"Yipe!" Abnaki quickly casts a glibness spell.
"We are friends Odelbie! Or at least allies. Remember it is Abnaki, the storyteller, who ventured into the Dreaming to find a story worthy of your court!"
Grumbling but running after Odelbie, "Put the hammer down."
Odebie slows his descent enough for the hammer to miss. It wumphs past Abnaki's head, making it clear how heavy the thing is. He hefts it again, clearly still considering you a potential threat.
"I believe you! You stink of Dream and say you came from the damn place. Why shouldn't I split your head open before you infect the rest of us? What story could possibly salvage this pitiful, empty ending?"
Osna telekinetically pushes a bit against the old hammer and the old blockhead; not enough to alert the prig, but enough to get a 'handle' on a bad situation, if ye'll pardon the pun.
"Did I not agree to help the fey in their own wars? Have I not brokered peace between the people of Hearth and the Quiet Elder? Have we not met, and spoken well of each other? Tell me Odebie, what has happened here?"
"Hm. That sounds bad. But we've lost people before, and fetched them back. Osna was lost body and soul in the dreaming, or in Moon's land, and we recovered him. I still have fey flowers within me, and the voice of Krz. Perhaps we might be able to coax them back out? My blood, or..." he pauses for a second, "My life? If I am still connected to dream, then maybe that is where they have gone. They saved thousands of El's, perhaps this is why they turned me, and left you behind. And you too Krz," he adds. "What say you Krz, Kalik, Odebie, The other Krz, and Osna? Will you help me try to retrieve them?"
Having stowed away the seed to show to Kallik later, Sequoyah watches the exchange and near fight between Odebie and the newcomers, breathing a sigh of relief when some semblance of rationality takes hold.
Odebie is struck by the audacity of Abnaki's idea- the grim warrior has had nothing but tragedy in his mind these last several candles. But to think they could be brought back...
"Listen, it's time I got on my stump and gathered my people. The shamans that remain will interpret your words, tale-weaver, and see if they hold any hope in them at all." He leaves the earthbreaker on the floor, and his step seems lighter for it.
"Well, come on! Let's see if your fool idea has any weight." A faint smile now.
Osna tries to think of somethin', and realizes he knows...nothin'. He might know his own name and his best mates, but all that magical theory he spent a decade of his youth learning? It's gone for tea. Frustrated, feeling stupid, he doesn't say a damn word while the others are talkin' magic. There's a bunch of empty bookshelves where his brain should be.
How the hell can I even cast magic now? He compulsively casts a few mage hands and jolts, relieved to see they still work.
With nothin' else to do, Osna peeks around corners and such, always worried about an ambush. He wonders if Gabe is nearby.
Gabe, your shadow asks, How did we end up at the Quiet Elder? Did we know the others were here?
Just as you try to apply your mind to the complex magical theories in play, Krz shouts,
Abnaki, being quite confident that he had done the best that he possibly could on his own knowledge, flits about the room, providing whatever insight he can, and ensuring that everyone is communicating effectively with each other. He decided not to look too carefully at where the knowledge had come from, lest he slip back into madness. Let the world unravel itself without seeing through everything. "...You see, I drew essence of things out of the Dreaming before. It took a heavy toll on me, but I was just one El, with no training, going off of pure instinct. We have the wisdom of the ages here, a gathering of different types of El providing their own insight, and the barrier between us and the dreaming might still be weak enough to pull the fey out of their revrie. We just have to be careful not to leave a hole in the barrier they set up to help us against Moon; indeed the issue will be getting them through and sealing it immediately afterward so nothing else can get through. I theorize this could probably be solved if we incorporated the internal resonance structures that Sequoya mentioned, with the actual planar frequency of the Fey. Kalik's on that now, I'll see what she's thought of, but it seems that Samen might be useful here, with his knowledge on planar callings. Someone should probably get him. And have we made sure to offer our prayers to the other Gods? I know that Volcano and the Fey may not be the best of friends but it's better safe than sorry in cases like this. Oh and another thing..."
Samen walks up, having packed Stof's jar with Magical Silica Gel (tm). He reminds Abby to not eat it.
He sees his companions deep in thought about some problem. Hopefully nobody has gone crazy again. "What seems to be the conundrum today?"
Krz is hanging on your every word. He listens. He reads the books of your mind. He learns. He is like a child, in a way, soaking up new facts and ideas like dry sand drinking the rain.
"Ahh. Probably a part of the battle that went poorer. I can tap into the Fey essence myself. Perhaps I could act as a bridge to help restore their essence?"
No, i tend to let the others handle business concerning the fey and things involving general socialization. i handle other more discreet things, such as finding out about a thieves guild, dragons and war in the south Gabriel once again speaking out loud.
That makes sense. I would do it that way, too.
***
Sequoya, you begin investigating the plantlife that grows without pattern or sense on the inside of this gigantic tree. There are saplings, flowers, buds, roots, fruits, and all manner of dandelions lazing about the rich, decaying floor of the throne room. Though the specimens are beautiful in the way of all nature, you sense nothing extraordinary about them; nothing of the Fey seems to remain.
Kallik tries to make sense of it all, but her link to the wild homeplane of Forest is frayed. Breaking. Broken? She looks at Krz, her axe. Her brother. Says nothing.
Samen ponders the planes and their denizens, their languages, and the role of elens in the state of...
Shaking his head, he tunes out the rest of the group and tries to recall the snatches of lore he read in the great research library of the Branch monastery. The planes had not been his direct subject, but his inquiries ran close enough to glean several useful bits of knowledge.
Abnaki's voice takes on broad proportions as shamans and druids and Forest worshipers of all warp and weft solemnly fill the hallowed space of the Elder. A semicircle now, listening to the bard's religious revelations in the rootball throneroom. They witness Abanki's weaving; the witnessing makes it real.
The tale-weaver's small encouragements naturally flow into grand histories and epics. Abnaki tells of the Witch, the Father, the Bull, the first Elders. A candle goes by in the blink of an eye, hearing the making of the world, seeing it through the eyes of children of wood and stone...
But then...tales of the Fey.
His voice falters here.
The wood all about you creaks, and groans...
Odebie falls heavily to the ground as the floor writhes under your feet. He opens his mouth to speak, but a different voice altogether emerges. The thunder of an Elder Tree echoes about the high ceiling of the chamber. Branches and roots all bend and sway with the voice, lending a wooden undertone to each word.
As these last bellowed words are ripped from Odebie's throat, the worn oread coughs, unable to breathe. There is a last scream of pain as a tangle of briar thorns suddenly sprouts from his mouth and nose and eyes. The thorns spread, covering all the bland trees, covering the floor, spreading rapidly toward all of you-
But not always the results you desire.
As the proclamation of the Quiet Elder (there is a reason Elders remain quiet) washes over all of you,
Gabriel dodges the waves of thorns that roam the floors and ceilings, neatly flipping through the air and between the shadows. Not a single point touches his skin.
Kallik and Sequoya and Mishipeshu almost scoff at the display - both oreads have been hunting in Great Forest since childhood, and any good tribe witch will keep the tribe's children well-acquainted with sharp needles and poisons. (all the better to keep you strong, my dear!) Well, their teachings, for today, were correct. You both face the proclamation with little more than scratches upon forearms and cheek.
Samen's feet are rooted in place, and his body is slowly becoming more tree-like.
Abnaki, you are drowning in thorns. Which makes sense, you need to speak the stories of leaf and bush and tree and Fey and thorn, but-
Samen's blood boils in irrational rage. His essence is his own. None may have it and none may change it but he himself. Though in retrospect, he realizes he really should work on a way to change someone else's. He quickly flips through his mental file of what energy suits the moment best. He settles on Smoke, to choke out the choking thorns. If possible, since he's now connected to the tree, he would very much like to infect the tree itself with Smoke essence.
He charges his staff up with fire magic and is on a hair trigger to release Abby all up in this business.
Samen, you successfully escape the wooden clutch of the spell. You are now floating slightly above the floor of the chamber, and the Elder seems unaffected by your essence.
Odebie, somehow still alive, says in a voice full of pain, "Stop, Samen! It was a message, nothing more. The Elder cannot--" but here the blood is too much. He coughs, chokes, and says no more.
Growling quietly and swallowing the howl that want to escapes her throat. She didn't like Odebie but no elen deserved that kind of death. Digging her nails into her palm, feeling the blood pool then drop to the ground. Samen does what she wants. Vengeance is owed!
Blood and sap should flow but she just told Odebie that now was the time for word and grief not more blood. "Sam..Sss.. Samen you can't fight that! there has been so much blood."
Krz is this the bad place? Did we die and it was all a lie? Is death just a wrong version of life?
One crystalline note from Krz rings out; the thorns blacken and fall away. (Odebie is still dead)
Out loud, he says, "Don't worry, Sissy. We're not dead, and though being alive can be bad, we can be heroes. We can make this a good place, too."
From one problem into another...If they want a fight I'll take it. From what information i found, they may very well be guilty of unanswered crimes already. Gabriel has his hand on his blade.
No good deed goes unpunished. Why are you trying to help again?
Abnaki casts saving finale on himself, ending the inspire competance, and getting another shot at the reflex.
Close. I saw myself in those thorns, drowning. A bad fate. It felt so real as well... I hope this isn't residual from the Moon. I never wanted the gift of prophecy.
"Well, I see that helping may not have been the correct choice. Every time I meddle in things beyond my understanding, I make it worse. Moon, the Dreaming, and now the Fey. What happened here?"
A dimunitive old oread shuffles out of the circle of wizened druids. Hobbling down the steps of the small amphitheater, she asks, "And now that you have been given this message by Dziecko Powolnego Wzrostu, will you follow it? Will you go north on behalf of those who cannot make the journey?" She speaks as slowly as she walks, picking words and breaths and steps all with equal care.
Stooped beside Abnaki, she can barely touch his shoulder while supporting herself with a gnarled cane. "Will you do this for us, young el? This place is far too empty without the laughter of the dandelion children. The mothers, and their flowers. Please."
Dowanhowee waves Kallik and Sequoya over for a short personal talk, smiling congenially. "It is good to see you again, warriors."
Suddenly, she is whispering quickly, urgently. "Now go talk some sense into your warlock friend over there, or beat him over the head with the side of your axe a few times." She is not angry - the only emotion you see is suppressed fear at Samen's recklessness. With a flat tone, she finishes, "The next time he threatens us with fire in an Elder will be his last. They will not stand for it."
Sylph orphans scavenge among the ruins of Brightfield Arena and other such rubble. The pay is decent--real silver, bird!--and that scary bloke with the black horns usually throws in some free food. Not a bad deal, all in all. Says he making a new part o' the city for dragons. The boys wish that Ibinu the Sorceror wouldn't tease them like that, but Volc only knows what his real plans are..
***
Nearer to the Temple, proud Forge paladins pack and pray for their upcoming journey. They fear no mind control; they fear no poison. They recite their vows in groups of three.
"They just killed that guy! After we tried to bring them back! And you want us to help them?" Abnaki sighs. "What do you all think?"
Hack, cough.
The weathered oread, angered at his own near-death, yells in rage as he vomits dark thorns and bright bile.
"Dead Witch be damned! I'm not ready yet!"
Deprived of his earthbreaker, Odebie stomps on the thorns, petty and victorious and alive. "Take this you gods-damned things! No more thorned anything allowed in my domain!"
As Odebie rages, you notice a subtle thing. Odebie has spit out his own death: you see a thorn blacker than black, settled back in shadow, as if biding its time. The foul thing twitches when Odebie curses the Dead Witch.
Abbygailiwy stretches her arms languorously as she spills out of Samen's staff. "Did I miss something?" She yawns casually , showing a glimpse of the boundless chasm behind her maw. "Say-say?"
Samen just shakes his head. With a slow breath in, then out, he releases hold of his fire spell. "Nothing, darling. Same pogona spit as always. Sure I'll be blamed for it somehow."
To the rest of the room, Samen says, "I'll just see myself out, thanks!" He leaves before anymore "help" comes to kill them again.
Nodding to Dowanhowee before moving to Samen. Reaching out to put her hand on his shoulder. "Fire is no good here. There has been so much death, please do not bring it here. They have lost so much and fire is a violence they will not accept. Not in this sacred place."
Eager to be away from this place of loss (and unwelcome danger), the rest of you say your farewells. All the druids and shamans and wise-elens thank you for your attempt, and a few apologize on behalf of the Quiet Elder for the aggressive reaction.
"Please understand, this is something that will only be asked once." Sequoya adds in a quiet, but certain tone.
The city is in mourning; tears are shed by thousands of families who lost a loved one in the Battle of Moon. But there is also a fragile hope in the air - a deadly god has been repelled from the gates of Hearth by the faith and works of elenkind. Golem scrap and moon rocks and other debris are all cleared out of the temple courtyards as elens set up field hospitals and food lines for the wounded and the hungry. There is easy camaraderie between ifrit, undine, oread, and sylph on this day, as everyone is simply a survivor of the night. The Phoenix symbol blazes high above it all, adding a little warmth to the hearts of all who glimpse it. The city will live on.