Samen simply arches an eyebrow at Abnaki and winks.
He silently follows Wamblee's lead to see this friend in need.
"Of course. I'd be happy to help, but please know that I am no priest. Maladies of the flesh are not my specialty. Still, it cannot hurt to try..."
Wamblee thanks you, and moves forward to introduce you to his small council. The cadre of warriors come to a halt, forming a large perimeter around you. There is a stone-shaped table, too tall for seats -- what oreads would call a 'standing table'. Two counselors stand beside the table, two els. There is an older oread, garbed in traditional religious garb showing all the aspects of Forest, and a younger oread, bearing only furs and a scowl.
Wamblee intones in his deep voice, "Counselors. Thank you for meeting with me. Friends, this is Umik, my magician,", the older oread gives a wave, palm turned upward, "and Hakka, my personal bodyguard and tactician." The sour-faced young warrior says nothing, and barely nods.
Samen says nothing, but will direct his mind toward the thoughts of assembled advisors, trying to get a feel for their mood or, Sun forbid, detect if any of them are gem spies.
Seeing Umik as they are approaching and in a moment of panic she stops moving. Qizzlvutz bumps into the back of her legs and is briefly covered in red dots then back to normal. Kallik safely hidden in their mind.
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Kallik? That's my grandfather. I haven't seen him in so long... and I'm dead.. Not gone. Here. No, I'm dead and in your head. I can't explain that. Not yet.. please.. safe
Puffing up their chest and looking around with what Qizzlvut hopes is a brave but is closer to curiosity or awe. All these elen are fascinating. So different from home.
No gem spies. Umik seems open and curious, optimistic and ready to listen. Hakka is practically the opposite in every regard. Both of them believe in the Tribe of Peace, believe in Wamblee, and want to do the right thing.
Wamblee briefly explains the various trials and crises that the tribes are dealing with . Umik quietly adds a detail or two to support the chieftain as he speaks.
Not quite interrupting, Hakka steps forward, arms crossed. "What say you, newcomers? Shall we go south and secure our borders against the Gems? Destroy them once and for all?" His manner is aggressive, daring you to disagree with him.
"Why (would) a Tribe of Peace (destroy)? I do not (understand)."
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"A (destructive) force must sometimes be met with an equally (destructive) force. Sometimes (peace) means eliminating a great danger for the (benefit) of others." Abnaki isn't sure if his accent is right, but he's trying his best.
"(Thank) you, story-grower. Your wisdom (is appreciated)."
Hroof Hroofa, still only able to speak Myco, addresses Abnaki and Learningto. "Do I see the two of you speaking of (destruction)? Where are we going? What enemies are coming?"
"Gems. They are like (rock), but more (brittle). Also they (have) spirits of their own. They will (break) nicely before your (might). We will (bring) the battle to them."
Hakka squints at Abnaki as he speaks, trying to decipher the strange combination of words and gestures. "What are you saying? Why do you not speak Oread, or Common?" He frowns, abrasive but not yet angry. "I know you are not speaking Sedime or the Fey languages either, so do not lie." He taps an earring made of carved wood on his right ear.
Wamblee seems weary, distant. "This is my brother, and his guests. My guests. Treat them with respect, Hakka." He rests his elbows upon the standing table, and massages his head with his thumbs, trying to soothe a headache.
Samen lets his disguise fade for a moment. "There's more to this world than the bubble you know, Hakka. These neighbors of yours have been beneath your feet for centuries, tending the elder's roots."
"Language... Hakka was it? I've forgotten more about languages than most people could learn in a lifetime. But what I've learned recently is that there is an older language than any that Elen, or even Elementals speak. If the language of the Mycos is enough to distress you, pray that you never encounter a hostile utterance of the old tongue." Abnaki taps his own head, mimicking Hakka. "Rest assured, they are your allies, as they are my allies, and you are my ally as well. All friends here." Abnaki smiles expansively. "Aren't we?"
You see the warrior relax visibly as you make an appeal to friends and allies. "Yes, that is what we are striving to do as well. My apologies for my earlier rudeness. There are so many enemies, so cleverly hidden, that it taxes an el's nerves."
He looks at the mycos with fresh appraisal. "Is there a way we can understand each other's languages? Is there a spell for such a thing?"
Learningto arches an eyebrow, every bit as sardonic as a surface-elen. In heavily accented Common, she says, "I speak this common tongue, young one. Instead of spells, you should listen." The old myco speaks carefully, and uses the strange verbs that are still so foreign to her.
Umik, Wamblee's other advisor, laughs at this. "Oh, I like you! May I introduce myself again, and hear your name?..."
Looking back and forth. Fuzzy feelings bubbling out of Kallik in their mind. Old memories dancing in her mind and bleeding out into Qizzlvutz. Wiggling in space while everyone talks. Kallik's fear keeps them from joining much of the conversation. Hakka they could do without. He was mean to Kallik and is still mean.
But their lips split into a too wide smile with brown and blue gases bubbling out, "Qizzlvutz!" Kal.. Not yet.
Learningto can clearly see the young one wants to be in quieter surroundings, and shepards Umik and Qizzlvutz to a wonderful-looking forked tree that seems an inviting place to sit. She has no concept of meetings in the elen sense of the word, so she does not realize her rudeness.
Stoic as ever, brow creased only in slight annoyance, Wamblee says, "Perhaps tomorrow morning would be a better time to continue this. A rest will clear our minds. I have my own thoughts to share as well." He knocks twice on the stone table, knuckles rapping against the rough granite, signaling an end to the council.
Walking away from the table he says, "Samen, Abnaki, I would appreciate you attending to my friend now. Please follow me."
"Alons-y" Abnaki laughs, as he follows Wamblee out of the room.
Wamblee walks without comment for a few quiet minutes, not going away from the encampments, but around them. You all come upon a mound in the grass. An opening in the mound shows you a gentle descent downward, a simple dirt tunnel.
"He had to be rolled here," Wamblee says absently. It is only a short trip down, with a sharp corner at the end, and before any of you get a chance to ask his meaning, you see it -
No longer a geode to be held in the hand, Obdurate has grown rough and huge, resembled a craggy doublesize boulder made from a patchwork of different stones.
Entering the chamber (which is mostly taken up by Obdurate), you all feel a faint pressure on your forehead and temples, like an etheral wind chilling you with the ghost of pain. You have a feeling you would develop a headache if you spent too long here.
Upon realizing the changes in Obdurate, Samen is going to take a few moments to clear his mind and prepare for thinking deeply about this.
Samen, when you call upon your powers of the mind, the emanations of pain seem to intensify, like a note of resonance shattering a wineglass in your brain. Your new augmented mind proves the greater, however, and the moment passes. You relax into your meditative mental exercises and prepare to walk the labyrinths of knowledge within yourself.
"Samen, what would happen if you "cleansed" an elemental the same way you were "cleansed?" Would there be anything left?" He turns towards Wamblee, "What caused this? I could break parts of him off, try to harmonically resonate with the core, but I'm not sure that would help."
"The most that could be discerned by my wise els is simply this: tha plane that Obdurate is connected to has a grave imbalance. They could tell me no more."
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Given the increased mental strain, Samen holds off from using more magic or attempting to read Obdurate's thoughts.
"No, I don't think that would work. It would be like asking what happens to a rock if you take the rock away. If it's a composite elemental, like Obdurate here, it's theoretically possible to split them into two entities, but I'm not sure on the ethics of such an action."
As you surmised, you cannot change Obdurate's essence to fix this problem - elementals are not so flexible as elens. Splitting would likely kill it.
The connection itself cannot be changed either - another fundamental property of Obdurate.
That leaves you with only one choice - go and restore the plane to its former state of balance.
The plane in question is Uknukhiphidwala, the homeplane of Forest. You can see it clearly in your mind's eye: as the Fey in Hearth sacrificed themselves and became bland trees, their essences fled the fey realms within Uknukhiphidwala. Another Court must have taken advantage...
Of course- This is another front of war the Gems are fighting. You wonder what damaged is being wreaked, and how it all fits together with Moon's plans. Are Moon and Gem still allied to destroy the Dark, as that strange warlock Julian Opal had implied?
For such a high roll, you also get an idea for a temporary solution: burn a 3rd level spell for Mind Thrust 3, and Obdurate will feel a great deal of relief. Play it off like a deep muscle massage, but done with psychic energy, that helps unknot Obdurate's pain.
A small dreamcrow appears on your shoulder, no bigger than three inches high. "Sing him Thunder's Lullaby, love. He'll fall right to sleep and let the chiefy sleepy too."
Abnaki will oblige the Crow.
"Obdurate is suffering just as the Fey in Hearth did. As we fought Moon, Gem fought Forest. This is the result. We must restore balance to Uknukhiphidwala, their home plane. This should solve Obdurate's problem, stop the statue's rampaging up North, and hopefully weaken Gem's influence to the South."
Samen puts his hand on Obdurate with compassion in his heart. "This won't fix it, old friend, but it should ease the pain."
He blasts away at the corruption and infection in his mind, carving through the mental callouses and growths.
Learningto helps Qizzlvutz keep their enthusiatic sentences from becoming overly long. "Remember to let others speak, young one, and give them time to digest your words." As always, the small reminder is gentle.
Umik, for his part, seems fascinated thus far by your descriptions of Heap, the many rituals of dying, rotting, and rebirth, and so on. His brow creases. "Though I do wish to hear more from both of you tomorrow, I should attend to my chieftain. Wamblee should not be left unprotected from magical forces while he visits Slowly Rolling."
Samen, you can feel Obdurate's relief as deep vibrations in your chest. You almost feel as if you are in the throat of a great invisible roaring beast.
The wave of sound finally fades, and your mind's ear is left ringing. A good night's sleep will put you right, but for now you are exhausted. Obdurate's faint ripples of gratitude reach out and warm you.
Abnaki inspects his shoulder for a moment, though there is nothing there save a speck of mud. He listens to nothing, then nods. He begins singing a tender, soothing lullaby for Obdurate, his tenor voice sweet as a Fey's promise.
"Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li,
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, hush now, don't you cry!
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li,
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, It's just Thunder's lullaby.
Over in Light City,
Many years ago,
My Mother sang a song to me
In a voice like Thunder's own.
Just a little ditty,
In her good ould Sylphan way,
And l'd give my land
if she were here
To sing to me today.
"Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li,
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, hush now, here is Sky!
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li,
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, It's just Thunder's...lull...la...bye."
Wamblee has a look of beatific joy on his face - the heavy lines of pain ease around his eyes, and he looks a decade younger. "Ah. Obdurate is ready to rest awhile. And so am I." The tall oread lies down like a child, curling up next to Obdurate. The chamber feels...peaceful. Full of peace.
Qizzlvutz, you dream deeply and vividly; these impossibly open spaces have erupted in your imagination, giving you visions of tall trees and big hills. The brilliant colors and bright peaklight are nearly blinding. It all brings sparkling tears to your eyes.
A beautiful bird with shiny feathers glides down next to you. It looks just like the illustrations from the tomes that Learningto showed to you! How wonderful!
There are many baskets of flavored rocks delivered to your door the next morning - clearly the servants assume you are all oreads, or simply did not notice Gabriel. There are several kinds of honey-sweetened clay, to use as a spread on gravelbread.
You hear a clap clap at the door,
and Umik's cheerful, raspy voice calls, "Good bright! May I share breakfast with you?"
Samen and Abnaki, the magician bows deeply to both of you, his beads and necklaces and charms all rattling on the stone floor. "We of this tribe owe you for your great service - our chieftain has slept truly for the first time in over a week."
He presents you each with a stout jug of crimson-flower wine, a delicacy from the monks of Western Root.
Abnaki, being somewhat surprised that he still has the need to eat and sleep following his transformation awakens with a start. He was dreaming about something important, he was sure of it. Or perhaps this was the important dream and what he was doing before was what was real?
No matter.
"Troubling. Has he at least been bolstering his body with magics to keep the fatigue from setting in? Or is he like the workhorse- tirelessly laboring until one day he drops dead?"
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Happily babble while insisting in their mind that Kallik just come out. Eventually everyone seems to want to rest. While there is the offer to sleep in on of the stone huts Qizzlvutz shakes their head. Pointing upwards, "Sky." Clearly that is answer enough.
Keeping track of where Umik goes to sleep. Going on all fours and circling on the ground, much like a dog getting comfortable. Though at the end of the ritual they flop on their back and stare at night sky. Pretty. New. SKy always changes? Yes. Day and night. Suppose you did not have that underground. You are tired and should sleep. You will see the stars and moon again tomorrow. Sky changes. Kallik changes sleep.
After a time Qizzlvutz does so and remains perfectly still for many hours while Kallik meditates on everything that has happened.
The multicolored sunset lingers letting Qizzlvutz truly enjoy it. All the colors painted across the Sky. Twisting their head in an owl-like fashion and blinking at the Crow. Pointing to themselves, "Qizzlvutz." Then they point to the Crow.
Without moving its break, the bird seems to smile. In a caw caw kind of voice, it introduces itself. "Éan Aisling."
The bird grows taller, becoming more elen-like, but retains the sleek bird's head. It stares at you, first with one eye, then the other, waiting to see what you say next.
Abnaki, the oread laughs and shakes his head. "Pure stubbornness and will. He trained as a monk for several years, and I think his body is used to being deprived of food, rest, and such." He pats his own belly. "Makes me glad that griots and shamans have no such restrictions, eh? I love eating almost as much as I love talking." With another gruff laugh, he helps himself to a generous handful of sugar-glazed lava rocks.
Samen sniffs at the Oread fare. "Hmm, I don't think this will do me any good in my current state. Any chance you have some food for non-Oreads around here?"
He shimmers his illusory form to be that of an Undine.
"I am... unsure if Samen or myself can continue to draw sustenance from rocks. We may need the food of the soft-palates now."
Abnaki, as you speak, the rocks closest to you become the 'food of the soft-palates'. It is nothing special, just biscuits and cheeses, but once again your very words seem to have inadvertently affected the world.