Burning Nile Scene 01

Ipwet's mill is basically shut down at this point. A lone young apprentice is on staff, mainly to run for help if the mill is beset by angry citizens rioting against Ipwet's choice of grain suppliers, or perhaps they may be convinced she is to blame for the unfortunate incidents plaguing the city of late. The child is running around trying to look busy and mostly failing. With no grain coming in everything there was to do got done days ago but the child knows she is likely to get switched if caught idle, especially with strangers in the vicinity.

Ipwet does not contribute much to the conversation, she is a woman of action and with the current state of her business her patience is running thin. She scoffs at anyone suggesting a supernatural cause to the absence of the flood or the slaves, however anyone who puts forth an actual plan to handle the matter practically she will ultimately agree with. "Look, we'll be at this all night at this rate! Why are we wasting our time yammering? The only way to find out what is going on is to go investigate the matter ourselves, gods know if we wait for the Empress and her "Advisors" we'll be sitting here until NEXT flood season and I'll have died of starvation long before that!"

Adom wears a dour expression. Everything about Ipwet has rubbed him the wrong way from the very beginning. The obvious lack of respect for her betters, her close relationship with the elves who could not seem to see that the time of their greatness had passed, and, if he is honest with himself, the raw potential for physical violence that seems hidden just beneath the surface of her impatient demeanor. His fingers itch with the desire to reach for the dagger tucked into the sash at his waist, but he refuses to indulge in such a childish comfort.

Sighing heavily, he finishes the last of the wine sitting in the bottom of the plain wooden goblet set in front of him and makes a sour face for a moment. What could he expect from a host like this woman? Deciding the evening may yet drag on, and not enjoying prospect of it, he briefly contemplates another cupful of the swill, but he slides the goblet to the edge of the table and waves dismissively at the upstart ditch digger, Tefri, he recently purchased. Something about him, too, disturbed Adom, but the man had been adamant about being willing to do whatever it would take to find his wife. And having someone around who relies solely upon oneself could be... useful.

He tries not to think about the damage this may be doing to his reputation. Amenset and her connections may be doing their best to smear his name, and he fears every day he lets it go on is another step backward for his ascension to the heights of the priesthood. Consorting with elf-lovers and even an actual elf... he is desperate indeed.

"You would do well not to speak so lightly of the gods or the God-Empress... but I fear you may be right." He lets a vicious smirk grow on his face. "And as much as many people might enjoy watching you starve, I can say that I want to discover the cause of this disaster as much as you." He seems to come to a decision. "If I must, I will consult with the spirits again to see if I can discover anything new. I have not heard the voices of those who disappeared in the tomb since the moment they vanished." He glances in Tefri's direction. "And though I am loathe to admit it, the timing of all of this seems a bit too much of a coincidence."

He directs a level stare at Sabra. The elves have no reason to love men, or their priests. Vipers. He has fallen into a nest of vipers, but they are the vipers he needs if he is to undo whatever went wrong at the tomb and clear his name. The fact that he had been toying with such powers before the ritual is beside the point. Besides, if he can follow the path of those gone into whatever twilight they had disappeared in, he might forge an even stronger connection to the souls of the dead.

Tefri stood against the wall of the room awaiting any requests from his master, Adom. The once proud, Nubian had done far less savory tasks since his enslavement, but there was something about serving this master that was particularly unappealing. A man that purports to touch divinity and speak to the dead. Tefri must stifle a laugh for a fear of receiving the lash. But his master might be the only one who could help Tefri find his wife and for that hope alone there is no depth to which he would not stoop.

As if on cue, Tefri see his master's dismissive gesture and dutifully retrieves the cup. Right away, Master Adom, he recites coldly with a bow and takes it to the kitchen for more wine. He keeps a careful eye on the comings and goings of people in the mill and any interesting features of the building itself.

Sabra sits upright in his chair looking at the others. Even the lowliest farmers among the elves had more dignity than these man children here. What did they know of the Song Eternal? Nothing. Yet here he was, rubbing elbows and breaking bread in Ipwet's hovel.

Though it had been fifty years since he had last been this close to what he had lost, he remained calm. This priest would lead them back to where it all had begun.

Sabra could taste the palpable freedom. So close but if he wanted it, he'd have to take it. He rested his hand on his scabbard.

Tefri returns quickly with the wine and leans over Adom's right shoulder to serve it to him. Tefri whispers to his master then stands behind him.

Adom sees Tefri returning with the goblet and an annoyed expression crosses his face. He would now have to at least take another sip of the stuff, but only enough to be polite, as much as he might want to drown the unpleasantness. Sabra's hand was still dangerously close to his weapon and... then Tefri gives him the message.

Raising an eyebrow at Tefri, he sighs loudly. "As though we needed another problem. What is it now? Drunken louts come to burn this place down? Someone having their fun with some strumpet?" He smirks. "Somebody teaching an upstart elf some manners?" They were all petty jabs, but Adom was past being gracious this evening.

Immediately Ipwet's gaze darkens (if that were possible) and her entire body goes tense, all her muscles alert and ready to snap. "Hush, all of you! Something isn't right..." She listens for a moment more, scowling at Adom's wisecracking but saying nothing.

Ipwet gives her apprentice a look filled with silent meaning, the child retreats to a back entrance and hides herself. Without another word she rises from the meeting and silently flies up the steps to the upper level of the mill and the tiny balcony used to make repairs on the fins.

The cruel mirth on Adom's face bleeds into fear that he tries to hide at the new blood-curdling scream in the street outside. His hand drops to the dagger at his side and he mouths the mantras to clear his mind and form the connection to the spirits of the nearby dead if he needs their aid.

No longer did he imagine the drunken antics of simple townsfolk. That was the kind of scream he hears in his dreams. The ones where he relives the last moments of those he called upon. He stands and walks toward the door, gesturing Tefri to the other side of it with a nod and handing him a large wooden dowel sitting against a wall. The man may be a slave, but he needs Adom alive to get his wife back.

Glancing back at Sabra, uncomfortable with the idea of an elf with a blade at his back, he grits his teeth and pushes it out of his mind. If he were going to try anything, he would have done so already. Adom had provoked him enough. And he could prove useful if whatever this was came to blows.

Tefri takes the dowel and stands ready at the door. His knuckles whiten as he tightens his grip and nods to Adom indicating his readiness.

Sabra lets his training take over. He does not wait for the others. He begins to sing the Song of the Sword. If the humans are mesmerized by it, so be it. Perhaps it will give this rider pause too. He calls to mind the verses of the Elven Heroine Chin’nesstre whose sword sang with her. His own blade begins to vibrate as he steps into the middle of the street, equipping his shield.

His voice lifted in song, his eyes half closed, his khopesh crescendos as he waits for his foe to advance on him.

Feeling Sabra's song ringing in his ears as he brushes past him and Tefri through the door, Adom mutters a curse and steps out behind him, determined not to let the elven caterwauling distract him. Beside which, as much as he would enjoy seeing the fool die in the street, it irked him that the elf had seen fit to step into such a situation with so little hesitation. One might even say heroically. And he would not stand idly by and let an elf have claim to calling him a coward in comparison.

Bearing down in his mind and narrowing his eyes almost to slits, Adom reaches deep inside himself and tries to pull on the threads that connect him to the dead all around him. He raises his arms wide. Inside him, the hands of his soul gather up the strings and wrap them round and round, pulling them in together and twisting their will in with his own. He can feel the two newly freed souls floating somewhere nearby, confused, angry, shocked, and he whispers to them. "Revenge. Stop him. Drag him down. Pull him off his chariot that we may plunge him into the afterlife where you may tear him to shreds." He clenches his fist around the hilt of the dagger and focuses anger, death, and revenge through it to the spirits.

Surely the Egyptian gods have better things to do than be this man's plaything, Tefri thinks to himself as he watches Adom. He follows Adom through the door. His bravado and action could be confused for heroics, but in truth his motivations are entirely selfish.

Ipwet blinks a few times in disbelief at the dispatched civilian falling right *through* the chariot, then shakes it off and decides it must have been a trick of the darkness. Or the adrenaline which she can begin to feel coursing through her. She closes her eyes for a moment and savors in the old familiar feeling, letting it heighten her awareness, prepare her muscles for conflict. She hears her mill door open and opens her eyes to see her- "What are they to me? Definitely not friends... comrades? acquaintances? I suppose acquaintances will suffice."- to see her acquaintances file out of the doorway one by one and prepare to face off against this mysterious charioteer. A strange tune seems to float on the air, originating from the elf. Strange, she never thought of Sabra as the singing type. The priestly one, Adom, seems to be preparing to do something priestly, Tefri close at his side.

"Well, well, well... It seems these fools are not so foolish after all. If it's a fight they want I can *definitely* accommodate them!" Ipwet frowns for a moment, "How am I to lead the charge from all the way up here?"

She lets the details of the alley wash over her, allowing her adrenaline to filter the details through her fighting senses. She looks to the adjacent rooftop and a small smile creeps over her face...

As Ipwet bounds across the rooftops, determined to strike first blood, she sees the charioteer eye her. Her face distorts into a malevolent grin, baring her teeth in anticipation of the glory of the brawl. As she reaches the edge of the roof the figure raises their sword in challenge and Ipwet leaps directly into her enemy's path letting loose a deafening ululation that splits the night air, easily overcoming the citizens' pitiful shrieks for help.

"ALALALALALALALAIIIIIIEEEEEE!!!!"

Sabra takes a swing at the creature but his blade finds no purchase in the ethereal form. As the Elven made khopesh passes through the charioteer, Sabra stops his singing, his blade quelling its vibrato in time, and looks to the company gathered. He has already been too bold. This creature has not passed on to the lands of the dead. Aren't you supposed to be the expert on spirits, priest. If blame is to be cast, it would not surprise me in the least that this being was released due to your tampering in the lands close to the Nile.

He looks to the others gathered. We are but flesh and blood. But if its blades can cut us, then surely we can find something to cut it.

Adom shudders as the energy of the spirits lashes back at him. As his stomach clenches with the feeling, he knows he has overreached. This would not be a glorious triumph.

Part of his mind registers the ululating battle cry of the miller he had sensed was dangerous. The woman had jumped from the second story nearly onto the blade of the... thing. Without a thought for her own safety. Stupid, but... he does not have time to think about it as the lamentations of the kin of the slain pierce his brain and his heart. The blood pooling in the dirt turns his already clenched stomach. The way it drains out of the corpses of the dead reminds him too much of what his own hands had done a decade earlier. He will be visited by that spirit again tonight in his dreams if he sleeps, he is sure of it.

The abrupt end of Sabra's song slams into his awareness. There was a power there that he had not even consciously recognized until it was gone. The elf's words now cut into Adom's fears about what the creature could be. It had passed through them all like... like nothing...

Ipwet rolls to her feet, dusting her clothes off. As she walks back to the group she gives a cursory glance to the dead laying in the street and their families mourning in anguish. "Poor bastards," she thinks to herself, "they had no place running through the streets like morons, why do simple folk always lose their common sense when they need it most?". Her demeanor has clearly been deflated from the complete ineffectiveness of her attack. Her face still shows a dour expression, but now is heavily tempered with bewilderment and a bit of embarrassment.

As she approaches the group they can hear her mumbling curses under her breath. "What in the blazes *WAS* that thing? How am I supposed to pound a cursed ghost for the Nile's sake?! Somebody better have some answers soon or we all might as well grab our coins for the ferryman right now!"

Ipwet clearly notices Adom severely struggling with some ritualistic endeavor. Leaving him to his inner conflict for the moment, Ipwet turns to Tefri.

"Is your, uhh... Master? Is he going to be alright? He does not look well."

Tefri supports his master and casts his eyes to the floor. Master speaks with forces beyond a slave's humble understanding.

"Oh give me a break--", Ipwet's eyes dart behind her to the supernatural encounter she just experienced and catches her disbelief. "Yes, well... He better know what he is doing. What about you Tefri?" Ipwet eyes him up and down, then looks to Adom to see if he is conscious of his physical surroundings, then quiets her voice a bit. "You seem like your capable of doing halfway decent work. How did you end up someone's slave?"

Adom's eyes clear a bit and he seems to come back to himself a little. He leans on Tefri gratefully until he realizes it makes him appear weak. The man has a gift for being the perfect model slave in his words and actions, but he is far too intelligent to be that pliable. Nonetheless, he is a strong set of shoulders to lean upon, and Adom feels certain that he would have done his level best to defend his master. And right now Adom's mind is reeling, and much of the blood has drained from his face.

The priest finally spits out "I had nothing to do with this. That symbol on the side of that thing's chariot has something to do with your people if I'm not mistaken." in Sabra's direction. He is obviously angry but he seems too earnest to dismiss his own involvement. He then turns to Ipwet, practically snarling "And you. You can mind your own thrice damned elf-loving business. What sort of miller are you anyway? I didn't realize grinding grain involved leaping from rooftops to punch people in the face." He straightens and begins walking unsteadily toward the nearest corpse, gulping down the bile threatening to rise in his throat and calls back to the three of them grudgingly "Nevertheless, I shall commend your bravery in my prayers to the dead. All of you."

He pulls the small accoutrements of his station out of a small pouch at his side and begins to perform the rites over the newly dead, trying not to think about all the blood.

Ipwet is almost taken aback by the outburst from Adom and stares on, unblinking and expressionless, while he scolds Sabra and herself in turn. Before he turns away Ipwet gives a smug smirk, pleased with herself that she was able to assist in garnering such a reaction from the high-and-mighty priest and as he walks away she mumbles just loud enough to make sure he hears, "Maybe you should spend some time among us commoners more often. I think you'll find we are quite often more than what we seem..."

Ipwet then turns to Sabra, some of the ever-present anger returning to her face, "What did he mean that symbol has to do with your people? If you know something about this whole mess you better speak up, the only reason I got dragged into this is because everyone in this lousy city hates your kind 'cept me!"

Tefri stands between the growing crowd and Adom with his arms outstretched and drops to his knees. Please, my master speaks to the gods for your fallen family and friends. Please do not interrupt or you risk their afterlives.

Adom finishes the rite silently, then turns his ashen face up to the man. He looks around at the gathering crowd. The sick feeling in his gut begins to grow. This is on the verge of becoming a disaster. Everything in him screams to distance himself from this. Sabra. And Ipwet. Both could easily become scapegoats. The anger of people could become a weapon in his hands. He could wield it, turning the point of it away from himself.

But...

But what? He needs them. His own efforts to discover more about the impending disaster had been fruitless this far, and Amenset's influence seemed to be spreading, blocking his own at every turn, strangling him. He needs a triumph. And as unlikely bedfellows as they are... he needs them. And they had been as eager to help as he. He sets his jaw and steels his nerves, standing, then gently laying a hand on Tefri's shoulder.

"Young man, I am truly sorry for the loss of your mother. Rest assured that her sprit will be cared for in the afterlife. I will pray on her behalf for a month and a day.

"I do not know why this tragedy has befallen us. Some foul mockery of a spirit has seen fit to come here, to attack us, to slay us in the streets. I will not rest until I discover who has done this. And why. They have spit in the face of the natural order of things and flaunt whatever fell power they wield in the face of a true priest of the dead. They have made a fatal mistake this night. They will be hunted down like a wild dog and put in their place.

"We will lay the victims of this creature to rest tonight. While your loved ones make their way to the halls of the Lord of the underworld, I will be seeking out the villain behind this. Please, friends, let us tend to those who need our help in the moment, that later we may exact such revenge that will say unto all that never again shall such abominations be suffered!"

He sweeps his hands wide, making a point to include Ipwet, Sabra, and Tefri in with all the others.

Sabra gets close to Ipwet's ear. We should leave. This is turning ugly.

He turns to go but is pressed in on all sides by the mob. They push and shove at him now that Adom has indicated them as his compatriots. Knowing humans to be simple creatures, he begins to sing to them. Yet, even as one would have compassion for an animal caught in a trap, Sabra knows they have wounds that he can try to heal.

Ipwet has seem this kind of thing before. Mob mentality. It can be a great advantage when you're part of the mob, however I don't think I like being on the receiving end... What? Is that damn fool of an elf SINGING again?! He better thank me for this! Ipwet grabs Sabra's collar and starts dragging him towards the closest way through the throng: her Mill's front door.

"Adom, Tefri, this way if you don't want to be smashed underfoot!"

Ipwet is going to start shoving her way through the mass to get back inside her Mill, using threats and intimidation if necessary at first.

Tefri looks up at Ipwet and nods. He grabs his master firmly by the arm and shoulder and tries his best to "assist" him forcefully to follow Ipwet.

Adom watches helplessly as the crowd's mood turns ugly. He doesn't seem to comprehend the idea that it hasn't worked. When Tefri lays hands on him, there is an instant where a bright, flashing anger rises up in him that a slave would dare touch to do such a thing. It disappears as soon as it manifests as he realizes what the man is doing.

His eyes lock on the other bloody corpse lying in the street, unblessed, and now disappearing among the feet of the angry crowd. A strangled cry escapes his lips and he vows to pray for the spirit that had passed through him and rejected his call just moments before. It finally breaks through to his mind that he had failed, and that he is in grave danger. He lets himself be dragged off as his heart sinks.

With Tefri's assistance and each of then towing the other half of their group, Ipwet begins forcefully shouldering her way through the mob, at this point not caring if she ends up injuring any of them.

It is hard to forget how temperamental you are but even so, that rabble was especially mercurial. If you had let me finish my song, I would have subdued them. Sabra looks to Ipwet.

It is unfortunate that you have not been able to put the pieces together. That symbol, the Elven spirit, these are signs that the God Queen has disturbed the journey of the souls to the West. I did not study their heraldry as much as others of my land did but I can tell you this, this transgression upon my people's final rest will not be overlooked...

Sabra is letting the blood rush to his head from the exhilaration of battle and he can see eyebrows raising from these humans here. ...for...for it is a bad sign for the harvest. Ill omens are afoot when hungry spirits roam. Why have we gathered if not to make sure these omens are put to rest? I for one have fields that lie fallow that will not sprout seed. While I am but a simple elf, surely the efforts of the human farmers fair no better.

"No need to thank me by the way! I only just saved all your sorry asses..."

Ipwet's eyebrows are definitely one of those raised at Sabra's lofty words. "Simple elf... Sure... Say what you will but I see nothing simple about you. Do not think just because we have more pressing matters to attend to that I will pretend your 'singing' was so simple. Let's also not forget that if you finished your 'song' or whatever that was the three of us would have just as likely been subdued and left with the mob while you made your escape." She motions to include Adom and Tefri.

Ipwet walks to the small window by the front door checking to make sure the crowd has indeed moved on, then begins to barricade the door anyways, moving empty boxes and idle milling equipment up against the entryway. As she finishes Ipwet drops her head, her back to the group and slumps for a long moment. When she finally straightens her back and turns around, her mood seems less... argumentative. Like she has accepted this group and the fact that they are companions in this, unwilling as they all may be.

"Anyway, we shouldn't stay here too long. I have an exit at the rear of the building out into the alleyway. The real question is; where do we go from here? As much as I hate to admit it, it looks like we are stuck together for the time being until we can find out what in the afterlife is going on and how to stop it.

Adom lets himself be dragged inside and tries to sort through his feelings as the others talk.

He had failed utterly. His cries to the spirits of the departed had not simply gone unheeded, they had called down their hatred upon himself. The chill in his bones still lingers, and the breath he had used to try to calm the crowd has not yet returned to him. The crowd had turned on him as well. The bedrock of his faith had been tested, and he had been found wanting.

As he leans against the door behind him, he looks over at Tefri who is standing nearby, still with a shoulder under Adom's arm. Adom withdraws his arm from the man with a grunt, but it is the priest who lowers his eyes to the ground as he does so. The man had thrown himself into the teeth of the crowd to give Adom time to finish the rites over the dead woman. The priest would have one spirit on his conscience rather than two, and it was thanks to the sl... this man. And without hesitation... Tefri... had dragged him to safety. He mutters a low "thank you" to Tefri low enough that only the sl... the man himself can hear him.

Sabra's diatribe brings his attention to the elf. There is a heft to his words as he speaks them that tells of a great weight upon his soul. And what he says makes a certain amount of sense. There had been something strange about the spirits that had spoken to him as he had made his clandestine preparations before the consecration of the tomb's foundation. If it was true that the spirits of the dead here were not all men, what agendas might they have lingering after their descent into the underworld? It is a profoundly disturbing thought. The dead have always simply been the dead for Adom, but the thought that there could be spirits and spirits of some other sort is... not something he is prepared to accept lightly. Whatever that rampaging thing had been, it had been real enough to take the lives of innocent people in the street.

He opens his mouth to comment upon Sabra's claim to being a "simple elf" when Ipwet makes it for him. The woman, though clearly of an inferior social status, breeding, and upbringing, was... refreshingly direct. It was a strange thought for him. Normally that sort of bluntness would simply get someone killed, or make enough enemies to ensure that they would live a life devoid of prospects for advancement. And he supposes that given her current situation, she has dug this hole for herself. But as much as he enjoys the games of fanciful speech and fencing with words and hidden meanings, it is exhausting, and leaves you paranoid at times. Finding himself giving in to the temptation to drop his guard, and the pretenses, himself, if only for a moment, he looks at the three of them and says "We all knew the moment we came together that this would not be easy. I have been... unkind to each of you. I do not apologize for my opinions, but you have proven several wrong already and I anticipate you will yet do the same with more of them. Tefri, amongst ourselves, act as you see fit. I owe you my life as much as Sabra and Ipwet." He gives the man a solemn nod.

Turning to Sabra and Ipwet, he says "I do not yet know where we stand. But each of you acted without thought to keep the innocent from meeting the Lord of the underworld before their time. And you did the same for me, when I had given you no reason to love me." He looks down at his hands. "I... do not know what to do. But if we can learn more about who or what that thing out there represented, we may be able to track down the problem. I have no special love for elves... but I do not hate them, Sabra. I do not hate you. And... if the Lord of the underworld is the keeper of the souls of your people as well, then it is my duty to see that they go to their long deserved rest undisturbed. Even... even if that means..." The sentence trails off. He is unwilling to finish the thought.

Surprised to hear Adom's shift in tone, Tefri looks up and meets his master's eyes and for the first time ever does not avert his gaze. Surely the priest fakes this show of unity to gain the trust of the elf and miller. As long as it benefits me and gets me closer to my wife, I can play this game. Few are better trained in pretending to care for someone of higher station than a house slave. Besides, this odd pair seem better able to keep this man alive than I am.

Tefri returns Adom's nod, "You are wise and merciful. Thank you, Master Adom."

Ipwet appears visibly uncomfortable by the priest's words. Once he starts giving her actual direct *praise* she turns and walks a few steps away, unwilling to give eye contact. "Yes, well... It was simply my duty to protect you as guests in my mill. Just don't expect me to start getting all weepy and sharing my inner feelings now that you've had this revelation." She looks over her shoulder back towards the group, "But I suppose you three did at least attempt to put up a fight against that... *thing*, whatever that was. I guess it wouldn't be so bad to have you guys at my back when the dung hits the wall, so to speak. That singing thing still creeps me out though, Farmer."

All elves sing. It is a way of life for us. I would not have grains to sell you if it were not for the songs of harvest. I am not so trusting of your words, priest. I have seen four generations of your people walk the earth since I was born of the moon and stars. I know you to be fickle creatures that will say what you need to get what you want. Even so, I shall enjoy your fealty while it lasts. That driver was no elf. The chariot had symbols of my people but I saw his face. I was confused and concerned but glad though that none of my kin have come back from the West.

Adom watches Tefri's eyes carefully. The man certainly has no reason to the priest. None of them do. And maybe this was all just a moment of weakness. The effects of the blood yet coursing through his veins. But he does not think so.

After so long maneuvering and spying and kissing the ass of anyone who could raise his station, he is tired. He will not stop. He will never allow himself to rest for long. He will reach the heights of his caste, and hopefully get a chance to drive a dagger into the heart of the bitch who had spurned him. But that would take time, and here, now, he needed... wanted... associates. He could not picture calling this motley bunch friends, even baring his soul as much as he just had. But... associates. That could be acceptable.

His thoughts returning to the man in front of him. The sl... Tefri's mask remains. As well it should. He would not trust a slave who could not hide his feelings. But it frustrates him. A petulant part of him feels like he deserves more. He is careful not to show it, though. He would stand by his words. Let the man see that he rewards those he respects. Tefri is still a slave, but he is more than that now. And how can Adom expect him to accept such a thing as granted? Finally, he nods at Tefri again. His eyes fall on the glass of wine from earlier, and the pitcher. A tiny part of him wonders what it would be like to be the one pouring the wine for another, to stand mutely by while others discussed whatever they pleased, whether Tefri has a family somewhere.

When Ipwet speaks, it breaks Adom's concentration and he snorts as she scoffs at the idea of sharing her inner thoughts and feelings. As though the woman thought she could ever be mistaken for some weepy-eyed teenage girl bemoaning the latest tribulation in some day-old romance. At least, that's how he feels when she says it. Is that what she thinks of him? Is that what he thinks of himself at the moment? He pushes the thought away and tries to accept the compliment from her. She really is so coarse. But it becomes her well.

Sabra's explanation of the song would likely be a point for another discussion later, but that does not matter if the elf does not trust him. Of course he doesn't. He would be stupid to do so. And-

"What? It was not an elf? Strange. That symbol... it has something to do with your ki... your people, Sabra, I think. But if it was not an elf, who could it have been? Some fearsome warrior from beyond the grave somehow? Who could possibly have been so disturbed... unless. Sobek's temple lies dry. And certainly, Sobek is a surly god who does would not take such a disturbance of his routine lightly. I do not remember the last time the rivers failed to flood. Sabra, in your lifetime, has the river ever failed to flood? If such a thing has occurred in the past, we might be able to find records of it somewhere. And who knows, if that thing out there was some chosen hand of the crocodile god, where better to find out more than the temple of the god himself?"

Ipwet actually gives a bit of an evil smile, "It *has* been awhile since the last time I snuck into a temple without permission. And if this provides a chance to learn more about the crazy drek going on around here, all the better. I'm in!"

This is a unique occurrence from my perspective, both the lack of flooding and ethereal spirits with corporeal weaponry. Getting to root cause of these problems will reveal a most intriguing solution I am sure. My blade is ready to meet the challenge if you are, Ipwet.

Sabra thinks to himself, I must be ready. Whatever the costs, my opportunity is nigh. The betrayers among them will pay for their iniquity.

Adom nods his assent. This is all mad. But perhaps, just perhaps, it will work. He turns to Tefri and raises an eyebrow questioningly.

Tefri watches blankly as the group decides on their course of action. It takes a moment for the slave to recognize his master's intent. So the slave must not only follow his master, but spare him the indignity of thinking himself a slavemaster. A means to an end, Tefri... Returning to the temple can only get you closer to finding your wife.

He clasps his fist over his heart and bows slightly, The temple must hold many secrets that Master can uncover. I will do all I can to help.