RP:Doors and Corners

Summary: Quintessa, hired by Khitti, seeks Lionel's head. But she isn't the only one looking for blood tonight, and she may need to temporarily put enmities aside if she is to survive. Lionel, seeing the changeling's abilities, turns deadly conversation sideways by offering Quintessa a well-paying job instead.

Kelay Tavern

Lionel had fewer friends left than he’d realized, but he was grateful as ever that Mesthak was one of them. “Be careful,” the old dwarf warned with a whisper. “You don’t have that Halla-what’s-it anymore to filter out some of the toxins.” Mesthak motioned with his chin pointedly toward the several emptied glasses of hard lemonade which Lionel had already gone through. “That’s the idea,” Lionel spat back, wagging his finger for one more. He knew, though he neglected to admit to himself that he’d been asked for ‘one more’ thrice now. The barkeep shook his head and grabbed Lionel with a meaty wrist which completely enveloped the Catalian’s comparatively scrawny arm. “You’re angry,” Mesthak said, maintaining his whisper so as not to draw further attention to the wanted man in the hooded black cloak seated at his bar. “You feel betrayed. You’ll rise above this. Don’t get yourself dead because of it.” Time was, Lionel would have said something snarky and quipped that he’d welcome death. What folly it was that his only family sought his head now when he had finally accepted the gift of life.

“I know,” Lionel acquiesced without bitterness. He felt good about himself, about his achievements and about how much he had left to give to those in need and protect those who were imperiled in a world which, even without Kahran, would forever be in some shade of turmoil. “A water, then.” Mesthak nodded and fetched Lionel what he requested, much lighter on his big feet now. The bar crowd was beginning to clear out at this hour but plenty of stragglers remained. A bard played their last few notes on a shiny lute and two drunk felines with tails wrapped around one-another for support growled and giggled in equal measure as they stepped into the chilly night. “Mesthak,” Lionel said quietly, “if anyone intends to cash in on my sister’s foolishness tonight it’s getting to be about that time. I won’t let anything happen to this place, so I’ll see you tomorrow.” He paused. “Probably.” The dwarf chuckled with mirth. “Tis been an age since Kelay Tavern exploded. Happens again, you won’t see me complainin’. We could use new rafters, anyway.” Lionel nodded slowly and began to smirk. “You’re a good man, Mes. Apologies in advance for the number of tables and chairs about to break.” He put his hands up and lowered his hood, revealing his shaggy blond hair and the hilt of a polished steel katana. “Just put it on your tab,” Mesthak grumbled as he watched the last patrons exit his establishment. “Don’t bother locking the door,” Lionel said. “5000 gold has a way of making people forget they exist.”

Quintessa had many eyes and ears at her disposal, an unseen hand that gave her small bits of information when she needed it most. It was a benefit of being a member of a shadowy syndicate. Since Lionel started drinking he was being watched by the spies Quintessa Dragana had sent out since she spoke with his sister, Khitti. The changeling had no idea why she'd want her own brother dead but she didn't much care to know either. It wasn't the gold that tempted her either. Quintessa perceived it as a slight that Lionel would back out of the Red Skull Trophy match with her. He stood her up on the night she would prove her might against the famed 'Butcher of Vailkrin', but that night never happened. Instead her enemies were given an opportunity to strike at her when she least expected, and Lionel was partly responsible for that. Tonight she would make a formal complaint. Almost on cue the hex blade entered Kelay Tavern, the cold winter air accompanying her and the sinister aura that seemed to suck the light from the room. Mismatched eyes of blue and hazel scanned the room, following up on the information she had just received. "Lionel O’Connor!" Quintessa called out, her left hand flipping her invisibility cloak over her shoulder as her right hand gripped her sword. "Stand and face me, the girl you didn't find fit to battle against you in the Red Skull Arena."

Lionel lifted his brow and turned slowly in his seat, regarding his would-be assassin quizzically. “Are you kidding me?” he asked plainly. “A whopping 5k up for grabs and the only one who comes for me tonight is upset because she got stood up?” Mesthak chuckled despite the severity of the situation. “Never did learn the art of love,” the dwarf said with a grin. “Oh, and I suppose you’re the Ascendi paragon of sex, drugs, and rock and roll,” Lionel snapped back. “Alright, alright,” the Catalian said, rising from his seat. “If that’s seriously why you’re here, you have your facts on more backwards than a razurath with its tail cut off, but you don’t look like much for words. So I’m going to hazard a wild guess here that me telling you I was forced back from whence I came via some very dubious drow in outlandish tophats isn’t going to satiate your heterochromic bloodlust, lady.” With a quick tug of his left hand Lionel drew his katana and held it forth perfectly horizontally, all-the-while tilting at his right knee for balance. “So I… hey, wait. Look behind you.” Indeed, there was something behind Quintessa -- a pair of somethings in fact, human ruffians by the looks of them with hair so unkempt it made Lionel’s look virtuous by comparison. “Looks like the girlie beat us to the punch, Fitz,” the woman between them said, prompting the man to laugh hideously through yellow teeth. “Aye, Simmons, she be a wild detective beastie, sniffing out the quarry all the way to his most obvious spot.” Fitz and Simmons both snorted back laughter, drew two knives apiece and chucked them forward into the tavern with no particular destination in mind. In a blinding flash, the two uninvited assassins disappeared into a cloud of smoke and traveled the tavern’s inside perimeter from opposite sides of the room, clearly hoping to circumvent Quintessa altogether and claim the bounty for their own. But Fitz couldn’t have possibly expected the creaky old rafter above him to come crumbling down upon him with a deadly thud, trapping poor Fitz’s corpse beneath quite a bit of shattered wood. The perpetrator? A sickly-looking green ogre made of muscle with a club the size of Quintessa herself. “Heh heh heh, bones go snap when Eline come tumbling down. Heh! Heh! Heh!” No one else appeared to be laughing, least of all Lionel, who had taken what little advantage of time he could to rush to the back of the tavern and flip a square wooden table up ahead of him for cover. “This is getting stupider by the second,” he shouted from his defensive position.

Quintessa let a low growl build in her chest, "He's mine!" she screams, her voice distorted by her maleficent aura, black tendrils of necrotic energy lashing out all around her. But assassins Simmons and Fitz pay her no mind, however, and dash toward her prey. "I won't allow you-" Quintessa draws her mundane katana, cracked and bent from constant misuse, and holds it aloft. "-To steal my glory! Cleddyf tân!!" Uttering her magic words, the changeling's sword was set ablaze, the red and orange glow illumining the area where her aura had dimmed the light. "Streic..." Quintessa lifted her blade to point at the celling and the flames collected along the blade. "-dân!" And then she quickly brought it down, sending out a massive line of fire burning along the surface of the tavern floor, snaking its way to her target, Lionel. The one meter wide burst quickly burned away at whatever tables or chairs that were in ground zero on its path to immolate her prey. As the fire evaporated, Quintessa rushed in, steam from her katana drifting behind her as she brought it up into an aggressive stance. No matter who was in the spot she'd last she the man, Quintessa would bring her sword around to decapitate them before stepping back in a defensive pose, blade between them.

Lionel sighed wistfully. “I used to be able to do that,” he mumbled, peeking from behind his upturned table at the fiery pathway forming rapidly in his direction. Elsewhere in the blazing tavern, the ogre Eline was repeatedly jumping up and down on Fitz’s shattered body with childlike glee. Simmons emerged from her smoky cloak with eyes wide in horror at the fate that befell her partner, though before she could scream her body was pierced through by a fine-tipped spear belonging to a bipedal reptilian creature with thick, scaly armor and a difficult lisp. “Thwell, thwell, thwell,” the sahagin chortled, withdrawing its bloodied spear and forming a deflective bubble of fast-moving water around itself to stave off the collapsing rafters above. “Thlooks like the big haul!” Two more sahagins rushed through the door now, and there would have been a third behind them if it weren’t for the juvenile white dragon which had just flown up behind it and bitten its head off like turtle jerky. “Lionel,” Mesthak shouted from behind the bar, holding an ax in his shaking hand. “Chaos is good for business! Catastrophe is pushing it! Do something about that dragon!” Lionel took a deep breath and rolled his eyes despite his situation, whirling behind his table to push it toward Quintessa’s incoming line of fire. “Lionel, don’t drink,” the Catalian grumbled, kicking at the table just in time to watch it disintegrate and panicking when more of the changeling’s flames zeroed in on him. “Lionel, kill the dragon.” The nearest sahagin, in its protective bubble, slid on shell-like feet straight through the flames and forked at him with repeated stabs of its spear, forcing the hero without Hellfire to dodge to and fro even as Quintessa came racing at what remained of his burning table with murderous intent. “Lionel, do the dishes.” He flipped his katana up by the hilt and slammed through the bubble with blunt force, bashing metal into the sahagin’s head and knocking it back just as Quintessa came in for the kill. The sahagin’s head went flying almost comically all the way to Eline, who caught it even as she continued jumping on what must have been Fitz’s dust at this point. “Heh! Heh! Heh! Heads go jump when Eline catch! Heh heh! Look out, tortoise kids! Eline throw head at heads!” Sure enough, the ogre did as she said she would, throwing the reptilian skull at the other sahagins, one of whom was knocked out the door and swiftly eaten by the dragon. Lionel lifted his katana back up, feigning preparations to clash with Quintessa, but with a sudden leftward dodge and a roll across the smoking floor he grabbed one of his emptied bottles of hard lemonade and threw it at her face. “I have a suggestion,” he shouted, leaping over the bar and hiding beside Mesthak over by the wine rack. “Stop trying to kill me.”

Quintessa lowers her head just in time to catch the bottle on the top of her noggin, a loud, hollow -clink- as the glass container bounces off and in the direction of Eline. "Ack," Quintessa looks up at Lionel. "You sure are the popular one. It's too noisy!" She could already feel the goose egg growing on her head and the dull pain annoyed her. The changeling grimaces, flashing a mouthful of pointed teeth before she speaks. "Okay, how's this sound- I help you kill these plebeians and then you give me a decent fight, just the two of us? Deal?" she doesn't give him a chance to answer, "Deal." Before she turns to fight the ogre. "Rydych chi'n byw dros..." the hex blade utters, her sinister aura swirling to manifest into a dark energy that curses her ordinarily mundane weapon. "Shut up!" She screams at Eline, swinging her blade around to launch a torrent of necrotic energy to lash away at the legs of the giant foe. "I can't stand listening to you for one more second!" Quintessa's anger fuels her dark aura, black mist spreading from her core to fuel her curses. "Marwolaeth!" She roars, thrusting her blade forward as a lance of dark energy threatens to impale her target, manifesting directly from her katana.

Lionel shrugged behind the bar when the changeling ran off before he could reply. “Yeah,” he yelled back, motioning at Mesthak to hand him his hidden weapon. “Alright.” From behind a sheet of silk, the barkeep lifted Wraithbane high into the thick air, and Lionel sheathed his katana where its scabbard was strung to his back, accepting the drow warrior Encara’s fabled bow with a nod. The last sahagin was rolling toward the bar inside its bubble when Lionel peered over and fired a poisonous black arrow through the jet stream and into its neck, killing it instantly. The Catalian wasted no time, hopping back over the countertop and readying another arrow for the loudmouthed ogre. When his enemy and ally shot her dark energy lance through Eline’s abdomen, Lionel simply whistled his appraisal and ran past them as fast as his very mortal legs could carry him. Eline, meanwhile, screeched as only an ogre could screech, slamming her claws every which way and turning chairs into sawdust along the way. Somehow, Fitz’s eyeballs had not been crushed, and they rolled out of the wreckage to plop down against Quintessa’s shoes. Eline was mortally wounded to be sure, but it seemed an impossible task to convince the dying ogre of her fate. She swung her club with reckless abandon, closing in on Quintessa ferociously. Spikes protruded from the weapon, giving Eline even greater range. But surviving this flurry would likely prove the entirety of the battle, for the ogre’s swings were slowing with each ferocious strike, the dark energy eating away at her insides taking its toll. Lionel, on the other hand, fired his second arrow directly upon the juvenile white dragon’s neck even as it exhaled a flame so hot it burned as azure as its target’s eyes. What surprised the bow-wielding prince was not the flame, which he ably avoided with a race toward the treeline, but the team of drow assassins slicing flesh from the dragon madly with cackles and cheers. “I guess that’ll take care of that,” Lionel said to himself, “but those drow mean business, and I’m quite certain business is yours truly.” He came out from behind a tree, knowingly giving away his position, and shouted as loudly as he could in the hopes that the changeling inside the burning tavern would hear his words. “Yo, so uh, speaking of rude ass drow, we’ve got a good number of ‘em out here, and ten gold says they’ll be after you, too.” It was a hunch, pure and simple, but if drow had shoved him off from his intended gimmicky little clash with this woman who had come here to kill him tonight, then it was possible that she got along about as well with drow as he did. “Just a heads-up,” Lionel finished, watching as the white dragon roared its final roar and the drow assassins predictably spread out -- there were six in full -- covering the area before they would inevitably zoom in for the kills.

Quintessa smirks grimly at the ogre as she scrambles closer, each movement cutting deeper into the body of the monster. The changeling found cruel pleasure in letting Eline get as close as possible, each swing of the spiked greatclub blowing her messy bobbed hair with the wind from the attacks. The ogre has just managed to get close enough to hit Quintessa when she drops her spell and closes in, easily side-stepping the club as Eline tries to hammer the odd girl like a nail. Floorboards splinter and break, spreading woodchips from the point of impact as the lithe form of the changeling dances right up to the much larger opponent, her katana ready at her side. One swift flash of steel in enough to sever an unguarded leg, bringing the ogre down to Quintessa's level. Eline gets an eye full of Quintessa's terrifying grin before her eye gets full of sword, the hex blade's katana cutting right through the thick face and into the brain of the bruiser. She giggles as the ogre breaths her last breath. Quintessa had to admit, she was having a lot of fun, that is until the Drow show up. "Dark elves..." the spooky girl grumbles, wrenching her katana from the skull of her latest victim. "Come to avenge you Matron! I'll cut all of you down the same- Cleddyf tân!!" With a bright flash of light, Quintessa's katana reignites, the flames of her rage burning a hot white. The burst momentarily blinds a pair of Drow that had gotten too close to the hex blade's spell, and Quintessa is quick to take advantage, bringing her sword down in a wide arc and shouting "Tân!" a whip of fire slashing through each of them, melting through flesh and setting clothes and leather armor ablaze.

Lionel briefly closed his eyes as he remained hidden behind the old oak tree at the outskirts of the Southern Sage. ‘If these drow get beaten out of the ring by a dinosaur, I’m just going to nope out entirely,’ he thought silently. As soon as the scorching white flash of Quintessa’s katana gave way to the gathering darkness of nightfall and it was safe to peer around, Lionel took to the battle with a rush, blasting one of the drow in the shoulder with Wraithbane before tossing Encara’s weapon into the shrubbery and withdrawing his own katana once more. He slashed where the poisoned arrow had caught purchase, slicing the dark elf’s arm clean off and stepping over the flailing remainder of a badly-wounded assassin. Lionel kept his right palm open and gently spread across the hilt of his sword, widening the distance between his legs and reverting to the horizontal grip he had previously displayed. Three drow capable of resistance remained, and it was obvious by their sneers that they were seething. They formed a kind of makeshift triad, one behind the others like a triangle, and blue flames erupted above each pair of hands. It seemed that one way or another, fire was tonight’s primary means of slaughter. Much like the triad behind them, the three separate flames whipped through the air, one branching off toward Lionel and another toward Quintessa whilst the third and final flame blazed straight past them and imploded upon a tree. The tree shook and fell with a thunderous sound, forcing Lionel to escape its path but allowing him to escape the second flame’s heat when it ignited across the leaves. The battlefield just outside the tavern looked more like a pyre now, and the drow caught up in no time, threatening Quintessa and Lionel with wicked silver swords which were each swung in deathly vertical unison. Lionel leaped over the burning tree and collided into the drow nearest Quintessa with the fullness of his lithe body, knocking the assassin down and leaving it open for a fatal stab through the cranium. One of the remaining drow gave chase, leaping over the tree as well, but it didn’t quite make the distance and fell dead into the flames before it could reach its prey. The last drow hissed and made a run for it, its back to Quintessa as it fled.

Quintessa grins at the smoldering remains of the two Drow for far too long, getting caught off-guard as a spellweaving assassin closes in with deadly fire. The Drow pelts Quintessa with a continuous barrage of small fireballs, each muffled by the protective aura of Arh-Nuk now that she was outside and bathed in its glow. As the attacks explode against her body, Quintessa silently notes that this is the third time in a fortnight that she'd been damaged by fire, but the awful burn didn't get any easier to deal with. "Wal iâ!" The hex blade shouts as she throws up her free hand in desperation, her mana shifting defensively to cause a wall of ice to materialize between her and her assailant before he could close in with his silver blade. The changeling breaths raggedly behind her barrier, recovering from the rapid attacks as the Drow begins to circle around. But the tide has shifted! Circling around quickly changes to a full retreat as the assassin flees, but the hex blade has different plans. From behind her translucent wall, she can see the drow perfectly as her left hand raises up to point in his direction. "Misle hud." she says lazily. It was one of the most basic spells taught at the Mage's Guild, a simple missile composed of arcane force. Quintessa manifests three just in case, and they races from her finger around her barrier and right into the back of the fleeing enemy. One, two, three. They each hit in quick succession and the drow hits the ground with his face. "Fool." the changeling says as her ice wall slowly fades away and her eyes of pale blue and hazel search for Lionel once more. Did she have enough strength to still take him on?

Lionel watched the changeling’s spell do her dirty work passively as he reached down to his ankle and wrapped a bandage over a burn wound he hadn’t realized was there. It was nothing serious, but the woman beside him clearly was. He stood upright and observed her, paying no heed to the disastrous state of affairs that was Kelay Tavern for the time being. Keeping his katana up in his left grip, the man reached into his pocket with his right, and he pulled out a blue pouch so overstuffed with golden coins that it was almost a minor miracle the Catalian was able to run so fast. Lionel tossed the pouch beside Quintessa’s feet, taking the opportunity to stretch his arm whilst doing so. “5000, right? Go ahead and collect the same from the one who hired you. Thanks for the assist. And congratulations: you’re hired.” He stared at his would-be assassin, waiting for a reply.

Quintessa exhales slowly, the singe-marks on her robes still smoking lightly from the attacks she succumbed. "W-what?" The changeling looks down at the bag for a second but her sword still hung in her inside right. "Gold? I told you, this isn't about the gold." She's still going to take it though. "You're the Butcher of Vailkrin! You sacrificed the lives of my countrymen all for personal glory! I should kill you, but-" But she was winded? But her mana was tapped out? But she was more hurt than she let on? "But what am I hired for?" Her curiosity beat out her bloodlust. "You promise me a proper fight one day and I'll consider doing this job for you."

Lionel withdrew his katana, securing it tightly inside its scabbard. If Quintessa were going to rush him rather than agreeing to end their conflict, he would make sure his last two knives served him well. But he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. “I don’t know what the good folks of Vailkrin have been telling you, lady, but if there’s one thing about me that’s as constant as the rising moons it’s my unabashed love for chicken.” He paused, bit his lip, and shrugged. “But! If there are two things about me that are as constant as the rising moons, and the first thing is chicken, then the second thing is definitely, definitely my complete disregard for glory, personal or otherwise. Your city burned eleven years ago because the Dark Immortals would have killed every last one of you otherwise. I wouldn’t expect you to trust the word of a stranger, and certainly not one labeled ‘butcher.’ But there -- I’ve said it anyway.” Sighing, Lionel began to search the area in case any innocents were harmed in the skirmish. As it happened, he found exactly one -- a squirrel with a singed tail. Scooping up the squirrel in his arms, Lionel gently stroked its fur, feeding it a chestnut and stepping past Quintessa gingerly. “I’ll give you the fight if you give me a name. Real or otherwise, just give me something to stop me from calling you ‘Heterochromia’, because right now that’s all I can think up. The fight comes in the form of a spar. I don’t care what you bring to said spar, so go for the jugular if you feel the perverse urge. The spar grants you acceptance into the Warrior’s Guild.” Lionel fetched another bandage and ripped a small piece off to cover up the squirrel’s burn. “Spend one week with my team. I’ll pay you more for it and you’ll have the chance to kill me for your very own initiation ritual.” He turned around, smiling sincerely. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone harm you should you succeed. Though just between you and me, I’d prefer that you just, you know, fight without the signature murderous intent. Anyway, one week. See what we’re about. Hone that sword-arm a little while. I’ll show you the vainglorious butchers of the world, lady, and they ain’t me.”

Quintessa watches Lionel carefully, unsure if she was going to try to kill him of not. Did she have a reason to anymore? There wasn't even any fun in it at this point, her bloodlust having already been sated on ogres and dark elves. The changeling manages to give him what looks like a sneer before she finally breaks her stance, her sword also moving to her sheath. She wasn't yet convinced with Lionel's words, but they at least warranted her mutual armistice. "Okay, fine. I am Quintessa Dragana of the Black Pond, Baroness of House Dragana and Warden of the Dark Forest." The odd girl folds her arms across her chest as she turns to follow him with her mismatched gaze. "And I accept your conditions. I'll join this guild, train with your men, and try to kill you whenever you are brave enough to face me one-on-one. I look forward to it, in fact."

Baroness of House Dragana. It figured. “Of course you are,” Lionel answered slowly. “Well, that’s fine. It’s good to meet you, Quintessa Dragana of the Black Pond, Baroness of House Dragana and Warden of the Dark Forest. I’m Lionel. But you already knew that. And don’t you worry -- the very first thing we’re going to do upon your arrival at the guild is give you that one-on-one you so desire. In my book, it’s an initiation spar; in yours it’s a postponed assassination effort. Tuh-may-toe, tuh-mah-toe.” Gently, Lionel knelt over and let the squirrel go free. It stared at him for a moment, sniffed, and went off into the night. “If I win, you’re in the guild. If you win, I’m dead. Weird stakes, but I’ve had weirder.” He snickered. “Frostmaw. Keep traveling due west just south of Lake Frysta. The fortress is visible even through thickest snowstorm. I’ll head there now. Go let your folks know you’ll be off training for a while, Baroness, and I’ll do some yoga and roast some marshmallows in the meantime.” Lionel briefly re-entered Kelay Tavern, peering around at Mesthak putting out fires and carrying corpses outside. “Need help?” the Catalian asked blankly. “Just foot the bill and buy me something shiny,” the old dwarf replied. Lionel shook his head, chuckled, whistled a distinctively shrill whistle and waited for his pet tikihflee to arrive at the scene. The big cat was scared by all the ruckus, and justifiably so, but Lionel hopped on and gave her a bit of an ear rub and that made things much, much better. “Doors and corners, tikihflee,” Lionel told his ride, gesturing at the tavern door where so many killers had met their end tonight. “That’s where they get you. Out here we’ll be fine. But doors and corners…” The Catalian’s pet sped into a gallop and they left behind a newly-hired young changeling and a good deal of dead drow.