Meanings of Murder
17th of Kuthona 4707 A.R. (Absalom Reckoning)
You looks around at the others. This isn't like the keth in the forest looking for an easy mark, or the fools who had been drawn to attack the Pharasman temple back in Augustana. Saenar makes no apologies for the evil he has committed and yet... what else could he have done having lived the life he did? If one does not know what innocence is, how can one treasure it? When, you wonder to the children of drow, stop being 'ritually pure'?
"I don't want to be responsible for the things he'll do," Mina whispers heavily.
"Then don't be," Sirim answers harshly. "You took in the fire, your own deeds will be heavy enough without dragging behind the ills of those you failed to kill like a vulture trailing half-rotted entrails."
"What...?" you start to defend her, but the shade presses on.
"You are not the keeper of men's souls, even of us who you walk beside each day, much less those you simply leave alive in your wake. If he lives his healing might save a life that preserves the kingdom from war and strife for a thousand years. If he dies now his soul might fall screaming to the Pit to arise again as a demon remembered in the wailing of nations unborn. You cannot see all ends and you can only choose for yourself, not for what you think others would tell you justice is. Do you want to see the elf dead for what he has done?"
"No," she shakes her head. "It's not going to make anything better, is it? Am I that easy to read?"
"I would not say easy. I've simply had a longer time than most pursuing the matter," Sirim's manner softens.
"Elves are said to be among the most beloved of Desna, how could they turn into... this?"
Sirim Diplomacy (DC 20): 1d20+13 = 21 (Success)
"Sekamina is a long way from starlight, young magi, and closer by far to the One Below," the elf's voice is distant, almost entirely bereft of emotion. "We remember the Old Gods, we remember the lights that went out until all before us was the glow of fungi and balefire. She whose injunction lead us into the deep places was silence before the gorge of Cocyrdavarin. None but the demons would hear us, and so the demons feasted upon the souls of the servants of the Old Gods and we were made anew in blood." He stops, looking down thoughtfully at his chained hands. "So it is written in the histories at least. I cannot vouch for all of it, but I do know that those who served the gods among the slaves of deep Rygirnan are the most wretched, their lives the shortest. All of them claim to have lost the the song within. Whether it be deafness or disdain is more than I can guess."
"Why are you telling us this old history?" Gorok asks, suspicious.
"Because it begins to explain why I am here, and why for the first time in the long seasons Zirnakaynin seeks trade with the upper world. Since the founding of the city Varmirhias, the daughter of Shax himself has dwelt in splendor among the palaces of the twelve Houses, the first to offer demonic patronage to the Matrons of old. None dared to question her presence or her whims. Many they were and long it would take me to recount them all, but the most important for our purposes was the Decree of the Red Hook, that all which is taken from a surface dweller without blood most be tithed to her in nine tenths proportion. As one might imagine, trade where one may only keep a tenth of the profit isn't worth much. Of course, one could flaunt the decree, but it would have risked the ire of a Higher Demon, one with tools and means of espionage unimaginable by the mortal mind. Gold-palmed Vexidyre have always been skilled at adding up the odds and these odds were poor, that is until the Aspis came with demon killing weapons that did not fade in gorge of Cocyrdavarin but burned wrathful. Matron Mother Vexidyre bid them to kill Varmirhias if they would trade with us, thinking to give the demon an amusing sacrifice for which she would be well-rewarded. It was the strangers who slew the great demon. The Matron honored their cunning and strength, made pact and bargain with them, the first of many to be sure. The Red Hook has been pulled free, and now the drow walk abroad in more than blood."
"Wait, if the Aspis Consortium killed a daughter of Shax, why are his servants here... helping?" Pisca asks confused, met by more confusion from the drow.
"Because Matron Vexidyre killed Varmirhias using the strangers as tools, thus proving herself more skilled in the arts of murder."
"Words twist again," Mina interjects softly. "In the dark elven tongue murder isn't just the act of killing another thinking being with one's own two hands, it's transcendent bringing-of-death into the world, akin to the verb to birth."
"What does it mean in Taldan?" The elf frowns in worry.
"Illegally or dishonorably killing someone," you explain.
He sighs. "Illegally I know, but how do you tell what's... Nevermind. This will take some getting used to, though I am beginning to suspect I shall live to do so."
"Gold covers much confusion," Gorok agrees with him. The five of you having conferred over the matter and agreed to leave the drow not only his equipment, but also the third of his gold that you would have been otherwise entitled to.
"Can you give alchemy lessons?" Cob practically bounces. Who knows how long he's been holding that in.
"Am I getting paid, or is that part of walking out of this cell alive?" Saenar asks seemingly without rancor.
[] You are willing to pay a reasonable rate for lessons
- 500 gp for every drow alchemical concoction; 1d3 days of study per recipe
- 20,000 gp to learn True Fleshcrafting ; 1d3 months of study, must either train or re-train a feat into Fleshwarper
[] Consider it part of the terms of your release
[] Actually, you will be leaving in a few days
[] Write in
OOC: Fungal Stun Vial is part of that drow alchemy.
