Samen agrees. "Seems like as good a plan as any. Let's make our way back to the camp to evaluate our next course of action."
You are jostled to and fro by crowds of ugly moods; here anger, there drunkeness, and everywhere confusion. You hear the questions - What is the council doing to protect us? Why don't we march on Light and attack? Who can we trust?
As you leave the Welcome Gate, bronze efreeti seeming to delight in the chaos, you hear the faint peal of the brass bells once again calling the faithful and the sinner alike to come partake of ashbread.
Out on the road, you hear yells of surprise as a brutbreve match briefly turns violent, but the combatants are pulled apart before anyone is badly hurt. You hear many creative and vulgar uses of ifrit swear words steaming into the chill spring air.
The walk toward camp is uneventful; it is blessedly quiet after the noise and fear of the crowds.
Nervous and Pinky stop you at the sentry lines. Looking toward Abnaki, Pinky says, "Are you guys serious? Captain dies of being a melty shapeshifting thing, and you can't even notice when this cazzo is...possessed by flowers or something?" He looks belligerent, confused.
"The flowers compel you to let me goooOOOooo..." Abnaki doubles over laughing. "Unfortunately, my friends, you won't be able to get rid of me that easily, it's still me. Think of it like one of Samen's experiments."
"Why honestly, I feel better than before! It seems I learned how to be more in tune with the Earth during my time in the tree. I'm not even sure if I need a nap anymore!"
Nervous runs to get Half-Blind while Pinky eyes the lot of you. The ifrit--you were never sure if he was named after his missing pinky or his light tone of skin--makes the sign of Volcano over his heart after looking too long at Samen's tattoos and Abnaki's odd foliage.
Half-Blind, wearing his customary shabby robes and bandage covering the right half of his face, glares at each of you in turn. His bulbous, watery eye does not blink. He regards Abnaki for nearly two straight minutes, standing completely still. You realize for the first time you have no idea what Half-Blind's race is; the small glimpses of his bruised-looking skin offers no clues.
"He's himself." The sneer of his lips, as if tasting something foul, seems to imply, for now.
Osna mutters to himself as they walk into camp proper. "Straight from the fish's mouth, Abnaki has obviously undergone no changes whatsoever. I'm ecstatic."
Phon shakes her head, "Let us regroup. What exactly do we know? More importantly, what is a pressing issue and what is a possible diversion?"
"Our most immediate threat is the golems. Fighting every last one of them would require more forces than we have. Finding and co-opting or jamming whatever mechanism is being used to control them is probably our best approach, unless they're being controlled by Moon directly. We probably need to find and verify their presence first, though."
Osna instantly says, without thinking, "And all this cac in the streets and the mobs and the anger is the diversion. Messing with people's minds, just like Moon loves to do." The last words are bitter.
Abnaki pauses for a minute, before turning to face Ozhna. "If you have a problem with the way that I handled the mob, let's talk about it. If there's a problem, communication is the only way we'll solve it. Backhanded comments, and festering thoughts will only end in tragedy."
Osna shakes his head. His tone apologetic now, "Sorry, Abnaki. It's not you, I'm just pissed about sylphs going all mush-headed over Moon in the eastern city. You handled the one mob just fine, but what about the rest of the population? Everyone seems on edge and ready to blow."
Phon nods at Samen, "I think you're right. Mobs or not, if these things move about they will be able to deal a lot more damage to folks if they are just roaming the streets in anger... This seems like a recipe for disaster."
She considers what to do, "I can try to commune again to get us some information, but I believe some legwork might be the best. The last time I tried, something did not feel right. Almost like putting a fin in water that has a layer of oil on it."
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Abnaki, as you look for your fellow (or, less generously, rival) bard among the Happy Swords, you hear the bittersweet strains of his dàn bầu ghosting through the cold air, like weeping guitar strings. You round Kylen Bloorb's tent, a stuffy blue and green affair in the very old undine style of deeply curved awnings.
You see him now, in immaculate robes, sitting cross-legged on an ostentatious pillow. He continues to play with effortless grace, his posture clearly showing he knows his own skill. The silk string sings under his touch.
"You come at an inopportune time, Abnaki v'Cardi. It would have been more appropriate to come after lunching but before tea."
It is getting harder to ignore the spell itching at your hands.
"Are you ok, Phon? You've been more quiet than usual all day, and I know you're an Undine, but you're sweating."
"Ah Kylen. How perfectly delightful to see you again. Imagine running into you here. Tell me, have you played for any great lords or ladies recently?" Without waiting for an answer, Abnaki adds offhandedly, "I recently got a personal request from a fey elder themselves. Have you ever seen a tree weep for joy before?"
"Your successes are your own, Abnaki v'Cardi." He closes his eyes and sways to his music, no trace of annoyance on his composed face.
Samen nods encouragingly. "The tree liked it so much, it sent an emissary to be a groupie. On an almost unrelated note, we need to hunt down some rogue silver golems we expect are amassing somewhere in the sewers. We were hoping you could be of assistance."
Replying as if Abnaki had spoken, "And what would I know of sewers, Abnaki v'Cardi?" The ethereal twanging continues, implacable.
Ozhna looks ready to scream at the smug prick, but he wisely shuts his mouth. He stomps away back around the stupid-looking tent and unwisely has a nip from the flask, his mage hand helping him sneak it.
Your left eye--the one with the black vein cutting across your vision--catches a glimpse of an undine:
-He strongly resembles Phon Vos - a brother perhaps?
-your attention is drawn to the pale white scars that cover his face, arms, and chest (he wears only a vest, with an undine's contempt of the cold), similar to the chaotic pattern of black veins that you are cursed with
-and then he sees you, just as you see him, and he dives back into an unseen world. Does Phon Vos have a shadow dancer in her family?-
--all this in the span of five heartbeats, no more. The undine is gone, beyond all your senses for the moment.
Gabriel's blackened scorched wood like veins across his skin grow larger somewhat suddenly, his breathe goes shallow and he sits in pain. attempting to both collect his thoughts and control over a grow black power, i... need to go...perform a ritual. Miss Phon if we could speak later, it is crucial
and with that muttered, cryptic phrase, Gabriel vanishes from sight, attending his owen errands for the moment.
Osna feels a breath of dark air against the back of his neck as Gabriel passes by, silent and unseen. Shuddering, the sylph curses and takes another nip. What a cac-s*&*e day.
Stretching his legs and looking around idly for something to distract himself, Osna spots the stupid noble boy, whatever his stuffy vee name was. He's still in the cage. His skin is...molting. One hidyus groan is enough to send Osna walking back across the thoroughfare, back to the undine chap.
Little bit of music isn't so bad, after all.
"I have reason to believe that you might be able to point us in the right direction to find those who would be able to tell us more about the sewers. I thought I might go to you first before I asked the captain to ask you. After all, they are quite busy right now, and don't need to be bothered with additional... personnel issues. Wouldn't you agree Kylen?"
"True, it would be inappropriate of you to bother the Captain, and you would do such a thing."
Slowing the music now, a question mark in its timbre, "Of course, we would have no problem at all if you agreed to perform the Litany of the Small Pond with me. I have asked in the past, and you have dismissed it as tedious. Tomorrow, two candles before bright, promise you will perform the Litany with me, and I shall see if any of my relations know anything about these sewers of which you speak."
Abnaki sighs. "Very well. I promise to perform the Litany of the Small pond. But this is a matter of some importance and dare I say... urgency. I will swear upon my parents, upon volcano, upon whatever you wish that I will perform the Litany tomorrow, should I survive today, but I need the information you have now."
Phon is capable of focusing. She was made of sterner stuff than she lets on at times, and now knowing what she knows, realizes that. The bubbling feeling running up her hand was easy enough to stifle, years of training and internal strife made sure of that.
"I'm fine Abnaki, just a blessing that I was given. I still am figuring out what to do with such a 'gift', if it even is one." It's only partially a lie, and anyone would know she is putting up an act, albeit a poor one.
Before she has a chance to respond to Gabriel however, he vanishes. To speak with me? Perhaps he wants to discuss whatever shadow is lurking over him. I will absolutely make time.
The undine hears discussion about music and the sewers and leaves it to the skalds, however she straightens up and listens in as best she can. "Look, I don't know you but upon all of the Pantheon Alive and Dead, I will vouch for Abnaki. This information is a matter of life and death for many."
Kylen Bloorb nods, doing little to hide his pleasure. "Good, good. I promise you will find it a rewarding experience, Abnaki v'Cardi."
With a few sure movements, his complex instrument of string, bamboo, and shell is neatly stowed in an ornate case. "Now that our negotations have concluded, I will take you to a relative of mine. A cleaner. He may know something of what you speak."
Before leaving camp, Kylen tosses a few coins at some muscular undines who are clearly servants of some kind. They wear the same colors as the bard, but not as finely cut. He tells them off-handedly to fetch the palanquin.
Disdaining most modes of travel, Kylen lounges upon his personal litter as the rest of you walk back to Hearth. He eats River salmon, dipped in a pungent yellow sauce.
The Watches of Hearth are out in force now, which seems to be effective in containing the straining crowds of the morning. However, you see among their number many unfamiliar insignias - it is likely that volunteers from Forge have lent their own security forces to the events.
You make your way to the infamous Stink Docks, where the undine watercleaners purify the wastes of the city before allowing them to enter River proper.
Still seated upon his palanquin, Kylen starts to make leisurely conversation with one of the dock workers while his hands gesture animatedly. The dockworker nods, and sends a runner down the way toward the sewers.
Kylen seems to be taking his time, telling any who will listen about his latest composition piece. His long fingers seem to puck ghost notes from the air as he self-importantly expounds upon his project.
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Gabriel excuses himself to somewhere private, likely outside the city as he needs to gather firewood to make a bonfire, which will likely take him until nighttime. At that point he waits until its as dark as possible before he sets the bonfire aflame.
Gabriel sets himself in between the darkness and the flame, he dances gracefully in between the flickering grey area between the two. Carefully avoiding the smallest of dark tendril along the ground but not stepping into the light. His body appears to blend within the dark without stepping into it, existing in the grey.
He does this until the fire burns out which is when he either collapses or wanders his way back to where ever the group is staying and sleeps .
The warrior priestess waits up for Gabriel, but eventually decides to rest before setting off. It couldn't have been that crucial, perhaps just a passing thought.
She headed with the others towards the docks.
Kylen looks toward Abnaki. "And what are you willing to pay my relatives, assuming they do know anything of the ways of the sewers? I have brought you to my relatives as promised, but that is all the Litany of the Small Pond has bought you, I am afraid." He idly inspects his fingernails.
With difficulty, Samen refrains from coldcocking him in the back of the head. "How about they pay us for the security we're attempting to provide? Aren't we all mercenaries here? If they need convincing, then convince them. You use word magic almost half as good as Abnaki can, and you waste it on petty pride. Now finish the job, or you won't need protection from any golems."
Three things: you, the bonfire, and the darkness.
You dance. You grow tired. Your eyelids droop.
Four things: you, the bonfire, the darkness...and your shadow. For just a moment, it is Other. It dances to a different tune than you.
The moment is over. Your shadow is just a silhouette once more. A trick of the eye perhaps.
"Abnaki v'Cardi, does your companion speak out of turn, or do you agree with these rash assertions?"
"Well, he does speak truly, Kylen, I've always thought my aptitude for *ahem* the oratory arts far outstripped yours, although your playing of the dàn bầu is vastly superior to mine. In regards to his threatening of a fellow bard, I must warn Samen that I would be forced to intervene on your behalf, as a professional courtesy, but I must warn you that even were the two of us to work together, he would still easily overpower the both of us."
Abnaki pauses for a moment, and then puts a hand lightly to his face.
"Enough with the barbs, and power plays for a moment. Do you know why we want to go to the sewers? I have reason to think that the missing silver golems may be hiding down there, biding their time until Moon unleashes an attack on the city. If we find nothing, I will reimburse your cousins for their time. However, if we find the golems down there, our efforts to remove the rogue golems from your relatives place of business should be payment enough, no? Tell them that."
Kylen regards you for a moment, then nods. He relays your message to his cousins and relatives, now with an urgency in his voice, splayed fingers emphasizing his points.
"Very well. I will play to the spirits for auspicious outcomes, and then they will take you."
Without waiting for an answer, he assembles his đàn bầu and plays, reclining upon the palanquin. All the workers--who do indeed have a familial resemblence to Kylen--stand quietly and patiently as the bard performs.
just a faint whisper at the back of your mind - the slightest rustling of your subsconscious says, what do you seek in the border between flame and dark, shadowdancer? what answer do you want? what price will you pay?
your black veins throb across your skull, causing a feeling akin to a headache.
mumbling to himself, If i die, this fragment of you disappears...if i die, that decreases your chance of surviving. Whatever is going on in the world, someone or something is stealing your power. You'll help me, because it benefits you, because I know the truth. Gabriel ignores the throbbing pain and sometime in the morning returns to the group.
After the excruciatingly long performance, the workers all give small smiles and rub their left forearms with their right hands, which makes a sussuration of sound, strangely like sand.
Kylen stands up. "This is where we part ways for the time being, Abnaki v'Cardi. It is beneath my station to go where workers tread, so you will forgive me if I wish you pearled luck and good dim." He gives the smallest of bows, more a nod. With one last flourishing wave of his fingers, the undine bard mounts his palanquin and takes his leave.
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Abnaki mutters under his breath, "Thank Volcano, Forest, and even Moon, he's gone. I hope the others appreciate the sacrifice I just made, giving him a hold over me."
Abnaki steps forth, a good bit less imperiously than Kylen. "Can any of you tell me anything about recent strange goings on in the sewers? We are looking for the missing golems. Be warned, they are dangerous, we had to remove the constructed arm of a fellow warrior that was trying to kill him."
An older undine steps forward, a long marriage braid spilling over his left shoulder. "Yes, sir. We have been studiously avoiding these strange areas for the last few weeks, but we can certainly take you there. We know of them." He bows.