Title: Ombaal
Date: 2009-07-27 01:57:43
Type: Logs
Synopsis: A Zalanthan murder mystery in the sands.
A Shady Oasis [NESW Quit]
Nestling within a natural depression in the barren landscape, this
oasis is both a change from the bleak surroundings and a haven for life. A
clump of yypr trees grows around the hot pool of water, the roots clinging
to the muddy banks as they support the straight brown trunks. Shrubs of a
few varieties grow around the pool as well, providing shelter for the
insects that live here. The blazing crimson sun hangs far above, the
fearsome heat absorbed and radiated by the pool, though the trees provide
shade all around it.
A grey stone monument of some kind has been erected at one end of the
pool, a sign that someone has been here before. The old remains of earthen
walls form slight ridges to the north, east, and south of the oasis, and
beyond them, the ground is barren.
A shadow falls over the area, driving off the uncomfortable heat.
The body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf lies crumpled on the dusty ground.
A shimmering dusty hammer of white flame is floating here.
The body of the charcoal-skinned, male elf lies crumpled on the dusty ground.
A burned dusty backpack of leather lies here.
Stuck blade first into the mud is a durrit-claw skinning knife.
Sprinkled over the offerings, a sprig of aromatic leaves lies here.
A broken obsidian dagger is here , thrust into the earth.
A small red fruit is here is resting here beside a root.
Set atop the others, a pungent root rests here.
A pungent root is here before the monument.
A mangy hide lies here.
A couple of gith skulls are here.
Some gith skulls are here resting below the monument in a pile.
Left beside the monument is a large crock of
In the mud is a small stone shotglass.
A couple of short lengths of bone are here arranged around the monument.
A long length of bone is here arranged around the monument.
A piece of bone is here arranged around the monument.
A pile of bone lengths is here at the base of the monument.
>
Water bubbles up through the mud, adding to the pool.
>You pick up a shimmering dusty hammer of white flames.
It is very light.
>You start cleaning.
>
You brush the dust off of a shimmering hammer of white flames.
>
The sun reaches its highest point in the sky.
Lirathu slips noiselessly from the sky.
>Staring down at your shimmering hammer of white flames, you ask, in allundean:
"What happened here?"
>Looking at the body of the charcoal-skinned, male elf, you say, in allundean:
"Asling..."
>
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap has arrived from the north, jutting through the trees.
>Looking at the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf, you ask, in allundean:
"And who is this?"
>You look down at the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap.
The frame of the figure before you stands lean and slender, his body
supported by worn musculature. His skin is similar in tone to that of silt,
worn rough and thick by the sands and rays of Suk-Krath. Dusty grey hair
falls about his shoulders in a thick mane, grains of sand coating its wild
locks. Upon his face a deep, thick grey beard grows long, unkempt and
dusted. His features are worn and rough, bushy eyebrows lending a gruff
appearance. Large, oval orbs, mixed in various greys the colour of granite,
gaze out from wide cheekbones.
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap is in excellent condition.
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap's head glows dimly red.
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap's body is covered with a pulsing yellow aura.
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap is using:
He is carrying:
nothing obvious
>
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap skids to a stop, pausing before the bodies.
>Pointing at him, you ask the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in allundean:
"Qeyne, do you know what happened here?"
>
Shaking his head softly, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says, in an unfamiliar tongue:
"nu, taou oue, i'du coev oiei oceh yiq priotex, e coioq oh zaer ocl y paou-vyeonej owa ceaj iaaen oy letecie ar uki jfogypuw, orq iufuhoayd"
>
Shaking his head softly, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says, in northern-accented allundean:
"No, pure one, I've just come from our grasses, a group af muls and a fyne-touched one laid waste to several of the children, and Razorleaf."
>
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap sighs deeply, gazing down at the body of the charcoal-skinned, male elf and the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf with a sigh.
>Furrowing his brow, you ask the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in allundean:
"Muls?"
>Pointing at the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf, you ask the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in allundean:
"Do you know this one?"
>
Crouching down near his dusty leather backpack, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says, in northern-accented allundean:
"Perhaps some fire-touched?--Aye stump-bzeeds, nearly killud me, but I fled into the thorns"
>
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap clicks his teeth, gazing down at the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf.
>
Shaking his head softly, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says, in northern-accented allundean:
"I've seen him not."
>
Lifting his granite gaze, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap looks up at you.
>Holding your shimmering hammer of white flames aloft, you say to the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in allundean:
"I found this next to the bodies..."
>
The wind grows weaker.
>
Frowning deeply, extending a hand, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says, in northern-accented allundean:
"May I see it? I shant hold it long"
>
Dipping his hand down, drinking deeply, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap drinks muddy water from the hot, muddy pool.
>
Clicking his teeth, gesturing to the fiery bludgeon, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says, in northern-accented allundean:
"I've seen this hammer before."
>Dropping your shimmering hammer of white flames into the mud, where it begins to sizzle and hiss, you say to the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in allundean:
"Very well. But I'll need to take it back to my people. There's much to be learned from it."
>You drop a shimmering hammer of white flames, which falls to the dusty ground. Shown to the room as:
A shimmering hammer of white flame is floating here.
>
Water bubbles up through the mud, adding to the pool.
>The gaunt, white-haired elf grunts in mild surprise as a shimmering hammer of white flames begins to float, rising from the mud.
>
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap crouches down, pursing his lips as he scrutinizes the hammer.
>
Tilting his head curiously, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap asks, in northern-accented allundean:
"Did not Light Touch buar one of tsese?"
>Eyes darting from a shimmering hammer of white flames to the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf, you say, in allundean:
"This fiery hammer... the burned backpack."
>Speaking to the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf, you ask, in allundean:
"Could you have been Bahak?"
>With a shrug, you say to the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in allundean:
"It's possible. The hammer, in and of itself, is nothing spectacular. It's just strange that it's here, is all."
>The gaunt, white-haired elf reaches down, scooping up a shimmering hammer of white flames.
You pick up a shimmering hammer of white flames.
It is very light.
>Squinting at the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf, you say, in allundean:
"I wish I knew who you were... everything would be much clearer."
>
Sighing softly, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says, in northern-accented allundean:
"Whisper will know, I'll seek him when he returns from txe womb."
>
The wind grows weaker.
>Arching a brow, you ask the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in allundean:
"The womb?"
>
The mighty sun begins to crawl across the western sky.
>
Nodding his head softly, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says, in northern-accented allundean:
"Where the children sleep in the grasses."
>Frowning, you ask the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in allundean:
"I wasn't aware that he left for the grasses. But he's returning, yes?"
>
Nodding his head softly, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says, in northern-accented allundean:
"He will, the journey is long for him, longer for me as ma feet are not as swift and I refuse to defile myself by riding a beast."
>
Lifting a hand, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says, in northern-accented allundean:
"But he will return."
>The gaunt, white-haired elf nods once, taking a seat on the ground.
>You sit down and rest your tired bones.
>
Pursing his lips, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says, in northern-accented allundean:
"Perhaps the earth can speak of what happened here."
>Rubbing his forehead, you say, in allundean:
"Do you know how to get ahold of any Soh? They will no doubt want to recover Asling's corpse."
>You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.
>You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.
>You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.
>
Shaking his head, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says, in northern-accented allundean:
"If you cannot find their mind, I'd not tread near their camps myself. I'll peturn shortly"
>
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap kneels down, resting his hands upon the earth, chanting softly.
>
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap begins a spell, and the earth trembles in response.
>
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap utters an incantation.
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap suddenly dives to the ground, and disappears.
>The gaunt, white-haired elf grunts in response, rubbing his forehead.
>You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.
>You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.
>You stop resting, and stand up.
>
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap pokes his head through the ground, and rises up to the surface.
>
You notice Sun Runner tattoos on the corpse of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf.
>
Shaking his head softly, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says, in northern-accented allundean:
"The earth us quiet now, it suems."
>
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap kneels down before the monument, hefting his dome-shaped dorsal ridge above his head.
>
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap arranges his dome-shaped dorsal ridge.
>
Plunging it into the soft soil before the monument, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap drops his dome-shaped dorsal ridge.
>The gaunt, white-haired elf frowns deeply.
>
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap scoops up a handful of earth, chanting softly as he lets the soil trail through his fingers.
>
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap begins a spell, and the earth trembles in response.
>You stop resting, and stand up.
>The gaunt, white-haired elf rises slowly from his seat, approaching the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf and kneeling beside it.
>In the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf (here) :
a dusty drab, weathered stormcloak
>
The wind grows weaker.
>
Canting his head aside, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap asks, in northern-accented allundean:
"Do you need help, pure-blood? To cerry the body elsewhere?"
>Pushing away a fold of the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf's cloak, you say, in allundean:
"Sun Runner tattoos... he is blood."
>
The late, red sun descends toward the western horizon.
In a sullen red glow, Jihae begins to slip from the sky.
>Feeling frustrated, you think:
"What happened here!?"
>
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap casts his glance aside, lips curling into a frown.
>The gaunt, white-haired elf smooths the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf's clothing, hanging his head briefly.
>Quietly, you say, in allundean:
"I don't know this blood personally, but he is Sun Runner."
>Rising to his full height, you say, in allundean:
"I must take him back."
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf has arrived from the west.
>
Nodding his head softly, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap asks, in northern-accented allundean:
"We share blood, pure-cousin. Would you care for help?"
>You look up at the sinewy, crimson-locked elf.
Long dark crimson dreadlocks fall down against his shoulders. His face
is covered in large scars that form a -X- in the middle of his nose making
their way outwards. His eyes are slanted like all elves with black coloring
to them with silver specks. His ears are pointed slanting at angles against
his head. His body maintains a sinewy build to it and is covered in various
scars that make their appearance against it. His skin is leathery in
appearance but holding a dark bronzed color to it from the harsh rays of the
zalanthas sun.
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf is in excellent condition.
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf is using:
He is carrying:
nothing obvious
>
The ground begins to rumble and shake.
>
Shifting his gaze, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap looks up at the sinewy, crimson-locked elf.
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf runs west.
>To the west an old
[Very far]
Nothing.
[Far]
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf is standing here.
[Near]
Nothing.
>The gaunt, white-haired elf glances at the ground, then looks west, confused.
>
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap glances about, crouching down to touch his hands to the earth.
>Nodding once, you say to the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in allundean:
"Yes. Help me. It is dangerous here."
>You lift the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf with all your strength.
The body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf half rises from the ground.
>
The air around the monument goes dense, then sputtering noises issue from the monument as the ground continues to rumble.
>You stop lifting the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf.
The body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf settles to the ground.
>
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap lifts his gaze, granite stare rising to the monument.
>The gaunt, white-haired elf attempts to lift the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf, then quickly drops it as the trembling worsens.
>This pyramidal monument, perhaps six cords in height, appears to have
been built atop an inlet at one end of the muddy pool. The surface is made
from unusually smooth, light grey stone. The only marks upon it appear to
be lines of dust left by the wind. The faces of the pyramid face the four
cardinal directions: north, east, south, and west.
>
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap touches his hands to the earth, eyes drifting closed.
>
Water bubbles up through the mud, adding to the pool.
>
You have a startlingly clear vision of standing at this spot with the corpse you are holding, standing next to you is
>
Speaking softly, hands grasping at the soil, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap asks, in northern-accented allundean:
"Mother, you trembme, what has transpired?"
>
The trembling subsides as the sputtering noises from the monument die.
>The gaunt, white-haired elf grips his forehead suddenly, yelping in surprise.
>
Shifting his gaze, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap looks up at you.
>
Eyes opening, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap asks, in northern-accented allundean:
"What is wrong, pire cousin?"
>Mumbled, you say, in allundean:
"A vision...
>
Quirking his brow, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap asks, in northern-accented allundean:
"What of
>The gaunt, white-haired elf glances around, peering into the underbrush.
>
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap's granite gaze shifts from the monument to you, regardin you quietly.
>Excitedly, you ask, in allundean:
"
>You ask, in allundean:
"What does it mean?"
>
Casting his gaze about the oasis, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap asks, in northern-accented allundean:
"I saw him not, pure cousin. I saw the Soh run, but it was not
>
The wind strengthens a little.
>Harshly, his words practically a hiss, you exclaim to the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in allundean:
"Yes I'm sure!"
>
Water bubbles up through the mud, adding to the pool.
>
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap purses his lips, eyes travelling over the copses of yypr trees.
>The gaunt, white-haired elf falls silent, pressing his fingers against his forehead.
>After a moment, the gaunt, white-haired elf draws in a deep breath, then releases it.
>
Gesturing to the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap says, in northern-accented allundean:
"Come, pure cousin. Let us lake his remains to your people."
>Nodding, you say to the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in allundean:
"Yes. Here, help me."
>
Slipping his hands beneath the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf's shoulders, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap strains as he lifts the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf.
The body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf half rises from the ground.
>You lift the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf with all your strength.
The body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf lifts off the ground.
>
Something doesn't feel right about moving this corpse.
>
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap falls in behind you.
>
The sun sinks into the rocky terrain to the west.
>
It seems somehow linked here.
>Quietly, you say, in allundean:
"Wait..."
>
Tilting his head curiously, shifting under the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf's weight, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap asks, in northern-accented allundean:
"What is it?"
>Sharply, you say to the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in allundean:
"Off! Off! Don't touch it."
>You stop lifting the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf.
The body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf half rests on the ground.
>
The very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap stops lifting the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf.
The body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf settles to the ground.
>
Eyes wide, casting a curious glance, the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap asks, in northern-accented allundean:
"What of it, pure cousin?"
>The gaunt, white-haired elf shakes his head, clasping a hand over his mouth as he regards the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf.
>Shaking his head helplessly, you say, in allundean:
"Something doesn't seem right. Something isn't right."
>The gaunt, white-haired elf paces around the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf, looking aggravated.
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf has arrived from the west.
>You think:
"I know I should bring this Runner back to my people... but..."
>
Water bubbles up through the mud, adding to the pool.
>
Anger filling his voice, the sinewy, crimson-locked elf exclaims to you, in allundean:
"What have you done!"
>Simply, you say to the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"I haven't done anything."
>
Eyes filled with rage gesturing to the body of the charcoal-skinned, male elf, the sinewy, crimson-locked elf asks you, in allundean:
"Why is he dead?"
>Quietly, you say to the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"I... I don't know."
>
Pacing back and forth along the grounds near the hot, muddy pool, the sinewy, crimson-locked elf asks you, in allundean:
"My cousin is murdered and you have nothing to do with it?"
>Gesturing toward the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf, you say, in allundean:
"This one is Sun Runner. We have both lost kin today, Soh."
>
Gesturing to the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, the sinewy, crimson-locked elf asks, in allundean:
"How come the earth shook? Were you not planning on using your taint against me?"
>
The night has begun.
>You don't see that person here.
>Darkness
Total darkness surrounds you, preventing you from seeing anything
at all. You have trouble telling where to put your feet when you walk.
>Flames erupt in response to your summons.
>
With a snarl and a low guttural growl, a male voice asks, in allundean:
"What has taken place?"
>
You utter the incantation.
Ok.
You open your hand and conjure a shimmering ball of red light.
You toss a shimmering ball of red light into the air, where it assumes orbit around your head.
The area is filled with a red light.
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf says to you, in allundean:
"If you know what has happened, tell me! "
>A flare of red light from his hand illuminating the area, you say, in allundean:
"I do not know. All I know is that I came here, found these bodies... and then had a vision."
>
Circling around you and the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, the sinewy, crimson-locked elf asks you, in allundean:
"Then tell me why the ground shook when I first came?"
>Twisting his neck to look directly at the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, you say to the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"I do not know why the ground shook. But as it shook, I had my vision. I saw
>
Waving a hand absently in the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap’s direction, the sinewy, crimson-locked elf asks you, in allundean:
"He had nothing to do with it?"
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf looks down at the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap.
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf starts cleaning.
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf dusts himself off.
>Nodding gravely, you say to the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"If Qeyne had done it, I would've sensed it. And besides, Qeyne came here even after I did."
>Gesturing toward the monument as he trails off, you say, in allundean:
"I believe it came from..."
>
Eyes filled with rage as he still continues to circle, the sinewy, crimson-locked elf says to you, in allundean:
"You were both here, Runner, when I came... I found my cousin dead. What is to make me believe that you did not kill him and the White Rantarri?"
>Blinking, you say to the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"W... wait."
>Pointing at the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf, you ask the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"This is the White Rantarri?"
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf breathes heavily and turns to you, his lip curling upwards into a sneer.
>
Walking about with quick movements, the sinewy, crimson-locked elf says to you, in allundean:
"It is..."
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf crouches down and looks for tracks.
>Laughing abruptly, you say, in allundean:
"Then there is your answer! I could not have killed the White Rantarri even if I wanted to. I would be turned to dust."
>
Yelling loudly, the sinewy, crimson-locked elf shouts, in allundean:
"WHAT IS IT THAT YOU SAW THEN? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY COUSIN?"
>Shaking his head as he looks down at the ground, you say, in allundean:
"You must believe me, Soh. This was not me, but something greater."
>
Your ball grows very dim, its energies ebbing.
>
Breathing heavily as he walks around you and the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, the sinewy, crimson-locked elf asks you, in allundean:
"What does your friend have to say for himself?"
>Shaking his head, you say to the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"He is no friend of mine. Qeyne can speak for himself, if you put questions to him."
>
His lip curling upwards, the sinewy, crimson-locked elf asks the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap, in allundean:
"What did you see?"
>Feeling annoyed, you think:
"Stupid, shouting Soh..."
>You think:
"What happened here!? What killed the White Rantarri?"
>
A tear falls down from the sinewy, crimson-locked elf’s eye as he continues to walk around you and the very short male wearing a dusty thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap in a quicker, more aggresive manner.
>
Water bubbles up through the mud, adding to the pool.
>
A whining noise issues from the vicinity of the monument.
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf makes his way over to the monument.
>Watching the monument tensely, you say to the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"See? Watch and listen, Soh. Something greater than us is at work here."
>
Calling over his shoulder, the sinewy, crimson-locked elf asks you, in allundean:
"What is it though?"
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf draws a bloodied short, barbed zerka.
>In a mystic, quiet tone, you say to the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"I do not know. But it is trying to tell us something."
>
Calling over to the monument, the sinewy, crimson-locked elf asks, in allundean:
"Who goes there?"
>
Your ball goes out.
The area is enveloped in darkness.
>Flames erupt in response to your summons.
>
You utter the incantation.
Ok.
You open your hand and conjure a shimmering ball of red light.
You toss a shimmering ball of red light into the air, where it assumes orbit around your head.
The area is filled with a red light.
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf says, in allundean:
"Something has been done here. Blood has been shed and I mean to find out the meaning of it."
>The gaunt, white-haired elf walks over toward the monument, the red glow of your shimmering dim ball of red light's washing over it.
>
You have a vision of yourself cutting out the heart of the corpse of the ritually-branded blonde-dreadlocked elf and eating it, then setting the corpse on fire.
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf begins to walk with you over to the monument.
>The gaunt, white-haired elf gasps suddenly, clutching his forehead.
>
Calling over loudly to monument, the sinewy, crimson-locked elf asks, in allundean:
"Who or what goes there?"
>The gaunt, white-haired elf's steps slow, then stop, his attention drawn to the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf.
>Reaching toward him with a trembling hand, you ask the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"Soh... what is your name, Soh?"
>
Pacing back and forth before monument, the sinewy, crimson-locked elf says to you, in allundean:
"Slaa Imbia... the elf you see there is my cousin..."
>Nodding, you say to the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"Yes... I knew Asling. Killed many gith... strong against the Dark Spirits."
>Urgently, imploringly, you say to the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"Listen to me, Slaa. I did not kill anyone here today. You must trust me in this."
>Speaking quickly, you say to the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"I've been having visions ever since I came here. I can't explain them."
>You say to the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"But I know what I have to do, and I may need your help."
>
His breathing still heavy, his voice beginning to show pain, the sinewy, crimson-locked elf says to you, in allundean:
"I do believe you...."
>Sighing in relief, you say to the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"Good... good. Here is what we must do..."
>
Your ball grows dim.
The wind strengthens a little.
>Gesturing toward the darkened oasis, you say to the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"We must not move the body of the White Rantarri. It is linked to this place, somehow. I believe the White Rantarri awakened this monument. Whether that is good or bad, I do not know."
>
Looking over his shoulder, the sinewy, crimson-locked elf says to you, in allundean:
"The White Rantarri will return... do not doubt that. He is not meant to be slain until..."
>Furrowing his brow, you ask the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"Until what?"
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf bites his lip, shifting his gaze back to the monument.
>
The immense sun rises up over the Shield Wall in the east.
Jihae rises, its red light gleaming above the sands in the southeast.
Lirathu rises, its pale light gleaming above the sands in the southeast.
>Watching him intently, you ask the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"What? Did you have a vision, too? What did you see?"
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf asks you, in allundean:
"I saw a vision of you performing a fire on the bodies... did you not see it as well?"
>Nodding emphatically, you exclaim, in allundean:
"Yes! Yes! I saw a vision of me performing the Ombaal!"
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf paces back and forth, his eyes narrowing as he turns his head to the monument.
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf asks you, in allundean:
"The what?"
>You say to the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"A ritual. Returning their bodies and souls to the sun."
>Pointing at the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf, you say to the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"I must build a pyre for the White Rantarri. I must do it here and now. I must eat his heart, and put flame to his body."
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf jaw clenches as he looks over to you.
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf asks you, in allundean:
"What of my cousin?"
>Shaking his head, you ask the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"Your cousin was not in my vision. Was he in yours?"
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf shakes his head at you as he looks over to the body of the charcoal-skinned, male elf. His eyes fill with tears briefly.
>
Your ball grows very dim, its energies ebbing.
>In calm, soothing tones, you say to the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"Then that means you should do with him as the Soh do. Mourn over him in the Soh way."
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf says to you, in allundean:
"Do what you must with the White Rantarri... I will take my cousin afterwards..."
>Nodding, you say to the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"Thank you, Slaa. Thank you for your wisdom and understanding."
>Turning to face the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf, you say, in allundean:
"Now..."
>Shaking his head solemnly, you say, in allundean:
"I've never performed an Ombaal before. And certainly not for one like the White Rantarri."
>
Calling over his shoulder as he moves to take a seat next to the body of the charcoal-skinned, male elf, the sinewy, crimson-locked elf says to you, in allundean:
"Do what you must... I saw you burning his body with your flames."
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf sits down to rest.
>Nodding, you say, in allundean:
"Yes... but I must first eat his heart."
>You unsling a sapphire-set, obsidian short sword from your back.
>Mystically, holding his sapphire-set, obsidian short sword from over the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf, you say, in allundean:
"White Rantarri's heart, on Many Faces Sejah's sword."
>You say, in allundean:
"I do not know why I was chosen to consume your flame, Rantarri, but I am honored."
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf grabs the body of the charcoal-skinned, male elf resting his body onto his lap.
>The gaunt, white-haired elf plunges your sapphire-set, obsidian short sword into the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf.
>Calling over his shoulder, you ask the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"A knife, Slaa. Do you have a knife?"
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf gets his dusty durrit-claw skinning knife from his gwoshi-hide knapsack.
>
Your ball goes out.
>
Tossing it over his shoulder, the sinewy, crimson-locked elf gives you his dusty durrit-claw skinning knife.
>The gaunt, white-haired elf grunts, shoving your sapphire-set, obsidian short sword through the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf's ribcage. Bone and flesh breaks before the blade, opening up the chest cavity.
>
Someone gives you his bloody heart.
>The gaunt, white-haired elf pries the heart free from the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf with your dusty durrit-claw skinning knife, grasping it with bloody hands.
>You are carrying:
a bloody heart
a dusty durrit-claw skinning knife
a shimmering hammer of white flames
a triangle of rough red sandstone
>This used to be the heart of a living being, but it has now been torn from
the creatures chest.
>The gaunt, white-haired elf opens his mouth as if to say something, but then simply shakes his head, and begins eating your bloody heart raw.
>You eat your bloody heart.
>
The sun begins its long voyage across the heavens.
>The gaunt, white-haired elf chews the heart slowly, reverently, blood dripping onto his bare chest with each grisly bite.
>You sling a sapphire-set, obsidian short sword across your back.
>You drop a dusty durrit-claw skinning knife, which falls to the dusty ground. Shown to the room as:
A dusty durrit-claw skinning knife is here stained with blood and gore.
>You stop using your leather waterskin.
>To the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf, you say, in allundean:
"Rantarri, I have no liquor here, only ale. I know no stories from your life, only legends."
>The gaunt, white-haired elf dribbles brown ale from your leather waterskin onto the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf as he speaks.
>Quietly, you say, in allundean:
"I feared you, yes. The entire 'Pah feared you. But you gave yourself for us. You sacrificed everything, and it is an honor to bring you back to the purging light of Sejah. The brilliance of Bahak. The peace of Situn."
>You pour a leather waterskin into the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf.
>
The wind strengthens a little.
>You hang your leather waterskin on your thick leather belt.
>Waving his hands over the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf, you say, in allundean:
"I give to you, then, the only gift I have. My fires. Farewell."
>The gaunt, white-haired elf chants mystically for a few moments. The air around him grows hotter and hotter.
>Suddenly, twin jets of flame erupt from the gaunt, white-haired elf's palms, slamming into the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf.
>
Three brilliant blue rings of flame jet out of the monument towards the red orb of Suk-krath.
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf turns his attention suddenly to the monument.
>The gaunt, white-haired elf continues to chant, walking around the body of the ritually-branded, blonde-dreadlocked elf in slow circles, scorching it again and again. As he completes one revolution around the corpse, he turns to watch the monument.
>Smiling with bloody, gore-caked lips, you say, in allundean:
"It is done. The White Rantarri has returned to the sun."
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf says to you, in allundean:
"For awhile at least, Runner. He'll be back. No one can slay him except..."
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf stops using his large spiked wooden shield.
>Turning to face him, you ask the sinewy, crimson-locked elf, in allundean:
"You keep saying that, Slaa. Except what?"
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf sheathes a bloodied short, barbed zerka.
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf strains as he lifts the body of the charcoal-skinned, male elf.
The body of the charcoal-skinned, male elf half rises from the ground.
>
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf stealthily moves west, dragging the body of the charcoal-skinned, male elf behind him.
>To the west an old
[Very far]
Nothing.
[Far]
The sinewy, crimson-locked elf is standing here, lifting the body of the charcoal-skinned, male elf.
[Near]
Nothing.
>The gaunt, white-haired elf stares west, his brow furrowed.
>The gaunt, white-haired elf watches the remnants of the corpse smolder for some time.
>
The burning sun rises high into the sky, searing the earth.