In the Light of Dying Embers
Eighteenth Day of the First Month 293 AC
Morning dawns bright and cold over the ruins of Sallosh, a thin curtain of mist clinging to the ancient stonework like a tattered grave shroud over dry bones. More than once during the night the window shutters had rattled and strange shadows glimpsed only from the corner of the eye had interposed themselves over the face of the pale waxing moon. The message is clear enough, you think—the dead of Sallosh have had enough of the living and their battles trampling upon their graves, and should you spend much longer inside the city more than starts and noises may come acalling.
Though you have not yet decided if you would try to pry their secrets and their treasures loose, there is one dead man, if man he be, whose remains you have no compunction about making use of. You do so with if not the best of intentions, then at least better ones than a declared foe would have any right to.
You take 1 Charisma Damage
Blood over ashes fall a storm of embers kindling, and for a moment you fear you had misstepped, granted more life than you had meant to, but the cloud of glowing ashes merely flies about you obedient to your will and bearing an echo of the spirit they once held.
"Would you return to life if called, even into another body?" you ask, voice firm and clear.
"One cannot die who has never truly lived, nor a spirit enduring be bound to swiftly fading flesh," the whisper from the swirling ash responds.
Of course it would give you a riddle, you sigh before trying a different track: "If I returned you to this world in a form equal in strength and only lessened in mind by the passage into death, would you then offer fair service for fair lordship?"
"I have had many masters....
too many.... I would not bear another." Beneath the words there is a screech like gears scraping together.
"I do not think the Smith was a man at all," Lya interjects, eyes wide in understanding and excitement both. "Perhaps a thinking incarnate, bound to utter servitude, such a being would not die as men do and it would have no love for the bonds of servitude."
"I'm not offering
slavery," you say, frustration showing in your voice in spite of yourself.
"I doubt
that can make the distinction," Dany motions to the remnant. "Try something a little broader."
"Would you ally in good faith, paying recompense for the harm you have caused?" The notion of a mere alliance with such a powerful being does not precisely sit well with you, but better to establish the limits just the same.
"Yes... service for service and recompense for harm. I would deal fairly with you and yours," comes the reply, far clearer than the first two, not that it fails to raise its own questions. By what measure is fairness to be weighed. Your judgement of the Golden Company men was fair by your measure, yet those you hanged still died cursing your names and from the looks their fellows gave you there are still plenty who bear you ill will over the judgement passed on their friends and comrades.
"Where lies your grimoire, your greatest treasures?" you ask after a moment's thought.
"Hidden in the ether's webs, beyond the grasp of those sworn to Greed Eternal." The cloud of ash begins to slow once you are past the fourth question.
"Name all the monsters and the mages you know of in service of Illyrio Mopatis and the Golden Company?" you continue your interrogation unabated.
"Nine and Six and One, the winged, the wise, the crowned," comes the answer.
You look to Lya to see if she as able to make more sense of it than you, but your love shrugs. "There are too many answers I can think of, not too few, a poor riddle in truth."
Second to last you ask for the purpose of the ritual you had interrupted and everything that went into its making. The reply you get is tantalizing in its brevity: "To wake the stone, to make it more, to let the earth remember."
You decide to probe a little further and ask why that was needed. For a moment you think the spell had failed entirely before the final answer could be given, then the faintest of whispers reaches your ears, three words bearing no trick or riddle but the simplest of human needs: "I was lonely."
What do you do next?
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OOC: This should include anyone you are sending home and preferably also a revised schedule.