Adna sat beside Trestovan and Gren, in the temple’s infirmary. The two men were regaining consciousness as a pair of tourmaline aurors used their gems to repair the men’s bodies.
Gren blinked through fragmented glasses and offered a shaky wave that she returned. Of the two, he’d been in far worse shape with a visibly broken arm and gash on his forehead that dyed him bright red. Trestovan’s condition was comparatively mild. Superficial cuts and a smattering of gnarly bruises were objectively easier to treat than broken limbs.
“What happened?” She asked Trestovan as he blearily checked on Gren. She hadn’t heard from the men after sneakily escorting them to the gate in Yost proper to see them off. It seemed the two had encountered their share of trouble in the interim.
“Where’s the girl? Did she make it safely?” Trestovan nervously searched Adna’s face for an answer. “I only remember bits and pieces after my father’s men caught up to us.”
“She’s fine, one of the healers noticed the stab wound before she died from it. Kept telling Davian that healing her didn’t make them even.” Adna pointed to a curtained off section of the infirmary where Brendiwezzick slept.
He relaxed back into the seat. “That’s a relief. I think I owe her my life.”
Adna patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. She’s absolutely collecting on that debt.
“…so? What the hell happened after you made it to Florenta? Why did Nerrus’s congregation send you here? Are you two actually aurors now?” She asked, unable to choose a priority among the topics.
“We stayed at the Florentine temple for one night before one of their diamond auror saw a device here.” Trestovan poked his newly healed chest through a particularly bloody gash in his shirt. “Gren dug it out himself. He’s surprisingly deft in a crisis.”
“I’m a soldier, Tovan.” Gren reminded him while polishing the remaining lens in his glasses. “You constantly seem to forget that.”
“Quite right. I was fortunate to have someone so capable at my side.
“Initially, the plan was to have the device removed at the Preservatory but we were intercepted enroute. My father knew precisely where I was and meant to retrieve me by any means necessary. Gren… wasn’t to be spared. That much was clear from the attack. Back in Florenta, Nerrus offered us a divine quest in order to receive His protection and I’m glad we accepted.” He suddenly looked startled and amended, “My apologies. Our God.”
Adna kept her mouth in a flat line. She hummed a noncommittal acknowledgment, choosing to keep her gripes to herself. Nerrus was a poor example of the benevolent patriarch they all believed Him to be, but Adna needed Timbrelle’s congregation. Despite her insistence to the contrary, she knew she couldn’t manage this rescue alone. Morto, Tuna and Davian were to be her team during the impending raid. At the far-end of the temple, they were preparing themselves to levy a massacre upon Timbrelle’s captors. Nerrus had said in no uncertain terms that House Dimetrium was to face annihilation. Objectively speaking, Nerrus’s spectacular retaliation would be the ideal time to steal Timbrelle back.
“Oh, and yes. Gren ate an emerald and I a tourmaline. The Florentine High Priest said it was ‘returning Viridiance to House Daliega’ like Our Lord promised. I can’t say I understand all of it, but I don’t think we would have made it to the city without my gem.” Trestovan responded thoughtfully, running his thumb lightly over the light pink jewel peeking above his collar. “While it’s true that I was willing before, it’s a relief to see familiar faces from among the aristocracy. I expected to see the Rigels, but the Holtwellers were a surprise. Ner—Our God said that we had to join your party and find His mediums. That doesn’t feel too terribly onerous now that we’ve been saved by Him.”
“Yeah… just focus on healing up, pretty boy. As soon as I get Timbrelle back, this party is going to have some words. Nerrus might be the money behind the operation, but we’re not following Him blindly anymore.” She said with more confidence than she felt.
Anxiety pooled in her chest, forcing her to carry it around like a lung full of water. It was a familiar sensation—an omen of the soul communion with Timbrelle decaying. Previously, when Timbrelle had been spirited away to the Rigel estate, the connection suffered due to distance. At present, their connection was being actively dismantled as Timbrelle’s soul withered.
Adna stood abruptly and shook out her body. This wasn’t the time for panic.
***
Pride abandoned Timbrelle relatively quickly. At first she refused to answer any questions the bald man asked, even managing to stay silent while he worked.
His “art”, as he referred to it, was a delicate process of calculated violence. Timbrelle’s life had begun to revolve around the mechanical timer that whirred softly in the background. Every thirty minutes Plimt methodically removed his glasses and stood, hands on hips, to appraise his tools.
“Are we ready to move on yet? No… two more hours should do it, the arms won’t take long.” He mumbled to himself before heading to the chain that he’d run through a loop on the ceiling. He took it and heaved, dragging Timbrelle into the air by her wrists. Her body dangled just low enough that her toes brushed the grimy stone floor.
Stolen story; please report.
“Up you go. I confess that I’m excited to see what gems you’re hiding. It’s always a pleasant surprise with you lot. Haven’t had a tourmaline auror in a while. Diamond would be good too.” He slid his studded bat along her thigh, introducing it to the curves of her body. Her deep mocha skin displayed not even the humblest of scratches though her clothes were sodden with blood.
The wooden bat he’d previously been using hung on the wall beside a tourmaline wand. Of the wall bristling with instruments of misery, she was most familiar with those two. The man, surprisingly affable when conversing, explained that the process of loosening her gems would take place in stages. First, he would work her body over with the bats, taking care to heal her with the tourmaline wand after each brief session. This would desynchronize her soul from the stones and make them easier to harvest. Only once they’d fully been removed could she be permitted to die… an outcome that was quickly gaining favor among her options.
“I must admit that you’re progressing through these steps at record pace. This may be my first time working for Dimetrium but I have a fair number of Crystalurgists under my belt. You can trust my appraisal. You’ll be dead in… oh… six hours?” He pinched her thigh to test something. “Between five and six.”
The enormous bald man levied a blow to her lower back that sent her swinging lazily from the chains above. She’d long-since given up hiding her pain from Plimt. At first, it had given her some measure of power over him and once she’d handed it over, the man had never given it back.
He cooed sympathetically at her cry. “I know, baby, it hurts. Let it all out. It will be over soon.”
As promised, the session was a scant few minutes of passionate savagery before Plimt set to healing the wounds he’d just created. Now that the beating was finished, she could feel the icy tingle of her bones bruising—a pain never fully revoked by the wand.
Ping!
Level 4 “Ruby of Longevity” has been destabilized. You will lose attunement if it is not stabilized immediately.
The window sputtered away, blinking like a computer losing power.
“See? Wasn’t that easy? You did so well.” His gentle voice was much more soothing than she would ever admit.
“Eat… my ass… you bitch.” Timbrelle coughed. She spat a wad of bloody mucus onto Plimt but couldn’t hold her head up long enough to watch his reception.
“A tepid reaction once again.” He noted something in his notebook. “Why don’t you try using Crystalurgy? Even through the suppression cuffs, I should be seeing some sign of it…”
“Why don’t I try…” she whispered softly to herself.
Plimt drew a breath to speak before the words died on his lips. Her voice sputtered from her chest in an uncontrollable fit of hacking laughter that shook her suspended body violently. The hilarity of the situation had dawned on her like a truck on the highway.
Just as quickly as the hysteria had flooded in, she stopped. A soft creaking of her chains was the only sound in the dank and loathsome place.
Her voice was soft when she spoke again. “Can I ask you a question, Plimt? Just… humor me.”
“You’re free to ask.” His overly sweet tone turned curious. He took the opportunity to sit and clean the studded bat, giving her his attention.
“What do you think happens when a Kiton dies? You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“Hm? Well, I suppose I believe canon. Once our spectral energy dissipates we cease to exist. There’s no reason to believe there will be anything other than oblivion after death. Why else would people seek ascension? I used to follow Jir until I learned that I couldn’t pursue my career in His congregation. Then I might have dodged death.” He mused to her. “Maybe that’s not necessarily canon anymore with that new God, but I don’t know Their specific teachings—just that they’re largely profane the Unmade are nutty about Him. That’s enough for me to write Him off.”
Timbrelle lifted her head and propped it against her upheld arms. “What’s His name?”
Plimt squinted at her, pulling his head back to form a considerable double chin of doubt. “What? Nerrus isn’t answering your prayers and you want to jump ship? Nerrus never shows up to one of these, but you’d definitely be the first to switch to a new god mid-procedure. If your plan is to escape, I will warn you now: there is nowhere you can hide after such trauma to your soul. The right device could track you by virtue of your blaring soul at tens of miles. Whenever I have a particularly spirited crystalurgist, I make sure to break an arm or a leg. The sound your soul makes can be followed. If you could hear it now, I have no doubt that it would be outright deafening.”
Timbrelle snorted to herself when a window tried to pop up only to appear at partial opacity. Words were difficult to decipher in particularly light patches.
Ping!
Your condition “Deafening Soul”——— to lvl. 2. Unless corrected———and die.
The following window was much more visible but flickered every few seconds.
Ping!
Your spectral energy has dropped to dangerous levels. Preserving spectral energy is advised. Would you like to halt Soul Communion with party member Adna? Yes/No
Timbrelle thought “no” once again. This had to be the fifth time it suggested excising Adna from her soul. She wasn’t sure what would happen to her friend if the link was severed but there was no reason to expect the outcome would be good. Though it was pitiful, her steadfast refusal was the only thing she could do for her other half. Come Hell or high water, Soul Communion would stay in place until Timbrelle’s heart ground to a halt.
“You know, I bet you’re ready for a scan.” Plimt studied her body as he fed the chain through the loop, depositing her on unsteady feet. When her knees gave out, he amended, “Definitely ready. Your soul is coming apart so easily. Let’s load you onto the crusher and take a look at what type of gem you can attune. I’ve never taken apart an emerald Crystalurgist. I assume it’s because they’re too smart to be caught.”
Timbrelle went limp and allowed him to arrange her body on the solid wooden table. She stared up at the opposing surface of the crusher, unblinking. At any point, he could lower the upper panel and use the crusher as its name implied, but for now it served as an examination table.
Plimt passed a small rod the size and shape of a pencil horizontally over her body. The process took much longer than she expected for her gems. The man hovered over her belly, likely spotting Morto’s ruby. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember the other gems she’d eaten—much less, where they were in her body. Nerrus’s Eye was in there somewhere.
The rotund man straightened and placed both hands on his hips. A snarky apology for his poor luck turned to ash in her mouth when she saw him.
Above her, cast in shadow by the sconces on the wall, Plimt’s greedy eyes were pinned open and locked onto hers. A venomous smile took the place of every gentle, pitying look he’d given her. No, he wasn’t disappointed. He’d discovered something wonderful.
“Two-hundred and forty-four gems…” he marveled softly to himself as though Timbrelle’s widening eyes weren’t making contact with his. “Rubies, sapphires, topaz, diamonds… the Miasma has truly blessed me.”