Elois peers at the scimitar. "Directed... by Sarenrae... to..." He turns around abruptly, looking back to the ruined altar and mosaic sun. He clears his throat and turns back. "Ah, yes, it does have something of Her light about it, doesn't it. I... am afraid I don't have much knowledge of swords, but... If it as significant as you suggest, perhaps we can learn something about it from the cards. The--" He breaks off, and his face falls. "No, no," he says softly, "The cards burned." He looks glumly down at the sword, his blackened fingers twitching. "Well... The crystal ball then," he offers, "It, at least, could not burn." He pats a bulging pouch at his belt.
"But... Not here I think." He gestures down into the nave, where animals are milling about as Hadrod and Hadrah unpack the expedition's gear, and the guards and mercenaries come in and out hauling bedding and equipment. The gesture also encompasses the chapel behind him. "Somewhere quieter, smaller. Let's see... The room with the colorful pictures, I think. It is pleasantly out of the way, and it reminds me of home." He gestures for Father Zastoran and Valik to precede him.
The three borrow some cushions from the pile of gear in the nave, and are soon seated in a triangle in the northeast shrine, with the scimitar on the unrolled tent between them. The air is thick with incense, which the fortune teller procured from somewhere.
He removes the crystal ball from its pouch and gazes into it, and begins to speak in a droning monotone, "I see... a fog, and walking out of the fog, a man. A young man, with hair the color of the sun. He is..." his grip on the ball tightens, and his eyes widen, and his voice drops the monotone and takes on a note of panic.
"Flames! Flames all around, it burns, it burns! They are snakes, they are giants, with their wicked faces, their swords, their spears, their knives, their flames! The mountain... The mountain! It is in the mountain. But the flames, the flames, all around the flames!"
"He is fighting the flames, fighting to reach... the mountain. Around him his men are cut down, they fall, burned, burned, burned! He fights on, but he is weak. His sword flashes in the flames, it is a shard of ice, and they fall before it, but there are more, more, always more flames! They consume, they destroy! He falls, and the flames consume him, his sword lies in the ash, but he cannot rest. The mountain... The mountain... Always, he looks to the mountain! He watches it! Its heart burns still, and the flames will come again! They burn everything!"
"Ah! They burn! All around me, the flames! It is burning, burning! The wagon is burning! The wagon is burning! I AM BURNING!"
At this last, the crystal ball drops from his hands to the floor. He looks around him, lost in terror, blackened hands held rigid in the air, shivering. His breath comes in gasps. "I... I... I don't understand. It never... I saw..."
Elois listens to Valik's words, nodding slightly. His eyes seem to focus past Valik, He continues the nodding a little too long after Valik finishes his question.
"Oh! Yes. I mean, no. No, they don't hurt, and I can move them. Father Zastoran's potions have made sure of that." He holds up one hand and wiggles the fingers slowly, awkwardly. "They are a little weak still though." He shrugs, "Time will tell, even if the Dawnflower holds her tongue..." He trails off, and his faraway look returns for a moment, and then he snaps back into focus, looking with surprise at the bundled tent in Valik's arms, as though he hadn't noticed it at all before. Perhaps he hadn't. "What's in the bundle? You hold it like it's a viper."
Garavel returns to the library to help with the cleanup efforts, while Valik and Father Zastoran go in search of Elois. They find him at the entrance to the chapel, staring distractedly at the remains of the pugwampi nest. Now that he is standing, he can be seen to be of average height, but quite thin. He is dressed in colorful robes of a loose Katapeshi cut, but decorated with colorful embroidered images in a Varisian style, reminiscent of the cards of a Harrow deck. The skin of his face is healed, but overly shiny, and traced with fine lines. Whatever he may have looked like before the fire, it seems it has marked him for life. He holds his hands wrapped in his sleeves.
He looks around blankly as the two approach, then turns back to the chapel, saying slowly, "Here is the domain of the Lady of Fire. The Healing Flame, they say. Ha. Ruined, all ruined." He draws his hands out from his robes and holds them in front of him inspecting them as though he does not know what they are. The scarring is even more severe; the hands appear darkened and withered, though it does not seem that they cause him any pain. He shakes his head a little, and turns back to Valik and Father Zastoran, eyes now focused, hands behind his back, and a wry smile on his face. "Ah. Excuse me. I was lost in thought. It has been... A little hard to adjust. But what can I do for you, Valik? Ask anything, and it is yours."
A wry smile comes to the face of the burned fortune-teller. "Ah, you are a Sarenite then. Somehow I doubt that you would so easily be led astray by the revelations of the orb... But no matter." He sets the crystal ball aside. It looks to have been cracked in the fire. Father Zastoran, standing where Elois cannot see, rolls his eyes a little and smiles at Valik. Elois continues, "When I am stronger, I shall recite for you the tale of the epic battle between Sarenrae and Rovagug, when the world was new, as told by the legendary genie princess Shazathared. I think you will like that one. Until then... May you walk in Her light. I will do my best to rest here, in the light of old Father Zastoran's infusions." He winks and relaxes back down onto the cot.
You have some free time to wander around the camp and interact with NPCs as you like. When you're done, we can move on to when Dashki gets back from scouting with his report.
Elois's face, though no longer blackened as it was when he was pulled from the fire the day before, is distorted and wrinkled, the new scar tissue pink and shiny in the dim light. His hair is all gone, even his eyebrows and eyelashes. When he opens his eyes, they appear young, clear and bright, out-of-context in Elois's wrecked visage. His voice is a little hoarse, and he speaks quietly, but without apparent pain, in a rich Varisian accent. "Ah, Valik. My savior! Father Zastoran has told me what you did, and I am grateful. I owe you my life, and this debt I will not forget. I think you have a great destiny before you, and that your participation in this expedition is only the beginning of it." He smiles, bright teeth shining in his ravaged face.
"Alas, I am no warrior to promise you my sword arm, no mage to reward you with spells and wonders, nor even a prince to shower you in gold and riches. No, I am but a humble teller of fortunes and stories, but these treasures I give to you freely; all the more because there is nothing lost in the giving. This land is not the land of my birth, just as I see it is not yours, but I have made a point of collecting its legends, and perhaps I can share some with you. Ah, but not today." He coughs a little. "I fear my voice is still too weak."
"I would read your fortune in the harrow cards, but alas, they were burned in the fire, and it will take some time for me to get a new set, far as we are from civilized markets. However, dear Father Zastoran brought me this, which he found in the ashes of the wagon." An unnaturally wizened hand extends from beneath the blankets, and picks up a crystal ball from beside the cot. "It's a little cracked from the heat, and I am not as skilled in its use as in the Harrow, but perhaps we can learn something from it. What do you say, Valik? Do you dare to look into your future?"
|
