Apefmhet: A Feast For Scarabs

[Tagi]

The drought along Eyropa's southwest coast had been going on for two years, which was why Tagi hadn't returned to the mainland in that time. She wouldn't have gone back at all, except that work in the northeast had dried up (what was with those mangy shifters, anyways?). Except 'dried up' really meant that Tagi had become a liability. Something something freak of nature something eating a dead mercenary something brotherhood. They were all haters. It had been an emergency and he'd been dead. It wasn't "disrespecting his memory" or a qualifier for being referred to as an abomination. He'd been dead. Dead meant dead. Dead meant there was no point holding his hand because he was just going back to the earth anyways. Eventually. Tagi knew how such things went. Much better than those arrogant sourpusses.

So, in the middle of June, of all times, she'd been sent down to face the heat and the grubby masses of the poor, the starving (or, what was the word when something died of thirst? It came to her in three other languages, but those weren't the one she was looking for), and the desperate. Beggars were such tacky decorations on land that had gotten all crusty anyways. And while they were desperate, they were like as not to point at her and claim that it was her fault or some other peasantish superstition that always cast her as the bad guy. So she ate dead people, it wasn't like she killed them and took their souls (or, at least, she hadn't in a really long time, didn't that count for something?).

The headquarters in northern Tamazgha were so spartan. While Tagi did not live in luxury by any means, she liked the fuss and bustle that came with large cities. She liked the creativity, the lavish garments and jaw-dropping architecture. It was as if they'd known that by sending her to such a barren backwater they would be handing over extra punishment. Even if the clothing was colorful, it didn't make up for the bare, squat buildings that were designed for function and coolness over artfulness and beauty. And even in the regional chief's office -- or, at least, what passed for an office -- there was not much to look at. An old painting that had not taken kindly to the heat, two wooden carvings that also had not taken kindly to the heat, and a spindly plant that was not taking kindly to the lack of water.

But you know what? That wasn't the worst of it. Seriously, that wasn't the worst of it.

"For the last time, I am not going on another ticket to find someone's lost animals! I'm not fucking doing it! No! No, no, no!" Tagi was leaning over the desk (which, as desks went, was pretty pathetic -- but it was made of steel and that pissed her off. She ignored the burning sensation on her palm to make her point), mouth bunched up in a pout and eyes fierce as she tried to make her point.

"Am I to cater to your every whim, your fussiness?"
"Yes! Exactly!"
"Keep mouthing off and you'll be lucky if I give you any work, understand?"
"I'm good at shit! More than that little maggot Parrot, and yet -- "
"Ah, my appointment is here. Clear out, Tagi."

The hanging beads in the doorway -- magicked to prevent sound from escaping the so-called excuse for an office -- clattered as someone's hand parted them. Tagi turned to look at the new arrival, betting a month's worth of wages that he so would not deny her work. They were understaffed in this pithole. They couldn't afford to drop her.

[Sertor Potens]

As amusing as it might be to state that a hand, and only a hand, parted those sound-snuffing beads it would simply be untrue. Those elegant ring-bedecked fingers were attached to an equally elegant man sporting desert robes in an expensive indigo weave. The swarthy, girthy, yet genially bearded intruder raised a hand to stay both Tagi and the recruiter Mahmoud "Please, do not leave on our account."

Such a pleasant and polite entrance. Ruined a moment later when a second, thinner, more pinch-faced man pushed through. Also robed, the second man's goatee screamed 'beware, villainy is afoot' - or it would have, had it a mouth to scream. Instead, the narrow-faced goatee-man was quick to do the talking for both he and goatee, to the dismay of all peace-loving folk. "Haqim, my brother, do not waste niceties on these incompetent baboons. We were promised ten guards and there has been a thirty percent shortfall." Goatee-man, too uptight even to contract 'do not' to 'don't', was exactly the kind of person to call someone an incompetent baboon. Haqim, however, was more forgiving "Fariq, my brother, there is still room to resolve this issue of contractual negligence."

Needless to say, Mahmoud directed his gaze to Haqim as he spoke "Of course, effendi, of course. In fact, I have the eighth right here. Tagi, politely greet your new employers for that guard role I was just telling you about." There was an unspoken suggestion in the caterpillar-like wriggling of Mahmoud's bushy eyebrows that Tagi had better bloody well play along or by the Changers it would be the last job she ever damn well got out of his generous hide.

Fariq sneered. You could tell he'd practised that sneer in front of a mirror. It had just the right curve of lip to nose wrinkle ratio to ensure you really knew he meant business. Hell, he probably groomed his facial hair to better frame the sneer in all its disdainful glory. "That is still a twenty percent shortfall."

Now, we would just like to point out that we all feel here that the old Deus Ex Machina routine is just cliched tripe, alright? But what about Rhino ex Machina, eh? Eh?? We'd like to bet you any number of bishani that hasn't been done before. Which is a fancy way of saying that, at that particular moment, Sertor entered the room. In that brief snapshot of time, when the Kerostriarius' helmeted head ripped out a chunk of lintel, you could see in Mahmoud something resembling religious fervour in the face of a miracle. He even forgave Sertor for ruining his doorway again and for bowling over a customer. In this case, there was not enough room for both Sertor and Fariq, and you can guess how that shoving match worked out. Displacement theory isn't just about water, baths, and naked men shouting 'Eureka!'. Sometimes it's about knocking over scrawny gits too.

Haqim looked up at the immense armoured figure and smiled "Ah, I see. One as large as two. You are quite the clever thinker, Mahmoud. Very well. We shall accept these two in place of the three we expected. Of course, having received nine, our payment shall be for nine." Haqim turned to leave as Fariq picked himself off the floor and glared at Sertor. Sertor, in turn, pulled out his monocle to examine the blurry figures in the room. He knew their smell, but people did seem to like the social niceties of vision. The Kerostriarius, blocking the door through the expedience of casually standing in front of it, rumbled "While it if pleafing to me to achieve employment fo readily, there if ftill the matter of the contractf and afforted quid pro quo and related caveatf"

[Tagi]

Tagi swept around, a brilliant smile blossoming as she greeted her employers. Proper employers, not just snotty nosed goat-herders who were too stupid to keep track of their flock or make sure their pastures were properly guarded. She was poised to make the suggestion that, with her multiple forms and skills, she was worth three men, no matter which way you sliced 'em, when the rhinoceros came in.

Oh, him.

In this backwater shitscape, Sertor was generally regarded as one of the better mercs. The bored boys of the nearby village (not, mind you, the nearer city; those boys had better things to do and were generally unimpressed by what they considered to be brutish and boorish swords-for-hire) had even constructed a scoreboard for the mercenaries. They were frequent hires out in the village, where their lands and animals were often prey (when they weren't, themselves) to the monstrous creatures and roving bands of Changer-warped humanoids of the land. While they were accomplished warriors, themselves, sometimes it was just flat out better to pay some bishani rather than risk losing limb or life.

Anyways, there was a scoreboard ranked by number of kills, successful mission, and some nebulous 'cool' factor that Tagi was sure was just a pre-maturity state of humanity that accounted for about two thirds of stupidity accounted for the species as a whole. Sertor was third on the list. Tagi was second from last.

She didn't hate Sertor. She was fairly sure he wasn't even tangentially aware of her (there had been a little fuss kicked up at her arrival, considering that she had a well-earned reputation, but when all she was handed were the equivalent of take-out tickets, well, it was assumed that she had just become another washed-up figure -- or that her reputation had been greatly exaggerated), which made her one-sided rivalry with him (and the two before him on that fucking chart) that much more aggravating. Still, most days it didn't bother her except as a form of unfairness; those high up on the childrens' list tended to get the more fun jobs. Tagi wanted the fun jobs. Now that she had a fun job, she was inadvertently put in her place by someone unrelated to their company saying that Sertor was worth two men and Tagi was worth one.

So, with that long and tedious explanation out of the way, it should come as no surprise to the reader that Tagi burst out with, "But he can't even speak properly!" as a response to Haqim's rather unfortunate statement.

There was an awkward silence.

[Sertor Potens]

O for a different, less enlightened time, when shining metal teeth were a sign of wealth and prosperity. Although, even in such circumstances, iron teeth probably wouldn't have had much of a positive effect. Whatever the case, Fariq's expression seemed to elegantly proclaim 'please, by the changers, never smile again. I just had lunch'. At least, it did in that moment before Sertor's entrance bowled him over. Probably a well-deserved pratfall, really. Legend has it Fariq was born with a goatee and a sneer.

Still, first impressions are something which counted for any hirer of mercenaries, and Mahmoud waited expectantly for one of them to save his bacon from being slow-smoked over some nasty torturer's firepit. Did we mention Mahmoud has a vivid imagination? No? Well, it's probably irrelevant anyway. Unfortunately for our imaginative Mahmoud, Sertor lisped and Tagi bitched, and silence reigned for an uncomfortable couple of seconds.

Well, not entirely silence. Fariq understood that something as simple as regaining one's feet required as much muttered invective as possible. Something about camel's mothers and implausible acts was deemed appropriate. Haqim cut across Fariq's diatribe smoothly "It is fortunate then, that we are not hiring any of you for your ability to debate the finer philosophies at length, and are inspired to part bishani for your services on the basis of more vulgar capabilities. The world is a dangerous place, and we wish to remain secure from such things for the duration of our expedition."

Mahmoud had at least caught the phrase 'contracts', and had a decent notion regarding how pedantic the oversized hulk of muscle got about such things. He had to somehow placate the bastard long enough to get the employers out of the office. Or, at the very least, get them out before either of his monstrous pains-in-the-buttocks could foul the deal any further. "Your understanding is a sign of your great wisdom, effendi, and I shall be sure to have the contracts ready for your perusal this evening. Sertor, you are blocking the door, and I have no doubt that these are busy men who would appreciate being able to keep to their schedule. MOVE. Please."

Sertor harrumphed, a deeply dissatisfied utterance, and crab-stepped awkwardly to clear the doorway as much as he could within the cramped and Kerostriarus-unfriendly human architecture. 'Couldn't speak properly' indeed. Utter nonsense. Still, he earned his bishani through glorious battle and strength of arms, so there was little need to take it personally. It was just a shame he was already guaranteed one comrade of inferior intellect and understanding. Fariq was the first to take the opportunity presented by the open door to stalk out, sporting the finest disdainful sneer the world had ever seen. Haqim, at least, was polite enough to make the traditional open-palmed symbol of peace and trust with a slight nod of his head. Mahmoud's response was embarrassingly obsequious and fawning, but he managed to clear the room before his least favourite monsters screwed up any more.

When he was sure that the employers were gone, Mahmoud clutched at his cheeks in frustration "O Changers, save me from the stupidity of those I have to deal with." The harassed intermediary between merc and money returned to his seat and glared at both Tagi and Sertor. Mahmoud jabbed his finger in Tagi's direction "You, learn to keep your stupid mouth shut before the employers realise what a terrible bargain they've received." The recruiter shifted his quivering finger to Sertor "And you! Knocking over one of them?! And THEN starting up about contracts while blocking the door?! Can't talk properly, can't think properly! You'd better damn follow their orders properly!" Mahmoud, entirely too tightly wound and jittery with adrenaline, practised his glare on them some more.

[Tagi]

"Terrible? Terrible?" Tagi's teeth made a distinct metallic noise as she ground them against each other. "Very well, terrible, it is clear your ancestors' last homes were mud and ash. I will do as you say." She turned to Sertor, hands on her hips. "You had best not be getting in my fucking way. I'll show my worth." She shot one last metal-edged smile Mahmoud's way -- no real hard feelings, after all, no matter how disparaging he might act towards her. Tagi's biggest frustration was foremost the second-to-last place and the babysitting and baby-finding missions she'd been sent on. Her irritation was the desire to do what she wanted rather than what some hopped up little backwater bully wanted her to do, and now that she had a mission that entailed more than rounding up scattered goats her mood had been considerably lightened.

She turned to the beaded doorway, muttering something about translators.

[Sertor Potens]

Sertor was unfazed by the proceedings and Mahmoud's remonstrations. Honestly, people only stood in doorways if they were willing to risk being knocked over. Sertor stood in doorways because, frankly, often there just wasn't a lot of space inside houses for a Kerostriarius to fit without breaking random furnishings.

Tagi, alas, suffered the indignity of having her parting jab at Sertor go entirely ignored as the large mercenary turned to Mahmoud and said "Yef, good, fpeaking of the contractf, have you got the current contract to hand for my perufal? I have learned alwayf to read the fine print" Sertor pulled out a large chunky lens attached to a chain and held it in front of his eye. "There are fertain appendifeef which may be required, depending upon the tafk the employer haf fet for uf."

Sertor stood in front of Mahmoud like a statue, expectantly. Not just like any old statue, mind: more the kind of statue people find a few centuries later in an abandoned temple and say to an uncaring audience 'Oh my, look how unmarked by the passage of time it is. Hey, is that a monocle?' then take laborious drawings of it to boast about over brandy in some adventurers club back in 'the old country'. Except they die of dysentery and never make it home at all. Serves them right, really. Prats.

In any case it is fair to say that, for all his faults, Mahmoud probably hadn't deserved that start to his day. Let alone the damage to his front door.

And while on the topic of damaged doors, let us return now to more recent evidence of just how much better Sertor has become at ruining entryways. Given that Sertor is functionally blind at the best of times - clouds of dust from cracked stone and mortar notwithstanding - we'll be borrowing Tagi's eyes once again.

[Tagi]

If the crumbling doorway had a voice, it would probably say something like, "enemies, behold! There are free meal tickets here, come and obliterate them in the confusion!" At least, that's what Tagi imagined it saying as it rumbled to a standstill, the cacophony so loud at one point as to drown out even her ears. She skipped back -- they all did -- then forward again as she realized that one of the pieces of debris was actually probably Sertor.

"Hey, you fuck!" she said as she sprang forward, hands outstretched to yank (attempt to yank) him out of the way of potential danger. Yeah, okay, the actual slide of old stone had stopped, but that didn't mean its new formation was any kind of stable.

Oh, wait, no, that wasn't Sertor. That was a rock. It really did look like him though, especially if you turned your head the right angle and sort of squinted a little, there was a chunk of metal bit that really did look like his armor, and --

"Tagi, what are you doing?"

Tagi removed her hands from the rock. "Nothing. Sertor, here, let's get you up. . ."

She didn't immediately see him, and felt a funny little twitch deep in her nonexistent guts as her human memories suggested any numerous sorts of potential ends to someone who'd been caught beneath a rockslide. Lintelslide. Doorwayslide? She looked at where the top of the arch had been, where now the ceiling was sagging in a manner that didn't look very safe at all. If he was trapped below. . .well, of course she wouldn't want to lose him out of this group, because the rest were dopey fucks, even if she could understand them better.

[Sertor Potens]

There is a school of thought out there which suggests that perhaps inanimate objects have a spirit, that it is possible to offend such a spirit, and earn unpleasant repercussions from similar spirits the world over. Admittedly, that school of thought has maybe a handful of students, each of them as hare-brained as the others. But it does serve as a possible explanation for the ongoing feud between Sertor and Entrances of all descriptions. One could almost imagine the door saying, in fact, 'This is vengeance for every lintel and doorframe you've ever smashed, accursed brute, now DIE!'

But, alas, it was merely a door. One subject to the vagaries of geological shifts affecting the structural integrity of the building of which it was a part. And Sertor was just too damn big for most doors. But maybe, in another time, and another place, there is a world where the door succeeded, and was hailed universally as the mightiest hero of all portals ever.

But speaking of Sertor, while Tagi offered assistance to masonry, the kerostriarius ceased his 'turtle on its back' impression through the expedience of rolling onto his side then clambering to his feet in a rather awkward and ungainly fashion. When Ramon asked Tagi what she was doing, Sertor had made it to a kneeling position, and was upright by the time she scanned the room.

Sertor was in a predicament. He was, functionally, blind. His ears were still ringing from the crash of falling stone, his monocle was long gone, and his nose was clogged with dust and ichor. That left only one possible solution to immediately regaining some kind of perceptive faculty. Moving towards what he thought was the nearest wall, Sertor tilted his head backwards a little and blew his nose.

Now, you need some context here: a human full-heartedly blowing their nose is pretty obscene, I think we can all agree. Having some big hairy man widening his nostrils and ejecting a torrent of mucus and clumped dust and what-have-you out for the world to see is enough to spoil a regular man's appetite. Now, take that image, and imagine the larger nostrils of a rhinoceros. Imagine the lung power of an average behemothian kerostriarii. Imagine just how much assorted nastiness could have ended up there during the vicious battle to make it into the present room. If you've imagined it correctly, you should be feeling somewhat queasy right now.

A few horrible moments later, Sertor had cleared his sinuses. There had been a large amount of greenish-white ichor and mucus up in there, clumping and coagulating with all the sand and stone dust he had breathed in. Sertor, finally regaining most of his ability to smell, could sense the room had gone very still. And it was not masonry that he could smell in front of him. Sertor sighed "Oh, fiddleftickf. I thought you were a wall. I humbly apologife. I fuppofe that redufef my chanfef of negotiating that bonuf?"

Fariq, drenched in something arguably worse than sewage, was at a temporary loss for words.
For a moment, there was utter silence.

[Tagi]

"Ah!"

Heads swiveled at Tagi's loud exclamation. "You're alive, then. We should get moving."

They should get moving, really, but there was the awkward matter of Fariq, which also should be taken care of, but. . .

"I'll scout," Hassan said, moving past them.

"I already did that, though. . ." Tagi turned to Ramon, "is my scouting not good enough, now?"

Ramon tore away from staring helplessly at Fariq. "Tagi, shut up."
"Why?"

Ramon shook his head and turned away from Fariq and Tagi both, as did Evren.

"Are you hurt?" Ramon asked Sertor as Tagi bounded after Hassan. Evren moved towards the injured man. In the world of contracts and mercenaries, this was decidedly Not Their Problem. Tagi hadn't even registered it as being a problem; the potential insult to her skills was much more immediate. One couldn't make it to the top of the list if one was discounted as a scout, after all. So, she humored Hassan by moving counter to the path he'd taken, double checking the vast room with its numerous pillars even though it was so not necessary.

Fariq, meanwhile, had regained consciousness. Not to say that he'd been entirely unconscious, per se, but there are certain lengths the brain will go to in order to preserve sanity. However, even those lengths do not last forever.

"I am not--" Fariq started to shriek, but that was cut off when some of the goo covering him got into his mouth. His body took over, and he was immediately bent over, vomiting, as Pinar went to his side, ineffectually patting at him with a handkerchief.

"Interesting," Giacomo muttered to himself, "I had no idea. . ."

"Move out," Evren said, firmly, as he finished checking over Omar. "Giacomo, come. Omar still needs to be carried. Sir, we should keep moving."

The last was directed at Fariq, blithely overlooking the fact that the civvie leader looked like a goo-monster from the depths of some misbegotten hell.

[Sertor Potens]

Sertor was wise enough in the ways of humans to know that Fariq's silence most certainly did mean he'd blown his chance for a bonus. Which was a shame, but such were the vagaries of fortune on the battlefield. The ringing in his ears was thankfully dying down, and the room went from being a vague and fuzzy conglomeration of concentrated scents to a more three-dimensional picture of smells and sounds. Everyone, it seemed, was carefully being in parts of the room that Fariq was not. Yes, that bonus was definitely gone. Forever.

Ramon's question brought Sertor back to the more important here-and-now details. "My fenfef are reftored, Ramon, but I have refeived some nafty cutf from the creaturef. I can ftill fight and move. But I think I will not be able to danfe any time foon." It was a joke. Sertor had heard others use it to great effect in the past. But for some bizarre reason nobody was laughing at his telling of it. Regrettably, without his monocle, Sertor was unable to witness the look of stark disbelief written over Ramon's face - mirrored in some way by most of those who overheard the Kerostriarius' comment. Oh well. What could Sertor expect from such a humourless bunch?

Regrettably, a philosophical discourse on the topic of comedic presentation was halted forthwith by Fariq's hysterical exclamation followed by a violent purging of the man's stomach. Will Fariq's sneer ever be able to recover from this trauma? Only time will tell. But in the present, Evren was keeping things moving, and Sertor thought that was probably a good idea.

Fariq half-slipped on his own bodily expulsions, but the gods of comedy had obviously had enough for one day, because the man somehow kept his feet. Perhaps, lacking his signature sneer, he was no longer a worthy target? Really, it's a shame the sod interrupted that discourse on comedic presentation: mysteries of life and the universe shall yet remain a mystery as a result. Honestly, that bastard deserves everything he gets on the basis of how far back he has set the world in that area alone.

And if that wasn't bad enough, the entire lot of them faced an unpleasant choice. It was all well and good for Evren to say 'Keep moving', but where to? Break out the side door of the pillared hall back into the sunlight and bug-riddled sands? Or enter deeper into the Temple of Asari, as Giacomo had called it the day before? Well, alright, there really wasn't much choice there, truth be told. They still had a job to do and a Sceptre to find. But the moment called for a dramatic segue into what was essentially a bunch of mercs and meddlers shuffling down a flight of stairs into a smaller room riddled with hieroglyphs. Can you blame someone for trying to make that just a teensy bit less boring?

Well, the new room might not be quite so grand as the pillared hall, but it did have seven rooms attached, each containing stone sarcophagi and even more hieroglyphs. It was an academic's wet dream for Giacomo, who was peering at the inscriptions intently, dashing around the room like a madman - but luckily for all concerned he was wearing very loose robes. Ramon muttered "Well, this is a cozy place for a last stand, but that ain't exactly high up on my list of 'fun things to do'. Tagi, you get much of a chance to look down here earlier?"

Sertor stood like a huge lump, ears rotating while the Kerostriarius sniffed the air. He wasn't talking much. Probably still embarrassed by blowing his chance for a bonus. The whole situation stank. Hard to tell which was worse, really: the stale air reeking of rot and decay, Sertor stinking of dead scarab warriors, or Fariq stinking of Sertor and his own vomit. Yes, nothing like a vacation to old temples in the desert: fun for the whole family. One wonders what Tagi thought of that state of affairs.

[Tagi]

Tagi, of course, thought that everything stank -- but that was usual, for her. Her preferences weren't exactly common. Dry dead things were her bag, so most organic matter produced by the living was utterly distasteful to her. So distasteful, as a matter of fact, that she didn't even ask for a translation. Probably for the better, considering the way everyone else seemed to carefully ignore him. Huh.

She pointed west at Ramon's query. "Two exits, two sets of stairs going down. I didn't scout the stairs, but I didn't smell scabies on the air, either. The exits are shut tight for now, but no telling if those doors will hold against a concerted assault. Ahh, and there's bodies down below. Mostly nicely old, though there's a few're no older than a few decades. None recent I can sense from here." She'd drool at the thought of the old bodies, but the smells of wet bio-substances were starting to get overwhelming, even for her. It didn't help that they were all clustered tight. She edged towards the western doorway, pointing her nose towards that relatively fresh air supply.

"Master Fariq, do you still desire your artifact?" Evren cut in. His tone made it clear he thought the correct answer was no. But, of course, he would never directly tell his employer what he thought they should do. He would just imply it. Loudly.

[Sertor Potens]

Lest undue concern be raised for the condition of Fariq, despite the man being a complete and utter git in the eyes of all who ever had the misfortune of crossing his goatee'd path, it should be noted here that Evren somehow managed to revive the flagging spirits of the sole surviving guardian of the payroll. Sure, the resurrected sneer was slimy and had a somewhat deranged air about it. Yes, the man looked ghastly and grotesque, like some kind of swamp creature. But let Fariq shine, for a moment, as an example of human fortitude and resilience.

"Of course I bloody want my artifact, you buffoon! If I return empty-handed, after what I have been through, nobody gets paid."

Well, alright, Fariq missed his true calling as the villain of this story, but hey - when you have a hive full of scarab warriors from the time of the ancient wars, you don't let them go to waste, right?

Evren, it is fair to say, came close to gutting the man and forfeiting his pay for the satisfaction of the act alone. However, Evren was a practical man: he could try for the pay first, and kill later. Ramon, at least, was more level-headed, and Sertor's sharp ears rotated as the man sighed softly in a fashion which indicated a hint of despair at the way circumstances were developing. Obviously, it was up to Sertor to boost the expedition's morale.

"Thatf right, my comradef, glory and fucfeff ftill await uf here! We will find the artifact, and cut our way free to fame and our well-earned pay!" Sertor thought it had everything a barracks pep-talk needed. It baffled the Kerostriarius that nobody seemed to agree with him.

in fact - of the humans present - only Giacomo, blissfully ignoring the uneducated rabble around him, seemed to have the right enthusiasm. And that had nothing to do with Sertor's speech. I think we can thank Giacomo, at this stage, for accidentally filling what would have been a rather awkward silence with the excited conversation he was having with the only other academic present: himself. "...if I have interpreted the subtext of these tracts correctly, the Sceptre of Asari might well be beneath this very temple. Really, the blatant mythologising Asari commissioned with the fables engraved into the walls of his own temple are fascinating...'

Ramon looked at Evren. Evren looked at Ramon. Hassan looked at his knife. Sertor didn't look at anyone - without his monocle, what was the point? Pinar fussed over Omar, and Omar didn't do much of any use for anyone, unless moaning pathetically counts. Really, you lose an arm and suddenly it's the end of the world? Weak. Utterly un-Heroic.

And Fariq, well, he sneered at them all. A mere look was beneath a man such as Fariq, no matter how wretched his present appearance. "If the artifact lies beneath this temple, then we proceed downwards." Having declared his intention, he waved a hand imperiously at the expedition's designated scout "Tagi, lead the way down those stairs you found." Fariq sniffed condescendingly, then immediately regretted the intake of reeking air. "Of course, if a trap gets you, try to scream loudly enough to warn the important people."

[Tagi]

"But a trap won't get me," Tagi said. She sounded faintly confused. "But it might get you, so it's best to stay a bit behind. There was a time when one of the civvies I was leading was sticking right close to me, and you know, I thought that was good so he didn't get sliced up or something -- can't protect if I'm not right there, obviously -- but then we were ambushed and I, of course, ducked. It was instinct. He didn't have very good instincts. I don't think you have very good instincts either. But don't worry, you can stay behind Sertor. He seems to react slowly."

It was probably the longest thing Tagi had said to any of them. Evren's expression seemed to be of the lost and hopeless kind, which was regrettable. Tagi, you see, wasn't very good at cheering people up. She wasn't sure why Evren was so forlorn, but she thought maybe she should wait to see if someone else tried to help him before she offered her own opinion. Everyone always seemed to find reason to not look at her when she shared her opinion. Humans were so rude -- and it was their own damn rules that they were rude about! How did that make sense? She looked at Ramon. "I'm starting to not understand that one either," she nodded to Giacomo. "Did either of them say anything important?"

Ramon's expression was reminiscent of Evren's. Tagi didn't get any of them. Except for the bleeder, they were all more or less in one piece and she had told them that she couldn't smell scabies.

"Tagi. . ." Ramon said, rolling both exasperation and despair into her name. That wasn't a very nice way to speak to her.

"What?"

"Let's just . . .go. Please."

"It's like you want to keep me out of the loop. I don't see how that's nice. I'm asking," she was also moving through the doorway and to the stairs, raising her voice to make sure all of them could hear her, "so it's not like I'm being crude. I haven't done anything to make anyone angry this time, so I really think it's inappropriate that you keep treating me like I am one of your children. I am not a child, I am a mercenary. Is it too much to ask others to speak in a manner that is easily understandable? This is not my first language, as you people say, this is somewhere around my twentieth -- if you're counting disparate dialects, and I am -- so it is very difficult for me to keep up with those who cannot properly form words and sentiments. I would not ask if I did not think it was important. One of my captains once told me that it is very important to make sure that you are properly communicating with the rest of your squad, and that is what I am trying to do here. It's not like --"

"Tagi."

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

"This is intolerable," she muttered after a shocked silence. "Here I am baring my weaknesses, and I am treated like a second class citizen. What is it, racism? I am being discriminated against."

"Tagi."

She stared back at Evren, lips pressed together. The expression was right enough: a blend of hurt and outrage, but there was something wrong with her eyes. The expression did not reach them. They were almost flat, a cool intelligence about them that recalled something of the predator trying to blend in with its meal tickets. She gave Evren the creeps.

"Go scout," he told her, because she was creepy and annoying.

"Be assured I will have words with command when we get back. I am outraged. Hear me? Outraged." Before anyone could retort, she'd changed to her hyena form and was dashing off down the subterranean tunnel.

"I regret everything," Ramon muttered to himself. There was a moment of reflection. "Did she just have a temper tantrum?"

"We uh. . .we need torches or lanterns?" Hassan's floundering attempt to bypass the awkwardness left behind by Tagi.

"Let's inventory our supplies while we wait for her to get back," Evren said.

[Sertor Potens]

Sertor was baffled. It seemed that his inspiring speech had, in actual fact, created the entirely opposite effect to what he had intended. Even Tagi, who was normally taciturn and terse, had cracked under the pressure and had complained - using more words than she had in the past few days. If you don't count repetitions of 'Die, Scabies, Die', that is. And Sertor wasn't.

Still, she spoke twenty languages? Maybe the Imperial trade tongue was the incorrect language to use with her? He knew that most Eyropans had some difficulty understanding him at times, but not insurmountably so. Maybe she knew one of the Mandinean tribal tongues? The ones with all the clicking were actually a lot easier for Sertor, as there weren't so many fricatives. It would bear consideration, perhaps. Certainly, he'd had less trouble communicating with Mandineans than Eyropans. Or possibly the native language of Tamazhga

While Tagi scouted, the rest of the group ascertained what kind of resources they had left. The mercenaries had their weapons, of course. Giacomo, who had been in the temple with Hassan when everything had turned to shit, had a lantern and a spare oilskin. Hassan had a couple of torches, because he hadn't trusted Giacomo to bring a lantern. Sertor himself had a supply of candles and a small lantern to put them in. He mostly used them so that others could see him when needed, not the reverse, but this situation might find even the duller illumination of some benefit. He normally hung it from a hook on his pack.

Supplies in general were low. The mercenaries had been clever enough to keep some trail rations with them, but the civilians had brought nothing but themselves. They wouldn't be able to hold out for too long, and Sertor's contract did not require him to share his own rations. Which didn't particularly matter much, because Kerostriarius trail rations weren't too palatable to the average human. Far too much fibre for a human mouth to happily chew on.

Sertor spent his time using a dagger to carefully remove some of the coating of ichor which had come to cover most of his front and sides. By the time Tagi returned, Sertor was a little less muck-covered, and found his sense of smell was beginning to adjust. Pleasingly, the ichor was slightly muffling the normal clank of his armour. Small blessings. None of this mattered to the humans, though, who were noticably nowhere near the Kerostriarus: Sertor still stank to high heavens, and looked monstrous covered in the gore of the fallen scarabs. People were so unreasonable.

[Tagi]

The first level under the temple was something of a basement. It had primarily been used for storage, judging by the ancient, musty smells that lingered. It was not vast, but rather extensive; small halls were separated by numerous small chambers, all of them meandering rather than ordered. Further below, Tagi could sense tombs. Their purpose she didn't know and didn't care, but the number of corpses was not extensive. If it was anything like other grave-sites she'd scavenged over the years, those left below would be important men with a smattering of women separated out from more common, regular people. A silly practice, in Tagi's opinion: it would be far more convenient to have stacked them up in their barrows, bunk style. The dead did not care if they spent their final rest with other dead. It was on the hubris of the living that such silly customs persisted. Besides, it would then be more convenient for ghul djinns like Tagi, too. She'd have less need to rely on the living.

It was as her thoughts were wandering that she caught a whiff of more earthy air, and she held still as she considered it. It would take extra time to go inspect, but given the darkness and twisting passways, she thought it would be worth it to check out the nearest one. She was still meters away when the dry stench of scabies hit her full on, and she lifted her head to get a better sample. Something like mucous, their chemical secretions that passed for body language among them, the musty smell of their chitinous shells: it was a tunnel that they had excavated. How strange that they had not populated the basement and catacombs; Tagi wondered if they did not like stone, or something else within the temple ruins.

Not her problem. Not her job. She carefully stepped into the tunnel and took several deep inhalations, opening her mouth to draw in more air. There were none presently anywhere near where she was. Had they all vacated aboveground to chase the expedition? More than that, was there another way out between the tunnels and the temple above ground?

If there was, Tagi couldn't find it, not without spending too long searching. As a merc, she had a duty to be with the civvies once fighting broke out, and if she strayed too far afield she would not be able to participate. She turned back, reluctant, and returned to the group in time to see them lighting lanterns. She immediately shifted to her human form, strode forward, and yanked it from the girl's grip (who shrank back in surprise) to snuff it. "No lights." She said.

"Why?" Evren's voice was controlled, and steady.

Tagi explained the tunnels first, and then the hallways -- "Light will carry, and they'd be likely to see it before I or the beast, here, can hear or smell them, if they're being quiet and the air is dead." She saved the bits for the expedition itself for last, and dragged out describing the various store-rooms and their various smells. "I doubt your trinket is here," she said, "it's likely further down."

"I refuse to go tramping about without a light!" Fariq broke in, his voice shrill. "It is bad enough I have to deal with this --" he gestured to himself in the dark. Tagi saw it; he didn't see her lazy, satisfied grin at his outrage. "I will not go tiptoeing about in the dark like some common thief!"