RP:Healers and Dealers

From HollowWiki

Part of the Sauriangate Arc


This is a Warrior's Guild RP.


Synopsis: Lionel and Penelope host their second encounter together within the Knight-Commander's westernmost Frostmawian troop encampment. Humor ensues, but the Catalian's chief aim is to extend an offer for the healer to join his forces in a pending Warrior's Guild operation to Northern Sage, near Larket. Toward the end, Khitti arrives with an offer of her own to the man -- come with her and their shared companions on a journey to scour whatever remains of the fallen Raeiz's cavernous abode.


Frostmaw: Lake Frysta

Lionel arrives at the half-frozen shores of Lake Frysta by the first light of the sun, two hours before anyone else in his battalion. He needs the space. He needs the solitude. The man crosses his legs and sits upon the pebbly ice, dressed in his cloak and with his horse free for the roaming at a nearby post. His outpost here, is mostly intact even when it is not in use; it’s become too regularly-manned to disassemble on the fly. There are enemies of Frostmaw, enemies of Lithrydel, lurking in the shadows in these parts -- he knows it, he’s lost men and women to it. Even if he does not know what it is, he knows it could spring at any moment. That is another reason to be here so early, after all. Lionel sits and he meditates. He thinks about a great many things before successfully clearing his mind; so much pressure, so much stress. When at last his troops hike up from the southeast road, they immediately move to their tents without so much as greeting their relaxing commander. They know full well he’s fine. They understand he is busy. Planning. Strategizing. Troop deployments, angry merchants, elected representatives with squabbling schemes. All of it flashes through his head, bitterly. Lionel rises and steps through the encampment, ascends a ladder to the scout tower and surveys the horizon. Nothing. He will then step out into the nearby treeline, alone.


Penelope was lost, okay? As much as she did travel, foreign areas were foreign areas. Unfortunately, the woman was alone in this journey. The last moment this happened, well, she had almost signed herself under a magical curse because she found herself attracted to an enchanted quill that a sleezy merchant had displayed on a table where all the vendors were settled. Thank goodness for Krice. However, she was positive the silver-haired man found her as a naïve nuisance, but the pen had a strong magical force. The human could not help being attracted to shiny rose gold pens (amiright?). The woman finds herself deeper within the snowy forests. It was early morning, but Penelope never rested well and Mr. Fennigan never noticed because he snored like a troll. She was not that naïve, she knew she was going someplace that she should not have especially due to the war, but a curious mind wanders. Eventually, she finds herself standing afar from an icy lake, and with no hesitation, the woman slides down a small snowy slope before she pops back up and maneuvers yonder west, with nothing but a yellow knapsack on her back, to stare at what would be partially frozen falls to stare idly at glistening ice. No indication that there was a war camp settled in the area. It was all worth the danger, really.


Lionel is lost on the inside. Lionel’s writer took Penelope’s writer’s first sentence and did something new with it, because he’s meta like that. Anyway, Lionel is, yes, spiritually and emotionally rather much the basketcase. But physically? He knows exactly where he is, as well he should considering not only is one of his primary military outposts stationed here but also his house. He’s also very attuned to the slightest peculiar sounds, being that he is a heroic figure of some renown and all that high-fangled star-spangled jazz. So it is rather quick that he tilts his head toward the noise of a relatively light figure sliding down a nearby slope, and he ducks behind a tree to gain a better vantage point of this unknown interloper. All he can make out is a knapsack, the color yellow, but the figure itself is feminine and familiar. Even from her backside, it is unmistakably Penelope. Not wishing to startle her, Lionel opts to call out from afar. “This is a weird place to bump into you,” is his greeting, “and by weird, I mean really weird.”


Penelope automatically turns to stone as she hears the voice of another. The voice is familiar and her heart is slightly racing. Hands adjust on the straps of her battered knapsack and she slowly pivots around. She is bundled from head to toe. A black headband to keep her ears warm as the rest of her hair falls freely and clings to her cold-sweated face. A dark grey puffy coat hugs her torso, she wears black fingerless gloves, a pair of black denim, as usual, and black boots with a furred outline. She was not determined to freeze over today. She does not look clean and proper like she usually does (Sabrina would shun her for sure). Her head is canted towards the direction of the voice, but unfortunately her sight for distance is not that strong. She appears chipper. “Strange, isn’t it? I think I have a curse of meeting people at abnormal times,” she teases. She shuffles forward, but keeps her distance still. “Thought some exercise would do me good, bring some color to my cheeks,” she expresses with a simple shrug of her shoulders as she finally releases the straps on her knapsack.


Lionel flashes an easygoing smirk and makes note of how warmly-dressed Penelope is; by contrast, he seems all too lightly attired. His black silks are thin and the even thinner mithril underneath cannot possibly ward off the cold. So what is it about the man which keeps him so warm? Even his leather trousers seem better-suited to springtime. “Exercise is never a bad idea,” he agrees, “but in weather like this, you might just as soon take color out of them.” You’re one to talk, Lionel, dressed as you are. And yet his cheeks seem as vibrant as ever. If cheeks can be described as vibrant, in any case. How bizarre! The Catalian takes a few casual steps to approach Penelope, although there’s strength in his stride which he cannot mask. For Lionel, learning to control his steps has been one of the hardest ‘simple’ things he’s ever done; accustomed to life on the run, he’s always moved with odd haste, but with his Frostmawian rank it has been suggested -- by a queen, no less -- that he slow his roll a little bit. “Well, my northwesternmost military encampment is quite closeby. Would you care for a meal?” Up above, birds are chirping noisily, as birds are want to do.


Penelope softens her gaze at his remark. Her cheeks are still pale, her lips appear almost purple, but she does not seem phased. Well, at least around him, most people, really. As he moves her direction, she gazes over his attire, but she makes no comment. Instead, she holds back her snarky remarks for once. She is not surprised my his invitation, the man seemed generous towards the girl so far, and perhaps, maybe even a new friend, even if he was still new to her eyes. “A meal sounds good, I probably should get something in my stomach before I head back,” she points a thumb backwards. “Military encampment? In this cold weather? The things you guys do,” she mumbles, she then looks over him again at his lack of dress, but she still makes nothing of it. “Is this basically where you stay all day?” And, well, if he began to walk again, she would trail behind him.


Lionel is walking again the very second Penelope agrees, his smirk having turned to a bright determined veneer instantaneously. The man does nothing slowly. “It’d be comforting if evil just kind of gave up come winter,” the knight-commander remarks wryly. “Alas, it does not. Heck, some demons thrive on this. Can you believe that?” He gestures around him as they move. “This!” His voice is toying, but his expression is truly incredulous. “Demons, I’ll tell ya. They just wouldn’t know a good thing if it smacked them on their demonic faces.” It isn’t long before they’re coming into range. Twelve tents in total, two cookfires at the center. Two guard posts, each roughly nine meters at the ladder. An open forge at the far east edge of the perimeter and the frozen Lake Frysta just behind it all. “I have thirty-seven troops stationed here, but we rotate regularly because, y’know, nobody wants to live here.” He pauses awkwardly. “Well. That being said, I live literally three-odd miles from here. But, ah, nobody but me would ever want to live here.” He clears his throat clumsily as they enter the encampment; immediately, a slender young man with an overeager tone chimes announcement. “Now enters Knight-Commander O’Connor!” Lionel wipes beneath his eye absentmindedly, stifling a yawn. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here, I’m here. Say, uh… Michelob?” He squints. The recruit shakes his head nervously. “Michaelangelo?” Another nervous shake. “...Mischa…?” A third shake and a quick correction. “It’s Ralph, if it please m’lord.” Lionel blinks. “Are you sure?” The recruit blinks back. “Y, yes m’lord.” Lionel fidgets. “Huh. Well, Ralph, what’s for breakfast? The lady’s starved. Me, I could go for a light snack.” He tries to sound modest. He fails. “M’lord, we have muffins and sausages and porridge and hot coffee.” Lionel snaps his fingers. “How’s that sound to you, m’lady?”


Penelope has one of those cheesy fat grins on her face again as he talks. She found the commander amusing and she would do her best to keep up with his brisk step. “Hence why they’re demonic, everything bitter is good,” she adds as she raises a single digit and a snicker. As they come upon the camp, she slows as he walks forward. The tents reminded her of the village she had used to stay at when she vanished for those two years. “Three miles? That’s convenient, almost,” her voice is trailing now as she keeps an even more distanced pace behind him as she takes in the various soldiers, and then staring at the one chanting Lionel’s official name. She looks mesmerized and hesitant for a brief moment before she follows after the important man. The freckled human adjusts the pack on her back before staring with a flat expression towards the recruit. She is silent for the meantime, this setting was foreign to her, which meant foreign Penelope. A little more stern than usual. She blinks at the awkward interaction before moving her gaze towards something else to avoid the tension of Lionel not even knowing the names of his own soldiers. As she addressed, mossy eyes fall back on the knight-commander. “Just fine. Hot coffee and porridge sounds perfect – anything warm will do,” she gives a gentle smile before nodding politely.


Lionel did not expect such a witty retort from the woman -- his failure to predict, no doubt, since he ought to be well aware by now she’s sharp-tongued. Indeed, it is precisely what initially interested him about her, so it should come as no surprise that she continues the tradition. “Bitter,” he repeats with friendly snark, not quite realizing Penelope has trailed behind him in wonder. Lionel doesn’t seem too mystified by his lack of familiarity; perhaps that’s something he’ll need a rude awakening over at a later date. There are so many soldiers in and out of his battalion on their way to higher ranks, the way he sees it, although he’s certainly become closer with several. “That sounds spiffy,” he nods his approval at her request. What a vocabulary, this guy. Looking ahead, he notes one particularly close subordinate holding a copper bowl full of porridge in both hands and slurping at it slowly. Her name is Briar Ku Risu, and she is in fact his permanent assistant, manager of his affairs, and a knight in her own right. She is the woman Penelope might have seen on her way out from Pilar’s room several evenings past; she’d been calling to him for paperwork. When she speaks, her tone is similar -- it does not seem likely Lady Briar knows the meaning of the word ‘casual.’ “Lionel, good morning, ser. And… Miss…?” Briar creases her brow, concentrating. “Ah, wait, I know. Miss Penelope, I believe? Lionel has told me about you.” She tilts the porridge into one hand, offering the other in a shake, even as Lionel steps wayward to fetch a bowl’s worth for Penelope. He has not quite returned, yet, and she should be able to see, and barely hear, that he’s requesting some coffee for her. For all his stature, for all his rank, the lad does not seem to understand any member of his squadron would gladly fetch breakfast for them both. He’d sooner do it himself.


Penelope is following Lionel about like a lost, yet confident, puppy. His use of vocabulary makes the girl have to bite back her lip to hold her contagious grin. She was always full of giggles, or was she? The outer-shell, of course. Either way, she keeps herself in awe as she slowly makes her way behind Lionel until Briar reaches for the healer’s attention. Her eyes rest on the woman’s. Oh, the stern woman. This should be fun to play the proper game. The freckled girl nods to confirm that Briar Ku Risu does, indeed, have the right name. “Miss Penelope, yes, and you are?” A small hand extends out to shake the familiar woman’s hand firmly. Of course Penelope wanted to guess that this was Lionel’s famous assistant, but she could not connect the dots directly like she could. ‘Lionel has told me about you’. This throws Penelope off her high-horse for a split moment. Eyes would sneak a glance at the man who his summoning a cup of coffee and would return to Briar’s with a squint. “I guess I tend to make my impressions sweeter than most,” she smiles rather shyly towards the almost intimidating woman. “Lionel is a light and pleasant soul, and has been very generous towards me and Mr. Fennigan on our travels. I’m assuming you two are rather close, yes?”


Lionel is fetching porridge. Oh, the hard-knocks life he leads. “No, seriously, I just need two cups,” he pleads, but the strong-armed and thick-skinned head cook shakes her head in the style of no nonsense and points to the crudely-written sign: ‘one cup per customer.’ Lionel is in disbelief. “You do realize I’m the Knight-Commander, yes?” The cook shakes her head, then taps her chin, then nods -- her way of saying she’s only just realized? “Well, then, do as I say!” Lionel’s tone fails to impress and she shakes her head, crossing her arms. Elsewhere, Briar is similarly failing -- failing to disguise her embarrassment at her lack of introduction, that is. Her eyes widen and she covers her mouth. “I apologize, Miss Penelope! My name is Briar Ku Risu. I am a knight serving Lord Lionel.” She says it all so quickly that one word practically folds into the next, but she does so with a practiced air of refinement; it’s a trick for hiding anxiety. Lionel’s hands, on the other hand -- a bad pun, his author is very sorry -- are moving around rapidly as his astonishment continues. “I’m getting some for my friend!” The chef shrugs wordlessly. “A friend! An… honored guest!” Another wordless shrug. Oh, again, what woe is Lionel. Briar smiles warmly at Penelope’s description of her boss, slightly bowing in a display of humbleness befitting the occasion. “He is a generous man, he…” she trails off. Whatever it is she might have said, she now refrains. Quickly making up for lost time, Briar continues with, “I began my service to him nine days after he took the mantle as defender of peace here in Frostmaw. He returned from many years elsewhere, although in secret he kept vigil over Lithrydel for further signs of Dark Immortals and their ilk. We are… um, yes well, I would say we share a certain bond. I do my best to serve him, although in truth, he tends to march to his own drum, if you will take my meaning. This lifestyle is very different for him.” Just then, Lionel returns, a cup of coffee in either hand. In his wake, a strong-armed and thick-skinned woman is wordlessly flailing up a storm. He hands one to Penelope, then gives her some porridge right along with it. “Yo,” he says. Literally yo.


Penelope watches Lionel as he acts like an immature child trying to fetch the two porridge. He did have some work to do. However, the human is now focused on the woman knight. ‘My name is Briar Ku Risu.’ The frail druid then brightens at the name. “Briar!” She sounds overly ecstatic, the controlled behavior disappears for a split second. “Of course I know who you are,” she says this warmly. However, maybe what was said about Briar was not a gleeful comment. They both had nagging tutors. However, she had respect for the woman all together. Someone so organized was something Penelope idolized. “Lionel has spoken word, I just have troubles with names and faces at times. How lovely you keep him on track,” she is listening to the background, his voice is making her want to cringe in embarrassment for him. Perhaps she would teach him a thing or two about theater. Who knew? ‘He tends to march his own drum’ this was something Penelope knew too well. “Something so formal does not come to people so naturally. Takes practice, I’m sure eventually he’ll get the hang of it, surely. Especially when he has someone as helpful as yourself. I say you two are doing quite well,” wow, the girl had very well practiced her etiquette that Sabrina requested. A pro when wanted to be, she was not tongue-tied. She gestures to the military camp until her hand knocks Lionel in the arm as he approaches, almost bumping the coffee until she reaches out to save anything from spilling onto him. “Hi,” she says stumbled and sheepish before she takes the coffee and porridge. Did he just say ‘yo’? This makes Penelope relax automatically, and her sparkly attitude is in full gear again. She was so close to pulling off that etiquette. She then makes herself poised again before letting the cup hover underneath lips. “Thanks for going through the troubles, M’lord,” she hides her snicker and then sips on the hot liquid. She does not let his failed attempt go unnoticed. However, she is thankful and keeps her bubbly presence at direct cue.


Lionel is so thrilled to have acquired enough coffee and porridge that he almost completely fails to hear many of the things Penelope is saying to Briar, and vice versa. For Briar’s part, she’s all smiles now, relaxing rather quickly in light of a girl so exuberant. It’s a surprisingly good mix. “Oh, come now,” Briar says with a hand wave, “really, it’s nothing, but I appreciate the kind words, Miss Penelope. And for yourself, you and your Mr. --” she’s interrupted, however, by that thrilled Lionel and all his porridge.”Hi,” Lionel replies to Penelope, grinning. Why did he say ‘hi’ back after having opened with ‘yo’? Because he’s Lionel, and he plays by his own rules, as always. Also, did she just say ‘m’lord?’ She did, didn’t she? Lionel is visibly flustered for the amount of time it might take a bolt of lightning to strike ground -- that is to say, it vanishes with great speed, replaced by his very best smirk. The game is ever-afoot with her. “Yes, well, a man of good conscience does not let a lass go without eating in his own abode,” he says, but his tone drips humor, much to his own chagrin. “I really did try to say that with a straight face.” Briar bites her lip, then folds her arms in jest. “That you even tried, my lord, is progress enough for me this year.” She bows again. “If you’ll please excuse me, Miss Penelope, but duty calls and one of us two must needs listen.” She steps between the two of them with a well-timed hand through her hair to accentuate to her superior officer that she’s thoroughly enjoyed this brief distraction. By the time she’s gone, Lionel is slurping into his breakfast and sipping deeply of his coffee, and he’ll lead the way closer to a cookfire if Penelope will tag along. “Come on,” he offers. “No sense standing anywhere else. If it gets much colder out here we’ll be icicles standing guard.” Yet he still doesn’t seem remotely chilled, himself. “So tell me, -m’lady’ Penelope,” he winks, “something about yourself.”


Penelope likes that he can keep up with her, it keeps her smiling. Does she ever not smile? It’s almost hurts the narrator’s cheeks when Penelope cannot quit the thick grin plastered on her freckly face. “Twas a great try!” She concludes. “Maybe next time,” she crinkles her nose. She then nods towards Briar. “Pleasure, truly. Hopes to see you around, Lady Briar,” she responds simply. Penelope proceeds to sip on the hot contents of coffee. As Lionel gestures, the baker is automatic when following his footsteps. “You read my mind,” she responds, however the coffee is helping the poor girl stay warm, her lips are turning back to their pale pink color. The woman then slurping down porridge now as she proceeds closer to the fire, she was hungry. As Lionel winks her direction, the girl begins to turn a little flustered, and she swallows whatever porridge is in her mouth. She seems thrown off-guard by his suggestion. “Err. Something about me, right…” She is trailing. What was really something about her that could not lead to other questions? Nothing really. “I’ve never been truly settled, I tend to wander a lot, however, I’m sure you could’ve guessed that, considering I made it here,” she smirks. “However, I was originally born in Cenril, close to the sea. So you can imagine how different this climate is for me.” This was simple, right? A simple origin. So harmless.


Lionel isn’t quite oblivious to Penelope’s fluster. If he were to verbalize the word that pops into his scattered mind at that exact instant, it’d be ‘cute.’ Mercifully, he does not verbalize it. Instead, he plays the patient actor, his ever-expressive eyes catching fire’s gleam to double the rampant curious anticipation in his gaze and his fingers tapping his half-emptied bowl gingerly. When she speaks, he nods eagerly -- always so passionate, this Lionel, through sorrows and through joys alike. But then it dawns upon him that his response could lead to all sorts of questions, too. How best to word his agreement? How best to keep things clipped? The last thing he wants to do so soon into meeting Penelope is daunt her, bogging her down with long dark tales of his saga. Thoughts to this effect prompt him to wonder if she might have something of a saga of her own. Is there more to this Cenrilite than she claims? An intriguing question, but for now he’d best speak up fast or she’ll start to wonder. “We’re both wanderers, then,” he begins. There. Nice and easy, Lionel. Don’t break any emotion-bones. They don’t mend easily. “Born in Catal, but I was on the run from an early age.” Oh, hell. He overdid it. ‘On the run.’ That could lead to follow-ups. Well, best to continue. “Came here as a young lad of fifteen. I got caught-up in heroes fighting villains and I was always on the move. Why settle, right? There’s a whole world to see. So I tried my best to go and see it. Cenril, though -- that’s where I first touched ground here in Lithrydel. I used to spend a great deal of time by the shore, and I frequented a little bakery deeper into the city.” What was its name? It’s on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t recall.


Penelope nods along, but all the while, she remains eating the porridge. Small girl, big appetite. No shame. She then cants her head. Catal? ‘On the run’? Now, that was not something that he should have said to such a nosy girl. Although she was private about her life, she always tend to stick her nose in places it did not belong. She parts her lips as if to ask something, and then he continues cutting her off, which was probably the best thing because now she is distracted on his rant. She agrees with a few more nods and ‘mhms’ until he speaks of Cenril. “Fifteen, that is so young,” she expresses. At fifteen, well... let us just put it that she was not in Cenril at that point. As he speaks of a bakery. “Mrs. Mallard’s,” she pipes up and interrupts him. “Mrs. Mallard is definitely the sweetest, I’ve worked there for a long while, I started at the age of nineteen and worked full time until a couple years ago. Now, I just work part-time,” she says casually. She was twenty-six now, almost twenty-seven. Holy cow that was a long time to work at a bakery. “Healing and all,” that could have meant anything, though to him, it would have probably meant practicing healing. She clears her throat before focusing back onto him. “Catal? I’ve never heard of that. Sounds foreign,” then again, it was.


Lionel is living proof that the best solution to a great many dilemmas is to talk a lot. Lionel is wholly unaware that his whole lot of talking has saved him from some potentially long stories earlier than he’d think Penelope would desire, but as he listens along to her, genuinely interested and enjoying her replies, it comes as a bit of a jolt at the end that she should inquire about Catal. Has he become so accustomed to all of Frostmaw knowing his land? Or maybe he’s still thinking it’s ten, eleven years ago, and the word still holds significant weight abroad. Times have changed, and even then, outside his circle, folk here never really knew -- or cared -- where he was from, just so long as he kept the demons at bay. “Mrs. Mallard’s,” Lionel repeats the words, slowly, deftly bypassing Penelope’s comment of youth in favor of happier shores. “That’s where you worked? By the sounds of it, I’d just missed you; I stopped my regular visits when I returned to Catal for a time.” There’s that word again, Catal, but he’s not quite ready to divulge. “I was twenty-two when I departed. Twenty-nine now. Yep, that tracks.” He literally unfurls his fingers to count, though, for good measure. “Catal. Ah, it’s quite foreign, lass. You’d cross the Demon Archipelago far off Rynvale, then move through San Jerique, although it’s all dust and sand. Across the Amaranthine and it’s on to the ruins of Ishaara, an ancient elven empire that’s nothing but mist and impossibly tall buildings with total vacancy, if you take my meaning. Just so happens that that’s where I acquired the parts to build my sword, Hellfire, many years ago. Then it’s a relatively straight course through Dragonsail and Vyrantium, and a sail through Velth and into Catal.” He nods, there to present an aura of wisdom. But he speaks of it all so lightly, as if it’s as common a journey as can be. Lionel crossed much of the known world and many parts Lithrydelians will have never seen on any map.


Penelope tilted her head towards his direction. “I think that the world needed us to wait to meet. I’m sure we were two different individuals back then, I wouldn’t have been ready to meet you. I’m sure of it. I wouldn’t have allowed it,” her tone was playful, but there was a hint of truth behind this. She was still uneasy meeting others. A soft demeanor was one thing, the inside of Penelope was another. She has not cracked yet since she had been back from her own journey. She tries to follow the directions he was offering to her. There were so many. He journeyed so far away from his origin. “You’re quite a long ways away to journey to Cenril, back, and then back to the lands again. You have a lot of time on your hands. You’ve travelled much more than me, that’s clear. My lack of settling is an understatement compared to yours,” then again, so did she. “Although, dust and sand from San Jerique sounds about nice right now, makes me want to visit there next,” she eases the conversation and drinks down the rest of her coffee in her hand. “Unfortunately, my duty is here, and when I say here, I mean well, you know what I mean.”


Lionel is again caught rather well off-guard when Penelope speaks of a world in need of waiting. He had not expected that. Even though she’s playful, he wonders if she’s being coy, and not for the first time. There are several layers to this lass, and likely more than that. “Maybe you’re right,” he grins faux-conspiratorially. ‘I’m glad you’re ready to meet me now.’ He doesn’t say it, but he thinks it. She’s just a right fine person to be around. Lionel is no longer ashamed to admit -- to himself -- that he needs people like Penelope in his life. “In a certain sense, I do have a lot of time on my hands. Or at least I did for a… time.” He fails to find another word in time. Now, even his author is sounding redundant. Whoops. “Even in those distant travels, I was spreading word of the evils we’d fought here in Lithrydel, and fighting in smaller-scale skirmishes in other realms. I wish it weren’t so, lass, but there is at least one war never-ending in our world, and those that follow the opposing banner are not the sort we’d want to share our porridge with.” The way he says it, she can tell he means it, but he’ll do what he can not to break from chipper conversational tone. He doesn’t want to frighten her, or make her uneasy, or anything of the sort, but he can’t make total light of these matters. “Ah, San Jerique. It is unusually warm all throughout the year, ‘tis true. I never quite enjoyed it in the current, but looking back, it sure beats Lake Frysta in winter.” He laughs. “I know what you mean,” he smiles, finishing his coffee in one epic gulp. “Speaking of which. I have… an odd request of sorts. I’ve received word of some manner of strange beast or beasts in Northern Sage, not far off from Larket. Matters are complicated, politically; I can’t dispatch troops. Tension in the air right now between these kingdoms… it’s… it’s complicated,” he repeats. “Instead, I’ll be mobilizing the Warrior’s Guild. Our numbers are thin. We could use a healer. It’d pay well, and I’d ensure you weren’t close to the front lines when we track this beast down. It’s been wreaking havoc on the countryside, and…” He pauses. “Well, it’d be experience for you. And I could keep you safe. It should be a routine op, but the circumstances are difficult.”


Penelope cants her head as he appears jumbled in his own wording. However, as impulsive as the woman was, there came a patience and a soft focus. The woman now appears stoic as he mentions the great dangers, she knew when to be serious. Life was not all fun and games, as much as she would like it to be. No, the healer knew all too well. “Well, with every evil, comes a past, and even though they’re not you’re cup of tea now, they sure as hell got brought to a point where they reached destruction mentally. Breaking points. Someone tore them. Unfortunately, for most, it’s hard to get them back to full recovery, and they take it out on the innocent,” she shrugs, her tone is more stern and conversational at this point. She inhales before exhaling a very light chuckle, “Although it doesn’t beat the beauty, I’m sure of it,” she would then finish idly devouring her porridge while he spoke of his ‘odd request’. As she is asked to come tag along with the Warrior’s Guild, she begins to cough as the porridge gets stuck in her throat. She hovers a little, her cheeks are hot with crimson hue. She places a hand on her chest idly as she is taken aback. “You want –me- to be a standby healer? I...” She is lost for words. ‘I could keep you safe’ she might have had a hard time trusting that. “Err.. Mr. Fennigan…” Suddenly she is stuffing the porridge into his chest on autopilot. For some odd reason, something has nerved her? She is silent for a long time. “When do we depart? You tell me now? Couldn’t have sent word earlier? If I’m going, I’ve got lots to study and little time to do it, and Finn is coming too,” her words are coming out like word vomit, although she sounds mostly flustered that she is not prepared for such a thing rather than irritant. She was a ticking time bomb of strange reactions. This is a side to Penelope that Mr. Fennigan was the one to most likely seen. She was not as easy going as she appeared. Stuffing the porridge in his chest was a sign that it was almost time for her departure if she was going to go on a healing voyage.


Lionel enjoys Penelope’s moralistic relativism -- she’s not wrong. In most cases, evil is a matter of perspective. On most occasions, black and white are two sides of the self-same coin. And even within that most dreaded of wars he’s now referenced, there were moments like the ones she’s described. Even Khasad had… no, forget it. Something in the man’s heart tugs in ways he’ll never be free from. Penelope’s slurping remnant porridge now, and that’s a far better thing to focus on. And what is Lionel’s expression for all this emotional whiplash? An easy smile, donned like a mask to keep from breaking down. It’s a hard thing, avoiding an overwhelming sense of loss when the fallen hero starts down memory lane, but comparably simple to remain outwardly at peace. It might go a long way toward explaining how naive he is over his own vocabulary -- telling a woman he’ll protect her means aiming to establish himself in some limelight position, and it’s a damned fool forward thing to say besides which. Her doubts are perfectly reasonable; Lionel’s as ahead of himself as ever. It’s just about time for him to realize this when suddenly there’s a bowl and it’s been thrust upon his chest; then the girl is silent, and the boy is left to wonder, but then she fires up and asks all these questions, and her voice is swift and her eyes seem intent. “Um,” the man replies, clumsily of course and utterly dull. “Well, we’ll be leaving in about two weeks time, and I’ll be holding a meeting to discuss the particulars sometime before then. You could… I mean, that is to say…” Oh come now, Lionel, you can end the tyrannies of Wraithen Immortal Warlords but a Cenrilite’s got your tongue? “I’m sorry I didn’t mention this sooner,” he admits, and he exhales now as if a weight has been lifted. His tone is genuinely regretful, but he regains his smile and issues a vintage little thumbs-up. For some reason. “But hey, I just… you know, when I first met you I instantly wanted to ask, but it seemed so forward, right? ‘Hey, come endanger yourself for the greater good. With me. Let’s do this.’ I mean, what kind of request is that? Who even -says- that?” You do, Lionel O’Connor. You do. “So I waited. And then we ran into those weirdos together. What was that guy’s name? The bear guy? You know who I mean. And then we kept bumping into eachother and now here we are! And I’m asking. So… I should have asked sooner. But I know you’ll do rad out there. I do.”


Penelope shakes her head instantly as he speaks. “Well, don’t apologize for it. I’m not hurt,” she begins, but she holds her tongue and lets him finish. She then nods, purses her lips – she understood. She was on his level. He was right. Her shoulders slightly ease down – two weeks – would she be prepared in two weeks? “You’re right, I would’ve said no,” she says this flatly. The girl had been through several incidents where danger was involved with scars to prove it mental and physical. This was something she was not particularly fond of. Unfortunately, she hated to say this, but she was absolutely mortified to step out of her own comfort zone. In her mind, there are explosions of visions and ‘what ifs’. ‘I know you’ll do rad out there. I do.’ That was what they all said – well, not in Lionel’s choice of vocabulary, but some type of words of encouragement. Besides all the questions and demands, the girl is quite impulsive either way. “I just don’t want your expectations to be so high. Unfortunately as beings, we tend to let our imaginations run wild. I don’t want that to happen to you, Lionel. This is not going to be some bravely mission for me. I am a practicum. Quick-witted, yet still getting a grip on the ropes. If something happens, there is no guarantee I can help, but Finn can,” beat. “Also,” she lifts a finger, “this does not mean I am insecure, I am wonderful,” she tilts her chin, and then lowers a finger. “Just not as wonderful as I can be right now. Do not make me out to be something that I can’t fulfill. If you can do that, I.. can run it by Fennigan, contemplate, and send word back to you.” So basically, yes.


Khitti was not entirely pleased she had to wander all this way just to find the wielder of Hellfire, but really, when was she ever pleased to see Lionel? She'd gone from the tavern to the fort, in an attempt to seek him out there, but was, of course, turned away. So, in typical Khitti fashion, she darted out the western gate of the city, nearly elf-like in her movements, though much faster thanks to that lovely vampiric speed of hers. She didn't hate the journey by any means--for she felt freer now than she had been in months--she just liked having any sort of excuse to give Lionel a hard time. She finally found herself at the entrance to the warrior's camp, a faint smirk crossing her lips. It was reminiscent of Hildegarde's war camp and -that- did not bring back fond memories. The black-clad female pushed through the unfortunately busy area, getting a few looks here and there for that short skirt on her favorite black dress all the way out here in the middle of the winter wonderland, the leather duster worn over it barely hiding those bare legs. The equally dark boots she wore didn't help much either against the wind, but none of that bothered her in the slightest. Emerald eyes peer out from beneath the hood that was pulled up over her head, a frown lining her lips. Where the hell was he? She couldn't make heads or tails in terms of smell, there was just too many people here, too much going on. So, she kept up her search until she reached the center of the camp, standing on her toes occasionally to peer over shoulders when needed. Damn this short height of hers. And then...then, she manages to spot him and some girl. It didn't take her long to close the gap between them all, that smirk of hers finding it's home on her pale lips again, "I swear, Lionel, don't you have more important zhings to do zhan hit on pretty girls all zhe vay out here in zhe middle of nowhere?" Her words weren't malicious by any means, but there was a decent amount of snark in her tone.


Lionel is somehow put at ease by Penelope’s flat-toned response. In truth, he’s just glad she hasn’t stormed off or outright questioned his awkwardness. Either reaction might be warranted. He can be a very awkward man. When she’s almost finished, another sadness flickers at the back of his brain like a never-forgotten scar. It’s the woman’s notation of inexperience. Lionel would be ravaged if something were to happen to her -- he’s lost too many. That thin facade of ever-convincing smiles is on the verge of fragile shatter when Penelope’s pep resumes. ‘I am wonderful,’ she says, and it echoes in his head and snaps him back into honest-to-goodness laughter. “No worries,” he answers. “I understand completely.” He cants and hands his bowl to a passerby, some soldier of the cause. If there is one peak perk to the man’s position, it’s the ability to hand dishes to anyone -- anyone whatsoever! -- and be done with them. Only… something isn’t quite right, here. The bowl-gifted one still stands, and he can practically feel their eyes bearing down on him at this very instant. Lionel turns, only to discover that all-familiar accent sharply criticizing his activity. No, no, not his activity. His life. He blinks. “Kh-Khitti,” he ekes, taking the bowl back with superhuman speed before it can be shattered upside his head or somesuch. “I’m not hitting on her!” What a defensive tone! It’s almost… pathetic! He clears his throat and waves his arm outstretched to the Cenrilite. “This is Penelope,” he announces, in his best ‘I really hate politics but here’s my stupid political voice’ voice. “She happens to be a protege healer, and she and I met some nights past when we both paid a visit to Pilar in the middle of the night.” Truly, the man has no sense at all for the words that come out of his mouth. “We spoke to Pilar for a bit, I mean. And how do you do, Khitti?” Yeah, sure. Just fix a dent and forget it.


Penelope keeps her face twisted and into a stern demeanor, something so rare – well, maybe to Lionel. Penelope is not as awkward as he is, but she is something else. She is an emotional horse-wreck. If that was a thing. However, not the kind who stormed-off in rage. She was more exaggerated with her emotions. Everything was theatre to her, however she learned her lesson from walking away, at least she convinced herself she has learned. As the woman comes along, Penelope is oblivious to everything around her. In fact, she is so invested in the conversation the commander and herself are having that she is startled as the woman approaches. ‘Hit on pretty girls’ this makes the girl’s cheeks grow a shade pinker than usual. This man was not hitting on her by any means! …Was he? No. Don’t even question this, El. However, as Lionel grows a tad more defensive, the more the Cenrilian sinks back to let Lionel take control, which was cringe-worthy. All the while, Penelope is now addressing this woman in full. Was she not freezing her tushy off? Wait, scratch record, wasn’t Lionel freezing –his- tushy off?! No? Just Penelope? Like always? Okay. The frail girl cants her head and squints her eyes, towards Khitti, but the reaction is focusing on Lionel’s choice of words. Sure, tell her their life story with sick word political vomit. Do it. Yeup, he did it. Can he please stop? What happened to ‘just friends’? Way to just throw the girl into a complete random category. “Right, what he said. Pleasure,” she is short with her words. Only because she does not know how to react to the reactions between them. Lionel defensive as ever, and Khitti as pleasingly snarky. Was this a good meeting or a bad one? Either way, Penelope was enjoying the game as much as she could.


Khitti allowed a mischievous grin to flicker to life, not even bothering to stifle it at all. There was even a bit of snickering too. "It's too easy to get you all flustered." She pulls the hood from her head, letting loose that main of dark red locks, a hand running through the strands in an effort to make herself look more presentable. She seemed...well enough for someone that had been through what she had in the past few months, but perhaps she'd just gotten good at hiding it. Around strangers at least, Dominic and Brand was a different story. The vampiress shifts her gaze towards Penelope, nodding a bit, "Are you taking care of my sister zhen?" The mirth that had been there shining on her features faded considerably as Pilar was spoken of, that stern attitude that Lionel had met first before there was ever an ounce of playful sarcasm gifted to him surfacing. "Also, it's nice to meet you," was quickly added afterwards so as not to seem unkind or impolite. She'd give the girl ample time to reply if she deemed her inquiry worthy of a reply before resuming her fixation on Lionel. Her lips parted, but no more words came out. She actually looked like she might be visibly struggling to say it. No, you can do this, Khitti. Come on. He -did- risk life and limb to help save you. Drawing in an unneeded breath and letting it out ever so carefully, she finally blurts out, "Zhank you." She gives no context, no reason for the gratitude. If he didn't get it, she wasn't going to tell him.


Lionel has no idea whether this meeting is good or bad. Lionel, surprisingly enough, is too busy thinking many of the exact same things buzzing through Penelope. ‘Did I really have to go and do the thing? Seriously?’ Alas, he’d gone and he’d done the thing. ‘Can I please stop?’ Who is he asking? Himself? He briefly remembers his thoughts of enjoying a game -- quite right, these very thoughts had occurred immediately after meeting Penelope. But now how is he to enjoy a game when the vampiress has come along and toppled the playing board? Oh, it’s all a right hot mess. Surely, whatever Khitti says next is going to do him in for good and all. Oh, why is conversation so difficult? When did communication become so strained? He braces for impact. ‘Zhank you.’ Two of the last words he’d ever anticipated. What a twist. “It was the least I could do,” he finds himself saying, and he means it. “No one was going to let you rot in that cave. I’m only sorry I was so slow to assist.” He turns to Penelope, suddenly conscious of how strange this must sound. “We led a rescue operation,” he explains. “There was a dragon. Kidnapped mages. I may have told you this already. My memory’s dreadful sometimes.” He returns his azure gaze to the redhead, curiosity giving those eyes a certain unavoidable sparkle. “Tell me you didn’t come all this way just for that? You really didn’t have to.”


Penelope blinked once, maybe twice now. The strange short reaction of the girl was no more. Instead, her voice is like air, light and warm air at least. “Your sister,” she repeats in a breath. “One of the main reasons I am back in Frostmaw momentarily. Unfortunately, I have yet to make it towards that direction. I’ve been practicing some medical procedures,” her mossy eyes flicker over the woman with the dark red hair, that Penelope may or may not have been a tinge jealous of. Red heads were always the lucky ones. However, the Cenrilian smiles towards the vampiress, a small one at that. Just simple actions was all the human needed to indicate that she was in the clear. “I do want you to know that I have… hope for Pilar through the fog she is in. Sometimes it’s just hard to come out of the fog once you’re inside,” Penelope knew the fog all too well, she too, was going in and out of it. She then falls silent and lets the two have their moment. Being a wallflower was always what she did best, and eyes trail away to realize what has been going on around her for the past however long. Until Lionel fills the doe-eyed girl in. The healer shakes her head, and remains silent. That is just not something you tell everyone, yet the usual prying girl was pleased.


Khitti manages a faint smile for Penelope, pushing past the stone-faced expression she'd reassumed as she typically did, a knowing glance spared for her, "Zhe fog can last for such a very long time. So much so zhat it seems it may never pass." She looks down at their table, avoiding their gaze. That mask of hers was starting to slip, the wounds of the cave and of Pilar's own unfortunate incident were still too fresh. "She's strong. Much stronger zhan I. I know she'll get zhrough it. Please let me know if zhere's any change vith her." She directed her attention elsewhere again, looking past Lionel instead of at him, her own bit of awkward filtering through, "I've decided to go back. Dominic or Brand as vell, vhichever decides to go." Well, they would both be there, but she wasn't about to say anything of the sort in front of Penelope. No offense, she just didn't know her. "I vas vondering if you vanted to tag along. I've possessions in zhere zhat I vish to retrieve, and vhile Brand and I are both quite capable, it vould probably be better for zhe zhree of us to go. Just in case. No telling vhat sort of traps Raiez had left in zhere."


Lionel is wise enough to keep silent as the women discuss Pilar’s difficulties. He’s wise enough not to speak when even he recognizes the odds are not in his favor he’ll manage to avoid further askance glances. Still, he ought to say something. “She -is- strong,” he agrees, and the slight bow of his head is done so as to appear casual but also meaningful. He might be oblivious to how inconsiderately open he can be, but he’s not going to mess up on something -this- important. Then, Khitti sets to explaining her upcoming cause, and the Catalian narrows his focus, his brow furrowing in consideration. “Back there, eh?” He pauses, scratching at his wrist absentmindedly. “Of course I’ll come. I figure I’ve got this next two weeks to prep for the next mission, and it’s a reasonably quick trip there and back, anyway. Let’s be mindful of goblin packs above all, methinks -- Beldur’s little scrap suggests a likelihood they’ll have moved in posthaste.” Such goal-oriented speak, now. Lionel at work, as it were. “Fair warning: Esche and/or Briar might just tag along, too.” He verbalizes the ‘and/or’ like the peculiar lad he is. It’s only now that he tilts back to Penelope, mindful that he’s left her in the dark. What can he add, though? He hopes she’ll be pleased just listening in for now. She does seem rather inquisitive. He smiles politely. That seems like a relatively normal thing to do.


Penelope nods along to the woman who was now avoiding their gazes. Knowing the timing she ran into Pilar, she knew for a fact that this woman’s wounds were still fresh. However, the human knew better and held her tongue. “Will do,” she slips out shortly. As Khitti begins to speak of other topics, the girl realizes that it was about the time to escape from the tension of meeting a fresh face. Surely, they would meet again soon and this was too heavy for her to wrap around her racing mind. She was not about to completely third-wheel, she was not that naïve. All hints were there. There was an elephant and she was it. Right now was proper time to depart. Especially if in two weeks she was headed on a healing voyage. What up with that? (Lionel’s “polite smile” really did it for her) “Alright, I get it, but I’m going to interrupt briefly, so you guys can carry on this discussion without the third set of ears,” somewhat, she relieves this awkward tension by pointing out the obvious with an almost cheesy grin, and she puts a single frail hand up in a peaceful manner. “Lionel, thank you for breakfast, and I promise that I’ll send word of my answer. Expect a letter,” her grin fades into a mellowed out; closed-lipped smile. “Or who knows, perhaps abnormality will get the best of us again.” She then rests her eyes on the stranger. With tenderness. Penelope always had soft edges when talking to people. “It really –was- a pleasure, Khitti. As brief as it may seem. Fog passes, it just takes patience, sometimes we are just waiting for so long, but it eventually dies down,” she furrows her brows momentarily in her own thoughts. She looks caught, but then she shakes these away. “I’d rather enjoy your company in the near future, coffee maybe. I’m quick with instigating dates to chat. I like talking. Just talking.” That last bit lingers in the air, she makes the tone so light. Like silk. Penelope maybe did not want to talk about deep things, but she enjoyed a good laugh. She was strange, very strange, yet gentle by nature and gentle by nurture. With this, she secures her knapsack on her back, nods to each of them and pivots without another word.