Inky bubbles popped and snapped beneath the slayer's feet, searing his toes, but the look on his face could only be described as a vague interest, eyes half-lidded, and a subtle frown creasing his thin lips. His companions were quite the opposite; a trio of young high elves clad in fine leather travel clothes and silvery mythril breastplates that flashed in the vicious wasteland sun, they were kicking and shouting in Raieran, their gemstone eyes threatening to bulge out of their sockets. The others, hanging behind him, he couldn't see, and the panic from the elves drowned out anything they may have been saying at the moment. They all hung from the sad looking husk of a dry, bleached tree from rough hewn, hardy desert grass-woven ropes over a boiling pit of tar that would burn the skin off their bones just as fast as it would suffocate them.
"<Where ya get this, fleshies? Why ya give a toss for ol' Saraelia?>" Dan's frown deepened at the raspy, tinged with a deep dialect that sounded like crackling flames, trying not to look he cared about the wrinkled parchment clutched between dark violet talons. Their interrogator was a towering, whip-thin, red scaled demon who had howled his name as V'rixis when the tribe had sprung on them, and he'd pointed himself out as leader twenty minutes ago when he'd begun this line of questioning. While he could understand the Infernal tongue, the elves couldn't something he imagined was an issue they'd never considered when they'd chartered their expedition to a ruin that predated even Haide. Dan had travelled all the way down to Corone from Salvar looking for any hope against Xem'zund's curse, and when he'd heard the word 'Saraelia', it was all it took to get the elves the watchful protection of the Red Beast.
Not much of a beast anymore though.
"<Lagh'ratham! Break your bonds and slay these savages! That's why we allowed you to come along on this noble expedition!>" The oldest of the three, Quarael, snapped his head towards the slayer, and he cast his gray and blue eyes out on the two dozen demons pacing about the tar pits, some dragging claws the size of daggers through the ashy sands, others flexing biceps three times the size of his head in displays of tribal intimidation. The demons occasionally crossed paths and hissed and swiped at one another, connecting every once in a while and splitting hide to spatter black ichor onto the wastes.
"<Yeah, I can't really do shit like that anymore.>" Dan's crude speech didn't fit the flowing eloquence of Raiaeran very well, but Quarael certainly understood, and he began spitting and sputtering, his face a comical mixture of disbelief, horror and rage, through fright was the only thing in his flashing amethyst eyes. Without his hands free, he couldn't even use his terramancy to hurl a rock down V'rixis' cavernous black throat as the demon continued to make demands in Infernal, his tone rapidly becoming more impatient. Soon enough, claws where going to sever the ropes and drop them into one of the most unpleasant deaths he could imagine.
"Hey! YO!" Dan kicked backwards, unapologetically hitting someone hanging behind him in the calf. "You fucking awake back there? These lizard-dicks wanna tar and feather our scrotums, so you got any ideas?"