RP:77

Part of the What You Leave Behind Arc

Summary: Blut offers his services. An ethically compromised Lionel accepts them all too easily.

Cenril, Three Days After The Attack

Lionel | It’s been three days since the attack, the sailors have said as they’ve lugged their cargo from the docks to their ships and vice versa, working hard to get on with their lives. Sailors are good at moving on; it’s in their job description. The priests all seem to agree -- three days since tragedy struck Cenril, and the bags in their eyes and lack of pep in their yellow-robed step showcases how little sleep they’ve gotten since. If the sailors have moved on, the priests have been transfixed. The massacre hasn’t left them at all, because it’s been their duty to service the citizenry to the best of their spiritual abilities. Prayers and funeral rites, magical comfort, the priests have given their all. But the citizenry has only moved on as far as Uma Johnson, wife to the late mayor-elect Fitz Johnson, has been able to urge them. Uma has worked as tirelessly as the priests, moving from district to district, doing her best to unite a city not commonly known for unification. These are dark days for them all. But to Lionel, who can’t recall just when he’d tossed his old clothes-turned-rags into the trash and replaced them with fresh crimson-shaded silks, it hasn’t been three days since the attack that changed his life. It’s been 76 hours, 52 minutes. His mind’s a haze on clothes and the whereabouts of his loved ones and what to do next and so many things, but somehow he has clung to this fact down to the minute. He wanders the Cenrili shoreline, still littered with the wreckage of the Turnt and sealed-off in a dozen corners where the fighting was thickest, wondering when precisely he’ll be free to stop wandering and chart a course of action. The decision is his and his alone. And yet he feels paralyzed.

Blut was wondering the coast in the same wearing a cloth shirt and pants. Whilst he had his swordbreaker gauntlets and shin guards under his clothes he wasn't armed he was simply looking for Lionel. He wasn't wearing his mask the only way to tell that he was a assassin is to recognise the crimson eyes which Blut had managed to reduce to a faint shimmer much like on the night of the attack. Blut stroad quickly almost impatiently as he looked around. The vision Blut saw was different from the rest. Whilst most people seem tramatised for their lives and their loved ones. Many seemed more prepared to hide away till the whole ordial was over but Blut could see further than most what he saw filled him with dread a unspeakable amount of hopelessness. He was looking for ways to kill the man that effortlessly took down his best illusions. That warrior Lionel seemed to have a connection so right now Blut was looking for him. Noticeing the warrior Blut approached but out of habit Blut made no sound as he approached the regular crunching of sand just could not be heard. "Excuse me Lionel excuse the lack of formalities we need to talk" Blut mentioned when he reached sword range. He was not willing to deal with a hellflame weilding warrior without all his weapons makeing sure he was out of his range.

Lionel has had 76 hours and 52 minutes to apprentice in the fine art of drowning out all noise to a whimper. It’s a hard feat for a man whose magical connection to the Ishaarite fire spirit within his sword has made him so attuned to individual conversation strands even in a crowded room. It’s like blocking out instinct in favor of choice; it just shouldn’t be so simple. But it has been simple, because Lionel has been almost instinctually adamant that his conscious mind be as far removed as possible from the ruckus here in Cenril while he stitches together his feelings and comes to grips with the hatred swelling within him. So 76 hours and 52 minutes later, he’s almost a pro. Blut would not have been heard even if he’d shuffled through the sand, but the hair on the back of Lionel’s neck might have stood up, alerting him on some unconscious level to his approach. But that hasn’t happened, because the assassin has been quiet as the crypt. When he hears the man’s words rushing at him out of nowhere, Lionel twists around with a start, his eyes wide with panic before he can swallow hard and try his damnedest to seem situated. He takes a breath before responding, calming his frightened nerves. “Formality’s never helped a damn, anyway.” He squints at Blut. “What is it? You were on the ship, weren’t you? Right before the attack. I’m… glad you made it,” he says slowly.

Blut chuckled at the man when he swung around. "It's a pleasure to see you alive too but next time don't run away from the man saveing your life with a nod for payment ok." Blut joked tapping his right foot in the sand remembering the shinanigan. "Anyways to more serious matters from the way he spoke to you and you acted towards him it sounds like you have a bit of history. Care to share" Blut asked sitting down in the sand looking over the sea motioning Lionel to do the same "cause if we're to do anything to that man we will need all the information we have." Blut explained gravely not looking at Lionel no more like he couldn't look at him.

Lionel | 76 hours, 53 minutes. It’s a ticking clock. Every minute Lionel spends strolling along choppy waters, soul-searching, is a minute wasted while darkness plots its next move. Somehow, knowing this hasn’t been enough to propel Lionel forward. His feet have insisted that he strolls, and his heart’s been too preoccupied with loathing and self-loathing to force his mind to move on. “Thanks for the assist back there.” Lionel’s voice is still hollow, hollow like it was when Pilar found him and hollow as it was with High Priestess Leone. “I have coin in it for you, if coin is desired.” It would have been far easier if this was the purpose behind Blut’s appearance, but it’s not. The man, a stranger, is asking for information that Lionel has kept classified for over a decade. Information that, while readily available to anyone who can locate anyone who lived through the hell that was the Second Immortal War and understood why it happened, has still been hard to come by. So many people -did- live through that war, but so few of them ever knew more than its most fundamental truth: evil roamed the realm, and evil almost prevailed. How can Lionel be expected to explain things even now? Even now, 76 hours and 53 minutes after Lionel’s whole world has changed? To commit to the telling, and to tell it such that its impact is felt, and to a stranger? He balls his left hand into a fist and does not move to sit across from Blut. Instead he remains standing, tautly. But if Lionel doesn’t start talking, then Lithrydel will remain as unprepared as he’d let it become before Kahran’s emergence from the shadows. And if Blut proves untrustworthy, there’s still no great harm in telling him; it’s nothing Kahran and his minions wouldn’t tell him, anyway. “A bit of history,” he repeats. “I didn’t recall his face. It wasn’t a face I’d seared into my memory, but I’m sure as hell we’d met before. By naming himself one of the men responsible for destroying my homeland, Catal, Kahran just as surely named himself a former member of the legions of the Dark Immortals, two rat bastards so wicked that they very nearly tore this realm apart. They’re dead now, in the dirt because I helped plant them there. But that was… it was a chaotic time. I couldn’t kill them all. Their forces scattered, and… it was a chaotic time.”

Blut hummed as he held his chin in his hand. "Dark immortals do you mean that in a litteral sense or that just a name. Sides if they were all as powerful as the man on the boat then how the hell did you beat them. Just one alone threw us around like rag dolls how did you beat a army." Blut asked curiously as he took out a journel from his bag. His tone was hard and fast almost like he was paniced. He took notes with surpriseing speed quickly filling a page with text. "Secondly how long ago was this ." Blut asked his tone takeing a surpriseing twist makeing it sound more scolerly due to him realiseing how paniced he sounded. Blut shut his eyes and sighed before looking at Lionel his eyes were locked in a cold gaze "This might bring back some bad memories but what did you see. I know others recived a vision but my one seems to be very different from what they saw. But anyone I ask about it was too scared, mentally broken or just kept telling be death death everywhere. I need to know what did you all see." Blut asked coldly his quill hovered above the notebook ready to take notes if Lionel talked.

Lionel laughs mirthlessly. Who even -is- this guy? To talk of bad memories jogged, when Lionel’s head is a constant swirling tempest of them. It’s easy to forget he’s alone in that tempest when it’s so feverishly absolute from his own perspective. “You some kind of reporter? There’s gotta be someone around here less -frakked- than I am who can fill you in.” He snorts derisively but carries on despite himself. “I didn’t choose their name, you know. It was as cliche and uninspired as the black, spiky armor they wore into battle. But the Dark Immortals -- there were two of them, their army was drow and vampires and demons and trolls and all sorts of monsters that go bump in the night -- were true to their nomenclature. Powerful enough to give the word new meaning. How did we beat them? Tooth and nail, with blood on the scales. Go to Vailkrin. Ask folks there how we beat them. They’ll hate you just for asking, but they’ll tell you just how many morals some of us sacrificed along the way so that we could ‘beat them.’” He emphasized those two words with a sickening delivery. “The war began 12 years ago.” Citing a number reminds Lionel that it has been 76 hours and 57 minutes since the attack. This still feels relevant somehow. It still feels vital. “It lasted for over a year after that. In that time, Lithrydel changed. There isn’t a city still standing that wasn’t touched in some way because of it. This very city of Cenril was the site of a battleground that…” He cuts himself off. “Forget that. You asked about my vision. Death. Dead bodies. Dead loved ones. Dead… cities.” Lionel waves his hand around to suggest that Cenril is one of them. “...nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Blut wrote down whatever Lionel said but soon his writeing slowed as he sighed putting the book away and standing up almost as if he was expecting Lionel to lash out at him. "Would you like to know when the mans next attack is going to occure." Blut asked bluntly his tone was quite almost as if Lionels words knocked something in him. "I'd like to cut you a deal. Do 3 things for me and I can tell you when he will attack how he will attack who he will attack. Right to the last second." Blut explained "However this has to work two ways and your going to have to work with me." Blut barganed looking at Lionel his eyes started to advance from a shimmer to a glow "Do we have a deal". Blut asked extending his hand his eyes unwavering.

Lionel | If anyone, anywhere in the world, could right this instant be described as the living embodiment of incredulity, that scion of blank-stared dark humor would have to be Lionel O’Connor. He looks at Blut as if the man had just declared the sky is red and the ocean’s made of spiders. “Let me get this straight. You’re going to find this bastard when I spent a year trying. You’re going to sneak into his camp, wherever the hell it is, and you’re going to secure his battle plans. And you’re going to do this with a head still attached to your neck. This is what you’re telling me. And all I have to do is grant three wishes like a genie to make it happen.”

Blut shook his head as he looked at Lionel not exactly. Blut took out a piece of cloth that was salvaged from ship wreak it was the same material that Karan was clothed in dureing his attack. It must have gotten snagged somewhere with the large hooded garb he must not have noticed. "This is a piece of the mans clothing. With this I can see exactly what this man will do with something this small I can only promise a week but only if you do exactly as I say." Blut explained looking at Lionel his eyes cold and lifeless he was never more serious in his life. "I saw things in my vision things I need to be sure never happen. But to do this I need to advance furthur and faster than I am already and for that I need your help." Blut explained his hand still out his voice calm and composed as he was trying to explain the impossible. "I'm not asking the impossible someone of your statuer should be able to manage these tasks with far more ease than I ever could but they will be slightly taxing. But if all goes to plan let me just say I might be able to kill that man that destroyed the boat." Blut promised his gaze did not lie. In his countless adventures and studies to learn chronomancy he was finally makeing progress he finally was able to make the first steps includeing "I know how to kill a immortal." Blut declared quitely.

Lionel studies Blut’s hand. His eyes linger on that hand for a few seconds before sliding up to the man’s face. Somehow, in light of this new world, the vaguely red irises do nothing to discomfort him. In fact, it occurs to Lionel that maybe this isn’t a new world at all, but the fated return of an old one, where morals slant sideways in pursuit of greater evils. It’s not a warm thought. It’s not something he’ll be a part of whenever it is possible to be apart from it. But it’s unavoidable, too. A little voice chimes through his head. ‘Take help where you can. This doesn’t have to lead to butchery again if you don’t let it.’ Lionel will convince himself as best he can. He’ll deal with the consequences of that convincing as they arise. Otherwise, in a few months’ time at very best, there won’t be a soul left in Lithrydel to hate him for it. Can this man before him truly stop Kahran? He doubts it deeply. But can he act as ally in a united front to that end? Perhaps. And exactly 77 hours after the attack which has brought back an older and more malevolent world, ‘perhaps’ is enough. He shakes Blut’s hand sturdily. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

Blut smirked as lionel shook his hand. "There is a weapon called the tenbatsu kaji in the pocession of lady Josleen of Larket. Claim that weapon for me. Second I want you to help me into the temple of judgement in Frostmaw. Third get me a book called Xhir's Journal. You can find it in Larkets acadamy of magic. Being on such good terms with Frostmaw this shouldn't be too hard on you." Blut explained as Blut retracted his hand Lionel would realise his sliped a blue crystal into his hand. "This crystal will let you contact me at any time at any place just rub it 3 times then speak into it." Blut explained as he reached into his bag writeing down the 3 items that Lionel needed to get him before tearing out the note and handing it to him. "I look forward to hearing from you." Blut explained looking back at the sea "I hope you don't chicken out."

Lionel | The 77th hour of the new and old world has begun with an odd request. Lionel ponders the three wishes he’s been conscripted to genie into reality. Two of them can be accomplished with minimal scale. He doubts affiliation with Frostmaw is going to be a boon in dealings with the Larketian educational system, but there’s time yet to solve that riddle. He can peer through this ‘Xhir’s Journal’, if it exists, once it’s in his possession. As for Frostmaw’s Temple of Judgment, Blut won’t be entering alone. If the man tries anything untoward, or if his intentions are revealed to be as grim as Lionel must brace for, then one of them might not leave that temple alive. It’s the sword that seems the hardest. He’s never heard of it, for one, and his associations with Josleen have been… minimal seems like the right word for it. “We’ll be in contact.” He takes the blue crystal and tucks it away in the breast pocket of his crimson silk shirt. He dismisses talk of cowardice out-of-hand, and he’s no longer capable of friendlier disposition whether he’d have given it to this man or not. Four words, direct and conclusive.

Blut snaped his fingers as if remembering something. "That reminds me your going to need someone to fix the rope bridge to the area of the temple and a warrior to acompany us. It broke on my last visit." Blut warned crypticly as he turned to walk away "and get the weapon and book first by the way it's been 77 hours 7 minutes 25 seconds you might want to hurry the man might attack soon." Blut mentioned not turning around.