile. She shoots Osric a glance, but it's too public to speak privately.
Glancing around at the wounded she wishes she'd learned traditional medicine, or had reserved some magic. But they would have regretted saving it if they had come under attack on the way home.
Byron watches the inquisitor go without saying a word, though his gaze speaks volumes about his mistrust.
Looking back at the others, and those wounded in the Watch. "I do have a pair of healing extracts that I could supply to those most in need," he states, his tone clinically detatched. "I would be interested to know what has happened tonight while we have been confronting ancient myths clad in the flesh of criminals."
Fiordelise sits Karina down. "How are you holding up?" she looks her in the eyes searching for a response.
To Byron & the others
"I'm pretty much out, don't think I even have the Voice left to incite some passion and make them feel better a moment. And given our lord Inquisitor's attitude there, I don't know what kind of state we're in going forward either." Fi sighs deeply. "Should we check in with Dove?"
"Cheer up, Fi. The temple is always like this, and all else being equal, we've at least removed a dangerous pawn from the board. Unfortunately, it seems the game is definitely still afoot. We should absolutely check in with Dove."
Louder, for everyone else to hear, "He'll be sure to claim that reward from the temple for the hard work of the watch!"
Odebie's only comment is a muttered "Groot." after the door closes. After a moment collecting himself (and deciding whether he should be cursing or thanking his more vocal companions) he settles for just saying "Yes, we should check in. Healing magic can be dispensed afterwards - I fear this cannot wait."
A quiet clap comes from somewhere in the room. After the night you've had, your first thoughts tend toward arrows and axes caroming off the walls. As the sound picks up, however, your attention is turned back toward the dozen or so guardselen scattered about the room. Their bright, young faces are shining with admiration as they applaud the four of you. It is a warm, genuine sound, a stark contrast to the inquisitor's false mirth. The ifrit with the missing appendage bangs his remaining hand against his chest. He says, "Lieutenant told us a bit of what you were up to. The inquisitor seemed pretty keen on it too, when he arrived. He's very happy about what heroes you are!"
He looks around the room, then back at you. "Did you seriously fight an efreet? That's what the inquisitor said the oracles have been babbling about today-" Another young guard elbows him. He takes the hint. "Anyway, the captain isn't here - he's still at the Slums, cleaning up the last of the riots. Lieutenant Dove is still up in his office, though, if you're looking for someone to report to."
Osric winces as he turns to face the one-armed man. Nasty burns cover his face, which will almost certainly leave scars. "The details of our mission should probably be kept quiet, lest a panic break out, but there was certainly a lot of fire. Efreet or not, the most dangerous thing in a city is the elens within it." He claps his arm over his torso, imitating the young ifrit. "Thank you for your service and sacrifice."
With that, he proceeds up to Lt. Dove's office.
Fiordelise echoes Osric's thank you to the men and follows him to Dove's office, blinking away burning tear.
Fi, Karina just shakes her head at your inquiry and sits down on an unoccupied bench. She waves you away without a word. Her arms are wrapped tightly around her body, and her head is down.
---
The four of you make your way quickly to Dove's office. On the way, the subdued sounds of the overworked barracks mutter through the thin walls: the loud snoring of the bunks, the hurried chewing of the mess, and the soft groans of the infirmary. A few tired but unwounded elens practically sleepwalk their way around you, carrying messages, orders, and paperwork.
The lieutenant has his back to you, surrounded by untamed hills of paper and parchment. Hands clasped behind him, he seems to be talking to himself, but after a moment it becomes apparent that he is using a message spell or something similar.
In an exhausted voice, he is saying, "...yes, that can wait until morning. I am (yawn) considerably more interested in the whereabouts of our unaccounted-for privates near the Steams. Yes. Good."
He nods to all of you, and sits down heavily. He is scratching furiously at several different parchments as he converses with you. "Please do not take my lack of eye contact to indicate a lack of interest. I assure you I am listening. Paperwork never sleeps, however, especially with the Captain currently indisposed."
He looks up briefly, then back down. "The raving lunatics that were tearing down the Steams suddenly all collapsed - I am cautiously optimistic that means your mission was successful."
"For some definition of that word. V'Manco - I no longer believe it was him, but rather some gees van die plek. Something like our stone-trees, but a creature of flame. Whatever it was, he is dead. His influence will carry on for some time though."
"Curious that there was a direct connection between him and the rioters. I wouldn't have expected that. Either he loosed something, or it freed itself and infected him. He was... ossifying into pure ruby. These 'lunatics' should be quarantined and evaluated to ensure they are not undergoing a similar transformation."
"When he died, a spirit emerged and cursed Fi's house to a fate it was already headed toward. It is unclear if it left, seeking a new host, or returned to the spirit realm."
"The temple is playing games, and I believe I bested them this round. I backed them into a corner about getting your men a bonus for their bravery and dedication. I suggest you follow up on it as time permits."
A wry smile plays on Dove's lips. "Osric Ferret, you are a rare creature indeed to escape a house of flame, only to immediately start playing with fire against the Temple. I would offer you a place on the Watch, but I presume your reaction would be somewhere between scoffing and vomiting."
He finishes most of the parchments, and rolls them up. He is continuing on a particularly long form. "As for the insane rioters...we captured a few of them, but most either died or escaped. We do not have much in the way of alchemists on our squad - would one of you," he glances up at Osric and Byron, "be wiling to 'evaluate' them, as it were, when you are rested?"
"Of course," Byron replies, for once not saying more than that.
"My thanks. And, on a more somber note, any help that any of you would be willing to provide to the beleaguered population of the Slums and the surrounding areas would be appreciated. Food, water, and medicine are all in short supply. Even a strong arm or a kind word would be welcome. Corporal, your duties for the next several days will undoubtedly involve the securing of the Steam Slums."
"Understood, sir. I... I think I'll need some sleep first though."
Dove completes the last parchment with a flourish. Apparently Dove's first name begins with "A", but the rest is too small to make out. He stands up, and gives you a small bow. "My thanks, gentlens. My words are inadequate, of course...but nonetheless, my thanks, and the thanks of all the Watch."
Volcano's light softens outside as day turns to dim. Wearily, you all make your way to bed.
At the Incarna household, a lonely brother anxiously awaits his sister.
In a well-kept apartment, a friendly landlord wonders what his tenant is up to tonight.
On the outskirts of town, where no one minds the occasional mild explosion, a twitchy schoolmate is pondering the notes of his dead master.
And at the Watch, a guardselen sleeps heavily, surrounded by the snores of his brethren.