Old Wounds and New Tricks
Jan 1, 2020 17:56:27 GMT
Grimes, Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar, and 3 more like this
Post by Markas Virnala on Jan 1, 2020 17:56:27 GMT
Markas shuffles awkwardly around the Crimson Fist compound waiting for his friend. The last couple of days, weeks even, have clearly been a lot for Baine and when he declared his need to get away, of course Markas was going to go with him. The waiting is making his mind wander again but it’s not long before the much larger man comes out of the main doors, preceded by Frankie bounding about with excitement as usual. With barely a word, the pair head out the gate.
It’s a slow walk to Port Ffirst. Markas was always quicker than Baine but for now the monk is walking beside the soldier without complaint at almost a snail's pace. Baine has packed light but his considerable frame is bowed under the invisible weight of recent revelations and old wounds. They walk quietly side by side while Frankie runs in large circles around them, trying to figure out what the white stuff falling from the sky is.
Markas doesn’t push, doesn’t ask questions and Baine is deeply grateful. He feels full to the brim and empty all at once, both overflowing with emotion and numb. He needs time and, for now, distance.
It's been dark for hours by the time they reach the city and thin layer of frost is forming on their cloaks. Returning to their old stomping grounds is odd. The Shank looks like it always has, its odor and grime strangely comforting. Baine barely looks around as he enters, heading straight for the bar as the crowd parts around him, giving his intimidating figure a wide berth. He waves Jedd over and the old sailor scowls at him from behind the bar.
“Look who’s back. What do you want?”
Unbothered by the standard hostility, Baine slaps a handful of coin down on the bar top.
“I want my old room back.”
Jedd scoffs. “Your old room is taken, hot shot. Think you can come swanning in here like you own the place and-”
Baine sighs and pulls out his coin purse, pointedly counting out gold pieces as Jedd trails off.
He adds the gold to the pile and looks at Jedd, deadpan.
“I want my old room back, and two bottles of the special stuff.”
Jedd glares at him but sweeps the gold into a grubby hand and shuffles off to, presumably, kick someone out of the room they’re staying in. Baine reaches a long arm behind the bar, fishes out a bottle of a questionable looking liquid and heads over to a what used to be his favourite chair over by the hearth, the grey monk close behind and taking the seat opposite.
Two cups appear, both barely clean and echoing their past drinking sessions, they are quickly filled and downed by the two; one swinging it back easily, the other visibly grimacing as it goes down. An hour or so passes as the two drink in silence, the fire dulling the frostbite and the booze dulling the feelings inside. Finally, watching Baine idly scratch Frankie's ear, Markas speaks.
"...this stuff is still awful to drink."
The next day, Markas needs to head off with a few others on an errand he had already promised to do. Baine is sat by the fire - if he made use of the room he paid so dearly for is unclear. He’s got parchment out and another bottle by his side. At Markas’ questioning glance he waves the half-elf off.
“Go on, mate. Got to write Thea about… everything. I’ve had food, don’t worry, off you go.”
Markas gives a concerned look but doesn’t push, doesn’t judge. He just nods, grabs his pack and heads out with the others. Baine is grateful.
“... at the edge of the Feythorn. It’s pretty close to the compound so I can visit her when I want. Got her wedding ring, keeping it with dad’s. Since they can’t be buried next to each other and all that. Figured this was the next best thing.
After all that I had to leave. I don’t know why really, I just can’t be there right now. Everywhere I looked I could remember Sweet doing something in that spot. Everywhere in Daring there’s places and people that was torn apart by the orcs. I’m not great at feelings but fuck if Varis isn’t worse and there’s some things I need to ask him about those things I saw, the visions I had during the fight. It’s probably best if I sort myself out first so he doesn’t think I’m having a go at him.
I just wanna make sense of it all and right now nothing in the world makes sense. I bet you could make sense of it for me. Just like you used to. If Sunday was here she’d say I had to think for myself and she might have a point. The really shitty part though is that some things aren’t ever gonna make sense, some things are never going to have a happy ending. And we have to scramble like headless chickens to find peace with that, I guess…”
It's late in the evening before the half-frozen monk wanders back in to find Baine still by the fire, bottle still next to him, some balled up paper at his feet and Frankie laying on the floor underneath the chair. Dropping his gear down, Markas sits back in the seat opposite Baine and looks at him for a long moment, gauging how far Baine has come along in his thought process before seeming to reach a decision: Nearly… but not quite. He leans forward, grabs the bottle and pours two more drinks.
"Jedd? We might need another bottle still."
It’s well after midnight when Baine finally starts speaking, his voice rough and his eyes fixed on the fire. The Seashank is quiet around them - most of the regulars have left and Jedd is doing something at the bar that is probably meant to be tidying up. Frankie is chewing resentfully on Baine’s trouser leg.
“She left Aschenwald to go ‘n’ protect me. And while she was tryin’ to protect me, she made sure the orcs attacked Darin’. In all honesty, I dunno much about Varis’ past but those attacks shaped him. In tryin’ to keep me safe she made the man she was tryin’ to protect me from and from the ashes of that attack rose the Order that I am now gonna join.”
He looks from the fire to his friend, eyes heavy. It takes him a second to focus.
“Like. What the fuck, man?”
The monk let's out a sigh, relieved the broken man before him is finally ready to talk. He had been thinking about what to say when this moment came but the booze had taken it from his mind.
".... its, uh………… it's really fucked, man."
His head was spinning but even he could recognise he needed to do better than that.
"What I mean is…. She loved you. She did some… dubious things in trying to protect you but you need to remember it was-"
He stops abruptly, realising he is rambling as the struggle going on in Baine's head is clearly visible. This would be a lot easier sober but he tries again.
"Baine...This is a lot. No one expects you to know what to do. Sometimes…. Sometimes we like to think the world is easy but the fact is, it's not. Your mum, she - she did a lot of things. Some of them were pretty bad. But she did what she felt was right, right? And Varis… he works to protect the people of Daring but… his actions also led to a lot of life being lost among the orcs but again, he was doing what he felt was right…
Those two only pushed each other closer to their own causes but even at the end of it all, when we were in the clearing, they could recognise the purpose in the other. One persons’ good can be another's evil. Like this stuff,” he holds up the bottle of dubious liquor, “Everyone seems to drink it, but I think it's awful.”
He throws a belated “Sorry, Jedd” in the direction of the bar. Jedd flips him off.
“You just.. you need to find your good. What do you want to do?"
Baine squints at his friend and wiggles a shoulder in an approximation of a shrug.
“I dunno, like. About the whole thing you mean? I think I just wanna understand what happened. Can’t change it. Just gotta live with it. But I do wanna, like.. fill in the gaps as much as I can Gotta understand history to avoid repeatin’ it right? Guess I gotta talk to V-man about it.”
He grabs the bottle out of Markas hand and refills both their cups.
“‘Cos at some point I wanna go back and join the Order and try and be violent in like… not a horrible way. Like, I wanna protect people an’ shit. But not fuck it up like she did.” His frown deepens for a moment before he visibly sets the thought aside. “Right now though, I wanna drink some more.” He throws back content of his cup in one go. His left eye twitches a bit.
Markas follows suit, his whole face twitching
"Gah… I think… I think that's a good thing to want. But I think you’re already doin’ it differently. That time we went to blow up that shoe shop in K'ul Goran, you was the first to ask about if the ones there were innocent or not. I mean…. Even when I first met you, you wasn't that thoughtful - no offence of course. Sometimes you just need someone to hit something."
He settles back into his chair a little happier Baine seems to be on the right path at least. It's too easy to fall from your way with everything he has been through but he still wants to do good in the world... that's enough for now.
There’s a moment of comfortable silence between them as they listen to the sounds of Jedd’s tinkering before Baine swings his head around to Markas again.
“Hey. I’ve been meaning to ask. In Kul G’ran, after the fight. Why were you cryin’?”
The tipsy monk visibly tenses at the question for a second before a look of resignation comes over him.
"Did I ever tell you about Aila?"
Baine frowns hard in concentration. “I… no. No, you di- wait.” He squints. “No, no you didn’t. But you’re gonna. Right now.” He wrestles his wandering gaze back under control and fixes his eyes on Markas. The half-elf sits forward again and remains silent for a moment before continuing.
"Back in the monastery where I grew up, there was a lot of us - elves, halflings, humans, gnomes. A lot were orphans but a few of us where just sent there for… for different reasons I guess.
I spent most of my life there and I was pretty close to two of the other monks - my best friend Hugo, and Aila. I fell for her pretty hard early on. We spent years together but one day she... left.
She asked me to go but we had some stupid argument and I… didn’t. Now I have no idea where she is and… I guess I’ve been looking for her ever since but in the years I've been gone I've never found anything."
He pours another drink for them both.
"Part of what we were doing to rescue Koriah was going into a kind of… memory bubble she was trapped in. There was this swing she was on that was charmed so when you sat on it, you relived your happiest moments, making you want to stay forever. For me it was a night with Aila.”
Baine’s drunken features take on a lewd quality for a moment but quickly rearrange themselves in a more proper manner as Markas continues.
“It was the night we sat watching fireworks and stargazing for hours. Sitting on the swing was like being there again. I could see the lights, feel the warm breeze... It was perfect. But then the happy feeling was replaced by the regret and sadness I've had since she left, it all came back so sudden and then just as I left that bubble, I heard her words again and felt her kiss. It was… just too much all at once I guess. I still miss her."
Baine reaches out a large hand and pats him heavily on the shoulder.
“I’m sorry, mate. I know I’m not very good at it but if you want, like, whenever, I can help you look.”
"Maybe…." Markas stares hard at the drink for a long moment before downing it, coughing as he does. His eyes wander a little, not wanting to look at his friend, feeling a bit foolish being so upset over this still, especially with recent events.
Baine gives him a small grin. “I even know a guy who calls himself The High Diviner. He can probably suss something out with a title like that. Not as cool as Ghost Puncher though, is it?”
Markas laughs weakly and continues to look around for a distraction until he comes back to his pack again, seeing the new Longsword he picked up
"Hey…. You know how to use one of those right?”
Baine scoffs loudly and ungracefully. “Do I know how to use- of course I do.”
“Fancy showing me a thing or two? I could do with hitting something again."
“Thought you’d never ask, mate.”
“Not in here you don’t!” Jedd’s emphatic shout rends the quiet in the smelly tavern. “Take it outside, you drunken shits!” Waving dismissive hands at Jedd, the pair clumsily get up and head out into the cold night air, Markas tripping on the way and mumbling about leaving a chair in the way. Baine very kindly doesn’t point out that there was no chair, because he’s nice like that.
Outside, after making way too much noise than appropriate for the hour, they grab a couple of blunt swords from a rack outside the blacksmiths. They head down a deserted alleyway and stand apart from each other, sizing the other up. Baine is sporting a large shield to compensate for the lack of his normal armour. Markas still in only his robes, but much too drunk to even feel the cold. A little wobbly, they square off and after what they think is a cool amount of time for a standoff, they start.
Markas, always quicker on his feet, closes the gap but the blunt sword is heavier than he expected. He swings it twice, trying to emulate his normal fighting style but both swings go wide, the second bodily taking him with it, just in time to avoid Baine’s initial retaliating swipe at him. Not enough however, to stop the larger man whacking him in the side twice afterwards, hitting him solidly in his side and chest. The monk reels backwards from the heavy hits.
“Again,” Baine barks.
Knowing he needs an opening if he wants to land a hit, Markas brings the blunt sword up high and brings it down in two over hand swings, both of which Baine easily bats aside with his own sword and shield but leaves himself open just enough for the smaller Monk to slip through a land an open palm on him.
Baine blinks at him through a haze of confusion and alcohol.
“...Why are you slapping me, mate? We’re supposed to be using the swords.”
“Haha, well I need to fit it with my own style too.” Baine looks unconvinced. Markas relents.
“Okay, just swords.”
Distracted, he doesn’t notice as Baine drops back into stance and makes a swing for his head. Barely ducking under the initial pass, he isn’t able to bring his own sword up in time to fend off the returning swing, or the follow up again. Feeling the bruises already coming out, Markas retaliates, trying to emulate the soldiers’ form but Baine just manages to catch both with his shield. He brings his own sword round, the monk barely managing to block the attack before the following two knock him about again.
His head spinning, chest heaving and legs shaking, the monk stands ready to try again but Baine, seeing the state of his drunk friend drops his shield and lowers his sword.
“Yeah, no. This is unfair. Let’s try again sober. And I think you get to slap me.”
The next day, after sobering up and having something to eat, they decide to go again. They head a little further out of town this time, the streets being too busy in the daytime, and make their way to where Baine watched Markas training with Paw only a few months ago. (They walk past the smiths again so Markas can pay for the blunt swords he realised only this morning they had actually stolen.) Outside the edge of town, a sober Baine is now able to actually formulate his thinking enough to pass on some words of wisdom to the monk before they take their positions.
This time, Baine waits for Markas to make the first move, making sure he is taking on board his comments about footing and his handling of the sword. Markas closes the gap for two quick swings with the blunt sword, followed up by the open palm and, as before, Baine fends off the sword but leaves enough gap for the palm strike to land on his chest.
Not letting this go unpunished, Baine brings his own sword round, fast and low, knocking the monks legs out from under him before slamming the sword down onto him in two quick hits. Before a third comes, the monk rolls away flicking the sword out to hold the larger soldier off of him, both swipes going wide but providing enough space for him to gain his footing again as he drops into a defensive stance, ready to watch his opponent and maybe learn something.
As Baine rushes him, he sees the shift in his frame and preempts the attack this time, side stepping out of the way.
Baine grins widely at him. “There we go! Good lad.”
The monk almost side steps the second swing but doesn’t catch the last minute change as Baine catches him again with a loud thwack to the head before aiming again for his legs again, trying to put him back on the floor. The monk doesn’t manage to avoid it, still reeling from the previous hit but at least manages to plant his feet firmly down to avoid being lifted again. Even so, he feels Baines sword connect hard into his leg, nearly buckling it.
“Alright, mate, come on. Stop trying to hit me and actually hit me. Here, I’ll make it easier for you.”
Shaking again, his vision blurring, Markas sees Baine drop his shield to the floor. The half-elf moves in for one last attempt, Baine fending off twice quick swipes with the sword and narrowly avoiding the spin kick he’s seen the monk use so many times. He doesn’t expect the accompanying backhand that catches him a little harder than expected. Almost on instinct, the soldier brings his own sword round in a flourish of three quick swings, each catching the groggy monk easily. As Markas crumples to the ground unconscious, Baine lets out a quiet “Oops”.
Baine feeds the unconscious Grey Monk a potion to wake him up and they take a rest so Markas can regain some feeling of normalcy again, during which Baine tries to point out where Markas needs to adjust his form some more.
A large bruise is now blossoming on Markas’ face but he’s undeterred and eager as they get ready to go again - the sting reminding of his early training days. Baine is much larger and more adept at using these weapons but he’s glad he isn’t holding back too much.
On three, they start, Markas once again closing the distance, much quicker than before as he finally manages to bring the blunt sword up under Baines own, connecting with his ribs and knocking the wind out of him. Seizing his opportunity, the smaller monk unleashes a flurry of attacks on the larger soldier but, even winded, Baine is able to fend off the majority of the attacks, only having the occasional punch or kick actually break through his defences. It’s enough to prevent him from catching his breath but even so, Baine sees his opportunity and viciously lashes out with the blunt sword just after Markas’ own bounces off his shield. It connects hard with his ribs and they both hear a loud crack as at least one of them breaks. The monk stumbles backward holding his side with a grim look as Baine finally catches his breath. Markas rushes once again, two quick swings both easily deflected now he is slowed in his movement, barely managing to connect with an open palm on the same spot he hit previously, trying to stun him again but this time Baine is ready for him and stands strong.
He’s clearly a little peeved at being winded and unleashes a series of blows, bringing the sword around again and again, the monk barely keeping out of his way before Baine swipes at his legs again. Markas sees it coming but is too hurt to get out of the way in time. Baine sweeps Markas legs with such force that he spins in the air, hitting his head on the floor.
When Baine finally manages to wake Markas up again, he is greeted by the trademark grin and a weak cough.
“....I got you that time!”
The next day his ribs are still in a pretty bad way, but when Baine makes him way down into the tavern sometime after lunch, Markas suggest one last round. The half-orc rubs the sleep from his eyes and smiles at him, a more genuine smile than Markas has seen on him for weeks now.
He looks his friend over and shrugs. “Your bruises, your choice, mate.”
This time Markas wants to watch more than fight, see if can outlast the Soldier and study his movement as they fight rather than focus on trying to hit him. He can see Baine is starting to feel bad for knocking him about so much but is happy to see he is at least doing a little better than he was when they got here.
Out on the training ground, Baine goes over the basics again, trying his best to explain the handling and footing before they square off once again. Markas takes a decidedly more defensive stance immediately, protecting his already weakened side. It’s enough for Baine to finally get the jump on the monk as he is the first to move this time, coming in strong with another tripping swipe of the sword but Markas sees it coming and plants himself strong to keep his footing, even as the sword batters into his unarmoured legs.
“Well done,” Baine says. “One more.”
Baine brings the sword round again, Markas easily avoiding the first two but the third catches him just in time before he can move again. He makes two quick but weak retaliating strikes at Baine, knowing he will block them, just to see his reaction and form shift, paying particular attention to his hold of the blade.
He watches as Baine steps forward for his usual triple flourish again, deflecting the first but not the second. He moves to avoid the third as it comes back around but somehow the soldier catches his side still, not hard, but enough to hurt his existing injury and make him flinch. The pain is flaring through his body as he makes a pitiful attempt at goading the larger man again. Baine doesn’t even attempt to avoid them, simply letting them clang lightly against his breastplate.
“...What was that?” he asks. “You’re not that weak, come on now.”
“I'm just watching your stance and how it changes as I attack. I figure I'll learn more than just trying to hit you for once!” Markas grins again but he is in excruciating pain already.
“Huh… Fair enough.” Baine swings out again but not fast enough that Markas can’t avoid it. The sudden movement sends another pulse of pain through his body though and he isn’t able to move before Baine moves to trip him again. He stands strong as the blunt blade crunches into his leg, taking the hit and avoiding being thrown again.
Baine raises his arm to deliver one last blow before stopping as he sees Markas, visibly shaking more than before, slowly crumpling to the floor again, the last blow to his leg finally causing his muscles to give. Baine catches him before he hits the ground.
“Mate. We need to… feed you. Or summat. Build you up. You should come eat some of Grit’s food, it put all this meat on my bones, ‘m telling you.”
Markas wheezes a little.“Sure, whatever you say.”
“There, there.” Baine pats him on the back, sending one more pulse of pain through him from his broken ribs and Markas finally passes out.
A couple of hours later, Markas stirs.
“Where am I…?” He looks to see the disappointingly familiar surroundings. “Oh God, not the Shank again!”
The days pass. Baine refuses to spar again until Markas’ ribs heal properly so they return to occupying their old chairs in front of the fire. Baine writes a few more letters to Thea and sharpens the blunt longsword, slowly and methodically. At one point he heads out and picks up some red, dyed leather and wraps the handle in thin strips. (“Boss man is big on branding. Can’t blame him. This looks way cooler.”) With the leftover strips he braids a collar for Frankie to make up for bringing him back to the Shank and not taking very good care of him in the midst of his breakdown.
Most importantly though, Baine sleeps. He revels in long, whole nights of uninterrupted sleep. He doesn’t stop drinking but he clearly doesn’t need to soak his brain in Jedd’s Mystery Drink to make it through the day anymore.
Meanwhile, Markas takes a break as instructed to let his ribs heal, instead continuing his training by meditation and mentally running through training procedures, trying to absorb as much as he can. Seeing Baine writing so much, he decides to start painting again, only a small picture while sitting in the stained armchair, but probably one of the few he feels prouder of. It's a relief seeing Baine get back to himself and that's reflected in his work now. His nights are also a little easier, having finally shared some of his thoughts over the last few days and is eager to thank his friend for his part in that.
Seeing Baine finish up another letter, "Hey, so… I guess I wanted to say thanks. I know you've been through a lot lately but you helped me find some balance too and…. Well, I think you should have this. Maybe if you send it to Thea, it might make things easier? Show her you're okay."
It's not his best but drink fuelled, it was never going to be. But he hopes it's enough, as Baine unfurls the rolled parchment to see a painting of himself, sitting in that same chair, with Frankie curled up by his feet. A warm glow lights his face from the fire in front of him, showing a small smile.
Baine, always full of words and forever running his mouth, looks at the painting for a long moment, silent. Eventually he rolls it up with a conspicuous sniffle and gives Markas a watery smile. He nods and tucks it in with the latest letter to his childhood friend.
He wrestles with his words for a minute before settling on a simple, “Thanks, mate.”
(In collaboration with Lykksie. Set post "Breathe" and around "The Guardians Awake" sessions)
It’s a slow walk to Port Ffirst. Markas was always quicker than Baine but for now the monk is walking beside the soldier without complaint at almost a snail's pace. Baine has packed light but his considerable frame is bowed under the invisible weight of recent revelations and old wounds. They walk quietly side by side while Frankie runs in large circles around them, trying to figure out what the white stuff falling from the sky is.
Markas doesn’t push, doesn’t ask questions and Baine is deeply grateful. He feels full to the brim and empty all at once, both overflowing with emotion and numb. He needs time and, for now, distance.
It's been dark for hours by the time they reach the city and thin layer of frost is forming on their cloaks. Returning to their old stomping grounds is odd. The Shank looks like it always has, its odor and grime strangely comforting. Baine barely looks around as he enters, heading straight for the bar as the crowd parts around him, giving his intimidating figure a wide berth. He waves Jedd over and the old sailor scowls at him from behind the bar.
“Look who’s back. What do you want?”
Unbothered by the standard hostility, Baine slaps a handful of coin down on the bar top.
“I want my old room back.”
Jedd scoffs. “Your old room is taken, hot shot. Think you can come swanning in here like you own the place and-”
Baine sighs and pulls out his coin purse, pointedly counting out gold pieces as Jedd trails off.
He adds the gold to the pile and looks at Jedd, deadpan.
“I want my old room back, and two bottles of the special stuff.”
Jedd glares at him but sweeps the gold into a grubby hand and shuffles off to, presumably, kick someone out of the room they’re staying in. Baine reaches a long arm behind the bar, fishes out a bottle of a questionable looking liquid and heads over to a what used to be his favourite chair over by the hearth, the grey monk close behind and taking the seat opposite.
Two cups appear, both barely clean and echoing their past drinking sessions, they are quickly filled and downed by the two; one swinging it back easily, the other visibly grimacing as it goes down. An hour or so passes as the two drink in silence, the fire dulling the frostbite and the booze dulling the feelings inside. Finally, watching Baine idly scratch Frankie's ear, Markas speaks.
"...this stuff is still awful to drink."
The next day, Markas needs to head off with a few others on an errand he had already promised to do. Baine is sat by the fire - if he made use of the room he paid so dearly for is unclear. He’s got parchment out and another bottle by his side. At Markas’ questioning glance he waves the half-elf off.
“Go on, mate. Got to write Thea about… everything. I’ve had food, don’t worry, off you go.”
Markas gives a concerned look but doesn’t push, doesn’t judge. He just nods, grabs his pack and heads out with the others. Baine is grateful.
“... at the edge of the Feythorn. It’s pretty close to the compound so I can visit her when I want. Got her wedding ring, keeping it with dad’s. Since they can’t be buried next to each other and all that. Figured this was the next best thing.
After all that I had to leave. I don’t know why really, I just can’t be there right now. Everywhere I looked I could remember Sweet doing something in that spot. Everywhere in Daring there’s places and people that was torn apart by the orcs. I’m not great at feelings but fuck if Varis isn’t worse and there’s some things I need to ask him about those things I saw, the visions I had during the fight. It’s probably best if I sort myself out first so he doesn’t think I’m having a go at him.
I just wanna make sense of it all and right now nothing in the world makes sense. I bet you could make sense of it for me. Just like you used to. If Sunday was here she’d say I had to think for myself and she might have a point. The really shitty part though is that some things aren’t ever gonna make sense, some things are never going to have a happy ending. And we have to scramble like headless chickens to find peace with that, I guess…”
It's late in the evening before the half-frozen monk wanders back in to find Baine still by the fire, bottle still next to him, some balled up paper at his feet and Frankie laying on the floor underneath the chair. Dropping his gear down, Markas sits back in the seat opposite Baine and looks at him for a long moment, gauging how far Baine has come along in his thought process before seeming to reach a decision: Nearly… but not quite. He leans forward, grabs the bottle and pours two more drinks.
"Jedd? We might need another bottle still."
It’s well after midnight when Baine finally starts speaking, his voice rough and his eyes fixed on the fire. The Seashank is quiet around them - most of the regulars have left and Jedd is doing something at the bar that is probably meant to be tidying up. Frankie is chewing resentfully on Baine’s trouser leg.
“She left Aschenwald to go ‘n’ protect me. And while she was tryin’ to protect me, she made sure the orcs attacked Darin’. In all honesty, I dunno much about Varis’ past but those attacks shaped him. In tryin’ to keep me safe she made the man she was tryin’ to protect me from and from the ashes of that attack rose the Order that I am now gonna join.”
He looks from the fire to his friend, eyes heavy. It takes him a second to focus.
“Like. What the fuck, man?”
The monk let's out a sigh, relieved the broken man before him is finally ready to talk. He had been thinking about what to say when this moment came but the booze had taken it from his mind.
".... its, uh………… it's really fucked, man."
His head was spinning but even he could recognise he needed to do better than that.
"What I mean is…. She loved you. She did some… dubious things in trying to protect you but you need to remember it was-"
He stops abruptly, realising he is rambling as the struggle going on in Baine's head is clearly visible. This would be a lot easier sober but he tries again.
"Baine...This is a lot. No one expects you to know what to do. Sometimes…. Sometimes we like to think the world is easy but the fact is, it's not. Your mum, she - she did a lot of things. Some of them were pretty bad. But she did what she felt was right, right? And Varis… he works to protect the people of Daring but… his actions also led to a lot of life being lost among the orcs but again, he was doing what he felt was right…
Those two only pushed each other closer to their own causes but even at the end of it all, when we were in the clearing, they could recognise the purpose in the other. One persons’ good can be another's evil. Like this stuff,” he holds up the bottle of dubious liquor, “Everyone seems to drink it, but I think it's awful.”
He throws a belated “Sorry, Jedd” in the direction of the bar. Jedd flips him off.
“You just.. you need to find your good. What do you want to do?"
Baine squints at his friend and wiggles a shoulder in an approximation of a shrug.
“I dunno, like. About the whole thing you mean? I think I just wanna understand what happened. Can’t change it. Just gotta live with it. But I do wanna, like.. fill in the gaps as much as I can Gotta understand history to avoid repeatin’ it right? Guess I gotta talk to V-man about it.”
He grabs the bottle out of Markas hand and refills both their cups.
“‘Cos at some point I wanna go back and join the Order and try and be violent in like… not a horrible way. Like, I wanna protect people an’ shit. But not fuck it up like she did.” His frown deepens for a moment before he visibly sets the thought aside. “Right now though, I wanna drink some more.” He throws back content of his cup in one go. His left eye twitches a bit.
Markas follows suit, his whole face twitching
"Gah… I think… I think that's a good thing to want. But I think you’re already doin’ it differently. That time we went to blow up that shoe shop in K'ul Goran, you was the first to ask about if the ones there were innocent or not. I mean…. Even when I first met you, you wasn't that thoughtful - no offence of course. Sometimes you just need someone to hit something."
He settles back into his chair a little happier Baine seems to be on the right path at least. It's too easy to fall from your way with everything he has been through but he still wants to do good in the world... that's enough for now.
There’s a moment of comfortable silence between them as they listen to the sounds of Jedd’s tinkering before Baine swings his head around to Markas again.
“Hey. I’ve been meaning to ask. In Kul G’ran, after the fight. Why were you cryin’?”
The tipsy monk visibly tenses at the question for a second before a look of resignation comes over him.
"Did I ever tell you about Aila?"
Baine frowns hard in concentration. “I… no. No, you di- wait.” He squints. “No, no you didn’t. But you’re gonna. Right now.” He wrestles his wandering gaze back under control and fixes his eyes on Markas. The half-elf sits forward again and remains silent for a moment before continuing.
"Back in the monastery where I grew up, there was a lot of us - elves, halflings, humans, gnomes. A lot were orphans but a few of us where just sent there for… for different reasons I guess.
I spent most of my life there and I was pretty close to two of the other monks - my best friend Hugo, and Aila. I fell for her pretty hard early on. We spent years together but one day she... left.
She asked me to go but we had some stupid argument and I… didn’t. Now I have no idea where she is and… I guess I’ve been looking for her ever since but in the years I've been gone I've never found anything."
He pours another drink for them both.
"Part of what we were doing to rescue Koriah was going into a kind of… memory bubble she was trapped in. There was this swing she was on that was charmed so when you sat on it, you relived your happiest moments, making you want to stay forever. For me it was a night with Aila.”
Baine’s drunken features take on a lewd quality for a moment but quickly rearrange themselves in a more proper manner as Markas continues.
“It was the night we sat watching fireworks and stargazing for hours. Sitting on the swing was like being there again. I could see the lights, feel the warm breeze... It was perfect. But then the happy feeling was replaced by the regret and sadness I've had since she left, it all came back so sudden and then just as I left that bubble, I heard her words again and felt her kiss. It was… just too much all at once I guess. I still miss her."
Baine reaches out a large hand and pats him heavily on the shoulder.
“I’m sorry, mate. I know I’m not very good at it but if you want, like, whenever, I can help you look.”
"Maybe…." Markas stares hard at the drink for a long moment before downing it, coughing as he does. His eyes wander a little, not wanting to look at his friend, feeling a bit foolish being so upset over this still, especially with recent events.
Baine gives him a small grin. “I even know a guy who calls himself The High Diviner. He can probably suss something out with a title like that. Not as cool as Ghost Puncher though, is it?”
Markas laughs weakly and continues to look around for a distraction until he comes back to his pack again, seeing the new Longsword he picked up
"Hey…. You know how to use one of those right?”
Baine scoffs loudly and ungracefully. “Do I know how to use- of course I do.”
“Fancy showing me a thing or two? I could do with hitting something again."
“Thought you’d never ask, mate.”
“Not in here you don’t!” Jedd’s emphatic shout rends the quiet in the smelly tavern. “Take it outside, you drunken shits!” Waving dismissive hands at Jedd, the pair clumsily get up and head out into the cold night air, Markas tripping on the way and mumbling about leaving a chair in the way. Baine very kindly doesn’t point out that there was no chair, because he’s nice like that.
Outside, after making way too much noise than appropriate for the hour, they grab a couple of blunt swords from a rack outside the blacksmiths. They head down a deserted alleyway and stand apart from each other, sizing the other up. Baine is sporting a large shield to compensate for the lack of his normal armour. Markas still in only his robes, but much too drunk to even feel the cold. A little wobbly, they square off and after what they think is a cool amount of time for a standoff, they start.
Markas, always quicker on his feet, closes the gap but the blunt sword is heavier than he expected. He swings it twice, trying to emulate his normal fighting style but both swings go wide, the second bodily taking him with it, just in time to avoid Baine’s initial retaliating swipe at him. Not enough however, to stop the larger man whacking him in the side twice afterwards, hitting him solidly in his side and chest. The monk reels backwards from the heavy hits.
“Again,” Baine barks.
Knowing he needs an opening if he wants to land a hit, Markas brings the blunt sword up high and brings it down in two over hand swings, both of which Baine easily bats aside with his own sword and shield but leaves himself open just enough for the smaller Monk to slip through a land an open palm on him.
Baine blinks at him through a haze of confusion and alcohol.
“...Why are you slapping me, mate? We’re supposed to be using the swords.”
“Haha, well I need to fit it with my own style too.” Baine looks unconvinced. Markas relents.
“Okay, just swords.”
Distracted, he doesn’t notice as Baine drops back into stance and makes a swing for his head. Barely ducking under the initial pass, he isn’t able to bring his own sword up in time to fend off the returning swing, or the follow up again. Feeling the bruises already coming out, Markas retaliates, trying to emulate the soldiers’ form but Baine just manages to catch both with his shield. He brings his own sword round, the monk barely managing to block the attack before the following two knock him about again.
His head spinning, chest heaving and legs shaking, the monk stands ready to try again but Baine, seeing the state of his drunk friend drops his shield and lowers his sword.
“Yeah, no. This is unfair. Let’s try again sober. And I think you get to slap me.”
The next day, after sobering up and having something to eat, they decide to go again. They head a little further out of town this time, the streets being too busy in the daytime, and make their way to where Baine watched Markas training with Paw only a few months ago. (They walk past the smiths again so Markas can pay for the blunt swords he realised only this morning they had actually stolen.) Outside the edge of town, a sober Baine is now able to actually formulate his thinking enough to pass on some words of wisdom to the monk before they take their positions.
This time, Baine waits for Markas to make the first move, making sure he is taking on board his comments about footing and his handling of the sword. Markas closes the gap for two quick swings with the blunt sword, followed up by the open palm and, as before, Baine fends off the sword but leaves enough gap for the palm strike to land on his chest.
Not letting this go unpunished, Baine brings his own sword round, fast and low, knocking the monks legs out from under him before slamming the sword down onto him in two quick hits. Before a third comes, the monk rolls away flicking the sword out to hold the larger soldier off of him, both swipes going wide but providing enough space for him to gain his footing again as he drops into a defensive stance, ready to watch his opponent and maybe learn something.
As Baine rushes him, he sees the shift in his frame and preempts the attack this time, side stepping out of the way.
Baine grins widely at him. “There we go! Good lad.”
The monk almost side steps the second swing but doesn’t catch the last minute change as Baine catches him again with a loud thwack to the head before aiming again for his legs again, trying to put him back on the floor. The monk doesn’t manage to avoid it, still reeling from the previous hit but at least manages to plant his feet firmly down to avoid being lifted again. Even so, he feels Baines sword connect hard into his leg, nearly buckling it.
“Alright, mate, come on. Stop trying to hit me and actually hit me. Here, I’ll make it easier for you.”
Shaking again, his vision blurring, Markas sees Baine drop his shield to the floor. The half-elf moves in for one last attempt, Baine fending off twice quick swipes with the sword and narrowly avoiding the spin kick he’s seen the monk use so many times. He doesn’t expect the accompanying backhand that catches him a little harder than expected. Almost on instinct, the soldier brings his own sword round in a flourish of three quick swings, each catching the groggy monk easily. As Markas crumples to the ground unconscious, Baine lets out a quiet “Oops”.
Baine feeds the unconscious Grey Monk a potion to wake him up and they take a rest so Markas can regain some feeling of normalcy again, during which Baine tries to point out where Markas needs to adjust his form some more.
A large bruise is now blossoming on Markas’ face but he’s undeterred and eager as they get ready to go again - the sting reminding of his early training days. Baine is much larger and more adept at using these weapons but he’s glad he isn’t holding back too much.
On three, they start, Markas once again closing the distance, much quicker than before as he finally manages to bring the blunt sword up under Baines own, connecting with his ribs and knocking the wind out of him. Seizing his opportunity, the smaller monk unleashes a flurry of attacks on the larger soldier but, even winded, Baine is able to fend off the majority of the attacks, only having the occasional punch or kick actually break through his defences. It’s enough to prevent him from catching his breath but even so, Baine sees his opportunity and viciously lashes out with the blunt sword just after Markas’ own bounces off his shield. It connects hard with his ribs and they both hear a loud crack as at least one of them breaks. The monk stumbles backward holding his side with a grim look as Baine finally catches his breath. Markas rushes once again, two quick swings both easily deflected now he is slowed in his movement, barely managing to connect with an open palm on the same spot he hit previously, trying to stun him again but this time Baine is ready for him and stands strong.
He’s clearly a little peeved at being winded and unleashes a series of blows, bringing the sword around again and again, the monk barely keeping out of his way before Baine swipes at his legs again. Markas sees it coming but is too hurt to get out of the way in time. Baine sweeps Markas legs with such force that he spins in the air, hitting his head on the floor.
When Baine finally manages to wake Markas up again, he is greeted by the trademark grin and a weak cough.
“....I got you that time!”
The next day his ribs are still in a pretty bad way, but when Baine makes him way down into the tavern sometime after lunch, Markas suggest one last round. The half-orc rubs the sleep from his eyes and smiles at him, a more genuine smile than Markas has seen on him for weeks now.
He looks his friend over and shrugs. “Your bruises, your choice, mate.”
This time Markas wants to watch more than fight, see if can outlast the Soldier and study his movement as they fight rather than focus on trying to hit him. He can see Baine is starting to feel bad for knocking him about so much but is happy to see he is at least doing a little better than he was when they got here.
Out on the training ground, Baine goes over the basics again, trying his best to explain the handling and footing before they square off once again. Markas takes a decidedly more defensive stance immediately, protecting his already weakened side. It’s enough for Baine to finally get the jump on the monk as he is the first to move this time, coming in strong with another tripping swipe of the sword but Markas sees it coming and plants himself strong to keep his footing, even as the sword batters into his unarmoured legs.
“Well done,” Baine says. “One more.”
Baine brings the sword round again, Markas easily avoiding the first two but the third catches him just in time before he can move again. He makes two quick but weak retaliating strikes at Baine, knowing he will block them, just to see his reaction and form shift, paying particular attention to his hold of the blade.
He watches as Baine steps forward for his usual triple flourish again, deflecting the first but not the second. He moves to avoid the third as it comes back around but somehow the soldier catches his side still, not hard, but enough to hurt his existing injury and make him flinch. The pain is flaring through his body as he makes a pitiful attempt at goading the larger man again. Baine doesn’t even attempt to avoid them, simply letting them clang lightly against his breastplate.
“...What was that?” he asks. “You’re not that weak, come on now.”
“I'm just watching your stance and how it changes as I attack. I figure I'll learn more than just trying to hit you for once!” Markas grins again but he is in excruciating pain already.
“Huh… Fair enough.” Baine swings out again but not fast enough that Markas can’t avoid it. The sudden movement sends another pulse of pain through his body though and he isn’t able to move before Baine moves to trip him again. He stands strong as the blunt blade crunches into his leg, taking the hit and avoiding being thrown again.
Baine raises his arm to deliver one last blow before stopping as he sees Markas, visibly shaking more than before, slowly crumpling to the floor again, the last blow to his leg finally causing his muscles to give. Baine catches him before he hits the ground.
“Mate. We need to… feed you. Or summat. Build you up. You should come eat some of Grit’s food, it put all this meat on my bones, ‘m telling you.”
Markas wheezes a little.“Sure, whatever you say.”
“There, there.” Baine pats him on the back, sending one more pulse of pain through him from his broken ribs and Markas finally passes out.
A couple of hours later, Markas stirs.
“Where am I…?” He looks to see the disappointingly familiar surroundings. “Oh God, not the Shank again!”
The days pass. Baine refuses to spar again until Markas’ ribs heal properly so they return to occupying their old chairs in front of the fire. Baine writes a few more letters to Thea and sharpens the blunt longsword, slowly and methodically. At one point he heads out and picks up some red, dyed leather and wraps the handle in thin strips. (“Boss man is big on branding. Can’t blame him. This looks way cooler.”) With the leftover strips he braids a collar for Frankie to make up for bringing him back to the Shank and not taking very good care of him in the midst of his breakdown.
Most importantly though, Baine sleeps. He revels in long, whole nights of uninterrupted sleep. He doesn’t stop drinking but he clearly doesn’t need to soak his brain in Jedd’s Mystery Drink to make it through the day anymore.
Meanwhile, Markas takes a break as instructed to let his ribs heal, instead continuing his training by meditation and mentally running through training procedures, trying to absorb as much as he can. Seeing Baine writing so much, he decides to start painting again, only a small picture while sitting in the stained armchair, but probably one of the few he feels prouder of. It's a relief seeing Baine get back to himself and that's reflected in his work now. His nights are also a little easier, having finally shared some of his thoughts over the last few days and is eager to thank his friend for his part in that.
Seeing Baine finish up another letter, "Hey, so… I guess I wanted to say thanks. I know you've been through a lot lately but you helped me find some balance too and…. Well, I think you should have this. Maybe if you send it to Thea, it might make things easier? Show her you're okay."
It's not his best but drink fuelled, it was never going to be. But he hopes it's enough, as Baine unfurls the rolled parchment to see a painting of himself, sitting in that same chair, with Frankie curled up by his feet. A warm glow lights his face from the fire in front of him, showing a small smile.
Baine, always full of words and forever running his mouth, looks at the painting for a long moment, silent. Eventually he rolls it up with a conspicuous sniffle and gives Markas a watery smile. He nods and tucks it in with the latest letter to his childhood friend.
He wrestles with his words for a minute before settling on a simple, “Thanks, mate.”
(In collaboration with Lykksie. Set post "Breathe" and around "The Guardians Awake" sessions)