Of Elder Gods
Seventh Day of the Fifth Month 293 AC
"Are we not all more than we appear to be at first glance, Wisdom?" you ask, tilting your head towards her, for the first time allowing yourself a very human mannerism. Between one instant and the next you allow your form to shift to the one you more commonly wear. Ironically, you realize Siduri is actually half an inch or so taller than you in this form, not that such considerations are likely to be on her mind given the way her eyes widen.
Is that a spark of recognition, you wonder,
or merely a glint of the ever-changing lights of the plane in her eyes?
Regardless, now is not the time to speak more on such matters, with devils perhaps still lurking below, and the prize of this venture not yet reclaimed. "Of course, there is a story to be told, one that is all the more fantastical for being the unvarnished truth. That tale won't be told quite yet, however, as I find myself curious in turn. What is it that you truly seek, that you would pit yourselves against foes such as these, when the Efreeti ships plying the Boiling Sea make such easy targets of themselves?"
"'Easy targets' he says," Yrten snorts, having regained his fire in full. "You take one of those damn things and all you're left with is the corpses you have to carve up, the hull no one will buy for fear of pissing off the Brass Bastard, and maybe the weapons if you can get to 'em before the sons of bitches can beak 'em."
You arch an eyebrow in question as you begin to move towards the hatch still mostly obscured by the hideous slug-like monstrosity now trapped in Dragonglass. "And this is not making foes, for that same dominion and the powers of Hell besides? No more than any other Arch-Fiend is the Lord of Dis forgiving."
"It's worth it," the raider captain shrugs. "I told you about the feathered snake, right...?"
"In rather vague terms, yes..."
As though timed precisely to stoke the fires of your curiosity, bolts of hellfire begin raining towards you and Siduri both. There may have been the odd curse mixed in among the words of power as you weave a veil of flame over Orthons using the frozen form of their erstwhile commander for cover.
Alone against your entire company the devils fall quickly to spell and steel, though not before the last of them nearly breaks the Xerfilstyx's dragonglass form and almost frees the trapped fiend in death. Thankfully, between Siduri's bolt of white hot lightning and a well-timed hammer blow from Yrwen crushing the armored devil like a beetle underfoot, the Xerfilstyx remains trapped.
"Like I was saying," the Azer continues, expertly cleaning his hammerhead of the offal and bile. "The snake's a seer too, supposedly a crumb of some god the Lord of the Hells himself killed back before... well, everything."
The fiend-kin mage rolls her eyes, retaining her own footing at the familiarity of the situation it seems. "Jazirian, called by some the World Serpent, was said to have been the twin of Asmodeus himself, the only being for whose death the Prince of Darkness ever sorrowed even as he struck the murderous blow. This feathered serpent is said to be a creature of unwavering law, though of a far more pleasant disposition than any devil. As soon as it was taken past the gates of Hell, sages and seers began having visions of its power, its wisdom, and its great need to escape before final death was upon it at the hands of the Great Sultan..."
"Do you mean to bind him to serve you?" Dany's voice is clipped, though considering her feelings on the matter of slavery, this is a show of considerable restraint.
"Depends on what temperament we'll find it it, but I am hopeful," Siduri replies, a little surprised.
All the while you have been descending into the bowls of the tainted ship, while the Golden Wind's crew secures the deck.
The smell of rust, blood, and other far more pervasive corruption filling your nostrils. The only light that can be seen comes from thick black candles burning low with a flickering flame that seems more meant to conjure shadows than to reveal the path ahead. More than once you are stymied by some lock of mechanical contraption, though thankfully one of Yrten's crewmen proves to be an excellent 'locksmith'.
As you wait for the most recent passage to open you realize Rina has fallen behind. Concerned, you push past the others to look for her. The sound of soft sniffles, almost too low for even you to sense, greets you as you turn the corner, her eyes red in mute testament of weeping. Dany had curled around her shoulders for comfort, while Tyene stands close enough to offer solace in companionship.
Catching your eye she shakes her head. Trusting her judgement, you do your utmost to pretend you had not noticed anything amiss.
***
Finally, the nine you find yourself before a brass door more fitting to a temple or keep than a ship, bound with seals writ in black fire that sears the eye to look upon. You could well believe this is the prison of a god, or as Yrten put it, 'a crumb of one'. Curses hideous and sublime are promised to any but the master of the ship who would open the gates.
"It's going to take more than an unraveling to break through that," Dany notes in willful understatement. "Do you have anything that might do it?" she asks the two raiders.
The sand-born sneak raises his hands with a fanged smile: "I don't seen no keyhole."
"That's alright, I've got a key right here." Yrten hefts his hammer, and draws the aeon blood vial from one of his many pouches.
"Mayhap we should study it a while longer." you offer.
What do you do?
[] Let Yrten try to bash the door open
[] Spend some time studying the door
[] Try to wish the gate open yourself
[] Write in
OOC: The enchantments are complicated enough that it will take at least a few hours to leverage your knowledge skills, but Viserys thinks there is at least a chance Yrten could be right.