"Place's isn't quite as well preserved down here..."
Luke considered the collapsed wall, its masonry spilled out over the stairs along with dirt and sand like so many autumn leaves. Well, that was a comparison that might apply in sensible nations with actual vegetation, anyway. Seriously, who chose to settle down in the geographic equivalent of a litter box?
No, never mind his entirely legitimate grievances with Osirion for now, the young man thought. It was that sunken wall that concerned him. Should they be expecting a cave-in?
"You were talking about tunneling beetles earlier, right Djehuti?" Was this their handiwork? Or was the collapse entirely natural? And more to the point, was this passage in danger of further sinking? The Taldan didn't know much about engineering, but he knew to be cautious. "Might be an idea for only one of us to test these stairs..."
With that he took some cautious steps down.
As Luke takes the first few steps down the corridor, himself, Amal, and Djefedre all notice a shifting of sand and earth near the mass of tunnels and broken stone. A serpentine form rises from the ruined section, its gravelly voice hissing at Luke as he steps into the descending hallway.
"I dunno, do we have any rope le...? Whoa now!"
The limbs flew into position: the torch-bearing arm up for maximum visibility, the sword-bearing arm out for defense. The pose was almost enough to remind one of that nursery rhyme about the teapot. No, no time for Taldan low poetry. No time for anything that didn't encompass fight or flight, in fact. The reply to the aasimar was cut short by startled alarm, Luke noticing... something shifting in the ruined corridor. The heck was that? Some sort of sand coated snake?
More vermin, that's what it was. This was the young man's conclusion in the scant seconds afforded before the thing struck. And so he decided to dispatch it in the same way they'd done the rest.
"Shush yourself," he countered at the creature's hiss in navigating the stair's rubble as quickly as his long legs could manage. Shadows swayed to and fro as the torch went clattering down a few steps, discarded so that the Taldan could strike out with his sword with all the force his arms could muster.
"That's a !"
"Use maces or clubs if you have them! Blades won't hurt it! Water slows it down if anyone has it handy!"
Jolánka darts behind Luke, sheathes her rapier and pulls out her waterskin trying to squirt it at the sand-snake!
It spatters harmlessly on the tomb floor...and some of it on Luke.
The sandling rises from the shallow pile of sand, its vaguely serpentine head opening up to bare gravelly fangs as it attempts to bite Luke.
Succeeding at its bite, Luke feels his body crushed and sanded, leaving a vicious bruise underneath his clothing and armor.
Djehuti pulls out their waterskin and squirts it at the creature.
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"Use maces or clubs if you have them! Blades won't hurt it! Water slows it down if anyone has it handy!"
[/ooc]
Water. Heh.
"I have them," Amal drops his scimitar, and grabs their mace. Looks like they were right to buy multiple weapons.
Keeping his eyes locked in on the snake, they follow his movements, waiting for an opening. The way it moves side to side is almost hypnotic, and Amal's breathing almost imperceptibly slows. They feel a light buzzing in their ears that completely blocks out whatever his teammates are screaming. The sharp outlines of the world seem to fade away, leaving only indistinct blurs and a dancing prey in front of their eyes - as if they were underwater. They feel nothing but a complete and almost surreal calm.
Suddenly, in one swift movement, they strike - a second too late. Sand shifts and contorts around their weapon, rebuilding the body of the snake even as they try to destroy it. Next time.
Slow to act, Seneheb follows the others into the combat. Thanks to Djehuti, he now knows his mace should be an optimal weapon against the creature. He strides in, using his speed to give his weapon momentum as he smashes the mace against the elemental.
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It spatters harmlessly on the tomb floor...and some of it on Luke.
"PFFT, what're you playing at, Dame?!" a spluttering Taldan hollered as that keen concentration both product and requirement for battle was unexpectedly broken. By a shower to the face of all things. An answer came by way of the elf. Water slows it down?
Chin still dribbling, Luke's eyes darted back to the twisting sand lash that was their foe. Hell's horses, this wasn't just some bizarre desert predator camouflaged in sand, was it? This thing was actually made out of sand! No wonder Amal's blade had slipped through it harmlessly. Well then. Water and blunt weapons, eh?
Few were the enemies that waited while their opponents strategized, however. And this elemental was no exception. Before the young man could decided on a course of action, it leapt forward, amorphous form splitting apart mid-jump to envelop his middle. Then, like a constricting anaconda, it crushed. "Grah!" Luke nearly heard - certainly felt - his ribs creak. For a moment he experienced the strange sensation of being caught in some horrid amalgam of quicksand and a giant vice, one he wouldn't recommend anyone.
The next second, the creature darted back in avoiding yet more blows from the so-called Vulture Court. This left a hurting foreigner still reeling. Though not for long. While far from vindictive, the man had his pride. He wasn't one to let a blow go unanswered. Heck, this was partly why he was here in Osirion: just recompense. This was to say that far from being deterred by his aching side, Luke was only more determined to see this beastie fall. How to aid in this was the question. He carried no club or the like.
But Luke was nothing if not a blunt instrument himself.
He didn't lash out. The group had it cornered up against the broken wall; the creature couldn't escape. He could afford to wait for the right moment. More to the point, he needed that opportune moment. The blasted thing was quick, coiling and undulating like only a sentient pile of sand could. He needed the right opening to strike back. What was it Djehuti had said about water?
Suddenly the cleric conjured a great jet of the stuff and with it said opportunity. Heavy and cumbersome as waterlogged clothing could be, the effect was that much stronger when the saturated something was what passed for one 'flesh'. As soon as the elemental was doused, Luke struck, hoping to squash the now hopefully sluggish serpent's head between an errant brick and his fist.
"Sorry!" Jolánka barks as she steps around Luke and begins chanting, attempting to conjure water similar to Djedefre, but if they're prayers, they're not ones the priest recognizes.
The spell fizzles and she only manages a puff of mist.
Djefedre's orison granted from Ra causes water to manifest and soak the sand and gravel creature, weighing and slowing it down for both Senemheb and Luke to land blows. The occultist's mace takes a sizeable chunk from the sandling's head, while Luke's bodily blow sunders much of the serpentine body. However, the thing still holds a shape.
It is slowed, so it only is able to attempt another bite, this time at Senemheb. Even with the slowed condition, its bite crushes the occultist in its jaws.
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Battle had a curious way of stretching seconds into eternities. A result of the hyperactive mind, one supposed, more anxious and alert in life-or-death combat than anywhere else. A blessing from Gorum he had once heard it described by a holy man looking for a fight. A simple bodily humor - adrena-mill or something - a scoffing alchemist had called it. Luke didn't know the truth of it. Luke didn't care. But whatever the reason, watching bleeding Senemheb tumble to the dusty ground felt like it took eons.
"Oh, crud," the Taldan breathed though clenched teeth as the unconscious ally finally fell prone. That was one man down. And he'd find company down there soon enough unless they managed to put an end to this serpentine horror quickly.
Putting thought into action, Luke jabbed out with his sword, not aiming to cut. No, that approach had already been proven useless. Instead he aimed it at one coil of the now mud-like snake, momentarily pinning it in place and halting its constantly swaying form. It was the opening he needed. One hefty boot came crushing down like an anvil, squashing their opponent.
Their plan to wet down the sandling with water going nowhere, Djehuti drops their waterskin and pulls a simple sling off their waist.
As the chamber is briefly filled with noonday sunlight from Djefedre's channel, Luke and Amal scatter the sandling's body across the stairs. The elemental falls apart in moist clumps without voice or dying breath. Senemheb comes to as combat ends, appearing as if he had crawled across the shore of the River Sphinx, coated in wet sand. Catching your breath, nothing else seems to rise to challenge you in this slightly sloping stairway.
"Oof, that thing hit hard..." Senemheb groans. He doesn't even remember falling down. Last thing he remembers is the sand and gravel jaws enclosing on him, and next waking up on the tomb floor, surrounded by golden light. And a world of hurt right now. Like every bone in his body broken.
"I suppose it you, Djedefre, I should thank for my life..." he looks at the priest, feeling the source of the healing light.
It was almost anticlimactic. As the muddy elemental finally fell beneath the repeated blows, it didn't even have the decency of providing some gore for their efforts, not even a death rattle. The Taldan wasn't particularly bloodthirsty as scrappers went, but simply seeing this opponent practically disappear, melding into the already dirt-littered stairs in becoming just a few more sand piles there? Where was the catharsis in that?
The flash of light from the priest chased away these thought. Pure positive energy was known to affect the mind as well as the body, and as the young's man bruises faded, so too did these vindictive inclinations. Old Akhentepi's funerary dress was all the reward that mattered. Even if Senemheb's sorry state took precedence at the moment.
"Hells below, Sen," he huffed, not quite having caught his breath yet. "Thought we lost you there for a second. You alright?" The query was no curtesy; the man didn't look alright.
Luke extended a hand to Senemheb, hoping to get him back up on his feet. "Good effort on the water ploy," he said more generally. In the turmoil, he wasn't entirely sure who it was who managed to douse the thing. "That was an elemental, right? Do those just rove the sands around here?"
Seeing that Senemheb was recovering, Djehuti picks their waterskin back up and dusts it off. They shake their head in response to Luke's question. "They are most often seen as summoned creatures in response to a magical spell. They only rarely come to this plane naturally. A rare sighting, indeed," they say as they finally arrange their gear back to an acceptable state and pull out their notebook to write down the encounter.
Jolánka raises an eyebrow at Djehuti's statement.
"Rare? I'd have thought it was more common here than anywhere else on Golarion, given the historical accounts of Osirion's pharaohs making pacts with elemental powers. The Ruby Prince's greatest claim to fame has been the revitalization of those pacts in the modern era, and that elemental beings even serve as advisors in his court! I guess the accounts of a land coursing with elemental power, sandy elementals of earth and air roving the desert as dust devils, water elementals lounging in the reeds along the River Sphinx and greeting farmers on the floodplain, they are exaggerated? I wish the same could be said for my homeland. Everything horrible you've heard about Ustalav is true, and in fact might be even worse."
She begins taking notes of her own once more.
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Djedefre nods at Jolanka, "Much of what one sees and experiences depends on location and the power and access of the individuals involved. But I suppose that's true elsewhere too."
Djedefre also takes notes, writing down all of the information about the creature, while waiting to see how Senemheb and Luke recover.
"Thank you, Luke." Senemheb grabs the foreigner's hand, and hoists himself up. Gritting his teeth, he manages to stand, but the hurt is there. "It hurts, but I'll survive. Perhaps I just need to get used to this, in this line of work."
Once he feels stable enough to stand on his own, he takes up on Djedefre's advice to drink a healing draft. He digs up one such potion, and gives it swirl before downing it.
A tingling sensation begins in his belly, and starts spreading all over his body - washing away the cuts and bruises as it goes.
"Hoo... That was a potent draft! I feel as the fight never happened at all!"
"Rare? I'd have thought it was more common here than anywhere else on Golarion, given the historical accounts of Osirion's pharaohs making pacts with elemental powers. The Ruby Prince's greatest claim to fame has been the revitalization of those pacts in the modern era, and that elemental beings even serve as advisors in his court! I guess the accounts of a land coursing with elemental power, sandy elementals of earth and air roving the desert as dust devils, water elementals lounging in the reeds along the River Sphinx and greeting farmers on the floodplain, they are exaggerated? I wish the same could be said for my homeland. Everything horrible you've heard about Ustalav is true, and in fact might be even worse."
She begins taking notes of her own once more.
Djehuti raises their head from their notebook to look back at Jolánka. "Interesting. There are wild elementals in the most remote parts of Osirion- the deep desert, the Footprints of Rovagug, the underdunes- but those are also places humans find difficult to live. The elemental clans around Tumen are fascinating but I know little about them other than they are dangerous to mortals. To be frank, the accounts you mentioned sound more like the Impossible Kingdoms of Vudra than Osirion. Perhaps whoever told you these tales conflated the two?"
"Huh." The Taldan wasn't sure what else to say as the answer to whether Osirion's deserts were infested with elementals was a definitive 'maybe'. One of those things untrue until a very real bloke made out of fire hopped out of a heat shimmer to roast you with very real flames, he supposed. This country, honestly... Treasure seeker that he was, Luke had gotten ample warning not to let his pursuits lead him into the deep desert ever since arriving here. That it was a harsh place likely to end the average person - even before one laid eyes on the harsher things that dwelled there. He had no particular wish to test such tales. And the new thought that the very dunes themselves might rise in offence at his intrusion only added to this reticence.
"Not common, then?" he concluded at the academic dispute. "Well, let's see if we can't defy those odds."
Because why shouldn't there be a horde of elemental somethings waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, the young man's black cynicism foretold even as his feet ventured down. The magic obviously hadn't faded from that ancient potion; Senemheb looked right as rain again. What better time to walk into a death trap than while they still had their strength? Luke descended the half-collapsed steps cautiously.