Flipout6

As of now all of my current characters are considered to have never existed. Dri, having been originally created by Grue, is under his control now. Now I can't be forced to post until I have a character because as of now, I don't have any characters, which as far as practicality goes means I'm not technically IN the RP, and won't be in an hour and a half when the 15th comes around.

Consider this my resignation from Ashes to Ashes until I say otherwise. I'm quitting it until further notice.

Your calling me an a**hole with every second breath when we were chatting last night might have something to do with the "lack of cooperation." But we'll talk about that, amongst other things, on Steam.

Amendale was casting spells as fast as he could, given some breathing room by Weyland as the warrior appeared beside his friend and hacked at any piece of Kraken that came near them, as well as Zorica, who saved his life at least twice in rapid succession. Once he cast Blade Barrier, however, he bid Weyland head off to help somebody else. Amendale never stopped moving as he cast: A Chain Lightning where he arced the bolt between several of the tentacles and then further up the creature's body, a simple Harm spell to one of the tentacles that inflicted a deep, wide slash that severed muscles and split flesh like a blade. Between spells, he would move towards a creeping tentacle and let his blade barrier cut the flesh to oozing ribbons. Finally, after casting spells left and right, Amendale targeted one of the longer tentacles that was giving them the most trouble. He hissed an incantation under his breath and thrust his hand towards the tentacle. An amber rune blazed briefly on his palm before twenty solid feet of tentacle exploded outwards into a chunky, rubbery pink mist, which soaked right through his clothing and drenched him to the bone in Kraken blood. He spat a glob of it out of his mouth and wiped his eyes, before glancing at Zorica. "That worth my being a little slow?" He challenged, as the Kraken's ungodly howl of pain reverbrated violently throughout the ship. Arland spun and swiped and slashed at every bit of tentacle he could get his blades on, inflicting horrible gashes and puncturing deep, but given the sheer size of the creature he wasn't doing any truly great damage. His flaming blades whirled to and fro as he continued his deadly dance...or at least, a series of complicated ripostes he dearly wished were deadly. "Tluining fish!" He insulted again. Sybille was busy crushing any tentacle he could find with mighty blows from her maul, but a creature without bones that was this size was simply being bruised by her hits. That was, until Amendale cast a Cone of Cold that snap-froze three solid feet of tentacle solid. Seeing her chance, she brought her maul over her shoulder and slammed it into the tentacle, shattering the frozen flesh, which scattered all over the deck as crystalline shards. She cheered loudly, exhilarated at the progress they were making destroying the creature. Annette threw another snap-freeze vial towards the thicker end of one of the Kraken's limbs on the deck, restricting its mobility. She was about to suggest Sybille hit that too when suddenly a shadow loomed over her. She leaped out of the way pre-emptively, crashing down a small flight of stairs, but she was saved by We'Tak, who severed a considerable chunk of its limb. Staring intently at his jumping path, she determined where he would next attack and aided him in return. A sickly jet of green light rocketed towards the tentacle which We'Tak hurtled towards and, while her magic was nowhere near powerful enough for the Disintegrate to act against such a creature on its full potential, she warped almost ten feet of the tentacle with the spell before the rubbery flesh disappeared into dust that was quickly carried away on the stormy winds. "Thank you!" She shouted, hoping the Thri'Kreen could hear her over the din of the pitched battle.

"If this is that festering-crotch, codless son-of-a-prostitute again..." Arland grumbled as the storm picked up, drawing a single blade once it occurred to him that the spell was decidedly unnatural in nature. "Unless you just screwed up your spell." He added, looking at Amendale. Amendale's gaze flicked to the sky, watching the rapidly-forming clouds with some level of confusion, even having to catch himself when the ship tilted towards the water as he was leaning on the railing. Eyes flashing as something occurred to him, he cast his usual flight spell and drifted up to high above the crow's nest, watching the skies, but he didn't find the airborne black figure he was expecting. He cast a scrying spell and saw something just at the edge of his vision. And then suddenly the gargantuan creature was there all at once, and he almost let out a strangled gasp of surprise. "KRAKEN!" He warned, just as the crew was beginning to clue in themselves. Several things happened in a few brief seconds. The biggest of which was Argyros diving into the water immediately prior to his transformation into a silver. Abby ensured that Marie managed to get belowdecks despite the Ordain's insistence on drawing one of her knives and fighting. Arland looked a combination of thrilled and irritated (somehow) as he drew his second blade. Weyland and Dri appeared on deck, Weyland clenching his blade and shield and Dri holding a pair of daggers. Amendale covered the entirety of his friends and Shalena's companions with a water breathing spell that granted them an hours' worth of water-breathing each, more than enough to last them through the battle. Then, Argyros appeared, trying in vain to escape the Kraken's grasp, and Amendale went to action. Instead of pulling out the most advanced spells in his repertoire, he started simple. He took a few seconds to cast a hypnosis spell and wrestled (mentally-speaking) with the creature for dominance. Oscillating lights danced in the open air between him and the water, coloured every hue from blues and purples to reds and yellows to greens and everything in-between. For a moment, just a brief moment, the Kraken's grip loosened on Argyros's tail and despite himself Amendale felt eyes on him, watching even from the restricted visibility below the water. A tentacle reached up as if to touch them...but then he felt it break free of his hypnosis almost effortlessly and that tentacle snapped and smacked him out of the air instead. He only had time for a strangled shout before he disappeared over the side of the ship with a splash barely audible over the waves and wind. "Should've zapped it!" Arland yelled. "Someone help him!" Weyland cried. Amendale hit the water at an odd angle that sent him careening just out of the path of one of the beast's tentacles as it went to grab and (presumably) eat him. He lay limp for a moment, dazed and sinking, the Kraken an indeterminable black mass below him that was suddenly being met with ballistae projectiles and various stings to its tentacles as they wrapped up around the deck only to be stabbed or slashed at by those still on the boat. He gasped, winded, and was grateful for the water-breathing spell he'd cast. He was not, however, grateful for the tentacle looping through the water for him, trying to get a hold on him. Above, Arland was nearly engulfed by a puckered aquatic limb. Startled, he slammed both of his incendiary blades into it before it could coil around him, sinking them into the flesh and then crudely chopping again and again until the limb was actually severed in two a few feet past the tip. Annette stepped right up to the side of the ship and hurled a round flask right into the water with a shout. The flask shattered and the liquid within snap-froze into solid ice, coating one of the Kraken's tentacles with liquid so cold it burned while Dri hit one of the tentacles with a rock that flashed blue with electricity and let out a bang upon impact. A bolt of electricity arced down a tentacle towards the water, the circuit extending to another tentacle and conducting through the entire Kraken's body when it hit the water. It paused for a half a second as its gargantuan mass with wracked with muscle spasms from the (comparatively small) electrical charge, which was enough time for Argyros to gather momentum again, flying around the ship and coming back around, turning the entire surface of the water above the Kraken to solid ice as he passed, keeping its tentacles locked in one place. This was enough time for Amendale to finish casting his spell. A Grasping Hand slammed into the tentacle trying to attack him and kept it as immobile as possible and well away from Amendale, who kicked furiously up to the surface of the water and struggled out, using his Overland Flight to propel himself back up to the deck where he landed awkwardly against a wall and fell to the ground. From the water, thunderous cracks shook the very ship as the Kraken pulled apart the melting ice from Argyros's strafing run. Enraged, it rocked the ship with its tentacles, aggressively combing the deck, looking for prey. One landed on Weyland's shoulder and coiled, squeezing him. The older Grey roared and sank his blade into it wherever he could, stabbing and hacking, the electric enchantment of the blade putting his hair on end. It tore itself off of him, but the puckers stripped his flesh from his body and sending him spinning to the deck, already bleeding profusely and staining his white shirt. Amendale, Rhaine, somebody! Dri "shouted" as she watched in horror. Annette was Weyland's savior, scampering across the soaking-wet deck with a powerful healing potion in hand which she forced him to drink. Beneath his shirt, the broken flesh began to knit itself back together, though it wasn't visible through the bloodstains, even with his shirt torn as badly as it was. A warm golden glow circled the warrior and supplemented Annette's potion, announcing Amendale's presence as he got back to his feet. The Moon Elf's expression was severe and smouldering. He hissed another incantation under his breath and unstable electricity crackled blue between his hands. He unleashed it with a grunt and a fiery gaze of gold and the bolts of lightning arced between several of the Kraken's limbs. Its "flinch" of pain was enough to snap the front mast right in half, and it crashed onto the deck in a shower of splinters, part of the tip and sails landing in the water. "Tluining fish!" Arland complained loudly.

"You and I, at least, will have the situation well in hand." Cameron glanced at Bellatrix as she mentioned choosing one's battles. "I daresay you are more than a match for a competent Swadian, to say nothing of a pack of unwashed barbarians the likes of which we are likely to slay by the dozens." Finishing his meal, he stood up at last, the chainmail he still wore clinking as he moved. "Now, I intend to get a decent night's rest, and to bring myself to a more...presentable state." He nodded to Bellatrix. "I bid you good night, Lady Bellatrix." Despite the rather middle-class nature of the inn itself, Cameron found the beds to his satisfaction, being as clean as an inn's beds could get, neat and well-kept. He bathed thoroughly - keeping his blade beside him, in case Bjorn barged in with an axe and unsavory intentions - before dressing himself for bed and checking that the door was locked. Once he ensured that it was, he slipped into bed and, grateful for the soft mattress after several days in a sleeping bag, fell quickly into a deep sleep. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- In the morning, he took a few minutes to shave before heading downstairs, garbed in a black sleeveless waistcoat over a white shirt and dark breeches, all meticulously adjusted until he wore it impeccably. The red drake of the Haringoths was stitched noticeably, but not gaudily or indiscreetly, into the waistcoat's chest. Even the longsword at his side matched the outfit instead of dissuading from the upper-class look. Bellatrix was already speaking with the bandit in the corner, though the two of them seemed icy at best. Cameron continued his pattern of ignoring the ruffian and simply sat down with porridge and a light wine for breakfast, taking care not to make a mess of any sort. A shame that Bellatrix is the exception among foreigners, rather than the norm. He thought drily, upon catching that Cair was from outside Calradia as well. But alas, lowlives are a universal plague, not a national one. The line of thought vanished when Bellatrix addressed him, asking about Amere. He swallowed what he was eating before responding. "Indeed it is. It is not a lengthy journey, either, being just beyond the hills around Ushkuru. A competent horseman - or woman - is quite capable of making a round trip before Swadia's forces gather four days from now." He raised an eyebrow at her thinking, impressed. "The townspeople would no doubt like their unlawfully-obtained goods returned...and indeed, Baron Mirchaud would be more than pleased to hear of our aiding his subjects."

Amendale had, when the Sea Compass seemed to be making little progress, summoned wind gusts and breezes through his sorcery, and he saw the need to yet again as the wind died down to nothing. He sighed and positioned himself beneath the sails. "I'll see what I can do to speed us on our way." He announced nonchalantly before casting a quick spell. Suddenly, the breeze picked up and the Sea Compass was well on its way. He extended its duration to keep the effect going as long as he could, and then set a contingency in place that would repeat the effect should the wind die down to nothing again...which was quite likely. Abigail's conversation with We'Tak caught his interest and amusement, and he ambled over to them. "Well, We'Tak, Abigail is really rather young, especially by elven standards. I am- " He quickly ran the numbers through his head. "More than a thousands moons old, or ninety years old. And Argyros-" He indicated the silver-in-disguise across the deck. "-is almost three times as old as I am. Well over two hundred, if I am not mistaken." "As far as cake...well, Abigail has the basic idea. It's...a little bit like bread, except soft and sweet. You can put icing- it's...hmm.... like butter or sauce, except sugarey and very sweet- on it, or fruits or honey, like she said." Arland, meanwhile, was up on the deck for one of the rare periods in which he left the galley, leaning against the railing and watching the ocean ahead. To Argyros and Rameses' scintillating conversation, all he had to say was, "Talking for fun is a waste of time. You draconic lots would be better off doing something fun." "Like getting drunk off their rockers?" Sybille rolled her eyes. "It'd take all the ale in the tavern to get a dragon a little wobbly." "Better wobbly than talking about...hells, what do dragons even talk about?" "Whatever it is, I'll bet it's so far above your head you couldn't understand a sentence of it." The only response his sister got was an unimpressed expression.

"My plan, simply put, is that we fight in this upcoming conflict, however petty the original reasoning for it." Cameron proposed, leaning forward. "We're hardly affluent- well, you're hardly affluent - and this war isn't likely to change that in and of itself, but it's a better opportunity than you'd stumble upon otherwise. We're noteworthy if only for our...diversity, but conducting yourselves properly during battle would show us- you, I've proven myself already - to be individuals of worth in addition to your willingness to risk our lives for Swadia. That means an alliance." Cameron leaned back in his chair. "For you lot there will be opportunities abound to make some coin on the side without resorting to unsavory means. But the key component to this "plan" of mine, if it could truly be called that -" He didn't look particularly impressed with his own idea, but he shrugged it off. "Is that you excel. You prove yourselves three times over, and then you do it again. And again. And again. You prove that you're truly better than a common Swadian soldier and you'll have the attention of the nobility." He inspected the back of his gauntlet. "For me it is simply my duty to fight, but for you, it's an opportunity worth taking. But remember: conduct yourselves in the highest of manners the battlefield will allow. Honor, chivalry, even down to proper mannerisms and organized equipment and coordinated formations. This is what will be required."

Weyland was warm against Dri as they lay in a hammock together in their cabin, enjoying the soft rocking of the ship on the clear day. Thankfully, Weyland had, at some point between now and his previous journey by boat, developed a far stronger stomach, and he hadn't felt queasy even once, thus far. The two of them spent most of their waking hours together, to nobody's great surprise, providing wordless but much-needed support for one-another and acting as mutual crutches. They were leaving Mulhorand behind, but the suffering they endured there left a wound that had yet to close. Dri found that between the two of them, she was, to her own surprise, the stronger. Between herself and Weyland, she found she was the one that was recovering and healing faster, while Weyland couldn't seem to adjust, still seeming disoriented at times. As she'd found, having Amendale around to ground him and remind him which pair of memories were his own helped quite a lot. It almost stung that she didn't provide the same effect, but she was mature enough to realize that he'd known Amendale far before he'd ever met her. It was understandable. For now, she'd simply helped lull him off to sleep in the cot beside her after he'd insisted on pulling some of his own weight around the ship. They had him lifting and rearranging barrels and supplies of rope and otherwise putting his brawn to good use. Dri broke up some of the tedium by hanging from the highest tier on the mast upside-down and nearly giving him a heart attack. Where a single giggle didn't placate him, her sliding back down with the agility of an experienced sailor and grinning like an imp did. He never could hold back a smile with her. Dri smiled slightly at him as he slept, looking even more baby-faced than usual, but was pulled out of her thoughts when a certain black-winged Doomguide appeared in the doorway. "Hi, Rhaine." She greeted, subconsciously whispering, even though Weyland couldn't hear her. Rhaine leaned against the doorframe as she glanced between Weyland's sleeping form and Audri, "Can we speak? Privately?" She pointed to the door, indicating that she wished to close it. "Sure thing." She nodded. "...did you want him awake, or...?" Despite herself, her cheeks burned red at having been caught in so intimate a position, despite it being entirely innocent. "Yes," Rhaine replied, moving quickly to close the door behind her, the rocking of the ship accelerating her movement and making her slam it unintentionally. Her emerald eyes widened for a moment and she winced, "Apologies." Dri waved it off. Weyland, despite the loud bag of the door slamming, needed further rousing from sleep, so she shook him by the shoulder and relayed a basic urge for him to wake up. Between the two, it was enough to get him to groan and open his eyes. "Feels like I was only out a few minutes." He mumbled groggily. "You were." She said. "This happens too often." He said, but then smiled and kissed her. "But as long as you're who I wake up to-" Dri's cheeks were burning. "Ahem- Rhaine's here." Weyland glanced at the Doomguide in the doorway and then his cheeks were burning too. "Oh." "She wanted to talk." "Hm? Alright." He cracked his neck and sat up, throwing off the balance of the hammock and almost sending the delicately-balanced Dri tumbling to the deck despite her feline grace. Weyland being Weyland, he caught her by the hand, mumbled an apology and pulled her back into balance. "Something wrong, Wings?" Rhaine sighed, leaning against the wall beside the door with her arms crossed, "Not necessarily, no. I just wanted to talk. About the attack you suffered at the hands of Silithus. I hope I have waited long enough for it to be less painful for you to discuss." Uncertainty flashed across Weyland's face. "If you think it's wise, I suppose." His expression was muddled. "But where would we even start?" "At the beginning," she replied simply, "Tell me how the attack started." "We weren't far from the camp." Dri began, easily recalling the night. "Within earshot, at the very least. I was keeping Weyland company when he was out gathering firewood. Silithus came in quietly, said a word or two to announce his presence, and then..." "I don't know what in the hells it was he did to us." Weyland took over, expression blank. "But he did it fast enough I barely had my sword out. It...hurt. A lot. Like every time you thought something it strained your head so badly it was like being on fire. Even if you didn't think, it tore up your head after it ransacked it." Weyland froze, reluctant to continue. Dri picked up where he left off. "He made me see things. Or maybe the more accurate term would be "experience" things. It wasn't just a memory or an illusion, I was there. It was happening." Rhaine frowned as she absorbed this information, thinking as the two explained the situation to her. "Hmm," she murmured quietly, "Mind magic...possibly illusionary in origins but powerful...quite manipulative. Almost psionic in strength." She blinked and shook her head, adding in a louder tone, "What did you see? Where were you, in your minds...what were you forced to witness?" "A lot of things." Dri started, opting to go first as Weyland pondered uncertainly about how he could possibly describe the attack. "I remember it started with being pulled into the forest, fighting and screaming for help, and something- claws, I guess - were-" She paused for a brief moment, trailing off as her eyes became unfocused. "- shredding my legs..." Weyland's face lost all of its pallor and became deathly white. Dri winced. "Then it...changed. There was a snap and then my back was on fire, and there was blood everywhere, running down my legs from my back, and my chin because I chewed my lip to a pulp. When I looked down, I was a boy, not even growing his chest hair yet. And all I remember feeling when the pain faded was just...so much anger. So frustrated." She swallowed, and tears stung her eyes. "The last one I was trapped. Trapped in my own mind, and I saw through my own eyes as I hit a girl with a clenched fist over and over again. I couldn't stop it. I...it..." Dri paused, grappling with both confusion and a strange grief, mourning a dead girl she'd never even met. "She was maybe fifteen winters. All I could do was scream inside my head while hers caved in. When I was done, her head, her face..." "...A mangled lump. So much blood." Weyland whispered, echoing something he'd thought through so many times. "The first one I saw- first illusion, I suppose it could be called - was...almost foggy. I was tied up on the floor of a house and there was a woman beside me. Red hair a lot like Dri's but I couldn't make out much else." Dri looked at him sharply but said nothing. "There was a man with a dagger looming over us, and I was terrified of him. He killed the woman first. Slit her throat and let her lie there and choke." Weyland's voice was trembling, shaky. "I honestly thought she was my mother. I know she wasn't, but I did. My voice wasn't mine, though it was...like a little girl's, it sounded like. I couldn't take my eyes off the blood as the woman I thought was my mother died. Then when she stopped moving, he... slit my throat too." Dri was openly agape, staring at him with huge eyes. Her fingertips ghosted along the scar over her throat, a subconscious reflex. She swallowed hard, keeping on a brave face. A tear slipped down his cheek. "The second part had people breaking into a different house, and someone I called "father" made me play dead on the floor." Weyland's eyes closed tight for a brief moment as he recalled what he saw with perfect clarity "They pinned him to the ground and just...cut him. And cut him. And cut him." He motioned their daggers sliding across tender flesh. "And when he was dying, they let him seizing on the floor in a red pool. Playing dead meant I had to watch it. All of it. When he stopped thrashing and didn't make any more noise, it was mercy. They left me there." Throughout his describing his own trauma, Dri went from swallowing her trepidation and uncertainty to trembling, until she finally broke down completely and collapsed to the floor, a sobbing wreck. Weyland laid a hand on her shoulder and pulled her up so she sat beside him on the hammock, blinking back his own tears as he let her lean on his shoulder. Rhaine watched and listened carefully to Weyland and Dri as the two spoke, and a slow realization dawned within her thoughts as she did so. At first, she was a bit surprised at her revelation...and then she was angered, fury boiling inside of her. "That bastard," she hissed, "He forced you two to relive your worst memories...each other's worst memories, not your own!" ...his only love is pain... Kelemvor's words came floating back to the forefront of her mind, and she added, "Of course...he not only revels in his own pain, as a servant of Loviatar, but he also gains a sick pleasure in watching others in agony as well. Physical and mental anguish both, as I have just learned." The Doomguide shook her head slowly, "I am so sorry...I wish I could have gotten to you both sooner...stopped his magic before it did so much damage. It is apparent that he is adept at bestowing curses, transmitting incurable diseases, and now manipulating minds, too? Gods above," she trailed, looking up at the ceiling. When she looked back down after a few breaths, she added, "I swear to you, he will not go unpunished for his terrible deeds. We will see that he sees justice, that I promise." Weyland barely heard her, having been staring at Dri as the Doomguide spoke. He felt like a fool as the logic clicked into place. Our worst memories? Then suddenly he understood. Dri's experience, being dragged into the woods, being whipped even as she bit her lip in defiance, crushing a girl's skull with a body under someone else's control... they were so eerily similar to his own experiences because they were his experiences! Being stolen away as a child and screaming for help, the first time he dared defy Sana, her wresting his own mind from his control and using it to kill a fellow slave he'd fallen for... and Dri's memories, having her throat cut... that was where she got her scar! "I won't breathe a word." Weyland promised. "...And I'll tear his throat out myself, for putting you through that." Dri didn't say anything, but looked at Weyland with a new understanding. Rhaine's lips were thin as she pressed them together, "We will not have to worry about finding him, I think. He will find us." She shook her head, "In the meantime, keep Xallistine's amulets close; they should protect against any future attacks of similar nature." The Doomguide sighed. She missed the Ulitharid. He had vanished shortly after they had arrived in Mulhorand. Were he with them, he would have made short work of Silithus and his mind-violating tricks. "They didn't do us any good during the attack." Dri stated factually. "No way he knew about them, though." Weyland added. "They were made to keep psions out of our heads, but maybe it wasn't psionic in nature." At that moment, Sir Meowsalot peeked his tiny head over Weyland's shoulder and blinked his large yellow eyes, "Meow." This time, both of them jumped. "Meow?" the brindle kitten hopped atop Weyland's head, "Meow." Rhaine chuckled and shook her head, "It's just Zorica's little friend...though I understand now why he would surprise you so." She frowned, "Sana, right? In your vision. Your nightmare." "Yes." Weyland confirmed. "Yes." Dri's response was just as instantaneous, and the effect of hearing two different voices, one audible and one mental, would be disorienting to the unaffiliated. "If only she was just a nightmare." Weyland scowled, voice bitter. Rhaine's eyes looked distant for a few moments before she replied, "You cannot be blamed for what you did under her influence. I trust you understand that such an event is not representative of who you are, Weyland." She paused, then added, "You avenged the girl when you finally slew Sana. Her spirit can rest easy." "I know." He murmured. "As far as Silithus's power, you are right," Rhaine pushed off from the wall, "I doubt the violation he forced you to endure was psionic in origin at all, despite its nature. It was likely divine, as is his curse upon Marie." She put on hand on the door knob, "Which is why we should make for proper holy ground as soon as we can. I will need all the help I can get if I am to reverse the damage he has wrought upon her." "Divine? Which of the Gods does he worship, do you know?" "Loviatar, like Rhaine said, but Talona would also fit, with his obsession with filth and sickness." Dri guessed, but frowned. "I haven't heard of Talona's followers clashing with Kelemvor's." Rhaine half-turned, "Talona, yes. And, as I have said, Loviatar. The former is a stated enemy of my church; her terrible machinations end lives before their time, and thus she and all her followers are our foes." "Is this a personal war of Faith, then?" Dri pondered. "Can we use that against him?" "What was it he said to you?" Weyland asked. "Something about the fear of death. Er-" He found it in him to chuckle. "-I guess you could say my memory's a little warped." His eyes flashed as something occurred to him. "That book you helped me read, one of your church's? The first sentence in it was "death is not to be feared." "Sounds like he wants death to become something to fear, hearkening back to the days of Jergal, Myrkul, Cyric..." Dri said. Rhaine sighed, "Indeed. He is from that time, no doubt...the Time of Troubles and before. Silithus wants to reverse the work of my lord...as he finds perverse pleasure in seeing the fear in the eyes of others before they release their last breaths." She released the door handle and turned back to face them with a heavy sigh, "Kelemvor knows this, of course. He has made it clear to me Silithus's state of mind - he loves pain, in himself and others. My lord gave me a prime example of this bastard's madness at work," she took in a breath, "Silithus attempted to murder Ilmater himself." "I'd say that tells us everything there is to know about him in one go." Weyland grinned mirthlessly. "He "attempted to murder Ilmater himself." Only certain kinds of people would even want that." Dri said nothing for a moment, deep in thought. "If this is a war of faith, we could use his own against him..." "Perhaps," Rhaine nodded, "And if you refuse to give him the satisfaction he seeks, he could get...careless." The Doomguide then turned and opened the door, looking back over her shoulder, "I'll leave you to your thoughts, for the time being. It would be wise to contemplate the words of that book, I think; conquer such a fear, and it becomes one less weapon your foe can use against you." With that, she left the room and shut the door behind her, Sir Meowsalot squeezing through after, just before the gap was closed.

"I was going to compensate the owner for the chair, but thank you." Cameron dumped a small pile of denars, the exact same amount the chair had cost, into Komolov's hand. "Hardly a need to waste your own funds on my account, I've more than enough to keep myself in fighting shape." He turned to Bellatrix. "I mean no disrespect, but...are you entirely certain that your decision regarding the Nord is a wise one? To trust him to aid us in a war against his home country on its own would be an unlikely gamble at best, but to do so when he all but outright stated he plans to stab me- and by extension, us - in the back, is outright foolhardy. His death is the most practical option. Letting him live- even in prison- gives him a chance to make us pay for it." The Knight sipped from a goblet of wine before adding, "Granted, it's possible he only intends for me to meet a nightmarish end, but - pardon my arrogance in saying so - my death would deprive you of a valuable asset. And if nobility, however ostracized, is slain in your company, it is likely the crown would hold you responsible despite the one-eyed braggart being a rogue element." He looked Bellatrix directly in the eye, ignoring the obnoxious buffoon on the other side of the room. "Whatever your case, if he draws a weapon on me again, I will slay him."

"I assure you, my Lord, that they are not simply common mercenaries." Cameron told the Duke, before bowing respectfully and following Bellatrix out the door to the tavern, where Bjorn quickly made his anger known. Cameron snorted at the Nord's challenge and didn't even stand from his seat, staring at his potential foe with a dismissive air. "Quaint. Nord, I don't believe you comprehend just how fortunate you are that you yet live, given Swadia's being at war with your people- again - and our being within walking distance of one of Swadia's marshals. I don't believe you comprehend that all it takes to have you hung and quartered is to keep pointing that axe at me...if I don't carry out your execution myself." He raised an eyebrow as his tone turned from somewhat affronted to something lower, more serious. "And what if you lower that axe? If you possess any modicum of intelligence, you're pondering that at this very moment. If you lower your axe? Perhaps I won't take you outside and slay you on the spot. Perhaps I won't simply bark that there's a Nord infiltrator in town and watch as they cut you apart tomorrow morning." The Swadian Knight tsked as if a thought suddenly occurred to him. "But alas, allowing you to escape with your life simply results in your attacking me on a later occasion. When my back is turned, perhaps." He stood up at last, bearing his shield and drawing his mace, slipping his wrist through the leather strap that kept it anchored to his wrist. But instead of a polite gesture of after you towards the door, he tilted his head towards Bellatrix, still keeping his eyes on the Nord. "How would you see this resolved, Lady Bellatrix? If you've a more...unorthodox solution in mind, I'm more than willing to hear you out. If not, then the good Nord's fate is sealed."

"Here." Sybille handed We'Tak a sizable bundle from her pack. "A whole big pile of meat jerky. Sure, it's dry and tough, but it tastes good." "If you give me a few minute, I can conjure up enough food to feed half the people on this ship." Amendale shrugged. He made his way down to the galley and closed his eyes, beginning the incantations to a spell. "One of his handier spells, that." Weyland commented. "Wonder what he's making?" He got his answer a few minutes later when one of the tables was piled high with meats, bread, various cheeses and the odd apple. "Sandwiches it is." Weyland shrugged and went towards the table to prepare his lunch. With lunch on the table, the Sea Compass set sail on what were, for the moment, thankfully-smooth waters. Amendale disappeared to the open deck, keeping an eye on the skies not for storms, but for Silithus, should he decide to attack. The Greys, unsurprisingly, tucked in to eat, while Annette escorted Marie to what would become her room for the duration of the voyage. Sybille had more trouble with the rocking motion of the boat than her brothers did, but still hungrily wolfed down almost half-a-dozen sandwiches. Arland used the fiery enchantment on one of his blades as a make-shift toaster and grill.

Cameron sighed and rolled his eyes when the declaration of war was given to the Duke. "They never learn, do they? A shame. One would think that cutting down swathes of Nordic warriors in their primes would teach them otherwise. Even animals know not to linger where the predators lie." He looked at Klargus. "And... yes, I shall. I've a duty to my country." He gave Bellatrix a look that said We'll speak of this afterwards. "I haven't charged onto a proper battlefield in months." He added wistfully. "If that is all, we should take our leave." He told Bellatrix. "The Duke has a war to tend to, and we have matters of our own to discuss."

"...Blessing from Tymora herself we didn't manage to break this tluining ship since last time we went over a sea." Arland muttered. "Couldn't we just fly over the sea? Amendale can fly." "I don't have anywhere near the number of spells required." Amendale raised an eyebrow. "And Argyros has made it plain he won't be ferrying us anywhere again." "Stlarn." Arland grumbled as he pointedly let everyone else board before he did. "I think my stomach's gotten stronger since we sailed from Westgate." Sybille said uncertainly. "I think." "Well, now we get to find out." Annette chirped. Marie heard something running at them, having not announced its presence, and her head snapped towards the general direction the sound was coming from. She had one of her hunting knives in her hand and dropped into a ready stance, but the suspicious glare she gave the unknown newcomer was uncertain and fearful at best. "Rhaine, watch out!" She warned, but when Sybille and Annette started laughing, she paused and slipped the knife back into its sheath. "What? Who is it?" "A little Tak'We, looks like." Weyland chuckled just before the Thri'Kreen all but tackled Rhaine in its enthusiasm. "I thought it was him for a second." Dri communicated silently in the warrior's head, the foreign thoughts carrying a wistful tone. "So did I." His tone was far less enthusiastic this time. "That's not Tak'We's kid, is it?" Arland demanded. "It is, actually." Dri answered. Even Amendale couldn't figure out how in the hell she spotted it so quickly. "Stlarn." The Grey cursed. "I hope you're not here wanting to come with us. Tak'We already died on this damned quest and I won't see his kid bite it too, even though I bet you could toss me over the mast if you had a mind to." "I'm not comfortable with the idea either, Rhaine." Weyland added, but then hastily added to Che'Tak, "But it's nothing I have against you. It's my due to a dea- departed friend." "If he wants to accompany us and he knows the risks, I don't see why we shouldn't give him the chance." Amendale pitched in. "...And at this point, we can't be certain there isn't anything- or anyone- that lurks on his path back home. At this point, even turning him away to head home is problematic. It could put him in danger."

Cameron enjoyed the free time they spent riding on the way to the keep in Dhirim despite the severed head that occasional rustled in its sack in one of Aristide's saddlebags. He even removed his helmet a few hours after Mirchaud had departed and let his (manky: he needed a bath) black hair catch a bit of the cool breeze rolling down from the hills. He kept the great helm close to him as they rode. He was glad to see Dhirim off in the distance. He didn't mind the road, but access to at least a washbasin would be a refreshing change from having to bathe in whatever body of water he came across. On top of that, Duke Klargus seemed somebody worthy of Cameron's respect, if the reports him of him leading his men into battle even as his hair greyed were accurate. Granted, perhaps it would turn out that Mirchaud was his superior with regards to courtesy, but that didn't discount Klargus's spirit. He expected Bellatrix or even himelf to be the one to present the severed bandit heads as evidence of their success once they entered the Keep, but instead, the Vaegir was the one who introduced them. The Swadian shrugged and withdrew the head he carried, thankful when he beheld the bloodied sack that he'd "doubled up," so to speak, and wrapped the sack carrying the head in another bag. He held the head overtop both flaps of burlap, preventing the odd trickle of blood from touching the floors. "Rest assured, Komolov, for I am not nearly that foolish." He replied coolly when the Vaegir pleaded they not leave a mess on the Duke's floors. Perhaps not the case with our dear Nord, here. He thought.