Sarye and Imtithal 6
Mar. 25th, 2010 06:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
leticiaSome more stuff. With bonus fire elemental stats at the end.
Four days ago, Sarye left Imtithal near Chiaroscuro and rode back towards the manse. The F'meeqi trickled in thereafter - not all of them have stayed, but almost all of them, save the ones currently serving the Tri-Khan - have come by to see the holy site, make some prayers, lend a hand to the cleansing, and then go back to the desert.
Part of the library was recoverable, but almost all the furnishings of the original holy spiral have been destroyed; the crafters of the F'meeqi have been busily working to refurbish the rooms. Fortunately, most the side rooms, including the domicile wings, are mostly intact.
Some of the last out of Chiaroscuro arrived this morning, with the two warriors and the herder who rode with Imtithal into Chiaroscuro - or at least close. If Sarye takes any time to talk to them, they'll tell him about her permanent caste mark and her disgruntled decision to just ...vanish.
Sarye has been primarily cleaning, sanctifying, and re-stocking the Manse; not with food, for it has that, but carefully, undercover, from caches in the deep desert, returning ancient relics of the F'meeqi-- and of neighboring tribes whose dead ruins were discovered-- hidden against an Immaculate jihad. If the renewed temple is more eclectic than once it had been, perhaps that is better-- with few unifying themes, it supports a multiplicity of lights, radiances to delight the Unconquered Sun.
Weapons, too, from stockpiles, and in consultation with the women of his tribe, trying to arrange for a few homelike things to be found in the cells and great halls; only the temple will be as stark as it ever was.
The F'meeqi are, of course, keeping a watch, no matter how little or much the temple needs it, and a scout from on top of the manse descends, noting a single rider coming at simhata speed across the sand.
Sarye laughs quietly. "I wonder who," he says. "Is this a shadow on the sand, a thought and a wind?" he asks, and waves cheerfully at his other kin. "Let's get this finished-- but send the children to get salt and drink, fruits from the Providervats; hospitality, whomever it is who rides."
Imtithal arrives swiftly - entirely unescorted, but what escort could keep up with Aurora, with all the F'meeqi out of Chiaroscuro before she left? She is wearing more traditional Delzahn robes again, in elegant white silk, and only a light outer layer, draped over her own armor, though at least for now, she wears the cloak-like Wings on top. It flaps behind her in the wind of her riding, as she has given in to the temptation to race across the desert and let Aurora prove her speed, the great lion-horse tearing across the unpacked sand like no horse would ever dare.
She has a wide smile and is practically laughing from the exhilaration of the ride.
Sarye wears his armor with his helm receded and veil on, as it seems the best compromise between his past and his future, until such time as he comes to the quest. He and the F'meeqi quickly make the place ready to meet her, and as she strikes fast over the shifting sands, he orders the large main doors opened into the main facility.
Imtithal has not seen the main doors open; she brings Aurora to a halt, the mighty lioness-mount dancing on the sand as she watches them opening, and then rides closer in, keeping her simhata to a sedate walk instead of a mad dash. Her usually carefully braided hair is a little mussed from the apparently wild ride across the desert, loose strands of her black hair floating luminously over her wind-flushed, tan cheeks.
She slides off Aurora's back, giving the mount a light kiss on the nose, and - before going to greet any people - makes sure that Aurora has some meat and water.
Corona comes rowling out, faster than his Zenith master. He's fond of Imti, of course, but both are bonded now in different directions, so he merely favors her with a purr and a neigh, and goes to romp with Aurora in greetings, instead.
"Hail, flamewielder! Dagger of Heaven with the hot breath of the Sun himself within your hands! Be welcome to this manse, this fortress, this temple-- thrice do we greet you, and the blessings of the Sun be upon you!" Sarye greets. Tables-- rude and rough for now, for it will take time to civilize the manse properly, are being set behind.
Imtithal laughs at Corona's antics, telling Aurora, "Don't let him wear you out, sweet one; he's surely been idle all day and you've been running hard." She scritches her kitty's ears and turns to Sarye, some of the light of the ride still caught in her eyes' radiant glow. She bows polite greeting to Sarye, her lips quirking up. "I was just here a few days ago," she points out. "Though I don't remember it looking quite like this." She wanders forward a little bit, checking out the changes. "There's less demon, for one thing."
Corona seems energetic enough for the both of them, meowling and whinnying all at one. Sarye laughs. "I think he has much news to impart; and shows it in body as much as in speech." His eyes twinkle over the veil. "And we thank you again for the ridding of the demon," for he still insists on naming the kill hers. "But you have not seen it yet; it will be months-- seasons-- before all of the caches held against future need will be emptied, and this will be home and temple and fastness all. But come, take salt with us, and food and drink, and let us speak?"
Imtithal smiles slightly, and nods, conceding. "Your kin, I take it, see the manse as a positive thing?" she asks, following him in, pushing some of her loose hair back out of her face.
Sarye laughs and smiles as he leads her to the head table and sits. "Indeed. The khan himself is breaking open some of the oldest caches. This is a home, not just a dwelling place. We have few enough."
Imtithal laughs vividly, and settles herself at a seat next to him, taking a quick glance first to see if she need to have any concern about offending someone by her choice of seat. "For what it is worth, I heard no rumors of dread Solars while I was in Chiaroscuro," she says, "though it might be possible such frightening rumors would be kept from such delicate flowers as I and my peers." She smiles dryly. "I also find that I do not have nearly enough jewelry to wear on my forehead." She is not wearing such now, and the thin clean line of her castemark is pale gold against her creamy dark skin; but the F'meeqi know, and who else would she encounter here?
"My kin told me. Blessing as it might be to us..." He smiles. "A wreath of gold suits you, of course, champion of limbs ever limber," he says in aside, "But sometimes blessings are not -always- convenient. There are some shapers of wire and carvers of jewels among my people. Perhaps you would like to speak to them in the matter of tiaras and the like?" he offers.
Imtithal tilts her head to the side. "I commissioned a few pieces before I left Chiaroscuro," she says, "But it would probably be a relief to my sister if I found some more traditional pieces ...with traditional materials," she says, smothering her smile - poorly. The young woman is, of course, used to near constant flattery, and barely pays it note.
Imtithal waves a hand vaguely. "It would be much less bothersome on you, of course. You can get away with the veil and being a man of mystery. But there is no rule saying I can not wear bead-sprays and tiaras and ornamented headbands. Perhaps it will become a fad in Chiaroscuro, if I pull the look off well." She gives another unrestrained smile, wide and golden as the mark on her brow, and helps herself to some of the fresh fruit without hesitation; the desert ride was hot and fast, and she has both a thirst and a hunger, even if Aurora was doing most the work.
Sarye waves off to his kindred who are nearby and takes the bowl of salt from them. "Alduleydda, Mariq's daughter, is cunning with both wire and jewel, and her hands weave as Venus' upon the loom," he says cheerfully. "We will find you things both old and new, rarely seen and desired both, you will see. Would you share salt, then, and be welcome to our hospitality?"
Imtithal may be mildly amused by accepting hospitality from the F'meeq in a manse she half gave to them, but for a moment, she is serious, inclining her head. "I accept your hospitality - again - with gratitude and respect," she says, with all the gravity such a thing deserves. Hospitality is a mighty bond. In memory of an earlier meeting - barely a week gone, now, she is absently rubbing a fingertip against her thumb.
Sarye tastes the salt and waits for Imtithal to do the same. Once she has, the rest of the feast is set before them, and eagerly shared. F'meeqi who are off duty join them, and others will come in and out as the time goes on. "So, then, Eyes-that-See when Shade would Dim, have you found more to send us off again?
Imtithal draws out her parchment recopy of her father's map. "I've done the best I can to compensate for the elemental shifting around the manse. Is this about where your songs tell of this beast and a volcanic ridge?
Sarye sings, and several of the F'meeqi join in as well, harmonizing; the memory of a people in song. "It seems to fit the songs. With a little generosity for metaphor."
He looks over at a cousin, and she laughs. "The Kaudeen were often fond of exchanging dayrides for leagues, yes," she says. "It fits, though I suspect it's as much rhyme as metaphor."
Imtithal nibbles a little on the food, more thirsty than truly hungered. "It's the best fit I can find for a fire manse to support this one," she says. "Of course, I could be entirely wrong and it may be nowhere near, but the hearthstone /was/ here." She's still wearing the hearthstone in the clasp of her Wings, and she brushes it as she says that.
Sarye rubs his chin. "It's sensible enough. If we had a season, a hearthstone compass might be fashioned; thaumaturges can make such a thing. As it is, it's probably all the quicker to ride out and back, even empty handed. And if not..." His veil twitches in bemusement. "Glory and arms before the Unconquered Sun-- the shine that knows no cease.
Imtithal shrugs. "If we don't find it in the local area, we may as well craft such a tool. But it will not hurt us to ride out, and I have not yet seen anything ...darker... to correct." She munches an orange section, licking the sweet juice from her luminous lips. "At the worst, if the beast mentioned in the song still dwells there, we can make part of the desert safer." Definitely much less timid than before the Exaltation.
Sarye rubs his chin underneath the veil after eating some himself. "Safer-- and sending another song to resonate over sands from sea to flame," he says, eyes dancing. "Both are worthy goals."
Imtithal laughs. "Perhaps it would be better said that all F'meeqi are glad to show off," she says, "...and if so, it is certainly fortunate they have so much true to boast of." She lifts her glass slightly towards Sarye. "Some more than others, golden one." Her own eyes dance with amusement, and she sips deeply from her cup, quenching the thirst of the ride. "I am ready to ride on as soon as Aurora stops playing around long enough to eat and drink her fill."
Sarye's veil twitches again, smiles hidden as they always have. He takes another deep drink, and calls to his brother and to his aunt; a priest and a thaumaturge. "Hold the place well until I return; only kin-- our own, and the sister she claims-- allowed in. Beyond that, only mercy, and test mercy against lies, for in the days to come..."
The aunt speaks up, "In the days that have come, nephew resplendent. In the days that have come, they are already coming towards us, though they know it not."
Sarye bows his head, and his helm extrudes forth, sealing his face away. "Then we have little enough time-- and more than enough adventure ahead!" He blows a whistling call, and Corona, who has been wrestling-- to an even enough draw-- with Aurora, in friendship, heaves forth and gallops to Sarye's side.
Imtithal calls out herself, her tones unpracticed but her voice earnest enough, calling Aurora by name. After a moment, she makes a wry comment. "My sister has no idea where this place is, and could hardly make the ride on her own." It's a momentarily concerned look that washes her face, but she shrugs it off. "She's also in no danger. She doesn't know anything dangerous, and is an honest and honorable widow." There may be something in Imtithal's tone of convincing herself. As Aurora runs up, perhaps panting a little harder than Corona, she scolds the mount. "And now you'll be exhausted and show poorly on the ride and embarrass us both," she warns, a smile breaking onto her face at whatever Aurora answers. "Very well," she chuckles. "Prove it, lovely one."
Sarye leaps onto Corona's back and laughs. "Then onward again. You -must- learn to salute in parting-- and in questing!" he cheers, raising and igniting the Singing Crystal Cutter, its hum and blur of deadly speed singing in triumph to the F'meeqi as Corona rears back, a mutual salute. Sarye lets the Cutter cease, and sheathes it once more to ride out to the desert as Imti described.
Imtithal scrambles up onto Aurora's back a moment after Sarye mounts, making a slight squeak and hanging on as Aurora rears up, trying to best her cousin, and, giving Sarye a deliberately and humorously rude expression, pulls one of her flamepieces from her silk robes and firing its lance of flame into the air as Aurora lands.
Sarye laughs. "You will be one of us yet, Imtithal of the Radeen. Mark my words, you have the honorable heart of a F'meeqi in there somewhere!" He takes a joy in the riding, unleashing the long speed of Corona, the dune-cutting gait that will nonetheless allow the massive simhata to cover it for days. Sure that Imti will neither lag behind nor fly ahead, it is the best of speeds, and as exhilarating as can be.
Imtithal urges Aurora to catch up with Sarye and then meet the speed of the more experienced rider's simhata. "That is no small praise," she says, with a chuckle, tucking the flame piece back into the white robes. "Though perhaps somewhat superfluous now." She touches the caste mark on her forehead thoughtfully. "What kind of beast do you expect to find? If volcanic vents are present, I expect we are dealing with something that enjoys heat even greater than the open desert. Perhaps a refugee from nearer the pole."
"A flameswimmer, you think?" Sarye asks conversationally. "Some beast out of the greater flames that learned to walk upon rock?" He laughs, humor in exaggeration compelling him to add, "Do you think it turns sand to glass as it walks?"
Imtithal's eyebrows raise. "Possible, and such things are dangerous in that they can be simply too hot to approach safely. But we will see."
Sarye chuckles. "We bear the gold that was forged with the spirit of the sun, Circlesister. It is a rare fire indeed that can consume such." He reaches behind him to squeeze the hilt of the Cutter once. "And speed and strength may endure where even heat cleaves."
Imtithal makes another rude face at Sarye. "Does it matter to me?" she asks. "I will simply fly over and shoot down." She looks mildly smug. "I need not close with anything too warm for comfort." Speaking of, she pulls the hood up, to keep the sunlight off her hair and face.
Sarye's face is hidden even more deeply behind his golden, brilliant armor than it was by his veil, and he has full inner filtration baffles to shield him from the blasted heat, feeding new air in as cool air circulates inside. "Perhaps not, Iron Wolf of the Skies, but it matters much to me; I have no fear of the close, and I will find the quick. I don't suppose any of the traits off the song made sense to you?"
Imtithal's eye's brighten. "Recite it again?" she suggests, tilting her head slightly. "I'm reasonably familiar with the bestiaries. Not that they've /ever/ held everything."
Sarye sings, deep and clear, resonant between blue jade of the winds and the strong, sturdy strength of the orichalcum, reciting the entire tale from memory. Corona, for his part, mews and hisses occasionally to give his criticisms or plaudits; it's hard to tell.
Imtithal frowns about midway through the song. "That doesn't make any /sense/, though," she murmurs to herself, trying not to interrupt him - she may have been SLIGHTLY opportunistic in asking him to sing it. She waits until he finishes to really answer. "Well, physically, it sounds like a salamander," she says. "Which means it's large, strong, poisonous, fire breathing, fast, especially in a fire-environment. They /do/ tend to like volcanic tubes and the like. Out of the fire lakes in the deep south. But I don't understand why..." She shrugs. "We'll see, I suppose."
"We're at least ready to deal with poison," Sarye comments. "And the cousins are sturdy, never you fear; they are strong and hardy without fear of much in the mortal world. The spirit?" He shrugs, as he gently pets Corona. "I do not know, but they have no fear, no less than I," he says with a laugh. "What disturbs you, though, please-- more knowledge is better."
Imtithal waves a hand. "I've never -met- a salamander, but they're supposed to be intelligent and erudite, not ravening maneaters, for the most part. I suppose they can go rogue; very few things in Creation can -not-, or the bestiaries could be wrong. They're also extremely rare." She shrugs, and moves to slip the blank white mask of her armor over her face, her position on Aurora's back shifting with more relaxation as the armor completely shields her from the desert.
"Madness is all too common a thing in Creation these days," Sarye says. "And it is as likely to be pain and wrath as it is enlightenment and patterns where there are none. Perhaps we can sing to it, if it is or was a Salamander, and see if it can be reasoned with," he muses.
Imtithal strokes Aurora's ears, contemplating for a moment. "If it will permit us," she says. "Do be prepared for defense." She squints back over her shoulder at the low shadow of the mesa, now far behind them. "I scarcely /feel/ how fast we are going, my lovely," she informs Aurora. "If your gait was any smoother, I would fall asleep and miss all the fun." Turning her blank white face back towards Sarye, she says, "We should be close. Speaking of preparing for defense..."
Sarye nods the regal, crowned helm of his armor, and pulls his shield off from his back, followed swiftly by the Cutter. He rides Corona easily with his knees, keeping the Cutter's Warhymn silent as he waits; he truly does want to see if he can sing down a truce, first.
Imtithal closes her eyes, invisibly behind her faceplate, and lets Aurora run free alongside Corona as she focuses on the magics that are still new to her soul, putting her body in harmony with the sun-blessed Essence of evasion that runs through the core of her Night-Shard; intensely curious, she would rather speak than battle, especially with a being as rare as a Salamander -- but she fully intends to be prepared.
In the distance, smoke stains the desert's clear sky, belching from the warned volcanic vents.
Corona snorts and shakes his mighty head, but Sarye croons soothingly to him. "Ah, well. Even without internal air, he'll be fine, but he hates the stench. I hope it isn't an ill omen. Still, best to announce our presence openly." His glowing golden helm-crown glitters and sparkles, essence coalescing into shapes, most of which sink into his arms and torso as he prepares for the worst, hoping for the best. The unshakeable beacon of a Zenith's castemark, however, burns clear and true, shining through even the orichalcum of his armor.
"Perhaps we should leave the simhata," Imtithal suggests, patting Aurora's head with a concerned gesture. "They're great warriors, but, the potential of lava and foul gasses..."
"Do not say such things where they can hear you, Circlesister," Sarye says in mock-alarm. "Their endurance is greater than ours, and they would be insulted. If you wish to fly, as Aurora to still her natural yearning for leadership to follow Corona; unless the way grows too thin for him to follow, he will be there, all the way."
Imtithal's head turns down, and she rubs Aurora's ears. "Do you really wish to run into such a stench, lovely one?" she asks the simhata, a little plaintively. "-I- don't want to, but ..." Her bell-toned laugh; even hidden by the complete cover of the armor, it's hard to disguise her many layered beauty. "Fair's fair," she says. Turning towards Sarye. "You will probably not be surprised to hear that Aurora tells me she's going in if I am, but if I think better of it, she'd be glad to just ride for the sake of riding too."
"They have the courage of the lions for whom they are maned-- or clawed, in Aurora's case--" Sarye says with a laugh, "And the endurance of a herd of horses each. Still..." Sarye contemplates this for a moment, and sheaths his sword temporarily. Burning light wreathes him, a mighty corona to surround him as he rides on Corona's back, but this is only secondary; in the meanwhile, he takes a pair of spare veils out of his pack. Laughing, he daubs one with water from it's skin, and to Corona's disgust, ties one around the great beast's nose. It takes some wrestling, but it is done, and Corona settles down quickly. He offers a veil to Imtithal. "Here, do the same; it should help to filter out the stench some."
Imtithal takes the veil. "Aurora isn't Dereth," she laughs, but wets the veil and sternly ties it around Aurora's nose, primly telling the lioness-horse, "If you don't cooperate, you can't risk the smoke, period."
"I have seen the noble ladies of the Dynasts wear such, if they are not fireborn," Sarye assures Aurora as best he can without laughing, "When they enter a burning house to save the victims. It is no insult to you; Corona considers it worse than a cityman's handkerchief, and he can wear it for the now."
Imtithal leans forward over Aurora's neck to kiss the still mewling in complaint great 'cat' on the head, between the ears. "Stay with Corona, dear one?" she asks. "Sarye probably needs more help than I will, since I intend to be flying. And we are a Circle, if a small one, so it's my job to take care of him." She pauses, 'listening' to the simhata. "I know, lovely, but he can't help that."
Sarye laughs, the sound ringing as the solar fire surrounds him. He bows on Corona's back, and Corona does the same. "We shall be perfect gentlemen, and only trouble you so much as good F'meeqi boys ought, we promise," he assures Aurora.
Imtithal smiles and ruffles the fur on Aurora's back. "Take care of yourself too, lovely. I'll be right above you." She shakes out the cloak, the fabric rippling as it spreads, and, filled with Essence, spreads out and catches air; the Night leaps up directly off of Aurora's back to hang in the air over the two mounts and the Zenith. "I'm ready," she tells him, the sand under her stirring lightly in the breeze from her hovering wings. "Let's see what we find."
Sarye unslings the Singing Crystal Cutter once more, and lets Corona have the lead; the great simhata champion-stallion knows the way to go-- forward, and into the vents and fiery air.
Bonus! Salamander, a potent fire-elemental, common nowhere, but less unheard of in the deep South.
Though rarely seen since the First Age, Salamanders can be found in a few rare bestiaries. More myth than fact to most scholars of the occult, the Salamander is reputed to be an intelligent, agreeable creature. Little is said of their truly frightful prowess in combat, for according to the legends, they rarely sought violence, of old.
They are enormous lizard-like creatures, with jewel-toned scales of igneous stone that shimmer with the radiance of fire. Their bodies are elongated and sinuous. Though they commonly walk on all fours, their fore-limbs have clever, dexterous jointed digits, though the savage obsidian claws limit their use. All limbs bear sharp stone claws. The Salamander bears a long tail with a sharp poisoned barb on the tip.
There is far more that could be said about the role of Salamanders in the first age. One of their features which is never mentioned in the Second Age is their rapid and complete regeneration. The body parts of a single living Salamander are precious beyond belief for thaumaturgy and even artifact creation. Moreover, a salamander typically will not die during harvesting. Many Salamanders in the first age ran afoul of 'considerate' Solars who would take an arm and a leg but leave the Salamander to regrow - and regrow, and regrow.
Salamanders, erudite and frequently capable of influencing mortal researchers, sought to suppress this knowledge with the passing of the Lawbringers, however, brutal experimentation might recover the knowledge. It is very hard to slay a salamander, and in fact, a wound that seems lethal may stop only one of its multiple hearts, leaving the beast to regenerate slowly if exposed to air, and rapidly if immersed in its element. Once completely slain, however, a Salamander remains deceased, unlike their elemental kin, the Garuda.
In the Second Age, Salamanders may be found as guardians of locations important to the ancient Solars, still bound to fire-manses and other 'hospitable' locations, living in volcanoes, or in the deepest south. They are at home swimming through lava flows and subsurface magma, and are rarely seen by mortals, who can not brave such environs.
Attributes: Strength 13, Dexterity 8, Stamina 7; Charisma 3, Manipulation 5, Appearance 3; Perception 4, Intelligence 4, Wits 6
Virtues: Compassion 2, Conviction 5, Temperance 5, Valor 3
Abilities: Archery 5, Athletics 5 (Feats of Strength +3), Awareness 4, Bureaucracy 2, Dodge 5, Integrity 5, Linguistics (Native: Old Realm; Flametongue) 1, Lore 4, Martial Arts 5 (Claws), Occult 3, Presence 4, Resistance 5, Thrown 5, War 5
Spirit Charms:
Affinity Fire Control - Salamanders can use this to create toxic smoke from existing fires, purify toxic smokes, light local fires, or enhance the damage of their claws.
Landscape Travel - 4m to travel through lava or a steady field of flame at double speed.
Principle of Motion—A Salamander typically maintains a stock of 10 extra actions.
Words of Power — The Salamander keens a song of enflaming passion. It pays five motes of Essence and one temporary Willpower, and for a scene, it may make attacks against a single target, with the Storyteller rolling the Salamander's (Manipulation + Temperance). This attack deals five levels of bashing damage plus extra successes and can be soaked using only Stamina. For each health level of damage done in this manner, the victim suffers a one-die penalty for 21 ticks.
Salamanders usually have First, Second and Third Excellencies for the following Abilities: Archery, Athletics, Dodge, Integrity, Martial Arts, Presence, Socialize, Thrown, and War.
Join Battle: 10
Attacks:
Venomed Tail: Speed 5, Accuracy 21, Damage 13B + poison*, Defense 24/12, Rate 3
Obsidian Claws: Speed 4, Accuracy 27, Damage 23L, Defense 20/10, Rate 4
Flame Breath: Speed 3, Accuracy 23, Damage 18L, Range 20, Rate 2 (To use its flame breath, the Salamander first must make a speed 4 miscellaneous action (which can be flurried) to open its mouth and prepare its internal furnaces. It can close its mouth as a reflexive action, but loses 2 DV to all DVs while it is thus immobilized.)
Soak: 19L/22B (Stony Scales, 15L/15B)
Hardness: 8
Health Levels: -0/-1/-1/-1/-1/-1/-1/-2/-2/-2/-2/-2/-2/-4/Incap
Dodge DV: 9 Willpower: 10
Essence: 6 Essence Pool: 110
*Poison: 5L/Tick 4 -2, penalty stacks!
Four days ago, Sarye left Imtithal near Chiaroscuro and rode back towards the manse. The F'meeqi trickled in thereafter - not all of them have stayed, but almost all of them, save the ones currently serving the Tri-Khan - have come by to see the holy site, make some prayers, lend a hand to the cleansing, and then go back to the desert.
Part of the library was recoverable, but almost all the furnishings of the original holy spiral have been destroyed; the crafters of the F'meeqi have been busily working to refurbish the rooms. Fortunately, most the side rooms, including the domicile wings, are mostly intact.
Some of the last out of Chiaroscuro arrived this morning, with the two warriors and the herder who rode with Imtithal into Chiaroscuro - or at least close. If Sarye takes any time to talk to them, they'll tell him about her permanent caste mark and her disgruntled decision to just ...vanish.
Sarye has been primarily cleaning, sanctifying, and re-stocking the Manse; not with food, for it has that, but carefully, undercover, from caches in the deep desert, returning ancient relics of the F'meeqi-- and of neighboring tribes whose dead ruins were discovered-- hidden against an Immaculate jihad. If the renewed temple is more eclectic than once it had been, perhaps that is better-- with few unifying themes, it supports a multiplicity of lights, radiances to delight the Unconquered Sun.
Weapons, too, from stockpiles, and in consultation with the women of his tribe, trying to arrange for a few homelike things to be found in the cells and great halls; only the temple will be as stark as it ever was.
The F'meeqi are, of course, keeping a watch, no matter how little or much the temple needs it, and a scout from on top of the manse descends, noting a single rider coming at simhata speed across the sand.
Sarye laughs quietly. "I wonder who," he says. "Is this a shadow on the sand, a thought and a wind?" he asks, and waves cheerfully at his other kin. "Let's get this finished-- but send the children to get salt and drink, fruits from the Providervats; hospitality, whomever it is who rides."
Imtithal arrives swiftly - entirely unescorted, but what escort could keep up with Aurora, with all the F'meeqi out of Chiaroscuro before she left? She is wearing more traditional Delzahn robes again, in elegant white silk, and only a light outer layer, draped over her own armor, though at least for now, she wears the cloak-like Wings on top. It flaps behind her in the wind of her riding, as she has given in to the temptation to race across the desert and let Aurora prove her speed, the great lion-horse tearing across the unpacked sand like no horse would ever dare.
She has a wide smile and is practically laughing from the exhilaration of the ride.
Sarye wears his armor with his helm receded and veil on, as it seems the best compromise between his past and his future, until such time as he comes to the quest. He and the F'meeqi quickly make the place ready to meet her, and as she strikes fast over the shifting sands, he orders the large main doors opened into the main facility.
Imtithal has not seen the main doors open; she brings Aurora to a halt, the mighty lioness-mount dancing on the sand as she watches them opening, and then rides closer in, keeping her simhata to a sedate walk instead of a mad dash. Her usually carefully braided hair is a little mussed from the apparently wild ride across the desert, loose strands of her black hair floating luminously over her wind-flushed, tan cheeks.
She slides off Aurora's back, giving the mount a light kiss on the nose, and - before going to greet any people - makes sure that Aurora has some meat and water.
Corona comes rowling out, faster than his Zenith master. He's fond of Imti, of course, but both are bonded now in different directions, so he merely favors her with a purr and a neigh, and goes to romp with Aurora in greetings, instead.
"Hail, flamewielder! Dagger of Heaven with the hot breath of the Sun himself within your hands! Be welcome to this manse, this fortress, this temple-- thrice do we greet you, and the blessings of the Sun be upon you!" Sarye greets. Tables-- rude and rough for now, for it will take time to civilize the manse properly, are being set behind.
Imtithal laughs at Corona's antics, telling Aurora, "Don't let him wear you out, sweet one; he's surely been idle all day and you've been running hard." She scritches her kitty's ears and turns to Sarye, some of the light of the ride still caught in her eyes' radiant glow. She bows polite greeting to Sarye, her lips quirking up. "I was just here a few days ago," she points out. "Though I don't remember it looking quite like this." She wanders forward a little bit, checking out the changes. "There's less demon, for one thing."
Corona seems energetic enough for the both of them, meowling and whinnying all at one. Sarye laughs. "I think he has much news to impart; and shows it in body as much as in speech." His eyes twinkle over the veil. "And we thank you again for the ridding of the demon," for he still insists on naming the kill hers. "But you have not seen it yet; it will be months-- seasons-- before all of the caches held against future need will be emptied, and this will be home and temple and fastness all. But come, take salt with us, and food and drink, and let us speak?"
Imtithal smiles slightly, and nods, conceding. "Your kin, I take it, see the manse as a positive thing?" she asks, following him in, pushing some of her loose hair back out of her face.
Sarye laughs and smiles as he leads her to the head table and sits. "Indeed. The khan himself is breaking open some of the oldest caches. This is a home, not just a dwelling place. We have few enough."
Imtithal laughs vividly, and settles herself at a seat next to him, taking a quick glance first to see if she need to have any concern about offending someone by her choice of seat. "For what it is worth, I heard no rumors of dread Solars while I was in Chiaroscuro," she says, "though it might be possible such frightening rumors would be kept from such delicate flowers as I and my peers." She smiles dryly. "I also find that I do not have nearly enough jewelry to wear on my forehead." She is not wearing such now, and the thin clean line of her castemark is pale gold against her creamy dark skin; but the F'meeqi know, and who else would she encounter here?
"My kin told me. Blessing as it might be to us..." He smiles. "A wreath of gold suits you, of course, champion of limbs ever limber," he says in aside, "But sometimes blessings are not -always- convenient. There are some shapers of wire and carvers of jewels among my people. Perhaps you would like to speak to them in the matter of tiaras and the like?" he offers.
Imtithal tilts her head to the side. "I commissioned a few pieces before I left Chiaroscuro," she says, "But it would probably be a relief to my sister if I found some more traditional pieces ...with traditional materials," she says, smothering her smile - poorly. The young woman is, of course, used to near constant flattery, and barely pays it note.
Imtithal waves a hand vaguely. "It would be much less bothersome on you, of course. You can get away with the veil and being a man of mystery. But there is no rule saying I can not wear bead-sprays and tiaras and ornamented headbands. Perhaps it will become a fad in Chiaroscuro, if I pull the look off well." She gives another unrestrained smile, wide and golden as the mark on her brow, and helps herself to some of the fresh fruit without hesitation; the desert ride was hot and fast, and she has both a thirst and a hunger, even if Aurora was doing most the work.
Sarye waves off to his kindred who are nearby and takes the bowl of salt from them. "Alduleydda, Mariq's daughter, is cunning with both wire and jewel, and her hands weave as Venus' upon the loom," he says cheerfully. "We will find you things both old and new, rarely seen and desired both, you will see. Would you share salt, then, and be welcome to our hospitality?"
Imtithal may be mildly amused by accepting hospitality from the F'meeq in a manse she half gave to them, but for a moment, she is serious, inclining her head. "I accept your hospitality - again - with gratitude and respect," she says, with all the gravity such a thing deserves. Hospitality is a mighty bond. In memory of an earlier meeting - barely a week gone, now, she is absently rubbing a fingertip against her thumb.
Sarye tastes the salt and waits for Imtithal to do the same. Once she has, the rest of the feast is set before them, and eagerly shared. F'meeqi who are off duty join them, and others will come in and out as the time goes on. "So, then, Eyes-that-See when Shade would Dim, have you found more to send us off again?
Imtithal draws out her parchment recopy of her father's map. "I've done the best I can to compensate for the elemental shifting around the manse. Is this about where your songs tell of this beast and a volcanic ridge?
Sarye sings, and several of the F'meeqi join in as well, harmonizing; the memory of a people in song. "It seems to fit the songs. With a little generosity for metaphor."
He looks over at a cousin, and she laughs. "The Kaudeen were often fond of exchanging dayrides for leagues, yes," she says. "It fits, though I suspect it's as much rhyme as metaphor."
Imtithal nibbles a little on the food, more thirsty than truly hungered. "It's the best fit I can find for a fire manse to support this one," she says. "Of course, I could be entirely wrong and it may be nowhere near, but the hearthstone /was/ here." She's still wearing the hearthstone in the clasp of her Wings, and she brushes it as she says that.
Sarye rubs his chin. "It's sensible enough. If we had a season, a hearthstone compass might be fashioned; thaumaturges can make such a thing. As it is, it's probably all the quicker to ride out and back, even empty handed. And if not..." His veil twitches in bemusement. "Glory and arms before the Unconquered Sun-- the shine that knows no cease.
Imtithal shrugs. "If we don't find it in the local area, we may as well craft such a tool. But it will not hurt us to ride out, and I have not yet seen anything ...darker... to correct." She munches an orange section, licking the sweet juice from her luminous lips. "At the worst, if the beast mentioned in the song still dwells there, we can make part of the desert safer." Definitely much less timid than before the Exaltation.
Sarye rubs his chin underneath the veil after eating some himself. "Safer-- and sending another song to resonate over sands from sea to flame," he says, eyes dancing. "Both are worthy goals."
Imtithal laughs. "Perhaps it would be better said that all F'meeqi are glad to show off," she says, "...and if so, it is certainly fortunate they have so much true to boast of." She lifts her glass slightly towards Sarye. "Some more than others, golden one." Her own eyes dance with amusement, and she sips deeply from her cup, quenching the thirst of the ride. "I am ready to ride on as soon as Aurora stops playing around long enough to eat and drink her fill."
Sarye's veil twitches again, smiles hidden as they always have. He takes another deep drink, and calls to his brother and to his aunt; a priest and a thaumaturge. "Hold the place well until I return; only kin-- our own, and the sister she claims-- allowed in. Beyond that, only mercy, and test mercy against lies, for in the days to come..."
The aunt speaks up, "In the days that have come, nephew resplendent. In the days that have come, they are already coming towards us, though they know it not."
Sarye bows his head, and his helm extrudes forth, sealing his face away. "Then we have little enough time-- and more than enough adventure ahead!" He blows a whistling call, and Corona, who has been wrestling-- to an even enough draw-- with Aurora, in friendship, heaves forth and gallops to Sarye's side.
Imtithal calls out herself, her tones unpracticed but her voice earnest enough, calling Aurora by name. After a moment, she makes a wry comment. "My sister has no idea where this place is, and could hardly make the ride on her own." It's a momentarily concerned look that washes her face, but she shrugs it off. "She's also in no danger. She doesn't know anything dangerous, and is an honest and honorable widow." There may be something in Imtithal's tone of convincing herself. As Aurora runs up, perhaps panting a little harder than Corona, she scolds the mount. "And now you'll be exhausted and show poorly on the ride and embarrass us both," she warns, a smile breaking onto her face at whatever Aurora answers. "Very well," she chuckles. "Prove it, lovely one."
Sarye leaps onto Corona's back and laughs. "Then onward again. You -must- learn to salute in parting-- and in questing!" he cheers, raising and igniting the Singing Crystal Cutter, its hum and blur of deadly speed singing in triumph to the F'meeqi as Corona rears back, a mutual salute. Sarye lets the Cutter cease, and sheathes it once more to ride out to the desert as Imti described.
Imtithal scrambles up onto Aurora's back a moment after Sarye mounts, making a slight squeak and hanging on as Aurora rears up, trying to best her cousin, and, giving Sarye a deliberately and humorously rude expression, pulls one of her flamepieces from her silk robes and firing its lance of flame into the air as Aurora lands.
Sarye laughs. "You will be one of us yet, Imtithal of the Radeen. Mark my words, you have the honorable heart of a F'meeqi in there somewhere!" He takes a joy in the riding, unleashing the long speed of Corona, the dune-cutting gait that will nonetheless allow the massive simhata to cover it for days. Sure that Imti will neither lag behind nor fly ahead, it is the best of speeds, and as exhilarating as can be.
Imtithal urges Aurora to catch up with Sarye and then meet the speed of the more experienced rider's simhata. "That is no small praise," she says, with a chuckle, tucking the flame piece back into the white robes. "Though perhaps somewhat superfluous now." She touches the caste mark on her forehead thoughtfully. "What kind of beast do you expect to find? If volcanic vents are present, I expect we are dealing with something that enjoys heat even greater than the open desert. Perhaps a refugee from nearer the pole."
"A flameswimmer, you think?" Sarye asks conversationally. "Some beast out of the greater flames that learned to walk upon rock?" He laughs, humor in exaggeration compelling him to add, "Do you think it turns sand to glass as it walks?"
Imtithal's eyebrows raise. "Possible, and such things are dangerous in that they can be simply too hot to approach safely. But we will see."
Sarye chuckles. "We bear the gold that was forged with the spirit of the sun, Circlesister. It is a rare fire indeed that can consume such." He reaches behind him to squeeze the hilt of the Cutter once. "And speed and strength may endure where even heat cleaves."
Imtithal makes another rude face at Sarye. "Does it matter to me?" she asks. "I will simply fly over and shoot down." She looks mildly smug. "I need not close with anything too warm for comfort." Speaking of, she pulls the hood up, to keep the sunlight off her hair and face.
Sarye's face is hidden even more deeply behind his golden, brilliant armor than it was by his veil, and he has full inner filtration baffles to shield him from the blasted heat, feeding new air in as cool air circulates inside. "Perhaps not, Iron Wolf of the Skies, but it matters much to me; I have no fear of the close, and I will find the quick. I don't suppose any of the traits off the song made sense to you?"
Imtithal's eye's brighten. "Recite it again?" she suggests, tilting her head slightly. "I'm reasonably familiar with the bestiaries. Not that they've /ever/ held everything."
Sarye sings, deep and clear, resonant between blue jade of the winds and the strong, sturdy strength of the orichalcum, reciting the entire tale from memory. Corona, for his part, mews and hisses occasionally to give his criticisms or plaudits; it's hard to tell.
Imtithal frowns about midway through the song. "That doesn't make any /sense/, though," she murmurs to herself, trying not to interrupt him - she may have been SLIGHTLY opportunistic in asking him to sing it. She waits until he finishes to really answer. "Well, physically, it sounds like a salamander," she says. "Which means it's large, strong, poisonous, fire breathing, fast, especially in a fire-environment. They /do/ tend to like volcanic tubes and the like. Out of the fire lakes in the deep south. But I don't understand why..." She shrugs. "We'll see, I suppose."
"We're at least ready to deal with poison," Sarye comments. "And the cousins are sturdy, never you fear; they are strong and hardy without fear of much in the mortal world. The spirit?" He shrugs, as he gently pets Corona. "I do not know, but they have no fear, no less than I," he says with a laugh. "What disturbs you, though, please-- more knowledge is better."
Imtithal waves a hand. "I've never -met- a salamander, but they're supposed to be intelligent and erudite, not ravening maneaters, for the most part. I suppose they can go rogue; very few things in Creation can -not-, or the bestiaries could be wrong. They're also extremely rare." She shrugs, and moves to slip the blank white mask of her armor over her face, her position on Aurora's back shifting with more relaxation as the armor completely shields her from the desert.
"Madness is all too common a thing in Creation these days," Sarye says. "And it is as likely to be pain and wrath as it is enlightenment and patterns where there are none. Perhaps we can sing to it, if it is or was a Salamander, and see if it can be reasoned with," he muses.
Imtithal strokes Aurora's ears, contemplating for a moment. "If it will permit us," she says. "Do be prepared for defense." She squints back over her shoulder at the low shadow of the mesa, now far behind them. "I scarcely /feel/ how fast we are going, my lovely," she informs Aurora. "If your gait was any smoother, I would fall asleep and miss all the fun." Turning her blank white face back towards Sarye, she says, "We should be close. Speaking of preparing for defense..."
Sarye nods the regal, crowned helm of his armor, and pulls his shield off from his back, followed swiftly by the Cutter. He rides Corona easily with his knees, keeping the Cutter's Warhymn silent as he waits; he truly does want to see if he can sing down a truce, first.
Imtithal closes her eyes, invisibly behind her faceplate, and lets Aurora run free alongside Corona as she focuses on the magics that are still new to her soul, putting her body in harmony with the sun-blessed Essence of evasion that runs through the core of her Night-Shard; intensely curious, she would rather speak than battle, especially with a being as rare as a Salamander -- but she fully intends to be prepared.
In the distance, smoke stains the desert's clear sky, belching from the warned volcanic vents.
Corona snorts and shakes his mighty head, but Sarye croons soothingly to him. "Ah, well. Even without internal air, he'll be fine, but he hates the stench. I hope it isn't an ill omen. Still, best to announce our presence openly." His glowing golden helm-crown glitters and sparkles, essence coalescing into shapes, most of which sink into his arms and torso as he prepares for the worst, hoping for the best. The unshakeable beacon of a Zenith's castemark, however, burns clear and true, shining through even the orichalcum of his armor.
"Perhaps we should leave the simhata," Imtithal suggests, patting Aurora's head with a concerned gesture. "They're great warriors, but, the potential of lava and foul gasses..."
"Do not say such things where they can hear you, Circlesister," Sarye says in mock-alarm. "Their endurance is greater than ours, and they would be insulted. If you wish to fly, as Aurora to still her natural yearning for leadership to follow Corona; unless the way grows too thin for him to follow, he will be there, all the way."
Imtithal's head turns down, and she rubs Aurora's ears. "Do you really wish to run into such a stench, lovely one?" she asks the simhata, a little plaintively. "-I- don't want to, but ..." Her bell-toned laugh; even hidden by the complete cover of the armor, it's hard to disguise her many layered beauty. "Fair's fair," she says. Turning towards Sarye. "You will probably not be surprised to hear that Aurora tells me she's going in if I am, but if I think better of it, she'd be glad to just ride for the sake of riding too."
"They have the courage of the lions for whom they are maned-- or clawed, in Aurora's case--" Sarye says with a laugh, "And the endurance of a herd of horses each. Still..." Sarye contemplates this for a moment, and sheaths his sword temporarily. Burning light wreathes him, a mighty corona to surround him as he rides on Corona's back, but this is only secondary; in the meanwhile, he takes a pair of spare veils out of his pack. Laughing, he daubs one with water from it's skin, and to Corona's disgust, ties one around the great beast's nose. It takes some wrestling, but it is done, and Corona settles down quickly. He offers a veil to Imtithal. "Here, do the same; it should help to filter out the stench some."
Imtithal takes the veil. "Aurora isn't Dereth," she laughs, but wets the veil and sternly ties it around Aurora's nose, primly telling the lioness-horse, "If you don't cooperate, you can't risk the smoke, period."
"I have seen the noble ladies of the Dynasts wear such, if they are not fireborn," Sarye assures Aurora as best he can without laughing, "When they enter a burning house to save the victims. It is no insult to you; Corona considers it worse than a cityman's handkerchief, and he can wear it for the now."
Imtithal leans forward over Aurora's neck to kiss the still mewling in complaint great 'cat' on the head, between the ears. "Stay with Corona, dear one?" she asks. "Sarye probably needs more help than I will, since I intend to be flying. And we are a Circle, if a small one, so it's my job to take care of him." She pauses, 'listening' to the simhata. "I know, lovely, but he can't help that."
Sarye laughs, the sound ringing as the solar fire surrounds him. He bows on Corona's back, and Corona does the same. "We shall be perfect gentlemen, and only trouble you so much as good F'meeqi boys ought, we promise," he assures Aurora.
Imtithal smiles and ruffles the fur on Aurora's back. "Take care of yourself too, lovely. I'll be right above you." She shakes out the cloak, the fabric rippling as it spreads, and, filled with Essence, spreads out and catches air; the Night leaps up directly off of Aurora's back to hang in the air over the two mounts and the Zenith. "I'm ready," she tells him, the sand under her stirring lightly in the breeze from her hovering wings. "Let's see what we find."
Sarye unslings the Singing Crystal Cutter once more, and lets Corona have the lead; the great simhata champion-stallion knows the way to go-- forward, and into the vents and fiery air.
Bonus! Salamander, a potent fire-elemental, common nowhere, but less unheard of in the deep South.
Though rarely seen since the First Age, Salamanders can be found in a few rare bestiaries. More myth than fact to most scholars of the occult, the Salamander is reputed to be an intelligent, agreeable creature. Little is said of their truly frightful prowess in combat, for according to the legends, they rarely sought violence, of old.
They are enormous lizard-like creatures, with jewel-toned scales of igneous stone that shimmer with the radiance of fire. Their bodies are elongated and sinuous. Though they commonly walk on all fours, their fore-limbs have clever, dexterous jointed digits, though the savage obsidian claws limit their use. All limbs bear sharp stone claws. The Salamander bears a long tail with a sharp poisoned barb on the tip.
There is far more that could be said about the role of Salamanders in the first age. One of their features which is never mentioned in the Second Age is their rapid and complete regeneration. The body parts of a single living Salamander are precious beyond belief for thaumaturgy and even artifact creation. Moreover, a salamander typically will not die during harvesting. Many Salamanders in the first age ran afoul of 'considerate' Solars who would take an arm and a leg but leave the Salamander to regrow - and regrow, and regrow.
Salamanders, erudite and frequently capable of influencing mortal researchers, sought to suppress this knowledge with the passing of the Lawbringers, however, brutal experimentation might recover the knowledge. It is very hard to slay a salamander, and in fact, a wound that seems lethal may stop only one of its multiple hearts, leaving the beast to regenerate slowly if exposed to air, and rapidly if immersed in its element. Once completely slain, however, a Salamander remains deceased, unlike their elemental kin, the Garuda.
In the Second Age, Salamanders may be found as guardians of locations important to the ancient Solars, still bound to fire-manses and other 'hospitable' locations, living in volcanoes, or in the deepest south. They are at home swimming through lava flows and subsurface magma, and are rarely seen by mortals, who can not brave such environs.
Attributes: Strength 13, Dexterity 8, Stamina 7; Charisma 3, Manipulation 5, Appearance 3; Perception 4, Intelligence 4, Wits 6
Virtues: Compassion 2, Conviction 5, Temperance 5, Valor 3
Abilities: Archery 5, Athletics 5 (Feats of Strength +3), Awareness 4, Bureaucracy 2, Dodge 5, Integrity 5, Linguistics (Native: Old Realm; Flametongue) 1, Lore 4, Martial Arts 5 (Claws), Occult 3, Presence 4, Resistance 5, Thrown 5, War 5
Spirit Charms:
Affinity Fire Control - Salamanders can use this to create toxic smoke from existing fires, purify toxic smokes, light local fires, or enhance the damage of their claws.
Landscape Travel - 4m to travel through lava or a steady field of flame at double speed.
Principle of Motion—A Salamander typically maintains a stock of 10 extra actions.
Words of Power — The Salamander keens a song of enflaming passion. It pays five motes of Essence and one temporary Willpower, and for a scene, it may make attacks against a single target, with the Storyteller rolling the Salamander's (Manipulation + Temperance). This attack deals five levels of bashing damage plus extra successes and can be soaked using only Stamina. For each health level of damage done in this manner, the victim suffers a one-die penalty for 21 ticks.
Salamanders usually have First, Second and Third Excellencies for the following Abilities: Archery, Athletics, Dodge, Integrity, Martial Arts, Presence, Socialize, Thrown, and War.
Join Battle: 10
Attacks:
Venomed Tail: Speed 5, Accuracy 21, Damage 13B + poison*, Defense 24/12, Rate 3
Obsidian Claws: Speed 4, Accuracy 27, Damage 23L, Defense 20/10, Rate 4
Flame Breath: Speed 3, Accuracy 23, Damage 18L, Range 20, Rate 2 (To use its flame breath, the Salamander first must make a speed 4 miscellaneous action (which can be flurried) to open its mouth and prepare its internal furnaces. It can close its mouth as a reflexive action, but loses 2 DV to all DVs while it is thus immobilized.)
Soak: 19L/22B (Stony Scales, 15L/15B)
Hardness: 8
Health Levels: -0/-1/-1/-1/-1/-1/-1/-2/-2/-2/-2/-2/-2/-4/Incap
Dodge DV: 9 Willpower: 10
Essence: 6 Essence Pool: 110
*Poison: 5L/Tick 4 -2, penalty stacks!
