3627/Where There's Smoke...

Where There's Smoke...
Date of Scene:	07 January 2016
Location:	Hylian Realm of the Sky <HRS>
Synopsis:	Trouble stirs in Eldin Province, home of the great volcano.
Cast of Characters:	879, 891

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Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
Although winter has most of the multiverse in its grip, the sky islands of Skyloft are not under snow. That would be because they're above the level of the snow, and above even the clouds. They look down on the realms below out of necessity. When Hylia raised up the isles, it was for their own safety. There had been no safe realm left for them.

It means that they do enjoy a certain measure of safety. Days are peaceful, and nights are quiet.

Since the return of some folk to the surface world, populations have shifted around Skyloft. With the departure of Link, Zelda, and a number of Skyloft Knights and curious residents, others have moved in from more distant sky island settlements. Even some of the mysterious and mistrusted Sheikah from Kasuto, the Shadowed Isle, have come to stay.

Included in those is Yalai, the Stave, a lieutenant among those people who serve the Goddess. She hadn't elected to take her own quarters, though, instead sharing the residence of Knight Aedan MacCarvill, wherever and whatever that may be.

She's found pretty often on the roof at night. That's where she is tonight, perched neatly with her cloak wrapped around her, watching the stars as they wheel, so slowly as to be missed, in the night sky. Clutched in one hand is a letter or missive, slightly crumpled.

Curiously, she looks almost upset, although the alien set of her features makes it difficult to say what her mood is, sometimes. Her features are so angular and sharp that she and her people are visibly different from their Hylian cousins. They are feared by some and not trusted by many; considered strange faerie-people straight out of legend and tale.

Although they are the /keepers/ of legend and tale, they have been on this world for as long as the people of Hylia.

Aedan MacCarvill (891) has posed:
    The place that Aedan lives is up on one of the central islands. He'd lived in a cluttered family home for a while, then in groups in the barracks, then in his own private quarters. These days however, the migration to the surface has freed a lot of space up in the clouds. Perhaps not as much as might be liked, but enough that some of the officer's housing had been freed up and he was sorted into it fairly quickly. It's a sturdy building, built up alongside the academy, rising high up over the island like a great big clock tower.

    That's the only direction that was practical to build, most times. Up, up, and farther up. The exterior of the building is ringed with railed wooden patios that let down their railings to allow easy exit onto loftwings. Or, simply jumping off altogether, if somebody is brave enough. It's not hard to get up and down, at any rate.

    The upper portion of the building, and the roof above it, are dedicated loftwing landing zones. Not holding sites, but someplace that a person can set down and dismount without struggling or having to perform any acrobatics. The very top is flat, and also ringed with such a patio, but no quarters are build into it. It's just empty space.

    Aedan appears from the ladder leading up from below, ascending the ladder rather slowly and clumsily because of his size. It's not easy to get through some of the patio trap doors for him, and that's how the exterior of the building is set up from top to bottom. He squeezes up rather uncomfortably,making a face as he does.

    "Y'know," He says, "We may not get frozen rain, but it /is/ still cold up here... how do you /stand/ it out here this time of year?"

    Aedan doesn't seem to be able to properly read her expression, so he just half-jokingly gripes about something inconsequential.

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
Ordinarily, trading inconsequential complaints was something of a hobby between Hylian and Sheikah; good-natured ribbing that wasn't really meant to be serious complaint, with a generous helping of sarcasm and good-humoured snark. In other words, when one of them started, the other usually picked up the thread, and most times Yalai would oblige.

She looks over slowly as Aedan squashes himself through the trap door, narrowing one eye very slightly at the spectacle, the chain in her ear chiming softly at the movement. He really does have trouble getting around, doesn't he? Maybe he can brew up some kind of size-reducing potion... but of course, then he'd wind up a midget or something...

Blinking a little owlishly, first one blood-red eye and then the other, Yalai stares as he manages to pull himself out of the hatchframe.

"Oh," she says, as though it explains everything. The missive is uncrumpled meticulously and then offered to Aedan momentarily; she hesitates, before pulling it back. "I... was going to be showing you this, but..."

But he can't read it, because it's written in Shadow-tongue. It looks less like writing and more like brush-painting; art instead of lettering. Legend once had it that their language was supernaturally impossible to learn, cursed by Nayru herself to remain the dominion of the Sheikah. Or demons. OR faeries. Depends on who you ask, with superstitions running wild. The Sheikah are still newly-integrated.

That's not really true, about the language, but it is still torturously hard for most Hylians to pick up. Aedan probably knows more than any living soul, and even he doesn't really know much more than a few words, and (so far as Yalai knows) can't actually write any of it.

She thins her lips momentarily. "I suppose I was getting cold," she concedes. "Anyway, this. It is being a missive, from the volcano at Eldin. You know it, yes?" Tilting her head, the moonlight gleams off her white hair, casting the rest of her in silver. One brow arches slightly. "We have been suffering casualties. Three Sheikah are being dead. One, maybe two Skyloft Knights that were being with them. But..." She frowns, patting the roof tiles beside her; a silent invitation. "Something is being wrong, Aedan. Maybe if I am explaining, you can help me be finding what."

Aedan MacCarvill (891) has posed:
    A size-reducing potion is possible but he needs to get ahold of something approximately of the size he'd like to be. Occasionally matching Yalai's size is pretty much ideal, but Aedan doesn't find it very comfortable overall. It's like being himself, but just subtly different. Because that's exactly what it is. It just feels unnatural in a way that turning into something else entirely doesn't. Like the idea of the Uncanny Valley, only applied solely to one's own body. He'd do it, sometimes, if he really needed it. But not for something like this. Too much trouble.

    He reaches over and takes the missive anyway, looking at it blankly.

    "Something something something fire rocks." He hands the missive back to Yalai. One word. That's all he got out of it, apparently, and he didn't even understand the context. Aedan can't help but think Yalai is unnaturally forlorn, and the way she's speaking is entirely too slow. So being a bit bumbling, well, he figures it might get a laugh out of her. Or at least, make her less upset. A little.

    The Knight frowns distinctly, looking back at the missive as Yalai describes the contents. Well, that explains the fire rocks. Does that mean volcano, or is it contextual? Aedan pushes it aside, "Probably best to stay away from the volcano. Damn thing's too active. But three Sheikah and a couple of Knights? That would take more than a little bit of force to happen. I'm guessing you have more information, if you think I can help you puzzle it out."

    "Let's hear it, then. Only..."

    "Only, if it took out three to five, I don't know if we can solve the problem personally, even if we can figure it out." He adds, a little grimly.

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
Now that she no longer has the missive in hand, the Sheikah stretches, lips thinning in either displeasure or satisfaction as various joints pop. Various joints pop, but they aren't the sorts of joints that usually pop in humans or Hylians. The Shadow Folk are articulated oddly, comprehensively; blessed with flexibility and agility well beyond most mortal standards.

Straightening, she reaches up to run her fingers through her hair, idly straightening it as Aedan tries to pick his way through the foreign missive. Someday, she might be able to teach him the Shadow-tongue in its written form, ideaograms not unlike certain languages of Earth, but that day is far off. It's a difficult language even for the sharpest of minds. Even Headmaster Kaepora, widely regarded as a man of wisdom, doesn't know more than a very small percentage.

In truth she's surprised he'd gleaned that much from the message. She would have expected him to recognise place names more than anything else, but not personal names. Those seem to be even more nightmarishly complicated, when used without their second names. Who knows? Sheikah society seems confusing. Then again, so are Sheikah. Most of what they do seems confusing.

Purposefully so.

"We are knowing of one dead Skyloft Knight, but we are not being certain of the other," Yalai says softly. She looks up to the stars again, eyes drawn north, to where Eldin Volcano broods, its red glow tinting the horizon. "There is being a possibility that he or she is being alive, still; that they were escaping. You and I are to be helping others be finding them, if they are being alive still. The Runner and the Scourge are being down there already, sweeping the area to see if they can be finding the Skyloft Knight."

"Or their remains."

She makes a gesture, complicated and nebulous, with both hands. "We are knowing only that they were being slain with knives..." Here she trails off a little, looking distinctly uncomfortable, reaching to the bandolier around her chest and plucking one throwing knife from it, holding it up delicately. "Knives like these."

The Sheikah looks deeply troubled. "I am hoping only that one of the demons was finding Sheikah knives and using them, and not... but that is meaning that at least some of these demons are being exceptionally clever. To be taking down three Sheikah, and one or two Skyloft Knights...?" Yalai shakes her head. "I am not knowing what we will be finding if we are going to the surface, there. But I know we will be required to be killing whatever is being down there. Yes...?"

Aedan MacCarvill (891) has posed:
    Truthfully, Aedan isn't too interested in knowing shadow-tongue. He just asks her about what's written on her, occasionally, and sometimes he remembers the answer and the scribbles. Other times he doesn't. Other times yet he suspects that she's telling him incorrect words just to mess with him, and he wouldn't mind if that was the case. It's a very strange language, he can't help but think, and he can't wrap his head around why you'd want to record things all over a person's body to start with. But then, they probably don't understand why they keep all of their texts in an extra-flammable format.

    Well, you can't chisel everything into stone, and even that can be smashed.

    Not that skin can't be damaged, though. Fire. Tearing. Getting old and flabby, for that matter. He's never seen a Sheikah that far gone, even among the elderly of them, though his skin still had the characteristic texture of somebody who had seen too many years. Not quite perfect anymore. Probably not as bad as some old soldier gone out to pasture, though.

    "If it was me, I'd call my bird and take off if I could, depending on how it shook out. How did we learn about this? Follow-up party go and check on them, or did we get this from the Runner and Scourge to start with?" He asks, glancing out into the distance. If the Scourge is involved, he decides that they've already determined the situation is beyond deadly serious. Volcanoes...

    A glance towards the flasks on his equipment. A few "blank" potions he can use once they get on-site, at least. Won't be hard to make heat resistance potions on the spot. To Yalai's pondering he says, "It's either going to be Moblins of some kind or some other kind of /people/. Maybe evil monkeys if reality is deciding to be particularly stupid that day. Something that knows how to steal and use tools, you know."

    "Don't think about it too much, though. People get caught off guard by stupid things sometimes. It doesn't /have/ to be something incredibly sinister." Even if its more comforting to think that it was, really.

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
"Unless they were not being able to be found by their Loftwing," Yalai states quietly. Very slightly, her eyes narrow in thought. "Or their Loftwing was being somehow kept from them, yes? Or they could not be heard..."

That's partly why Loftwings have been trained to recognise and come to the sound of whistling. It's a difficult thing to silence, unlike the voice, and the Loftwings seem to hear higher pitches more easily across distance. In fact, this quirk has been used so much that bonding to a rider and coming to their specific whistle is instinct to the great birds.

She rubs her jaw in thought, before dropping her hand with a sigh whistled faintly through her teeth. "Perhaps." Silence falls. "I am having a bad feeling about this, my guard hound. A very bad feeling. Three trained Sheikah and two trained Skyloft Knights would not be letting themselves be overpowered by thieving creatures or Moblins."

Aedan MacCarvill (891) has posed:
    "That's an awfully specific set of circumstances." Aedan points out, getting to his feet and dusting himself off. He hadn't actually risen from his half-flop half-sit upon pulling himself up through the trap door, though he had shifted around a little bit throughout. He gives a sharp whistle, jerking his head towards the edge of the platform, "Sounds like we need to head out quick-like, at any rate. If there's anything you need that's not on you or your loftwing, you'll want to go fetch it. I think I'm good for the moment. I'll cook up some heat tolerance potions once we're on-site."

    The sound of wings can be heard, not far off. Aedan's loftwing will be here soon.

    He shrugs broadly at Yalai's bad feeling, his chainmail clinking beneath his tunic. "Well, so have I, but there's not much to be done about it. I wouldn't underestimate the things that live out there, though. It's well enough to say we couldn't be bested in these circumstances, but you never know. Even Moblins can have their elite. And I'm sure there are other, stranger things out there still, that we haven't met yet. Might be that our friends just happened to run into the enemy's equivalent of /us/."

    "Two on five isn't the worst odds we've ever dealt with. 'Course, that whole train of thought goes right in the rubbish bin if any of them were particularly outstanding."

    "This is the part where you tell me they were all particularly exceptional." The knight adds, smiling grimly.

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
"We will be wanting to be going soon. If there are being any survivors, their time will be growing short." Yalai's proclamation is grave. "Our scouts were not finding anything of interest, but they were hoping that we would be having more luck." Both Hylian and Sheikah are fairly sharp-eyed, so that's a fair enough expectation.

She pulls herself to her feet, straightening out her cloak and looking over to the Skyloft Knight when he dismisses her concerns. One shoulder rises and falls, oddly-articulated, in a shrug. "Maybe you are being right. I am hoping so, anyway."

At his last statement, she looks a little bleak, sighing with equal bleakness. "They were being particularly exceptional, yes." Reaching up, she puts two fingers to her mouth and shrills her own whistle, high and trailing. Far off, but notquite as far as Aedan's Loftwing, the call is returned in that strange dual-toned voice the birds seem to have.

"No, I am being ready," she says simply, patting her bandolier of knives, and indicating the quarterstaff over her shoulder with a toss of her chin. "We will be flying quickly. Another scout will be meeting us there, to be showing us where to be going. The Scourge, I am thinking."

Stepping to the edge, Yalai hesitates, glancing back.

"I hope you are being right," she says, more resigned than afraid. "Then again, if that is meaning meeting something else nasty..."

The Sheikah makes a face, which conveys her feelings pretty well. 'Stupid demons.'

Aedan MacCarvill (891) has posed:
    "Mundane bad news is better bad news than exceptional demons who have stolen Sheikah knives and used them." Aedan remarks, observing distantly as his loftwing approaches and preparing to jump. Truthfully, it seems more likely that one of the Sheikah has turned traitor, but that seems inconceivable under ordinary circumstances. Some form of possession, perhaps? No, the mundane explanation is much more likely. Some sort of freak accident combined with inconvenient timing from nearby. Maybe... gases from the volcano causing some hallucination? They'd have to be very close...

    He issues a great big sigh at the news that, in fact, those assembled were particularly exceptional. That makes it a lot less likely that they're dealing with something mundane. Even the exceptional can be tripped up by something unexpected, but it makes it a lot less likely. Their mistakes might be proportionately more huge, but... enough to get them killed with their own weapons?

    "We'll see how it is, and then decide how to cope with it afterwards best. We should make a slow descent when we get there, got to get a good idea of what's in the surroundings." And then he jumps, falling onto the back of his loftwing as it comes past the towering officer's quarters. Aedan gets himself settled quickly, and re-orients the bird towards the distant Eldin Volcano.

    "Who were they? Their names, I mean! If you know." He calls over to Yalai, once she's gotten moving and joined him in flight.

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
"No bad news is particularly being welcome," Yalai points out, expression souring. Nobody likes to find out that they have demons on their doorstep, let alone that they have exceptionally smart, lethal demons on their doorstep. "But I suppose you are being right."

Maybe, her tone of voice seems to say.

She steps up to the edge, watching as the much bigger Loftwing wheels a little closer, and leaning over the edge as Aedan takes his leap.

Smaller but faster, her Loftwing wheels close. Yalai takes a step back from the edge, before lunging forward at speed, throwing herself off the top of the tower, only to be caught by the charcoal Loftwing's back; her hand automatically seizes the leather harness.

They have no saddles, the Sheikah, but their Loftwings at least wear a simple circular harness around the neck, not much more than a braided strap, in Yalai's case.

She leans over as the Loftwing banks closer to Aedan's, the better to be heard with. "I am not knowing two, but one of them was being Avri the Needler!" she calls, producing one of the knives and holding it aloft, letting it catch the starlight. "She was specialising in these!"

Daredevil flier, she is; holding to a Loftwing's harness one-handed, seemingly without any fear. The knife is tucked back and the harness held again with both hands. "The Scourge will be meeting us there, to be finding a place to be resting until morning light! Even I will be having little luck looking at night!" she calls, pointing down to the mountain range below. "There is being too much smoke!"

Aedan MacCarvill (891) has posed:
    "I'll take what I can get, the bad news is already here." Aedan retorts, just as grimly as he had smiled.

    A glance is cast over towards Yalai on her loftwing as she explains who had been there and what happened. This isn't a person he can remember meeting, but if they specialized in those throwing knives... he wonders. His gaze turns up into the sky, allowing the loftwing to take over steering. It knows where they're going, there's no need to fuss about it too much just this moment. Straight on towards the distant glow of the fire rocks, though they'll have to set down before they get over it.

    Something with a thick hide. Like a crocodile perhaps, which would receive knives without suffering a lot of damage. But taking them back out and using them against the Needler...?

    "If she was throwing them at something armored or with a tough hide, it's not hard to imagine they got stuck and stolen /that/ way, but why the bloody hell would it use them against her? And how?" Mysteries upon mysteries. Aedan can't answer /that/ question, but he does know one thing. No regular arrows for this one, they might come back and bite him in the heart. It'll be explosives all the way down.

    He looks ahead, into the skies beyond. That's when another thought occurs to him. A missing party, and a missive calling people in to come take a look at it. Could it be some kind of trap? If so, that's a lot more disturbing than the hypothetical bait itself is, but it doesn't make a lot of sense.

    "Who sent that message, again?" Aedan calls to Yalai, casting her a worried look.

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
The smaller Loftwing drifts higher for a moment, before gliding down near the larger one, charcoal feathers rippling in the stiff wind. Yalai is forced to lean forward and over one side, shouting to be heard over the howling wind.

"I am not knowing, and we are best finding out when we are arriving!" she calls, leaning further forward to point at the glowing peak of Eldin further ahead. Canktanerous by nature, Eldin has a habit of small eruptions, and a belly full of fire; the molten blood of the world. Some of the Sheikah consider it a sacred place, close to Din, but all of them are careful to respect it. "There, that place should be safe to be setting down!"

To the rest of the problem, Yalai seems to give it some thought as she crouches forward, burying her hands into the thick ruff of feathers around her Loftwing's neck. Eyes slitted nearly closed against the wind, she frowns, though whether that's from the wind battering her or from her mulling over the problem, it's hard to say.

"Whatever it is being, if she is being one of those dead, I am not knowing! We will be hearing from Liat what has really been happening here, once we are finding her! She is waiting for us!" A hand rises to point at a shelf, high up on the mountain's face, little more than a craggy outcropping of rock. A tiny figure can be seen there, waving arms, and the small figure of a bird -- made small only by distance. Loftwings are probably imposing to anybody who isn't used to them. "She will be having somewhere safe for us to be sleeping!"

That is to say, out of reach of the monsters, and also safe from the toxic fumes.

Probably.

Maybe.

Yalai guides her bird down, twisting to call her answer back to him over a shoulder. "It was being delivered to me from Kherem the Dirge, and from him it was being given directly from the Royal Shadow!" In other words, only one intermediary, trustworthy, who was probably just conveniently there at the right place and the right time to deliver a message. The Sheikah rarely deliver messages personally; less because they're evasive, and more out of simple necessity. Courier-work is not inglorious to them when there are so few -- that kind of task gets pushed off onto whoever's conveniently close.

The Loftwing rights itself, reaching out its enormous feet and splaying long, strong toes for a mountainous landing. Feathers swoop, stirring up hot wind. Yalai crouches close as the bird sets down, and then drops from the saddle with a cough. Her own Loftwing immediately pushes off again, joined a moment later by Liat's; both birds disappearing into the gloom of smoke above Eldin's peak.

"It is being entirely too hot here," she grumbles, scooting aside to let Aedan land his bird.

Aedan MacCarvill (891) has posed:
    Nothing much to be said until they land, then.

    Aedan takes a moment while they're still enroute to check for any stray feathers trapped anywhere on his loftwing. A quick escape might be necessary, and flight is one of the surest ways to get the hell out of dodge. It doesn't take him long to find a couple, pulling them out from where they're stuck wedged within a part of his harness. He shuffles them away in pockets, and then guides his mount into a dive to follow after Yalai. There's not a hell of a lot of landing space, so he pulls up and guides his Loftwing into a hover, dropping off after Yalai has cleared the area.

    He lands with a heavy thump and a rattle of chain, dropping into a low crouch from the impact. Then he rises, shakily. Aedan can handle big movements like that, but he's a lot less graceful than his partner... and he's always a bit rattled from it. He tilts slightly to one side, looking between Yalai and Liat.

    "Important people, to be delivering news." He remarks, though he knows it isn't unusual. It goes to who's there. That's not unusual for the Knights, either. Especially since they're qualified for heavy-duty flying work that many people aren't.

    As for the heat, he says, "I counted on that. I've got plenty of potions waiting to be flavored. Grab some rocks and I'll have what I need for heat resistance. It'll need some time to dissolve, though." What the hell kind of a potion dissolves rocks to begin with? Should you really be drinking it? So far, Aedan hasn't produced anything dangerous to consume for them.

    It makes you wonder, though.

    Especially since he sometimes chucks whole rupees into his brews. Literally throwing money away by drinking it. What's /that/ about?

    "You alright?" He asides to Liat, who had doubtless been the one waving them down.

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
The waiting Sheikah is one they've had occasion to meet on other occasions. Liat the Scourge is more or less average, for most Sheikah, with the exception that her throat is encircled by a scar; a failed attempt on her life by the surface creatures. Her hair is more of a pale, dusky blonde, just a shade or two away from pale grey, drawn in a meticulously tight horsetail; her eyes slightly darker, wine-red instead of blood-red. She might be a year or two older than the Stave.

"Rocks? You are going to be having me be drinking /rocks/?" Yalai scowls, but she does move to collect the requested ingredients. Never mind the part where the rocks are going to be dissolving, which she doesn't seem inclined to think about too hard. She's trusted him so far, and trusts him with her life. She's not going to start questioning him now.

Sometimes it's tempting, though.

Liat, meanwhile, is just staring at them like they've grown third eyes in their foreheads or something, and manages to shuffle a step or so /away/ from the knight-alchemist.

"Fine," she rasps. Her voice is deeper than Yalai's, and she always rasps. Since her attempted murder, she's not had much more of a whispering rasp for a voice, much like her husband, the Dirge, who shares a matching injury. Her hands are bandaged in cloth, but whether from injury or to protect them, it's hard to say. "I was arriving yesterday, and have been being here for a day, in this place. Eldin is being sacred to some of us, but I am finding it more like Hell."

Most of the Sheikah aren't bothered by extremes of hot or cold, but this place is a little ridiculous no matter what one's preference is.

Even Liat seems a little uncomfortable, raising a scrap of cloth every so often to hold it over her mouth and nose. Closer inspection would prove that it's been soaked, perhaps from a waterskin. "Come," she rasps. "I will be showing you where we can be staying. I have already been looking ahead, and it is being safe. As safe as this place can be being. Kherem will be arriving later in the night, I am thinking."

She waves them ahead into a cave, which winds its way down into the heart of the mountain. Though large enough for four to comfortably sleep in, concealed from the outside, it narrows to a crawlspace in the back, naturally sealing off. No trouble from within the mountain will be able to reach them.

"Kherem will be bringing supplies. Food, water. Bedrolls." She settles down against the wall, hugging one knee to her chest, letting her other leg lie straight out. "I was finding two dead Sheikah. I will be returning them to Kasuto, the Shadowed Isle. One is being missing." The lines under Liat's eyes suggest this troubles her. "One Skyloft Knight is also being missing, and so is being his Loftwing. We will be searching for them both in daylight," she adds, cocking a wine-red eye up to Aedan. "You, in particular, were called for. Your eyes are being better than even most of ours, in some things." Her gaze lowers. "But for now, we are to be resting, and saving our energy."

Yalai slumps down against the opposite wall, wrapping herself in her cloak. Not because she's cold, which would be impossible in a place like this, but because there's enough ash on the ground to get all over her tunic if she doesn't cover it. It's everywhere. Eldin must have been in a foul mood today. "I see... well," she adds, to Aedan, sighing. "I suppose there is being nothing more for it, yes? We will be waiting here, for the Dirge, and then we will be waiting for first light. Yes...?"

Aedan MacCarvill (891) has posed:
    "There are minerals in the water you drink, don't worry about it." Aedan responds, casually. He reachs out a hand for what she's gathered, popping the tops off of the bottles at his waist. He doesn't really mind explaining the details behind the potions but it doesn't really make a big difference. It still 'feels' strange to most people, and that's because it really is just kind of odd in general. The smell of the opened potion bottles right now is rather neutral, but it's bound to turn foul or earthy once some rocks have been tossed in. The taste, well.

    Few of Aedan's potions taste good.

    He looks back, toward Lariat. Smiles a bit, and says, "No, it's not at all like Hell. It's hot, and smelly, and unpleasant. But there aren't any innocent bystanders in Hell. The whole idea is that the people in a place like that deserve it, isn't it? This is a bit worse, I think, because the people involved don't have a choice but to live with it."

    Once Yalai hands over the things he asked for, he pops them into the potion bottles and puts the stoppers back in, following after Liat as she leads them towards the cave. The whole place is stuffy and small. It'll do, but for Aedan it's particularly uncomfortable. He turns his cloak into a makeshift bedroll to sit on, and seats himself in the far corner. If something happens in here, it's just going to be the truth that he won't be the first one to rise to it. Too big, cave's too small, and his companions are simply better in these kinds of quarters.

    "My Loftwing has supplies on its saddle, so we'll have some back-up supplies if we need them. What can you tell me about the dead, and the missing?" He asks, considering the armor he's wearing, and how much of a hazard it actually is in this environment. Is the heat more dangerous, or a knife in the dark? Either is a big problem, and a cave around an active volcano... decisions.

    Apart from putting his cloak on the ground to sit on, Aedan hasn't paid any mind to the ash. He's getting it all over his hands when he isn't careful where he's putting them. "First light sounds fine to me. The sooner we get started, the sooner we can get out of this /pit/." He rubs at the back of his head, spreading the ash around visibly.

    Aedan is going to be messy by first light.

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
"That is not being the same," Yalai protests with a sidelong glance, albeit half-heartedly. While her red eyes aren't precisely wide, she's obviously a little unsettled at the idea of drinking a potion full of rocks or ground-up rocks. That can't be healthy. Can it? Sheikah are pretty resilient. Yalai herself can be enduring in spite of her seeming fragility. Even the most resilient among them have their limits, though.

Also, that just sounds like something that would be an extra special brand of 'disgusting.'

To Aedan's rather spot-on observation on the nature of the volcano, Liat only shrugs a shoulder, clamping the soaked cloth over the lower half of her face. "Just do not be wandering too far. The paths are not being safe." Crumbly, probably, under so much heat and pressure. There's a reason this place is sparsely-inhabited by much of anything. The indigenous tribe of this place, the Mogma, live underground; ironically, they're insulated from the worst of the heat in their tunnels and warrens.

Yalai creeps over to the far corner, settling beside Aedan, and she makes a point of removing her cloak, her gloves, and rolls up the sleeves of her tunic, baring the tattoos covering her arms to the wrists. Whorls and swirls of ashy silver stand in stark relief against the literal white of her skin. Every so often her red eyes flick to the entrance, but she eyes Liat the rest of the time.

The throat-cut Sheikah shrugs again, the motion almost dismissive. "Good. We will be having need of them before too long, I am thinking, with urgency, if we are needing to be staying in this place." She considers his question, one eye squinting half-shut.

"There were being one we were finding. The Reaper, whom we were finding with her broken weapon. She will be missed, I am thinking. Ah," she adds, frowning. "Her name was being Avri. Forgive me, Hylian, we are not usually using the names of those we are not knowing. We were not finding the Rake -- Meirh -- but we were finding a great deal of blood, probably being his, and the remains of his weapon. Avri the Needler was escaping, I am hoping; we were not finding her, or any sign of her weapons, aside from the knives being used to kill the other two. But those could have been coming from any Sheikah," Liat adds, visibly uncomfortable. She produces a throwing knife identical to those on Yalai's bandolier from her belt. "We are all carrying such knives."

Yalai the Stave (879) has posed:
Yalai thins her lips. "The Needler. Where was she being, Scourge?"

"Up the cliff, standing sentry. She would have been spotting any danger being from below," Liat answers propmtly. "Her eyes are -- were -- being as sharp as her knives."

"I will want to be looking for her in the morning. Maybe she is being alive still. And maybe she has been seeing something of use, yes?" Yalai frowns, reaching up and gathering up her long, white hair in a messy twist; doing /some/thing with a wrist and producing a tie of some kind, which she ties her hair with. It's just too insufferably hot to leave it down.

Liat merely shrugs. "That is all the information I am having, Hound. I am sorry. I was arriving too late to be helping anyone, or finding any details. By the time we were hearing of this, much had already been happening, and much was, I am thinking, being lost already."

"We will be seeing what we will be seeing in the morning," Yalai sighs. "I could be searching now, but Aedan will not be seeing so well as I by night. And in day, his eyes are being better than mine."

"Just so," Liat rasps, turning to roll onto her side. "Be waking me when Kherem is coming. I am not expecting him for a few hours yet. Better you are sleeping while you can, too."

Silence falls for a few seconds, then, broken only by the distant grumbling of the mountain, and the less-distant sound of molten rock bubbling.

"Well," Yalai sighs, "I will be resting, too. But I will be staying awake, so I can be hearing Kherem coming. I am hoping it is only being clever monsters." Folding her arms, she settles against the rock wall, which is marginally cooler than the stifling air. "We will be seeing in the morning, yes...?"

Aedan MacCarvill (891) has posed:
    "Is so." Aedan retorts at Yalai, immediately. He uses a deliberately childish tone of voice, pulling the potions out of his belt and setting them aside where nobody's really liable to roll over on them at some point. They're clear at the moment, but the top near the stopper has fogged up as if tiny amounts of smoke or steam have been pouring up into the stopper. The rocks are visible in the potion, and they've already started dissolving. Their outer edges have disentigrated, and slowly the potion has begun to take on a darker hue. Given a while, it'll be black as obsidian.

    His gaze turns back towards Liat, and he starts sloughing off outer layers as he speaks. Mostly to get his armor off. It's too damn hot, and heat stroke is more dangerous than a knife in the dark. There's enough sharp-sensed people here to catch somebody trying to sneak in, so he'll just have to rely on them. Beats burned and blistered skin on top of everything else. "Well," He says, "I wasn't planning on taking any strolls around here. It's not exactly nice to look at up close, and I'm sure there's gas vents all over the place to boot."

    Aedan pulls his gloves off and sets them down at the "foot" of his cloak, nestling his potion bottles into them and pointing at them for everyone's benefit, "If anybody starts getting too warm, you'll want to down one of these. Best to wait until the rock is dissolved entirely, otherwise you'll want to be careful not to swallow it. It may be morning before it's completely finished, I'm not sure. Rocks are hard to dissolve. It is /technically/ good to use even now, so if there's an emergency use it anyway."

    He looks between Liat and Yalai, folding his chainmail up -- also at the foot of his cloak, a little ways from the potions and gloves -- and considering the situation as a whole. The one with all the knives was on overwatch duty at the time, and also has good vision. All the injuries seemed to be inflicted by those same knives. Aedan fails to stop himself from making a face. It's not worth discussing, really, but...

    As he lies down, the Knight can't help but think it sounds more like treachery than it does an accident, or monsters. But what's the motivation? Sheikah are loyal to a fault. Why break that? Especially among what he assumes must have been good friends, if they were working together. Had something, perhaps, caused the Needler to act irregularly? The idea rolls around in the Knight's head.

    Gas vents. Could've gotten dosed with something hallucinogenic. Some so-called oracles like places like this because they can produce the sorts of effects needed to "see", but really it's just the oracle getting incredibly high off of fumes and seeing complete nonsense that they interpret to have some sort of meaning. Aedan chuckles a bit, at the thought.

    "I think," He speaks up, "we should be very careful about anybody showing up who isn't Kherem, even if it's your Needler." No accusations or theories. Aedan supposes that they must already be thinking it themselves, but if not he's not going to force that conversation out. He glances between the two of them, "... And be grateful we're not animals right now. Your tail would bake us all to death."

    He pokes Yalai lightly, to clarify who he meant, and settles down on his cloak to try and get some sleep. Briefly, he considers draping himself over Yalai's lap but... it's too damn hot. Plus, if she needs to move quickly having him in the way would be bad news. Oh well. When they get home, to their nice cool non-volcanic sky island.