RP:The Surface World and the Skies Above

Part of the Dissonance Theory Arc

This is a Warrior's Guild RP.

Summary: When Lionel summons the Warrior's Guild in order to discuss the mysterious menace known as Xicotl, he is as in-the-dark as the rest of them until Quintessa calls attention to the results of her research. Revelations abound, and the team begins to understand the magnitude of the latest threat they have agreed to face. Lionel recognizes a name out of Catalian legend, and Khitti descends from a well-placed rooftop to bring words to her estranged brother at long last. Brave Syrri and Penelope are the first to volunteer when a plan is formed to climb down into one of the Southern Sage's fresh, frightening chasms for a closer look at the monsters within. After issuing two overdue promotions, Lionel then reveals an ambitious project to build a fortress deep within the western frontier, so as to maintain great vigilance over Lithrydel for generations to come. A hooded man named Kazeem appears, requesting entry into the guild, and Kasyr learns excellent news about a friend. And an elven woman watches everything, prepared to report her findings to a vengeful tribe who now view the Warrior's Guild with scorn.

Snowless Training Yard

Sometimes, when the setting sun cast golden rays upon the snowless training yard at the Academy of Aramoth, where the Warrior’s Guild had held so many meetings by now on so many realm-shaking subjects, Lionel O’Connor wondered from where and whence all the discipline in the ranks of his small band of paramilitary fighters ever originated. Thirty-two in total, the Warrior’s Guild was chiefly composed of men and women from multiple species united in common cause to do for Lithrydel what needed doing, no matter the sociopolitical lines drawn by shortsighted rulers; no matter the sacrifice required. Most were young, though some were old; most wore the blues and greys of Frostmawian garb, though some stood out in the crowd. Most were soldiers and medics, tasked with the upkeep of these hallowed grounds or the scouting of the land, though some -- like Khitti, Rorin, Quintessa, Kasyr, Brand and Syrri -- held more distinguished honors or blossoming careers destined for greatness. All were Lionel’s family, after a fashion. But the Catalian former prince hadn’t the faintest idea where they had learned to stand in sharp unison, in rows and ranks, with a pride in their eyes which Lionel himself seldom possessed.

Tonight, the thirty-two were gathered. They looked like they belonged here, each and every last one of them. Alongside the members of the Warrior’s Guild, there stood a few in attendance from other organizations or solitary ways of life, including Penelope Halifax of the Healer’s Guild. The homeless folks bundled up here at the Academy for the winter watched from inside their cozy tents with no small bit of wonder. Lanterns were lit on metal staves at regular intervals on all four sides of the yard to ensure that even as night began to blanket the sky none would suffer full bitterness of cold. Lionel, dressed in his beloved black silk button-up shirt and matching slacks -- albeit with gloves now, as Halycanos’ fire no longer dwelt inside him -- took his place uncomfortably at the timber podium in front of the crowd. Clearing his throat, he scanned the procession with his azure eyes and briefly pondered whether or not his sister or her husband, should they arrive, would punch him in the face or give him a sound kick to the groin at any point during or after the meeting. It was an odd thought, but a worthy one to factor into account.

Beside the podium, Quintessa Dragana had taken her place. Though new to the guild, she had an important role here tonight: to present imperative information on a burgeoning crisis, information which Lionel himself did not yet possess. “Alright, let’s mosey.” Lionel was rarely one to thrust formalities where most presumed formalities belonged. Even the act of raising his voice to cover the fullness of the yard felt pompous somehow, if mandatory. “Some of you know this; others do not. Of late, the Southern Sage Forest has been wracked with tremors. Chasms have formed. Several guild officers have investigated the source, including myself, and uncovered two strange stones. One of which is… over there.” He pointed at a stone obelisk of considerable size and heft which was covered in an ancient runic language. He also opted, after some consideration, not to mention that hippie cultists had been riding the obelisk whenever the tremors occurred, for reasons best left to the imagination. “As of recently, we have reason to believe that this series of events may be linked to a threat as wild, dangerous, and altogether outrageous as the Haathian insectoids from three years ago. Maybe even the forces of Kahran.” Lionel paused. “Though that would be nuts.” Another pause. “Regardless, it’s this guild’s sworn charge to take to task anything of such magnitude. So here we stand. Also, um, there’ll be promotions, as well as surprise expansion announcements, and maybe even cake. Now to you, Lady Dragana.” There was no cake in sight.

Rorin stood by, having no pre writing whatsoever, and listened to Lionel speak. Nowadays the Commander seemed slightly more comfortable than he had a few years ago when adressing a formal crowd but who's to say. Rorin himself appeared rather casual, and although he eagerly awaited words of promotion, he also faced the grim proposition of another world ending threat. That's just a day in the warriors guild though. He looked for quintessa, abd didn't really have much tl say. Besides all the important stuff would be for Quintessa to speak on so what did he have to worry about? Unless this was going to be one of those "the monster bursts from the ground" meetings. They'd all been to a few of those already.

Quintessa Dragana has been rehearsing what she's going to say in her mind for days now, the information she had uncovered in the tome titled 'Xicotl: The Compendium of Known Intelligence' a piece of literature put together by a man named Maester Narek weighing heavily on her mind. The day that the young scholar first read the book she failed to see it, but the words inhabiting the pages of that ancient text grew in desperation the longer she read it. Strange and unbelievable accounts of this 'Xicotl' and others like it had driven Quintessa to obsess over it and it began to bleed into every part of her studies. Even her personal quest to complete her compendium on poisons had been waylaid as more and more books on obscure flora and fauna cluttered her desk back in Xalious. By the time she stood before those gathered here, Quintessa's mind had been stretched it its limit and it showed in her tired eyes. "Well, let's get this started," the changeling says with a sigh as her spiked heels bring her closer to where she had placed a large chalk slate and wooden table for her presentation. "For those of you who don't already know me, I am Quintessa Dragana, a spell blade for both the Warrior's Guild and the Mage's Guild. For the last couple of weeks I have been uncovering ancient secrets at the behest of Imperator Lionel and the things I've discovered are quite troubling." Quintessa gestures to the large obelisk that stands behind her and the mysterious that were runes caved along its length. "The earthquakes in the Sage and the strange stones that seem to be causing them- it's all linked to the same thing..."

"From the moment I first translated the runes on this object I knew that something dire was in store for us. 'Hallowed Xicotl, First and Only. Underworld’s Champion. Singular Lord Beneath the Earth. Rise, Xicotl, and Claim Also The Surface World and the Skies Above. We Are Yours. All Are Yours'." Quintessa turns her back on her audience to set a small piece of fluorite into a metal ring supported by a tripod on the table, and with her own mana added to it, the crystal projected the image of a large, plant-like being that towered over the girl. The image was large, about three meters tall and two meters wide with writhing tentacles and proboscis-like appendages that reach out to feed or implant eggs or whatever other horrifying purpose it might have. Its flesh or carapace was a disgusting green, leathery and slimy and stretched over what looked be giant, misshapen egg. "This is Xicotl," Quintessa turns around to face her audience, her mouth twisting up into a wide, dark smile as she gauges their responses, "As depicted by the Sun Ce, a bygone culture apparently destroyed by the very same monster they sought to understand."

Quintessa pulls out a small piece of chalk and turns toward her slate, writing down the words Sun Ce on a timeline that expanded across the entire board and she begins to add other names to her board. "Among these cultures are the Athis, the Coalition of Chrome, the Belghaxian Reach, the Xin Akashi, and the Order of the Third Moon. All ancient civilizations that all mysteriously vanished with one core detail in common." Quintessa lifts her chalk to point it in the direction of the plant-like mass that hovers above her. "Xicotl." Quintessa places the chalk down on the table and pivots to face those gathered. "The man who studied Xicolt 936 years ago saw this pattern. He wrote a warning for us to discover: 'Xicotl must feed. This is when the people turn to thralls, and the thralls command the Sun Ce and Quelkan, and together they commit unto all the act of genocide. When the souls are lost, the corpse remains, and the corpses are fed to Xicotl far beneath our planet’s crust. When none remain, the thralls and their plants become the final course'." Quintessa brings up a single pale finger to point at her timeline before she continues. " When the years are counted and aligns time’s proverbial compass for true, the equation works out to once every 937 years. Along this axis. I write this in the year 936. My words having fallen on deaf ears...' This Maester Narek wasn't taken seriously and everything he loved was lost. We have a chance to break this cycle, thought it won't be easy; None have ever been successful."

Kasyr’s being a bit of a lazy git, considering that he retreated to the back of the ranks, so it wouldn't be as obvious when he summons a sheathed floating sword into existence, just so he can take a seat down on it's flat. It might not be the most comfortab seat, but it beats standing. That said, while he's certainly grateful for the small creature comfort, (for the same reason he's grateful he has a fur trimmed jacket and a scarf to bundle himself into), what he's most appreciative in this particular moment is that Lionel somehow avoided the temptation to go into indepth detail as to the so often dubbed Frak Stone. That said, when Quintessa begins to convey her findings, the Kensai is busy burying his face into his hands, and then searching around the inside of his coat for a flask. "Great. Wonderful, enfin. Another one." It's only after he takes a long swig that essentially empties a portion of his emergency whiskey stash that he finds himself lifting up a hand, "So, es there like, a scale for that thing. That's the sort of math that helps all Deicidal endeavors."

Kazeem Ansari had previously taken it upon himself to seemingly slip into a crowd of warrior guild members, as well as homeless they seem to shelter, as they made their way towards the headquarters of the organization. Having been tracking the guild for a few days, maybe more since the caravan from the nameless desert he tagged along with had stopped for trade in Kelay this past week, the nomadic adventurer was glad to have finally found them. The soul rending bite of winter’s touch seemed unable to fully grab the desert native, though the reason for that wasn’t some hardened constitution, or innate ability, no, the infernal touch of the Efreeti lingers upon his person, in particular from a brand upon his left breast. Bargains with other worldly things spawned from various calamities (particularly the fall of the Shattered Kingdom) are almost somewhat commonplace. But that’s all neither here nor there, as the warrior’s guild is needed by the man for its intended purpose, to help hone warriors of the finest caliber. And so, Kazeem, last son of Bahrami Ansari stands within the halls of the guild and listens as its leaders speak of more other worldly things plaguing the land. It seems that no matter where you hail from, be it a nameless desert, or the frozen realm of Frostmaw, creatures of power seek to just do as they damn well please, while we mortals just seem to have to deal with it. If not for the shemagh covering his face the visible scowl would clearly be seen. Though, there does seem to be a look I think all who have a strong dislike for such things can see, if they even look his way. For now, Kaz just keeps to himself and listens, waiting for the time to make himself known.

Penelope had always had her fits with the cold, but perhaps her mood was because of her petite stature. Although a hoax that colds were given by chilled weather, she had mentally convinced herself that was the truth anyway, so she had barely a reason to visit. Frostmaw, however, was Lionel’s territory, and she had agreed to come to the meeting today with the warriors. For that circumstance, she travelled, and made sure to bundle up. The woman wore multiple layers: a black and white checkered silken button-up with a loose brown sweater layered over the top, a black scarf, and a black corduroy hat to keep her head warm. She topped it off with plain black jeans and tan boots with a long camel coat to go over top. After all, she was representing the Healer’s Guild, so being neatly dressed, to her, was a must. Clearly, too, she was a sore thumb and not a Frostmaw local. The physician keeps her medical satchel around her torso that has a Kelay emblem on it to represent her residence. She stands in the crowd by some burly women, with head held high and attentive eyes to listen to the agenda. Specifically on Quintessa Dragana’s research upon the obelisks that had shaken from the ground, and as the crystal projected the image of the plant-like being. There was one simple phrase that slipped from the Healer’s mouth. “That’s gross,” the Ardelian twin remained stoic around the burly women who stared down at her like she was some girly girl. Quietly, she observes each detail given on the slate. Great, another detrimental being. Yay.

Khitti || [1 of 2]“Look. We’re going. I need to know what the hell they’re all doing. I’m supposed to be training that damned Dragana girl and he keeps stealing her off to go stab things and she’s too murderous to say no,” Khitti told Brand the day before the Warrior’s Guild meeting. “But, I also don’t want him to know that I’m there. Because. You know. I tried to have him killed.” So, that night, they concocted a plan. It was a good plan. The best plan. Why? Because their spider-doggo-son Francis was going to help him and he was the bestest boy. Under the guise of checking for new mark hunts--forget the fact that they’d not even finished the first one yet; that’s not what matters right now--Khitti and Brand headed to the training yard outside the Royal Academy of Aramoth. Other Warrior’s Guild members and affiliates came and went as the Captain and his woman debated for a not-so-suspiciously long time about what quest to choose next from a board posted on the outside wall. A combination of shift change and a lull in people wandering through the area made for the perfect timing to enact their plan: have Francis pin them to the roof with his freshly made spider-silk. Khitti opened a portal to the Shadow Plane large enough on the roof for the cow-sized arachnid to slip through before it closed, leaving Francis to wait for the signal. Moments later, Khitti shadow-stepped herself and Brand to one of the lower points of the roof and were soon plastered to there near the edge with webbing like villains in a Spider-man comic, after snow was cleared away. “Who’s a good boy, Francis? You’re so good. So helpful,” Khitti whispered to white spider who shook his butt like a pupper. So, there they sat. For three hours. Until the meeting. Thankfully, Khitti and Brand had had the foresight to lower their water and food intake, so as not to need the bathroom. Otherwise, this would be really really bad. People started to come and go again as per usual and were none the wiser.

Khitti || [2 of 2] Three hours is a long frakking agonizing time to be stuck to a roof without entertainment. Khitti and Brand made do, however, by making weird faces at each other and mouthing extremely dirty things that can’t be said here because think of the children. The meeting eventually started and Khitti eyed each and every member that showed up, as well as the newcomer. She glared at Rorin in particular, then shook her head. Everything was going well until… she got an itch. The itch was on her leg and it was a wee bit difficult to scratch when your body is strapped to roof with spiderwebbing like a stupid teenager with ducttape. She tried so hard to scratch that itch but she just… couldn’t… reach it. Until, she did. Little did she realize though that every time she tried to reach down, she tore the webbing just a bit. Francis had failed at making thick enough webbing--the normal thickness was never a problem in short increments!--and now the webbing had broken entirely and Khitti was suddenly sliding down the rest of the roof! Right on into a snowbank below. “Oh shi--!” Don’t ask how she didn’t break anything from that fall. She doesn’t know either. Hopefully Brand doesn’t fall on her. Because something -will- be broken then.

Syrri had not yet had the chance to meet many of the guild's other members. Although she joined two years prior, it is only now that her curious azure-and-chestnut swept left and right to size up her comrades. Layered in the same style of deep and light blue leathers and furs that she presented during the previous day's duel, she kept her arms crossed, rather than have Luck and Fate gripped in her bare hands and ready to throw at someone's unlucky head. The weapons were instead secured to a simple utility belt that sported the same Nightstone banding as her cuirass and the straps of the axes themselves. Listening attentively to what familiar and unfamiliar faces brought forth, replying to some of the details with an intrigued arch of pale eyebrows. But until addressed directly, Syrri Darkfoot intended to keep her little mouth shut, storing away each bit of information in her mind fort.

Brand || Suddenly, a monster burst from the ground! …Okay, no, just kidding. As Rorin had noted, that would be too predictable. Instead, the Khat had just fallen from the roof -- just as disruptive; though not quite as violent. And what was a poor Brand to do, safely secured up above while his wife tumbled into the courtyard below? He could stay where he was, but Khitti’s fall had already ruined their plan. And besides, he was by now -quite- hungry, with terribly little patience for such an uncomfortable condition. So it was that Brand burst forth from his wrappings like some sort of vengeful mummy, jumped into the courtyard below, and stuffed an entire brick of cheese into his mouth. Mmmm, pocket cheese. Just the treat he’d been waiting for. He chewed, swallowed, and uttered a nonchalant “hey.” What? Leaping off of the roof in the middle of a meeting? This guy? Brand doesn’t know what you’re talking about.

Lionel listened keenly to the aural fruits of Quintessa Dragana’s research. What began as a face expressionless and utterly neutral crept closer and closer into a grimace until at last a grimace was no longer enough and he snickered and burst into unenviable laughter. “I can’t decide what’s worse here: the world-ending signs and portents or the fact that it all feels… typical.” He rubbed gloved palms over his cheeks for warmth and shook his head with a sigh. “Every 937 years, eh? And, as the gods abhor us, we just so happen to have all been born within a generation imperiled.” Approaching Quintessa’s board, he took on a more serious countenance now. “Which means vanquishing this Xicotl bastard is not just the right thing to do. It’s the only thing to do. Well, that or, you know. Die. Horribly, from the sounds of it.” The Imperator of the Warrior’s Guild briefly eyed the spot where a pair of assassins had attempted to retake the obelisk and leave a bloody trail in their wake a mere fortnight past. They had said the word ‘Xicotl.’ They must have been thralls. “I believe we’ve seen the start of this madness to come. To that end, here’s what we’re going to do. There is already at least one chasm of considerable width in the Southern Sage. Judging by this dead-and-dusted Narek guy’s scribblings, some real mean sorts are going to come popping out of the thing like zits on the eve of the Yule Festival before long. I’m going to mount a mission to do what crazy people do -- descend the chasm and see what lurks in the shadows. Anyone suitably insane here, please feel free to tag along.” It seemed the most prudent thing to do at this point. Confirm the disaster. But a more immediate disaster awaited him now. When Khitti and Brand fell unceremoniously into the snow beneath their prior arachnid perch, and the even rows and columns of soldiers broke their line to gasp, and the homeless folks all muttered words of bewilderment, it was all Lionel could do to whisper, “Well, if she’s here to kill me at least I’ve been given advance warning.”

Rorin mulled over Quintessas information. He was sure none of these names would stick half as well in his mind as Haath did. The idea of a third moon struck him as funny. Lythridel had two moons, everyone knows that. The idea of having less or more moons was completely ridiculous. No wonder these idiots died. He took a handful of almonds out of one of his pockets and munched them deliberately so that he could process and recall the events better. One half elven ear twitched- a familiar spark of something mystic or infernal smoldered quietly in the direction of some sun darkened visitor in the crowd. Rorin tried not to pay too much attention to how it called to the sliver of Halcyanos in his pocket and returned to the meeting at hand with his mental attention. And... khittis 'entrance'? He wasn't really sure why she could never just attend a faculty meeting like a normal person who got along with everything, but if she wanted to play gargoyle that was her thing, he supposed. Oh well. Then there's that one guy right behind her with the cheese. What's that about? Rorin shook his head and hoped people would just ignore them and move on honestly. These kinds of shenanigans happen pretty much every day. Lionel was talking. Plant zombies would be the case, Rorin was almost sure. If it were plant spiders he'd probably hike himself home, grab a pint, and wait till this all blows over. Wait, didn't they already have a Yule Tide parade in Cenril? Wouldn't the Yule Tide move consistently farther away from 937 years ago? Wouldn't plants be smarter to wait till spring to attack? Rorin was pretty sure none of these questions mattered. He'd be there to enact Justice, Yule Tide or not. That was his duty after all, Arkhen guide him.

Quintessa squints her mismatched eyes at the ruckus in the back, but frustration trumped her curiosity and she cleared her throat to make sure everyone was still paying attention to her. "As I was saying- Xicotl is a serious issue. If the accounts in the book are true, this thing must be as large as the most colossal dragons..." Quintessa moves to adjust the fluorine crystal and it focuses to the end of one of the proboscis, magnifying it until Kasyr could see the tiny humanoid figure at the end of it. Whatever was happening to this person in the image wasn't pretty. "How's that for scale?" she says to the Kensai, giving him a bit of smirk. "Anymore questions that need answering? If not I can move to one of the leads I found... Apparently Xicotl isn't the only massive creature out there that inspires cult-followings. There is an alleged deity called Riamha, and she lives either among the stars or beneath the earth like Xicotl. Curiously, there are conflicting reports. Other texts I've found on the subject describes Riamha as an 'elemental empress and seek-suppressor of The Feast.' Don't ask about the illustrations of 'The Feast' I've seen. They... aren't pretty. If we could find this group perhaps they would be willing to help us destroy Xicotl. After all, the enemy of my enemy, right?"

Kasyr offers Brand & Khitti a thumbs up, if only because their unfortunate display has done an admirable job of making Kasyr's brand of alcoholic infused slacking seem completely benign in comparison. Though, to be fair, his not quite gravity obeying 'seat' does float a bit more in the opposite direction from the duo. When Quintessa answers his question, he's not really sure what the correct response is, but he supposes it still earns a rather uncertain, "Thanks-" as he squints at the depiction of just what is happening to that poor illustration. " Es there any idea where this Riamha can be found?" In any case, there are cogs whirring in the swordsmans head, the likes of which culminates in a rather simple, "I mean, I need the practice, so- I'm up for some spelunking in any case."

Kazeem watches as doom is spoken of, cake is promised and a woman falls from the ceiling and surprisingly seems perfectly fine. Gods and monsters are supposedly on their way, and Kaz has a limited time to try to kill a damned Djiin a foolish ancestor of his made a shite deal with centuries ago. All in all, the man is just trying to keep it together for now, hoping that the idea of joining this guild to improve his own skill (or find others to aid him) wasn't a waste of precious time.

Penelope would, agree, that the monster that had death knocking at every door was, in fact, typical. Death was ever-so-common, as of late, so the healer remains motionless. Then, Lionel speaks of Southern Sage where she resides. For the sake of the people who rested within the forest, the woman’s hand began to twitch and her mind began to tick. Without even another second thought, the healer volunteers out of habit. “Consider me one of the insane,” she blurts. “For the people of Sage, and so no one gets hur—“ the freckled woman is cut off by the sounds of thuds. Plenty of eyes stare back at the two who tumble off the roof. “Hurt,” her voice trails as she finishes her sentence while eyes linger strangely on the two prior roof hangers, but a smile is present out of the small comedic entertainment. Though, attention recalls back to Quintessa at more of her findings as she begins to address them again. Of course Xicotl was not the only massive creature. Why would anyone in Lithrydel think there was only one? Lips pucker and exhale in a sort of ‘of course’ demeanor—even if it was the enemy of the enemy. Better send a charmer, amiright or amiright? Hoop after hoop.

Khitti popped up out of the snow like a goddamned daisy as Brand stood there eating his pocket cheese. “A little help would be nice, you ass!” Sigh. Fine. Khitti was a strong independent woman that didn’t need no help. At the moment, anyway. She needed a lot of help, but it was the type of help that was above everyone’s paygrade, to be honest. The templar picked herself up, dusted herself off, and straightened her outfit a bit, walking around to the side of the crowd so that she could be properly seen. “So, this is all fine and wunderbar. None of this is new to the majority of us here. World-ending scenarios and no shortage of villains. Hell, these exact words of mine are almost verbatim what Brand said to me when I came back from the frakkin’ dead and wanted to help with Kahran. The question is: are you even going to be here?” Her tone dripped with anger and venom as she projected her voice for all to hear, olive-green eyes settled on her brother. “Are you going to start this new song and dance of yours and then disappear? Because you’ve done it before. This most recent time may have been a little different, but there were others.” There’s a pause, allowing for her doubt-filled words to hang heavy in the air over everyone gathered. “I won’t be assisting in this little shindig, of course. I have the entirety of the Shadow Plane to save before anyone else I frakking care about gets taken from me like Brand had. But, you are dragging along my student--” The index finger from her right hand jutted out, pointing first at Quintessa, before moving towards the direction Rorin had found himself standing in, “--and the person I just elected to help me lead the Devout’s Guild. It is not often that I put trust into people anymore, --as you well know--. I may still have issues with both of them, but if you abandon them, Lionel O’Connor, the way you have abandoned Brand and I too many times…” The rage that came from the templar was so thick, you’d think Khitti’d have gotten her hands on that rage stone Macon once wielded. Unfortunately for her, it was also the type that brought on tears. This only angered Khitti more, of course. She couldn’t quite finish the threat (read: promise) she was about to make, and instead stiffened her jaw in an effort to keep it from trembling.

Syrri cast her dichromatic stare around the training yard, taking note of those who arrived late, or who began to speak up in a chorus of differing opinions of the whole thing. And she quietly took stock of the plans laid out, the young woman started to wonder if she had a concussion from yesterday. Did these people truly say they wanted to go /down/ into that chasm? New Syrri was 100% opposed to the very idea, but old Syrri ... would appear to be winning in this regard. "I'll go too--" the axeling blurted out, and although she blanched a little as the words were out of her mouth, there was a spark of her former stubbornness, and she nodded to punctuate the remark. She side-eyed Kasyr in curiosity as he seemed inclined to pursue this line of thinking as well, but there was no grudge held over him from their previous meeting. If anything, she wanted to know what else her one-time opponent was capable of. Lifting azure-and-chestnut eyes back toward Lionel, she added, "Into the chasm, of course. If you want. May as well, after all." Indeed spelunking was something she had done many times before, even if the last time had not turned out so well, and she was still getting over it. But she also believed in facing one's fears, and as she unfolded her arms, each palm rested on one of her axes. It was partly to remind herself she had them again and wasn't still under the mountains, but also as her fingers already itched to wield them again.

Brand is in the midst of unwrapping a second block of pocket cheese as Khitti begins her tirade. It's not particularly unexpected, but he's not inclined to join in, either -- public admonishment is not his style of punishment, regardless of the crime. There is one thing he'll join in on, as Khitti's rant continues and he swallows another gob-ful of sweet, precious cheese: "Also, you still owe me money. So there's that." Does he, though? Brand doesn't actually recall, but he figures it can't hurt to try. "Also also, I guess we're helping out with this latest crisis or whatever." Munch munch. Pocket apples go well with pocket cheese.

Lionel was full glad for Penelope’s and Syrri’s volunteering, and consciously ensured the look he gave the former was modest enough to silently reiterate to the healer that he trusted her and never thought lesser of her for her fears four years ago during the height of the Saurian War. It seemed self-evident that Rorin would tag along on this expedition, and the same held true for Quintessa and Kasyr. And the soldiers and medics who had gathered here tonight? Whomever he asked to join, he knew that they would. But that was precisely what stayed his hand. Lionel would not ask any of them. He would not put even more lives into his hands until he absolutely needed to. Better to let them live, to know joy, and to give them time before a grisly end if such were the fate of all those who stood in the snowless training yard. “Riamha,” Lionel repeated the word, foreign on his tongue until… it wasn’t. His jaw went slack. It was possibly mere coincidence, but experience insisted otherwise as the man summoned as many distant memories of old, across-the-seas fairy tales as he could. “I’ve heard the word before. I’ll handle the research on this alleged group of rival fanatics myself and report back with my findings.” Riamha. A Catalian goddess of the seas known as much for her sense of honor as her unerringly tempestuous behavior. She was said to have dwelt at the very core of the planet as penance upon herself for abusing the heavens. It was difficult to set aside these thoughts when their ramifications may have held some key to stopping Xicotl, but if there was one thing in the universe with the power to snap Lionel O’Connor out of his daydreams it was Khitti’s enmity, and this tirade of hers was a long time coming and not at all unexpected.

Lionel moved his arms toward his chest to form a defensive cross, but pulled his limbs back to his sides at the last possible second. Seizing the opportunity to step away from the awkwardness of a podium, he took several strides toward his estranged sister. All the soldiers’ eyes were upon them now, and doubtless the eyes of at least a few of the ranking members of the guild as well. What was he to say? There was so much. So much he could call her out on right now, yet so much he had to answer for. Was it some kind of moral balancing act in play here? “A little different?” His face was filled with astonishment. “Sure, we’ll go with that. Your student -- fair. Your Devout’s Guild officer -- that man over there has earned my utmost admiration countless times over, and I his.” Rorin felt the same; Lionel was confident of it. “But this isn’t about me, no matter whether you feel otherwise. None of this has ever been about me. If I die right here, above this frozen ground, the rest of these brave men and women will do what needs to be done. If I vanish, they will do what needs to be done. If I never speak a word again, nor move a muscle in atrophy, they will do what needs to be done.” He took a deep breath. “But no, there will be no further abandonment, Khitti. You’ll believe that or you won’t; you have your own perils to face, though I will forever be willing to face them alongside you. You have but to ask. The realm doesn’t need me. It never has. But so long as I am here, I will act as part of the team.” Lionel lifted from his pocket an emblem made of gold with a blazing sun emblazoned into the metal. “A team you are still part of, and that fact will not go unnoticed.” He tossed the pendant to his sister. “The Warrior’s Guild hereby imparts upon you the rank of Flare Guardian. You may order anyone in this army right now to do anything at all.” He let the words hang in the air; if she were to order someone among them to stand aside from the party, that was her prerogative. Whether or not they would was theirs. “And speaking of Rorin,” Lionel said, approaching his long-time friend and issuing him the very badge Lionel himself once wore. “Hey, Commander.”

Rorin viewed Quintessas next piece with skepticism. This new alleged God seemed only a mislead. It could be the same thing by a different name, it could be an equally destructive clan of illithids or cannibals, there wasn't enough information to make a case for pursuing the assistance of this counter cult yet. One evil cult seemed like plenty thank you. He watched Penelope try and stride forward to apparently claim the defense of all sage forest on her self. Also kind of funny. Then Khitti stumbled in. Gods, was she drunk?! Here she was hanging on to her past again. What a silly little outburst for a woman of her position and age. Just be proffessional for once- don't drag me into it I want to be here. No he's not going to abandon us you loon. He'll probably find an opportune moment to try dying heroically to be perfectly honest but Rorin wouldn't- already hadn't- let him. And if Lionel did pass on who would Guild Leader pass on to? Hopefully not you. One more responsibility and you look like you'd lose your damn mind if you haven't already, honestly. Rorin thought all these thoughts and more- it was embarrassing seeing her all distraught and emotional over something like this in front of a crowd - but his gaze held sympathy. Pity even, even if she didn't want it. Grow up and pull yourself together, he thought. I'm nineteen and you're the one supposed to be setting an example. But he knew better than to say so and kept his words to himself. Rorin looked at Quintessa- noting Syrri at first, another one of those two colored eyes people. The kind that probably named their weapons, you could always tell when they were that way. But he looked at Quintessa and tried to judge the expression on her face. Was she feeling the same way as him? Lionel was talking again. He had one of those moments of clarity it seemed where the Catalians regal baring really shown through. Rorin did feel the same- he secretly still had a Lionel trading card and poster stuffed away in his home- and the lad took the promotion with a slightly teary uneasy smile. He snuffed it up though, the burning pride made him dry up quick. If Khitti had some strange mind to make him withdraw from Lionels army Rorin would probably do more than just quit, he'd duel her on the spot for the offense. But he doubted that would be necessary. Right?

Quintessa stopped her trying to talk over the commotion at this point. She had said what she wanted to say and that was all there was too it. Honestly, she didn't know how to close the presentation so Khitti actually afforded her with an easy out. With a slight roll of her eyes, Quintessa brings a clove cigarette to her lips and snaps her slender fingers, lighting the cig with a simple cantrip. This drama had practically nothing to do with her so it was fine for her to just stand at the side and watch, a bemused smile betraying how she felt about the situation. To those still paying attention to her she would say, "If you want to know more just ask me. I'll tell anyone who wants to know everything I've learned about the subject." And then Quintessa walks away from the table to approach Kasyr, her mismatched gaze looking him up and down. "Did you bring your flask?" What kind of a question was that, "Is it already empty?" She corrected herself. After the week she was having the changeling could use a drink.

Kasyr , unknowingly, is on a similar page as Rorin in many regards, if only because his ultimate estimation of the situation, is that things have gotten awkward as heck. Honestly, as far as theatrical outcomes go, the Kensai prefers the long lingering evil spirits, unfathomable creatures from beyond, and long forgotten deities- if only because those problems could generally come to a distinct and violent resolution. This? This had him needing to drink, and he had a relatively finite amount of booze on him in that moment, since he hadn't brought his pack. A finite amount that was about to be taxed further, when he became duly aware of both Quintessa's proximity, and her request. Suppressing a sigh, he passes over the remnants,even as his attention flicks between the dramatic display going on, and the changeling, "You know, it's generally called dinner et a show, but I still don't see any cake." Honestly, whilst it's uncomfortable, there is a certain degree of relief that none of the drama is aimed at him, "Think this summed up everything? Because taking cover might be a good idea, since throwing responsbility at someone whose mad at you es generally the least effective tact."

Kazeem has listened intently to many things this evening, some of which are useful, some of which he feels he shouldn't have been privy too. Either way, the nomadic warrior can feel the tug of the infernal mark upon him beckoning him to complete his goal. Killing the Djiin was the payment for the boons placed upon him, but doing so was no simple task. But if these warriors within this guild can slay these terrible beasts from ages past, perhaps they could indeed help him kill the vile creature that has plagued his blood line for ages now, and in doing so save his child's life. The man will linger as needed, as he is sure words should be exchanged between him and someone within the leadership of this group. For now, he is content in just listening to nearby members speak of how they'd slay gods, monsters and whatever other various foul things seek to plague the realm. Lionel said this lot did what needed to be done, and so far as Kaz can tell, they seem just the type.

Penelope stared straight forward as she heard the stern and vicious words from the woman who fell off the roof. The hatred. In front of the public of the guild, and well, the homeless. Perhaps this was not the time for family feuding. Or maybe it was? She would not know—she lacked in the family category. Even as Lionel passed everyone her eyes kept forward still facing Quintessa. Of course, she would be listening, but until Khitti is rewarded, she turns around to observe the woman’s reaction to her promotion.

Khitti || For a few seconds there it looked like Brand was going to get one of those right hooks, after he said that they’d help Lionel directly after she’d said they wouldn’t. The right hooks she vowed at their wedding to never “gift” him with again. Fate intervened as it so often did with Khitti, this time in the form of Lionel approaching her like the idiot he is--it seemed to be the Catalian way of things for them to approach angry, fighty women when they really -really- shouldn’t. The urge to shift the aforementioned punch to the face to her brother instead was there, but resisted. No, she’d done enough in the form of public embarrassment when it came to him. If she even had an inkling of what Rorin thought right now though, there’d be several for him as well. One does not simply Hakuna Matata when your entire life has been chaos, dear Rorin. Whatever is going on through other people’s heads at the moment, her attention is now on Lionel and his own little spiel. The entire time he was met with a stone-faced stare and no ounce of retort whatsoever. And then he… promoted her? Instantly, her face twisted from the previously described to one that mirrored that blinking guy meme. You know the one. And then, there’s the typical Khitti eyeroll. And a sigh. Of course, Lionel would choose -now- to do this. It felt like some sort of PR move on his part, but whatever. Apparently no one at all was allowed to say anything against the Almighty Lionel. No one -ever- had a problem with jumping headlong into things for him. Never. Fine. Okay. Cool. She said nothing to no one, not even to Francis, who had finally made his way off the roof once he heard his mother’s angry words. Khitti did get the cow-sized arachnid a half-assed pat on the head though, to which he only blurbed out a spider-y whine.

Syrri caught the smell of pocket apples and pocket cheese, and although she wasn't entirely sure who Brand was or how he arrived, the halfling felt a rumble in her stomach that was far too distracting for a very long minute. But then she was facing toward Lionel again and the others who were promoted, each in turn getting that azure-and-chestnut stare. Her fingers curled loosely around either ax handle just as much as they curled around her hip and the belt from which the weapons hung, and her gaze bounced around a bit between the other guild members. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, the halfling didn't find it her place to offer any more comments on the matters at hand, although she was definitely soaking everything in.

Brand || Look, Khitti. Brand can hold a grudge with the best of them, but we're talking yet-another-evil-that-threatens-the-realm, now. Brand will help because he likes living (mostly). It's got nothing to do with Lionel. Anyway, when Francis makes his appearance, Brand seizes the opportunity to climb aboard. He'll whisk Khitti up, too, if she'll let him. "Hi ho silver, away!" Brand calls, and spurs Francis on into a many-legged exit. He's always wanted to say that. And the meeting seems pretty much done now, so what better time to make as stylish an exit as he did an entrance?

Rorin nearly vomits - an audible, visible gagging- before he clutches his new badge and walks promptly in any other direction. Cow sized spider. Nope. No. Absolutely not. This boy is gone y'all. Rorin has left the yard. Screw that. Not today and not ever. Rorin is out before Lionel has even finished talking, and seems to just generally agree with whatever his potential orders may be either way. If it's all the same then good night good luck to you Commander.

Lionel had worried all along that his inevitable clash with Khitti would be the death of him -- not physically, perhaps, but emotionally. That it should happen here tonight wasn’t revelatory but it was certainly a thing which threatened to shear the ever-tight fabric of togetherness which so many people gathered in a single place would ever possess. When all was said and done -- though in truth they were far from it -- the surrogate siblings could have been a lot worse for wear right now. The sky was full of stars, and the embers emanating from the tips of metal staves glowed brightly. The guild had a mission once again, and once again that mission was do-or-die. But there was something more to be announced as well. Something more hopeful than war against creatures remarked-upon as gods by bygone civilizations. Something more hopeful than the tenseness in the air which lingered in the space between Lionel and the woman he cared about the most, no matter if she even sent killers after him a dozen times further. “Our mission into the heart of the earth will commence within a number of weeks. We can’t afford a delay. But I don’t want you all to feel like there is no chance for a better tomorrow. But for that chance, we need to build something bigger, something longer-lasting, than any one of us.” Taking his place again at that dreaded podium, the Catalian pulled out a lengthy piece of parchment expertly-drawn by someone who was certainly not him in order to depict the mountain range far to the west, where canyon met river met forest, in the open wilderness far from the prying eyes of any city-state, any bureaucrat, any devil. “The Warrior’s Guild has fought in three wars and won.” There was also that brief business on a bridge in Larket, but… that was complicated. “It’s something to celebrate but it also means our list of enemies will grow ever-longer. This place,” he started, waving his arm around to encompass the Academy of Aramoth, “has served us well. And it will continue to serve us well in a secondary fashion.” Lionel shrugged. “It’s no longer enough. Effective immediately, the Warrior’s Guild will begin the construction of a fort deep within the heart of the frontier. A headquarters worthy of a standing army. A standing army with allegiance to no nation. An army which marches against ill for the betterment of all. Vigilanti Semper will be the castle from which we stand watch. A river runs past the planned build sight, a river which connects to the sea beyond Chartsend. Stationed at our place of purpose shall be the Maghdean Mhara, a Catalian warship and one of the last in the world.” Lionel’s eyes briefly met Kasyr’s. “A guy named Navarre’s captaining that one up. Might be he needs a crew.”

Kasyr sputters a bit when Lionel mentions Quinton, and the fact that he'll be needing a crew- something which has the sworsdman looking a fair few shades nostalgic. "Might be I'd have the time to help, j'pense. Provided the world maybe quits burning as rapidly as it is."So, currently divine antagonists was at 3, pending a potential 4th, and there was vailkrin politics to field? "Might give moi some time to get some writing done, at least- et put me in the opposite direction of a catastrophe for at least a few weeks time."

Quintessa shakes Kasyr's flask to test how empty it is and she shakes her head at him. "Your drinking is becoming worse," she scolds him, taking a sip of what was left, "But I'm not going to properly address it because it entertains me. In fact, I'm going to help you look for a refill while we're in Frostmaw. So, the frost giants make this rum that always stays cold. It's amazing!" Quintessa hands the Kensai back his flask before hitting her cigarette, "But not yet," she adds, a clove scented cloud of smoke lingering around her. "I'm going to hang around in case someone needs to ask me a question about something. Anything really, it doesn't even have to be about the mission."

Penelope :: The workaholic, although wanting to represent the Healer’s Guild, finds herself staring at her wrist watch. The woman contemplates between staying to talk more of the mission here, or getting work done back down the mountain in Kelay. Not to mention, she had other problems on her back right now—involving a malign entity that wants to kill her. That was another story. Either way, instead of making her rounds, she decides to take a silent exit leaving the crowd of warriors behind.

Lionel watched the crowd mingle and discuss the pending missions. One seemed like suicide; the other, a labor-intensive work of love. He chuckled whenever some soldier, or medic, or stand-by, or initiate, brought that up. Though it seemed that many of them were more content to roast meat and hardy winter vegetables and relax. To talk about their ambitions, or fleeting interests in romantic liaisons, or anything else outright ordinary. Somehow, hearing this sort of chatter put Lionel at ease. Flicking a thumb through his ashen hair to keep it from blowing in his face, the Imperator strolled over to Quintessa and Kasyr. “You did well out there,” he told the changeling. “Not just the speech. I’m talking about the research. You uncovered a wealth of important information in a short span of time. I’m thrilled to have you aboard.”

Kazeem feels a bit off, but manages to still find his way through the crowd to close the distance between him and Lionel. Here, he waits for the man to be available so he can ask a question.

Lionel noticed a stranger’s approach and canted his head in a casual manner. He didn’t get the sense that the stranger meant him harm, or meant harm to anyone else present for that matter, but his knives were always within reach just in case. “Hey there,” he said simply.

Kasyr squirrels away the flask into his coat, offering Quintessa a grin in response to her estimate of his condition, "An army runs on it's stomach, ou quoi-ce-soit. Or it's liver in this case, I guess."He makes a non-commital wave, before leaning back so he looks all but ready to slide off his improvised seat, "Mmm. Frostmaw food es one of the bits that make it almost tolerable sometimes. Then the wind picks up et I go right back to regretting it." That said, the Kensai gives a cursory glance to the individuals present, his eyes briefly settling on Syrri. Really, it's more the axes he's peering at right now, since scrutiny seems to reawaken the dull throb in his head- but he still finds it in himself to offer a friendly wave. Kazeem earns a more lingering stare, however, if only due to the curiosity mixture of feelings which seem to be bubbling underneath the surface. But then, is grim determination, and that sort of desperation that someone relying on you really all that uncommon. Maybe in the face of Lionel class antics . . . In any case, Quintessa's final statement earns a wry grin from the Kensai, " Playing nice, so you can find new sparring partners, ou- " Whatever else Kasyr was going to say comes to an abrupt end with Lionels proximity, as the swordsman adopts a somewhat less cattish demeanour. Look, he's not even slouching, now.

Kazeem nods his head, shortly after moving to remove the scarf that covers his face to reveal darkly tanned skin, golden brown eyes and jet black hair. Key signs (for those with such knowledge) of desert tribes. Either way, the nomad returns the commander's greeting, and says. "I'd like to join the Warrior's Guild, if you'll have me." In a thick, somewhat unfamiliar accent. Common is, well common enough, but his native tongue is almost used only by -his- tribe, with no real universal language tying the various tribes, ranging from elves and felines to a few human ones. Either way, hs common isn't bad, just a thick-ish accent. "And it sounds as if more bodies would not be a problem to have."

Quintessa pulls her gaze from Kasyr for a moment to appraise Lionel, her mismatched eyes betraying a kind of embarrassment at being complemented on something she thought was a failure. "Oh, thanks, Imperator. I'm just doing my part in all this. Without the information you gave me access to in the Frozen Library I'd be just as ignorant as the rest of Lithrydel, so we both did our part." Quintessa manages a sheepish grin, flashing him her inhumanly sharp teeth before she adds, "So this means we'll get promotions next right?" she gestures between herself and Kasyr before laughing at her own joke. Yeah, Quintessa was trying to get brownie points in this guild too. So what?

Lionel grinned at Quintessa even as he entirely missed the fact that Kas was attempting in his own small way to appear a shade more formal. “You will. And soon.” It was a blunt answer, but promotions at this tier didn’t especially require festivities anyway, did they? He patted the changeling on the shoulder, secretly hoping she wouldn’t use those fangs of hers to do more than just pat his own shoulder, and then gave the desert-born man beside him an appreciative glance. “Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place. What say you stay here and get to know the locals a bit, and in a few days Quintessa here will give you a bit of an entry exam -- don’t worry, Quintessa, that simply means you spar -- and then I’ll sign you up?”

Kazeem nods his head, looks between Lionel, Kasyr and Quintessa, and offers them all a slight bow before excusing himself. " Very well, I look forward to the exam." For now, the man will see what Frostmaw has to offer, as well as help about the guild as much as possible, mainly focusing on the homeless people and cleaning up after tonights meeting.

Kasyr, while Quintessa is busy being flustered, decides now's a good time to borrow her smoke- taking a long drag from it before passing it back, "Ambitious as ever. Good luck with the entry exam, as well. " Kazeem seems more the target of that comment however, if only because of Quintessa's gleefully violent streak. "Though I suppose it might be wise to ask what you're proficient in. Getting set on fire es less than ideal if you have little means to prevent that."

Syrri had, somehow, withdrawn to the 'back', if such a designation existed. Although pointed (for the most part) ears perked up to eavesdrop on some of the conversations still being tossed about, the axeling soon found her booted cleats carrying her away, only a slight limp to her walk.

Quintessa gives a nod to Lionel before giving Kazeem a once over. "Yeah, I'll spar the recruits. You know that's not an issue." Quintessa gives the desert born a devious smirk at his words. "Me too. The best way to get to know someone is to cross blades with them. I hope you and I can become well acquainted." Quintessa takes back her cigarette idly, not even realizing she had passed it to Kasyr. Did she always do that?

Kazeem turns to Kasyr as to reply to what he thought was a question directed at him. " I am a warrior, though to say such is a broad explanation. I've training in spear, sword, and bow. Magic has, thus far, not beena focus of mine." He just hates having to rely on it, given the nature of his life's calamities. " Martial combat is prefered, though I can manage if she chooses to utilize other means."

The elven cleric bore witness as the congregation dispersed, and then she hopped up on her horse and exited the Academy of Aramoth. Gaining the requisite credentials to assist the homeless held here for the winter was an easy task, and she genuinely enjoyed the work. But now the facade had ended, and she would report back to her tribe that if they were to go to war with this so-called “Warrior’s Guild,” victory seemed absolute so long as they just so happened to follow these reckless fools into the deep.