RP:Paradigm Shift
Part of the What You Leave Behind Arc
Summary: Following up on a recent lead regarding Kahran's behind-the-scenes scheming, Lionel brings Khitti and Brand to Rynvale. There, they make a startling discovery -- and bear witness to a terrible event.
Rynvale
Lionel || In the three days since Khitti and Lionel discussed the Rynvali rumor, Lionel had assembled a modest -- too modest, perhaps -- task force to accompany them to the island city. He was cautioned numerous times by numerous members of the Resistance to take along a squadron, but heaven hath no fury like Catailan stubbornness, and so it was decided that three soldiers would accompany the siblings to the Broken Barrel Inn, and none of them would be dressed for battle. If someone recognized Lionel’s face, there was little that could be done to maintain their anonymity, and the same held true for Khitti and Brand. Hence, Lionel asked them to don cloth half-masks over their mouths and chins and cheeks, obscuring their identities. “We’re six patrons, maybe a few more if Brand is bringing backup, and we’re gathering around what is sure to be a packed tavern for a few rounds of drinks and good cheer. We won’t even take a table in the back. We won’t need to. We’re only here for R and R.”
Lionel || It was a gamble; if even a single wraith or wraith-like entity happened to tag along on this alleged meeting between evils, Khitti’s holy magics and Lionel’s sword would be sensed in a heartbeat. And then the fighting would begin, and in all likelihood the answers received would be slim. The only thing Lionel knew for sure -- the only thing that woman he had tied to a coconut tree would tell him -- was that members of Kahran’s court would be introduced to a bold new ally right here at the pulse of a seedy island. What Lionel gathered from this, and he could only hope he was right, was that Kahran’s forces still weren’t recovered enough to take Rynvale in one fell swoop, and that the enemy’s identity would be just as disguised as their own.
Lionel || Something was amiss. The Rynvali thoroughfare was as boisterous as ever, but the nearer they drew to the Broken Barrel, the quieter things became. Compounding matters, Brand may have noticed that finding a spot to set anchor was easier than usual; there were fewer vessels at port today than the captain would ever have seen before. “There’s plenty of people,” Lionel observed, “but barely any sailors.” He gave Khitti and Brand a confused glance and didn’t open the door to the tavern just yet.
Brand pressed one side against the tavern door, listening. From afar, it would look like he was pausing for a last bit of conversation with his fellows before they were drowned out by the usual tavern din. Enough to discourage interest from any random bystander, but not enough to fool someone intent on watching them -- assuming there was any such person. Brand generally assumed they were being watched in situations like these. Better to wrongly assume than walk into a trap blindly. Or unarmed. Feigning an itch, he palmed the knife he kept sheathed in his boot. Good, still there. “So. Trap? I’m thinkin’ trap. Smells like a trap.” No, it smelled like beer and fresh-caught lobster, but really that was close enough to the same thing as far as Brand was concerned.
Khitti || “We almost always waltz right into a trap, so why would not be any different?” Khitti paused, thought about what she said and then revised it a bit, “Okay, -I- almost always waltz right into a trap, and I’m here, so… why would now be any different?” She’d definitely be attempting an innocent grin, but you know, no one could see it right now anyway, so she kept her mischief to herself. For now. Spoilers: it didn’t last long. Seconds at most. “So, I guess, with that in mind…” Yeah, she did the thing. Khitti walked right in and sat down, expecting to be served. She even feigned a bit of coughing. It was the plague. Cough cough. It was practically turning her lungs inside out. Cough cough. That’s why she’s gotta wear that mask. Cough hack wheeze. Now, Brand and Lionel had a decision to make. Were they gonna go in with her? Or were they just going to observe… whatever the hell might go on in there? Look, someone had to do it, so it might as well have been her.
Lionel || “It’s a trap,” someone very drunk practically giggled aloud as they passed Brand. Their partner, visibly flustered, kept them moving. “It’s a trap,” the drunk continued. “It’s a trap!” Lionel intended to blend in, and blending in definitely meant staring at a bizarre passerby, which was probably for the best because he wasn’t entirely certain he could have avoided staring. “The worst part is, in all likelihood his outburst doesn’t even mean anything,” one of the soldiers mumbled. Rynvale, particularly this side of it, was a never-ending keg of ale floating between denizens, masquerading as a place of honest business. “Still, it’s enough to give pause,” Lionel countered. But his countering was for naught. His sister hadn’t paused at all.
Lionel || “Um.” The barmaid was dainty, with a timidity to match. She kept a respectful distance from Khitti, but with the way her legs were shaking it might have still felt like she was buzzing all around her. “Simon says -- um, Simon is the owner and pro-, proprietor, he says that you can stay but there’s to be an, um, a meeting here soon, and all the seats are accounted-for.” She swallowed visibly. A bartender, be it Simon or elsewise, stared daggers at Khitti from afar. A handful of bouncers were spread out across the otherwise-barren establishment. “So, um,” the poor girl continued. “When they get here, you’ll have to… you’ll have to give up your seat.”
Lionel || It was then that Lionel and his three soldiers came inside, and Brand too if he intended to do so. The girl’s face went white as milk and she quickly looked to the bartender for guidance. The bartender shrugged broad shoulders and got to work gathering drinks but didn’t take his steely eyes off of the unanticipated patronage. “What will you be having, s-sers?” The girl peered between the group. “Water with lemon,” one soldier said. “Make that two,” another added. “Clearly, you’ve misunderstood the purpose of barhopping,” Lionel declared with as much bravado as he could muster. Which was… passable. He understood the soldiers’ fear of drinking under strange circumstances, but he was determined not to blow their cover. “I’ll have a stout, and they will too. Stouts all around.” Beneath his mask Lionel grimaced. He hated stouts. “Stouts all around,” the girl repeated. She seemed relieved somehow. She was probably just relieved to be done with the conversation.
Brand || “I’ll take three,” Brand hollered after the bargirl. If it came down to it, those stout glasses would make fine enough weapons in close quarters. Whack someone over the head with the blunt end, or shatter them and make shivs. And the alcohol itself was flammable. Whatever worked. He came to a seat near Khitti and positioned himself for a wide view of the tavern. “Don’t worry,” he muttered with a wink toward one of Brand’s soldiers. “If anything happens here, I’ll make sure we rescue the liquor.”
Khitti raised a brow at the girl, then at the bartender. “Look, I just got here in town and I need a place to stay for the night. I’ll pay in advance if I have to, but--” She let out a few more fake coughs. It’d been awhile since Khitti had actually been sick, but with having just seen Penelope only days ago, and getting a real good look at what the plague looked liked, mimicking it wasn’t hard--except she just couldn’t magically cough up blood. Khitti shook her head and sighed once her “coughing fit” was over. “Just get me some tea please.” The girl would go off to deal with Brand, Lionel, and company and Khitti would content herself to stare out the window, pretending to watch the clouds as they went by, but was really watching for whomever was going to show up. Occasionally, she’d sneak a look around the place, only to catch the eye of the bartender, who was still staring daggers at her--she stared right back of course, daggers and all.
Lionel || The drinks were served and the masquerade went on. The door swung open sharply and bashed into the wall beside it. A mammoth of a man rushed in, the blood in his big arms pumping noticeably with his exasperation. His big face was beaded around its corners with sweat, and his big voice boomed, “Boy, wow, golly, gee, what fortune, I sure had not expected to run into you six here!” It was as unconvincing as any other lie that the dwarf, Sundance, had ever attempted, and it prompted the bouncers to perk up with suspicion. Sundance, for his part, seemed convinced he had done a fine, fine job at playing casual. He waltzed over to the team’s table slowly enough for his breathing to normalize and sat down directly beside Brand. “Actually, I came here on purpose -- to meet with you,” he whispered. “I am blown away by your award-winning performance,” Lionel remarked. “I trained for this day,” Sundance replied proudly. “I came here as fast as I could, Cap. The crew of the Tranquility, we swear we’re seein’ ghosts. A fleet of ships, a fleet of ‘em, they’re gathering nearby. And a fraction of those ships, a fraction what’s sizable enough to take up the rest of the docks, they’re setting anchor. Cap… they’re waving the old Catalian banner, one and all.”
Lionel went as white as the barmaid. He felt a supreme dizziness that had nothing to do with the beer he’d hardly tasted. Sundance had regained his breath, and in that moment it might have seemed as if the dwarf had stolen it from his fellow Catalian. “Prince,” Sundance said too loudly, causing one of the soldiers to tense up with worry. “Methinks it’s the royal fleet.”
Brand peered dully over the lip of a drink. “The wha’? I didn’t know there -was- a royal fleet.” He looked down wistfully at his remaining mugs, the rest of it unlikely to get consumed now that there was a wrench in the plan. “This has to be connected, yeah? No way a bunch of ghost ships just -happen- to show up the same day we’re expectin’...” He trailed off, meeting the bartender’s dagger stare. “Hey,” he hollered, a little too loud, “you got a frakkin’ problem, mate?”
Khitti batted her eyes cutely at Brand once he’d yelled at the bartender. Lookitchu, possibly starting a barfight over your woman. How sweet. But, then she remembered the reason why they’re actually here and the fact that Sundance just said there was a whole fleet of Catalians here. “What the hell,” she whispered, “What is it about this place that attracts all of you here? You’re like a bunch of little bees scurrying along to the nice big flower garden.” Though, Lithrydel wasn’t exactly a flower garden--unless a lot of those flowers were poisonous that is. She sipped her tea, actually legitimately coughed, and made a face at the cup. The tea was horrible. Likely on purpose. Because that barkeep is a jerk. The jerkiest jerk in all of Rynvale. “So, I’m starting to think that maybe you shouldn’t be here in this bar anymore,” her words directed at Lionel and Sundance, “but it’s far too late for that now, isn’t it?”
Lionel shook his head slowly. “Two minutes ago I was sure there weren’t enough little bees of us left to fill the royal fleet even if I thought it still existed.” He turned to Brand, but his look of mild shock was hidden underneath his garb. “The ship you swam in on was a heavily-modified bit of craft, but I could tell the moment I laid eyes on it that it had previously been part of the fleet. I assumed that meant the rest had been repurposed, if not destroyed.” Why would the royal fleet still exist if Catal had fallen? Where was it when the scourge began? None of this added up, but there wasn’t any time to make it add up. The barkeep responded to Brand’s heated inquiry with a heartier chuckle than might have been expected from a man with such a scrutinizing gaze. “I have no problems, -mate,- but that woman of yours won’t want to be coughing up plague-spit the next time that door opens. I have it on good authority that Catalians kill the weak at the first sign of sickness.” Lionel narrowed his eyes but caught his breath before he blew their cover, or whatever was left of it. “Aye,” Lionel finally replied to Khitti, just as someone opened the door. “Far too late for that now.”
Lionel || The first one to enter the bar was little more than sticks and bones, and he carried himself with too much swagger, nullifying any attempt to appear lordly and carrying him straight into caricature. His face was bland and his hair was bland, too. He was quickly joined by a dozen more men, and several women besides, and as they found tables they were joined by two dozen more. The bar filled up fast with a series of rapid clanks of boot against wooden planks and the new arrivals drowned out any hint of silence with their chatter. Their chatter, for the most part, was inane. Some boasted they could drink others under the table. Others prattled on about who had the largest manhood. Then there were the few who wouldn’t, or couldn’t, stop criticizing Rynvale’s port. The one thing they all shared in common was a distinctly Catalian heritage. Their bright eyes, their angular features, the shape and slope of their frame -- there was no mistaking it at all.
Lionel || The last person to enter the Broken Barrel looked half-broken, himself. What was left of his hair had gone white, and the falcon brooch over his left breast was faded. His naval suit had gone grey, and it was impossible to tell what color it had started off with. Most telling was the black patch over his right eye. But he carried himself well, like an old sea dog who refused to be put to pasture. And when he walked, everyone simmered down and watched. The man approached two tables full of crewmen willing to afford him a seat before stopping in front of Brand. “Perhaps there’s been a misunderstanding,” he spoke cordially to the Captain of the Tranquility. “We made reservations.”
Brand || “Uhhhhhhhhh,” began Brand. He really hadn’t had time to improvise anything, and their cover was already mostly blown. Might as well go full ham. “Yeah, we know. The name’s Rinaldi, remember? Your mate’s mate?” Rather than hide his Catalian accent, he laid it on all the more thickly. “Don’t tell me you were drunk enough to forget losin’ to me in poker the other night. You still owe me that last five hundred gold.”
Khitti || This was weird. This was too weird. Suddenly Khitti was surrounded by Catalians. THEY WERE EVERYWHERE. Khitti even started to panic a little, especially when Brand started getting words from the dude that was clearly in charge of these guys. Brand was… possibly not doing so well with his own words and so that prompted Khitti to do some that was probably going to get her killed: she sneezed. The fake sneeze was quite unlike the monsters she normally had the dreaded pollen season happened upon them, the ones that could likely put enough wind in the Tranquility’s sails to send it halfway to Chartsend. No, this one was adorable and a little squeaky, a bit like a mouse. There were a few more, before she finally excused herself, in hopes that maybe, just maybe, the barkeep had been right about these OTHER Catalians and their want to get rid of weak people. The joke was on them of course, but perhaps things wouldn’t get far enough for them to find out that Khitti was quite the opposite. If this barnacle-head of a captain kept pestering Brand, she’d likely end up doing something quite stupid, as she was wont to do. Wait. She already did. RIP.
Lionel || The aging man stood expressionlessly when Brand spoke. He maintained it through Khitti’s sneezes. Plenty of his subordinates watched and muttered when Khitti walked away, and then inevitably they turned back to their commanding officer one and all. Lionel remained just as expressionless, desperate to keep the man’s focus on anyone but him. It felt like a thousand emotions were swelling up inside him right now, and he couldn’t tell right from wrong if his life depended on it. At last the aging man’s good eye winced. He nodded and patted Brand on the back. “I remember,” he said quietly. “Although my accounting is a bit different than yours. It was you who owed the gold, but I let you off the hook for it. We go way back, Rinaldi, and I wasn’t going to let a little betting money tarnish our friendship.” Lionel went paler. What the frak was this man’s angle?
Lionel || As the aging man pulled up a chair next to Brand, the barkeep, bewildered, pushed a few kegs of beer into the center of the room. The Catalian entourage wasted no time pouring, and the tavern was alive with shouts and cheers from every other table but Brand’s. The aging man’s lips had cracked into a miniature smile. He did not remove his eye from Brand’s line of sight. When one of his men handed him a mug, he took it and sipped. “Fine vintage, but not quite what we were raised on, eh, Rinaldi? But I suppose you wouldn’t know, with your mouth concealed. I never expected you to have it shut, let alone hide it from alcohol. Have you changed, then, Rinaldi? Who are you now, old friend?” Now Sundance’s face was blanched too, and unlike the rest of them he had nothing to hide it.
Lionel | Khitti’s trip elsewhere was soon interrupted when the tavern’s back door was opened softly. A young woman with freckled skin and hair that seemed kissed by fire bowed politely and scuttled past her. She was dressed in a farmer’s overalls and moved like a mouse. Everything about her was trite. She was soon followed by one, then two, then three, then thirteen more men and women in simple clothing and inauspicious motions. Nothing stood out about any one of them, but their number was great and they had all entered the Broken Barrel from the wrong direction. “Excuse me, milady,” a boy begged Khitti’s pardon. He sneezed several times. They were headed into the tavern, and there was nary a seat left for them at all.
Lionel || The last person to enter the Broken Barrel from its back room looked unnaturally perfect. Her blond hair was cut crisply short and her eyes were flawless emeralds. Her facial characteristics were as chiseled as any prize-won statue. She was dressed all in black, with thin sheets of stained mithril covering her chest and abdomen from attack. She walked with grace and looked like absolutely no one who had accompanied her. She strolled as slowly as she liked, and came upon Brand’s table with a disapproving grimace. Behind her was her own entourage, farmers and brewers and carpenters from the looks of them. “You’ve left no seats for us at all,” she said. Her voice was regality defined. “Forgiveness,” the aging man replied. “Clearly you were unaware of our considerable number.” The woman stared for what felt like a minor eternity before glancing wayward of the aging man’s unflinching smile. “Then we’ll stand.”
Lionel || Whatever it was that Brand, Khitti, Lionel, Sundance and the soldiers had stepped into, it was about to commence.
Brand held an unflinching gaze, even as the man emphasized his fake name with what might as well have been a wink and a nudge. The cover was surely blown, but neither of them was willing to give up the pretense just yet. “Age comes for the best of us, doesn’t it, old friend? But a gentleman is never too old to give up his seat for a lady.” With that he rose, feigning stiff joints and bad posture. If this was destined to turn violent, he meant to present himself as an ‘easy’ target. He gestured toward the seat that would sandwich the strange woman conveniently between himself and Lionel, plenty vulnerable at this range despite her armor.
With the focus on Brand, Khitti was able to get up and leave. Her distraction hadn’t worked quite the way she wanted it and now she needed to figure out something new. What to do. What to do. Whatever her train of thought had been, as she wandered towards the back of the building in search of the washroom or some other place to hide for even a few moments while she thought up a plan, was now completely derailed by these people entering from the back. She was bowed to, called m’lady, and was walked past by someone who looked like a damned marble statue. What in the actual frak was going on right now.
Khitti peered down the hallway at the goings-on in the main area of the inn briefly, then looked around the backroom. There had to be something here she could use. It didn’t take long for Khitti to get a rather volatile idea. A fifth of peppermint schnapps is snatched up from a crate of assorted booze and the cloth mask she’d been wearing stuffed into the bottle--but not before she took a long swig of one of her favorite alcohols. She didn’t want it entirely going to waste, after all. Using a bit of holy fire to light it, it was soon rolled across the floor in the direction of those wooden kegs, while Khitti prayed that no one would notice it. The fire would tear through the cloth easily, giving way to the bottle’s destruction soon after. It was a pretty blue flame that spread along the wooden floor boards and licked its way up the side of one of the kegs, carefully eating away at the thick planks of oak that the barrels were made out of. It was so pretty, in fact, that Khitti took a moment to marvel at its beauty, even going so far as to say “Oooh.” It was only a matter of time before those flames made the whole set of kegs go kaboom.
Lionel || “You came all this way,” the woman in black said to the aging man. “Perhaps you’ll indulge in a drink on the house.” Evidently, she thought herself the owner and proprietor here now. She was also given cause to glance at Brand for the first time, apparently dismissing Lionel, Sundance, and the three soldiers as his underlings. “I prefer to stand.”
Many of the aging man’s subordinates perked up and agreed to the woman’s suggestion emphatically, but the aging man shook his head. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t trust drinks from demons.” Afterward, he took Brand’s seat with a smirk. “And a lady is rarely so stubborn as to refuse a seat.” He never took his eyes off of the woman in black.
The woman in black wasn’t a true demon; Halycanos would have informed Lionel immediately if she were. None of her rural-looking lackeys were, either. But Halycanos still sensed a certain darkness in them all, a darkness lacking in the Catalians. It was enough to confirm the obvious: the backroom arrivals were here on behalf of Kahran. “Those sneezes must have been too much for her,” Lionel whispered past the aging man to Brand. It wasn’t a statement so much as a reminder; Brand surely knew as well as Lionel did that Khitti was up to something. They needed to be on the lookout for that something.
The farm folk seemed disappointed, but the woman in black simply smirked. “On to business, then. You have a fleet. We have an army. Give us that fleet and we’ll conquer this land as allies. Cross us and you’ll perish with the rest who stand in our way.”
“How will your army fare without or fleet, I wonder?” The aging man grinned at Brand as if they were both in on a joke. “Rinaldi here knows the truth of it, I bet. Your army struck Lithrydel last year. You turned tail and fled.”
“We still hold Schezerade. And more. We hold far more than you’ve imagined. And fear has ravaged this place exactly as planned. Perhaps you are not as keen as my master believes.”
“Rinaldi here has another spin on your tale.”
“Rinaldi sounds like a clever man. Cleverer than you, Admiral Auditore?” The woman in black awaited.
The barkeep had had enough of all this. He’d feigned cleaning goblets for long enough. Without word to the barmaid, he made way toward the back of the tavern. There, he fell witness to a pretty blue flame that was a minute shy of his kegs at best. He opened his mouth to scream. Khitti needed to close it promptly.
Brand || This turn of conversation upended everything Brand thought he understood about their current situation. He muttered something to stall for time as he recalculated. The woman -- Kahran’s. The man -- Catalian, not yet in league with Kahran but neutral enough to potentially strike a deal. The woman -- allegedly in possession of an army, posturing as if she had power, but with little visible threat to back it up. At least for now. The man -- resistant, and thus either holding out for better leverage or holding no intention of joining Kahran in the first place. Roping a stranger into the negotiations made little sense in the first scenario, so … Brand would place his bet on the latter.
“I dunno about clever. Got nothin’ witty to say, even though this would be a ripe moment for it. Reckless, though, like startin’ a fight without knowin’ for sure who all is on what side? -That- I can do.” Reckless, like shoving two fistfuls of fire into the face of Miss “I Prefer to Stand” Kahrani? Yeah, that would do.
Khitti || There’d likely be cheers from the backroom as Khitti watched not only the fiery bottle of alcohol that made its way towards the kegs, but the fireballs that Brand summoned up for Kahran’s lackey. But, fate decided differently for Khitti that day. No, instead of being able to enjoy watching her future husband attempt to beat the hell out of people before she too joined in, the redhead had a problem of her own to deal with: the bartender.
Alas, nothing could ever be made easy for her, but she did manage to hear his footsteps as he entered the backroom--angry jerks like him always had a bit of a stomp to their step, as if it made them seem more intimidating. Spoilers: it didn’t. There’s literal seconds for panicking, for she had even less time than Brand did to figure out what the hell to do about the situation she was in. What she wouldn’t give for shadow-stepping right now. In an effort to save the liquor (because they might need it later on), Khitti picked up a nearby serving tray instead that’d been left amongst the small area dedicated to storage and frisbee’d it at the barkeep’s face. Sorry, guy, but you don’t get to interrupt Khitti’s well-planned, fiery explosions. Whether or not it took him out for good, Khitti’s next order of business was the waitress. She’d push past the barkeep, giving him a right hook (or a few) if she felt it necessary to raise her chances of the kegs going up in flames, and made her way to the doorway that led back behind the bar,“You need to leave. -Now-.” Khitti felt bad--it’s not like the girl did anything wrong, after all--so she decided in that head of hers that if she managed to blow up the entire tavern, she’d hire the girl at her bakery. Problem solved right?! Sure. Yes. We’ll go with that.
Lionel || The barmaid shot Khitti a look of understanding. She trembled, her lips moving as if she was about to say something, but whatever that something was it got stuck in her throat and she gave up. Yet for all her terrified motions, she was still cunning enough to recognize an opportunity when it came knocking. Especially financial opportunity. She pried open a small bronze chest and scooped out all its silver and golden coins, depositing them in a cradle of linen on her dress. “That’s for leering every time I turned around, jackass,” she told the unconscious bartender, and then she nodded to Khitti self-assuredly and exited the Broken Barrel forever. Admiral Auditore sat up from his seat abruptly and swirled, revealing a pair of sharp daggers hidden beneath his sleeves. Just as Brand’s fireball sizzled its way toward the woman in black, Auditore tossed one of his daggers at her neck. It didn’t strike her, but something in the man’s grin suggested he knew that wasn’t his aim. A shimmering magical field went up around Kahran’s emissary, shattering the effects of Brand’s spell… until Auditore’s dagger pierced the field, allowing a portion of the spell to find its way in. The fireball, though weakened, still clung to the fabric between the woman’s sheeted mithril, causing her to lose concentration and bounce back in anguish.
Lionel || “Aye,” Auditore snickered at the woman. “Cleverer than me.” The room fell into fast chaos as the “townsfolk” under the woman in black’s command threw up their hands and began casting spells of ice and darkness. A few drew throwing axes and spun them at their foes. One of those axes tore through the air toward Brand, who would need to act quickly in order to escape abrupt decapitation. Auditore’s Catalians weren’t idle; they drew their daggers and rushed the enemy line. Several seconds later, an intense brightness flashed through the tavern and a boom thundered from the backroom. Khitti’s pretty flames lit up the Broken Barrel’s walls like the highlight of a winter solstice parade. The Catalians and Kahran’s undercover thugs alike shouted in shock, and Sundance cried out, “A whoreson’s fencepost!” Lionel had no idea what that meant, and allowed a fragment of his spinning mind to ponder it as he pulled back his hood and joined the fray. Stabbing one of the thugs in the chest with his serrated knife was easy enough, but the woman in black had arisen before he could reach a second, and she lifted a hand, outstretched her palm, and sent a wave of wind at him which swept him off his feet and tossed him wayward like a ragdoll. She then did the same to one of his Resistance soldiers, who had the misfortune of being tossed into the burning walls. Her scream was brief.
Brand ducked. Or, rather, he bent backwards as if in a game of Limbo -- except the limbo bar was an axe that could kill him, and there was -significantly- less drunkenness involved. Brand liked that version better than the one that had just grazed off the tip of his nose. Damn. Not as flexible as he used to be. He’d have to work on that.
Brand || “Gorram…” Brand’s growl grew in intensity as he straightened. “Frakkin’...” Blood wept from the shaving on his nose, giving him a gruesome smile. “...Axe-throwers!” His hands flew with a momentum that kept him tumbling forward, and each unleashed a dagger drawn from his boots. They hurtled toward their targets, and Brand hurtled himself under the cover of a table, buying time to plan his next move.
Khitti watched as the barmaid stole what could be considered Khitti’s loot (she took down the big bad barkeep after all) and took off. Much like before, she would’ve cheered her on--you know, girl power and all that--but now wasn’t the time. Would there ever be a time today for it? Damn. She could just sit back and watch. Watch as Brand gets his nose all cut up. Watch as Lionel gets knocked away. Watch as one of Lionel’s soldiers’ tossed into a wall of fiery. But, nope--she had work to do, as usual.
Khitti || “Hey, you bitch!” Khitti’s words were directed at the woman in black as Khitti pulled herself up and over the bar, so as to avoid the flames that were quickly overtaking the backroom. “I don’t quite think you understand who you’re dealing with,” the templar said, smack-talking the bad guys as usual. The circlet that went with Khitti’s set of magical armor shimmered into view on her forehead, was promptly removed, and sent flying towards the woman in much the same fashion as the serving tray had with the barkeep, flames and all. But, unlike that, it did its usual trick of creating a holy fire tornado around her. Or attempted to anyway.
Lionel || The axe throwers had spare axes for second and even third tosses, but only one of them would live to use them. His companions both took a dagger to the face courtesy of Brand, forcing the lone survivor to curse and hide behind a chair. All around him, his allies sent violet tendrils of pure atrophic energy twirling at the Catalians. But then they stopped. Even the jagged cuts of magical ice they’d launched at their enemies froze in place and shattered in midair. The Catalians roared their approval at the apparent turn of luck, but the luck was short-lived. Just as Lionel fought back the ringing in his skull and climbed back up onto his feet, his sister’s tornado swept into the woman in black’s torso. But Lionel didn’t see the woman fall. Her own shimmering field returned, sparkling its way around the tornado and licking its flames like candy. The blowing wind still came through, the field preoccupied with the flames, and it did a fine job throwing the woman in black as she had thrown Lionel and his ill-fated soldier. Even then, she did not fall. Whether by strong spell of her own or intervention from an unseen Kahran himself, her boots clanked to the floor and she sneered.
Lionel || “Oh, it all makes sense now,” she said to Khitti. Snapping her fingers, she tilted and surveyed the burning room. Admiral Auditore saw an opening and lunged, but she dodged gracefully and cut him across his striking hand with a needle previously pinned to her perfect hair. He groaned and fell back. “But I don’t need a crown to express my will.” Khitti’s crown finally came back into view -- in the palm of the woman’s hand. And then, quite suddenly, Auditore’s Catalians’ bodies jerked unnaturally and they spasmed and fell. But they weren’t dead. They were quick to regain their footing, and their eyes went black as night. The townsfolks’ eyes flashed a similar shade of black in response. The only member of Auditore’s away party that wasn’t affected was Auditore himself. Evidently, the spell required both of a victim’s eyes to be touched.
Lionel || Admiral Auditore tapped his eyepatch and ducked beneath Brand’s table alongside Sundance and the two Resistance soldiers. “I think I just lost some of my best mates,” he told the Captain of the Tranquility. The rapidly burning walls seemed in agreement with him; the floorboards were catching fire now as well. “We need to get the frak out of here, Rin.” The woman in black wasn’t far, and her shimmering field was now in full bloom. Another snap of her fingers was made, and her newfound Catalian pawns charged for the group. Elsewhere, the townsfolk were silently ordered to do the same with the upstanding Khitti. Lionel was the only person who’d gone under their radar, which suited him just fine. He hadn’t brought Hellfire -- it would have been a dead giveaway -- but he was able to summon a hint of his power through Halycanos on any weapon. It wasn’t the same by half, but it was all he needed. A miniature white-hot inferno billowed to life on its serrated steel, and he vaulted it into the roof where it would remain clinging to the wood. It flashed even more brightly than Khitti’s keg tactic, but solely in the direction of the woman in black’s crew. “We’re leaving,” Lionel shouted. It seemed a good idea.
Brand || “You still have those ships,” Brand said, nodding at the Admiral. “Any of the crew still manning them are gonna be sorely needed, the way things are goin’.” He peered through smoke and bodies, mentally plotting an escape route. Through there, over that dead guy and beyond the bar. With a nod and gesture indicating for others to follow, Brand darted off toward a gape in the wall. Retreat, regroup, reassess and come back stronger. He’d trust this new Catalian better than he’d trust the inn not to crash down on their heads, anyway.
Khitti wasn’t as keen on leaving as quickly as the others were, burning building be damned. “Is that ability even truly yours? Or did you kiss Kahran’s ass to get it? Seems to be a trend amongst you all.” Pieces of the roof began to fall, prompting a disdainful frown from the redhead as she sidestepped charred bits that seemingly rained from the heavens. “We’ve already taken care of a lich--I can assure you that you’re nothing more than fodder. Maybe if we’re both lucky, I’ll get to be the one that kills you.” Khitti offered a sickeningly sweet smile to the blonde, gave a wave of her hand and headed off to join the ever-growing gaggle of Catalians, leaving her circlet to erupt into a ball of holy fire in the woman’s face. So what if it didn’t actually do any damage? Khitti was pissed by the relative ease with which the woman in black had dealt their various magical abilities and felt like making a point--it helped that the point also served as a distraction to give Khitti some time to get the hell out of the burning tavern.
Lionel || The woman in black didn’t appear to be terribly fazed by Khitti’s insults. It was possible she simply wasn’t the type to prolong banter, or maybe she was more focused on the ostensible success of her mission. If she wasn’t overly shaken by a disaster in negotiation efforts, perhaps she, like Admiral Auditore, had no intention of using today’s meeting as anything more than a pretense for action. And if she wasn’t shaken by Khitti’s erupted circlet, perhaps she didn’t consider her freshly-exploded right hand as much of a loss as reasonable people with no connections to bizarre necromantic body regeneration rituals surely would. It was almost farcical, but the woman in black lifted her blood-gurgling wrist and licked the marrow of the bone bits left dangling where her hand had been like she was nursing a wound with a kiss. She narrowed her gaze at Khitti as the redhead escaped alongside Brand, Sundance, Auditore and the Resistance soldiers. Yet she did not follow. Nor did her henchmen. They stopped their assault, watched dully, and then walked outside through the back of the Broken Barrel in a peculiarly orderly fashion. The woman in black was the last to leave, and much to Lionel’s amusement she did not feel Net Reno’s silver emblem stick to the scorched mithril sheet on her backside. It was a good throw, swift yet soft.
Lionel rejoined the others dramatically close to the structural collapse of the Broken Barrel Inn. Outside, where they may have expected a battle to rage, there was only the stunned citizenry of Rynvale barking and screaming and passing commands to fetch water to save what could be preserved. There were efforts to ascertain whether there were any survivors, which, possibly to Khitti’s chagrin, might have led to the irritable and lecherous barkeep’s salvation. A small group of Rynvalis expressed surprise when a large party of Catalians and townsfolk cleared out through the back alley in a march, but they -- and their woman in black -- turned a corner and then vanished entirely. Lionel knew, because Lionel gave chase and saw it happen. “It’s over,” he said between breaths once he returned. “No,” Admiral Auditore said, waving a hand to the unexpected and whistle-stop departure of the vast bulk of the Catalian Royal Fleet. The lionshare of the armada, still at sea, led the way out upon the horizon. Most of the ships at port followed suit. Only a handful remained, their sailors firing bows and crossbows and even cannons at the undoubtedly-possessed turncoats, but their endeavors were for naught. They were soon staving off warped-in ghouls of their own, and they were the lucky few who endured the wave and kept possession of their own consciousness.
Lionel gave Auditore a look. “I just learned the Royal Fleet still exists and watched three dozen of its 39 ships become Kahran’s playthings in the span of ten minutes. Whoever you are, whatever your aim, you just handed a worldwide enemy a new means to invade and destroy us all.” Auditore winced, turned away from Lionel, and then whirled around and punched him in the jaw hard enough to topple him and bust his lower lip. “I frakking know that, you emaciated bovine. While you’re counting battle damage, I’m counting the loss of nearly my entire family.” Auditore briefly eyed the rest of them in anticipation of some form of return violence, but his eye was misty and red.
Brand || If anyone was going to come to Lionel’s defense, it wasn’t going to be Brand. He was mentally occupied with adding ‘emaciated bovine’ to his insult repertoire. “Not all of them,” he murmured after a moment, nodding at the few remaining ships. “And if I know a Catalian, he’s gonna want blood after what just happened.” Brand extended an arm to the Admiral. “Brand, Captain of the Tranquility. The enemy of my enemy and all that, I figure...?”
Khitti was indeed somewhat irked by the retrieval of one incredibly rude barkeep. Oh well. At least the girl got away to hopefully find employment elsewhere. She didn’t come to Lionel’s defense either, and instead smacked him rather hard on the arm and gave him a pointed stare--one that said “be a little more compassionate, dumbass”. Brand also earned a brief stare, but this one was decidedly different and full of confusion. Brand was… making friends? Brand does this? “I think it’s time to go home. There’s whiskey and cheesecake in the Tranquility’s ice box. Should be plenty, if you’d like to join us. Even more at my bakery if your crew wants some too.” What’s left of them anyway. Food and alcohol always seemed to help the Khatalians deal with their troubles and Khitti hoped that it held true for rest of the Catalians. “And maybe afterwards, we can sort out what the hell is going on.” With regards to all that just happened, that is.
Lionel dusted himself off and took Khitti’s blow for what it was. He didn’t expect her to understand; she wasn’t supposed to have been the Catalians’ guardian and protector. She wasn’t supposed to have been their prince. That was history now, and he didn’t even intend to mention it to Auditore, which was why it was uniquely frustrating when Sundance did. “You just punched your prince,” the dwarf warned the aging man, who did a double take in the midst of his handshake and solemn nod to Brand but remained mostly nonplussed. “Doesn’t matter now,” Lionel said, causing Sundance to stammer. “No, it doesn’t,” Auditore agreed coldly. “I’d be lying if I said I’m not stupefied you’re alive, but I’m equal parts disquieted and disconcerted, too.” Auditore’s eye took in Lionel’s form and, if his follow-up expression was anything to go by, found it wanting. “Cheesecake makes for a fine cure-all, but truth be told, I hardly drink.” Despite his overwhelming sense of loss, Admiral Auditore still managed to wink at Brand. “I need to speak with my crew first. Offer up some cliched sentence that will somehow bring them a measure of comfort on the coldest day I’ve ever in all my years felt on a warm, tropical island like this one.” He turned around in time to prevent anyone from seeing a steady stream of tears roll down his wrinkled cheek like a cascade. “I’m sorry,” Lionel offered hollowly. “Save your sorries for the millions killed in the cataclysm,” the admiral muttered as he walked away.
Lionel || “I don’t think I’m going to attend,” Lionel said. “There’s too much bad blood right now. On both our ends. The smart move here is for the three of you to get the scoop.” His gesture told them he meant Khitti, Brand, and Sundance. “I’m going to take these two home and arrange a funeral for Margaret.” The fallen soldier. “I won’t be far. Maybe I’ll swing by toward the end, once you’ve gotten a solid lead on where the frak that fleet just came from and what the gods-damned…” Lionel caught himself and shook his head. “...What that admiral’s angle was here in the first place.”