Chapter 4: The Waters of Menehune

"Aye, that’s much better, thank you," Admiral says, breathing easier as the pain in his ribs rapidly subsides.

He rolls his eyes at the imp’s nonsense. "No luck finding that item you needed to get yourself to Glantri then, I take it?" he says, looking around at the scattered treasure.

The Imp kicks a shard of broken pottery across the floor. "Ugh! Not yet, and I’m starting to think this hag was more hoarder than collector. Look at all this! A mountain of human junk, trinkets no self-respecting infernal being would even sneeze at. Why would she save this?"

It gestures dramatically at the scattered debris, its claws clinking against a bent brass candlestick.

The Imp pauses its wings twitching in indignation. "But my Shadowflame Prism—a masterpiece of infernal brilliance—is nowhere to be found! I mean, really, the stipidity to squirrel away every bauble and bead this side of the river, but not treasure unmatched magnificence? Rediculous!"

The imp turns, its sharp claws emphasizing each word as it rants.

"Let me paint you a picture because I know you have never seen anything as magnificent. Imagine a crystal, dark as midnight but alive with the embers of a thousand infernal forges. That’s the Shadowflame Prism. Housed in a cage of twisted blackened silver etched with runes, clutching the prism like the claws of the Nine Hells. The prism holds a fragment of true shadowfire—elemental flames entwined with the darkness of the Abyss itself. It pulses with power, raw and untamed, capable of burning holes into the fabric of a realm itself. With it, you could carve a blazing path between places in a realm without breaking a sweat! You two couldn't even comprehend it if it was right before your eyes!" It punctuates this statement with a dramatic flourish of its claws, eyes glowing faintly red as it speaks.

The Imp sneers at the scattered junk. "And yet, here we are, surrounded by broken pottery and rusted cutlery like this is some human thrift shop! How could she value this refuse over a piece of infernal history? Even the stuff still in her horde chamber is useless to me. The hag had no taste, I tell you. None!"

It huffs, crossing its arms and glaring at Admiral and Regan as if they’re personally to blame for its predicament.




Stats

Admiral--Current HP: 38, Temp HP: 0, PP: 0/4, Pact Tally: 170/400. HD: (5d8, 1d8)

Regan--Current HP: 78, Temp HP: 0, Pact Tally: 0/150, HD: (3d10, 3d8)

As the imp rants, both Regan and Admiral notice--in a tangled stray strand of singed seaweed that clings to the imp's leathery tail--an item that fits the imp's description.

Jagged claws at the base of lattice must have hooked into seaweed, which entwined into spikey spines on the imp’s tail during its frantic search, but the imp must've been so preoccupied with its frustration and ranting that it failed to notice the slight weight of the item. The dangling remnants of a broken chain attached to blackened silver lattice sway with each twitch of the tail, drawing Admiral's and Regan's attention to the object. The imp is oblivious to it.

"It's on your tail you insufferable blowhard."

Admiral watches the prism swing to-and-fro throughout the imp’s rant, whiskers twitching with suppressed laughter. As soon as Regan points out the prism to the imp, Admiral bursts into laughter and attempts to swipe the prism off the end of the imp’s tail, both to amuse himself by further teasing the imp and to get a closer look at the item itself. He wants to make sure that it’s merely a teleportation device, as the imp claimed, and not something more dangerous, though he’s certainly not an expert in such things.

The imp's accusatory glare at Regan and Admiral lingers, its tiny chest puffed up with indignation, as though daring them to challenge the grandeur of its description. It’s in the middle of an exaggerated look of scoff when Regan points out the prism's location.

The imp blinks. Once. Twice. Admiral bursts into laughter. Then the imp tilts its head confused, trying to process Regan's words and lost how anyone could be laughing at his perfectly wonderful description on the prism.

The imp’s wings twitch in confusion, its face twisting into a scowl. "What—? Why are you laughing? That was a perfectly good—"

The reality of the moment starts to register. Its claws lower slightly as it mutters, "On my tail? What are you—"

It freezes mid-question, its eyes widening in sudden realization. With an audible gasp, the imp whirls around, spinning on its clawed feet as its leathery tail flicks. There, dangling from a tangle of singed seaweed hooked into its spiky tail, it sees the prism, catching the dim light of the room as if mocking the its own obliviousness.

For a quick moment, the imp can only stare, its mouth agape. Then it lets out a high-pitched shriek.

Its claws shoot out, scrambling to snatch the prism off its tail...

As Admiral deftly swipes the Shadowflame Prism from the imp's tail, the imp lets out a startled squawk and flails wildly in mid-air, its leathery wings tangling briefly before it crashes into a precarious pile of rusted cutlery and broken pottery. A bent candlestick clatters to the ground with a loud clang as the imp extricates itself, face flush with indignation.

"YOU! You mangy, flea-bitten, whiskered THIEF!" it screeches, pointing an accusatory claw at Admiral. "Do you have any idea what you're holding?! That’s the Shadowflame Prism! It's not some toy for your grubby little paws! Give it back! It’s mine—MINE!"

Admiral sees the prism in the dim light. Inspecting it, he sees silver lattice and dark crystal gleam faintly within, as if alive. But he can't immediately determine anything else about the item.

"Stop sniffing it like it's a morsel of cheese! You wouldn't know true infernal brilliance if it set your tail on fire!" The imp flaps closer, claws pathetically reaching outstretched, but the prism just out of reach in Admiral's hand.

The imp, wings buzzing with frustration, finally gives up and lands on the ground in a huff, arms crossed. It glares at Admiral with glowing red eyes that narrow to slits.

"Fine!" it snaps, sulking. "See if I care. Just remember, I knew where the hag kept her treasure! I led you through the depths of this cavern! And I—"

The imp suddenly pauses, its scowl deepening into a pout. It kicks at a shard of pottery, muttering under its breath. "Ungrateful mortals. Do all the hard work, and what do I get? Mockery. And now this! Stolen from, no less!"

It flops down onto an overturned bowl, wings twitching irritably. "Enjoy looking at it while you can, Admiral. Because you don’t even know how to use it! No, of course you don't."

The imp huffs again, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes as it starts picking at a loose scale on its claw. It mutters to itself in Infernal, clearly stewing, but its tone grows louder with every word.

"Should’ve known better than to trust you. Promises, promises. ‘Oh, we’ll free you, little imp!’ ‘Oh, just help us destroy the hag!’ And what happens the moment I repay you? Betrayed! Robbed blind! Next time, I’ll find a wizard in Glantri who actually knows how to treat an infernal being of my caliber!"

It peeks over its shoulder, clearly hoping its theatrics are gaining some sympathy.

"Enough with the melodramatics," Regan says, leaning on his warhammer. "We said we'd free you. We did. So cut the crap."

Laughing at the imp’s insults, Admiral holds the Shadowflame Prism up to the light, examining it closely. "I’m going to give it back anyway, so you can quit your yowling. I just wanted to get a look at it first."

Recognizing that seeking sympathy will get it nowhere, the imp stops its ranting immediately upon Regan's exasperated demand. When Admiral says he is going to give the item back the imp's expression morphs into one of suspicious relief, as if it can’t quite believe Admiral would willingly part with such a treasure, but is trying to suppress being ecstatic about it.

"You're going to give it back?" it questions apprehensively. Its gaze shifts from Admiral to Regan, "If you do, I'll be out of your hair as quickly as old parchment in hellfire!"

Admiral, peering closely at the trinket with the dark, pulsing prism encased within, feels a ghost of a memory clawing its way back from the depths of a particularly rowdy tavern night. It was the kind of night that left more tankards shattered than full, where half the talk was slurred, and the other half drowned in rum. Shadowflame?...He recalls mutterings about infernal relics hidden among cursed treasure hoards by a crew reckless enough to plunder from places mortals shouldn’t tread—but the details now danced just out of reach in the rough seas of the mind, indeed, and none too clear. But one thing he does recall: a warning, muttered with an edge of fear. "Some treasure ain’t meant to be claimed, mate. It’s best left to rot in the dark, where it belongs."

Admiral narrows his eyes at the Shadowflame Prism. Something about the sinister little trinket makes his fur stand on end but he isn’t sure if that means he ought to give it back to the imp so that he can be rid of them both or if it means he shouldn’t trust the imp with it at all. He certainly doesn’t want to keep it. He holds it out for Regan to take a look. "What do you think? I’m keen to be rid of the imp but something about this thing makes my skin crawl." He scratches his ear. "…Though, I suppose that might just be the fleas."

"I can take a look, but our little companion here had me pegged -- I doubt I know how to use it." Regan kicks his warhammer up over his shoulder and steps closer to Admiral, taking the trinket from him and holding it up to the light with a discerning eye.

The imp waits while Admiral passes the prism to Regan, noticeably trying very hard to remain calm and patient, but a good look shows that the imp is crawling out of its skin in anticipation.

Regan also sees silver jagged lattice and a dark crystal gleam faintly within, as if alive, but nothing more.

"Take your time then" the imp attempts to say calmly as it continues to nervously pick at the loose scale on its claw.

"I suppose I don't have to be in such a hurry. Once you give it back, the Prism will get me to Glantri as quickly as I can..." it pauses as it realizes that its scale has fallen off and its thick dark inky crimson blood drips from the wound slightly. Trying not to bring attention to the blood, it redirects.

"...Anyway, examine it for as long as you like. You are unlikely to get another chance to see something like it in this realm."

Regan takes a knee and extends his hand to the imp, the bauble in his palm.

"Thank you, for allowing us to inspect it. Chances like that are few and far between, and I value them."

The imp appears taken back by by Regan’s response and admiration of the Shadowflame Prism. It almost seems gratified, and perhaps even appreciative.

It cautiously takes the item from Regan’s outstretched hand.

Holding the item in one hand and lifting its wounded hand over the item, a drop of its blood falls onto the infernal artifact. As the imp’s blood drips onto the lattice of the Shadowflame Prism, the effect is instantaneous. The prism seems to suck the blood through the lattice into itself. The dark crystal flares to life, its core igniting with swirling shadows and flame. The lattice glows red-hot, runes appearing on the blackened silver now gleaming with a crimson light. The prism begins to tremble in the imp’s claw. The air around the imp distorts, rippling like heat waves rising from a forge. Then, with a sudden whoosh, a fiery tear splits open in the space before it.

The portal is small, no larger than the imp itself, and its edges are wreathed in twisting flames of dark purple and ember-red. Shadows flicker unnaturally across the walls. The portal itself offers a fleeting glimpse of a cobblestone street illuminated by the dim glow of magical lanterns, their blue-green light casting long shadows across an alley. Regan and Admiral would guess it to be a street in Glantri.

The imp turns to Regan and Admiral, cradling the prism with exaggerated care. It smirks, it gestures to the portal with a dramatic flourish of its free claw.

"Well, our contract is fulfilled then," it says, its voice dripping with mock formality. "Now. Off to Glantri to start another."

It hops toward the portal, pausing only to cast a sly, toothy grin over its shoulder. "Good luck with your acrobat. She doesn’t stand a chance."

Regan watches the imp go.

"Betting a gold that down the road a piece we're gonna regret not bashing him into paste," Regan sayswith a sigh after the imp vanishes through the portal, not taking his eyes off the spot the air tore assunder.