Post by Ser Baine Cinderwood 🔥🌼 on Sept 12, 2020 10:16:13 GMT
Continuing after the events of A Bone to Pick – Coda. With Merla, the Daughter of Summer BB Ghesh Malri 'Taffeta' Thistletop and Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar.
They arrive back in Portal Plaza in Daring Heights mid evening, the bustling town starting to wind down for the night. Arkadius nods to them all, not looking at Sheryl, and quickly takes his leave. Ida squeaks at him, looks back at the small woman and then squeaks at Arkadius again, but he still ignores her. For her part, Sheryl watches him go but does not stop him, secretly glad he is not staying.
Ghesh, BB, Taffeta, Baine and Sheryl start to make their way to Castleside, heading in the direction of the Order of the Crimson Fist compound. There are some mutterings about maybe having a quick bite to eat before they do the resurrection but nothing is decided upon. They do agree that someone should speak to Varis before they attempt to bring the dead knight back to life. Sheryl picks up the pace a bit, her quick feet light in the quiet late summer evening and she soon outpaces the others. Ghesh takes the opportunity to come close to Baine, speaking quietly so his voice won’t carry.
“I know what that’s like,” Ghesh starts. “If you want to talk about it. Or if you just want to drink and chat about other things, that’s all fine too. If you wanna vent, come find me at the Ettin-”
Sheryl has already passed underneath the red brick archway, glancing back with a nod to Baine before making a beeline for Varis’ quarters. The yard stands quiet, the hard packed earth neat, but with the lonely air of a space too big for its inhabitants. A soft light shines beneath the door to the mess, but apart from the stables, most of the buildings are empty and quiet. Ghesh stops short.
“Actually, I might stick around here for a bit,” the dragonborn states, feeling his stomach drop as he finally realises the scale of what happened in the Rift War, the enormity of the Order’s sacrifice in the wastes of Avernus. “Help the newbies with training.”
Baine forgoes words but claps his friend on the shoulder, nodding his thanks.
The two warriors drag one of the tables from the mess into Varis’ quarters and lay the body of the fallen knight out on top of it. Her skin is an angry, blistered red, and Baine shudders, recalling for a moment the creature of boiling blood that tried to consume them in the deserted Drow village. At the back of the group, Varis stands and watches their preparations with an unreadable expression. Clearing some space around the table, Sheryl begins by drawing out a diamond of exquisite quality from her belt pouch and making sure the others are ready for whatever comes next.
Knowing how late it is and wishing to get home Taffeta taps Baine on the arm and nods towards the open door. Baine walks her out into the quiet of the evening, not quite able to meet her gaze.
“We were going to try not making other people’s decisions for them,” the halfling says quietly to him as she glances back inside, toward Sheryl. She isn’t being accusatory but the disappointment is clear in her voice, though it’s not directed at Baine.
Baine looks equally sad and disappointed and laughs a little helplessly. “I know.”
“Yeah.” She pauses. “I don’t… I don’t know if that was an option with this one. Maybe not. I don’t know.”
She pats him on the forearm.
“Rest. Look after yourself. Come to the house sometime for tea.”
Taken aback, Baine is at a loss for words for what feels like the thousandth time that day and can only nod his acceptance. He watches her head off with a look of sadness and wonder on his face before shaking his head to clear it and walking back inside.
As he enters, Sheryl looks up at him before flicking her gaze over the others in the room. She sits cross-legged at the head of the table, leaning slightly forward, one hand holding the diamond over the knight’s heart and the other hovering just over her forehead.
“It’ll take me about an hour to bring her back,” she says. “Are we ready?”
As her companions nod their assent, she closes her eyes and begins to hum. It’s searching, drifting, but with purpose. The moment she alights on the right tone the fire in the hearth and the flames in the lanterns burn brighter for a moment and there is a wave of warmth that washes over all as the fae-bard begins to weave a song together with powerful arcane magic.The gem in her circlet glows gently as her humming transforms into a melody, notes filling the quiet space with an almost physical presence.
Baine sinks into his usual armchair by the fire. Ghesh crosses his arms and leans his back against a wall. BB lowers herself to the floor and sits cross legged. Arms behind his back, Varis stands by his desk.The slow notes of Sheryl’s magic drift through the room, each of them feeling her finish the overture and begin the Call to the knight’s spirit.
They wait.
As the hour draws to a close and the song Sheryl has been singing reaches a crescendo, Baine rises from his seat and makes his way over. He nods at Ghesh to join him and together they flank the table, one on each side, ready to spring into action if needed. BB stands up but stays back, hand hovering over the component pouch tied at her hip.
Sheryl sings one final high note and the diamond in her hand glows a bright blue before shattering into a fine dust that spreads over the sunburst on the knight’s breastplate. As the iridescent powder settles, her skin smoothes and lightens, the angry red blisters fading. She takes one shuddering breath, her eyelids fluttering, and then lies still again. A small, tanned hand lightly traces a warm line across the knight’s smooth brow.
“Welcome back,” Sheryl says softly, the warmth of a smile in her words.
Eyes the colour of polar ice snap open and the knight sits up sharply, taking in the room in a moment. There is a crack, like stone splitting in a frost, and she vanishes, reappearing on the far side of the room, near where Varis’ arms and armour are neatly racked. Drawing his longsword from its sheath, she whirls to face the room.
“I am Lady Antonia du Montpasse, Knight of the Order of the Sword of the Dawn. Who art thou, and why hast thou brought me to this place?”
Her voice carries the calm authority of one used to being obeyed. She eyes the room with professional wariness, appraising each of them with clinical efficiency. Baine can’t help but give a small grin as he raises his hands in a placating gesture.
“It is an honour to meet you, Lady Antonia du Montpasse,” Sheryl says, bowing her head. She gracefully stands up on the table and then lightly leaps down. “My name is Sheryl, and these are my companions.” She gestures to everyone in the room, but her eyes stay on the knight. “What is the last thing you remember?”
The knight ignores Sheryl’s question.
“What call ye this place?”
Baine lowers his hands, keeping them loosely at his sides.
“Lady Antonia, I’m Ser Baine Cinderwood of the Order of the Crimson Fist. Me an’ my friends found you on a recent mission and brought you back so Sheryl here could resurrect you. You’re at the military compound of the previously mentioned order, in Daring Heights.” He says the words with some care, and looks just a little proud of himself.
Lady Antonia’s eyes narrow slightly.
“I have not heard of this Crimson Fist you speak of – be ye mercenaries?”
“Nah, mate, we’re knights and protectors,” he replies. She looks somewhat skeptical, but does not challenge him.
“You’re safe,” Baine continues. “We mean you no harm. But if you don’t mind, I’m sure we could all use some extra reassurance on that topic. Are you familiar with spells that make people tell the truth?”
At the mention of magic, Lady Antonia’s grip tightens on the sword.
“Baine, maybe we should slow down a little,” Sheryl suggests, looking at Antonia with concern.
“The best way to reassure everyone is to lay it all out, I reckon. That way we’ll know if she’s a threat to us and she’ll know if we’re a threat to her,” he replies, without taking his eyes off of Antonia. His voice is kind, but firm, brooking no argument.
The knight turns her full attention on the half orc, and where before her voice was iron, now it is ice.
“You claim knighthood, ser? Mayhap then you can answer me this – would a knight, a true champion of the Morninglord, accept the impugning of her honour by common ratcatchers? I am an anointed servant of Lathander. I will not submit to interrogation by a band of hapless ruffians, however well intentioned.”
Baine’s jaw slacks for a moment as he takes in her words, stunned, before letting out a small, incredulous laugh. He looks from the knight, this fellow paladin of the dawn, to Varis, to Sheryl and back again, speechless.
Sheryl steps forward, looking up at Lady Antonia, the kindness in her face receding a little as she locks eyes with the imposing woman.
“Lady Antonia, we do not wish you harm. If we did, we would not have brought you back. But I called to you and your spirit answered, for which I am glad. But as a champion of the Morninglord you must understand our caution.” Her face darkens for a moment but she blinks and it clears.
“We found you, dead, in the underdark, where we fought a rather powerful undead creature. We have no way of knowing how you got there or why, but we wanted to give you another chance at life. Please, answer my question from before. What is the last thing you remember?”
As Sheryl describes her apparent rescue, the knight’s face grows darker, her frown deepening.
“I was sent hither by the Lord Commander, seeking the soul-tether of the arch traitor, Sammaster-”
She cuts off abruptly, the colour draining from her face. For the first time, her words are stilted, juddering.
“What...what year is it, by the Dale Reckoning?”
Sheryl’s brows knit together in dawning concern as she answers.
“The second day of Eleint,” she pauses. “1497.”
“Why? What year do you last remember it being?” Ghesh pipes up from the corner, but Lady Antonia seems not to hear him. Her face is the colour of fresh snow, and she has time to utter only one word before her eyes roll up into her head and she collapses.
“How?”
They arrive back in Portal Plaza in Daring Heights mid evening, the bustling town starting to wind down for the night. Arkadius nods to them all, not looking at Sheryl, and quickly takes his leave. Ida squeaks at him, looks back at the small woman and then squeaks at Arkadius again, but he still ignores her. For her part, Sheryl watches him go but does not stop him, secretly glad he is not staying.
Ghesh, BB, Taffeta, Baine and Sheryl start to make their way to Castleside, heading in the direction of the Order of the Crimson Fist compound. There are some mutterings about maybe having a quick bite to eat before they do the resurrection but nothing is decided upon. They do agree that someone should speak to Varis before they attempt to bring the dead knight back to life. Sheryl picks up the pace a bit, her quick feet light in the quiet late summer evening and she soon outpaces the others. Ghesh takes the opportunity to come close to Baine, speaking quietly so his voice won’t carry.
“I know what that’s like,” Ghesh starts. “If you want to talk about it. Or if you just want to drink and chat about other things, that’s all fine too. If you wanna vent, come find me at the Ettin-”
Sheryl has already passed underneath the red brick archway, glancing back with a nod to Baine before making a beeline for Varis’ quarters. The yard stands quiet, the hard packed earth neat, but with the lonely air of a space too big for its inhabitants. A soft light shines beneath the door to the mess, but apart from the stables, most of the buildings are empty and quiet. Ghesh stops short.
“Actually, I might stick around here for a bit,” the dragonborn states, feeling his stomach drop as he finally realises the scale of what happened in the Rift War, the enormity of the Order’s sacrifice in the wastes of Avernus. “Help the newbies with training.”
Baine forgoes words but claps his friend on the shoulder, nodding his thanks.
The two warriors drag one of the tables from the mess into Varis’ quarters and lay the body of the fallen knight out on top of it. Her skin is an angry, blistered red, and Baine shudders, recalling for a moment the creature of boiling blood that tried to consume them in the deserted Drow village. At the back of the group, Varis stands and watches their preparations with an unreadable expression. Clearing some space around the table, Sheryl begins by drawing out a diamond of exquisite quality from her belt pouch and making sure the others are ready for whatever comes next.
Knowing how late it is and wishing to get home Taffeta taps Baine on the arm and nods towards the open door. Baine walks her out into the quiet of the evening, not quite able to meet her gaze.
“We were going to try not making other people’s decisions for them,” the halfling says quietly to him as she glances back inside, toward Sheryl. She isn’t being accusatory but the disappointment is clear in her voice, though it’s not directed at Baine.
Baine looks equally sad and disappointed and laughs a little helplessly. “I know.”
“Yeah.” She pauses. “I don’t… I don’t know if that was an option with this one. Maybe not. I don’t know.”
She pats him on the forearm.
“Rest. Look after yourself. Come to the house sometime for tea.”
Taken aback, Baine is at a loss for words for what feels like the thousandth time that day and can only nod his acceptance. He watches her head off with a look of sadness and wonder on his face before shaking his head to clear it and walking back inside.
As he enters, Sheryl looks up at him before flicking her gaze over the others in the room. She sits cross-legged at the head of the table, leaning slightly forward, one hand holding the diamond over the knight’s heart and the other hovering just over her forehead.
“It’ll take me about an hour to bring her back,” she says. “Are we ready?”
As her companions nod their assent, she closes her eyes and begins to hum. It’s searching, drifting, but with purpose. The moment she alights on the right tone the fire in the hearth and the flames in the lanterns burn brighter for a moment and there is a wave of warmth that washes over all as the fae-bard begins to weave a song together with powerful arcane magic.The gem in her circlet glows gently as her humming transforms into a melody, notes filling the quiet space with an almost physical presence.
Baine sinks into his usual armchair by the fire. Ghesh crosses his arms and leans his back against a wall. BB lowers herself to the floor and sits cross legged. Arms behind his back, Varis stands by his desk.The slow notes of Sheryl’s magic drift through the room, each of them feeling her finish the overture and begin the Call to the knight’s spirit.
They wait.
As the hour draws to a close and the song Sheryl has been singing reaches a crescendo, Baine rises from his seat and makes his way over. He nods at Ghesh to join him and together they flank the table, one on each side, ready to spring into action if needed. BB stands up but stays back, hand hovering over the component pouch tied at her hip.
Sheryl sings one final high note and the diamond in her hand glows a bright blue before shattering into a fine dust that spreads over the sunburst on the knight’s breastplate. As the iridescent powder settles, her skin smoothes and lightens, the angry red blisters fading. She takes one shuddering breath, her eyelids fluttering, and then lies still again. A small, tanned hand lightly traces a warm line across the knight’s smooth brow.
“Welcome back,” Sheryl says softly, the warmth of a smile in her words.
Eyes the colour of polar ice snap open and the knight sits up sharply, taking in the room in a moment. There is a crack, like stone splitting in a frost, and she vanishes, reappearing on the far side of the room, near where Varis’ arms and armour are neatly racked. Drawing his longsword from its sheath, she whirls to face the room.
“I am Lady Antonia du Montpasse, Knight of the Order of the Sword of the Dawn. Who art thou, and why hast thou brought me to this place?”
Her voice carries the calm authority of one used to being obeyed. She eyes the room with professional wariness, appraising each of them with clinical efficiency. Baine can’t help but give a small grin as he raises his hands in a placating gesture.
“It is an honour to meet you, Lady Antonia du Montpasse,” Sheryl says, bowing her head. She gracefully stands up on the table and then lightly leaps down. “My name is Sheryl, and these are my companions.” She gestures to everyone in the room, but her eyes stay on the knight. “What is the last thing you remember?”
The knight ignores Sheryl’s question.
“What call ye this place?”
Baine lowers his hands, keeping them loosely at his sides.
“Lady Antonia, I’m Ser Baine Cinderwood of the Order of the Crimson Fist. Me an’ my friends found you on a recent mission and brought you back so Sheryl here could resurrect you. You’re at the military compound of the previously mentioned order, in Daring Heights.” He says the words with some care, and looks just a little proud of himself.
Lady Antonia’s eyes narrow slightly.
“I have not heard of this Crimson Fist you speak of – be ye mercenaries?”
“Nah, mate, we’re knights and protectors,” he replies. She looks somewhat skeptical, but does not challenge him.
“You’re safe,” Baine continues. “We mean you no harm. But if you don’t mind, I’m sure we could all use some extra reassurance on that topic. Are you familiar with spells that make people tell the truth?”
At the mention of magic, Lady Antonia’s grip tightens on the sword.
“Baine, maybe we should slow down a little,” Sheryl suggests, looking at Antonia with concern.
“The best way to reassure everyone is to lay it all out, I reckon. That way we’ll know if she’s a threat to us and she’ll know if we’re a threat to her,” he replies, without taking his eyes off of Antonia. His voice is kind, but firm, brooking no argument.
The knight turns her full attention on the half orc, and where before her voice was iron, now it is ice.
“You claim knighthood, ser? Mayhap then you can answer me this – would a knight, a true champion of the Morninglord, accept the impugning of her honour by common ratcatchers? I am an anointed servant of Lathander. I will not submit to interrogation by a band of hapless ruffians, however well intentioned.”
Baine’s jaw slacks for a moment as he takes in her words, stunned, before letting out a small, incredulous laugh. He looks from the knight, this fellow paladin of the dawn, to Varis, to Sheryl and back again, speechless.
Sheryl steps forward, looking up at Lady Antonia, the kindness in her face receding a little as she locks eyes with the imposing woman.
“Lady Antonia, we do not wish you harm. If we did, we would not have brought you back. But I called to you and your spirit answered, for which I am glad. But as a champion of the Morninglord you must understand our caution.” Her face darkens for a moment but she blinks and it clears.
“We found you, dead, in the underdark, where we fought a rather powerful undead creature. We have no way of knowing how you got there or why, but we wanted to give you another chance at life. Please, answer my question from before. What is the last thing you remember?”
As Sheryl describes her apparent rescue, the knight’s face grows darker, her frown deepening.
“I was sent hither by the Lord Commander, seeking the soul-tether of the arch traitor, Sammaster-”
She cuts off abruptly, the colour draining from her face. For the first time, her words are stilted, juddering.
“What...what year is it, by the Dale Reckoning?”
Sheryl’s brows knit together in dawning concern as she answers.
“The second day of Eleint,” she pauses. “1497.”
“Why? What year do you last remember it being?” Ghesh pipes up from the corner, but Lady Antonia seems not to hear him. Her face is the colour of fresh snow, and she has time to utter only one word before her eyes roll up into her head and she collapses.
“How?”