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The undine looks toward Samen and the strange words he's using, "I can't speak for what my fellows will be doing, but I think that we need to bring you to justice for what abominable work you've tried."
The warpriest wasn't sure about how this would work, but she looked at the salamander. "In this case I think justice lies with them." She points the polearm at the snake-headed creature, "And they can choose."
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Osna snorts: "You mean help you with what? Our captain is dead. You tricked us into having to fight his offspring by doing a botched job. And all of that because you wanted to "do better" and outsmart the rest of your family. Because you lost money when the Steams went down!"
He spits on the ground: "Grow a spine! Your kind have been sucking the blood of the city for generations. I've seen starving kids on the street when your kind just pass by. And you want me to feel pity for a spoiled brat like you? This is all your doing and you'll have to live or die by it. But I'm not going to lift a finger for you."
Kessh-Amon is still for several moments, considering. In tortured Common, it says, "He will have forever to regret his life in the slavepits of Incus. Perhapss being trapped and humiliated on this cold plane of existence will make it all the worse when he finally does die. I give you permission to take this slave to your elens of law, and throw him in a dungeon."
The second head speaks, as if thinking completely different thoughts. Looking at the crumbling skull Phon Vos still holds, it says, "This offspring was meant to battle the offspring of Moon. Stone to crush silver. The loss is too much. Punish this one and we will thank you."
It turns away, slithering to the northern exit of the chamber. A dull red glow issues from the crevice.
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Samen shouts at the creature in Exhume as it makes its exit. "You have respected us by honoring our traditions, Kessh-Amon. Know that you have allies here in your opposition to Moon. If it pleases you, I may call on you when an opportunity to strike at him arises."
Four yellow eyes turn toward you, lanterns shining in the darkness. It nods, then it is gone.
"I would leave this place now, companions." Wamblee's calm mein is troubled, clearly discomfited by the salamander.
Stone to crush Silver? Meant to combat moon?
Phon breathes and looks at the skull, "I'm ready to take him to be mete with justice, but I would also like to bury this. I have my word to keep and they led us here."
v'Apore is groaning in pain. There is two large bumps on his forehead - bruises of some kind? His hand is swelling and all his fingers are a light purple.
"Wamblee, would you help us put this child of Volcano to rest? I believe your fingers will do the job."
Though Iniga's meaning might be unclear to a more cynical ear, Wamblee can only interpret her words in one way. He kneels down, flexes his fingers, then claws into the earth with his bare hands.
After a grueling two driblets of work, there is now a respectable hole in the tunnel floor. Beside it lies the product of Wamblee's efforts: a pile of rubble, strange fist-sized stones that all bear finger-shaped gouges.
Wamblee's breathing is labored, but he says nothing. He gives a respectful nod to Phon Vos.
Samen, simultaneously excited and horrified, cannot contain his curiosity about the trans-elenist specimen before him. He casts detect elemental, to see if the change in his nature was instantaneous with a gradual physical transition, or if his elenity would slowly seep away as the body changes.
Much of this could be useful in my own studies. Perhaps I can learn more about how to make more permanent changes.
He goes over to the traumatized creature, no longer fit to be called an ifrit. "Your master meted out a punishment perhaps worse than death. Would you like to face the truth like an elen, or would you prefer the relative bliss of ignorance?"
v'Apore catches Osna's eye. "What is he talking about?" He seems to prefer not to look at Samen.
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Phon puts the el to rest. "You held up your end, and we can hold up ours."
Not focused on Samen, the priestess gives a prayer in a tongue befitting of the earth and flame, hoping to bridge the gaps between the two and allow refuge for the el who's skull they held in captivity.
There is no direct reaction to your prayers, save what might have been a quiet sigh from the skull. You feel at peace for a moment, before the past and the present intrude on your thoughts.
Wamblee gently places the rocks atop the skull; ashes to ashes, and living stone returns to dead stone.
Samen nods at the non-answer. "So be it. You'll find out soon enough."
"Samen? What do you mean?"
She was still unsure about him, and had hoped this foray would have made things a little easier... But that wasn't the case. Maybe it was her faith being tested in this place, or the fact that what she thought she knew was much less than what she actually knew... She had hoped she did right by the gods.
"I'm ready to leave this stuffy tunnel. You have no clue what it feels like in plate."
"Oof. That must be unpleasantly damp, even for an Undine. Let's get out of here."
On the way out, Samen pulls Phon aside and quietly explains the noble's ignoble fate. "I believe Kessh-Amon has afflicted our friend with an elemental curse. He will slowly take the form of a lesser Salamander, devoid of will or ambition, drained of his elenity. His soul is as forfeit as his life."
"Oof. That must be unpleasantly damp, even for an Undine. Let's get out of here."
On the way out, Samen pulls Phon aside and quietly explains the noble's ignoble fate. "I believe Kessh-Amon has afflicted our friend with an elemental curse. He will slowly take the form of a lesser Salamander, devoid of will or ambition, drained of his elenity. His soul is as forfeit as his life."
She listened quietly to Samen.
Taking a breath she almost looked back, but decided against it, there wasn't much she could do.
"So be it. Though souls... Let us not mess with that cycle should we have to."
You make your way discreetly back through the northern edge of the city, away from ashyards. You smell sweat as you pass the army barracks, then a wonderful rush of baking bread fills the air as you pass into Middleplace. You leave by the Welcome Gate, the same bronze efreeti faces grinning down from fanciful metalwork that adorns the tall double-doors.
The crowds are enormous, both inside the city and out. You pass by traders, farmers, and most of all-- soldiers. Soldiers drinking, looking for food, laughing, and more drinking. Several new brutbreve fields have been dug around the outskirts of Hearth, well away from the walls. Wooden stands are filled with spectators who watch the practice matches with glee. Loud cheers or groans of disappointment wash over the general murmuring of the crowds now and then as the games progress.
All the sounds and smells of the Wargames festival fade as you leave the gates and the walls behind; soon, you are past the last inn and a few intrepid food vendors, then you are into farmland. You see the signs of many companies, such as yourselves, that are taking up residence in the surrounding area. You see the presence of all three branches of fritan military: cavalry, foot soldiers, and paladins. Rumor has it all three Commanders of Forge have come to visit Hearth, bringing much of their strength to bear. As far as any of you know, a visit by all three leaders has never happened before.
Finally you reach your own camp -- your scouts and sentries are in good form, asking for hand signals at first as well as the most recent passcodes as you approach.
v'Apore looks at Samen as they approach the spike-topped holding pens of the Happy Swords. They are currently empty, except for two drunken Swords that are sleeping off their merriment.
"Gold. Jewels. Eles. Or...what do you want? More magic tattoos? I'm sure my father can find you- agh!" His desperate speech is cut off as he clutches his purpling hand in agony.
"Anything! Don't leave me here!"
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Samen lets out a raspy baritone laugh. "I'm flattered that you'd think to bribe me! Two things I would ask to satisfy justice: Restore to us our captain, and bring back the weapon against Moon. Besides, nothing I can offer you can truly help you."
When handing him off to the guards, "Don't bother with handcuffs or shackles. They'll be useless when his arms fall off."
As Samen walks away from v'Apore's succulent despair, Abbygailiwy slithers out of her wooden home. "I am hungry. Shall we dine and celebrate justice and vengeance done?"
"Ahh, nice of you to join us. I wondered if you would have words with Kessh-Amon, but I suppose it worked out okay in the end."
Samen requests a tent and sets up a campfire within it, being sure to soak the wood first, to slow the burn and increase the smoke.
He turns to Osna, hoping to peak his interest. "Feeding an elemental is an ... interesting affair." He grins playfully at Abby. "I would teach you how to partake of an alien essence, should you be interested. I believe you have the aptitude. If not, this tent will quickly become unbearably smoky for anyone else. Knock if you need us."
Phon double checks the el in bondage despite Samen's jest, "Protocol." She was still unsure how she felt about them becoming something they were not... It gave her flashbacks to what might have happened to her and she resolved to pray on it in the evening.
"And what now? We need a plan for the morrow, it would be foolish to dine and party when there is treachery afoot."
"We all must eat, Phon Vos. If Samen does so more...flamboyantly than others, he means no harm by it."
Osna observes Samen 'feeding' the strange, fickle creature for a moment, curious. "It's a handsome offer, you've clearly got quite a command of elemental binding. Let's say for now I'll think on it." He smiles genially and leaves them to it.
"Phon, after we grab a haunch of whatever meat happens to be burning, what say we start preparing for our meeting tonight? I trust my old boss, but who's to say if she's not another possessed monster?" He laughs, but there is a nervous quality to it - the memory of Captain Marg's skin flayed open still too raw.
"Fair enough." Her stomach wasn't feeling too good, but she didn't have the appetite after dealing with what she dealt.
"Sounds right. Sometimes duty blinds me to what we actually need." She begins to think out loud, "I have some room for prayers for the day, perhaps we can plan out our attack and I can adapt accordingly."
Phon Vos moves to find something to eat, she was hoping for fish, but at this point, all the self-consciousness brought her to the point where she was hungry.
You find a crude table--really just logs--to sit with your food. Phon Vos managed to find fish roasting on one of the spits, and there is a variety of pork and pogona for the rest of you. Wamblee eats rocks, while Iniga picks at carrots and pork.
Ozhna looks around, absently magicking pieces of sliced apple through the air and into his mouth. His sylph eyes glitter as his Sight peers at both the magic and the mundane.
He waves. "Gabriel, it's good to see a face I trust. Come share our luxurious log table!"
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Abnaki wanders, offering a kind word, or a friendly greeting to anyone who looks like they might be feeling a bit down. He had just got back from a mission himself; it had not gone well, but there was no need for that to burden anyone other than him, and besides, these rocks were far inferior to the ones his mother used to make for him.
He stops and grins when he sees Phon Vos, sitting at a table. He had worked with the undine before, and they had at least pretended to be interested in the epics he would tell around the campfire. Or maybe they had just fallen asleep. In any case, it was good to see familiar faces return. Too often Abnaki had found only a blood-soaked fragment of clothing in place of a smiling face.
"What ho, Phon! If you'd be as so kind as to skootch over a little bit, I'd be glad to sit beside you, and if you'd be even kinder by introducing me to your companions, I'd be even more glad!"
The oread that you see before you is thin and lean, unusual for his race. Despite this, he is well toned, and carries himself with exceptional poise. His grin is only slightly mischievous as he approaches the logs. He carries a large spear, with a tattered banner bearing the Happy Swords emblem upon his back, and wears a well-polished chain shirt. Although his skin looks similar to most oreads, the cuts and bruises he still carries from his last assignment glitter strangely in the firelight, as if they were made of crystal, instead of flesh, or even stone.
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A younger male Ifrit dressed in A breastplate of whiteish metal and underneath a blueish Gambeson, Charcoal black hair, Deep blue eyes and black veins covering his chest, arms and a single vein going across his left eye. The Veins, make his skin look like charred lumber, Walks over quietly.
" Ozhna...It is good to see you as well." He says little other than the simple greeting, His posture suggests a more tame manner, "I have little to do at the moment, i suppose i can join"
Gabriel sits down, it'ss a few moments before he realizes perhaps a proper greeting is in order, "I am Gabriel Izalith, Formerly of house Izalith. Thank you for allowing me to join you in this moment." He gives a quick polite bow, he sets down a Sheathed Long curved sword for comfort.
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"Listen Gabriel- we've had some real trouble just now, and I'm not talking about that damned Moon-thing up in the Sky. We need to gather our wits and make sure we don't end up with more dead captains and mind control cac going on around here."
Wamblee is a very quiet, very thick-skinned oread. He carries no weapons. He stands up slowly, like a tree growing toward peaklight, and bows politely to Gabriel and Abnaki. "I am Wamblee of the Tribe of Peace. Though I am not formally part of your mercenary company, I have heard good things about you from my cousin Iniga. I am happy to meet you." His tone is that of reserve and calm.
A beautiful ifrit with cascasding red hair looks distantly over your shoulder at Volcano, the peaklight reflecting in her glassy eyes. "Iniga, cousin to Wamblee and Samen." Despite her faraway look, her tone is warm and welcoming. "I feel myself drawn to the Cauldron Lady's service of late. You might say I sometimes act as her voice."
Samen emerges from the makeshift hotbox, smoke curling off his hairless charred skin. He moves to join the others and notices the new folks sitting with his friends.
"Greetings. My name is Samen. I'm sorry for the loss of your captain."
"So i have heard, a lot is going on." his tone is somewhat detached tone, his good hand wanders to his blackened veins.
"The inquisition is in hiding as well " he has a small smirk at the mention, "As said, it is good to meet you all as well... Their is much going on, many dead and many more in chaos "
Samen notes Gabriel's veins, clearly a mark of being touched by Darkness. "Good thing for you about the inquisition, no? Those who hold too tightly to their dogmas tend to become worse than what they fear. Is your blood intentional, or merely a battle scar?"