Crossing that Bridge
Log Info
- Title: Crossing that Bridge
- Emitter: Delilah
- Characters: Donna, Delilah, Ashes, Elyanna
- Place: Underground: Magus Ectra Na'Garra's Manse
- Time: Monday, May 31, 2021, 8:44 PM
- Summary: The spider defeated and the distintegrating statue fallen away, the Valethor gang plus Lerethil ponder how best to jump the gap in the bridge. With a running start seems to be the decided option, occasionally with a rope. All of them clear the hole over the dark abyss and proceed up to the Manse. They are met by a ghostly apparition, who bars their way and refuses entry. She is questioned, and reveals she is 'Slave' first of Mistress Ectra's devoured and the most loyal, who will wait for eternity. She will not allow them entry unless they swear themselves into Ectra's service. Elyanna questions Slave further, and finds that her mother _is_ Ectra, or was before the Illithid took her over. She's shocked at the parallels between her worst memory and the Slave's life. As Donna and Delilah discuss who should swear for the group, Ashlee has had enough. She will not suffer the dead Illithid's influence to persist. She draws her silvered khopesh and prays for Vardama to assist her, then uses the weapon to break a link in Slave's chain, even as the ghost is begging her not to do this horrible thing. With Elyanna's aid, the ghostly bond is shattered and a transformation comes over Slave. She explains her real name is Poppy, and she's spend her whole life and death here, experiencing nothing else at all. Ashlee says it's often bad for spirits to linger, as they will turn dark, but tells Poppy if she needs more time, she can haunt the Mourner and Ashlee will do what she can to protect her. The bridge is crossed, the door lies open.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Appearing -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Donna 5'4" 106 Lb Human Female A black-haired human girl in black robes. Delilah 5'4" 106 Lb Human Female A golden haired human girl in white robes. Ashes 5'11" 177 Lb Hobgoblin Female A somber arvec in grey clothes with a skull face Elyanna 5'11" 153 Lb Half-Orc Female A grim, Arvek-blooded woman in raven feathers. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= NPCs of Note =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Lerethil Half-elf Female A trader with questionable connections. Slave Human Female A ghost. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= As the GM =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Delilah 5'4" 106 Lb Human Female A golden haired human girl in white robes. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=
The statue -- and the spider -- have been sorted. More or less. Now the only obstacle that remains between the party and the manse is, well, a big hole in the bridge, that goes most of the way across from one side.
Delilah skirts her way carefully up to the edge, and has a very careful look down, into the enormous spiderweb below. "So... That was the only spider, right? Spiders live alone, right? So we're not going to get jumped by anoth--EEEEEEE!!"
The golden sorceress makes a high-pitched sound that no adventurer ever has been proud of, as a brick dislodges beneath her foot and she scrabbles backwards as the piece of bridge tumbles down into the web, and promptly gets stuck.
I thought adventurers were supposed to be fearless," Lerethil observes, completely deadpan.
"Go to hell."
Ashlee is monitoring Elyanna after the application of the anti-toxin. She's confident the half-hob won't get worse, but doesn't have much hope there will be instaneous improvements.
She looks up and at the bridge, and where Delilah dislodged a stone. "Heaviest first, or lightest first to maintain the surprise?"
Elyanna feels less like a post-digestion troll ration once the antitoxin's had time to work, though she's still well off hue, and there's red stuff leaking out of the big holes the spider put in her gut. The Keeper's jaw clenches for the pain and she talks through her interlocked fangs, "Need... gear..." <goblin-talk>
"Motherfucker, that spider was the *size of a house,*" Donna says, picking her shaky way over the bridge, pausing to peer down the hole made by the statue. "I got *no* problem not ever wanting to see another one. Besides, a fearless adventurer is a dead adventurer. Fear keeps you from tryin' to answer stupid questions like 'Do chimeras like to have their bellies rubbed?'"
The brawler looks back over her shoulder at Ashes' question, one eyebrow rising. "If there's any surprise in that house, *I'm'a* be surprised... But let's let th' ones with all their nerves intact go first."
"We might need to strip to get across." The ashen Arvec says, calm and monotone, "the armour. Not all the way." <goblin-talk>
She hunts around for Elyanna's things, pauses and looks at Donna, "It was. Do chimeras like to have their bellies rubbed?"
"Maybe they do," Delilah interjects, "But I don't care. I'm not rubbing any Chimera's belly, I don't want to end up rubbing it from the inside instead of the outside. That'd be just terrible for my skin." The sorceress edges her way up to the edge of the hole once more, nad leans over for another look. "Uhm, someone more coordinated than me should go first, just in case it collapses and they ahve to roll or something." She pauses. "Err, well, unless me going first is a good idea, I'm not a klutz."
Lerethil manouvers herself up to where Elyanna and Donna are busy recovering from their wounds. "Here, I have these," she offers, producing another couple of vials with reddish liquid in them. They're supposed to be healing potions. That's what the merchant in the open air markets said. He assures me they'll work. He promised my money back if they didn't work."
The red(it's more an orange at this point, really) woman shakily gets to her feet, though it seems she needs to brace herself to really stay on them. The musings about the Chimera gets a weary, deadpan, "Yes."
More in line with her recently reinforced faith in humanity as it wwere, Elyanna assumes a sardonic, "Soundsss poisoned...."
'This thing is guaranteed to bring you back from death's door, or your money back!' sounds ironclad when you realize if it fails, dead man don't (usually) collect on that sort of thing.
Donna waves both vials toward Elyanna; the poison was a bad time, but apparently otherwise she's without a scratch. "D... onea these days you're gonna make a choice and, like, *stay* on it. But that did sum up my answer on chimera bellyrubs. So... Fine. Who had th'rope? I'll jump it across an' find a way to secure it, cos I'll be damned if anyone ends up keepin' a dead spider company."
Looking up at Elyanna, the brawler chuckles. "Well here's a point; if it kills you, it's *her* ass," she says, jerking a thumb at Lerethil, "and a handy web to stick her in right down there. Pretty sure as she wouldn't offer up somethin' she knew was bogus, with that in mind."
Ashes examines the bottles, then passes them to Elyanna, "They seem fine."
She stands and walks over to Donna, uncoils some rope and holds it out.
Delilah blushes fiercely, "Yeah, well, uhm... sometimes I just... fail to make up my mind out loud," she sputters. "I can't be decisive all the time." She pauses, taking a look at the vials as they change hands, "And yeah, those look basically like any healing potion I've seen before," she acknowledges. "So either they're healing potions, or colored red water. In either case you should be safe, and if not then... well yeah, what my sister said."
So very comforting, Delilah, well said.
"I'd rather not keep a dead spider company," Lerethil acknowledges. "And I assure you the potions will work, my source is very reliable." She nods to Ashes, "Well you be going second, then? After Donna? You seem both healthy and capable."
"It is more her source." Elyanna replies, then, on the insistance, takes the vials with a soft, "Thank you." and tries one for a swig.
It's potent enough that the first one heals her completely.
"Sure," Ashes says, contemplating again whether she should remove her armour. It rides pretty nicely and she's used to it. She settles for slipping all the rest of her things into her satchel. She nods to Donna, "After you."
She doesn't look down.
The gap is about six feet wide, and for forever down.
GAME: Donna rolls acrobatics: (2)+13: 15
Donna takes the rope with a nod, then turns and pats Delilah's shoulder. "Y'almost had that one, sis... Keep practicin'."
Turning back to the gap, the brawler takes a moment to bounce lightly on the balls of her feet, then lunges forward. Three long, loping strides later, Donna hurls herself into the air... Clearing the gap with more than a little room to spare, and stumbling to a halt on the far side.
Turning, she waves the coil of rope to -- perhaps needlessly -- signal her success, then hunts about for a place to secure it to.
GAME: Ashes rolls acrobatics: (14)+2: 16
"I'm not much of a runner." Ashlee says, or jumper. Still, she completed basic, which involved the usual climbing walls, lying on barbed wire, crawling under things. She walks to the edge and carefully sets her foot. She doesn't look down. She takes several long steps back, pacing out her running stride. She moves the satchel to her back.
Without further ado, the ashen Arvec charges the gap, her feet landing, with one planting right on the edge. She leaps. She arcs, she lands.
Just a little bit further than Donna did. Standing up, she brushes herself down. "Ok."
GAME: Delilah rolls acrobatics: (3)+5: 8 GAME: Delilah rolls 1d20+7: (4)+7: 11
Delilah waits until Ashes has gone, and then backs up a few steps. She has a quick pause before she runs at the gap, planting her foot on the edge and giving it her best jump -- which is precisely good enough to get her over the gap. Barely.
On the other side, she's gone all white in the face, and has this horrified expression as she lands, stumbles, and sprawls out on her face on the dirty floor of the bridge.
"...Ow," she complains, just as Lerethil lands beside her.
"Well, that wasn't so bad," observes the merchant. "The view isn't so hot, but at least you don't have to look at it for overly long."
"And that's why you look *ahead* when you're jumpin'," Donna says, tugging at the final knot on the post she'd found to loop the rope about. "Takes advantage of th' fact that you're more like to land where you're lookin'. So if you keep your eyes straight down, well..."
Uncoiling the rope as she walks back to the gap, the brawler gives a short whistle, throwing the remainder of the rope to Elyanna's feet. "Just so's you know, Elyanna... If you ain't sure you can make the jump, I'll come back there an' bring you over myself, all right?"
GAME: Elyanna rolls acrobatics: (19)+6: 25
Barbed wire?
Well, the foreplay's covered.
After downing the first vial, and her wounds mending themselves, she lets a belch hiss through her interlocked choppers and watches the others make their way across the sundered span. There is a certain anxiety, being a vested spectator, but she tries to keep things under wraps.
Speaking of under wraps, as she tucks the second vial away in a safe place, the brawler's rope flops nearby and she shores up her resolve and sinks to a knee to start to secure herself with it.
That's her pragmatic side....
Her Pride, however, demands some shred of dignity and, with a quick mod toward Donna, she shambles back a bit, then lurches into a somewhat haphazard run to try and leap across the gulf.
Perhaps because of foolish pride. Perhaps her tendency toward walking everywhere and living by fancy footwork, even with the strength of a woman with half her muscle mass, the hobkin manages to launch herself in a graceful dive accross the small gulf, tucking into a roll to an upright kneeling position on the other side.
Ashes watches as Elyanna easily clears the distance. She nods as the hobkin comes out of her roll. She quietly claps. "Good."
Turning to look at the remainder of the bridge, the Mourner touches her holy symbol, "See." Her eyes glow once more as she examines the area for magic.
With the hole in the bridge cleared, nothing now stands between the group and the entrance to the Manse, aside from a relatively short walk, and a door that Reginald passes through moments earlier. A door that opened automatically for the skeleton, it would seem; but a door that does no repeat that particularly neat trick as the... living people approach.
Delilah is still dusting herself off from her fall, doing her best to make sure she's not walking around in a dress caked with dirt. "Figures," she mutters.
Just as the blonde sorceress speaks, something it would seem takes notice. An apparition of a woman identical to the statue in the middle of the bridge appears, right down to the chains but lacking the staff, thankfully. She keeps her eyes downcast and her hands clasped in front of her. "Please state your business at Mistress Ectra's manse," she requests.
"....*Or* could be as I didn't have nothin' to worry about," Donna says, eyes as big as saucers as she watches Elyanna sail over the *rest of the bridge.* "Good t'know. Good job!" she calls after the swashbuckling Hobkin, then simply trudges back to the post to untie the rope, now that it served its purpose.
Looping the rope around her arm as she rejoins the group, the brawler stops at the apparition, looking from it to the hole where the statue once stood, and back again. "...Oh for--"
GAME: Ashes rolls knowledge/religion: (14)+17: 31
Definitely a ghost. It appears she is being held here magically.
Feeling much better about herslf, despite otherwise not feeling so feeble since she was cured of the Winter Queen's plague, Elyanna manages to get to her feet with a little more surety than she had before.
"Thank you." she says with a wa smile, then turns to regard the apparition as it manifests, about to dribble out a quip, but manages to bite it back with an almost audible click. There's a glance at Delilah, Donna, and finally the Mourner.
This looks like her show.
A bare hand lightly touches Ashes's shoulder.
Ashlee stares at the apparation. Her eyes glow, so does the woman. Different glows. She bites her lip thoughtfully. She reaches into her satchel and then changes her mind.
"I'm here to free you." The Mourner says in monotone, staring at the ghost's eyes, not the rest of her. Feeling the Keeper's touch on her shoulder. "Also, to collect things useful to Magus Ectra Na'garra's efforts to achieve lichdom."
Both statements are technically true. Hopefully the former won't involve doing things to the statue - that could be complicated now. "Ectra waits in the Grey Lady's halls. The Feiu of the Tears waits for you."
"You--No. NO!" gasps the apparition. She recoils from Ashes, and holds her hands up as if to ward of a blow -- restricted as she is by the ghostly chain. "Mistress Ectra is all I have ever known, and someday she will return, I know she will. She will! Nothing can stop Mistress Ectra. If that is what you seek, I cannot let you in. I will not. I must not!"
The ghost retreats until she is half inside the wall, and shakes her head. "I thought you might have been here to aid Mistress Ectra," she whispers. "You are the first visitors who've been here in years. I've been so lonely, waiting for my Mistress to return. Why do you have to be so hateful?"
Hrm.
The red woman shakes her head, "She started this one young." she notes with a resigned tone.
There is a look to the apparition, her arms folding loosely at her midriff, trying to will her legs from shaking under her as she inquires, "What does the Mistress call you?"
Donna opens her mouth, but whatever she was about to say is choked out, and the open mouth is closed again. With a frown, the brawler approaches behind Elyanna, resting a hand on the warrior's right shoulder. Then, she leans down, and murmurs into the Hobkin's ear;
"Might be as she'll want to help folk who're lookin' for that traitor apprentice..."
The Mourner carefully reviews what she said, then how she said it. Her flat monotone was consistent, nothing she said was a lie in the strictest sense, more open for interpretation with some wide avenues in various directions. Ashlee does have a poor opinion of the mollusc; she's sure she was able to hide that. She's left a little dumbfounded regarding the hate she's accused of displaying.
The living are often 'too loud' for the dead; they're often too loud for the ashen Arvec herself. This may be the case here. Ashlee has recently come to doubt her best words of comfort. They were insufficient to a task. Perhaps what is weak for life will be overwhelming for those beyond the veil. In her blandest, most confident and empty tones, the Mourner says, "There, there. Everything will be all right."
Not one to lie to spirits, Ashlee continues carefully. "We met Magus Na'garra in the Grey Halls. We had a long discussion and shared our memories with her. She continues her research and is hopeful for success. She told us of her traitor apprentice, Veren, and warned us of the traps on the front and side entrance to her manse. She was adamant about what we would find here, and how useful it would be to us."
No need to clarify that it would be nothing, and not at all.
"We seek to bring Veren to justice for what she's done."
"Uhm..." Delilah mumbles, as she moves up to stand behind Donna. "Well, this is.. awkward, then," mumbles the sorceress. "I mean I didn't really expect we'd find a ghost who was completely bent on serving Ectra's every whim. But, if she can tell us about Veren..."
The ghost, meanwhile, doesn't seem to be overly concerned with what Delilah's got to say; she's more focused on Ashes. Slowly, she re-emerges from being half inside the wall, and clasps her hands once more. She bows her head, and sucks in a breat; likely out of habit more than anything else.
"The Mistress Ectra would not doubt appreciate someone taking care of the traitorous bitch who betrayed her," she acknowledges, returning to her previous tone, albeit with a helping of vitriol for Veren. "The bitch deserves to be cast into torment for all eternity for her betrayal of the Mistress. I would be honored to help you put a knife into her heart." She pauses, and sucks in another habitual breath. "The Mistress called me Slave," she declares proudly, puffing her chest out. "I was her first, and the day she ate my brain and raised me to serve eternal as first amongst her servants was the proudest day of my life. I will help you destroy the Bitch, but to let you enter, you must swear yourselves to Ectra's service. Only then can I permit you to enter."
This reinforces the mollusc's lack of imagination. She succeeded through power, alone. There is an affront in the Keeper's eyes, though if it's spiritual or professional, well...
She spares a look to the Mourner, then the sisters, the merchant.
"What of the statue on the bridge?" Elyanna asks grimly, "What do you know of that? Did you see Veren do the deed?"
The ashen Arvec stares at the apparation, wondering if it sees her. Really sees her. A hobgoblin, not only a monster, but one with a grey skin like the consumed remanents of a fire. Ash, as she was named, Ashlee, with a skull tattoo'd on her face and skeletal bones wherever the rest of her is visible, and a chill, unquiet aura not unlike the grave that surrounds her. An unsettling reminder of mortality, always.
"I can't." She says simply, "I'm a Death Witch of the Feiu of the Tears. I can't swear and serve two mistresses any more than you can."
Ashlee gestures at Delilah, "We are tangled with Veren and must make her see justice. That will serve Magus Ectra's interests, that's the best I can do."
And now their path becomes tangled, and their way it stopped not by a trap, or an obstacle, but the ghost of someone with more loyalty than sense. Dropping her face in her hands for a moment, Donna heaves a deep sigh, and drops to a squat, to look upward into the specter's gaze. If being first among cattle is a source of pride, perhaps it might help to look down on her.
"My friend's've got it right; one's sworn to Death, an' the rest of us... we don't hold to much more allegiance than our conscience, but I gotta ask you seriously; would you *want* us to swear an oath like that in bad faith? Wouldn't it be a bigger insult to you an' your service than just about anything else?"
Slave draws herself up to her full height proudly. "I have my responsibilities." She holds her hands up in front of her, and clasps them together. "I cannot let those who are not in my Mistress' service gain entry. Serving at aligned interests is not enough, it would not be enough for Mistress Ectra, it cannot be enough for me either, no matter what service you mean to render."
She gazes at those arrayed before her; and something in her expression softens. "And yet. The bitch must pay. She must PAY," she snarls, and her voice turns to something barbed and feral, just for that word. "She must! And I would have you see it so." She pauses, and grinds her teeth. "One of you must swear. Choose one among you to swear. But not that one," she adds, pointing at Lerethil. "Her oath is not necessary."
Elyanna turns toward the others, leaning against Donna for extra stability and intones, "We are finding outselves an impasse." in a soft voice, "Sophistry may be required."
She considers the situation for a moment and adds, "Let me try something else."
There is a careful step away from her support, toward the spectre, steel eyes seeking the face of the fettered soul, "What is the name of your mother, Slave?" Perhaps reaching around the obligation, past the rebirth, may wrest them a better avenue.
"Oh." Ashlee looks at Lerethil, too bad her oath is insuffient is the thought that goes unsaid. She glances between Elyanna, Donna and Delilah next, blinking her eyes and bobbing her head sightly towards the darker sister.
"You had it right." The Mourner says in monotone, "I can't and if I could, I wouldn't. Swearing to serve Ectra would be a lie."
She turns and stares at the apparation some more, breathing slowly, lingering on the ghost's chains and not her nudity. The afterlife is a lot more exposed than she was expecting. Well, she knew secrets would be revealed, just not in that way.
As Elyanna attempts her gambit, she makes slow and obvious motions, reaching into her satchel and bringing out her Khopesh. It glints, strangely silvery with a hint of an aura, one glaringly obvious to her own magic sight. Giving the Keeper a chance, she rests the tip on her boot and her hand on the pommel, holding the weapon very casually and standing like a statue herself.
Donna's eyes flick to Delilah, and the brawler's mouth presses into a thin, displeased line. The dark twin is very, very clearly processing all that has been said around her, turning it about to fit into the best possible plan of action. The puzzle halts for a moment, though, and Donna turns her head to peer a question at Lerethil. Probably the only one that matters; *Why* aren't you necessary?!
Shaking her head, she looks down at her hands, then to the ghost, and her shoulders set in a way that Delilah is very familiar with.
The dark twin is waiting to see how Elyanna is answered, but she seems very visibly to be readying to throw herself in front of another spider.
Lerethil looks back at Donna, with the most innocent look anyone could possibly muster; and wether it is real or fake is utterly impossible to tell. Still, if she has any ideas as to why her oath would not be necessary, she certainly isn't sharing.
"Ectra was my Mother," Slave replies, clasping her hands in front of her belly and responding as if it was the most obvious thing, that anyone ought to have known.
"She had a different name, when she was my Mother, and before she became the most sagacious and powerful Mistress Ectra. I did not know it... she was just Mother, to me. The Illithids chose her for her strength, for her mind. They were right to, for she became a great and powerful Magus, did she not? Oh, the heights to which she would have ascended by now, had the bitch not interupted her plans. But no matter; the Mistress Ectra shall rise again, I only need but wait." Her eyes come to rest on Ashes' khopesh, as she finishes speaking; and she takes a step back, her eyes going wide. "What is that?!" she demands.
"Donna," Delilah whispers, while Slave is talking. "Donna, you don't have to." She puts a hand on her sister's shoulder from behind. "I can do it, if someone has to. It shouldn't be you, you're the only one among us who can take a good hit. And..." she bites her bottom lip, "And you're my little sister and I'm supposed to protect *you*."
"Ah. I... see..." Elyanna replies in a peculiar tone, her footing shifting a touch, before she manages to regain her equilibrium, "That was the joke...."
A mother...
- ...eating her own daughter.
The hobkin turns toward the Merchant as she notes Donna's look that way, though she is somewhat boggled by the symmetry of sins.
"A tool." The Mourner says flatly, staring at 'Slave', daughter of the body that was devoured by a slug and became Ectra Na'garra. She has a great sympathy for ghosts, more than most in her calling. Some were childhood friends, others classmates. It was their whispers that saved her from Nan Mochtrath's plans. She enjoys sitting with them, helping them understand they have crossed over, giving them some peace.
'Slave', the ghost in front of her, is irritating in ways she doesn't comprehend. Fully aware of what happened, fully embracing a horror that eclipses even the memory the Keeper shared. Devoted even, to the snail that spits in the face of her Mistress. Convinced Ectra will return.
Which she will not, if Ashlee Ciaradh has any say in the matter. She will not leave a spirit waiting for eternity either. The Mourner feels the same determination that filled her in the Grey Halls building now. She had hoped to gently ease the spirit into her long night. It is clear a stronger push is necessary.
The silvery weapon rises, outstretched and pointed at Slave. She can touch it, perhaps feel the only thing she's felt since her death. The Mourner places her palm over the holy symbol on her breastplate, "Feiu of the Tears, consecrate this ground so I may send you the Slave-Daughter of the one that defies your will."
A pulse, an unsettling chill washes out from her. One of hallowed graves.
Slave's eyes widen, and the ghost looks on; she steps forwards trepiditously, and reaches out with both hands (chained as they are) to touch the point of the weapon -- the tool.
Instantly she recoils with a panicked gasp. "No! No! What have you done?! You have brought a wicked thing here, a horrible thing! I have done nothing wrong!" Tears well up in the ghost's eyes, and trickle down her ageless face. "Please don't do this to me, I don't want to go. I can't go, please, I have to stay here, *here* is where I need to be." The ghost drops to her knees and shudders, clasping her hands in front of her.
"Please, I only want to obey my Mistress and make her pleased with me, I only want one of you to swear, then I will let you in. I promise I will. I *promise*. Please don't do this to me, what you are going to do is wrong. It is *Wrong*. I haven't done anything to deserve this. Please don't hurt me, please!"
"Hey big sis," Donna murmurs, her face twisting into a crooked smile. "Remember... sometimes doin' the protectin' means you gotta clean up after my fuckups. It'll be okay, I swear."
Yes, she is in fact breaking her personal rule of never making promises too big to complete. And with one squeeze of her sister's hand, she turns around and makes to step forward... only to be brought up so sharply by Ashes' consecration that there's a moment where Donna seems to have a very real chance of falling flat on her face.
One does not argue with a priestess serving in their appointed role, but one can try and advise a friend. "Ash," Donna says, slowly. "I know about sending on the spirits, but... Are you *absolutely sure* this is a good idea?"
The Keeper will get back to the Merchant, but, with Ashes's move into more direct action, her attention must rest in that direction. She trusts the Mourner, particularly in affairs of the afterlife, as it is her role. She, herself has very little to offer in this affair, and all of her dealings with the departed have involved granting them peace. Her back itches with irony, and something is in the corner of her eye, but she holds firm.
"No." Ashlee says, in an honest monotone. She's taken aback by Slave's grovelling, her tears and the accusation that she's about to do something wrong. Slave's conviction is unsettling, a human assuring her she's a monster acting monstrous. Something the Mourner is sure is right.
Ashes is also reluctant to kill, or injure. It's trickier with the willful undead and the lingering spirits, but the woman kneeling in front of her is reminding her of Delilah at the execution block and she doesn't want to act Norrington's role.
She wants to swing her Khopesh in a great silver arc and sunder the manacles from Slave. Heroic and flashy as this thought is, the reality would be more like repeated, clumsy, hacks where she somehow hurts the ghost before she's successful. She needs to do something... smarter... Think.
Some symbols are stronger than others.
Her eyes roam along the chain, seeking the weakest link, one with a gap, the smallest weld. That one. She jams the wide tip of the Khopesh into the link, prays, "Feiu of the Tears, help me free Slave, in spirit, soul and mind. Embrace her and bear her to her reward."
With both hands gripping the hilt, the Mouner calls on her Goddess' power and wrenches it hard, trying to snap the link.
"No no no NO NO NO *NO*!!" howls Slave, cringing and closing her eyes as she's certain she is about to be struck with the khopesh and sent, finally, from this world. But the blow never falls.
One link in the chain looks, in all honesty, much like another; but perhaps that one there is a little bit off isn't quite perfect. Maybe Ashes can work with that one.
It isn't quite what Elyanna had expected of the Mourner, not in detail, though the general sway presents itself to fuller optimism within the Keeper.
The hobkin had, at first, started to move to set hands upon Ashes's own in silent offer of what pitiful strength the venom has left her, even as she draws breath for the first notes of a Blarite dirge, eyes closing in focus. One she had been studying since her second expatriation, in fact.
It isn't easy. Apparently even a ghostly chain has some durability to it; but with effort and a little perseverence, the chain snaps with a dminutive 'pling'. A quiet sound, but Slave's eyes snap open wide and she screams as if she's been burned. "Nooooooooooo!" she wails, and is gulping in a breath to scream again, when she holds up her hands to look at them.
Slowly, still staring at her palms, she unfolds her legs from beneath her and stands; her jaw hangs slack, and her eyes fill with a new sense of wonder; with sparkle that hadn't been there before. Carefully, she holds her arms out in front of her, stretched as far as she can, and then swings them out in opposite directions. She holds them out for a moment and brings them back in, holding up the broken ends of chain and looking at them.
"...Poppy," she whispers. "My name... My name is Poppy."
Delilah's jaw drops, but she quickly shuts it. "I--" she sucks in a breath and sighs softly, leaning forwards to relax against her sister's back. "Alright, well, that turned out a lot better than I thought it was gonna," she muses. "Hopefully, this means you or I won't have to be pledging our undying, brain-forfeiting service to an overly self-important, self-agrandizing mollusk afterall."
Lerethil, for her part, has just been watching this entire exchange, with her hands clasped behind her back and a neutral expression on her face; but now, she claps her hands together. "Well, now that that's sorted, can we go inside?" she inquires. "Or is... that not how this adventuring thing works?"
"You want your cut you *wait,*" Donna snaps over her shoulder. "We ain't in yet, an' when you travelin' with a servant o' the Gods, you *best* let them do their job."
With the chain broken, Donna turns back to regard the dealing between Hobkin and specter, tipping her head back just enough to reassure Delilah that, indeed, she's not moving to do anything stupid *quite* yet. And all she can really summon up in the face of the girl's discovery of her freedom is...
"Hey, Poppy... It's nice to meet ya."
"Hello Poppy," The Mourner says, her voice soft and warm. It doesn't sound like Ashes at all, as if some seventh person spoke from invisibility, the careful kindness she reserves for spirits unexpectedly witnessed. "I'm Ashlee."
Ashlee nods to Elyanna, a wordless 'thanks'. The extra strength, even morally, helped. She maneuvers her weapon back into her satchel, closing the flap. "You're released from your service. You can go anywhere or go on to your reward. It's better not to wander the world. You'll see things as a spirit that will turn you dark."
The ashen Arvec stands with her hands clasped in front of her, "I can wait with you until you're ready, answer any questions, and have some prayers to help."
The Manse, the rest of it, can wait. She's doing what she can for a lost soul.
All at once, the chains are sundered, and the spirit is unleashed, which stills both song and effort within her, and the songstress straightens, the dark curtains of her eyes, the right glistening, part before steel. There is a grim smile that meets the mourner's nod before she turns solemn eye laden with something uncanny, almost human, toward the spirit and she says gently, "Hello, Poppy... I am Elyanna. It is... nice to see you for who you are."
She looks to the sisters, then the impatient elf, then steps back to flank the Mourner as a sign of solidarity, while giving her room to do her good works for a soul damned too perfectly, for too long.
"I... I'm..." Poppy shuffles forwards, her step hobbled no longer by a chain (since it has also broken in the middle) but only by habit, until she realizes that she can step freely. She tries it, walking in an experimental circle, until she is facing Ashes once again.
"My Mother called me Poppy," she murmurs. "My Mother. My *real* Mother, before.. before they took her away from me." She pauses as her voice chokes up. "They took her soul out of her body and gave it to something... something *vile* and evil, and it... It *tricked me*."
She hugs her arms around herself, and sinks down to kneel on the floor. "It... It took *everything* away from me, everything, even who I am and turned me into a lie, and that... that Lie and that Manse are the only things I've ever known! I don't know... what's outside, I don't even know what's on the other side of that bridge, I... I've never known beauty or freedom. And now I'm dead and I've never even gotten to live. It's not fair, it's not fair, it's... it's not."
The ghost burries her face in her hands and whimpers keenly, eventually pitching forwards to throw her arms around Ashes' waist. "You saved me," she whispers. "Thank you. I... I don't know what I'll do, I want to wander but... but I don't want to end up like my Mother, dark and poisonous inside. But, I'll help you before I go, wherever I go. I'll open the door for you. I'll help you."
Donna looks back at her sister, the specter's story visibly *hurting* by how similar it is to theirs. And though this is Ashes' show at the moment, the brawler can't *help* but try and offer her own comfort, if only because it would have been nice if she were in Poppy's place. "I'm sorry you never got to leave, Poppy... It ain't fair an' it ain't right, but... Ash'll help get you to someplace you can be happy."
Ashlee watches Poppy walk, her first free steps, the circle. She listens, focused on her words and staring like she typically does while finding some hidden warmth that smoothes out the motions of her body. The Mourner stands stiffly when she's not thinking about it, old habits. Also, armour.
She moves to place her hands on Poppy's head, stroke her hair, and slowly lowers them. She's not able to touch spirits, still, she wants to make some sort of gesture. "Life isn't fair Poppy."
Her thoughts wander into strange places, memories of things she's seen. Merek's affliction, the Psychopomp, the ghostly caravan of orcs, the confused dead in Alexandria. "I'm sorry."
Even as she says the words, the Mourner feels there's more she should do. Something to redress the imbalance, even though that's not something she'd normally consider. "You can follow and haunt me, Poppy, if you're not ready. We're going to Alexandria after. I'll keep you safe."
She glances at Donna, despite everything she seems unsure still. The right path is hard. "You don't have to help us inside, but we would appreciate it."
And back in Alexandria, Silmeria smiles into her tea.
Elyanna is more deeply stirred by this particular tale. In most of the ways that matter...
She has been Poppy...
She has been Ectra...
The invitation for haunting draws uncertainty from the storm within the Keeper, and she ventures closer to her estranged friend, drawing a modicum of physical support from the Mourner as she suspurates into Ashes ear, "We can give her a proper life, can't we? With... proper tithe...?" <goblin-talk>
In the end, the brawler's words are not innacurate, but the lot of them are here expressly to jam an extended finger into the uncomfortable places of that fact.
Once, already, as they must... and perhaps again... because they can....
Delilah's reaction isn't dissimilar to Donna's; there but for a little bit of luck could she and her twin have gone, easily, naked and alone, chained and deceived. "Hey, Poppy," she murmurs. "I know it's not fair, and I'm really sorry. And you don't have to help us if you don't want to, but we're really grateful if you do." She pauses, and lifts one hand, the one that still has a bit of chain dangling from her manacle, and dabs at the corners of her eyes.
"Anyway, I... if, when you do move on, with Ashes' help... there's someone we know there, and she's really good and kind, and if you need someone... I bet she'd be happy to talk to you."
"We could." Ashlee turns to look at Elyanna. Her eyes search over the Red Hobkin's face, similar to when she was looking for an ill-forged link, seeking something unknown this time. <goblin-talk>
It would be expensive, but it's only money, and an improper life would be much easier. The Mourner won't suggest Poppy try possessing her familiar or pets just yet, or perhaps ever.
She nods to Delilah's elaboration, clarifying simply, "Tessa. And Bethany."
The Hot Springs, those can be a surprise.
