Grevayne, who had mostly been lost in thought during the heated exchange, turns in mild surprise toward Solomon. "Hm? Arm? What about his arm?"
Solomon pulls his sleeve back up to display the bandage, as if he doesn't have anything to hide. It stretches from wrist to elbow, and is heavily wrapped. "I am a clumsy oaf. I was making a pot of stew for the refugees at the temple. Someone behind me dropped something, which startled me, and when I turned around to see what it was, my arm made full contact with the pot. Hurts like you wouldn't believe." He shrugs and grins sheepishly.
Sarge stares mildly at the man.
He motions Aubrin over. "You are a healer, ya? Care to take a look, see if there is anything you can do for his wound?"
He also gauges Solomon's reaction to the offer of aid for the bandaged arm.
Sarge notices a few things. First, Solomon is lying through his teeth about how he got the injury. Second, he is a very good liar; why would a cleric working in a temple need to be such an accomplished fabricator of truths? Finally, Solomon Zane is a cleric in a temple, so why didn't he heal himself?
Something doesn't add up here, but one thing is almost certain: this person is not who he says he is.
Sarge leans in toward Grevayne and whispers his findings.
Grevayne gives Zane a steely stare. "Out of curiosity, Solomon, why is it, as a cleric, you have not healed your own wound? Surely there are not so many injured in the city just yet that you did not have a cure spell to spare on your arm. That looks... extensive."
He keeps his posture relaxed, but his shoulders and calves tense, ready to spring if the cleric tries to run or lash out.
Sarge does not keep a relaxed posture. He's a soldier--he's always at Parade rest, at best. His hand is already on the pommel of Vergeltung, though his shield remains strapped to his back for now. He tries to communicate the danger to Freyja and Aubrin with just a look.
It could be that they are overreacting, but the level of skill this man has at deception is staggering. There is absolutely no way a typical priest would have this kind of skill at perfidiousness. Something about Solomon Zane is sending his hackles up, and he's learned over his many decades to trust that feeling.
Mayor Crawbert's eyes narrow. "Yes, Solomon, why couldn't you have healed that yourself? Freyja, didn't you say there was a fire that destroyed medical supplies and injured several trainees?"
By this time, Freyja's bow is out and an arrow is nocked. She doesn't take her eyes from Solomon as she responds. "Yes, Mayor, that's right."
Crawbert no longer carries a sword, but he draws the dagger on his belt and approaches Zane, who hasn't moved from his chair (presumably because he doesn't want an arrow through his eye socket). "Elise! Get in here." Elise is through the door, sword at the ready, in an instant. "This is not Solomon Zane. Keep an eye on him while we find out who he really is." He sits on the edge of his desk, immediately opposite Zane. It is suddenly clear to the party why this man was such a successful adventurer. His posture is relaxed but his demeanor and his size are imposing. Zane looks like a child in the chair before him. "Where is the real Zane? How long have you been in his place?" He looks up at the party. "I suddenly understand his uncharacteristic turn of cowardice lately, telling me we should surrender, or flee... anything but fight." He looks back to "Zane". "Well? " This last word is uttered with such volume, such unexpected ferocity that it is all any of you can do to not flinch.
Zane, for his part, flinches. He opens his mouth to speak, stops, closes it again... and then laughs. When he speaks again, his voice is deep and raspy. "I suppose there is no sense in keeping up the charade. Zane is dead. Azaersi sent me here to disrupt and undermine your preparations. I may have failed but I have slowed you down plenty. You have no hope of withstanding her forces. When I said you should flee, I wasn't lying about that. You are all going to die." His smile is pure guile and malintent.
Grevayne snorts. "Spies," he grumbles, making clear he's using the word as a pejorative. He turns to Crawbert. "I doubt we will get anything truly useful from him, but just in case, do you have a dungeon or prison we can throw him in? We should keep him under heavy surveillance, just in case. Could be a shapeshifter or spellcaster. Unless you just want to slit his throat and toss him over the walls. Maybe put his head on a pike, as a warning to the Legion." He pauses and frowns. "That reminds me..."
He mutters an incantation and scans the impostor with his magical senses, looking for spells.
After he's done, he nods at Sarge. "Check him." He alerts Sarge to any magic auras he detected.
Sarge unceremoniously tears away anything even remotely threatening or of interest on "Solomon's" personage, scouring for clues. He then calls for manacles.
Grevayne detects multiple auras of magic on not!Zane and in his pack. Sarge finds a +1 hand crossbow hidden in the folds of his vestment, and the following in his pack:
- 2x bird feather token
- necklace of fireballs (II)
- 2x potion of blur
- scroll of sending
- wand of undetectable alignment (31 charges)
- 3x thunderstone
- 75 gp
not!Zane doesn't resist or say anything while he is being searched; he just sits there with a wry grin on his face.
Once disarmed and bound, Crawbert orders Elise to take not!Zane to the jail. "We will question him later. First we need to know what happened to the real Zane." He shakes his head. "Enemies outside the walls and enemies within. Tell me: can we win this fight?"
Sarge shakes his head. "Not if your people keep walking away from militia training. You need more recruits to defend the walls, and literally everyone I was training walked away. If your people will not defend themselves, you have little hope. Your current forces are simply not enough. Any idea why they were walking away from their duty?"
He doesn't bother to hide his disdain. He's clearly still irritated about what happened.
Grevayne frowns. "This is the first I have heard of this. What happened?"
After Sarge gives him a summary of the day's events, Grevayne turns to Crawbert. "I suspect this impostor had something to do with this, as well, sowing doubt among the people. Of course," he adds with a severe glance at Vargus, "belittling them is not the appropriate course of action." He shakes his head and turns back to the mayor. "Still, it does not bode well. Any thoughts on how we can undo the morale damage?"
The Mayor frowns. "I agree, this sounds like another case of sabotage." He looks at his two remaining advisors, who shrug. "We are going to need to speak to the people who deserted to find out what was said to them to destroy their morale, and who said it. Still, we may need something more impactful than revealing the impostor; impostor or not, his words may have had truth to them. People don't desert after some demoralizing speech unless they were already unsure."
As if on cue, a guard knocks on the door jamb and stands at attention. "Begging your pardon, Sir Mayor. A contingent has arrived at the northern gate. They claim to be the Chernasardo Rangers."
Aubrin leaps to her feet and starts to head out of the door. She seems to catch herself, however, and turns to Grevayne. "Can we go meet them? This is huge!" Her excitement is palpable.
Grevayne claps Crawbert on the shoulder. "Ask, and you shall receive, I should say! Let us go and greet them."
Despite his calm demeanor, Vargus can't help but utter a sigh of relief. He's certainly heard of the Chernesardo. Green recruits in the Molthuni army used to whisper of them like ghost stories, tales of their prowess and ability to vanish into the Fangwood becoming more incredulously melodramatic with each telling. Still, no myth is birthed in a vacuum; the Chernesardo are probably capable fighters if nothing else, and regardless of their skill, their very presence should help galvanize these people back into action.
"Reinforcements are most welcome," he agrees. "Let us go."
FLASHBACK B!$$#ES!
Katia's dream reached its conclusion again. She had lost track of how many times she had been forced to relive it: her failure at the hobgoblin camp. Each time was the same -- the same inability to addle the minds of her enemies, the same ineffectiveness of her spells -- but she retained the memories of every iteration. She was learning from them, even if she couldn't put that knowledge to use changing anything. She knows that, if given the opportunity, she could wipe the floor with that camp with what she has learned.
The dream rewound again. Although her wounds closing and the pain subsiding was a welcome relief, she knew it was only temporary, and she braced herself for the familiar assault to begin.
And begin it did, the events playing out exactly the same way as always, from Mac blowing their cover and setting the whole thing in motion to Freyja working her magic with her bow to Katia's surprisingly effective lightning bolt that took down the worg. But then things start to ... slow down? The chaos of battle around her lessens, the terrible sounds subside, until suddenly everything stops. Arrows hang in mid-air, Mac is paralyzed mid-trip, Oona's look of determination is frozen in place.
And Katia realizes that she, for the first time since this nightmare began, has full control of her body. She turns in a circle to confirm that this is really happening, that everything around her has stopped, and that she is free. She barely has a moment to consider what this means before she hears a droning sound in her head. The droning grows louder and louder until it feels as if it will burst her head from the inside. She raises her hands to her head and screams, though she cannot hear even herself.
Then, as suddenly as the droning began, it stops, and she hears a voice in her head.
You have learned your lesson, and paid your penance, Child. Now go.
---
Katia sits bolt upright in the bed. She is in some sort of room with stone walls. A figure, standing at the window looking out, whips around at the sudden movement behind it. The figure rushes to Katia's side and takes her hand.
Katia is confused, but something about the figure seems... familiar. The pink skin... and the horns... but it can't be. Is this some new, terrible nightmare?
Caitlyn Chiba hums softly to herself, prepping another round of gauze and fresh linens for her patient.
It still feels weird to think of the young Varisian as her "patient," but it helps make the whole process feel significantly less awkward than referring to her as her "ex."
She digs through her alchemical supplies. "What to try today, Miss Karela?" she says with forced cheer. "Anais root, maybe? I doubt this is a blood clot, but nothing else has worked. Let's give it a shot, yeah?" She returns to humming her jaunty, if slightly off-key, tune. She was never going to reach the Westcrown opera houses, but she definitely enjoys music, even if she isn't very good at it.
The rest of the fort bustles about on their business. There's been talk of sending reinforcements to Longshadow; she's even been asked to join them. Just remembering her conversation with Cobb starts to stress her out. It's not like she doesn't understand Cobb's point of view--she's the best healer in the fort, now that Aubrin has left, and a combat medic would be immensely useful in aiding against a siege. She gets that. But she has a patient to tend to. An important patient. Well--important to her.
And her family is in Longshadow. Family she hasn't seen or spoken to in almost twenty years. And there's the fact that technically she was exiled from Longshadow. She made sure to mention that. Cobb seemed pretty certain they'd be so glad of the help, they wouldn't care. Catie isn't so sure. The Nirmathi people have long memories.
She sighs, soaking a rag in cool, fresh water, and dabs the patient's forehead. No fever right now. She hopes it's a good sign, but she's been getting a fever every half-day or so, only to have it break an hour later, like clockwork. Whatever this affliction is, Catie's pretty sure it's not natural. It isn't quite a curse, though. She studied curses extensively during her education at the Sarenite temple, and while this feels similar, something doesn't quite line up. It's unnatural, she thinks, but maybe not quite magical, per se.
"We'll figure it out, dear, don't you fret. Just need a little more time. Cobb can wait on his answer another day. If I leave now, who's going to take care of you? Hm?" She grinds the anais into a powder, mixing it into some hot chicken broth with some mint leaf to make it more palatable. Not that an unconscious invalid cares what her medicine tastes like, she supposes, but it's the principle of the thing. Once it's cooled a bit, she opens the woman's mouth, tilts her head up slightly, and slowly pours the warm broth down her throat, working her larynx with one hand to force her to swallow. She dabs a trail of dribbled broth with a small hand towel and sets the bowl aside, turning to root around in her kit for her medical tools. "Now where'd I put that stethoscope? Need to check your heartrate..."
|
How long? How long in that looped hellscape? A day? A year? Ten? A century?
She has memorized every second of that battle, every minute detail, watched them fall like single tiny grains of sand, drop-drop-drop, building into a beach with every single fraction of a second that added to the cascade resulting in her colossal failure. She has watched over, and over and over again.
And over.
And over.
And over.
And over.
AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND
And then it changes.
And then she's free.
She screams. She doesn't know what else to do. She's forgotten speech, save for the words spoken in that doomed battle, and the words that pound in her head every time.
DIE, OR LET THEM TASTE YOUR WRATH. YOU HAVE NO OTHER OPTIONS.
But that voice doesn't come.
Another voice comes. Or is it the same voice? It's saying different words and after so many eons hearing the same f*#@ing thing over and over, it might as well be a different entity.
You have learned your lesson, and paid your penance.
Has she? What lesson? She doesn't understand! She doesn't... under... s...
Darkness consumes her.
* * *
When she opens her eyes again, light stabs at orbs unused to the sensation. She feels pain and weakness and hunger and terror and she feels oh GODS she can feel things again--
She sees the demon over her! She's still on the battlefield! Oona and Freyja are being assaulted by a demon and it's going to get her and OH GODS NO it's her f!!~ing ex she's still sleeping and this is a nightmare--
Katia bolts upright and utters a great, croaking, hoarse scream.
Catie turns just in time for Katia to sit bolt upright, her face suddenly inches from Catie's. For one mad moment she thinks the witch is going to kiss her and she's terrified of what her breath smells like, but then Katia screams like a wounded animal directly in her face. Catie does the sensible thing and panics, screaming back.
|
|
Katia's scream turns into a sudden gag, and she vomits directly in the oni-spawn's face, covering her in regurgitated chicken broth. Her senses still nowhere to be seen, she scrambles away and huddles against the nearby wall, knees drawn up, squinting against the harsh sunlight pouring down from overhead, trying desperately to take in her surroundings in her panicked state.
Catie fights off her own wave of nausea, gagging as she frantically spits. She'd had her mouth open, seeing as she was screaming, and paid for it in the grossest way possible. She grabs the bowl of broth, swishes some of it in her mouth, and spits it on the cobblestones.
"For gods' sake, woman!" she cries. "In my mouth and everything!" She groans, taking the hand towel and wiping bile off herself. "F~!~ing... seriously... no good deed. Ever. Eugh."
She scowls at the witch, but her anger is immediately tempered by the panic on the younger woman's face.
"Okay. Okay! Hey... It's okay, Katia. You're safe. I promise."
Catie can't help but grin, even as she continues wiping herself off. "Aw, hey! You remembered my name! Guess I left an impression."
She blinks, realizes what she just said, and clears her throat. "That was unprofessional. Sorry." She decides to just shut up and keep wiping for a while. Safer when she doesn't open her big, stupid mouth.
Literally, she thinks miserably, an awful taste still lingering even after rinsing with mint chicken water.
Catie briefly considers sticking to her guns and not speaking, but quickly decides that's foolish. She frowns, trying to do math in her head, and trying to decide what to tell her right away. She couldn't help but snoop, asking some of the other survivors from Hearthstone what had occurred to bring the young witch here. She knows about the fate of the oread, and she isn't sure Katia is in a state to hear bad news just yet.
"You've been out of it for a while. A few weeks, from what they've told me. A lot has happened since then. It... might be a lot to take in right away. For now, I think we should get some solid food in you, maybe take a light walk around the fort to get the blood flowing back to your legs. Don't worry, I'll help you."
Catie is very, very thankful for the pink pigmentation in her skin. It hides her blushes well. "Uh, no. Not the whole time. Just since you got to the fortress. As to why you woke up now, I honestly don't know. I've been trying multiple curatives and nothing seemed to work. I tried anais root today. I dunno why that would've worked when nothing else did, but..." She shrugs helplessly. "Yeah, maybe?"
The next 24 hours were a whirlwind for Katia. After the initial shock (hers, Catie's, and the rest of the camp's), she was brought up to speed on the goings on of the past seven or eight weeks. Cirieo, Cobb, Catie, and others each had pieces of the story to fill in, but of course there were many gaps that no one at the camp had any way of knowing. Katia learned that Oona had fallen, but as far as anyone knew, Mac and Freyja were somehow still alive and still battling with the hobgoblins (who had been completely run out of the Fangwood, thanks in no small part to Katia's efforts). She also learned of Grevayne, the dhampir who she had only barely missed meeting.
Currently, her friends were at Longshadow, preparing for the siege they knew was coming. Aubrin was with them and had sent a plea to Trevalay to send reinforcements. Early on the morning after Katia awoke, Cirieo paid her and Catie a visit.
"Good morning, Katia. Catie. It warms my heart to see you up and about; we didn't expect that it would ever happen. And I know that you have only just awakened and that you are still gathering your strength, but if we are to leave for Longshadow, we must go today. We are taking all of our horses and carts and leaving only a token force to protect the fort. If you come with us today, you can ride. If you wait to regain your strength, you will need to walk and you won't make it to Longshadow before the siege begins." He looks abashedly at Catie, his hat literally in his hands. "I know this is a difficult decision, but the timing is out of our hands. We cannot allow Longshadow to fall to the Legion. What do you say?"
Catie looks down at her hands. They are callused and rough, white cracks marring the otherwise mottled pink skin. If they had just been normal hands, she would have lived a long, happy life with her family in Longshadow. It's hard not to feel bitter about it.
Sarenrae sent you on the path you needed, she reminds herself, not the one you wanted.
Still, it's terrifying. Facing that cruelty again. Facing the family she lost for so long. Are they even alive anymore? Nirmathas can be an unforgiving land to the unwary.
She looks to her charge, as if the witch could have any wisdom to give her about the situation. She knows she's silently pleading with the witch to say she doesn't want to go, then she'll have the excuse of needing to look after her patient. Katia is still weak, after all.
But what if your parents are alive? What if Milo is alive? Are you going to let hobgoblins attack your family and do nothing to help them? You're not a coward! Stop acting like one!
And still she looks to Katia, shame burning in her gut.
|
|
Katia looks into the wide, heart-shaped face of the tiefling. The memories flood back to her, and she finds herself blushing despite herself. Their dalliance had been only a few days, but that might as well have been a lifetime when it came to relationships. Katia does not care for emotional attachments. She traveled too often (well, before all this insanity began) to make such things practical, and besides, her family had taught her very early on that no one was going to look out for you but you.
And yet... looking into the tiefling's pleading eyes, she also knows for a fact that this woman has taken it upon herself to care for her, the callous girl who had dumped her unceremoniously after four days just so she wouldn't have to get hurt, so she wouldn't fall in love and have to feel her heart break when they inevitably separated. Katia had wounded her badly, she knew, but the alchemist had just smiled through tears and said she understood. And now she had quite possibly saved Katia's life.
For all that, though, she has no idea what the woman wants from her now, what she's pleading with her to do. Does she want to go? Does she want to stay?
Katia sighs, suddenly feeling very tired. "I owe you everything, Caitlyn," she says softly. "I'm at your service. I will go where you go."
Shit.
She sighs. So much for Katia making her decision for her.
She looks from the witch to Cirieo, then back to her and back to Cirieo.
She swallows in a mouth that is suddenly as dry as the Osirian desert.
"Okay. I'll go."
Gods help me.
The trip to Longshadow was uneventful and provided plenty of opportunity for Katia to regain her strength. By the time the city walls appeared on the horizon, she was almost feeling herself again.
FLASHBACK OVER B*!#%ES!
Mayor Crawbert, Grevayne, Sarge, Freyja, and Aubrin follow the guard back to the gate. On the other side of the gate, around a dozen people in the typical green and brown cloaks of the Chernasardo Rangers stand around waiting. Aubrin pushes her way through the gates, picks up Cirieo, and spins him around. She laughs and puts him down, then makes her way through the others, hugging each and every one of them. "Ah! You lot are a sight for sore eyes!"
At the end of the line, she encounters a face she did not expect to see, and her jaw drops. For a few moments, the normally effusive woman is at a loss for words. Instead, she wraps the witch up in a hug. When she pulls back, her cheeks are wet with tears. "K... Katia? How?"
Catie runs a hand through her wild shock of silver hair and chuckles. "Honestly I'm not sure what help I was, really. I mostly just kept her fed and comfortable." She offers a hand to Aubrin. She has vague memories of Aubrin the Green, and that she'd been friendly with her parents, but little else. "Dunno if you remember me. I'm Caitlyn Chiba. Lillian and Kaito's girl?" She waits uncomfortably for the older woman's reaction; she's used to people looking at her twice, but this woman knew her parents. She wants to make a good impression if she can.
Aubrin reaches to shake Catie's hand, then stops and stares hard at her face. She gasps. "Little Catie Chiba! Of course I remember you!" She pulls the tiefling into an unsolicited hug. "The horns and the pink skin are new, but your smile hasn't changed, girl! Last I saw you, you were barely knee high to even Cirieo!" She gives the halfling a playful elbow nudge, and he rolls his eyes.
"Oh! Freyja's gonna want to see you, Katia." Aubrin turns and looks around. "Freyja! Where are you, girl? Tall redhead, you'd think she'd stand out..."
Freyja pushes through the Rangers, which is one of the few crowds that she could get lost in. "Here, I'm here." When she reaches Aubrin and sees what all the carrying on is about, she raises her hand to her mouth and tears fill her eyes. "Oh, Katia." She pulls Katia into an embrace. "I'm so happy to see you again."
She turns and calls out for Grevayne. When he approaches, she says, "Katia, this is Grevayne. He has been helping us against the Legion. Grevayne, look! She's awake!"
Freyja feels like she is grinning like an idiot, but she just does not care. It has been a while since they have gotten some truly good news.
|
|
Katia feels her chest hitch in an unexpected sob at Freyja's embrace. The last few days have been a lot, and holding the ranger opens the floodgates. "It was horrible, Freyja," she whimpers, quiet enough that no one else can hear. "The nightmares... And then to wake up and Oona is gone... Words can't express how grateful I am to see you."
She squeezes Freyja tighter, scared to let go, but when she hears that a stranger is being called over she extricates herself and wipes her eyes a little. Gods, she must look a mess. The humidity and cold have been doing a real number on her poor hair.
Catie gives an awkward laugh, letting the older woman squeeze her. She's a big girl, she can take it. "Ah, well, you know, puberty hit me a little harder than most girls, what can I say?" She finally pulls back from Aubrin with a smile, but the smile quickly falters slightly. "I dunno if you remember, but we moved out here when I was still a girl. I... I haven't been back home in a while. I don't suppose you've had word of Milo or my parents?" She feels her stomach clench a little as she waits for an answer.
She glances over to the side and sees Katia embracing a redheaded woman, and immediately feels a pang of jealousy, but she stubbornly tamps it back down. It's just a hug, girl, good gods. Get hold of yourself. And what's it to you, anyway?
This trip is making a mess of her emotions. She'd better get herself under control if she's going to be of any help.
Grevayne moves up to the young woman he'd only seen in coma before now, and is immediately struck by how... haunted she looks. It could be that she's just still recovering from her invalid state, but her eyes look sunken and desperate, and are definitely wet with tears--though he supposes that, at least, is to be expected. Freyja has spoken of her often, and they seemed to be close.
For some reason, his half-withered hand against his chest feels like a beacon, brightly-lit and drawing all eyes to it. He starts to try and hide it behind him, but stops halfway, feeling foolish, letting it droop at his side at a weird angle.
He doesn't really blush like humans do, but nonetheless the shame is plain on his face. Great first impression. You look like a freak.
He coughs, suddenly deeply uncomfortable. "Miss Karela. Pleasure to finally meet you in the waking world."
|
|
Katia frantically wipes her face, sniffles, and offers a sheepish hand, quickly switching to her left hand when she realizes his right suffers some debilitation. When she shakes, his palm feels cold and damp, like a corpse.
She frowns, studying his ashen, angular features and pronounced incisors. "You're a ru-shi?"
Grevayne blinks. "Wh--I--uh. Yes. Most people cannot tell just from looking at me. I mean--they know I am dhampir, but not that I am ru-shi."
|
|
Katia nods. "You have some strong Tian features, but your nose and brow structure are definitely Chelish. Mixed human parentage? And incisors on a ru-shi! I've never seen that. Do you have some kind of moroi influence in your birth?" She realizes she's rambling and clears her throat. "Sorry. I don't mean to pry. I've just never met one of your kind before."
Grevayne is used to weird looks. He's used to people crossing the street so as not to walk past him. He's used to scowls and conversations ceasing when he draws near. Hells, he's even used to stones and curses.
He is in no way prepared for a young woman barraging him with questions, especially very pointed questions about his unusual ancestry. She was able to intuit things about him that he has only told a select few people. His eyes reflexively narrow at the witch. "It... it is fine. Just... not a subject I prefer to speak on. Perhaps at a later date."
|
|
Realizing she made things awkward--as usual--Katia scrambles for a change of subject, and in her desperation grabs the tiefling's arm and yanks her over.
"This is Catie!" she blurts. "She took care of me at the fort. She's also my ex."
All the blood drains from her face as she realizes what she just said.
Catie is initially irritated when Katia pulls her away from Aubrin before she can get an answer to her question, but her face quickly turns from pink to red as she very, very awkwardly shakes hands with Freyja and Grevayne with what she really hopes is a charming smile. "Hi. I'm Catie. I'm the ex."
Good gods, woman, what have you gotten me into?? She suddenly very badly wants a stiff drink and to not have to look any of these people in the face for a while.
Even Grevayne, who is normally the last person to pick up on social cues, feels the tension. "Right. Uh. Maybe we should all move inside the walls, find some lodging for the Chernesardo?" He looks to the mayor, hoping he'll intervene before these two ladies murder each other with embarrassment.