Post by Ser Baine Cinderwood 🔥🌼 on Nov 4, 2020 12:26:40 GMT
The quiet of the evening is broken by a familiar yet unusually timid knock on the door to the Grandmaster’s quarters. The corner of Varis’ mouth twitches.
“Come in, oh absent knight,” he calls with mock severity, taking a moment to finish the report in front of him before setting his quill aside.
The door opens carefully and Baine’s large shape fills the doorway. He’s in his armor still, pack at his side, and a self-conscious but wide grin on his face.
“Boss.” He casts a quick look around the room, making sure there isn’t a disapproving Githyanki cleric somewhere in a dark corner, before dropping into his usual seat by the fire and warming his hands. “Didn’t mean to fuck off for quite so long. Place is still standing though, I see.”
Varis flashes him a wry smile.
“Against all odds.”
There’s a heavy thud against the closed door and disgruntled whine from outside it. Baine rolls his eyes in the direction of the noise.
“You’re too big to be in here. No. I dunno, go take a nap.” There’s a brief pause and Baine rolls his eyes again before turning to Varis. “Is Tuevel around? Frankie wants to hang out.”
The half elf’s eyes go distant briefly, and a moment later the clatter of hooves can be heard outside, followed by the thundering of overgrown paws and gleeful, incongruously loud yips that quickly recede into the night. Varis rises and takes the other stool, joining Baine by the fire.
“So, what news from the north?”
“Well, Kundar had a vampire problem.” Baine’s grin sharpens. “It’s not a problem anymore. The vampires were answering to a huge fucking thing though, Taff said it was something like what you stopped comin’ through that portal a while back? With Father Cai? Called itself Hassanthun. Proper big. Thought we might have a problem for a second when it showed up.”
He looks almost impressed for a second before shrugging it off.
“We killed it though. So that’s sorted. And the Tiamat priest was suitably impressed. Seems like Kundar is one step closer to signing the Accords,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows a little. Varis quirks a smile.
“Good. If we can convince the Prelature of Bahamut as well, we’ll have two of the four major powers on the continent.”
Baine quirks an eyebrow at this.
“The Senate of K’ul Goran voted in favour of signing the accords” explains the Grandmaster. “We got the news while you were in the north. Girelle says it was close, but our efforts in the Rift Wars tipped the balance in our favour.” For a brief moment, his eyes cloud with sorrow. “Even in death, they defend their people.”
Baine nods in agreement, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat.
“Not a bad legacy.”
The two sit in silence for a moment, letting the familiar ebb and flow of grief wash over them, taking comfort in each other's company.
When he feels like he can trust his voice not to break, Baine speaks again, a soft rumble in the stillness.
“I asked around for Cinderblades. In Kundar, I mean. That’s why I stayed for so long.”
He lifts his gaze from the fire, giving Varis a bashful look. The other man gives him a soft smile.
“It’s a bit silly probably. Dunno why now. Probably ‘cause I miss Kamar. Don’t even know if they’re all back in Faerûn and my mum was the only one to come over here. Someone said most of the orcs who was part of the Sack was outcasts from a place called Harnash. I was thinking I might head up there sometime and ask around. Don’t know what I’d do if I found any of them but.. Guess I’m looking.”
His friend nods.
“That’s good. It’s important to know where you came from. As long as you don’t let it drag you back there. You’re a good man, Baine Cinderwood - I will not have old ghosts convince you otherwise.”
Baine clears his throat around another sudden lump in his throat, not quite able to meet Varis’ direct gaze.
“Yeah, well,” he mutters, turning to root around in his pack, “same could be said for you, dickhead.”
From his pack he pulls a sword bundled up protectively in a cloak. Unwrapping it, he reveals a scabbard in dark leather carved with intricate patterns and a gleaming black and silver hilt. He offers it to Varis hilt first, looking quite pleased with himself.
“Got you a present.”
Varis is still for a moment, then he extends a hand and takes the weapon. After examining the scabbard and hilt he draws the blade in one smooth motion. The steel has a faint bluish sheen, the hamon a sinuous, undulating line dividing edge from fuller. He closes his eyes and mutters a few words. When he opens them, Baine can see his irises are pure gold. Inspecting the blade again, he gently resheathes it, eyes slowly shifting back to their usual green as he turns to his friend.
“This is elven work - a most noble gift. Where did you come by it?”
“The vampires got their grubby little hands on it somehow. No one who was there uses longswords and I figured it was too good to pawn for gold. I’d take it myself but obviously, my maul is the best weapon in the world, so.”
He leans back in his chair, grinning like a shark.
“Don’t have to use it of course. But I reckon you should at least try it out.”
Varis gives him a bemused smile, looking down at the sword and then over to the corner where his black and red plate harness hangs on a wooden stand.
“Well,” he says, eyes glinting in the firelight, “it seems a shame to let so fine a weapon sit idle.”
They spar once, that night. As the sounds of steel hitting steel ring out in the dark courtyard, mixing with the older man’s terse instructions and the younger’s friendly barbs, the other order members settle in to watch, one by one. Grits drags a tub outside and does the last of the washing up, hot water steaming in the cold air. Ben tries to bet on the outcome with an amiable looking Conrad. Snow takes in the fight standing perfectly still, revealing nothing, except for the flicking of her yellow eyes and the rhythmic swishing of her tail. On the roof, Whistler’s outline can just barely be seen against the pale light of the moon.
Varis takes his time getting used to the weight and force of his new blade and Baine is eager for the fight, anxious to test his mettle against the one man he hasn’t ever been able to best. The two trade blows that split the air with crackling, gleaming force. Baine holds out for a respectable amount of time and gives as good as he’s getting, but he wastes precious seconds on unnecessary spells and hesitates at the wrong moments. In the end Varis knocks him down with a searing lightning bolt and he mumbles his surrender into the unyielding dirt.
“I take it you’re keeping the sword then.”
The next day, Baine grins at the sunrise and goes back for seconds. Varis arcs an eyebrow at him over his breakfast, but joins him in the yard nonetheless. He doesn’t fare much better this time around either. Varis gets in his head and the fear grips him with icy fingers at his very core, pinning him to the ground where he’s been knocked prone. A final blow knocks him out cold and when the half-elf wakes him with a hand on the shoulder and chilling magic seeping from his gauntlet, Baine growls as he rolls to his feet.
“Again.”
The final time, he doesn’t land a single blow. With a single word, Varis freezes every muscle in his body. He watches, paralyzed, as the shining elven blade cleaves the air and in a handful of deft movements he’s decimated for a third time.
“That wasn’t very sportsmanlike,” Frankie comments, giving Varis a sour look.
“How the fuck do you know words like sportsmanlike?” Baine asks as he lowers himself stiffly down onto a bench.
Tuevel manages to look both regal and smug at the same time.
“You’re holding back,” Varis cuts in as he sits down next to Baine. “You’re hesitating, still. You’re one of the strongest men I’ve ever known, and you’re faster than me by a good margin, but none of that counts for anything if you don’t use it. In a fair fight, training blades and no magic, you’d whip me like a child nine times from ten. That’s why I don’t fight fair.”
He claps the big man on the arm, helping him to his feet, though he grunts with the effort. Looking around, he takes in the wintry stillness of the training yard.
“It’s too quiet. We should do something about that.”
He turns to look up at Baine, who returns the gaze with a small, astonished smile.
“Thank you for the gift," he continues. "And the bruises.”
As always, in collaboration with Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar.
“Come in, oh absent knight,” he calls with mock severity, taking a moment to finish the report in front of him before setting his quill aside.
The door opens carefully and Baine’s large shape fills the doorway. He’s in his armor still, pack at his side, and a self-conscious but wide grin on his face.
“Boss.” He casts a quick look around the room, making sure there isn’t a disapproving Githyanki cleric somewhere in a dark corner, before dropping into his usual seat by the fire and warming his hands. “Didn’t mean to fuck off for quite so long. Place is still standing though, I see.”
Varis flashes him a wry smile.
“Against all odds.”
There’s a heavy thud against the closed door and disgruntled whine from outside it. Baine rolls his eyes in the direction of the noise.
“You’re too big to be in here. No. I dunno, go take a nap.” There’s a brief pause and Baine rolls his eyes again before turning to Varis. “Is Tuevel around? Frankie wants to hang out.”
The half elf’s eyes go distant briefly, and a moment later the clatter of hooves can be heard outside, followed by the thundering of overgrown paws and gleeful, incongruously loud yips that quickly recede into the night. Varis rises and takes the other stool, joining Baine by the fire.
“So, what news from the north?”
“Well, Kundar had a vampire problem.” Baine’s grin sharpens. “It’s not a problem anymore. The vampires were answering to a huge fucking thing though, Taff said it was something like what you stopped comin’ through that portal a while back? With Father Cai? Called itself Hassanthun. Proper big. Thought we might have a problem for a second when it showed up.”
He looks almost impressed for a second before shrugging it off.
“We killed it though. So that’s sorted. And the Tiamat priest was suitably impressed. Seems like Kundar is one step closer to signing the Accords,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows a little. Varis quirks a smile.
“Good. If we can convince the Prelature of Bahamut as well, we’ll have two of the four major powers on the continent.”
Baine quirks an eyebrow at this.
“The Senate of K’ul Goran voted in favour of signing the accords” explains the Grandmaster. “We got the news while you were in the north. Girelle says it was close, but our efforts in the Rift Wars tipped the balance in our favour.” For a brief moment, his eyes cloud with sorrow. “Even in death, they defend their people.”
Baine nods in agreement, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat.
“Not a bad legacy.”
The two sit in silence for a moment, letting the familiar ebb and flow of grief wash over them, taking comfort in each other's company.
When he feels like he can trust his voice not to break, Baine speaks again, a soft rumble in the stillness.
“I asked around for Cinderblades. In Kundar, I mean. That’s why I stayed for so long.”
He lifts his gaze from the fire, giving Varis a bashful look. The other man gives him a soft smile.
“It’s a bit silly probably. Dunno why now. Probably ‘cause I miss Kamar. Don’t even know if they’re all back in Faerûn and my mum was the only one to come over here. Someone said most of the orcs who was part of the Sack was outcasts from a place called Harnash. I was thinking I might head up there sometime and ask around. Don’t know what I’d do if I found any of them but.. Guess I’m looking.”
His friend nods.
“That’s good. It’s important to know where you came from. As long as you don’t let it drag you back there. You’re a good man, Baine Cinderwood - I will not have old ghosts convince you otherwise.”
Baine clears his throat around another sudden lump in his throat, not quite able to meet Varis’ direct gaze.
“Yeah, well,” he mutters, turning to root around in his pack, “same could be said for you, dickhead.”
From his pack he pulls a sword bundled up protectively in a cloak. Unwrapping it, he reveals a scabbard in dark leather carved with intricate patterns and a gleaming black and silver hilt. He offers it to Varis hilt first, looking quite pleased with himself.
“Got you a present.”
Varis is still for a moment, then he extends a hand and takes the weapon. After examining the scabbard and hilt he draws the blade in one smooth motion. The steel has a faint bluish sheen, the hamon a sinuous, undulating line dividing edge from fuller. He closes his eyes and mutters a few words. When he opens them, Baine can see his irises are pure gold. Inspecting the blade again, he gently resheathes it, eyes slowly shifting back to their usual green as he turns to his friend.
“This is elven work - a most noble gift. Where did you come by it?”
“The vampires got their grubby little hands on it somehow. No one who was there uses longswords and I figured it was too good to pawn for gold. I’d take it myself but obviously, my maul is the best weapon in the world, so.”
He leans back in his chair, grinning like a shark.
“Don’t have to use it of course. But I reckon you should at least try it out.”
Varis gives him a bemused smile, looking down at the sword and then over to the corner where his black and red plate harness hangs on a wooden stand.
“Well,” he says, eyes glinting in the firelight, “it seems a shame to let so fine a weapon sit idle.”
They spar once, that night. As the sounds of steel hitting steel ring out in the dark courtyard, mixing with the older man’s terse instructions and the younger’s friendly barbs, the other order members settle in to watch, one by one. Grits drags a tub outside and does the last of the washing up, hot water steaming in the cold air. Ben tries to bet on the outcome with an amiable looking Conrad. Snow takes in the fight standing perfectly still, revealing nothing, except for the flicking of her yellow eyes and the rhythmic swishing of her tail. On the roof, Whistler’s outline can just barely be seen against the pale light of the moon.
Varis takes his time getting used to the weight and force of his new blade and Baine is eager for the fight, anxious to test his mettle against the one man he hasn’t ever been able to best. The two trade blows that split the air with crackling, gleaming force. Baine holds out for a respectable amount of time and gives as good as he’s getting, but he wastes precious seconds on unnecessary spells and hesitates at the wrong moments. In the end Varis knocks him down with a searing lightning bolt and he mumbles his surrender into the unyielding dirt.
“I take it you’re keeping the sword then.”
The next day, Baine grins at the sunrise and goes back for seconds. Varis arcs an eyebrow at him over his breakfast, but joins him in the yard nonetheless. He doesn’t fare much better this time around either. Varis gets in his head and the fear grips him with icy fingers at his very core, pinning him to the ground where he’s been knocked prone. A final blow knocks him out cold and when the half-elf wakes him with a hand on the shoulder and chilling magic seeping from his gauntlet, Baine growls as he rolls to his feet.
“Again.”
The final time, he doesn’t land a single blow. With a single word, Varis freezes every muscle in his body. He watches, paralyzed, as the shining elven blade cleaves the air and in a handful of deft movements he’s decimated for a third time.
“That wasn’t very sportsmanlike,” Frankie comments, giving Varis a sour look.
“How the fuck do you know words like sportsmanlike?” Baine asks as he lowers himself stiffly down onto a bench.
Tuevel manages to look both regal and smug at the same time.
“You’re holding back,” Varis cuts in as he sits down next to Baine. “You’re hesitating, still. You’re one of the strongest men I’ve ever known, and you’re faster than me by a good margin, but none of that counts for anything if you don’t use it. In a fair fight, training blades and no magic, you’d whip me like a child nine times from ten. That’s why I don’t fight fair.”
He claps the big man on the arm, helping him to his feet, though he grunts with the effort. Looking around, he takes in the wintry stillness of the training yard.
“It’s too quiet. We should do something about that.”
He turns to look up at Baine, who returns the gaze with a small, astonished smile.
“Thank you for the gift," he continues. "And the bruises.”
As always, in collaboration with Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar.