Zel could’ve sworn she saw the inklings of a fog vortex in there. The woman had a manic energy about her, like some battle-hungry pit fighter waiting to be set loose, just… Instead of a pit, a stage. Going by that sword on her hip and the way she subconsciously maintained a guard though, there was no doubt in Zel’s mind that she could hold her own.
Igniting it with a tiny spark of lightning, she took a long toke before blowing a puff of bluish smoke off to the side.
“Say, I hear you know a good alchemist,” she continued talking. The manic energy was overtaken by something else, some mixture of unconcealed curiosity and desire. “Good enough to turn a raw Azoth Stone safe for consumption in a couple weeks. Perpetual stubble, slightly long hair, handsome soldier type.”
“...Yes, and?” Zel raised an eyebrow, unsure of where the heiress was going with this.
Ezaryl smirked before taking another short pull of the pipe.
“Tell him to come backstage after the show. The guards will let him pass.”
One of the other musicians called out something in Kargarian, prompting Ezaryl to look at them. She halfheartedly answered back - also in Kargarian - receiving another answer, sighing, and standing up.
“Suppose we’ll have to speak later,” she said to them as she left. “I’ll be sticking around."
A short while passed, and though there was more than enough time to explore the bustling market, Zelsys couldn’t. The anticipation drove her to enter the sect grounds, to sit down mere meters in front of the statue. Even if some of the onlookers dared to enter the grounds for a better look, none dared venture beyond a short distance from the gate.
Taking out her Tablet she retrieved the arm-cannon from storage, strapping it to her arm before also retrieving her ammo belt and filling it with a single Type-1a, three Type-1 shells, and four Type-2 shells.
Zefaris had brought her fotoapparat, using what time remained to climb one of the target blocks and get a good angle on the area, snapping two photographs even before anything could transpire.
She continued by retrieving two seal-bottles from storage, one much smaller than the other, the larger bearing red seals and the smaller green. A two-component elixir to be combined moments before consumption, that it might bestow impossible vigor and sharpness of senses - if only for a brief time. Makhus had warned her that it would decay quickly, and so she placed both bottles on the ground for now.
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Breathing in deeply, Zelsys gradually shifted into Engine Breathing, eventually burning much of her breath and squirreling it away in the Essentia Gut. When at last she was certain that she couldn't safely stomach any more Fulgur without the risk of it coming back up, she stood and took the two bottles. Uncorking both with her teeth, she poured the smaller’s contents into the larger, stopping it up with her thumb as she shook it up. Swirling its contents about she kicked back the bottle, not quite swallowing the unstable elixir of Vitae and Daytime Dust as much as she poured it down her own throat. Both bottles were tossed aside, landing in the soil with dull thuds.
Finally, she approached the statue, pulling the Lightning Butcher free of its holster, intent on attempting to walk straight to the building’s great doors. Before she could step onto the stairs the horse statues to either side of the staircase sprung into motion, rearing up as great gouts of Fog burst from their mouths, entering into the shackled statue in the middle. Satisfied in what she took as her provocation being answered she backed off, once more facing down the statue from a few meters away. She noticed a near-invisible barrier had formed between the pillars in the background, blocking passage.
With the sound of grinding stone, the horse-headed statue looked down upon her. The seals covering its eyes slowly blackened where its eyes sat, tendrils of dark-purple smoke seeping from the ink. Then, instantaneously, it went up in fire and smoke, leaving blackened flakes drifting on the wind and two seething lilac lights staring down at her.
One by one the myriad seals upon the statue began burning away, vanishing into swirling swarms of lilac embers. Its hands and feet both shuddered in place, its chains pulsing with that self-same eldritch light as they struggled to contain an unseen force.
The thumping of a great drum shook the ground underfoot and resounded all around, soon joined by the twang of foreign strings and shrill keening of a flute, all blending together into an unsettling melody plainly meant to create an atmosphere of anticipation. Whereas the drum boomed as distant thunder through its own prodigious size and the beastly strength of he who struck it, its compatriots in the tension-heightening melody were clearly fed through that arcane machinery that their subtler sounds might not be drowned out.
A mighty rumbling voice issued from the statue, otherworldly and inhuman. If Zelsys were forced to describe it, she would have said that it was reverberating backwards, the reverb preceding the word it echoed.
“I sense the deed in thine possession, yet thou art not of the family. Hath the Black Horse grown so lame as to abandon a sect altogether? Do not answer. It matters not. That thou standeth before mine eyes is alone proof enough of thy worth as petitioner. Wouldst thee face mine unfettered wrath in pursuit of building upon these ancient foundations anew?”
This was to be a show, so a show she would provide. Zel more than willingly drew upon her sense for theatrics, spinning the Butcher in her grip before she spread her arms, stepped backwards, and proclaimed: “Look upon me for your answer. An implement of butchery in my hand, Fog pouring from my lips, lightning coursing through my body. I would do more than merely build upon old foundations, but tear down the decrepit spires of falsity and mysticism that the truth of cultivation might be given unto the common man! For what good are edifices, scrolls and traditions if the truth behind it all is not merely lost, but purposely buried for the benefit of the elders?!”