Sebastion's attention was fixed on the imminent 'danger', and too late he remembered the maxim 'one guardian's eye must always be on his temple...'. The muttered words and sudden feeling of cold on the back of his thighs turned him around in time to stare down into the bottle as the mists began to swirl.
"Morag's Teeth" he swore, stepping away from the billowing fog, knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip on the two-bladed sword he held. "Bloody chicken-brained woman!" he blurted, backing away. The lack of any overt hostility robbed his vituperative of some of its justification - not all, by his thinking, but some - and he spun on his heel with a fierce glower, stalking away to the nether reaches of the dark hall for a while, as magic crackled, and hulking insects became 'donkey's, and the like.
In the darkness, however, he bit his lip and swore as much at himself for the outburst as at them for their actions - at her... That was the key, he realised, eventually. Not that it had been done, but that it had been her... he'd actually thought he was beginning to...
Beginning to what? he demanded of himself. Beginning to understand? She's a damned witch! Beginning to like her... you're just another hired flamin' sword... Time to wake up, Sebastion...
Returning to the group as the discussion turned towards what they could glean from this creature by way of information, but Sebastion looked to the practicalities, spying the stranger and the donkey stood before the crates of blackpowder.
"What do we do about that?" he asked of the others, doing his level best to ignore the dog-faced stranger in the odd dress. "There's too much for the donkey to carry. If we burn it we risk bringing down whatever lies above us in the city. If we leave it, those who stayed away through fear of Cancer will come to claim it, and we may have loosed a different danger upon the city."
Am I just looking for something to justify my outburst? he wondered, as eyes turned in his direction, Or do I actually have a point?
Wyshira didn't care about the mysterious black powder everyone seemed to be so concerned about. And she wasn't that interested in the books and papers, or the gems and coins that lay around the place in piles either. Now that they had discovered some of the history of the Voice-in-a-Jar, she was immensely curious about it, and was glad when Melisande finally took matters into her own hands and cracked the seal.
Now she stood in awe, her eyes wide with wonder and her lips still slightly parted from her startled intake of breath. A seer! And a strange being from an ancient race as well... Imagine if she had a few moments alone to talk to him. There was much that she might learn! She tried to catch Kale's eye. Did he see the opportunity here before them? Burl had the right idea, but the wrong question, as he immediately asked the seer if he knew where Cancer's spellbook was. Finding out about the mage's spellbook was all well and good, but there were other, deeper mysteries to be solved. She hoped that Sebastian's outburst wouldn't put Ak'mun'tep off. What was the matter with that man anyway? Chicken-brained woman??? She had to wonder all over again about the odd relationship between the mercenary and the sorceress.
She didn't wonder long though. She saw her opportunity slipping away. "Excuse me!" she interrupted, surprising herself with her own boldness. She hesitated, taking a moment to work up her courage to go on. "Would you mind very much if we asked you some questions?"
The jackal-headed seer peered imperiously at Melisande. She felt the sapphire eyes lock with her, and could not help but shiver - not because it emoted fear or nausea, but because those eyes seemed so deep in their blue, so pure and endless, full with a limitless intellect that she knew must dwarf hers.
Ak'mun'tep smiled.
"I cannot stay, young..." His smile faltered, and was replaced by a quizzical look. "... celestial-child? Or god-blood? No, not a god-blood, but a... wait... what are you?" He was almost whispering now. "Shadows?"
He shook his head back to attention as the others plied him with questions. "Cancer's spellbook is in his residence," he said off-handedly without paying much attention to Burl, as he looked instead to Wyshira after her more penetrating question. Once again he set those deep eyes upon the genasi, analysing her minutely. "I can answer you some questions, to the best of my abilities - and my knowledge about this world is limited by centuries of captivity in a pot. But I cannot stay and enjoy any hospitality, there is much I have to do. I will gift you with some information for freeing me."
"As for the smokepowder, soldier, the two I summoned are more than capable of taking it with them; their forms belie their true strength." The man sniffed the air absently, the donkey brayed irritably. "And will be able to defend you at a pinch if anyone sets upon you during your travel to your residence." The seer moved his gaze to Sebastion, scrutinising the man's features. "Remember that not all is as it appears to be," he said slyly.
"Now, your questions.. hurry with them, I shall answer only a few. Things move fast in this world you know, and soon enough others shall know of my return. And those servants will only hang around for a while before they return to their home, which would be a mishap for you."
Oh, thought Wyshira, disappointed. Well, she would give her questions a try anyway.
"Thank you, o wise Lord Ak'mun'tep." The priestess composed herself, raising her head and looking directly into the seer's unsettlingly deep eyes. She managed to project an air of quiet calm and dignity, despite the fact that she was bedraggled, rain-soaked, and drenched in blood.
Realizing that the questions she had about Burl might reveal more to Ebri, Sebastian, and Melisande than the crew was ready to divulge at this time, Wyshira stepped away from the others and spoke softly as she stood next to the seer.
"My friend here," she indicated the necromancer with a slight nod of her head, "has become embroiled in troubles that he does not understand. Numerous parties seem to be interested in capturing or killing him, from one of the powerful ruling families of Iril, to mysterious assassins, to well-armed members of the clergy of Toran.
"Can you tell us what they all want with him? Does it have anything to do with the feeling of corruption that my other companion, the dwarf here, senses in the land, especially in the Drakkath?"
The jackal-headed figure smiled slyly as he leaned forwards to whisper quietly into Wyshira's ear, jewellry spinning and glinting from his movement. "If you care for wisdom, priestess, consider your goddess and listen to words from the air. What does anyone want with anyone else? An advantage. An advantage in this great interplay of complex desires and designs, interlocking cogs spinning; in which certain gears wish to become dominant, to drive the others. As for corruption, that is a relative term, though I would consider that perhaps in this wondrous weave of designs I find myself within now I have returned, Burl might be, in a form or way, linked to what you call the corruption; but only in a... circumstantial way. I wonder..."
And then, Wyshira heard more words, as if floating from the air itself into her head. Know this, that to know whay Burl is pursued by some and sought out by others is to know more than he himself knows, to know more than even those of his bloodkin know, yet. Yet. But they will know before too long, I have no doubt.
Ak'mun'tep gave her a dazzlingly charming smile for someone with the head of a jackal.
I think I owe a few updates for not doign so for quite a while.
