RP:The Cat and the Lion

Part of the To Haunt A Hero Arc

Part of the Thy Kingdom Come Arc

Summary: Lionel meets the vampiress Khitti, but their difficult introduction is soon interrupted when a pack of ghouls attacks them. Lionel suspects an assassination attempt on his life -- it certainly wouldn't be the first time, after all -- but also considers that it occurred in Vailkrin Castle and might be related to the Frost Giants instead. Khitti and Lionel won't soon forget one-another.

Vailkrin: Shattered Halls of Darkness

Lionel parries the guardsman’s final blow, left leg forward-bent to allow him ample flexibility against the too-rigid structure of his sparring partner’s own form. Oaken training wood clacks loudly enough to reverberate against the tower walls; fallen hero and would-be soldier stand motionless, as if features in some gothic painting, for two or even three stray seconds before the exhausted guard collapses into a heavy sigh, visibly frustrated. Lionel drops his training stick unceremoniously and yanks the lad upright, offering water which is readily accepted. “I just don’t understand,” the guard all but spits between breaths, slurping the water as if he’s been stranded in wilderness for days. “You blocked so much quicker than the sergeant ever does. And how did you turn those blocks into strikes? You make no sense.” Lionel smirks despite himself, pats the man, and commences his departure. “Think on it and find your answer,” he says, back turned. He’s about to comment that the guard will excel in tomorrow’s sparring hour, but holds his tongue and prefers to leave things mystical. Lionel is, after all, a bit of a tool sometimes. Back in his Spartan living quarters, the Catalian changes into a thin modest button-down black shirt and slacks fit to match it. He glances at himself, ever-briefly, in an ancient mirror he can’t recall whether or not he ever watched summon demons. He knows there was some issue with some mirror here in Vailkrin, some twelve years ago. Was it this one? Should he perhaps notify someone? No, no. Best not to alarm. He saunters down into a room he’s not previously explored, through lavish double doors. He arrives upon these shattered halls of darkness, crosses his arms. “Chanting,” he mutters. “Nothing good ever comes of chanting.”

Khitti had finally pried herself from the abandoned manse nearby in the city, and despite her frame of mind, decided that she should perhaps at least leave word for silver dragon regarding Larewen's decision. The solemn and silent red-head trails through the streets of Vailkrin, her form like that of a banshee as she heads northwards towards the castle. Her slender frame was unkempt, blood colored tresses matted here and tangled there. The knee-length, red rose-covered black dress that adorned her form, as well as the black duster over top of it, were singed and holes littered it, clearly burned there. The strange female was gifted with many looks, as most here had seen her before her unfortunate demise, aka the breakup, and had known her to be an alright sort of person, though she usually had a dour mood. Now, she was even less like herself, and seemed to look through everyone that passed by. Reaching the castle finally, and seeing no servant at the moment, she takes to wandering restlessly, happening upon the shattered halls. The odd smell of acid enshrouds the dark ranger, the acrid stench not a pleasant thing for sensitive noses, but the female doesn't really seem to care one way or another.

Lionel eventually settles into a cross-legged position against the wall, nestled between two torches which brighten his light features into clear visibility in an otherwise-dark room. Upright beside him is the legendary blade called Hellfire, that great claymore possessed by ancient malevolent spirit whose name remains a blessing and a curse in equal measure all these years later. Coursing through its veins of steel at pulses vivid enough to be seen through the sheath are deep red waves which at times grow slow and dim but never truly fade. It is a sword alive and it has killed thousands. Here in this shadowy den, Lionel closes his eyes and his mind races. Believing himself to be speaking with a man who is in fact long dead – a brother-in-arms named Griff Morivan, whom the dark knight cannot consciously accept has joined all those legions of victims he could not save – Lionel’s lips move and he whispers, lowly, as if joining the far-off chanters in their bleak arts. Then, abruptly, he snaps back into reality, overhearing footsteps, smelling the decaying blend of flame and acid. Somewhere in his head, he imagines telling Griff to be still, and then to leave, quickly. He stands hastily, but does not reach for Hellfire. Rather, he sees her – this redheaded woman with her

Khitti 's slow footsteps come to a close as she's spoken to. It takes some time before her dark verdant line of sight finally finds man that had only just been speaking to himself. Lost? Was she lost? Lost to the darkness, yes. He damned her, that elder vampire did. To the darkness. To this undeath. But how did this man know? "Yes...I'm lost." is gifted to Lionel, her thick German accent running fluidly off that tongue of hers. What did he mean by lost? He couldn't have known. Her thoughts run rampant, derailing as the beat of the male's heart finds her ears. Badum. Badum. Badum. The sound was like a symphony to her ears. "No...vait...I'm not lost." Distracted, her lithe digits twitch idly at her sides, a vacant look in her eyes.

Lionel cocks a brow whilst absentmindedly scratching at the back of his head. “Yeah,” he agrees, the single word drawn-out and overemphasized. His countenance, however, ought to betray his blatant confusion. “Yeah. Sure. I’ve been lost-but-no-wait-I’m-good before, I think. It’s a very specific condition.” Khitti’s twitching digits do not escape notice; a subtle scan with those striking blue eyes of his affords him the chance to pick up on the woman’s mannerisms. Somewhere in the darkness, well beyond either individual, a creature stirs. It is so quiet, so perfect in its stealth, that even Halycanos – Hellfire’s infamous spirit – does not react. For now, the creature goes unnoticed. Hellfire, however, does pulse a faster, feistier shade of red at the sight of Khitti. Lionel cannot help acknowledging the blade perched beside him, and he audibly ‘hmms.’ After a brief moment of hesitation, the man speaks up again. “You, uh, a friend of Hildegarde’s?” After all, what else does one say to a blatantly deranged woman in a chilling castle on a dark night like this one?

Khitti unfortunately had never been very great at sensing people nearby even with her vampiric abilities; her distracted thoughts were always way more in charge in her mind, allowing the creature to go unnoticed for now. Friend? Hildegarde? She struggles with gathering in her mind the proper things to say, fingers still twitching eagerly as his heartbeat's melody only grows. "Oh. Yes. Hildegarde. Are you?" Her attention darts around the room before fixating on him again, taking in a careful observation of him now. "I have zhings of import to speak to her about." As they stood their, his very presence near her was beginning to unnerve the vampiress, causing worn, booted feet to take a careful step back.

Lionel now finds himself mildly more transfixed by this woman than he’d intended. In a bygone era, he had learned the hard way, time and again, never to keep one’s focus at one hundred percent upon anything. Yet there is something in Khitti’s line delivery, something in her clear distress, something in that single step wayward, that demands attention. Is she a threat? Some assassin or merc come to claim his head, as countless others have tried and failed to do? Or is she...? It strikes him like the blunt weapon he’d only just recently been training with and the man’s simple smile shatters into a tense hard look. Her style is more than familiar to him; she is quite possibly a vampire. “Queen Hilde and I count ourselves as friends,” he tells her, careful to mix formality and shorthand in one title, there to gauge her reaction. There’s no telling whether this pale stranger is speaking falsely; in Lionel’s not-inconsiderable experience, vampires are prone to lies. He wonders now whether this woman is yet another surviving worshiper of that vampiric devil Elazul. “Well, you’d best be off, then; don’t let me keep you.” Lionel is eager to see her moving past him, eager to get a better read of her intentions. Will she attack? Will she pass without incident? So consumed is he with this imperative question that the venomous black spit of an unknown foe buzzes past him just inches from his throat. At once the man is moving, half again quicker than any ordinary man, bringing himself into a rolling dodge and lifting Hellfire into a shimmering crimson block to defend the both of them from whatever’s lurking. “With me or against me?” he all but barks at Khitti. He’ll need to know the answer sooner than he’d anticipated.

Khitti had only just parted her lips to deliver her response to his sending her on her way when the 'thing' attacked. There's a moment's hesitation. Just as he doubted her, so too did she. Anyone could claim to be a friend of Hildegarde's and especially now with war nipping at their heels, minions of the frost giants could be lurking, even here. There's a clear fight going on in her mind, the decision to help or to flee weighing heavily in her brain and mirroring on her face. "Gods damn it..." Daermon may have caused this madness in her mind, but that didn't stop her from wanting to help someone who may be a potential ally. The source of the acid finally surfaces as bold steps are taken forward, more conviction in each one. Her left hand glows a deep purple, a softball-sized glob of corrosive ooze forming in her palm. With another forming in her right, the first is sent whizzing past Lionel and towards the shadows. Her aim has no specific target, merely trying to coax the monster out of the darkness.

Lionel isn’t entirely confident in Khitti’s profane reply, but the fact of the matter is, the woman has chosen via action. With her forward stance past Hellfire, her back exposed to its wicked slice, he feels mildly more assured; with her purple assault, that might-be-magical sphere she forms, he feels she is probably genuine. The woman’s attack is fruitful; it helps to illuminate a too-dark patch of the halls and brings forth the image of an impossibly thin, leathery-skinned creature with piercing slits for yellow eyes and a predatory howl. The thing leaps upon an old dresser in protest, evading Khitti’s blinded assault, and then rears its mean fangs and shrieks. Into the darkness it returns, and another bout of tar-like spit emerges, this time with Khitti as its intended target. Lionel enters the shadows with haste, swinging Hellfire about like the strongest of candles; all around him, light reveals. The creature sprints on all fours in silence, straight for the fallen hero, but a single calculated cleave rips its asunder. This is all well and good, but for the fact that three more of them have arrived in distant darkness – perilously close to Khitti.

Khitti had begun to chuck the other ball in the direction of the imp-like beast, but she was too late as the stranger cleaves it in twain. She was more focused now, the fight and Lionel aiding in that, her mind almost once more her own. At least for now. The scent of more of the creatures is picked up on, dark optics sliding towards where they arrive and sit in waiting for the dark ranger. Had she been of sound mind, the woman would've had her bow, and things would've been far easier for her. Sadly, for her, that is not the case and once more she must rely on her magic. The second ball in her hand glows, the corrosive substance tossed now at the feet where the beings dwell, illuminating the enemy. No sooner did it leave her hand, did wisp-like vines shoot out from her fingertips. Like whips, they travel swiftly through the air, her aim precise now and focused on their legs and feet. Should she succeed, the magic would sink deep into their leathery flesh, cutting and prodding and slicing. There would be no escape without pain.

Lionel wheels around and charges, lightweight attire granting his already abnormally-swift movement an almost otherworldly boost in speed. Despite the wielding of a titanic sword, he carries on as though holding nothing at all; restless spirit and fabled man in violent harmony means miraculous form and frenzy. He comes up beside Khitti, feet sliding mere meters from her stance, and watches closely as the illuminated beasts cover their ugly eyes instinctually and the vampiress‘ vines rip two in the flesh, melting through toxic magically-infused bodies in their tear until there is nothing left but bone. However devious these things may be, they are but minnow in the sea of sharks from whence they came. Only the one monster escapes, and it is frantic to depart in the wake of such carnage. It does not so much as reach a sixth desperate step – Hellfire is extended like some conducting rod and a thin blue flame whips through all the black and incinerates its target instantly. Lionel sheaths his many-faceted sword, its pulses now scarlet and its temperature an inferno. For all the fanfare of this unexpected encounter, he merely shrugs a dry shrug and sighs. “That was weird.”

Khitti 's pretty, yet deathly pale visage contorts into that of an irritated look once the beings had been dispatched of. A crimson brow raises, her dark line of sight shifting towards him as the vines that had made their mark upon the imp-things begin to lose their substance and fade like smoke from a snuffed out candle. Still vaguely defensive, a boot heel pivots to turn her towards the fallen hero, the corners of her mouth tilted downward in a frown, "Indeed. Who are you? Vhat zhe hell are you doing in here? How do you know zhe silver dragon?" For all she knew, those could've been his beasties and if Hildegarde allowed it, not only would she be dealing with protecting the spirits of Frostmaw, but defending it from those with dark magic. As her stern words linger in the air, the woman seemingly more herself now and clearly untrusting of the male, she's much more capable now of truly giving him a proper study. He was clearly well trained and the sword's power was much more vast than Amarrah's. His heartbeat is once more a distraction, though this time it is mild despite her lack of blood drinking for the day. A bottle of the crimson fluid would be sorely needed soon, lest this man or some other mortal being that wandered the dark city become her very first victim.

Lionel leans on the wall and laughs. He laughs. He covers his mouth and laughs some more. On the surface it might appear that the woman’s understandable frustration is the source of his amusement, but the truth of the matter is, the whole thing amuses him. Images of myriad similar circumstances flood his unhinged mind and for the briefest of moments Khitti is someone else altogether to his gaze, although he can’t quite say as to who. “Ahh, heck,” he answers, taking a deep breath and wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead. Hellfire is hot, after all. “I’ll give you... uh…” Almost comically, he lifts a hand and starts counting fingers. “Five.” He nods assuredly. “Five. I’ll give you five answers and you can take them in stride or you can take offense or you can take those pretty wisps of yours and beat me to death with them – choice is yours, don’t be late.” He straightens up, bouncing off the wall with his arms crossed and a discerning stare firmly fixed on this unknown woman. “One. The name’s Lionel. You may have heard of me if you’ve cracked open a book, or you may not have heard of me and that’s just as well. Two. I’m here because I live here, and just now a nice bit of conversation with an old friend suited me, and then you came waltzing by and put a stop to that right then and there. Three. Hilde and I go way, way back. And by way, way back, I’m talking, like, almost a week. We’re steadfast allies because she’s got noble purpose and I’m attracted to noble purpose like a moth to a…” He glances whimsically at his sword. “Nevermind.” Back to Khitti. “Four. I didn’t summon those things, in case you were wondering. Which, let’s be honest, you were wondering. They’re ghouls, of some sort or another, and they wanted me dead because there is never an end to bad guys with cliché capes who want me dead. Now I just need to figure out which bad guy – or bad girl, I should be equal here –“ an absurdist wink – “is responsible. Five. You look thirsty. Drink.” Without further ado, Lionel pulls out and pops the cork on a bottle of fresh blood. “Straight from Steadmen. Do you know Steadmen? He’s good people. You’re a vampire.”

Khitti can only stare at the male with that look of irritation on her face and anger flaring in her eyes. But slowly, as his thoughts are spouted off in an almost erratic, yet still strangely organized manner, does her emotions fade. She had never heard of him, but as he said, it didn't matter. She had heard of him now and with the name committed to memory and her frequent outings to the library, she'd likely focus her studies on his written past. It would be quite the distraction from her necromancy tomes and constant searching for information on Revan the illusionist. With his thoughts past, the bottle of blood offered and the words, "You're a vampire." out in the open, her staring continues. There was something clearly off about this man, but...there also was with her too. Just as before, a step away from him is taken, eye contact avoided and the bottle ignored. "So vhat if I am?" Another backwards step. "You're in zhe city of vampires. Ve're everywhere, Lionel."

Lionel snickers at that. “You’ve got me there,” he notes, remaining firmly in place at whichever distance suits the woman. But then, quickly, he moves past her, at a wide enough berth and without his sword and straight toward the bones of a ghoul she had crisped. He bends at the knees and slaps a woolen glove to his free hand, holding the bottle of blood behind him as if to communicate that she can grab it whenever she pleases, should she ever please. She probably will not please; he knows, ‘tis true. But whatever. “Yep, definitely a ghoul. Hm. Well, I’d best inform the good queen she needs to hire a few more soldiers in these halls while I painstakingly ascertain who it is that thinks I care so much about the whole ‘drawing breath’ thing these days. I wonder if it’s the Frost Giants? Huh. I hadn’t even considered until now that it might have absolutely nothing to do with me. That’s funny, isn’t it?” He turns and stands. “I suppose it won’t be funny to you. No, you’ve got a rather dour look about you. Hmm, maybe you’re responsible.” He says it all with such carefree analytical poise that he might have been talking over tea. “Say, what’s your name?” So polite.

Khitti felt that aggravation rise again as he quickly moves past her, a brow quirked in his direction, and that defamation of her character stated so boldly by this strange man. She opens her mouth to bite back with her own defense, but frowns and thinks better of it, keeping that obscenity-filled thought to herself. She shifts her attention away from him, looking towards the ghouls that had been felled by the two. "I always look zhis vay..." is all that's given. It was true, of course. The depression and stress that plagued her was certainly worse than any sort of malady she'd ever encountered. She's hesitant to give her name, but ultimately does so, her brain reverting back into that state of absent-minded dejection. "Khitti." Being called dour from yet another male and so soon after the first was not something she wanted to hear. Perhaps coming here had been a bad idea. The anger fades, the darkness in her heart taking hold again with the shift of her emotions.

Lionel glances at her again, briefly. His heart is too chaotic to be deigned ‘dark’ – and too full of relentless desire to right wrongs and battle villains, in any case. But it is surely worth calling chaotic. Just as soon as he’s challenged her, he is somehow totally satisfied with her answer. At last he returns the blood to his traveler’s sash. “The lion and the cat, eh?” If Griff Morivan were here, that’s what he’d say. “It just so happens I am famished and in need of someone to help collect these ghastly remains into a little box for further inspection, so I’m thinking of grabbing a bite and employing a box… wielding… person.” Really, just some hapless guard, but it’s the little words that often elude Lionel so. “Please, for the time being, look both ways before crossing badly-lit expanses.” He strolls over to Hellfire, fetches the damnable blade, and begins whistling a quiet little jig as he trots down the hall, away from Khitti.

Khitti tilts her head curiously at the 'lion and the cat' bit, a ghost of a smile appearing, but only briefly. The man and his blade are watched in silence as one joins the other, only to then stroll off into the proverbial sunset like the battle worn, slightly deranged warrior that he was. Allowing him to leave, for it was far better for the both of them at this point in time, she turns back to carefully eye the remains of the ghouls. Was it purely chance that they should appear? Was it because of the fallen hero or perhaps something sent after her? The thought was a bit unnerving, but she tried not to let it bother her. As the guard appeared to clear away the corpses, her message for Hildegarde was given to him, and she too would depart, though it would be entirely from the castle. There were many things to dwell on now, but whether or not her altered, blood-starved mind would allow her to do so was a difference story.