RP:The Calm Before The Storm

Part of the Township Troopers Arc

This is a Warrior's Guild RP.

Summary: Lionel gathers the guild (and those that aren't exactly with the guild, but might as well be) to start the planning needed to take on the entire island of bugs that lies so near to Rynvale.

Lionel's Rented Room, Broken Barrel Inn, Rynvale

Lionel probably hasn’t slept. The dark circles underneath his eyes are testament to that. But it is a reasonably assumed thing among his peers that Lionel rarely slumbers better than fits and starts, so this is no surprise. Lionel probably hasn’t eaten. The bit of lethargy in his slouch, coupled with the brief, hidden glances he casts toward fresh-baked breads and slow-simmered roasts as their scents assail him, is testament to that. But it is a reasonably assumed thing among his peers that Lionel’s dietary prudence is less than stellar, so this is no surprise. Nor is Lionel dressed for battle; then again, most folks will be hard-pressed to remember him in anything other than these trademark thin black silk button-up silks. Either he keeps them in miraculous care or his wardrobe’s half-filled with them, because he’s gone to war like he’s going for coffee more times than can be counted. The one thing that might stand out about Lionel O’Connor tonight is that he is clearly well and truly prepared. Ushering his companions to climb the steps to his rented room, they’ll note that space is at a premium. It’s not for a lack of size, either. Boxes are piled upon other boxes, and those boxes are atop further boxes even still, and quick cursory looks will make it clear that potions and salves and bandages and crossbow bolts and two dozen other items are fully-stocked and ready for deployment. Lionel’s quarters have been transformed into a kind of makeshift ready room, a CIC. And tonight, he gets straight to the point. “Glad you made it. We know where we’re headed, now, and we know what awaits us once we’re close. We’ve got two routes into the building if and when we make landfall on the island, but we don’t know the obstacles that await us in either path. So we’d best split into two teams. Emrith, you’ll lead Team B. There could be an aerial force we haven’t seen yet. As for myself, I want to take the Tranquility. I presume you’re thinking of going by air? Kree, Brand, anyone else on Team A -- that island’s, uh, ‘guardian’ is gonna be pretty pissed if it sees us again, so we’d better be ready as we’ve ever been.”

Meri is evidently ushered from the heart of the Barrel and up into Lionel's room with a group of others. Well okay then. Meri is as she usually is and her manner of dress is much the same as it always has been - there is really nothing fancy about it. Isn't it high time she got herself a new pair of boots? Ah well, at least she changed out those ratty old things for something more appropriate when it counts. Up into Lionel's room she gots, numerous others in tow, blue eyes making a detailed perusal of the supplies that Lionel has stocked up within his room, at least as detailed as she can get short of having x-ray vision. She does not. As per the usual Meri does not really try and chummy up to a bulk of the crowd and as per usual there is usually at least one exception to this. Apparently today that exception is going to be Khitti, who is greeted with a wink before her sights set back on Lionel. That's about the size of it, she was not going to chat the woman up with small talk. Another time. This is not odd behavior for Meri, especially since Lionel went straight into business. She would fall in line accordingly and listen in depth.

Emrith has been hanging around Rynvale for the last little while, with shortish trips back to the mainland courtesy of Ilaerothil, who has relished the idea of stretching her wings. Though relations between the green dragon and the spell-blade have been strained of late, owing to the latter's more recent dark dealings, Emrith's saurian companion has not forsaken him...not yet, at any rate. Journey to Rynvale by dragon is much more uplifting than travel by boat - less sea-sickness, for one thing - and Ilaerothil's flying is growing both faster and less exuberant as she slowly gains age and maturity. So here he is, garbed in a dyed white cloak and well-worn leather boots, Heleg and Nahr crossed on his back. The man is all business, or so it would appear, striding through the common room with an expression on his face that brooks no nonsense. He ascends the stairs without challenge, arrives at Lionel's rearranged room and simply stares a moment at all the preparation. He shakes his head, then settles into an easy slouch just inside the doorway. "That creature is enough for a large group to tangle with," Emrith replies, "and if we split in two, it will go all the harder for those on shipboard. You are correct in that I plan to take an aerial assault; I have a dragon, and if others can procure mounts, then it will suit my style of combat better. I expect heavy resistance, mostly because heavy resistance seems to be the order of most days with regard to Haath and its secrets. Whosoever comes with me had better either know how to control an aerial mount, or had best be able to fight from the air at a minimum; it is an awkward business at the best of times. Ilaerothil is large enough for two to ride, but Larewen will ride with me unless she insists on some other arrangement. That leaves the rest of the team, whoever should come, to sort out who goes with whom, and how they travel." The elf's tone is clipped, straightforward and almost brusque; there is little need for gentle words or persuasion here, given the nature of what lies ahead of them. Despite this air of efficiency, there is something in Emrith's eyes which a particularly astute observer might notice, a tightening, cringing unwillingness to meet anyone else's gaze. Here, in the moment, business is business. But in Emrith's mind and heart, there is worry and turmoil, pain and anticipation and sick dread all woven into a slimy, sodden mass which threatens to drag him down into the embrace of some indescribable darkness. Despite the ease with which he speaks, the casual way he stands and the simplicity of his statements, the man is hanging by a thread.

Khitti is surprisingly in a good mood. Well, as ‘good’ as it’s going to get with Khitti. It helps that she’s a little drunk. The need to feed had called to her, and she’d taken it upon herself to find something quick (-someone-, technically) and that just so happened to be one of the drunken pirates stumbling about outside. No, no, Khitti didn’t kill her. Don’t worry your pretty little heads. Whatever the hell that woman had drank though was crazy potent and Khitti struggled to pay attention as she found her way up the stairs to Lionel’s room (which just so happened to be down the hall from KhittiBrand’s! Hai, neighbor!). There’s an odd look of wonder on the vampiress’ features as she peers around the Catalian’s rented abode, and then a bit of stifled giggling erupts from her when she catches Meri’s wink out of the corner of her eye. The redhead grins sheepishly at the blonde, then finds herself a spot up against a wall--the room was spinning a bit, you see! She nods along, half-listening to both males as they spoke, her attention settling on the nearest box for the moment. She doesn’t say it, but it could be assumed that she’s going on the ship. Flying was worse than boats, you know. All the while as this is happening, Khitti’s doing her best not to scratch at the new bandages on her wrists that were well hidden beneath the long sleeves of her shirt. Don’t scratch. Don’t do it. Meri said not too, she’d tell herself.

Kreekitaka followed the rest of them up the stairs with what can only be described as "much caution". At least as much as one was going to get from Kree. He was pushing himself to the limit, physically, with this crazy quest. Almost immediately after regaining his strength, he'd thrown himself into multiple fights for his life, totally overdosed on all the potions you really aren't supposed to overdose, and was now moving up a method of going up into things which, all things considered, wasn't really designed for quadrupeds. It wasn't obscenely difficult, just... he didn't want to have to deal with the healer lady yelling at him again if he fell down. Once he was inside the room full of supplies, he rumbled internally and rippled his paddles. This was definitely going to be a brilliant fight. Upon hearing that he was going to be on the ground team, he lifted a claw to make a comment. "My jawbyaDAH! seems TAH!oo have been HHHTHe mos' usefo weapon we have againsTAH! iTAH!. EmriHHHTH," he asked, turning his attention to the man, "you can DAH!oo runes, as you say--mighTAH! you have someHHHTHing TAH!oo increase my weapon's poTAH!ency? Perhaps I can sTAH!un iTAH!, knock iTAH! unconscious, wiHHHTH a singoh sTAH!rike, perhaps, an' ayow us an easier TAH!ime of reaching HHHTHe shore?" This is -totally- just for guild-related shenanigans and has nothing to do with his desire to be Better. Nope, none.

Brand is here, against the wall near Khitti, though how truly present he is would be another debate entirely. His mind seems on minding the drunken vampiress moreso than the meeting itself. Ah, well, he’s technically not a guild member (even if he -has- been to more of the recent shindigs than a fair few of ‘em, cough cough) and … let’s be real, here: ‘contract’ with Amarrah or no, Khitti still needs someone to look after her as much as ever, and you can’t fire someone who’s self-appointed, now can you? (This gets Brand whisked away on a flight of fantasy about setting fire to pompous officials and bureaucrats and the like. This daydream has a near daily occurrence.) Lionel gets more attention than most, though, and it’s him that he acknowledges now. “The Tranquility stands ready for whatever’s called for.” Short, sweet, and to the point. Unlike the rest of this post.

Lionel regards Meri with a warm, albeit clipped, nod and smile. She’s as well as faded by the time Emrith speaks -- not into a crowd, per se, for the Guild’s top participants are a slim-numbered bunch, but into the veritable sea of well-organized cargo which has consumed the room. He doesn’t have much to say to Emrith directly; rather, he sits back in his utilitarian wooden chair, hand to his chin in thoughtful analysis. A fraction of that analysis is a disguised notation of the vampiric elf’s eyes. ‘Something’s off with him tonight,’ Lionel ponders internally. ‘Must be that damned spider. The Guild looks after its own, and he’s with Frostmaw, too. I’d better keep after him.’ Clearing his throat to avoid detection, the leader speaks up. “Right. Sounds good, Emrith. We need to determine who’s with who. Brand’s technically the captain of the Tranquility now, as per her fallen former captain’s last orders. Khitti, I reckon you’ll be with us. Kree, your skills are invaluable at sea, so that’s a lock, too. Larewen will be with Emrith… Meri, you cool with flying this time? Or you wanna take your chances with the ship again? I… can’t say I’d blame you for cringing either way. This is a right royal mess of a war we’ve dragged you into.” The Academy of Roleplaying would like to nominate the preceding sentence for Understatement of the Year. As for Kree and Brand, the crustacean’s attention’s on Emrith and the Catalian’s short of speech and probably thinking about Khitti.

Meri gives Lionel a wide-eyed expression at the question. Was she good with flying? The woman lifts a tattooed hand and points toward her chest, as if trying to confirm that Lionel was indeed talking to her. From there a look is cast toward Khitti/Brand, as if hoping one of them (probably Khitti, she knows her better) would confirm that, yup. Lionel was talking to her. Clearly he was, he had said her name, was looking directly at her. Obviously she realized this, she was just having a little freak out moment here. Because FLYING, Lionel. It takes a moment for Meri to find her words, though she knows them well. Mostly because she was struggling with her pride in a room full of people. Who the heck wants to look like a chicken in front of everyone? Thankfully Meri knows her limits, she would be having a panic attack in the sky and that would do absolutely no one well. At least the sea is the devil she knows. Really Meri wants to loose a resounding (expletive) no but it's a more tempered, "...Not a fan of the sky." A casual shrug at this admittance, trying to play it cool and save face.

Emrith nods toward Meri first, giving her a smile. "If you want to come along on the aerial team, there is space for you. If previous words made it seem as if I would not suffer fools, it is true. It also need be said that I do not consider any of you fools. I merely mean to drive home the point that high in the air, in combat, there is much to risk, and much to lose. You do not have ground to stand on if your mount is ripped out from under you, and the ground is notoriously unforgiving when you hit it from hundreds of paces up. That said, Ilaerothil is watchful, and while there may be only room enough upon her back for two to ride comfortably, she is strong enough to hold two more in the case of an emergency, and I will not simply abandon a luckless member of the team to die if their mount is wounded or killed." He sighs, shakes his head. "I am going about this all the wrong way, but I pray I have made my point. Meri, there is no folly in fear. Admitting it, learning to live with it, perhaps trying to conquer it, is laudable, though I will be the first to congratulate you for being extremely hesitant to do so under such grave circumstances." Emrith pauses, runs a hand through his hair, then winces; when he lowers his hand, a tiny shadowy thing is sitting on the back of it, many-legged, black and bloated. The spell-blade's voice is somewhat quieter when he begins to speak again. "Taking a page from the book we almost failed to write on the seabound mission, I feel as if stealth would be a great advantage here." Emrith turns to Kreekitaka, then spreads his hands. "I might be able to enchant your jawblade, but it is already loaded with some sort of magic. Every time you swing it, I can almost taste it. Filling it further might make it explode. If you want me to risk it, and wish to gamble having it detonate so strongly that it tears a hole in you, I will at least see what I can do...but I doubt very much that you will get the single-strike death-blow you are after. A strong one, for certain, but I had the sense that the guardian, however much we might have wounded it, is a long way from dead. Putting it out of commission may well take more force than we can spare."

Khitti blows a raspberry at Lionel, waving a hand dismissively at him, “I’m always vith you, silly guy. Duh.” Her hand grabs her attention then as she moves it down in front of her face, wiggling it about like a weird flying...thing. “I’m like a leaf on zhe vind, “ she’d whisper to herself, just loud enough for Brand, and whomever else is close enough by to hear her. Her hand would continue to zip and woosh about, with whispered sound effects, until it ran right into Brand’s arm. Another giggle would loose itself from the vampiress, but would soon be silenced as she frowned deeply and punched Brand in the shoulder (thankfully for him, it was sans vampiric strength). Then there was a bit of sad pouting too as she absently ran her hands across her wrists. Ugh. Khitti shook her head, as if trying to rid herself of the alcohol-tainted blood that coursed through her now (yeah like that’s actually gonna work), her attention shifting back to Meri, “You don’t -have- to go vith zhem if you don’t vant to. I don’t much care for flying either.”

Kreekitaka had, as Emrith spoke of the sky, flashbacks. Flashbacks of falling. The air ripping away any words he might have tried to speak--his gills becoming dry and leathery--the ground rushing up at him--the pain of a tooth being ripped from its place in his facial crusher. For one terrifying instant, he was there, and it was real, and -not- okay. And then he was right back here, and Emrith was saying something about altering his jawblade. But his voice was so far away. It took him several seconds to entirely shake himself loose. Something about how there was already magic there and explosions... surely the runes would be able to at least do something. "If--if you can aTAH! yeasTAH! yook aTAH! iTAH!, I woulDAH! appreciaTAH! iTAH!. May I yeave iTAH! here wiHHHTH you, an' come back for iTAH!.?" What? Kree leaving the building without his weapon? "HHHTHank you. Io jus'... puTAH! iTAH! righTAH! here... an' be righTAH! back... jus' neeDAH! some... air. Or. SomeHHHTHing. Back soon." And with that, he'd hauled his jawblade from its holster, rested it against the wall (for any who tried to pick it up, it'd be even heavier than it looks--about like trying to pick up a small person) and turned to duck out of the room in a VERY un-Kree-like retreat.

Brand grimaces and takes hold of Khitti’s upper arms, simultaneously moving to stand behind her. The gorram pirate-drinking-thing took place before he could stop her, but he’s sure as hell going to put himself out of easy punching range now that it’s done. A drunk Khitti is a childish Khitti with a grudge against Brand. And he did nothing, honest! He’s totally innocent and very misunderstood! There’s a nod of acknowledgement to Lionel’s statement about the Tranquility, and to Meri’s desire to come aboard rather than fly. “The more the merrier.” He says it more because it seems like the thing to say right now than out of any conviction in the statement more generally. Also, it’s a pun. Because Meri.

Lionel snickers, covering his mouth to mask a smirk. Emrith’s words are wise, but that first bit? Toward Meri? From what he can tell, Lionel thinks the woman’s issue with taking flight might be on the broader scale of terror. Then again, the elf’s dialogue continues, and fear is precisely what he comes to address. In that moment, Lionel solidifies an observation he’s made time and again in the man: he’s keen. “A leaf on the wind?” He blinks; Khitti’s metaphor has snapped him off his train of thought. Then he’s smirking again, this time without the hand to block the image. He never expected Khatherine von Schreier to quote old Catalian phrases for luck, but then, she’s been around Brand and Dominic for so long now, he supposes it was inevitable. Then Kreekitaka’s bowing out with greater haste than he’s seen from his companion since… well, no, scratch that; Kreekitaka is always hasty, no matter the combat situation, so it really hasn’t been very long. “Alright, everyone. We’ve still got a little over a week to get things straightened out, so take some time to meet with one-another and discuss plans when you get the chance. If more insectoids turn up near Rynvale in the interim, you know what to do. Otherwise, catch up with Rorin, Larewen, and the rest of the gang and let ‘em know where things are headed. Krice is coming, too. That’s all I’ve got for you tonight. Pretty soon, we’re either ending this war or dying painfully. Smart money’s on the former.”

Meri makes a cross-eyed expression as Emrith speaks to her on her unwillingness to take the aerial approach. Kreekitaka seemed to understand the same fear that Meri was feeling, and she had not even experienced it first hand like he hand! Nor would she. Not willingly at least. I mean, look at her, just about every tattoo visible tattoo except for the one on the side of her neck, often hidden by her hair anyway, basically says 'hai, I love the ocean.' She had equally refused to even set foot on the aerial lift out of the desert when that madness had happened. For a split second, Meri half-considers offering up some defense but the subject moves right along and the tattooed woman is not going to stop it. Meri can't help but notice the way Khitti fiddles with her wrist, the artist doesn't comment though. The words 'that's all I have got for you' come out of Liones mouth and Meri is all to eager to start for the door -- provided no one else as anything else to chime in with. "Cool, so break then, because if that's it, then...Bye folks." Someone is going to definitely be getting a glare on her way out, hard and blatant. How dare you make puns on Meri's name! This is not done to -her- face. Hmph! Only two women in the room and Brand has managed to irritate them both. Khitti's complaints win though, obviously.

Emrith takes one quick look at Kreekitaka as he makes his hasty exit; by this point, he is no longer precisely listening to Lionel, since he has a pretty good idea what the man is saying, and he already knows it. The spell-blade glides over to the discarded jawblade, picks it up with a soft grunt, then hefts it. It is a heavy thing, probably too unwieldy for Emrith to wield easily, though his vampiric strength means that he could probably use it as an artless hacking implement or a bludgeoning instrument in a pinch. He studies the peculiar thing, then murmurs to himself under his breath, words in elvish. Having been here as long as he feels necessary, the elf begins to step out of the room. The little spider perches impossibly on the back of his hand, growing very, very slowly larger. Emrith, too, has to get out of this place, away from these people, before one sign or another becomes too obvious to ignore. He has not missed Lionel's brief scrutiny, and pointed inquiry right now would likely be a self-defeating, self-indulgent affair that is both unnecessary and unsought. With that in mind, the vampiric elf leaves the premises, still carrying Kreekitaka's jawblade. He will have to work on it a great deal if any enhancement is to be wrested from it.

Whatever super seriousness that had been there for a moment when her words were directed at Meri was now Brand’s. “Don’t touch me, “ was hissed to the Catalian as she pulled away, nearly stumbling into a stack of boxes in front of her. Her mood shifted almost immediately as Lionel echoed her words and a grin appeared as she nodded to him, righting herself as if nothing had even happened. Like rapid fire, her demeanor changed again as she side-eyed Brand, but this time there’s a frown instead of a glare. It’s almost like she’s sad or something. This is why Khat’s with lots of pent-up emotions and thoughts and all that jazz shouldn’t drink--it comes spilling out quicker than that pirate-lady’s blood outside. Much like Meri, she too would leave once Lionel had dismissed them, with nothing more than a nod to the Knight-Commander in goodbye before her exit, and the door to their room could be heard slamming shut once she was out of sight.

Brand’s departure is a mumbled, baffled, “...What?” He doesn’t understand why so much ire is being directed at him. Brand never gets it.