"Hey," Drea says, approaching the two men. "I was wondering ... It's time for me to take some of my monk vows, I could use some witnesses, and," she shrugs, "I thought maybe the two of you might be interested."
Roshan blinks. His face lights up, slowly, but soon there is no mistaking the surprise and delight he is projecting. He attempts to compose himself, looking as solemn as he can. He fails, but it's obvious he is trying. The straightened index and middle fingers of both hands tap his own chest...then a thought seems to cross his mind and he frowns. His head swivels, unmistakeably looking for someone. He turns back questioningly to Drea, his right hand held up in a fist, the tip of his thumb slightly protruding between ring finger and pinkie. He glances at Chancre, then passes quickly over the surrounding patrons again.
"Thank you," Drea says. "I could use all the help I can get on this."
Roshan's hand forms a fist with thumb and pinkie spread wide like a bull's horns. It rocks back and forth slightly between himself and the two as they converse, thumb pointing at his chest, pinkie towards them.
"... Míril?" Drea says in response to Roshan's gesture. "I ... was thinking about it, and I'd love it if she was there, but, um. I was hoping to talk about some of the vows I'm not taking, and why, and she and I still don't know each other that well, and ..."
Drea's next words are uncertain, seeking advice from the man who has known the half-elf longer than she has.
"Do you think she'd be ... disturbed? Put off? To learn about the, the particular vow I decided I wouldn't be taking after all exactly three days ago, when she spoke to me for the first time?"
If Samirah makes eye contact with you, she waves you over to join her, Konstantin, and Chancre. She's waving with a glass of whiskey in her hand, and you're not sure how many she's had. She isn't sure either.
"I didn't realize there were options in the vows. I just assumed it was standard to the order."
He squints at the roof. "Now is good for me. Or whenever you would like."
"But we can worry about that tomorrow. Tonight... we drink, and eat gecko, and enjoy good company." She drains another glass. Pours herself another. Her cheeks are very rosy.
"I'll drink to that," Chancre says. And does.
"What won't you drink to?" She teases.
"What won't you drink to?" She teases.
Chancre considers the matter. "Slavery. Duress. Oath breakers, barring certain extenuating circumstances. Cheliax. That's mostly it."
He has another. "Although I will drink to the list of things that I won't drink to."
Samirah eyes the bottle before turning back to her drink. "And I will drink to both." She holds her glass up in a 'cheers' motion. "Though I suspect I should stop soon, else I end up beginning tomorrow's adventure with the kind of headache that nothing can cure."
Early the next morning, while the inn turned bunker is still mostly quiet one of the kids acting as a runner for the powers that currently be very cautiously and very politely tries to wake you up. In one of the small rooms off the main hall you find Otai has provided a simple fare and a exhausted-looking Irabeth sits, half-sleeping until Anevia softly bumps her shoulder. Also in the room is the hard-faced Quednys Orlun quietly commenting to Aravashnial and the needle-toothed mutant woman.
Anevia's hard-lipped half-smile greets everyone as Irabeth pushes herself to her feet. Even out of her heavy armor, she moves as if she feels the weight of it.
There is no smile, just quiet confidence, "It appears that everything that we have gone through in the past few days has been just a prelude to far worse tidings."
"Everything. The razing of the Kite, the destruction of the wardstone, Terendelev's death as well as the deaths of everyone else they thought could stop them here, Orlun came to suspect it was just a opening gambit."
"The followers of Baphomet in the city have remained scattered, seemingly undisciplined, but after a few more concentrated attacks, the ones who bear scythes and the mark of Deskari have all fallen back to Old Kenabres, concentrated around the remains of the Kite."
"When you first came I was happy to see you, just grateful for everything that you had already done," As she says this her steps back and forth pause, just for a moment behind Anevia. "Now, I have to hope that the willingness to correct the wrong that was started here has not faded."
Chancre absent-mindedly scratches at his elbow. "I'm in. How are things about to getting worse?"
He stretches and the various pops and creaks of his back sound like a ship in a high wind.
"You lost your true protector in Terendelev. I am a pale reflection of her glory, but I will do what I can to bring frost and claw to Baphomet's servitors," Konstantin pledges.
"I'd like to help however I can," Drea says quietly.
Samirah looks to be bright eyed and bushy tailed, but also appears as though her mind is somewhere else completely during the conversation.
"I'm also in, of course." She continues to nurse a coffee as she waits for the bad news.
Quednys Orlun shoots Irabeth a superior, i-told-you-didn't-need-to-ask-look, before trying and failing to rise out of his seat. He settles back down, his left arm held tightly to his body. Which doesn't stop the narrow-eyed look from Anevia, although she keeps her peace.
Aravashnial's forehead above the bandages hiding his ruined eyes furrows. "I commend the feeling, Konstantin, but the runes I helped Quednys cast suggest it is the followers of the locust." A pause, as he stops himself from lecturing, "Deskari's followers that are going to be the most dangerous to you. Although the balor that slew," the elf's voice going thick here, "Terendelev has relocated to the Worldwound, he still leads the locust host for his master."
Quendys places a hand on Aravashnial's shoulder quieting the elf. The older man speaks, "We have managed to make contact with Queen Galfrey's arcane advisor. Because of the attack on Kenabres, she has moved most of her able-bodied to the border, in preparation for another attack."
The older human looks at the group, "When you saved my friend here, you did all of us a service. Even unable to cast himself, there is no one who matches Aravashnial's skill at portents."
Something, a mood in the room, or just his own pride, causes Aravashnial to tap the table, quieting his mentor. "The portents are not good. It suggests something is coming to the city, that the increase of good men and women just on our side of the border - protected by the wardstones, will play into the demon's hands." Aravashnial's cultured, controlled voice is calm, but very worried.
"We," Aravashnial says, motioning to himself and where he thinks Quendys is, "believe that they intend to use the remaining fragments of Kenabres's wardstone to destroy or corrupt the fence that holds the demon horde at bay."
At a quiet time, Drea seeks out Míril.
"Any chance you have a moment to talk?"
At the mention of "Queen Galfrey", Samirah coughs into her coffee and a look of very serious upset flickers across her face before she composes herself.
"What would you have us do, Aravashnial?"
"I'm in, too," says Míril. "With my Order all but gone, I fear, I must do something. I need an occupation or I shall run mad."
Míril nods, and moves over to make room for Drea.
Before Drea can speak, Míril blurts out, "I haven't apologized for my rash attack on Kyle in the tower. To either of you. I misread your intention in my distracted state. I'm sorry."
Aravashnial's forehead above the bandages hiding his ruined eyes furrows. "I commend the feeling, Konstantin, but the runes I helped Quednys cast suggest it is the followers of the locust." A pause, as he stops himself from lecturing, "Deskari's followers that are going to be the most dangerous to you. Although the balor that slew," the elf's voice going thick here, "Terendelev has relocated to the Worldwound, he still leads the locust host for his master."
"The Locust Host," Konstantin mutters to himself. "Does this balor have a name?"
Drea blinks in surprise. "Míril, it was the middle of combat. She'd just hit Konstantine with a glaive. You don't need to apologize to me for failing to predict that I'd try something totally crazy."
"The Locust Host," Konstantin mutters to himself. "Does this balor have a name?"
"Khorramzadeh," Drea says as if dredging up an unpleasant memory. "The Storm Lord."
One of Aravashnial's eyesbrows cocks up, an amused smile playing over his lips as Samirah puts him in charge. Even with that, he waves at the side of the table where Irabeth would be sitting if she weren't pacing behind her and Anevia's chairs. Attention caught by the movement, Irabeth stops, looks at the group with her hands on the back of Anevia's chair.
"We want to do the near impossible." Irabeth says quietly. "We need to get past a manned baricade, into the remains of the Grey Garrison, past the guards there and destroy the fragments of the wardstone that remain."
Irabeth straightens, still tired but resolved, "Preferably without getting killed, since I doubt that failing this plan will stymie the enemy for long."
Quendys produces a slender rod, his hands clenching at the object jealously, "Depending on how much power remains in the fragments, you may be able to use brute force to destroy them." He sighs out, placing the rod on the table, "If not, this should be able to drain the remaining energy from them."
Irabeth's hand had made its way to Anevia's shoulder at some point, and there is a gentle squeeze as the half-orc speaks again. "I would offer my sword and services in this task, if you would like it."
"The Locust Host," Konstantin mutters to himself. "Does this balor have a name?"
"Khorramzadeh," the elf says, his tongue not tripping once over the complex abyssal sounds. Aravashnial's tone is hard, with just an edge of mocking as he continues, "The self proclaimed Storm King of the Worldwound." Aravashnial's forehead furrows, "I had a research file on him in my quarters, but I hadn't looked at in a while" the elf continues apologetically. "I'd been more focused on the lilthu demon Minagho recently, as that one seemed to have a special disregard for our city."
"Khorramzadeh," the elf says, his tongue not tripping once over the complex abyssal sounds. Aravashnial's tone is hard, with just an edge of mocking as he continues,...
Konstantin watches Anevia for a moment before answering Aravashnial. "I would like to look at this research file when I am finished with this other assignment."
Samirah doesn't seem to notice the hierarchy at the meeting, but turns her attention to Irabeth just the same.
"I can't imagine any one of us would turn down your sword and services, Irabeth." She looks at Konstantin as though debating something, but says nothing and looks back to the informal council.
"... Míril?" Drea says in response to Roshan's gesture. "I ... was thinking about it, and I'd love it if she was there, but, um. I was hoping to talk about some of the vows I'm not taking, and why, and she and I still don't know each other that well, and ..."
Roshan nods, then nods again, encouragingly.
Drea's next words are uncertain, seeking advice from the man who has known the half-elf longer than she has.
"Do you think she'd be ... disturbed? Put off? To learn about the, the particular vow I decided I wouldn't be taking after all exactly three days ago, when she spoke to me for the first time?"
He looks at her. An eyebrow raises, eyes twinkle with humor. His right hand goes to his right temple like half an antler, then lowers across his face into a fist at the same time mouthing a single syllable word. Then his hands open palms facing himself, they circle from low to high, briefly contacting his chest on the upswing and smiling broadly. His hands drop and his smile softens and he gently "punches" her softly in the shoulder with a closed fist.
"Now, I have to hope that the willingness to correct the wrong that was started here has not faded."
Roshan nods. A simple, brief motion. As if to say, "I am Roshan. I will help you."
"I would offer my sword and services in this task, if you would like it."
Roshan uncharacteristically steps forward. His hand goes out towards Iribeth, followed by two fists in front with thumbs pointed together, they arc back and to the sides coming together again in front of his chest. He points down at the floor.
"Yeah, I think that one was part of this too," Chancre rubs at his temples. "I read all those papers, but my memory's not what it once was. I wouldn't call that wasted time."
"I am game for attempting the impossible. What can you tell us about Khorramzadeh, Minagho, the Grey Garrison, the wardstone, anything that will help."
Konstantin watches Anevia for a moment before answering Aravashnial. "I would like to look at this research file when I am finished with this other assignment."
The elf nods, "I will recreate it for you." The blind elf's smile tinges on hunter, "I've gotten better since I did it, actually. The new one will be better."
The elf nods, "I will recreate it for you." The blind elf's smile tinges on hunter, "I've gotten better since I did it, actually. The new one will be better."
"Good," says Konstantin. "I plan to kill him. Eventually."
Míril takes a breath to recompose herself. "Now, what was it you wanted to talk about?"
It's late, conversations are winding down, and the liquor isn't flowing as freely. Samirah stopped drinking, but not so long ago that she's sober and awake.
She reaches out to touch Konstantin's arm. "I think I'd like to settle down for the night... would you like to join me so we can find a spot in which to bed?" Her Taldane is a little lazy, not with drunkenness, but with the rounded corners of sleep. Or maybe it's both; she does look more disheveled than normal.
Konstantin rises. "Yes. I have been looking forward to sleeping with you."
He turns to Chancre, "Good night, my friend. I hope you find many heathens to convert on the morrow."
She smiles, tipping an imaginary hat to Chancre, then sets off to find as quiet and private a place as can be found in a place like the Defender's Heart.
She stands next to her bedroll, blanket in hand, barefoot and wearing clothing that's not at all intended for the temperature of Kenabres. She looks a little unsure of herself before she sits on the roll, drapes the blanket over the front of her, and looks up at him with a sleepy smile on her face.
He turns to Chancre, "Good night, my friend. I hope you find many heathens to convert on the morrow."
"I can but try."
Chancre waves cheerfully as the two walk away, then wanders off to sleep in a common area.
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"I can't imagine any one of us would turn down your sword and services, Irabeth." She looks at Konstantin as though debating something, but says nothing and looks back to the informal council.Irabeth lets out a breath that she may not have realized she was holding.
Roshan uncharacteristically steps forward. His hand goes out towards Iribeth, followed by two fists in front with thumbs pointed together, they arc back and to the sides coming together again in front of his chest. He points down at the floor.
Only to be caught surprised but the dissent from the mute man.
"Yeah, I think that one was part of this too," Chancre rubs at his temples. "I read all those papers, but my memory's not what it once was. I wouldn't call that wasted time."
"I am game for attempting the impossible. What can you tell us about Khorramzadeh, Minagho, the Grey Garrison, the wardstone, anything that will help."
Aravashnial considers the question, while Quendys starts to answer. "From what little information that we've been able to garner, it doesn't seem like the upper echelon of the demons are in the hold and wait pattern in Old Kenabres. Their was no sign of the balor within hours of the attack."
Aravashnial breaks in, "I suspect he did not want to risk Terendelev's resurrection," the elf shakes his head, "since her body was also taken."
Quendys pauses, then continues, only the tapping of his fingers on the hard wood of the table indicating his opinion of the interruptions. "Although there have been indications of succubi, no reports have trickled in of a lilthu demon. From her reputation, I'd suspect that were she here she would be unable to resist the urge of reinacting her previous bloodshed."
A very long pause, then the old man looks at Irabeth, "Right now that should be one of our concerns, it would be far too easy for someone to come here in disguise to slaughter those who can not defend themselves."
Irabeth chimes in, "I've been to the Garrison often enough that I can draw a map, although I'm sure there has been some redecoration since the wardstone exploded."
"As for the wardstones," Quendys adds, "They are divine artifacts, which is not my or Aravashnial's strong suit. I know that they were placed and powered by a number of Iomeadae's faithful including her herald during the first crusade, but not much more."
Aravashnial adds, "In the texts I've read the wardstone here at Kenabres was the first, which would be a good reason for them to use it in their attempt to twist or defense to their advantage."
The elf nods, "I will recreate it for you." The blind elf's smile tinges on hunter, "I've gotten better since I did it, actually. The new one will be better.""Good," says Konstantin. "I plan to kill him. Eventually."
Quendys scoffs. Anevia eyes glance over at the old human, sharpening again, before returning to the group.
Aravashnial's face breaks into a smile, "I've said we need more aggressive tactics for ages." This time it is Quendys that shoots an annoyed look, with Aravashnial blissfully unaware on the receiving end.
Samirah pinches the bridge of her nose during the onslaught of information.
Aravashnial breaks in, "I suspect he did not want to risk Terendelev's resurrection," the elf shakes his head, "since her body was also taken."
Quendys pauses, then continues, only the tapping of his fingers on the hard wood of the table indicating his opinion of the interruptions. "Although there have been indications of succubi, no reports have trickled in of a lilthu demon. From her reputation, I'd suspect that were she here she would be unable to resist the urge of reinacting her previous bloodshed."
At these comments, Samirah looks first at Konstantin, then to Drea. But she doesn't interrupt.
Aravashnial's face breaks into a smile, "I've said we need more aggressive tactics for ages." This time it is Quendys that shoots an annoyed look, with Aravashnial blissfully unaware on the receiving end.
"Aggressive, we can do." She pours herself more coffee, and appears content to let someone else make sense of the details of their next steps. As though interrupting her own thoughts, however, she raises a hand. "Also, what is a balor?"
Aravashnial breaks in, "I suspect he did not want to risk Terendelev's resurrection," the elf shakes his head, "since her body was also taken."
Konstantin appears to be making a list in his head, ticking things off as they come up.
Aravashnial's face breaks into a smile, "I've said we need more aggressive tactics for ages." This time it is Quendys that shoots an annoyed look, with Aravashnial blissfully unaware on the receiving end.
"I have been on defensive for far too long," Konstantin intones.
At her statement, he says, "Of course. Sex is much more private. I would not hurl it around in a place where it could embarrass either of us." He pauses. "I did not mean that to cause offense. I am extremely proud that you would consent to lie with me in that way, and I will do everything in my power to insure you do not regret the decision." He nods to himself.
A moment later, he settles on his back, one arm outstretched to serve as a pillow. Though his arousal is far from intense, it's clear that it's there, though still on the safe side of things. From what Samirah has seen, he's pretty much in a low state of such whenever they're touching, about to touch, or having just touched.
"The only decision I might regret is that I didn't drag you out of the inn to somewhere more private earlier. I'm not interested in making our companions, or total strangers, feel uncomfortable around us. But it's very difficult for me to be patient sometimes." A pause. "Most times."
A deep breath.
"Okay, all the time. But this..." she gestures vaguely before laying her hand across his chest, "is worth waiting for."
Irabeth lets out a breath that she may not have realized she was holding.
Only to be caught surprised but the dissent from the mute man.
Roshan continues. He points first below his right collar bone, then below his left. Puts his palm up and out like holding a pizza pie, then bringing it in towards his body, his expression is welcoming and the movement is immediately followed by a move like lunging with a sword.
His brows furrow and thumbs come together while index fingers cross, briefly forming a triangle before sundering it and creating something just beyond goal posts.His expression serious his hand comes up, index finger crooked like a hook and comes forward, then both hands come up, index and middle finger spread far apart with thumb peeking up between them. His right moves down, wrist hitting left hand. He pulls back in a defensive stance as if protected by a shield. His left hand, open face towards him is held chest high. His right, also open face rotates around, completely circling it and slaps it firmly though not loudly with the back of his fingers. His expression has turned questionsing. He gestures around widely for emphasis.
Drea watches Roshan closely as he makes his meaning clearer to Irabeth.
"If Roshan's worry is the safety of those here," she says to Irabeth, after, "Then I trust your judgment on the matter."
"And I don't think you would have offered your sword and services without giving thought to where you are most needed. So I would gladly accept your offer."
Roshan pauses. Places a finger by the side of his nose and points briefly at Drea.
"Aggressive, we can do." She pours herself more coffee, and appears content to let someone else make sense of the details of their next steps. As though interrupting her own thoughts, however, she raises a hand. "Also, what is a balor?"
"Balors are the apex of abyssal life." Aravashnial starts, then hedges, "barring the unique. They are the demon feared by other demons, the generals in a plane where the only right is might."
Aravashnial's voice takes on the trance-like lecturing notes, "Demons are formed of sinful souls refined by the elemental evil and chaos of the abyss. A person's sins in life determines the form that they will create in the afterlife," he pauses, "assuming they were powerful enough in life to be worthy of that, otherwise it is many souls that are fused together to give the form."
"Balors are not born of a single sin, like the marilith or the succubi, but instead of mortals of epic villainy who embrace all of their sins." He shakes his head, "At first glance they would not appear to be the most fearsome of the life produced by the abyss, only twice the size of," he waves at the room, indicating all of the people within, "but they are weapons of war and fire in whose hands weapons yearn for blood, death and the dismemberment of their enemies." He sighs, "And even when the brave are succeed in destroying the fiend, they often die in the explosion that follows as all of the balor's fire and evil is released in its death."
A pause, "That is the normal balor, if I remember my research, your balor is empowered by both fire and electricity."
"I have been on defensive for far too long," Konstantin intones.
"Most times," Quendys says, although his body is turned slightly towards Aravashnial, not the people across the table, "the best offense is a good defense."
Quietly, almost to himself the old man comments, "After all you don't see Lylina here."
Aravashnial gets very still and very cold, after a moment, tone bitter, "Which doesn't mean we shouldn't support those who will be going on the offensive by providing them with everything we have at our disposal, instead of what you just think they need to know."
"If Roshan's worry is the safety of those here,"[/b] she says to Irabeth, after, "Then I trust your judgment on the matter."
"And I don't think you would have offered your sword and services without giving thought to where you are most needed. So I would gladly accept your offer."
Roshan pauses. Places a finger by the side of his nose and points briefly at Drea.
Irabeth's hand remains on the back of Anevia's chair. "I do think that the defenses here do not require me to babysit them," Irabeth says carefully. She looks back to the corner with a nod at the needle-toothed woman, "Especially with advance group Hyl was able to bring with her and the others we are expecting when Chief Sul finishes the preparations."
"That said, I am offering to support you," her eyes travel to meet each person's, "because I believe that of all the people who survived the attack on the city, you have the best chance of succeeding. If you want a distraction to get through the outer barricade, I can arrange that. If you want me with you in the Grey Garrison to draw attacks, I will do that as well." Her hand slips from the back of the chair to Anevia's shoulder.
"As I know Anevia would offer to do if she were in a condition to do so." Anevia's hand comes up to squeeze Irabeth's.
"At least you have a good scout," Anevia says, looking at Miril, "or I'd feel worse about my own uselessness."
"Mostly I was hoping we could just ... talk. About nothing in particular. It feels like we haven't had a chance to do that since the tunnels."
"Maybe about ... Well. I think you mentioned at one point that you also spent time in a monastery?"
"You don't actually have to take any at all," Drea says to Chancre as she watches Roshan's gestures closely. "But they're considered to help maintain discipline and purity. There's about eight well-known ones. Today I'm planning on taking two. I'll probably never take all of them."
After Roshan is done, Drea says, "Well ... if you think so. And if what I think you think is what you're thinking. Shall we find her, then?"
"Hey," she says. "Is there ... I could be wrong, but I felt like there might be something you wanted to say to me, during the conference."
Konstantin is utterly fascinated by the short lecture on demons. At the end, he nods to himself, as though some decision has been made.
"Most times," Quendys says, although his body is turned slightly towards Aravashnial, not the people across the table, "the best offense is a good defense."
"Many conquered, broken people would share your opinion," Konstantin says coldly.
"At least you have a good scout," Anevia says, looking at Miril, "or I'd feel worse about my own uselessness."
"You were useful in the tunnels despite your leg, and now you are most useful to us all by convalescing."
To Irabeth: "Your assistance would be invaluable. I think I would like to see this Grey Garrison -- distribution of enemy troops and so on -- before we decide your ultimate purpose. I suspect we would all prefer you as an extra sword amongst us."
He quickly casts message, allowing them to speak without disturbing their neighbors. "I think you are right, искра. War is hell, is it not?"
A pause, "That is the normal balor, if I remember my research, your balor is empowered by both fire and electricity."
Samirah raises an eyebrow at the end of the explanation. "Oh, well, no big deal, then." She smiles a bit at the mention of 'fire'.
"Many conquered, broken people would share your opinion," Konstantin says coldly.
"You were useful in the tunnels despite your leg, and now you are most useful to us all by convalescing."
To Irabeth: "Your assistance would be invaluable. I think I would like to see this Grey Garrison -- distribution of enemy troops and so on -- before we decide your ultimate purpose. I suspect we would all prefer you as an extra sword amongst us."
"I've not met many people who are fiercer than you, Anevia; stay your self-depreciation." She says this firmly.
It's probably the nicest way she'll ever tell someone she respects them while also telling them to quit their complaining.
"You don't actually have to take any at all," Drea says to Chancre as she watches Roshan's gestures closely. "But they're considered to help maintain discipline and purity. There's about eight well-known ones. Today I'm planning on taking two. I'll probably never take all of them."
After Roshan is done, Drea says, "Well ... if you think so. And if what I think you think is what you're thinking. Shall we find her, then?"
Roshan smiles, open hand circling clockwise over his chest, followed by a flourish into the distance.
"At least you have a good scout," Anevia says, looking at Miril, "or I'd feel worse about my own uselessness."
Míril simply nods modestly at Anevia's comment.
Her fingers spread out above his heart, and she traces the skin there idly as they talk.
"What is a lilthu demon?"