"This is the first time, I swear! She said she was bringing some of the family coins and jewels and running away from her husband, ok?! The House is v'Arteria!"
Samen relaxes and claps the frightened Sylph on the shoulder. "Alright then. Good luck with that. Something tells me he won't be too happy with this development, and he'll probably be inclined to blame you. Good thing V's are known for their understanding and compassion, eh?"
He exits the tent, encouraged that the everyday idiocy of Elenity continues unabated even during these trying times.
As bright begins on a new day, Phon Vos prays to the gods for spells of truth and sight. All around, the mercenary camp groans awake, the sound of cookwork and forging already underway.
After giving his jaw a workout with a stubborn piece of breakfast granite, Wamblee says without preamble, "Though the idea of speaking to the dead does not sit well with me, I suppose we must have answers. Is it wise to ask direct questions when dealing with such...spirits?"
"I don't know for sure. Is it not like speaking to the "memory" of what was there before?"
Osna sits down, chewing on a piece of bread. "I have been thinking of the questions we could ask. One idea was to try to know what was the creature planning to do with the small vial of potion. Also we should ask if the creature was made from the body of the Captain or if the Captain is still alive? We can also ask when this thing replaced the captain. Who made it and who was commanding her."
He takes a sip of light ale and goes on: "I'm not sure how many questions we can ask and if this is the best way to formulate them, but this may be a start. What do you think ?"
Phon Vos says, "We only have three questions. I believe that Samen should ask the first question, and Osna the second. That was the feeling I was left with at the end of my prayers."
Okay, I'm thinking "How were you poisoned?" for the first question. What do you think?
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The undine gets ready to speak with the dead, but the voice from the night before kept echoing in her head.
Would I get revenge?
Deep down she knew the answer, if it was a monster of the darkness itself then she would. She knew that the victory would be hollow and pyrrhic, but she swore to avenge him no matter the cost.
She shuddered when she put her armor on, and while getting ready felt her skin crawl.
Maybe I would. Am I really that shallow? Do I speak with this high and mighty attitude for petty reasons?
She fought with herself and blinked a few times, tears mixing down her face. The war priest was happy that many people wouldn't find those lone droplets without scrutiny.
"That can be a fine question, but they may not know that they were poisoned Samen. We need to assume that whatever is being asked is airtight."
Unlike your faith.
She didn't know if that was directed to herself or Samen, but she steeled herself. There was time to handle the unsettling voice later when she had a clearer mind.
"Maybe I'm still clinging to wisps, but are we sure this being was the Captain and that she was poisoned? What about who created the magic on your skin? Or how were you created?", adds Osna.
Whispering from Samen's staff, heedless of the comments of others, "It sends my coils to shivering, love. A perfectly delightful question."
Wamblee pauses a moment, staring at his feet. "What about where were you created?"
Quietly, to the staff, "Yes dear. You're laying it on a bit thick again."
Louder, to the group, "Well, it was either the captain, poisoned, twisted and corrupted, or an infiltrating body double. We have evidence of one. To the best of my knowledge, the other is hopeful speculation."
He thinks for a moment, puzzling out how to gain the most information from one question. "How about, 'Who gave you the poison?' It either means who poisoned you or who gave you the vial of poison she had on her person. Either way, it should give us more to go on."
Phon nods at the prudence of Samen, "Questions like that seem to be the best."
She begins to focus, "We will have about 7 minutes, let us begin with the first question and then we can ask the other two after we hear what is said."
Osna nods: "Good, let's start with this first question then."
The body is surrounded by the same eerie quiet as yesterday. No insects dare the tainted flesh, yet the body is decaying regardless, in the rapid manner of all elens. Beautymark gives you a sour look, then leaves you to your ritual as she tends to the row of sleeping undines.
As Phon Vos goes through the long, complex invocations of her spell, the flesh of the thing now melts away rapidly; blood, skin, and muscle all slough away, leaving a hard, gray core that looks more like an oread's skeleton than an ifrit's. On the hard, pitted surface of the head, there are vague depressions where eyes should be, and a thin crack of a mouth.
From this fissure comes a crumbling-geyser sound, full of pressure and heat.
You recognize this as Exhume, one of the smoke-based languages that dragons, Smoke elementals, and Efreeti frequently use. You are not in your Smoke form right now, so you are not fluent in Exhume currently, but with this high check you can get the gist of what is being said.
The creature just said something like,
"I am awakened."
You have the distinct feeling the spirit can understand Common, but will only answer in this language.
The hair on Samen's neck begins to prickle at the implications of the creature speaking this language. Is it somehow a creature of smoke, or does the underworld change the nature of a spirit? Questions for another time.
He clears his throat and speaks deliberately to not mess it up. "Who gave you the poison?"
"Not poison to me, but blood.
My mother sculpted me long ago,
but my father gave me blood. I could move.
My father gave it to me, and you took it away."
Phon was focusing on the spell and keeping the link to the other realm was harder than she thought.
She prayed and faith was to sustain her. There was work to be done and she wasn't going to let whatever horrid thoughts take hold.
"Not poison to me, but blood.
My mother sculpted me long ago,
but my father gave me blood. I could move.
My father gave it to me, and you took it away."
Osna changes to Sylph to concert about the next question: "Does it mean the small vial was like blood to this efreeti and allowed it to function or do you think if was infused real blood?"
He considers what they learned some more: "Should I ask where it was animated in the body? Or what was its plan at the inn yesterday?"
"I like the 2nd one more, myself."
"I wonder what such a being dreams about," Iniga says, pensively staring at the creature.
Phon holds her concentration on the spell, knowing that she can't speak with the others without breaking it, as it may take her questions.
She gives an eye to Osna, hoping he catches her intent.
When she hears Samen's reply she speaks to it, "What was your plan at the inn yesterday?"
"Start to confuse all of you.
No questions, only agreement with me.
Take command. Report back to my father's home."
Osna whisles and goes on in sylph: "So that's what they wanted. Recruit us against our will and bring us back ot their headquarters. Would that be the v'Apore house? Should we ask it for a confirmation?"
"I'm not sure it knows his father's name or is willing to answer. So, maybe we could ask him to describe the exact path from the Inn to his father's house ? Or the exact location of his father's house?"
Rather than answer, Wamblee suddenly says, "I feel ill at ease around this creature. I will take Iniga and patrol the area. Do not worry; I will stay within sight."
Phon tries to think, though the link clouds her judgement and her ability to speak. This kind of magic, it wasn't natural and required energy from all of Them to succeed... Or she hoped at least.
Shaking off Wamblee's hand, Iniga turns around. In a bright, flaming voice, the Red-Tongue skald intones, "Creature! Where will the Lady have her vengeance upon your maker?"
Under such an assault, even the hard rock core is reduced to ash. Rather than blow away in the springtime wind gusts, however, the ash follows a slow, deliberate path. A path to vengeance.
Osna perks up as he eventually understands the message of the ashes. "You're right, let's follow them. But be wary that they're going to lead us into danger."
While following the ashes, Osna still looks around to try to avoid ambudshes, especially if they enter more seedy parts of town or get close to v'Apore known establishments.
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Osna, you skillfully follow the shifting ash with sylph-sharp eyes; your familiarity with the city herself makes the entire endeavor a mere morning warmup. You have plenty of mental space to worry about how Phon Vos has conjured some sort of fell ash creature to do her bidding. Or Iniga speaking for the Cauldron Lady. Or that killer smoke Abby Gale thing...
Regardless. You follow the burned, dead remains of a stitched abomination.
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Phon Vos was used to this. She had felt the taint before and clamped down on her resolve. She was not going to let some lead leave, like literal dust in the wind.
As Phon Vos retains utter control of the necromantic ritual, Iniga's face smiles. Her voice--entwined with a subtle dark harmony--says, "Good."
Past the Welcome Gate, the bronze efreeti upon the Gate grinning;
East down Sweet Street, the smell of early morning pastries in your nose;
-the ash always stays just ahead, taunting, leading-
Down a back alley here, looping in on itself and back around there;
And the Grand Temple seems to watch you as you run about the northern end of town, invisible obsidian eyes.
Into the Military District, passing Contrition Hall. The lengthy barracks--built to symbolize the paladin's long journey, or so the legends say--is quiet, unlike the rest of the hungry, waking city. A period of contemplation perhaps?
The trail of ash gives a short hop in the air as if to shrug, and moves on, toward the heart of the district.
Another steam-hiss, somehow melancholy, escapes the skull that Phon Vos carries. The language carries an almost musical quality, but in a pitch not suited for the elen ear. Instead, all you hear is a coarse shifting, like waves upon a rocky beach.
"আমার দাম কি দেবে? আমি যখন আপনাকে সেই জায়গায় নিয়ে যাব, আপনি কি আমাকে ক্ষমা করবেন এবং আমাকে ঘুমাতে দিন?"
"Will my price paid? When I take you to the place, will you forgive me and let me sleep?"
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Feeling the sound of Samen echoing, almost like being in an underwater cave, she is just able enough to hear him translate.
"I do not know if I have the power to forgive you, but I do. Things are more complicated than they must be and I am truly sorry for this magic. When we are done, return to whence you came so one day you can be enkindled again."
Osna breathes a little more easily as they turn away from the Obsidian Mansions but keep an eye on any watchman that could be interested in their activities.
First past the infantry barracks, organized into unimaginative patterns. The lanes and streets are crowded, no surprise with the Wargames in town. The ash remains ahead of you, easily ignored among the other detritus of the city. You see several makeshift brutbreve games in progress, and also a few fistfights somewhat masked as scrimmages. The beer tents and ale halls do a brisk trade.
Away from loud crowds of ifrits. East, and also edging toward the northern wall. The hideous chemical stench of Tanner's Avenue hits you like pogona urine. No lingering onlookers here.
Beyond this reeking border, now orderly lines of sylphs: healers, fletchers, tinkers, repairsmiths, and more. Your motley group draws more attention in this place, but you are quickly past, now dashing around the Healing Square and its somber hospitals.
You come to the ruins of Baile Ard, the High Place, or the God Town, depending on the translation from Sylph. Acres of broken pedestals and columns that used to reach for communion with Sky, now just another ancient grave marker for Fallen Sky.
Samen sniffs distastefully as they pass the tanners, intrigued by the spiritual interaction between Phon and the creature's remains.
As naïve as she is, there's no denying her power. She has somehow convinced the greater elementals to give voluntarily what I take by force. I wonder what they're gaining in return.
"This place makes sense for a conspiracy attempting to remain discreet, but less so for a cabal of nobles. Perhaps they're not as well established as we initially feared."