Where'd They Go? Part 9
--- Previously ---
There are two people competing for his attention and he just doesn't have it in him right now to understand. The sympathy and comfort gets a confused look and Scahra gets an even MORE confused look. Tears stream down his face openly. He tugs on the manacles, weakly, fingers curling inwards into fists as he desperately wants to do somewthing with them, anything.
It takes Seldan a moment or two more to pull himself together. The supporting pats and contact do help, and at length, he sits back on his heels, or as close to that as is possiblr to do in armor. "The fault is not yours," he tells the figure on the bed. "There is - much. Some of it did I see - and it is a vile thing indeed that had him."
At length, he looks around, for the other Silver Guard, one hand free in the way of one looking for an assist to their feet.
Aryia cannot help but roll her glowing eyes at Schara. "W-t th- f-ck y- th-nk - n-d?" she hisses out quietly as a hand reaches into her bag, rifles around, and all but throws a half full water skin at the artificer. She spies the hands. Pauses, as something old dashes across her face before she puts her calloused hands in his. Staying kneeled near the man.
"I don't know what the fuck you think you need. You said sorry, cup is two hand, drink is one, right." The artificer sighs as she catches the waterskin and opens it. "Sorry, I'm still learning handspeech, I wasn't sure what you needed but I should have figured it out even when I am severely stressed by a given situation."
She does managed to step a bit closer and hold out the waterskin close to the man's mouth. "Take it slow, don't drink too much at once, and try to focus on each drink." They instruct.
---Now---
To probably no one's surprise, the emacisated figure in the bed half rolls and vomits on the floor. Good thing he hasnt had much to eat or this could have been worse. He's not quite 'here' yet but he's more resoundingly present than he was, that's for sure.
GAME: Seldan casts Prestidigitation. Caster Level: 16 DC: 20
Seeing no offer of assistance forthcoming, Seldan opts to remain where he is for the moment, only absently drawing a sigil over the vomit on the floor, then passing a hand slowly over it. It is gone without a trace in a matter of seconds, but he makes no attempt to move further than that for the moment, letting the other two talk in more detail to the man for the moment while he raises both hands to rub quietly at his temples.
Aryia has her hands full at present, though she does pull back some to avoid the bile. She gives a thankful nod towards Seldan at cleaning up the yuck, but she turns back to holding the stricken man's hand, waiting for lucidity.
Schara barely manages to pull the waterskin out of the way with the patient and prisoner rolling over, even if they stumble a bit to not trip over Seldan.
"Maybe we shouldn't offer them any water for the time being." She considers. "Still, that shouldn't be for too long, dehydration is dangerous, of course."
One of the attendants who's been a witness to this reaches out to help steady Seldan. Instinctive. It's their job. Those reflexes are hard to turn off, even when they may not be warranted.
"Oh gods. They ... they made me ..."
The emaciated man rasps it out, eyes closed tightly.
"Where am I?" he manages to ask. Uncertain. Confusion reigns.
"You are in the temple of the Sky-Singer," Seldan answers wearily. He reaches for the steadying hand, and with the assistance, gets slowly to his feet. "Fear not. You shall come to no harm here." He lets out a long, slow breath, his free hand still rubbing at his temple. "I have severed its hold upon you, but would hear your tale. How did you come by such a thing?"
Aryia gives a slow nod to Schara in agreement before looking to the man. She gives the hand a light squeeze before letting go and rifling through her jacket to pull out a pen and journal. Notes don't write themselves.
"Oh, you are in an Elunan temple in Alexandria." The artificer answers while closing up the waterskin and awkwardly stuffing it back into Aryia's things while she was preoccupied.
"Do you need anything else before you continue, though?" The artificer asks.
He's thinking forr a moment. Trying to pull his memory together. It's like trying to pull two lengths of rope together that don't quite reach where they need to be.
"... I'm free?" He asks after a moment. "Where is this temple? This isn't Charn, is it." HIs accent, his Charnish accent, gets more pronounced.
"Gods... I was doin' a sentence in the dungeons and I was likely on my way to the market for violations of the public order, and this man came to me, asked me if I'd like another way out. I said yes. He asked me -- do you mind hurting people? I said if they deserve it, not at all. Some people right deserve a good punch in the face. I remember him smiliong. That smile was ... dangerous, you know? You know the kind, the one, where it's just too many teeth and too wide. But I ignored it. I didn't wanna be a slave. Ha... haha... a slave." He closes his eyes, rolls on to his back.
"He held out a chest, told me to take the knife from within and ... oh gods, so much blood. I ... so *many*."
"You are in the city of Alexandria," Seldan answers simply, releasing the other hand and folding his arms across his chest. "The knife was slavery of a different sort. Recall you aught of the man who offered you the chest? Did he offer a name? Could you describe him, perhaps?" His gaze remains steady, even, his demeanor calm and not unkind. "I trust you will recall this, the next time you are tempted to evade justice? Those who would do so too oft use desperate men to their own purposes."
Aryia blinks as a metal arm shoves a waterskin back into its pockets on the mute's jacket, her glancing up at the artificer and giving a vague gesture of thanks. But she sits on her haunches, pen scribbling as the man talks.
The pen pauses, white brows knitting together. "I get it. I didn't want to be either," she motions solemnly, a morbid agreement in her gesture. She shakes her head, getting out of that thought as her pen continues to write. <Handspeech/Tongues>
Schara takes another step back and lets the others talk for some time. "I do not know if you are free, that is for the others to determine. But at the very least we will make sure you are alright." The artificer answers simply.
"People are known to overlook obvious issues when they are desparate, it is not uncommon and I understand that. If you can tell the others what you know about them, that would be appreciated."
"Alexandria?" he squeaks.
He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to focus. Focus on the face, on the recall. A chagrinned look briefly over his expression at Seldan's, and then Schara's, words. He misses Aryia's, but only because his eyes are closed.
"...human. Thin. Angry. That's what I remember most, now. The anger. Like a stormy sea, all tempest and rage. I don't think he's someoine who's ever known happiness, not a day of it. You know the kind, right? Dark eyes. Darker smile. Bald."
Seldan's gaze remains as he considers the words. "Human. Thin, and bald, with dark eyes and a darker smile. Angry, as a tempestuous sea. Very well," he murmurs. "Well-dressed? Or simply? Think you he might have been wealthy?"
Pen scribbling grows louder as a list is made, but pauses as Aryia raises her gaze and a hand to flit it about. "Yes, Alexandria. Calm. Safer here than there. Trust me, I used to be a slave too," she attempts to assuage, but it's hard to do such a thing when you're resting face is a glare.
She returns to scribbling, this description wasn't ringing any bells to her. <Handspeech/Tongues>
"But you said they had too many teeth, are you sure they were human, or just mostly looked like one?" The artificer asks with their head tilted one way. "I can't say I know that kind of person, personally. Had you met them before, or was it the first time you had seen them?"
"I wasn't *counting* them," he tells Schara wryly.
"..but yeah, human. Wealthy? Maybe. He wasn't dressed like it, though. Didn't strike me as the kind that cares about money much. He had other things on his mind, clearly, like ... like ..."
He starts to turn a little green.
"...can you make me forget?"
Seldan's eyes lower at the request, his arms dropping to his sides, the poignant request and its intent only too clear to him. "I know of but one way by which such might be done. I am a man of both blade and spell, and the greater magics are not yet mine. Still do I know those for whom such magic is well within their grasp," he admits. "I shall see what might be done, do I have your word that no further crimes shall you commit here in Alexandria."
Aryia quirks a brow at Schara's insights, her pen moving up and scribbling down question marks next to 'human' and 'too wide of a smile'. She would not put it past a fiend using illusions to wreck havoc upon a populace.
She frowns, a sad flicker going across her visage before she shakes her head to focus on the present. "It's a good place to start over," she adds on to Seldan's question. <Handspeech/Tongues>
"Well, yes, I would agree, I don't know, what sort of crimes would someone commit to be sold into slavery in Charn?" Schara asks the mul'niessa who was nearby. "As long as you are willing to not do crime here, I think that is okay though, whatever that weapon was was the evil thing in question."
"... never wanna hurt anyone again," he murmurs quietly.
"Why the Taarans? Am I damned? She's not exactly the forgiving sort," he murmurs, getting drowsy.
"That's what he said. That he was gonna start it over, start it all over. But oinly after, only after ... "
He starts to loll a bit.
"Only after?" Seldan, for the first time, takes a quick stride and drops to one armored knee beside it , one hand on the edge of the bedframe. "Only after what?"
Aryia gives Schara a pointed look. "Depends on how the guard is feeling that day on how much they want to throw the law at you," the mute replies with a bit a of a snip to her gestures- something she's dreadfully familiar with. "You're lucky to walk away with a fine."
A long ear flicks, and she turns to regard the man as Seldan suddenly draws close. She shifts over, leaning closer to hear any fleeting utterances as her pen hovers to record. <Handspeech/Tongues>
"...after he burns all the lies," he murmurs, "All of them."
Then he slips into unconsciousness.
Fatigue. He'll rouse again, no doubt, soon enough.
"Well, we'll figure it out I guess, I'm not the most qualified for such judgements." The artificer audibly sighs, only to stop and tilt their head again, but the man is already unconcious. "Oh. That isn't very clear, but it's something to think about, at least."
-End Scene-