Post by Ser Baine Cinderwood 🔥🌼 on Mar 18, 2020 16:43:10 GMT
The atmosphere at the compound is strange. The Squeaks are running drills and trying to make sense of whatever the fuck is happening - the more seasoned soldiers are grim-faced and divided in their opinions on whether or not the Boss will be back. Red had eventually banned Baine from sparring with Order members after he called Conrad a “disloyal piece of shit” and almost started a fight in the mess. The circles under her eyes grow bigger with each passing day as she fights to hold the Order together, efficiently shutting down discussions and arguments with a terse “The Boss wouldn’t like it”.
He has too much time on his hands. Sunday, Markas and Ghesh drops by and they’re certainly not part of the Order but sparring with them did nothing but make him angrier. Sunday took him down with a single word and he nearly punched a wall in frustration. He’s one of the strongest people in Daring Heights but his mind, his mind has always been ripe for the taking, a toy to be picked up by his adversaries and discarded when they ultimately see how boring it is.
He has too much time on his hands. He wants to go, right now, but they’re waiting. He’s not entirely sure for what. Something to do with tuning forks maybe? He whittles, one small wooden figurine after another - Gary, another Frankie. eLk.
The sun sets and rises and his pendant glows. He prays, and tries to keep it together.
“I can offer you an opportunity to repay me with a service and void your contract. Find an item for me. Bring it to me. I shall free you all. Including Him."
The Imp delivers the message in the dark of night. Baine is whittling by the fire in Varis’ quarters when it appears - Tuevel’s graceful shape slowly becoming visible in the piece of wood in his hand. The only reason he doesn’t stab the Imp with his dagger is because it’s not offering a deal. There are no easy ways out, no magical fixes. It’s finally sunken in and he’s accepted it.
But this. Maybe. If they can pull it off.
The next day the party gathers at the compound, up in the watchtower. There’s a tense discussion, frustration and trepidation on all sides, interspersed with agreements and promises to stand by each other, to see this through.
“Hand in hand to hell.”
Varis’ words at the battle of Zot Goran echo in his head as Baine prepares as best he can for their mission. He checks and re-checks his gear, polishes his armor until it shines as bright as the Cindermaul.
A young girl delivers a parcel from New Hillborough just in time; a basket filled to the brim with red and yellow flowers on long, slender stems. Tucked inside is a note, smudged with a little bit of soil.
As promised, red anemones and yellow evening primroses. Hope there’s enough of them.
-B.B
When Baine sees Sunday next he hands her the basket and a circlet of thin metal strands twisted together. They sit together in contemplative silence as her clever fingers weave the flowers into the crown - a piece of Aschenwald to take with him wherever he goes. She works the same kind of magic on it as she did on his old breastplate, making sure they won’t fade.
“About your mum, Sun, if she’s down there. No matter what happens, I’m with you til the end. You know that right?”
Sunday nods. She looks calm and sad at the same time, nervous but resolved.
"Haven't seen her for years. Not since... since I left."
Baine scowls.
“Can we kill her? If it came to that? How powerful is she?” He hears the questions as they come out of his mouth and winces a little.
“... fuck. Sorry. Would you want that?”
"I was always stronger than her. I don't know what's happened to her since. Some sort of fall from grace and exile. If we see her... well, it depends on the circumstances, I suppose. Priority is to survive; secondary to that, rescue Varis. If she isn't standing in the way of either.... I don't know. I'd like to talk to her."
Baine tries to hide his reaction at her mention of priorities but she knows him too well.
"Think about it, Baine. If we die, we can't rescue him. If we fail in our attempt and survive we can try to rescue him again another day. If we fail in our attempt and die, he is lost forever."
“Yeah, I know. That’s one of many scenarios though. We have no idea what’s gonna happen down there. But yeah. I’ll try.”
"Our priority is to get out of there alive - hopefully with Varis, gods willing. But alive. All of us. All lives are important. None of us should throw that away in this mission. You're a soldier. Tactical retreat is a viable option when necessary. I'm sure Varis has told you that before. Remember your training. This is a mission."
“I am a soldier. And I have orders. I’m gonna follow them as best I can.” He smiles a little. “I’ll try not do anything stupid. Thea would resurrect me just kill me again.”
Sunday raises an eyebrow at him.
"I want to meet this Thea."
“She wants to meet you too.”
Baine’s smile grows, a shadow of his usual self shining through before his face falls again, like shutters over a window.
“Maybe when all this is over.”
Even with the blindfold Pieni used for his spell covering most of it, the gash across Varis’ face is visible. Baine can’t keep from looking at it, the jagged edges of his torn skin preserved by magic, neither healing nor decaying, the blood running down his neck still as red as the day it was spilt.
Sunday’s and Red’s voices roll around in his mind, two of the strongest wills he knows warring within him; a summer breeze bidding him to Survive and a deadly smile ordering him to do his duty and if all else fails, Burn It All.
On a low stool by the head of the bed, next to the man his mother had claimed would be his doom, Baine carefully places a small carved wooden stag and a single yellow flower.
He puts one gauntleted hand on the Crimson Fist sigil on Varis’ breastplate, sitting quietly at his side for a moment before nodding a little.
“Either way, I’ll see you soon.”
With Sunday.
He has too much time on his hands. Sunday, Markas and Ghesh drops by and they’re certainly not part of the Order but sparring with them did nothing but make him angrier. Sunday took him down with a single word and he nearly punched a wall in frustration. He’s one of the strongest people in Daring Heights but his mind, his mind has always been ripe for the taking, a toy to be picked up by his adversaries and discarded when they ultimately see how boring it is.
He has too much time on his hands. He wants to go, right now, but they’re waiting. He’s not entirely sure for what. Something to do with tuning forks maybe? He whittles, one small wooden figurine after another - Gary, another Frankie. eLk.
The sun sets and rises and his pendant glows. He prays, and tries to keep it together.
“I can offer you an opportunity to repay me with a service and void your contract. Find an item for me. Bring it to me. I shall free you all. Including Him."
The Imp delivers the message in the dark of night. Baine is whittling by the fire in Varis’ quarters when it appears - Tuevel’s graceful shape slowly becoming visible in the piece of wood in his hand. The only reason he doesn’t stab the Imp with his dagger is because it’s not offering a deal. There are no easy ways out, no magical fixes. It’s finally sunken in and he’s accepted it.
But this. Maybe. If they can pull it off.
The next day the party gathers at the compound, up in the watchtower. There’s a tense discussion, frustration and trepidation on all sides, interspersed with agreements and promises to stand by each other, to see this through.
“Hand in hand to hell.”
Varis’ words at the battle of Zot Goran echo in his head as Baine prepares as best he can for their mission. He checks and re-checks his gear, polishes his armor until it shines as bright as the Cindermaul.
A young girl delivers a parcel from New Hillborough just in time; a basket filled to the brim with red and yellow flowers on long, slender stems. Tucked inside is a note, smudged with a little bit of soil.
As promised, red anemones and yellow evening primroses. Hope there’s enough of them.
-B.B
When Baine sees Sunday next he hands her the basket and a circlet of thin metal strands twisted together. They sit together in contemplative silence as her clever fingers weave the flowers into the crown - a piece of Aschenwald to take with him wherever he goes. She works the same kind of magic on it as she did on his old breastplate, making sure they won’t fade.
“About your mum, Sun, if she’s down there. No matter what happens, I’m with you til the end. You know that right?”
Sunday nods. She looks calm and sad at the same time, nervous but resolved.
"Haven't seen her for years. Not since... since I left."
Baine scowls.
“Can we kill her? If it came to that? How powerful is she?” He hears the questions as they come out of his mouth and winces a little.
“... fuck. Sorry. Would you want that?”
"I was always stronger than her. I don't know what's happened to her since. Some sort of fall from grace and exile. If we see her... well, it depends on the circumstances, I suppose. Priority is to survive; secondary to that, rescue Varis. If she isn't standing in the way of either.... I don't know. I'd like to talk to her."
Baine tries to hide his reaction at her mention of priorities but she knows him too well.
"Think about it, Baine. If we die, we can't rescue him. If we fail in our attempt and survive we can try to rescue him again another day. If we fail in our attempt and die, he is lost forever."
“Yeah, I know. That’s one of many scenarios though. We have no idea what’s gonna happen down there. But yeah. I’ll try.”
"Our priority is to get out of there alive - hopefully with Varis, gods willing. But alive. All of us. All lives are important. None of us should throw that away in this mission. You're a soldier. Tactical retreat is a viable option when necessary. I'm sure Varis has told you that before. Remember your training. This is a mission."
“I am a soldier. And I have orders. I’m gonna follow them as best I can.” He smiles a little. “I’ll try not do anything stupid. Thea would resurrect me just kill me again.”
Sunday raises an eyebrow at him.
"I want to meet this Thea."
“She wants to meet you too.”
Baine’s smile grows, a shadow of his usual self shining through before his face falls again, like shutters over a window.
“Maybe when all this is over.”
Even with the blindfold Pieni used for his spell covering most of it, the gash across Varis’ face is visible. Baine can’t keep from looking at it, the jagged edges of his torn skin preserved by magic, neither healing nor decaying, the blood running down his neck still as red as the day it was spilt.
Sunday’s and Red’s voices roll around in his mind, two of the strongest wills he knows warring within him; a summer breeze bidding him to Survive and a deadly smile ordering him to do his duty and if all else fails, Burn It All.
On a low stool by the head of the bed, next to the man his mother had claimed would be his doom, Baine carefully places a small carved wooden stag and a single yellow flower.
He puts one gauntleted hand on the Crimson Fist sigil on Varis’ breastplate, sitting quietly at his side for a moment before nodding a little.
“Either way, I’ll see you soon.”
With Sunday.
