So Rough, So Rough

Amelia rose back up on her feet.

The mouth.

“Does he eat your kind?”  She blinked again and yanked Amelia by the wrist with an unexpectedly forceful tug, pulling her towards the slab nearest them.   Amelia persisted, “Does it eat…everything?”

The priestess shrugged, unperturbed by the question or the images it evoked.
“Always.  Hungry.”

“I, no, no, I am outright refusing.” She tried to pull her arm back, but it was no use, and the being began to place it in the open metal ring, so she drew back on her heel and kicked the strange being in its chalky, worn ankle.   It was just enough to break concentration and Amelia pulled her arm back, leaping as swiftly as she was able ten feet out of the cannibal priestess’ reach.

She did not pursue further, choosing instead to pluck at a pouch at her side, a long brown leather sack, poorly stitched closed at the bottom with a horrifying form of sinew.  There was no decoration to help Amelia understand pr help defend herself, nothing save the blue discoloration that so many items had here.

Amelia’s throat was dry as the powdery walls, but still she swallowed hard as she heard the words in English, then echoed back at her a second, third, a fourth time, as the priestess began to spin in front of her.  “Alw-ay-sh-un-gree!”  She threw four stones as she spun, and hurried to collect them in a specific manner Amelia could derive no meaning from.  And with that, another face appeared on the priestess’ own, one with a mountainous strength that followed through in her body as well.  She lumbered towards the adventurer, a good foot taller than she had been before and three times as wide.  Amelia made a mad jump towards the corridor that had lead her here, but already, the priestess had her wrist again and lifted her up, carrying her back to the slab.

Now she dropped her there on her back without care and latched one manacle closed.

“Stop, stop, please.  Where am I?”  No response to her words or her squirming.

“Where is the …dagger, the…sharp?”  She made cutting motions with the side of her palm until the priestess’s face showed recognition.   Making her own swift motion, the blade appeared in her hand and she lunged for what might have been a painful strike against her shoulder when a dart sunk into the priestess’ neck and the white robes sank with her into the floor, as as bright blue rose off of her form as if it were steam.  Suddenly, amidst the roughly-hewn cloth the frowsy-headed girl from the upper level returned, still along the floor.

Professor Kafele.

“We must get out of here and get to your father.  If they know…”  She held him closely, carelessly, as if all of the frantic energy that months of isolation built within her, all the terror that ran through her as a current needed to be discharged in one moment.
When she pulled herself away from his grip to speak again, he looked back at her as if thunderstruck.  “My father is here…how has he….?

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