RP:Undivine Intervention: Part Two
This is a Devout's Guild RP.
Summary: During their interaction in Gualon, Sargaso and Mathollak have a bit of a fight in and outside the town's corner shop. (Parts 1 and 3 can be found here and here)
Outside Hardeep's Corner Shop, Gualon
Mathollak follows him out the door warily, he doesn't want to be seen by a particular someone. But as he opens and looks out, that special person is brushed aside and loses his footing. An old man! Who would do this to an old man! Mathollak kneels beside the collapsed orc. "Papa Thrug! Papa Thrug are you okay?" Papa Thrug is. Good. Mathollak helps him up and dashes off with a growl, ready to exact punishment. Almost ready. He reaches to the totem around his neck. It's glowing. Coincidence? Of course not. One of her enemies is nearby. "Please Mum," he prays, "pack me a boon and wrap it up neatly?" An imp arrives on cue from the darkness of an alley, shaded from the sun, and lobs to Mathollak a gumball. He chews it, and blows a bubble. "STOP," he commands. The voice to Sargaso sounds especially authoritative, imbued as it is with Delisha's magic. If Sargaso slows for even a moment, Mathollak will catch up. He's unarmed and unarmored, but as he nears Sargaso, he takes a step onto the ledge of the reflecting pool, leaps off, and throwing out both legs in an attempt to knock Sargaso off his feet and out of breath.
Sargaso // On Mathollak’s command, Sargaso is compelled to stop by a power greater than himself or Mathollak. As Sargaso’s sprint turns sluggish, he notes the power’s peculiarly feminine quality. While it may seem strange at first to realize that Sargaso is attuned to the gender expression of authoritative and divine powers, it makes perfect sense when one reflects upon the fact that he was raised by a tough single mum, is frequently harangued by bossy lovers, and is the rakish paladin of a feminine god, Selene, who in this moment does nothing to stop Mathollak’s feet from connecting with Sargaso’s diaphragm. “OOOOF!” the paladin grunts as the wind punches up through his throat and he’s knocked on his behind into the knee-deep reflecting pool. His head spins from the pain, but the rush of cool water around him buoys and comforts him. Selene’s powers are best expressed with a water source. With his left hand he grips the golden fish pendant that hangs on a chain around his neck. His right hand extends towards Mathollak’s downed body after that flying double kick and Sargaso blurts out a quick psalm, a single two-line stanza of a sea shanty. His arm morphs into four blue-gray, powerful squid tentacles aimed at Mathollak’s head to drag his face into the shallow pool and hold it there until Mathollak sputters for mercy and signals defeat. “You got the wrong guy!” Sargaso shouts.
Mathollak feels his feet connect solidly to Sargaso as he bounces off him and falls on his butt. It was enough he thought. Silently, he notices the flavor of this gumball is fairly subdued, and his blessing is proportionately small. Just one of his arms whistles slightly as it begins exhaling black smoke that dissipates inches away from his skin. The smoke blows away. From the elbow to the knuckles that hand is covered with an almost chitinous blood red plate. "Ma..." he grumbles with some disappointment aimed at Delisha. "C'mon what's this?" Then he blows and pops another pink bubble. As soon as he does, he hears the water much more than usual, and that heralds him getting sprinkled on. He cranes his neck to see giant tentacles coming at him from the man he just walloped! He bats one away with his human hand, and slams one with the monstrous armored one. If this was a two tentacled squid that might've been enough, but the other two tentacles wrap around him and drag him over the lip of the well and into the water. Maybe if he wasn't being drowned, he would've heard Sargaso's attempt to reason with him. Anyway he doesn't. But he can't admit defeat anyway. "It's...his...birthday!" He gurgles under the water. Then he wraps an arm around the four tentacles that pin him and he pulls free his ugly arm. He peels the tentacles off him sucker by sucker and then stands, grabbing all four tentacles in a tight grip, and jumping again off the edge of the fountain. He uses gravity to his advantage, using the arms as leverage to try to yank Sargaso by his own arms, face first into the hard white marble on the edge of the fountain before tossing the arms away from him.
Sargaso is still heaving and trying to catch his breath as Mathollak fights with the tentacles. He squints at Mathollak’s hardened red arm as it slams into squid sucker. (Sargaso feels no pain from the tentacles, thank Selene.) Who the hell gave this crazy human that arm? Loda? No way. Delisha? Maybe. The Spider Goddess? Maybe, maybe. It’s definitely not Selene, and that’s it for the female gods. What are Delisha’s and the Spider Goddess’s weaknesses, anyway? Sargaso hasn’t a clue. Maybe he should have shown up to Devout’s Guild seminars more often. Whoops. Well, he knows one thing for sure: the tentacles won’t be enough to stop this beefed-up opponent. As Mathollak yanks the tentacles towards him, Sargaso hops onto his feet with the dexterous agility common to sailors and whispers another two-stanza sea shanty, this time about a quake. He only resists Mathollak’s yank for a moment, enough to get the psalm-spell going, then willinging releases all resistance and throws himself full force towards Mathollak as the reflecting pool swells with a supernatural surge of water that lifts and buoys Sargaso over the low marble edge. The swell rises into a 6-foot tall powerful wave aimed right at Mathollak, threatening to lay him flat under the wave as Sargaso surfs over the top by divine means. He also dispels his tentacle arm, which simply melts into yet more water.
Mathollak has barely any time to catch his breath, but he has no time. As he sees the tidal wave mounting, cresting, he dives and rolls to the edge of the stone fountain, hoping the worst will pass over him. The supernatural current catches him and spins him up, sending him flailing and bouncing him against the ground and back up into the roiled water. As he tumbles, his hand smacks something solid. He grabs it. It's Sargaso's ankle! As Mathollak pulls down, Selene pulls up, and Mathollak is able to breach the surface like a humpback and land on the surfer. After an enormous breath of fresh air, he snatches the back of Sargaso's shirt, and tries to use it like reins. Instead of having a smooth body boarding experience, Mathollak is guiding him head first into the side of a building. One far away from Papa Thrug.
Sargaso struggles to free his ankle from Mathollak’s grip, but time isn’t on his side, nor is raw strength. Instead, he arms himself for close combat by pulling a skipper’s knife off his belt. Then he sees the wall. Damn. With the wave unleashed, Sargaso can’t do much to stop or change its unstoppable collision course against the side of Hardeep’s Corner Shop. And Mathollak’s got him by the back of the tunic and using him as a human meat shield. Good idea, Mathollak! Sargaso uses his skipper’s knife to cut his own tunic from hem to neckline, nicking his own chin as the wave rattles his body and jerks his hand around. He ignores the sting of the cut and the blood that flows freely from his stubbled chin. Now that he is cut loose from Mathollak’s “reins”, Sargaso grabs Mathollak’s arms and yanks him forward towards the crest of the wave, just a few inches ahead of Sarge’s head, enough so that Mathollak is juuuust ahead of Sargaso and will likely, hopefully, hit the wall first. As for Sargaso, if he’s lucky, he’ll crash into Mathollak. It’ll hurt, but it will hurt a heck of a lot less than hitting that wall. The wave dies soon after the crash.
Mathollak grapples with Sargaso trying not to win the race into the wall, but he just plain isn't as maneuverable under water! And he's exhausted. He gives up trying, and turns around to brace for impact. He's lucky! They're flying toward Hardeep's shop the same direction they just came from. It turns out Mathollak had no idea where Papa Thrug was in the disorienting tumble wash of Sargaso's wave. He had a hunch this wasn't just luck. "Thanks babe," he whispers breathlessly. With great effort, he pulls his knees up toward his chest against the force of the current, takes a deep breath, and sinks. A moment later he plants his boots against the door of the shop and flies off its hinges. He glides down an aisle, balancing on all fours on the door until it slows. Then he stands and leans against an aisle. From the other door, Papa Thrug emerges, white hair wildly uncombed, even down to his scraggly beard. "What're you doing!? You have no time to rest!" He shoves an old battleaxe at Mathollak. "Go get him! Finish him off!"
Hardeep's Corner Shop
Sargaso rolls into Hardeep’s shop just behind Mathollak’s surfboard door. The wave collapses and soaks Hardeep’s wares, both perishable and non. Whoops. He bounces onto his feet quickly, and is already sprinting out the door by the time Papa Thrug hands off the battleaxe. He knows Mathollak’s not done chasing him, but he needs to find that shady lady orc he’d been tailing earlier. He suspects that’s the zealot, and Selene hasn’t given him any signs that he’s in the wrong current. But of course, in the garden, the watery net is gone and so is Ushat. “Dammit!!” Sargaso shouts. He turns around to find Mathollak who he assumes is already chasing him. “You idiot!” He keeps distance between himself and Mathollak as he sprints sidelong, deeper into the garden. “That’s the murderous son-of-a-bitch that’s been killing off Rothik followers. I just know it! ...Well I don’t know it, but I have a hunch.”
Mathollak reluctantly grabs the axe from his papa. It was fancy! It had a big hammerhead on the other side of the blade. "I don't know if he needs to die...he only knocked you over. I don't think he's the maniac. And you're obviously..." Mathollak remembered it was his birthday. "Right! You're right. It's a matter of honor isn't it." Of course it is confirms Thrug, and he grunts. Now Thrug doesn't know what he was even doing here. Oh right! Buying that idiot brother of his some glasses. The one who stepped on his comb and broke it. Now he looks homeless when he used to look fierce. Anyway, Mathollak didn't give a fart about honor, but he cared about his loved ones being happy. So without another moment he chases after Sargaso. To his surprise he catches up! He grips the axe with one hand near the head and his ugly hand toward the butt. "Mano a mano eh? Good!" Then Sargaso reacts other than as if to fight him, stunning Mathollak. "I know who my enemies are." But that's because people tell him who his enemies are most of the time, and just in case, he glances at his shiny gold totem. It's as dull as an old penny. "And I know it isn't you. Right now." Mathollak knew there had been a murderer, but he didn't know there was a pattern. It could've been anyone. "Why do you say she's killing Rothik followers? Anyone who kills an orc kills a Rothik follower. Mostly." He relaxes his stance and grip on the axe, but he doesn't have anywhere to stow it right now.
Sargaso dabs the back of his hand on the nick on his shoulder to see if the bleeding has stopped yet. Not quite. It’s slowing down, though. The way Mathollak checks his totem to take orders from a higher power relaxes Sargaso’s stance. He takes a longer look at the totem. Ah, Delisha. Well, okay then. Not a good guy, but also not the worst there could be, maybe. Aren’t Delisha followers mostly orgy-enthusiasts and cat-people? Huh. “Well, I don’t have proof it’s her behind the killing. But.” He lets Mathollak catch up to just outside arm’s length then lowers his voice a little. “I’ve been tailing her all day. Followed her back to a room she’s renting from a widow. I broke in while she was out, and she’s traveling light and definitely from Frostmaw. My intel says the killer follows Aramoth, and most Frostmawians follow that war god.” He sneers a little as he says ‘war god.’ Look, there’s nothing wrong with a fight. Mano-a-mano, as Mathollak said. But war isn’t a fight. War is broken homes, broken cities, and broken generations. “What do you know about the killings?”
Mathollak feels everything fall into place. She wasn't a 'cold orc' like he thought. She was from Frostmaw. That's why she was dressed like that. "It is her. I know it is. And everyone in Gualon knows about the maniac. Random people found dead almost every other day. No one travels alone anymore. Unless they have something to prove I guess..." If she's still in the city they'll find her. "I think I made things worse," Mathollak says remorsefully. "You did bump into my Papa. On his birthday." That would probably be water under the bridge, and because of him they were still in serious danger. "Ohh you mean the old widow Bugsel? I know her." He thinks for a second. "Why don't you meet me there? I know how to find the maniac." Then he starts walking in the other direction.
Sargaso glares a little at Mathollak when he declares that he knows the Frostmawian orc is the killer. “If you knew it was her, then why’d you try to stop me?” But even as the question leaves his mouth, he knows he’ll not hear a satisfying answer. Sargaso has a strong hunch that he’s dealing with a well-intended buffoon. The buffoon goes on about his “dad’s” birthday. Sargaso looks past Mathollak’s soldier at the old orc, Papa Thrug who glares at Sargaso from a distance. That’s Mathollak’s dad? No, can’t be. What the hell is this idiot talking about? Then Mathollak starts marching in the opposite direction from the widow’s house, and Sargaso’s hunch is confirmed: this jackass is a straight up idiot, or perhaps insane, which is quite common among Delisha’s flock. The sailor shakes his head in disappointment. What a waste of time and energy. He’s lost the trail. He heads back to Bugsel’s house to see if he can pick up another lead.
Mathollak stares at Sargaso incredulously, "Uhh I didn't know it was her until a minute ago." This sailor man really needed to row a little faster if he couldn't even keep up with Mathollak. After they parted, Mathollak went to a friend's house. "Hey bub. I'd like to buy a dog. But I don't have any money." The man laughs in his face and Mathollak laughs too, realizing what he said. "No, no, I mean I'll buy one on credit. I'll pay you after." The breeder laughs even harder! He can't even catch his breath. So everyone knew Mathollak's credit was junk? Everyone. Even this guy. "Okay," Mathollak said, and he cleared his throat. "I'll pay you for the dog," he begins, his voice echoing like he was inside a theater, "and what I owe you for the donkey! Tomorrow!" The man's laughs literally knock him to the floor, and in fact, an invisible audience seems to laugh along with him. He can't stop. He won't stop. Delisha's magic has him in stitches. Minutes later, Mathollak arrives at the widow's house with a bloodhound. "Just let Wrinkles get a sniff of her clothes or something. We'll find this idiot."
Sargaso was loitering outside Bugel’s home looking for another opportunity to break-and-enter, like he did earlier today when the street was a little sleepier. The mid-afternoon crowd is a little thicker, and the sailor isn’t sure he’ll get an opening until evening. Should he try to talk the widow into letting him into her guest’s room? He’s debating the charm-offensive v. a felony when Mathollak appears with ‘Wrinkles’. Huh, not a bad idea. That doesn’t mean Mathollak isn’t an idiot though. Even a broken clock is right twice a day. “Alright, but how you going to get in? I don’t think the old lady is keen to let strangers into her guest room.”
Mathollak didn't have a very powerful answer right now. "I don't know," he said while banging on the door. She took more than one second to answer the door, so Mathollak offered her some encouragement. "Mrs. Bugsel! Please open the door it's Mattie!" Eventually she did, and would've been fine if she wasn't rushed. 'Why haven't I gone deaf yet?' she mumbles. 'What's going on Matt.' Mathollak tries to inch closer toward the inside to see if she would simply let him in but she doesn't budge. "Umm. It's really bad Mrs. Bugsel. Really bad." Mathollak looks at Sargaso. Nothing to contribute? It's okay he's inspired. "The maniac got Thrug! Attacked him right in the middle of the street...I was just with Da buying him a birthday present, and then I found him lying in the street!" Bugsel knows Mathollak, but Mathollak is a decent liar. And some of that was true. "And I know who it is Mrs. Bugsel. It's your tenant! I know because I have a witness." He gestures to Sargaso, who was in fact, much less handsome than Mathollak, but doesn't have a reputation in town that Mathollak was aware of.
Sargaso dons a winning smile when Mathollak introduces him. “You can call me Sarge, ma’am. I’m with the Devout Guild and chasing that murderer is official business.” He’s not sure if that’s true. As Mathollak said earlier, he doesn’t exactly have any jurisdiction, but your everyday widower isn’t exactly in possession of a legal mind, and he hopes that saying ‘Devout’s Guild’ will be enough to impress upon her the importance and urgency of their visit. “Mattie, here,” he claps Mathollak’s shoulder, “is my guide for the City of Gualon, and Wrinkles,” he takes the leash from Mathollak, “Is a fine bloodhound. We hope to catch a scent, then catch a crook.” He’s not quite sure why he’s talking in this stiff, faux-formal manner, similar to that which Mathollak has adapted, but it seems to be successful with the locals here and he follows the idiot’s lead. What exactly does that make him?
Mathollak // The widow doesn't know what's wrong. But she does know something is. With this story. Or she believes she does, because this was all highly irregular, and after all, "If she's the murderer then why hasn't she murdered me." Mathollak seems to be ready for this question. He answers, his voice ominous. His words drown out the ambient noises in the house, the street. They become the sole object for the widow to listen. "You mean, why hasn't she murdered you...yet. Because she will, before she moves on. With her soul-stealing sword. Your soul will never be free." Mathollak lets it sink in. "Unless you let us help you. We'll catch her with your help." For a moment, she does seem mortally gripped by fear. But it passes. "Enough. You're not going into her room." She closes the door on them. "She was my teacher at school when I was younger," he said, apparently to explain everything. A minute later the door opens again and she hands them a fluffy white hat. "Get lost now Mattie. And you, 'Sarge'," she pronounces it with disdain, "find better friends."
Sargaso ‘s jaw tightens when Miss Bugel slams the door in their faces. Mathollak’s explanation does little to relax the clench in his jaw. “Maybe if you had been a better student...” He begins to turn back to the road but pauses to appraise Mathollak anew. “You don’t look like a Mattie,” he says just as Miss Bugsel offers them a white fox hat in the Frostmawian style. “Thank you, ma’am,” Sarge says as she slams the door in his face a second time. He gives Mathollak a weary look then lets the bloodhound take a whiff of the hat and lead the way. Wrinkles’s path isn’t in a straight line. He goes into alleys, looks up sheer walls the Frostmawian orc presumably climbed, and often circles back around to the Gualon Gardens where he loses the scent in the waterways that keep the garden irrigated. But no matter how often he loses it, he always finds it again, not because he is a particularly talented bloodhound, but because Ushat has been all over this city for days and it hasn’t rained. The hound’s struggling to find the most recent scent. “We need a Plan B,” Sarge says well after the sun has gone down and they’re no closer to catching a killer.
Mathollak is humbled. "Wrinkles is a good dog," he said to Sargaso. "Did everything right! It isn't his fault." In fact Mathollak had serious doubts. "It's okay. He'll get a chance to redeem himself. We'll have to start over though. I know another way we can find the murderer." He knelt down beside Wrinkles and smoothed out some of his neck and head flub with his hands. "Sorry Wrinkles," he said as he offered him some cereal, "you aren't going to like this. But this is what happens when you fail! Bad things. Sarge, we need to go to the swamp." This would be a good investment. He actually hated to think of a living creature like that, but what choice did he have?
Sargaso exhales loudly and cracks his neck as Mathollak continues to waste time and play the fool. The cost-benefit analysis on this partnership is deeply in the red. “Look, thanks for your help, but I’m going to go my own way. We have no leads that she’s in the swamp, but if you want to check out the swamp, you go on ahead.” Sargaso heads back towards Ms. Bugel’s house to start over. But as he’s leaving, visions of an innocent bloodhound cracked open at the altar of an evil god send a chill own Sargaso’s spine. He stops just a few meters away from Mathollak then tosses a critical look over his shoulder. “Say, Mattie, you’re not planning on harming the dog, are you?”
Mathollak isn't very surprised that Sargaso doesn't volunteer to follow him. "Fine, go. I'll do the rest on my own." He does think he can, does think it's possible, but it will be very, very difficult without Sarge. Which, fine. "I wouldn't want you to get hurt. And harm the dog? Why would I hurt my own dog?" He pulls out a book of mismatched parchments and begins to sift through them until he finds the one he needs. He's scanning it casually before snapping it close to his face. He curses under his breath."No, no actually Sarge," he calls out before he can get too far. "Wait. I do need your help with this." He sighs with frustration. "I need some ingredients from the swamp, then I can...divine the murderer's location."
Sargaso // When Mathollak says he won’t harm the dog, Sarge lets loose a clenched fist he didn’t realize he was clenching. No need for a second clobbering (in Sargaso’s account of their fight, Sarge definitely beat Mathollak handedly, and Mathollak only walks on his own two legs by Sargaso’s mercy). “Seriously?” Sarge swears under his breath as he weighs his options. “You better not be messing with me this time, Matthew. You’ve been screwing things up left and right all day, and I’m tired of your bull. Can you get this done or not?” But Sarge is already facing the swamp, his decision evidently made.
Mathollak sighs again and finds his fists clenched and ready to run wild all over Sarge's face. But he takes a deep breath because he knows it isn't right. Sarge isn't who he's really upset with. His fist unwinds."Yes! I screwed up! I attacked the -wrong- guy and now the murderer is still at large." He huffs, not wanting to explain any further. "Yes, I can do this. I might be able to without you. But I know I can with you." He starts leading Wrinkles toward the swamp. "Or you can start over. In the dark. Without a hound.”