RP:From Somnus to the River Styx

Part of the What You Leave Behind Arc

Summary: At Yerrel's Hut, Lionel awakens. Penelope and Lanara have saved the Catalian's life. But all good things must come to an end. To destroy Kahran, there must be great sacrifice. To spare the realm, Lionel must die.

Yerrel's Hut

Penelope :: Time had gone by. Enough time for the wolf to assist Lionel to the clinic to help the warrior become stable from the dreadful seas and whatever had attacked him within the water. The clinicians were shocked to see the freckled herbalist back through their doors within the small time-span, but they knew that it was for the man’s health. Gashes were cleansed and stitched, medicine was given, hydration was fed when Lionel gave in in the unconscious state. Eventually, they were able to move the man to a carriage that Yerrel provided, with her horse Delilah, to carry him across the land back into Kelay—under Penelope’s watch. She was stubborn, she insisted, and she would not take ‘no’ for an answer. Try her. An open cot awaited for the warrior in Yerrel’s hut. The hut was quiet lately, and would be the perfect place for the man to heal in peace and comfort. In the meantime, while the man drifted in his unconscious state, the woman would care for him. The girl sits by his bedside with a jar of a thick, yellow concoction. The woman is dipping a finger within the jar and applying the salve to the man’s head gently. A small humming breezes through her lips as he rests. “Any sign?” Yerrel pops his head through the door of his hut. “No, but I have hope,” she murmurs. She then cants her head. “Mind grabbing some lavender from the shop? It’s getting a little stuffy in here,” she smiles politely, and with a nod of Yerrel’s head, he is back out the door to travel next door. Leaving the hut in safe silence yet again.

Lionel opened his eyes. It was a simple thing, and it happened simply, but after so long with eyes closed it might have seemed a miracle. A leafy green plant hanging from the hut’s wooden ceiling and kept inside a clay jar was the first thing he saw since passing out on the beach halfway across the realm. As stuffy as it was inside the hut, the thin bits of rope supporting the plant didn’t sway in the slightest. It was a minor relief to Lionel, then, that it wasn’t just his body raging against his wounds -- it really was that humid. But the relief was soon replaced by sharp pain. He wanted desperately to speak; he had so much that needed to be said. But instead of words, it was a groan that greeted Penelope Halifax. At least Lionel’s eyesight had returned to him in full. He viewed his surroundings with as much clarity as his eyes had ever afforded. Self-aware enough now to recognize the challenges of speech, the Catalian reached for a stone mug filled with cold water which had been kept upon the table beside him, downing its contents too hastily and yet not hastily enough. He could feel the liquid moving down his throat, and it felt sublime. The rest of him was a mess, but his throat hadn’t been so pleased in years.

Penelope twisted the lid to the salve shut before hearing the groan of Lionel O’Connor. Moss eyes flicked towards his open-eyed face. The woman watches his movements carefully as he reaches for the water glass that sits at the bedside. She gets up automatically and walks across the room to retrieve a pitcher of water in a corner before returning. “Good, good,” she coos. “Here,” she tries to reach to pour more water in his glass that he downed so quickly. The herbalist sits back down next to him and a smile slowly grows on her lips. The woman rests in a plain black, loose dress shirt and a pair of fuschia, sleek dress pants. Her hair is loose and wild, like always. The woman then continues to proceed with her work. The salve that was placed on his stitches on his head was not covered. The woman reaches for some gauze and medical tape. The woman leans forward automatically while he drinks his water, “Hold still, if you can,” she tries to finish placing the gauze on his head to patch him up. “How’re you feeling..? Can you speak?”

Lionel did as he Penelope asked him to do. Holding still wasn’t difficult when his entire body felt like stillness was the natural order of things, and if that order were disturbed there would be certain repercussions involved. He drank deeply of the additional water he was provided with and took a few deep breaths before speaking to ensure he was capable of it now. “I suppose we’ll find out when this sentence is either coherent or as much of a mess as the rest of me.” Lionel had to pause multiple times between words and some syllables were more laborious than others but the exercise had clearly not been in vain. This was comforting, because there was something he knew he needed to tell Penelope, something difficult that he was confident she would disagree with -- vehemently. But Lionel at least had the good graces to ease into the topic rather than unloading something so dire instantly after he had awoken. Though he wasn’t conscious for the journey from Chartsend, he could only imagine how difficult it must have been -- to say nothing of the untold hours the woman must have committed, sleeplessly no doubt, to keeping him alive. “I feel like a man who fell through a portal from the Shadow Plane directly into the open sea after being tortured for months,” he said unevenly, but there was more than a hint in his tone to suggest he had tried without success to sound dry and painfully witty. “Symptoms include feeling thankful for the tireless effort of the physician who nursed me back to the land of the living.”

Penelope began to grin after the long sentence he produced for her. The woman sort of bounces in a gleeful way, but she tries to tame the giddy behavior she inherits. This situation was more serious than she would have liked it to be. Why did she find the most famous Lionel O’Connor washed up on the beach? And what was attacking her and Lanara? Either way, she assumed those questions would be answered soon. “Well, you sound good, but let me do a few basics,” the herbalist stands and walks to the feet of the cot to make it easier for him. Her grin slowly fades to a flat line at his sentence. “Go ahead and follow my finger with your eyes only,” she commands gently. The woman would begin to move her fingers left to right, up and down to make sure his head was okay. “Is that what happened…?” The woman asks nonchalantly in a flatter voice as if she was not shocked by his possible confession. “You look good there. Seems like you’re mostly dehydrated. Lack of energy from lack of substance. Few bumps and bruises, but you should be mobile in no time. Give a day or two,” she confirms. The woman then sits back down next to him. “Don’t thank me, thank Lanara. She saved us both. And clinicians from Chartsend and Yerrel were pretty handy,” the girl had never taken any credit, and she gives him a playful smile. “I’m just glad to see you stable.” The woman leans a little to make it effortless for him to move. “Though, I am not happy that you put me in such a situation. Who would forgive the girl who couldn’t save thee Sir O’Connor? That wouldn’t be a good record,” she sounds sarcastic and light. She figured he needed such a thing after something so traumatic.

Lionel had no great trouble following Penelope’s finger with his eyes, which were just about the only part of him which gave no resistance to his will. If things were even a little bit lighter, he wouldn’t have encountered any difficulty rebuffing Penelope’s ceaseless teasing over the multitudes of unwanted importance the citizenry had thrust upon him through the years. For a moment, he considered latching on to that and keeping things simple and clean for longer. But Lionel knew that it wasn’t a moment he could waste. He merely nodded when the healer sought to confirm the truth of what he claimed had happened to him, and he gave further words to her cozier statements instead. “I suppose not,” was all he could afford to say, “and you’ll need to give Lanara my best for me. She did much to aid the rest of you. I barely even know her.” He smiled, though the smile faded into a grimace as soon as he realized he couldn’t maintain it for long. “Unfortunately, Penelope… we don’t have ‘a day or two.’ In all candor, we didn’t have however long it took for you to get me this far. But I couldn’t rightly tell you that whilst asleep. I need you to listen to me, and I need you to really, truly, trust me.” He fixed her with what was perhaps the most serious expression he’d ever given her.

Penelope watched that smile of his fade. It had been a long time since she saw something so pure on his lips. The woman had not seen him in ages. Where had he gone? “Of course, Lionel. If I see Lanara, I will let her know,” though, the woman had only just met the witch on the beach. The two women of nature had connected instantly on the sand, and Penelope had hoped they would cross paths soon again. ‘Unfortunately, Penelope… we don’t have ‘a day or two’. Something felt wrong and tingles in her back began to feel present. The serious expression is eerie, but the herbalist complies with his request. Although the two were not as familiar as his close friends and family, the girl felt the sincerity off of the warrior. He was always so gentle with her which led to easy trust with him. The girl slowly reaches for his arm to rest a hand on him, if he would let her. “You have me,” she said with sincerity. “I trust you,” pause. The herbalist hides her concern and remains as calm as possible. The girl was swept in a whirlwind lately. What could phase her? “What’s wrong?” She asks in her nosy way again as if begging for the answer this time.

Lionel wasn’t going to stop Penelope from touching him, if touching him would help ease the emotional wound he felt sadly certain he was about to create. How could he say this to her? To anyone who cared about him, to any extent at all? In that stitch in time, Lionel felt very much like the monsters he had spent his life slaying. The thought tickled the back of his throat, and all of a sudden, even that one small spot of him that felt good faded back into pain. But he knew who the real monster was. And he knew what that monster would soon do if he didn’t say what needed to be said, no matter how wide a wound the words would make. “Four months ago, I ventured into the wild in search of a friend -- Esche. The fool elf had gone and vanished on me during our lull in the war with Kahran. I couldn’t find him. Hells, I still don’t know what happened to him. Instead of bringing Esche home, I was captured by Kahran’s forces and brought to his fortress deep within the Shadow Plane. What I discovered while I was there will haunt this world to its end if I don’t act fast. Not only has Kahran rebuilt the armies that our forces once stopped, but they’re more ruthless, more dangerous, and far more numerous than ever.” Lionel had filled Penelope’s mind with the easier things to tell her -- that Lithrydel’s fate hung in a delicate balance; that war was a savage thing; all the fluff she doubtless already knew, because for as long as Lionel had known the place, Hollow never knew true rest anyway. But now for the wound. “His armies are coming. They’ll march on every city in unison. They’ll slaughter every man, woman, and child. Our hope now cannot rest on armies of our own. The only weakness in Kahran’s ranks is one of his own making: he’s as prideful as they come and singular in his rule. Killing Kahran would send his forces into a panic. Eventually, someone, or something, will emerge victorious and become their new overlord. But not for a long time, and not before half of them are ashes for it. No, Kahran has to die, and he has to die now. And our only chance rests with me.” The least Lionel could do was put a hand over Penelope’s hand, showing her as best he could that he wasn’t about to say this without knowing the weight of it. “He isn’t immortal, but for all intents and purposes he can masquerade as such. Every time we faced him, every injury he sustained, every slash, every scar, every stab -- he only grew stronger, bolder. But while I was his prisoner, I learned how to end him.” Lionel cursed himself for a fool when his azure eyes went wet without warning. “But the cost will be my life.”

Penelope listened intently to what the warrior had to say. Yes, Lionel had vanished, but none of it added up since the two were on opposite planes of the world. He was always a fighter, a defender of evil, while she helped the ill. Their paths never crossed often. Perhaps he was always lucky, but now, darkness was settling in. Kahran was still roaming. The woman had heard rumor of Kahran. A twist pulled her stomach as she listened to the man who was captured. Did people know? Were people searching for him? There was a ping in her chest at the thought. “It doesn’t have to just be you,” she spurts out, but he continues as he grabs her hand. The woman looks down as he shows her comfort, but she shakes her head slightly. “So he’s an illusionist…?” She is cut off by his continuous tale of Kahran. The woman shakes her head repeatedly, but she halts as his eyes begin to water. Her heart swells and her throat grows tighter, but she does not fall into the trap of sorrow. “You’re not going to die. I…” could she promise? She was not brave. She was not a warrior. “Lithrydel needs you. Let me do something. Anything.” The woman leans in. “Listen, you can’t sacrifice yourself. We can figure something out. Please, Lionel. Let me help you,” her hand grows tighter around his.

Lionel felt guilty for taking a measure of solace in knowing that Penelope’s pleas were from the heart. He wished he had more time; even ‘a day or two.’ But his words had held an unspoken clause: Kahran would be searching for him now, and wherever Lionel happened to be when the wicked creature found him would doubtless be destroyed. “I’m sorry, Penelope. More than I can ever hope to say. I used to have time -- time to live my life -- but I spent it all in pursuit of the road ahead of me. I had time and I never stopped to realize it.” Some part of him was aware that he was practically talking in circles now, and it was, in essence… a waste of the time that they did not even have to begin with. “I suppose I had too much time, in a way; too much time to slow down, because it was enough to keep one step ahead of our enemies. But maybe… too much is never enough.” He sighed. “I’d give almost anything in exchange for one more day inside this life. But this isn’t about numbers; I could bring no one else with me to this battle or every single person in Lithrydel, and it wouldn’t matter at all. We could throw all the men and women who have ever stood at our side at Kahran and it wouldn’t make a difference -- the only thing we would achieve for our effort is to watch our allies die. An army can be stopped with an army,” Lionel paused, “or I suppose in cases such as the saurians, with a very lucky little group of travelers. But Kahran can only be stopped with the one thing that I have learned gives his regenerative capabilities genuine pause.” The Catalian motioned to it -- the sword that he carried with him since adolescence, everywhere he went, slaying his foes along the way. That glowing red blade, housing the vengeful spirit of a fallen race within its steel. Hellfire. “Ishaarite magic can pierce Kahran in ways that nothing else has. It’s why I’ve lived long enough in prior encounters to escape his grasp. No simple piercing is going to do the trick, though. And nothing can emulate Ishaarite magic either. Nor can Hellfire alone hope to destroy him.” Lionel brought his free hand over his chest. “Hellfire’s Ishaarite spirit is within me. It has always been within me, since the first time I wielded the blade. The centralized might of Halycanos is not the sword itself, but the spirit that dwells inside of me. It cannot be removed without my death. It cannot be sundered save for if I fall. It’s a bomb, Penelope, a bomb that has anchored me to this world and given me all the time that was never enough to live my years without stopping to catch my breath. And the only way we can save this world is to bring it to zero.”

Penelope’s world was spinning. Lionel was alone, and as he said, he did not have a day nor two to spare on thinking of another plan. The girl remains stoic as he speaks to her and confesses the cruelty and power that the enemy has over the warrior and the citizens of Lithrydel. He speaks of the magic that can kill Kahran that rests inside him. The healer is silent for a long while, and the woman has her gaze set elsewhere as he speaks. The witty woman cannot accept the fate. The hero needed to risk his life, but her selfishness was too strong. The woman was not thinking about the people for once. The woman was thinking about the family he had. The people who needed him the most. Penelope Halifax also thought of when the bloodshed would happen. Lionel’s death. The girl would not be able to revive him, and she was not willing to accept that fate. It was selfishness. For her own sanity. “Lanara,” she says without looking at him. “The woman knows magic. Can’t she help? I don’t know much about the arts of magic, but if you needed to die, cannot she help?” Moss eyes finally fall on him and her gaze is stone serious. “I know the fate of Lithrydel lies upon you. I know, Lionel. I know we don’t have time—“ she cuts off and falls short. The woman hunches her back over the cot and stares down at the sheets beneath him. A breath is let out almost in defeat, but her eyes slowly dance their way back to him. “I let you down in the saurian war… So… let me come with you. Let me be there when… when you make and take the final blow. Let me –try- to revive you, for I couldn’t take this information and dare not do anything about it, for you say it’s too late and it’s all we have left if you refuse to take more time.” She leans in closer and her voice turns into a whisper. “I will let you live through your honor. I will trust you as you request, but please, for the love of it all, let me be with you.” The woman is now trying to search in his eyes for an acceptance. “Please, Lionel. You can’t be alone,” her voice is soft and full of velvet. A plead. She knew she could not persuade the man to take more time, so why not be by his side?

Lionel had only ever felt such absolute resolve in a belief once previously. It was the evening that the vampire Elazul slew Lionel’s wife through control of his own body. The sickness which followed, the need for revenge and spiritual cleansing in equal measure, was unlike anything else he had ever experienced. And in truth, whatever it was that he felt now was foreign to that evening; foreign and new. The feelings weren’t comparable, but the resolve held just as firmly now as it did back then. For all Penelope’s talk of Lionel’s ‘honor,’ and the burden on his shoulders, and all of those things, he had prepared for those sentences. He could practically hear them ringing in his ears before he even told her about this. So as she spoke them, he seldom flinched; his fate was predetermined, his death had to happen. What Lionel hadn’t expected was that the woman would still have a request even after she acquiesced. In his head, this was going to be the part where Penelope understood the fullness of what awaited him and said goodbye. That he shouldn’t be alone when Kahran would inevitably appear, and that she would still do everything in her power and even someone else’s to revive him -- he hadn’t foreseen any of it. Truly, there were times when Lionel O’Connor could be the blindest man alive. What could he say? To deny Penelope this small yet infinitely meaningful gesture felt cold as ice. “Alright.”

Penelope blinked at the man when the simple ‘alright’ passed through his lips, but she would not back down. “Alright then,” she stares at him for a beat before looking off. “Let’s work on getting you on your feet for now. You need nourishment. It might help you regain your strength,” she stood up slowly, and her hand was still latched to his. She gave him a small reassuring squeeze. “Lionel, you’re going to be okay,” but she knew those words would mean nothing to him. No one knew what life would be after death, though Penelope was close once and she had found peace in the thought. The only thing she had hoped was for the warrior to find peace as well. “I’m going to go make you something to eat. Then after we will try to get you on your feet.” Her hand slips out from his and for a moment, she feels empty in this conversation. “Yerrel will be in to make the room smell better,” she smirks lightly. “He will also do a check up on those deep gashes Lanara patched for you on the beach.” The herbalist inches towards the door and in an ever-so-soothing voice she parts her lips, “For now, close your eyes and relax, although it’s hard. We will be on guard. I promise. I’ll let the others know,” she nods to him in reassurance before hesitantly parting away from him.