Baine Cinderwood

Week 1:
(Animal handling check 19 - Success)

Baine finds a small, smelly, soggy and sad creature in the sewers. It’s the smallest, smelliest, saddest little thing he’s ever beheld with his own two eyes and it’s not like he has a choice. It’s coming with him, it wants to come with him - he set it down on the street and the thing cried and whined and broke Baine’s heart.

He wraps the sodden puppy in his cloak, it needs a wash anyway and smuggles him into the shank. Not because he doesn’t think he’s allowed to have a pet, but because he feels a strange need to keep it secret and safe. The shank is frequented by people of dubious morals; he should know, he’s one of them.

He pays Jedd to send up some bathwater and carefully cleans the pup until he doesn’t smell of anything but wet dog anymore.
It’s a mess of black, brown and white fur, paws that go everywhere but where they’re supposed to, sharp puppy teeth and a tail that is wagging more and more by the minute.
He looks like a Frankie.

Week 2:
(Animal handling check 8 - Failure)

They’re stuck with each other now, Baine reckons. Frankie follows him around and eats from his plate and chews on his sword and Baine’s worried he’s going to get this sweet little dog killed but, like, Frankie chose him.
He sticks the dog in a backpack on the front of his chest for initial trip to the Feywild and the Amaranthine Games and hopes for the best. It goes well for a little bit - Frankie gets to try Feywild hotdog - and then goes horribly wrong. There’s a silly game and Frankie’s in the backpack and Baine is running around and Frankie is NOT happy with that, not at all. Turns out you're NOT supposed to stick a dog in a bag, shut the lid and then shake the bag violently for some 20 minutes.

It takes a whole lot of bribery and cuddling to get the tail wagging at its usual pace.

Week 3:
(Animal handling check 15 - Success)

They set up camp and while Baine is still highly suspicious of anything and everything Fey, Frankie is not. A lot of things must be sniffed, licked, chewed and sometimes peed on. A suitable number of people come over to gaze adoringly at the Best Dog In The World and Baine is so proud. Then someone particularly Fey asked Baine how long he was going to wait before eating Frankie and ruined the whole thing. They stuck closer to their little camp at the edge of the grounds after that. 

Baine does his best to learn from his mistakes. Frankie’s not keen on going back in the backpack. Markas has gone missing. There’s not much else to do.
He leaves Frankie with Paw for an afternoon, they both seem happy with that. When Baine comes back from the giant clam with a large chair and tears in his eyes, Frankie offers his best cuddles.

Last minute he sends Frankie with Rholor to the Daring Heights temple of Selûne and the plucky intern Melissa looks after him during the finale because Baine has absolutely NO idea what’s going to happen. After climbing out of the burning wreck of their Mech-Cowboy he’s tries very hard not to think of what would have happened if he hadn’t left his dog behind.
Rholor gives him his dog back and a drink to send him on his way, and all is well in the world. More or less. Baine kind of hopes Frankie peed on at least some of Rholor's spell scrolls.  

Week 4:
(Animal handling 21 - Success)

Baine means to leave Daring Heights, he really does, but then there’s Sunday and Heret and this really cool guy called Grimes and more drinks. Grimes really likes Frankie, of course. Who wouldn’t. And then Sunday beats him up and Varis offers him a place to stay and Frankie is already running around the compound, checking out all the cool new smells and getting treats from all the meanest looking soldiers. That’s got to be a good sign right? Dogs are smart about these things and if Frankie feels safe enough to take a nap in the shared sleeping quarters, Baine will follow suit.

He did promise to deal with that dragon tho. Frankie stays behind, one last time, he promises. Sweet is the COOLEST and will protect him. Varis totally pretends to not be smitten with him but Baine sees him petting Frankie when he thinks no one is watching. The dog will be fine. He’s in a lot of good hands. Conrad has been talking about taking him out into the woods with him, Grits is already grudgingly feeding him scraps in the kitchen and Old Ben claims not to know where the dog bed near the forges came from but somehow they're placed just so to catch the best heat during a cold night. The Dog. Will be Fine. 


When Baine comes back a few days later, a bag of dragon parts slung over his shoulder, Frankie comes tearing out the table to great him. Someone’s stuck a crimson scarf around his neck, which is already muddy and drooled on. He’s twice as big as when Baine first found him, growing faster than a weed, and when he’s old enough he’s going to be a mighty, fearless warrior. First he’s gonna learn to heel. Then, become a mighty, fearless warrior.

The Feythorn smells of fresh rain and damp moss. After days of sand and heat, Baine cherishes it; he opens his cloak wider and lets the wind chill him through his thin tunic. He’s left the armor back at the compound - Grits took one look at him and Varis when they returned and rolled his eyes, muttering about ‘the proper way of taking care of a full plate’.
Baine’s fingers still smelled of polish.

Gary carries him slowly onwards through the forest as Frankie makes large circles around them, looking for the deepest puddles of mud to roll in. Baine keeps a careful eye out not to get lost. He’s never been to Willow Glade before but he follows Sunday’s instructions, and the stream, dutifully and thankfully the massive tree isn’t hard to miss. He dismounts and leads Gary by the reins when they get near enough, Frankie picking up Sunday’s familiar scent and running ahead despite Baine’s protests.

They round the tree and walk down into the empty glade before Baine has to stop and marvel at the mass of flowers still covering the mossy forest floor, seemingly unbothered by autumn’s hasty approach. His attention is quickly pulled away to where Frankie has successfully put his entire head inside a familiar oversized red boot and has now gotten stuck.

“I’m in the right place then,” Baine says to himself, bending over and pulling the boot off of the dog’s head. “I know I’ve been away a lot but you could at least pretend to not be a menace. Please.”

Frankie barks a loud reply and goes back to wrestle with the other boot. Gary leans his massive head on Baine’s shoulder congenially and the half-orc reaches a hand up to pet him.
“At least one of you listens to me,” he sighs before looking around the glade.

“Sunday? Love? You around?”

Hearing no response and seeing no sign of Sunday, Baine unties his large maul from where it’s strapped to his saddle and sinks down on one of the smooth rocks, slowly turning it over in his hands as his brow furrows in thought.

“I had some questions for you,” he calls out again. “This thing don’t work right.”

Instantly, a loud splitting noise like shattering stone causes Baine to shoot back up on his feet, Max held aloft. 40 feet away, a crack has appeared in the trunk of the giant willow, running up to a height of six feet or so from where the tree meets the ground. Sunday steps through, wearing a plain, pale-blue robe; a giant, cloth-wrapped sword slung across her back. As the bark seals up behind her, eLk drops silently out of the air, the backdraft from his outstretched wings arresting his rapid descent as he alights on the grass immediately behind Baine.

Sunday doesn’t slow her pace, striding towards the half-orc, left hand involuntary reaching back for - but not quite grasping - the hilt of the sword protruding over her right shoulder. She vanishes between one pace and the next; flash-stepping across the distance between them in a heartbeat, reappearing directly in front of Baine who startles, his eyes wide.

This close, her mien is intense and unnerving - her eyes narrowed and the whites starting to turn pink, like blood clouding a glass of milk. Her usually warm and summery scent is gone - and in its place is a frosty chill, like breathing in on a winter morning so cold that it hurts the lungs. Baine can feel more than see eLk’s wings flare out behind and around them - both protectively and seemingly poised for something.

“Why?! What’s wrong with it?!” Her tone is urgent, fierce. “What is it saying to you?!” As she speaks - snarls, almost - Baine can see a couple of her teeth look sharpened and pointed behind her lips.

“Whoah, Sunday!” He lowers the maul, holding it away from her, his other hand reaching out to calm her. “Easy there, tiger. Nothing, it’s not saying shit, it’s not talking to me. Okay? It’s fine, everything’s fine.” He stands very still and tries - and fails - not to run his mouth in the face of Sunday’s fury. “Everything’s fine love. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. It’s a plain old maul, nothin’ special about it all. Okay?”

Sunday slowly lowers her hand from where it hovers around the sword’s hilt and takes a step back. She breathes in and her eyes hood over for a second, returning to their normal colouring as she opens them again.

“Hi,” Baine says in what is probably the smallest voice he’s ever used. “I’m sorry.”

“And I’m sorry for startling you,” she says, eventually, reaching up to pat his cheek. He catches her hand and squeezes it for a moment. “But be more careful with what you say, Baine. Weapons that have something wrong with them rarely turn out to be anything less than a clusterfuck in my experience. What’s wrong with it? Didn’t you make it yourself?”

Baine takes a deep breath.

“Okay, so, you know when the Refuge was under attack and you made it all glowy for a hot second? What was that? I’ve never done that kind of damage before. It felt a little bit like Phil but like, wildly fucking different at the same time. He was always angry all the time. When you put that spell on Max it was like... A happy kind of power. Clean and... Pure. I dunno. I want that.”

He holds the max up again. “I made this myself. It’s fucking perfect for me. But when I fight with it it feels.. I dunno, numb. Like, I don’t miss Phil, I’m not gonna start wielding him again, don’t look at me like that, but I need to do something about this. We’re going off to fight giants in K’ul Goran in a few days and I’m fighting with a piece of dead metal over here.”

He glares half-heartedly at the weapon in his hand.

Sunday holds her hands out for Baine to pass her the weapon. “Give it here, please.”

As Sunday holds the maul, merely a few inches shorter than her own 5’2”, Baine is struck by just how diminutive her form is. The impression doesn’t last long. The tiefling starts to give the weapon a few testing swings, getting used to its weight and balance, moving the weapon around expertly with ever-increasing speed. She finishes by swinging the weapon to within an inch of Baine’s chest. Startled, Baine looks down to see Sunday wink up at him.

“Seems to work fine to me. You sure there’s something wrong with it?”

Baine rubs his chest absentmindedly. “Careful now, I’m not even wearing any armor. I’m a delicate flower.” He winks back. “And no, there’s nothing like… wrong-wrong with it. But it could definitely be better, couldn’t it? There’s weapons in this world that pack much more of a punch than this one and Kasam still hasn’t gotten back to me about where I can find some weapons enchanter or something who owes him a favour. I don’t know what to do.” He looks at Sunday with his biggest, most pleading eyes. “My dog doesn’t listen to me and my max don’t work. Help me, Sunday. Advise me, wise one. Tell me the ways.”

As he speaks, Baine notices the barest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of Sunday’s mouth as - not having moved or spoken during his monologue - she tilts her head to one side and looks deep into Baine’s eyes.

“Why do you want this?” She asks, the whisper of smile vanishing from her face. “What’s so important about having more ‘power’?” She hands Max back to Baine.

“I want to fight. I’m fucking great at it - it’s what I do,” he says emphatically, “But I want to fight for something good. You were right about the Abyss, you know. It was one hell of a fight but it didn’t feel good. There’s a- a violence in me, Sunday. I don’t think I can escape it.”

Sunday looks up sharply at her friend as he’s talking, concern showing plainly in her eyes.

“So I want to use it for good things. For protecting and for helping and for those can’t fight for themselves.“

His eyes shift from hers to the sword strapped to her back and back again.

“I want to do it right. I don’t want what Phil did to me, or what that thing-” he nods towards the sword, “-did to Ghesh. But I desperately, fiercely, with all my fuckin’ heart, Sunday, want to protect the people I love.”

He gives her a small, sad smile and grasps her smaller hand in his.

“I just want the proper tools to protect my family.”

For a long moment, she says nothing, twisting a strand of blonde hair around one delicate and lilac-coloured finger. She removes her hand from his and walks over to a recess in the mound out of which the giant willow tree is growing. She returns holding two identical hammers; the hafts and heads of which are woven about with both carved and living patterns of vines and ivy. On the verge of handing them over to Baine, Sunday pauses, chewing her lip in thought and uncertainty.

“I made these, too. A while back. From a weapon like Max - but more so like Phil… In one form or another, they’ve been with me since forever. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time, to channel the rage I felt. But even these are too much of a reminder, especially now that… well, especially recently. They have a magic similar to the type I imparted on Max, but only when I wield them. There is enough of an inherent residue, however, that they should give you an edge if we come up against anything before we’re finished at the City of Brass.”

“You’d lend me these?” Baine looks at her intently. “Are you sure?”

Sunday flips both weapons over simultaneously and catches them deftly, holding them out to Baine haft-first. “If you take these, you have to promise not just to protect the ones you love - but anyone and everyone who needs your help.”

He looks up from where he’s studying the hammers to meet her gaze again.

“I promise.” he says solemnly. “That’s what I want to do.”

He puts his hands on the weapons, but Sunday doesn’t let go. “And you have to promise me something else. Max is the first weapon you made. It’s special. You can’t just abandon it because you can’t use it properly yet.”

“Oh, I definitely won’t. I’ve got big plans for that one.”

He waggles his eyebrows a little and takes the hammers from her, one in each hand and tests their weight and balance. He imagines he can feel a quiet humming emanating from them and the power of holding a magical weapon once more is singing in his veins.

He rolls his shoulders and carefully swings the hammers around in one of the drills Red has had him do every morning for months now. His movements are fluid and graceful, a genuine smile growing on his face for the first time in what feels like weeks.

“Oh yeah,” he says, grinning at Sunday, who rolls her eyes at his infectious demeanour.
“This is gonna be great.”

(Missing scene from Kantas Season XI Finale - By Arm The Chance part III)

---

In the lavish baths of the Wandering Emporium, Baine sheds his armor quickly, mechanically, and wades in. The water lapping at his sides is a balm on his skin, washing away blood, sweat and grime. It soothes his aching muscles and heals his cuts and Baine feels none of it. The Sunflower pendant around his neck is thrumming against his skin, burning with the heat of the sun itself. It seems impossibly heavy, weighing him down, dragging him under. He lets himself sink.

The Angelbark is damp and shrouded in mist. The first rays of a morning sun are cutting through the leafy branches like knives, seeking him with intent. The jagged rock marking his mother’s grave is cold under his left hand and when he lifts it, he leaves a bloody handprint behind.

The numerous scars in his palm are splitting open, blood dripping onto the mossy ground, his past mistakes and sacred oaths indistinguishable from one another as they run in rivulets down his wrist.

“It is time.”

A blade of sunlight cuts him in the chest, right over his heart. The voice sings in his veins and rattles his bones. It feels like coming home.

“You have chosen a dark path and you intend to walk it in service of the light. You need not walk alone, child.”

There is blood on his hands that will not ever come off. He looks at his mother’s grave and considers her actions, her choices, her mistakes, all made to protect someone she loved. The sounds of war and death echo in the back of his mind and he can taste dust and desperation. He knows he’s capable of committing great deeds and making equally great mistakes; knows he already has.

“The path will be treacherous. You must not stray.”

He kneels in the moss and breathes in the clean forest air. The mist washes over him, swirling and dancing.

“How?” he asks.

“Fight the Greater Evil.”

The voice rings out like the heavy bells of a temple, true and undeniable. He nods.

“I’ll choose my enemies carefully. I’ll remember what I’m fighting for.”

“No Mercy For the Wicked.”

“I’ll root out evil. I will Destroy without mercy those who seek to harm or corrupt the innocent. I’ll do what others can’t.”

He sees shapes moving in the mist. Hears the familiar sounds of soldiers sparring - steel ringing against steel, heavy boots on hard packed dirt. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a large silver stag break through the trees. It stands quietly, bearing witness.

“Restitution.”

“You’ll grant me power. Lives will be placed in my charge. When they want to stain their hands with the same blood as mine, I’ll take their fight as my own. I’ll take on their Vengeance and carry it out. Their hands will remain clean.”

“By Any Means Necessary.”

His throat closes up and he hesitates, just for a moment. Helena’s name stings where it’s etched on his chest.

“The path you have chosen is paved with sorrow. The only way out of this pain is through it.”

His tears run silently down his cheeks. He nods.

“I’ll Place the common good above my own. I will make my life a shield. By Any Means Necessary.”

The sun rises fully through the trees, burning away the mist. Behind the silver stag a large, shapeless shadow lumbers toward him, staying just out of sight.

“Go. I will be waiting on the other side.”



With a gasp, he breaks the surface. The air is thick with steam, but through it he can make out the slight form of his friend, half submerged in the fragrant waters. Varis’ eyes are green lodestones, drawing his gaze even through the obscuring mist. He narrows them ever so slightly.


“You look… different.”