It was a tough journey to make alone, even with wings, but Tasha managed to retrace her old path to the Gash. And from Herriot Hall to the Forge was nearly as hard. Down here, the heat is intense and the Amazonians work naked despite handling molten metals. Blacksmiths forge armor, and priestesses bless holy symbols. But down here is where the head smith, Phaestus, commands, and he is the man Tasha needs to talk to.
The Amazonian looks like he might have been forged from lava himself, his thinning fur exposing skin tanned from the red and yellow light of the forge, and his build bulky. He's probably the most imposingly muscular specimen of the giant Lapi sub-race that Tasha has ever seen, and his many scars are laced with silver metal.
Tasha is duly impressed by the man; in all her journies she's not seen his like, even in the rough and tumble crews of airships, nor the standing armies of Abaddon. She makes a point of letting his image sear in to her brain, thinking it will be useful whenever she thinks herself tough and needs a reminder of how far she has to go. After taking a moment, and gathering her wit, she steps forward to introduce herself.
"I am Aldara Tasha," she offers before gesturing to herself, "I have come at the direction of the Hall to seek a replacement for my sacrificed holy symbol."
"Sacrificed?" the man grumbles, and looks Tasha up and down. It's probably a coin-toss as to whether he finds her anatomy stranger than her odd skin-tight garment made of tiny interlocking scales.
"It was necessary to continue the mission given to me by Tisiphone. I do not believe She would have minded," Tasha explains, taking this as a good time to examine her host right back. She can't help but feel if Abaddon, the planet, had a hundred of these men, monsters would not dare to attack -- and a whole lot of construction would be done overnight!
"What is your symbol then?" Phaestus asks. "Axe, compass, anvil or sword?"
"If it is no trouble, or perhps even if it is, I would like an axe ... and Tisiphone's symbol," Tasha replies. It strikes her then how little she knows about the sundry details of her religion; her experience has been very direct and matter-of-fact, with the nuance contained within directions, rather than doghma and ritual. Like so many things these days, it's something she wishes she had time to learn, much like the sciences.
"But, if I might: who uses the compass?" Tasha asks a second later as the symbol's odd placement strikes her.
"Those who are pledged to the Forge," Phaestus explains, and points to a compass symbol that's actually been melted into his skin at some point. "Tisiphone's symbol is traditionally the Noose, and is made of rope. Or the Serpentine Dagger, for someone personally seeking vengeance for a murder."
"The Noose?" Tasha cocks her head to the side. "I didn't know that. Maybe as the chain to hold the symbol? I'm don't know much of metalurgy that's relevant to the reforging of heat shi-. that is, skymetal."
The big man laughs, drawing the attention of the other workers, and then lays a giant hand on Tasha's shoulder. "You don't wear the Noose! You carry it in your hand, to hang the guilty."
Tasha lays her ears back. "Oh," she murmurs, clearly embarassed. "I didn't mean ... That is ... " She isn't sure how to articulate what she wants and why, but if anyone would know, it would be this man. So she leans over and whispers low, knowing the Lapi's hearng is accute annd even the hiss of lava might not hide her words if she whispered any louder, "I want something that symbolizes Tisiphone, because she created me. Something to carry by my heart." She knows it's sentimental; her ghostly creator may not even feel sentiment any more. Even so, it matters to her.
The big man gives Tasha an odd look. "Tisiphone as.. creator.. hmmm," he muses. "Serpentine Dagger it is," he decides. "These icons are to be only for you?"
"Only for me," Tasha confirms as she leans back, her ears still flattened against her head. No where else in the world makes me feel more inadequate than Amazonia, she decides, then realizes, Maybe that's a good thing.
"You are small, but should have enough blood for the process," Phaestus says, then turns aside and carries a load of hull scraps across the narrow stone bridge to the crystal forge.
"Blood?" Tasha asks as she follows along. For a moment she almost offers to help carry the load purely out of reflexively politeness, forcing her to bite her tongue to avoid laughing out loud at what surely would have been an even more embrassing result.
"If they are to be yours and yours alone, then your blood must be part of the process," Phaestus notes without turning around. "Talk to one of the priestesses.."
Tasha nods slowly, then turns to walk towards the nearest priestess and ask, "What do I need to do?" The young woman had heard tales of forges of blood, things of bone and evil wrought from sailors lost in the wilds, but she never imagined they would be real -- or that she'd see one for herself!
The priestess is only identified by the axe hanging from her neck - since no other clothing can handle the heat apparently. She isn't like the ones in Dianus either: these are full-blooded Valkyrians. The look she gives Tasha is familiar - the sort of look a grownup might give to a child. It passes once the priestess takes in Tasha's other features, though. "Come with me," the woman says, and heads towards a side tunnel.
The young woman follows as bidden, wondering just how deep these mountain tunnels go. It puts her in mind of the Primus System itself, with its strange psedo-magic that grows ever stronger the deeper one travels. What, she has to wonder, lurks near the core?
At least the tunnel is slightly cooler, but still seems to meander about as if carved by a giant drunken worm. The priestess takes another branch, which ends in a large chamber that seems to be made of crystal - not Sifran crystal, but normal crystal. The chamber is the inside of a giant geode! There isn't much in it, save for some clay bowls. One of which the priestess hands to Tasha.
Tasha almost misses the bowl held out to her, mezmerized by the glittering crystalline walls. To focus, she fixes her gaze on the plain bowl and awaits instruction.
"Fill the bowl," the priestess notes. "The crystals are sharp, use them. Do not pass out - only fill what you can."
"Yes Priestess." Tasha gives the walls a wary look before walking over. Rather than fight her Vartan weakness, she lets herself stare at the shiny, glittering surface until the worst mezmerizing effects has past, and it's mere distracting rather than dangerously debilitating.
Ready now, Tasha takes a deep breath as she reaches her left hand over and ... realizes she doesn't really know how to cut herself. Not wanting to further embarass herself, she aims the palm of her hand at the tip of a spike and pushes until it hurts. Her teeth baring and ears canting against the pain, followed by a low growl that helps her maintain her focus.
Once she's sure she's bleeding, Tasha drapes her fingers over the bowl so the blood runs down them and not on to the floor.
It doesn't exactly flow like spilt beer. Other than causing serious injury to herself, this will take a lot of pricks. "Life is struggle, and blood is the fire of life," the priestess recites. "There is no more personal gift to Abaddon than your blood. It carries your spirit, your life, your passion. It turns the battlefield into farmland. It is the source of all things."
Pulling her hand back in dismay, tasha eyes the wall as if it were somehow making this effort harder than it has to be. While no stranger to pain, the young woman usually had other people inflict it and finds the at of hurting herself surprisingly daunting for what seems like a simple task.
Setting her teeth, Tasha reaches forward to try again. And again. And again. By the time she's done her hand really hurts, her eyes are watering, and she feels a little woozy, but the blood is flowing.
"It will take many punctures," the priestess offers. "That is the struggle against pain. But even the desert can be made to bloom, given enough blood. Pain is Abaddon's voice, for it tells us we are alive."
Tasha has to admit, the litany is true for both her god and her newfound homeworld; neither are gentle, but for those that survive, they are stronger for it. Realizing that she's joined the ranks of these people gives her a second wind as she pushes to not be an embrassment to them, and she she continues she finds even the vexingly, achingly sharp puncture become like a cadence. Like a litany.
Eventually, over an ounce of blood - maybe two - has filled the bowl, although by now Tasha can't tell how much time has passed. "That is enough," the priestess tells her.
Tasha pulls her hand back from another strike, holding it over the bowl as it continues to bleed. As she walks back to the priestess the older woman can see her eyes are glossy for the effort, the shadow of a snarl still tinging her face. "What next?" She asks.
"You mix your blood with Abaddon's," the priestess explains, and leads the way back out into the lava tube. "Do not spill what you've drawn."
Not on my life, Tasha agrees. While she found the trial a fascinating character building exercise, she's in little hurry to attempt it again so soon. Carefully -- very carefully -- she walks after the Priestess.
Back at the forge, Phaestus carries a giant ladle at the end of a pole, also made of skymetal. Two molds have been set out - the familiar axe, and one that appears to be a dagger hilt with two intertwining blades. They're meant to be serpents, but to Tasha they look more like a DNA spiral. "Add your blood to the molds," the priestess tells Tasha.
Tasha steps forward, carefully tilting her bowl until her blood begins to pour. Her left hand, still bleeding, makes holding the bowl steady a challenge, not to mention rather macbre.
It's gotten a bit sticky in the heat of the forge, and flows like syrup. Still, Tasha manages to get an equal amount in both molds without making a gory mess. "Stand back," Phaestus commands, once it seems that the blood still in the bowl is determined to stay there.
Tasha steps back, holding her injured hand over the bowl to prevent any more of her blood from hitting the floor. There she watches, fascinated by the process, her ears forward and gaze focused through the smoke and haze.
The priestess says.. something. If it's Olympian, it's a version Tasha hasn't heard before. It's accompanied by arcane-looking gestures over the molds, and then the priestess steps back. Phaestus brings the heavy ladle around, and expertly pours the metal. The blood, amazingly, does not immediately explode into vapor when the molten metal contacts it. However, there's no indication of the impurity in the metal itself, which looks like mercury.
Both Tasha and her mate had wondered how the Amazonians managed to reforge a netal design to resist heat, made by a manufacturing infrastructure that spanned the stars; here it is, Tasha thinks as she watches, the ancient art of remaking the past in to the future -- a ritual as old as the Expedition itself.
The ladle is swung away, and the molds waver under the heat-shimmer of the cooling metal. "How is your hand?" the priestess asks Tasha.
"It aches," Tasha answers honestly, feeling no need for bravado and deciding such an effort would be easily pierced by the keen eyes of Lapi who live day-to-day with pain.
"Go to the soothing pools at the steaming lake," the priestess notes. "When your icons are ready, they will be brought to you there."
"Thank you Priestess, I will," says the half-Vartan, who bows before she turns to make her way to the pools, hoping she still remembers the way.
It's a dizzying climb through the tunnels from the Forge to the surface again. The central lake of the valley is usually covered in (and the source of) mists, since it's hotter than the chill air. It's also surrounded by mineral springs, which the locals use for various purposes, including healing. They are colorful and clear, and a Guardian tends to each one - handy when it comes to lowering, raising and carrying those too weak to handle themselves.
"Do you need help?" the buck at the pool asks Tasha when she arrives.
"I'll be fine," Tasha assures the buck as she makes her way, her left hand clutched agsint the pain. "It's just a little scratch, aye?" She winks, knowing full well her face betrays her pain and the buck would know the truth anyway.
The Guardian seems uncertain, but doesn't interfere beyond showing Tasha to the best 'seat' in the pool.. and standing there to make sure she's really alright on her own.
Tasha can't help but chuckle to herself as the Guardian hovers, finding it an amusing twist to be treated as if she were so fragile. As she lowers herself in to the pool, she bares her teeth as the minerals reach her wounded hand and sting like the phantom of the wounding come again. The pain fades though, and soo she's settled in and looking, if not content, at least happier.
"This is a beautiful place," she murmurs to her attendant as she lays back. "It's something I didn't realie, not taking the time to really look around the last time I was here. How fares the Hall?"
"It has been fully repaired," the buck notes, kneeling down behind Tasha so he can.. rub her shoulders? "We have many orders for armor again, now that the curse of Fenris is lifted."
The red woman makes no effort to hide her appreciation of the massage, sighing as she shifts backto make the man's job easier. She even arches her wings, moving them aside so they are not in his way.
"I'm glad the damage was able to be repaired and life goes better for you all -- the others will be happy to hear it as well. As for the curse ... " she rolls her head, muzzle pursing, " ... it really does seem to haved passed, doesn't it? It's hard to believe it had lingered for such a long, long time. I suppose, in a sense, the curse has become a blessing."
"A blessing?" the buck asks. "How so?"
"The curse is older than the attacks, far, far older. Those beings who road upon the ship that would become your source of skymetal were doomed by its fall, and one, more than anyone, would not let their fate stand. She stood sentienl throughtout the generations, always searching for an answer. Never giving up. And because of her, and the scarifice of her fellows, you have your skymetal. I have my life. And the Joint Expeditionary Force will live again. One woman's willpower forged a curse in to a blessing," Tasha explains.
"Warriors are like that," the buck says, simply.
"They are," Tasha agrees. She teans her head back, looking up through the misty sky. "Soon I'll have to return to my fellows, but it's nice to have a moment to relax. It's easy to get caught up in your worries and forget to relax once in a while."
After a relaxing soak, the priestess (now wearing robes) arrives with the still-warm metal icons. There aren't any chains or such to hang them from, of course - Tasha is expected to provide those herself.
Tasha accepts the symbols, holding them to her heart as she gives her thanks and says her good-byes. The symbols are safely stored in a sturdy pouch until suhc time that she can get proper chains made for them, and soon she's off on the final leg of her stay: to visit the graves of the Fenris crew.
The graves are at the far end of valley, at the highest point above the mines. Simple markers, in the Amazonian tradition, save that these sport the Star-and-Anchor symbol.
Before the graves of her forebearers, Tasha sits and converses, her right hand thumbing over the symbol of the Serpatine Daggers as she talks. She tells of how they were able to leave Amazonia and heal the remaining crew, of how they left this world for another, and then on to the moon, where the found the Bellerophon. She talks on, until there is nothing left unsaid and their journey has been passed on to those that made is possible.
An hour later, Tasha has said what there is to say, having given thanks, and a promise to continue to see the JEF grow and proper. She tells them she'll take good care of their children, too, and that they needn't worry any longer. When all is said and done, Tasha offers one last prayer, bowing her head low before the markers before she rises to leave.
Standing there looking out over the valley, she realizes again that her jounrey has come full circle. The problems of the past have now been resolved, and her worries with them. Before her, the future awaits, and her head is clear. It's time to return, to move on.
And so Tasha takes wing, soaring out over the mist and the clouds and forward, returning to her friends and loved ones and to new adventures.
"I was about to get on the boat and come after you," Gabriel notes when they all meet again at the Elysium docks. "You need to work on your punctuality, dear."
"What can I say, I'm a busy girl and there was a lot to cover!"Tasha insists with a laugh, then reaching out to hug the man nd give him a kiss. "Besides," she says as she leans back, "you got extra vacation time!"
"Ruins aren't as much fun when you're worried," Gabriel notes, and pinches Tasha's cheek. "Did you get all that you needed there?"
Tasha helps, rubbing her face with her uninjured hand. "I did," she answers, giving the man a look. "It was a nice moment of closure -- I'm ready to move forward now, and I'll try not to worry over every little thing."
"So, from the crumbling vestiges of ancient grandeur, to.. the woody wilderness of Himar, I suppose?" Gabriel asks.
"It's probably the safer of the two options, so getting it done first shouldn't be a problem," Tasha agrees. "If anything should happen, it'll most likely happen in the Beast Lands, so doing that last will be better if we need to return. Did my father finish his preperations? Are you ready to leave all this luxury?" She grins.
"I like the scenery, but the cuisine doesn't agree with as well," Gabriel jokes. "The shipment came in just before you, so should be packed away on the Rake by now. We just have to collect Hakeber and Aaron from the clothing shop." He gestures to Fyodor's Fashions, the base of operations for Calligenia's Olympian agents.
"Well, lets collect away. I'm glad we're packed, too -- my hand still hurts from the rituals," says the young hybrid as she makes her way towards the shop, stopping to beat on the door and declare, "Olympian police! Open up!"
"Most humorous," Fyodor notes as he opens the door. "Xavier is being vexatious with your Jupani friend."
"Xavier is good at being vexing. So it Hakeber, but if a different way," Tasha agrees as she steps inside. Looking a far sight calmer, not to mention better dressed, than during her last stay at Fyodor's, Tasha almost looks like she might be the good sister to her earlier wicked self. "How's business?"
"Well, the children of tourists still like to find clothing to bring home and show off," the raccoon notes. "So we do as well as ever. And there is the other business with which we have been blessed, which does quite well." Of course, he's speaking about the smuggling of goods from Dianus.
"I'm glad! I hope my old Captain is of use, too." Tasha smiles at the man before turning to the dressing room and yelling, "Haaaaakeeeee, it's time to gooooo!"
"What?" is the startled reply, and a toga-wearing Karnor peeks out through the curtains. "Tasha! You're back.. finally! What happened? Are you going to tell me about Dianus? I've asked Aaron and frankly don't believe a word of what he says, that it is a city full of killer bunnies."
"Only some of them are killer," Tasha insists as she scoots over to have a look at what Hakeber is wearing now. "Hmm," she considers, reaching over to adjust the toga, " ... I don't know. And no, I can't very well ruin the mystery of Amazonia. Especially not to monsters." She winks, then steps back, "I still think you looked better in the dress you wore on Rephidim.:
"But this outfit is.. It just feels right for drinking and partying in for some reason," Hakeber notes.
"That's because it'll fall off easily," Aaron claims, from somewhere outside the dressing-room hall. Minimum safe distance, perhaps.
Tasha laughs at Aaron's remark before shooing Hakeber into the dressing room to get read. She then turns to Fyodor and says, "You wouldn't knowit by how she acts, but she's actually a scholar to the Knights Templar of Abaddon. Which reminds me: have you seen any of the Knights lately? I had hoped to stumbleacross some to question, but they've been scarce since their dispute with the Temple."
"I.. have never seen one of the Knights," Fyodor admits. "Olympia has been at peace for too long. We do nothing to draw their interests, I would imagine."
"That makes sense. I had figured every land had its troubles, but I suppose the Knights prefer some troubles to others. We'll keep looking then; thank you Fyodor." Tasha smiles at the man, turning to look around at all the clothing. "We'll be heading in to the wilds soon, or else I'd be looking around too. Hake's just excited because Sinai is so unlike her home world."
The scholar emerges from the changing room in her own clothes. "It's green for one thing," she comments. "And the monsters are fluffier."
Tasha smiles at that, nodding. "No sand in your face, no chill, the monsters convienetly keep themselves to man sized or smaller, food is abundant, the sky is clear, and it's quieter," she agreesm but then adds, "But, there always work to do on Abaddon! speaking of work, are you ready?"
"Yes," Hakeber says, looking longingly at the pile of clothing she's left in the changing room. "I wish I could have things shipped back home for convenience though. But I could carry everything with me everywhere! We need to move lightly."
"That's right. Every box of clothes is one less box of supplies we can carry in to the wilds, and that might be all the difference. There'll be time in the future to come back and have a vacation, but for now we have to limit ourselves," Tasha agrees. She then puts her hand around Hakeber's shoulders as she not-so-subtly guides her on out, least she change her mind. "Just think though, you can try dressing as a Vartan next. I'm looking forward to that too -- I've never visited the mountain tribes of my people before."
"I don't suppose any of you have experience in wild places, living off the land, and so forth?" Aaron asks.
"My wilderness survival training may be a bit stale," Gabriel admits.
"I left the window open once," Hakeber offers.
"I have a little," Tasha admits, "but it's mostly to do with how to survive if the ship has run afoul of weather or wrecked. Otherwise, my training is primarily hunting and fishing to keep larders up and for fresh meals during a journey. I've never really had to surive in the interior."
"Wonderful, that makes me the expert," Aaron says, shaking his head. "I'm terrible at leading, so.. if I say not to touch a particular plant or whatever, just humor me?"
"I always do," Tasha says with a grin, before giving a mock salute. "Sir."
"Let's get back to the ship, before they decide to leave without us," Gabriel says, crossing his arms. "I'm sure a little camping will do us good."
"Of course it will! There'll be fresh meat too -- it'll be a nice change of pace from cities and barren landcscapes." Tasha gives Fyodor a wave before leading Hakeber out, and from there, heading for the docks.