RP:A Wild Paladin Appeared!

Part of the What You Leave Behind Arc

Summary: Lionel is getting a demonstration of Khitti's new abilities gifted to her by Seika, the holy sprite within Tenbatsu Kaji, when a wild Rorin appears!

Fort Frostmaw's Training Room, Frostmaw

Down a corridor beneath the fort was the very room that Khitti and Brand once sparred in, the very same that she summoned Francis in. Now, it was the same large, fireproof training room that Khitti now stood in with Lionel, Tenbatsu Kaji, blade of Cyris, in hand. Something was different about Khitti--where there had been doubt and worry days ago at Lionel and Leone’s meeting, there was now confidence and spirit. “Okay. Check -this- out.” The heavily pregnant redhead brought the sword to hover parallel with her own body, “Cyris Guardian Armor Make Up!”

A bright flash of holy magic, in varying hues of gold, orange, and red, enveloped Khitti and when the light cleared, she was decked out from head to toe in rose gold half plate (a circlet, breastplate, vambraces and skirt) and dark reddish-brown leather. It fit her well, despite the fact that it looked a bit out of place thanks to that ridiculously large stomach of hers. “Seika gave it to me at the chapel. It’ll look better I think once this kid is born.” Entirely proud of her new armor, she did a bit of a twirl. “It’s got its own uses besides just as armor too.” Pulling the circlet from her head, she threw it like a boomerang around Lionel. Holy fire lit along the edges of the metal ring and remained there as it whizzed past the Hero of Hellfire’s head, but as it reached Khitti, the flame was snuffed out.

Rorin had been in the fort itself few times before. Once was to scream at the injustice of frostmaws surrender to larket. The thought of it raged inside him still yet he contained the fires of fury beneath the cold smooth surface of his closed helm. He had business here. He had missed the last meeting damnitall, and such critical things had happened, how could he not be there? On his back was the answer, a tattered old blade, chipped and scarred, looking ready to fall apart. In its pommel rested a single palm sized red gem that glowered angrily and seemed to quiver in its setting. One of his eyes turned towards it and he thought he could almost heat it whisper. The afflicted paladin shook his head and knocked on the door to wherever Lionel was in. No one needed give him directions it seemed, as he peered through the walls and floor, easily spotting the magical aura of the forgotten heros blade. There was something else too. Something he didnt recognize.

“Why’d it light up like that? I’m supposed to be a protagonist or something.” Lionel’s oversimplification is forced but it at least manages to endear himself; anything to take the edge off a life as fraught as they’ve come. The pinot grigio in his right hand, delicately held between his thumb and forefinger, is tasty but not entirely enough. In the days since his extraordinary encounter with Valrae in the northern wastes where the Ouroboros tribe met their sudden and mysterious end, there’s been a pep in his step that quietly worries the stepper. But perhaps it’s best to let the hopeful mood linger, Lionel supposes; Khitti is in good spirits, and he’s in better spirits than he has any right to be given the war and the death and the destruction and even the Josleen, and that’s enough to give him pangs of guilt but the wine stems the tide enough for him to admire his sister’s training and make these simplified rhetorical musings like he does. Far beyond the dimness of the corridor, a faint knock is overheard. “Who can it be now?” Lionel asks, and then he asks it three more times in melodic succession as he swiftly crosses the expanse and creaks open the door. Ideally, Khitti’s hero-hating boomerang doesn’t light aflame again all-the-while. “Hey,” he greets Rorin.

Khitti could only grin and shrug at Lionel, “Seika’s a bit mischievous sometimes. She probably did it just to get a rise out of you. She zapped Brand--that’s what started our argument awhile ago. She made it so he can understand all of that sprite-talk. He didn’t like it. Thought it’s like Dominic being in his head again.” There was another shrug. “It’s for emergencies mostly. He’ll get over it.” She put the circlet back on her head, her attention soon shifting towards Rorin as the follower of Arkhen made his entrance. Khitti was feeling very ‘should I stay or should I go now’ as she eyed him, a slight frown forming. She sheathed Tenbatsu Kaji, the armor strangely remaining on Khitti’s form for now (maybe Seika was feeling just a bit cautious around Rorin?), and nodded to the kid, “Rorin.

Rorin filed away a quick observation in that perceptive brain of his. Lionel was drinking. Not too unusual- but he was... chipper. Queerly so. "Commander," the gruff and gritty greeting resounded of Rorin's reflective helm, "a word?" The once-paladin would step in when allowed and would take more than his usual time to observe Khitti. Wow, she was pregnant. Like, really pregnant. Secondly, that katana she was holding made him feel... itchy. Itchy in the sort of way that the blade on his back was moving in such a way to cause him to literally feel itchy as well and only when he grasped the handle quite firmly did it seem calmed. There was a tension about it that he did not have the experience to name and it was causing quite the stir in his own mind in how a simple sword could ever feel tense. After his left hand, the more human looking one under that gauntlet, slowly let go, the young man felt almost as if it breathed with him. Things had only gotten stranger since he'd picked it up so that his response was only to believe they weren't getting better. Of that the fractured part of him that still held on knew closely. "Khitti," he nodded in greeting, only taking his eyes off her blade for a moment.

Lionel isn’t surprised a man who’s spent so much time around water isn’t fond of getting zapped. The pep in his step is briefly halted en route to answering the door, however, at the mention of Dominic. It’s not a name he’s heard in a long time, nor one he’s pondered in almost as long. How long -has- it been since the youth Lionel left at an inn in Cenril exited his mind? How long has it been since he exited the stage altogether? Somewhere along the way, Lionel very quickly and very smoothly came to accept Brand as a friend, a brother-in-arms, and it was scarce weeks from there that Dominic felt like little more than a wandering specter. “Understanding that spirit was probably the last thing Brand wanted,” Lionel half-muses, half-jests, “because now he’s been forced to register her existence.” But Lionel is one to talk, isn’t he? Halycanos aside, his hatred for the gods -- going so far as to deny them the title -- is well-documented, most of all to himself. Is his bizarre form of communication with Valrae’s own disconnected spirit changing his opinion somehow? He twitches; it’s unlikely he’ll be praying to Cyris or Aramoth or all the rest of them anytime soon, but he’s felt more and more like praying as the world grows ever-dimmer. “I’ve always got time for you, my friend,” he answers Rorin. “Come on down. I’m taking a load off by watching the sister do her thing. I’m sure she can explain her sword better than I can. Have you heard about the meeting, though?” His eyes narrow briefly, not out of suspicion but curiosity. “I know you’ve been busy. Missions were assigned, Kahran’s forces attacked, and Queen Josleen came here expecting me to give the OK on an alliance with Larket.” He almost spits. His tone has a bite to it, a very sudden bite, that was nowhere to be found just seconds ago. “Needless to say, I refused. I pray Queen Hildegarde has the sense to do the same.” There’s that word again prayer.

“He’s been forced to register a lot more than that,” Khitti said offhandedly as olive-green eyes watched Rorin every so carefully. [Something is wrong with that child,] Seika said to Khitti. The holy sprite was right and the more Khitti dwelled on it, the more -Khitti- could feel it. Something had happened to Rorin since they last spoke in Frostmaw’s tavern almost a year ago. A hand twitched at her side, the temptation to call Rorin out on whatever shenanigans he’s gotten himself into lately there at the forefront of her mind. But… she doesn’t. The words ‘the sister’ brought Khitti back to the present and her attention finally left Rorin, shifting back to Lionel. “Right. Yes. You’re going on a recon mission with Brand and I, as well as a bard named Kanna, and a paladin of Cyris named Zahrani.” The frown that had been there only worsened at the Lionel’s mention of Josleen, a roll of her eyes and a shake of her head given to the thought of the Queen storming off out of the fort. “We can get ourselves killed on our own without their prejudiced nonsense anyway.”

Rorin smiled a little at Lionel, who Rorin felt almost comforted by, in a dependent way he was sure would make Lionel uncomfortable when expressed. The once-paladin didn't feel quite so dependent on Lionel's skill with his sword, more simply on the forgotten heroes qualities. He was always there when you needed him. "That is good. I missed much in the last meeting it seems, and more so, I have nearly missed my chance to say goodbye." He sounds far beyond his years, the young man does, and as soon as the door is shut he's rid of his stuffy helmet. Underneath is a much less normal visage than most can stomach as half of his face is covered in some sort of bone like shell or shell like bone split only by a line of glowing white magical power and his own inhuman eye. The solid blue color that dominates the orb is punctuated only by a white dot and ring that serve as it's pupil, staring out the back of its head, swerving around at a moments notice, clearly trying to look at all the strange and powerful swords in the room at once. "I've heard a bit about this and that, but nothing from the source." Rorin knew knowledge was unparalleled if it came only from those who knew it first or first handed. The horns jutting out of his forehead and jaw itched something awful and the feathery white quills taking up half his hair fell to his back in the most uncomfortable of ways but he endured it all just to concentrate a moment longer. The once-paladin nodded with a very tight lipped and straight face. News of Larket was never good as of late. "Queen Hildegarde has her own soft spot for her once favored friend and thane. She may chastise you, but I do not believe she would accept an alliance merely on Josleen's behalf either. We shall see.” Rorin found his thumb idly scratching the hilt of his new blade. It felt comforting somehow. Maybe because he knew Khitti was staring. It felt like more eyes than that were upon him though and suddenly any ease left him. Justice, that insatiable beast, clawed inside the right half of his brain, much like the warning bells he once heard form Arkhen. Something wasn't right here. No, something wasn't right at all. "Yes, that I know of," Rorin replied to Khitti without turning to her fully, fixating on her more with the independent right eye, knowing she would feel it just as well, ignoring any notion to search her very soul. It wasn't her that bothered him. "Zahrani... I feel like I should know more on that one. I have not kept well with my contacts as of late," a grin returned but it didn't meet either eye as he chuckled dryly. "Larket has always been the uptite city state. Back to that mission though... I'm afraid I'll need some time." He returned to a more serious, even grim expression, as he faced the paths laid before him.

Lionel frowns. Not because he disagrees with Khitti in the least, but because somewhere deep inside his morally rigid stance -- one he’s glad Khitti shares with him -- there’s the knowledge that allying with Larket could have saved lives. He fixes Khitti with a very brief look of worry, but it’s gone as quickly as it arrives, replaced with a nod. She’ll likely understand, as she often does: he’s concerned for those who may fall because the alliance lacks Macon’s strength, but stands by his claim that no war is worth standing beside despots who inflict such calamity upon their own citizenry. As Rorin reveals the extent of his transformation, Lionel’s lips twitch but his eyes don’t waver. He’d prepared himself for grotesque, and damn that Mulgrew for all her shenanigans, but the worst shenanigan she ought be damned for is failing to heal Rorin. That was the first time he’d heard her strange prophecies, and it left Lionel bitter to the woman that may now chart destiny’s course in ways he’d rather not imagine. Still, there’s preparation and then there’s seeing something firsthand. Rorin is beginning to look less like his former squire and more like a sapient species the likes of which cruel oppressors and fabled emperors might label delicacy. Instead of answering Rorin directly, the Catalian opts for a more roundabout approach, one which might shed further light on his mental state. “You were with us during the expedition. You came to our aid when the going got tough. I want to thank you for that. So… thank you. Whatever it is you’re going through, whatever you’re becoming, this isn’t goodbye.”

Khitti wasn’t unnerved by Rorin’s new appearance. She’s seen a lot of things, been a lot of places, created a lot of more disgusting, horrifying monsters all by herself. Instead of a look of fear or shock, there’s a smirk and a narrowing of those green eyes. “You’re tainted. You know, I couldn’t really sense this kind of thing before, but Tenbatsu Kaji’s really helped me to see.” Khitti shifted her stance a little, something a bit more stalwart, “I’ll be watching you, Rorin. The sword will be watching you. Should you come to harm anyone on that ship while we’re out there, I will not hesitate to -free- you from this thing that has bound itself to you. The same goes for Zahrani, should you meet with the feline.” Her own words were quite the opposite of Lionel’s. There was no thanks to be given. She didn’t judge Rorin for this taint that’s taken hold of him--she was much the same not long ago--but she wouldn’t fail in protecting those she loved from him should it come to that.

Rorin isn't really sure where Frostmaw stands with Larket and whatever else the hell is going on over there as he hasn't kept up on the news as of late. The once-paladin suspects Justice rightly hasn't either, the beast being more preoccupied with who it should kill (punish, the growling corrected) instead of where. Either way there's little information for Rorin- or at least what's left of him- to be concerned with alliances as so much else is going on lately. He would half to agree that tyrants did not good allies make though. "Oh come on, you've seen worse," the boy attempts to crack a joke as he sees the rare falling of Lionels facade. Answers. He knew that's what Lionel wanted. Hell, that's what Rorin wanted. But alas, mystery prevails. "I'm still out there you know, searching," he tried to reaffirm once more. He tried to comfort Lionel, a reflexive gesture with his right hand, that monstrously clawed and bony thing, sporting a mark of unknown power. It fell only after an awkward silence. Rorin tried to grin through the welling tears. "It's not yet the end. I didn't mean goodbye as in forever. You'll know when I mean that." He turned towards them both fully now and smiled a bit easier while he paced the room and spoke. "I mean to say goodbye because I'm going on a trip. A journey that shall not be easy," the sword on his back trembled whenever he grew an inch closer to Khitti, "I shall travel with Lady Hildegarde through the Ancient Gates, up to the hidden temple of Aramoth in the frozen wastes." He paused in his steps for a moment. Tenbatsu Kaji. He knew that name. The fragments of his brain racked themselves together to recall where it was from but he shook his head clear of the half forgotten memories and Khitti's... threats? No matter. "I have contained the curse, for now," he could feel it burning inside the white shell that kept it from growing as well as the marks from the ritual he'd done. A forsaken thing that cleaved the connection between warlocks and their false gods. That was the kind of power that dwelt within him now. Something twisted from another realm. The scars of the symbols he'd cut into himself would not heal. Maybe never. "There I will find the answers I so desperately seek. I am sure of it," his good eye- his more human eye- fixed Lionel with a crazed and nearly maniacal stare. His dedication was all consuming. The search for a cure would be an end unto itself. "If not, then..." Rorin cleared his throat and straightened up. "Perhaps I can find a few more details about this," his left hand wrapped around the decaying hilt of his blade which seemed to shiver. "It appears as if we're all in possession of something possessed now." He eye traveled to Khitti and ran up and down the length of her blade almost hungrily. "When nothing else presents itself, there may be details I can scavenge that prove useful to me. Lycanthropy, draconians, perhaps even something about the jershers and the naga, it's impossible to know what will be helpful or what wil be there. I will do everything I can to look for solutions. You have my word," he nodded thoughtfully to Lionel and perhaps a bit more curtly to Khitti. With a deep breath to calm the air that was rather all the news he had to share.

Lionel blinks and slowly rotates his face to examine his sister’s as her tone and intent come into aural focus. He has to see her mouth the words to really believe she’s saying them. It’s not that her caution is unwarranted; the gods, frak them all, know it’s not unwarranted. But the righteous proclamation, the statement of peerless holy stance, the straighforward posture and decree… Khitti is either channeling Donovan Keane or Caedan Navarre right now, and the fact that Lionel can picture the both of them simultaneously is enough nightmare fuel to quash some of the inebriation his pinot grigio worked so hard to provide. As Rorin explains the meaning of his goodbye, Lionel swivels his head with as much confusion as he’s afforded Khitti. He’s not heard much of Queen Hildegarde’s plans for a trip, and he can only surmise that’s intentional. She must be seeking a deeply personal purpose, and the timing of it all rather baffles him but he’s sure the woman has her deep-rooted reasons. “Honestly, sometime I feel like half the population of Lithrydel is possessed or wields something possessed or is otherwise possessed of a possessive self.” He shrugs sheepishly. “But then I remember a simple truth: Kahran would have a harder time of things would that it were so.” As for Rorin’s hope of finding answers, Lionel can only hope it should come to pass. They’ve sought the truths of his affliction together since the waning days of the Haathian conflict, and been denied those truths more times than he can count. Lionel won’t ask those twice-be-damned gods to help, nor will he sully his companion’s beliefs by mocking with a cynical prayer to Aramoth, but nonetheless the frakking word resurfaces: prayer. So much yearning for it, for so many reasons. “Your word is all I need,” he tells Rorin, and there’s a sense of finality about that. “We’ll make it through this. All of us. We’ve got to believe it, because elsewise, what’s the point?” He glances between Khitti and Rorin, pausing. “Khitti, you’re doing great. I’d best be off, though. Guard Captain Thrace’s legion is back from the front lines and needs debriefing.”

Khitti seemed unsure of Rorin’s assurances, but she merely nodded nevertheless. He was looking for some sort of cure, at least, and that had to be good enough. Her demeanor softed considerably, crimson brows knitted together as hesitation overtook Tenbatsu Kaji’s chosen one, “When you return from this pilgrimage with Hildegarde, you and I should speak. Perhaps your cure lies within help from the other gods and not amongst the other races.” She meant Cyris, of course. He -is- the god of freedom and independence after all. Who better to look to for help from this curse than him? Khitti only just briefly caught Lionel’s stare out of the corner of her eye and offered a blink or two in return. Did she say something wrong? She opened her mouth to ask just that, but she’s cut off by Lionel’s sudden need to leave, “Oh. Well. Alright. Tell Tilly I said hi.” Those redheads need to stick together, you know. Seika (the spirit within Tenbatsu Kaji), seemingly alright with Rorin for the time being, released Khitti from that holy armor she’d provided for the pregnant woman, leaving Khitti in her typical maternity wear once more. “I supposed I should get back to Cenril anyway. Brand and I have more things to take care of for the baby before it gets here.”