Arc 11 Post 49: Gifts of the Depths
Gifts of the Depths
12th of January 2007 A.D.
"I think we should go." The words surprise you a little even as they slip out. La Llorona doesn't exactly look welcoming, but you do not know how log you have to recover Mayeda and, saving a life for its own sake aside he is the one who is most likely to both know and be willing to share what's going on here.
While Lydia nods Harry looks at you like you'd grown an extra head, motioning at the creepy ghost lady who, judging by the low groaning emanating from her chest like steel being slowly bent out of shape really doesn't like the implied distrust. As you open your mouth to reassure him Tiffany interjects: "If I may you must understand the fear of the black abyss below..."
"Must I?" the pale woman asks, her voice sharpening dangerously even as the sound in her chest grows louder. "Apestas a diablo."
Now you may not be the best at Spanish, but you do recognize the word for the devil and that is never a good sign.
As the tenuous peace Lydia had spun hangs by a thread the perfect verse comes to mind. Sister Beatrice, from which you had first heard that, probably did not intend for it to be used to mediate between a murderous specter and what was arguably still a Fallen Angel, but that's on her. "The Lord our God is merciful and forgiving, even though we have rebelled against him."
At these words both La Llorona and Tiffany flinch, though not quite in like manner. For the former it it more like a physical blow that sends her staggering back in a spray of canal water whereas the latter seems to just not have been expecting it, a look of sorrow seeping onto her face.
"Sorry," you mouth, but she just shakes her head.
"Come on I can fix the three of us right up." Then in a half whisper obviously meaning to be heard. "I didn't like this dress anyway." She does kick off her shoes though giving a warning look to the poor gondolier who nods spasmodically, like he's forgotten how to talk, not that you can blame him. He might have seen some stuff working at this resort, but still. One by one Lash herself, Harry and Lydia have slits pop open on the side of their necks, the sign of much deeper transformation as internal organs are rearranged to allow for a secondary respiratory system.
"I draw the line at a fish tail," Harry mock-grumbles to which Lash rolls her eyes.
"What about a proper merman's tail, like a dolphin?" she banters back.
You very distinctly do not bring just how much he is trusting her already, as much as Lydia who had already accepted a soul-deep bond for her new powers.
Harry, Lydia and Tiffany gain Water Breating
Tiffany Loses 3 Faith -> Now at 0/3
Thus fortified against drowning and in consequence betrayal Lydia takes the hand of La Llorona, Tiffany takes hers, then Harry takes hers and you take him. You try not to read too much into the arrangement as the waters of the canal close over you.
It's cold down here, the realization may only be academic to you, but the others start to shiver a few minutes in. How long beyond that the journey lasts it is impossible to say for certain save that it is much, much deeper than the canal should be. Though there is no light and no warmth there are currents, swift and unpredictable, dragging at your limbs, tangling your hair in a way no natural current would, but your guide knows these treacherous passages well.
Abruptly the world seems to twist around like you're on a roller coaster, up is down and down is air. The three of you come out of a inky black pool into a room that looks like the bastard lovechild of a Greek temple, a medieval cathedral and a natural cave, all the baroque splendors of the temple seemingly carved in limestone or slowly deposited layer upon layer. Though there are no obvious sources of light the domed chamber, thirty feet high at the apex is evenly illuminated about as bright as twilight. When in Vegas...
"Empty Night, I'm the adventurer now," Harry rumbles as he squeezes some water out of his sleeves. Another time you might have smiled at him, even quipped, but you follow his gaze to the upper part of the dome which holds three stone statues tucked into alcoves, winged and wild-haired women with talons of bronze, the Furies. Only in effigies of them, but in the spirit world form and function are often intertwined...
"Left, down the corridor, third door!" La Llorona hisses at you helpfully. We are going to have to give her a fruit bowl or something once we make it out of this.
One of the heads turns, grinding stone on stone.
What do you do?
[] Fight the guardian statues
-[] Write in
[] Run, you can still make this a smash and grab
[] Write in
OOC: There was no way Harry was going to trust his breathing to a murder ghost on the word of a sixteen year old girl, demigod or not so Lash is out of juice for her more advanced powers. On the other hand everyone gets to keep the water breathing if they want.
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