Gesties sneered, even as he knew his life hung by a thread, a thread that dangled precariously in the hands of the Hellions of Gir, a thread that threatened to make him a marionette. But even by his own admission, the battered man would sooner be puppeted by his enemies than rot in a crumbling cage stinking of Yeek shit and festering with dune roaches.
Gesties: "Bah! Sell me if you please, you'd be right to do so with a hide as valuable as mine. Har-har-har!"
Managing to find some fire in his belly once more, he reaches for his affects that Makeen is so eagerly fawning over, no doubt imagining what he could exchange the blade for, let along the innovative bow and its masterful make. With the smallest chagrin, the young rogue pushes the sword onto Gesties, but elects to keep the crossbow and its attache of bolts. Suddenly the man's fire dies down, realizing his place once more at the tip of Zarif's spear. A fool he'd be to even dream of fighting back. . . He takes the sickle-sword and gestures for the Merchant to lead the way. And he is obliged.
Gesties: "Don't worry, dont'cha worry, smart to keep that bow, means I can't shoot ya in the back. . ." The foreign figure manages to bleat, shuffling alongside Salador toward the main group as Iddin picks their glassen wounds. As his eyes, sunken from abuse by the little blue gremlins come across the Hellions proper, namely the priest, Lyun, and Ashur, he manages to produce, "I recognize you. Oi, didn't we kick yer asses at Akshak?" But before any of them can respond, the archaeologist finally makes his way up to the central stair leading down to the depths of the Ziggurat.
Kastalus: "Stellar work dear Hellions. I see that rumours of your valiance were not unfounded." The older fellow cranes his neck ever in slight and raises an eyebrow toward the shaven-headed mercenary in royal purples, denoting their band's wealth who returns a similarly quizzical look. He clears his throat, an expression changed after the briefest of pauses, "Even greater than rumored! Seven become eight with naught but a little blood. . . Come Hellions, let us bear witness to the glory of days long past." He takes his first gently, yet excited stride down a cracked sandstone step, steeped in the filth of the Petrified God's children, only to be stopped in kind by the lanky bandit.
Ashür: "Do not be so eagre, our honoured patron, these
valiant men can't protect you if it's your scholarly gut that takes the first spear."
Kastalus: "Ah. Of course. . . Danger. That is the business of your lot, and not mine." He halts himself at the top of the stairs, hands tensing back and forth 'neath his robes for the anticipation of this endeavor.
Ashür: "Right. . . Are we all ready boys?" Ashür asks aloud, rhetorically so knowing full well nothing would impede the reckless few after the high of their victory. Then, without further delay, they descend.
