At the far end of the crag was the room where Shan'Gai Chah was waiting to be called to the Bowl of Embers for tempering. Ifrit's fire would burn inside of him, making him strong, rigid, powerful. The taste he'd been given so far had been in loan, the same way he'd been loaned that hunter, Baoht Suqqa Roh. But now, one of those two loans seemed to be failing him. The lesser of the two.
When the roar of pain came from the crag, the Chah's attendent, a black-scaled Amal'jaa priest, turned to glare down the dark tunnel. "I would not have thought he would go this far."
Shan'Gai Chah shifted in the shadows of the dais in the middle of the room. The igneous platform he stood on roiled with ted lines that just barely illuminated his movements. He liked it. The platform was hot, as though someone had plucked out Azeyma's pupil and buried it underground. It made sense. The eye of Azeyma was white uninterrupted, the same as a blind man's eye. "Don't pretend you didn't know he was unstable. I know I'm not surprised that an Amal'jaa with his reputation has turned homicidal?" He listened to the screams in the hall fade. "Is that him dying, do you think?"
"Oh, no." The priest replied. "The Scorpion we gave you might not be the most loyal, but he is formidable. The watchers have fallen." Turning away from the dais and towards a well lit hallway, the priest made his way out of the room. "I will go to the tempering. Follow once you have taken care of your Roh, Shan'Gai Chah."
So Ifrit would give him two gifts -- the heat of fire and the service of a hunter -- and make him set one against the other? That was fine. He had no qualms about killing Amal'jaa, and he had no question that he would be able to. Shan'Gai Chah walked to the edge of the dais and dropped down into the red light of the room, his boots stirring up volcanic dust as he landed. He stretched his arms over his head to pull his red steel spear from his back, white armor clicking against leather straps over red cloth, and as he brought it in front of him, the vicious spikes on either end clicked into place. He smiled at that. It was neat.
He brushed at his face and dropped into a fighting stance in front of the hallway, his blue eyes squinting through the veil of fire-red hair into the darkness. His tail shivered behind him in anticipation of a good fight. His ears stood on end to listen to the approach of the Roh. Something didn't smell right. His head still hurt, his senses still easily confused, but even in this volcanic stink something didn't smell right. He wished K'zhumi had been able to do more about his concussion , but he would have to deal with that. At least the hellfire fused his shattered humeri, the internal burn so dull now it was nearly imperceptible. Shang'Gai Chah, in his own mind still calling himself K'ile Tia, waited for Baoht Zuqqa Roh to show himself.
When the roar of pain came from the crag, the Chah's attendent, a black-scaled Amal'jaa priest, turned to glare down the dark tunnel. "I would not have thought he would go this far."
Shan'Gai Chah shifted in the shadows of the dais in the middle of the room. The igneous platform he stood on roiled with ted lines that just barely illuminated his movements. He liked it. The platform was hot, as though someone had plucked out Azeyma's pupil and buried it underground. It made sense. The eye of Azeyma was white uninterrupted, the same as a blind man's eye. "Don't pretend you didn't know he was unstable. I know I'm not surprised that an Amal'jaa with his reputation has turned homicidal?" He listened to the screams in the hall fade. "Is that him dying, do you think?"
"Oh, no." The priest replied. "The Scorpion we gave you might not be the most loyal, but he is formidable. The watchers have fallen." Turning away from the dais and towards a well lit hallway, the priest made his way out of the room. "I will go to the tempering. Follow once you have taken care of your Roh, Shan'Gai Chah."
So Ifrit would give him two gifts -- the heat of fire and the service of a hunter -- and make him set one against the other? That was fine. He had no qualms about killing Amal'jaa, and he had no question that he would be able to. Shan'Gai Chah walked to the edge of the dais and dropped down into the red light of the room, his boots stirring up volcanic dust as he landed. He stretched his arms over his head to pull his red steel spear from his back, white armor clicking against leather straps over red cloth, and as he brought it in front of him, the vicious spikes on either end clicked into place. He smiled at that. It was neat.
He brushed at his face and dropped into a fighting stance in front of the hallway, his blue eyes squinting through the veil of fire-red hair into the darkness. His tail shivered behind him in anticipation of a good fight. His ears stood on end to listen to the approach of the Roh. Something didn't smell right. His head still hurt, his senses still easily confused, but even in this volcanic stink something didn't smell right. He wished K'zhumi had been able to do more about his concussion , but he would have to deal with that. At least the hellfire fused his shattered humeri, the internal burn so dull now it was nearly imperceptible. Shang'Gai Chah, in his own mind still calling himself K'ile Tia, waited for Baoht Zuqqa Roh to show himself.