Post by Nuno (Rholor) on Aug 28, 2019 22:41:54 GMT
Thick, low clouds stifle the morning sun over Daring, bleeding into slow drizzle that makes the red roof tiles of the Order glisten. The hard-packed earth of the training yard is greasy underfoot as Varis stands, lost in thought, beads of water dripping from his black and red steel harness. In his head he replays the message from Rholor the night before, when the energetic sharpness of the High Diviner’s voice had startled him as he sat poring over maps in his study.
Rholor: “Varis. A young acolyte will visit you. Her faith demands a more martial expression. Thought you could help. Please return her in one piece. Rholor.”
Standing in the middle of the Order’s compound, the young half elf shakes his head, smiling to himself. And people called him arrogant. His introspection is cut short as a hulking shape emerges from the door to the forge. Jogging out into the yard, Baine cuts quite an imposing figure. He has never been a small man, but his time with the Order has added at least twenty pounds of lean muscle to an already impressive frame. His battered breastplate glints dully in the weak sunlight, but it is the weapon he carries in his right hand that draws Varis’ attention. A long, ash haft is capped at one end with a plain steel pommel. The other end is bulkier and wrapped in burlap sacking. The half orc’s face is split from ear to ear with a grin of boyish pride. Varis cannot help but smile in return.
Varis: “Well? Let’s see this thing then.”
Almost tenderly, Baine draws the sackcloth from the head of the weapon. Long langets run up the shaft into a block of solid steel, one face a spiked hammer, the other an axe blade. Along the sides is a floral design matching the one recently burned from Baine’s breastplate by the acidic breath of a dragon. Varis holds out his hand, noting with amusement the barest hesitation from the other man, like a child unwilling to give up his newest toy. He hefts the maul, testing the balance and grip, then nods in apparent satisfaction and hands it back to Baine.
Varis: “Good. A weapon like this will crush a man’s skull in one blow, or shatter bones as easily as you might crack an egg. Even full harness won’t do much to protect you – hit it right and it’ll crumple in on itself, paralysing joints or even driving the plate itself into your enemy’s body. The trade-off is its slower than a spring thaw, and you can’t use it without room to swing. A smart enemy will try to close on you, making all the leverage that long haft gives you a weakness rather than a boon.”
He notices the other man’s eyes have started to take on a slightly glassy quality, and suppresses a small smile.
Varis: “But I’m sure Gretcha has made all this abundantly clear to you. So” he places the black steel helm on his head, unslings his narrow kite shield and draws the sword at his hip “let’s see if any of it stuck.”
The grin returns to Baine’s face at the promise of a good fight. He steps back a little, blinking the rain out of his eyes and heft’s the hammer, acquainting himself with the weight and balance.
Baine: “You’ll bring me back if you kill me, right?”
He cranes his neck until the joints crack, balances his considerable weight more carefully.
Baine: “I’m your favourite recruit after all.”
With that he lunges forward, swinging in a diagonal overhead arc toward Varis’ right shoulder. The Grandmaster steps right, raising his shield for safety, though Baine’s blow misses it by half an inch, the axe blade sinking deep into the ground. Jerking it free and twisting it in his grip, the huge half orc unwinds a savage horizontal blow with the hammer head. Crouching low, Varis braces and angles his shield, diverting most of the force up and over his head, sparks flying as steel meets steel. At the same time, the Crimson Fist insignia on his cuirass flashes red, and the maul seems to slow, as though being swung through water, some of the energy leaving the blow, though the lip of the shield is knocked into his helmet with uncomfortable force. Rising out of his crouch he lunges past Baine to end up behind the other man, making two deft cuts to his arm and thigh on the way through.
Baine looks down at the neat slices, raising an eyebrow as he notices the thin rime of frost that edges them.
Baine: “That’s cheating.” - he says, grin still wide on his face.
Rolling his shoulders, he whirls to face the older man, pushing off his back foot with a savage upswing. Varis takes a single step back, letting the blow tear through the air in front of him, then darts forward, too close to Baine for the returning down-blow to do anything but jolt his pauldron with the haft of the heavy weapon. Again, the sigil on his chest flashes and the maul seems to slow as though the air were momentarily transformed into treacle. Baine just has time to notice the Crimson Fist on the other man’s breastplate has begun to glow before the flat of a shield connects with his chin, and a moment later, Varis’ blade makes a shallow gash in the muscle of his neck.
They separate again, the rain beginning to intensify, soaking their boots and making the ground underfoot treacherously slick. Baine’s grin has been unceremoniously wiped from his face by Varis’ shield and he looks distinctly sullen as he tries to find secure footing in the mud. From behind the faceplate of the black steel helm, Varis’ voice sounds muffled and distant.
Varis: “Again. The god of war doesn’t wait on the sunshine. War is an all-weather business.”
Varis sets his stance a little wider and waits. Gritting his teeth, Baine frowns down at the dark slick beneath his feet, where blood from the cuts on his leg, arm and neck mingle with the mud of the yard. Shaking his head to clear it, he steps forward, immediately losing his footing and falling to one knee. Cursing, he pushes himself up and swings the maul in a wide arc, but Varis steps back, taking advantage of Baine’s cautious footwork, and the blow sails harmlessly through the air in front of him. The half orc’s temper frays and with a low growl he makes two more strikes in quick succession, Varis dodging the first and glancing the second aside to sink deep into the muddy ground. The older man steps forward to respond, losing his own footing in the mud and falling to one knee, slashing out at Baine to keep him at bay. The half orc parries the cut with the haft of his weapon, and responds with a huge overhead slam, which Varis rolls to avoid.
The two men separate, the Grandmaster pulling his helm from his head and gesturing to the open side of the stables. Baine lets out a sigh of relief and a quiet “Thank fuck,” under his breath. When they are both under cover, hair slicked to their foreheads with sweat and rain, Varis waves at two small wooden stools in front of an empty stall.
Varis: “Sit. Catch your breath. Your technique is solid, and you’re damn strong, but if you’re fighting without a shield, you’ll need your armour to pick up the slack. That breastplate isn’t going to cut it. We’ll have to find you a full harness. Or have Ben make you one.”
Baine looks at the various cuts on his exposed arms and legs and nods a little reluctantly.
Varis picks up a rain bucket from under the eaves and lifts it to his lips, taking a short drink before offering it to Baine. As the younger man takes it, sipping tentatively through bruised lips, the rain abruptly stops and sunlight streams into the yard, dazzling them both even in the shade of the stables.
Squinting into the sudden brightness Varis notices a hooded figure on the other side of the yard, pressed close to the wall in a fruitless attempt to not get their boots muddy. Eventually giving it up as a lost cause, they hastily make their way across the sludge of the yard, frowning in mild disgust.
Melissa: “Uhm. Excuse me! You know where I can find.. Uh… Master Varis?”
Baine cocks his head a little as he tries to place the voice from underneath the hood.
After a moment he lets out a perplexed, “... Mel?”
The figure looks up at the gleaming sun and removes the hood, showing a young face, short brown hair, a slightly crooked nose and wide green eyes.
Melissa: “Oh, Baine? Are you here now? I thought you were from that other town, the one with the port?”
She pauses as she now recognises the blonde half-elf that visited the Temple of Selûne not that many nights back, underneath the layers of sweat, rain and mud coating his figure.
Melissa: “Oh, sorry, you’re Varis aren’t you? Didn’t recognise you from far away. Rholor said I should come and see you but he was all mysterious about it… you know how he is. So… uhm… I don’t really know what I’m doing here!”
Baine looks highly amused and opens his mouth to reply before changing his mind, turning to Varis and looking at him expectantly. Meeting his stare, the Grandmaster wipes a strand of wet hair from his eye, turning to fully face the new arrival.
Varis: “Melissa. Welcome to the Order of the Crimson Fist. The High Diviner believes your faith might benefit from a more...martial expression. He reasoned that this would be the place to find it. Have you ever held a blade?”
Baine’s eyes widen as they dart excitedly back and forth between the other two, a multitude of question held precariously at bay for the moment.
Mel's eyes also widen by the second as the reason for why she's there slowly dawns on her.
Melissa: "YES! Uhm, I mean… yes, yes. Wait, sure, look."
She whispers a word into the stark white metallic quarterstaff she carries with her, making it shine with bright silvery light for a second, as its shape morphs into the shape of a greatsword of the same colour.
Melissa: "I've been practicing alone. Haven't used it much though," she says as she awkwardly aims the sword towards at the paladin closing one eye and sticking her tongue out.
Varis gently pushes the blade down to a less objectionable angle with two gauntleted fingers, arching an eyebrow at Mel in gentle rebuke before turning to Baine.
Varis: “I was going to suggest we see how you handle a foe with a heavy weapon. It seems the High Diviner has sent us just the woman for the job.”
Baine looks absolutely delighted.
Baine: "Certainly, sir. Right now?"
Varis frowns slightly, noticing Baine’s wounds, and leans in closer, one hand going to the sigil on his chest, the other reaching toward the burly half orc. At the last moment he pauses.
Varis: “May I?”
Baine nods permission, and Varis’ hand closes over his shoulder, the Crimson Fist insignia glowing as the younger man’s wounds knit closed. The sensation for Baine is not unlike being plunged into an ice bath. Baine sighs in relief as his cuts knit back together and the bruise on his face fades. "That's better," he says and stands up, now towering over Mel and looking at her with a challenge in his eyes.
The Grandmaster sits back, eyeing the two young people before him, his gaze settling on Mel.
Varis: “Baine is going to put you through your paces - basic stuff to see how well you handle yourself. We will decide where to go from there. Don’t hold back, but try not to kill each other.”
He looks at the two expectantly, gesturing to the yard.
Varis: “Well?”
Baine leads the way into the middle of the yard, rolling his shoulders to loosen them as he goes.
Melissa joins him, her sword held at the ready in front of her.
Baine: “A more ‘martial expression’, huh?” Baine says, air quotes audible. “I thought you were like a priest or something.”
Melissa opens her mouth to reply but before she can get a word out Baine swings the maul at her in a massive sideways arc, striking her in the gut and knocking the wind out of her. He swings the maul around and swipes her legs out from under her before stepping back.
Baine: “Come on Mel, don’t make this easy for me.”
As Melissa lands on the muddy floor of the yard, letting out an audible “Ouch”, her perpetual smile is replaced by a dead stare. Using the sword as a lever to get back up on her feet, Melissa’s pupils dilate to almost inhumane proportions as silvery mist starts to wisp from her eyes. Baine’s eyebrows climb halfway up his brow as he takes in his opponents’ transformation.
Baine: “Well, damn.”
Catching the half-orc by surprise, Melissa springs upwards in a lunging stance forcing the half-orc to take another step back just in time to avoid the brunt of an arcing sweep from Melissa’s greatsword, cutting through the air with unnatural speed.
She doesn’t reply to the young warrior’s provocation and the only sounds heard in the yard are those of steel striking steel and heavy breathing.
They are almost evenly matched in skill, trading blows and sliding around in the mud in an intricate dance, teeth gritted and breath labored. Baine throws his massive form around, landing blow after blow but is clearly tiring quickly, noticing that his swipes are somehow not hitting Melissa as hard as they usually do. What she lacks in skill and experience she seems to make up for with her glowing fury.
She swings her greatsword in a wide arc, aiming for Baine’s head. He crouches low to dodge it but she comes back around and strikes him in the midriff, right below his breastplate. By all accounts he should be down and out by now but somehow he rallies and gathers his last strength for two more blows. Wielding his maul with less finesse and more desperation, Baine swings wildly in a last ditch attempt.
Melissa take the two hits seemingly unconcerned by the crunch of bone and the blood running down the side of her face, before laying Baine low with one last mighty blow.
He lands in the mud with a heavy thud, and Melissa raises her sword again before Varis’ voice rings out across the yard, low but clear.
Varis: “Enough.”
He moves swiftly to Baine’s side, crouching to lay a gauntleted hand over the gaping wound in the younger man’s midriff. The sigil on his chest glows and the wound knits closed beneath his fingers. As the half orc’s breathing steadies, Varis rises, green eyes taking in the young woman in front of him with an air of calculation.
Varis: “I have met warriors like you before. Your strength comes from anger. Yet your rage seems almost spiritual. It is impressive.”
He seems lost in thought for a moment, then shakes his head slightly as though to clear it.
Varis: “Forgive me. You are injured. May I offer you healing?”
Behind them on the ground Baine begins to stir.
Baine: “What the fuck was that?” he says weakly as he paws at the ground, clumsily sitting up.
He groans a little and fiddles with the buckles on his breastplate until it comes off, revealing a torso streaked with dirt, sweat and blood. Wiping a hand across is he inspects the impressive new scar across his abdomen before giving up and falling back down in the mud again, staring blankly at the sky. He sluggishly raises a hand to point a finger in Varis’ direction.
Baine: “More armor. Right. Got it.”
Meanwhile, the girls stands in front of the two warriors, alternating her gaze between the two men, with a blank stare until she seems to come to her senses and her pupils recede to a normal size and the silvery light is replaced by the natural green colour of her eyes.
Melissa: “I… uhm… no, I’m fine thank you. I mean not fine but… uhm… sorry. Spiritual? What? Sorry.” - she mumbles at Baine, who waves her off with a tired hand.
She whispers a word into her sword, changing it back to a slick white quarterstaff followed by a divine word that seems to close a small fraction some of her wounds.
Melissa: “Oh, maybe yes. Healing would be nice.”
The half elf reaches out a steel-clad hand and rests it lightly on her arm, the Crimson Fist on his cuirass glowing briefly. Mel gasps, as though plunged into icy water, and the contusions and gashes Baine’s weapon had left on her vanish. There’s a wet grinding sound followed by several dull pops, as a few of her ribs realign and fuse back into place. Varis withdraws his hand, a grim smile on his face.
Varis: “I’m afraid my healing is a little more...pragmatic than you may be used to. So” he takes a step back, his eyes appraising Mel once again. “You can fight. We can teach you a little more technique here, and give you a place to spar, if you wish it, but the truth is, you’re already a formidable warrior. I’m not sure how well you’d do in a pitched battle, but you more than held your own against Baine. We could certainly find a use for your talents should you want to lend them to a righteous cause.”
At their feet Baine is looking quizzically up at the sky.
Baine: “So, all this glowy power and healing stuff and the rage… this is all from your gods? They just-” he waves his hands around vaguely before letting them fall back down on the soggy ground, “- juice you up and… off you go? Cos you fight for them or whatever?”
Varis smiles, reaching down to pull the larger man to his feet.
Varis: “I cannot speak for Mel, but certainly my faith guides me. The spark of divine power may even have been a gift from Tyr - a tool he trusted to my use. But I draw my strength from my purpose, from the convictions I hold and the duty I owe to the innocent, to those unable to protect themselves.”
Both men turn their heads to the girl who seemed to be happy to just listen to them debate.
Melissa: “Uhhhhh… Well, this just happens when I let myself go, Rholor says it’s connected to the Moonmaiden and trained me to understand my connection to Her but to be honest I really don’t get most of it yet. The only connection I feel to Her is a sense of being needed, having a purpose but I can’t really explain why or when…” - she seems to lose herself in thoughts.
“Huh.” Baine is listing a little to the side, favouring his left leg, but it doesn’t seem to bother him as he thinks over the other man’s reply. He cocks his head and looks between at Mel and Varis again.
Baine: “But… if Mel has hitched her wagon to Selûne and is all about that moonlight and stuff, like The High Diviner.” He’s not quite capable of keeping a straight face at the fancy title but forges on. “Could she join the Crimson Fist and like… worship someone other than Tyr?”
Varis frowns slightly, halfway between confusion and mild irritation.
Varis: “Baine, I meant what I said the day we met. Your faith is your own. Your path is your own. If Mel feels she could do some good here, the Order would welcome her, regardless of faith or creed.”
Baine claps a heavy hand on the Grandmaster’s shoulder, both to placate him but also to have something to lean a little bit on.
Baine: “I mean no offence, chief, I just don’t know how this whole god business works.” He shrugs. “Never sat a foot inside a temple before I came to Kantas. But that’s good to know.” He turns back to Melissa with a tired grin.
Baine: “So. You joining?”
Varis looks sharply to Baine, his frown deepening.
Varis: “Baine. Enough. Mel is an acolyte of the Temple of Selune. If she wishes to train with us, she is welcome, but I will not have her rushed into any kind of decision.”
The half-orc raises both hands and tries to look appropriately chastised.
Baine: “Right. Sorry. Shutting up now.”
He throws a wink and a small grin at Mel before hobbling over to the stools they were sat on earlier, gingerly sinking down and reaching for the abandoned water bucket.
Melissa just smiles a happy smile followed by a wince as a few scratches on her face stretch and bleed a little more.
Melissa: “Ah, I don’t know. As I said, I don’t know why I’m here! Rholor just said that perhaps you could help Master Varis. You think he meant joining you? Here? I mean… he’s not going to be able to deal with the temple affairs alone!”
Her jovial smile seems to fade a little bit.
Melissa: “Speaking of which - I… I should go. It’s getting late, the other acolytes must be freaking out without me there. Thank you for the fun though! Uhm… I mean, for the training and guidance!”
Varis nods, extending a hand.
Varis: “Of course. You are welcome here anytime - to train or to talk.”
The young woman turns on her heal and makes for the exit at the other end of the yard. Baine waves a confused hand at her suddenly retreating back.
Baine: “Gotta work on my recruitment pitch, clearly.”
The older man shakes his head in mild exasperation, then turns and begins walking towards the forge, calling over his shoulder as he goes.
Varis: “Come on then. This harness isn’t going to make itself.”
With Ser Baine Cinderwood 🔥🌼 and Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar
Rholor: “Varis. A young acolyte will visit you. Her faith demands a more martial expression. Thought you could help. Please return her in one piece. Rholor.”
Standing in the middle of the Order’s compound, the young half elf shakes his head, smiling to himself. And people called him arrogant. His introspection is cut short as a hulking shape emerges from the door to the forge. Jogging out into the yard, Baine cuts quite an imposing figure. He has never been a small man, but his time with the Order has added at least twenty pounds of lean muscle to an already impressive frame. His battered breastplate glints dully in the weak sunlight, but it is the weapon he carries in his right hand that draws Varis’ attention. A long, ash haft is capped at one end with a plain steel pommel. The other end is bulkier and wrapped in burlap sacking. The half orc’s face is split from ear to ear with a grin of boyish pride. Varis cannot help but smile in return.
Varis: “Well? Let’s see this thing then.”
Almost tenderly, Baine draws the sackcloth from the head of the weapon. Long langets run up the shaft into a block of solid steel, one face a spiked hammer, the other an axe blade. Along the sides is a floral design matching the one recently burned from Baine’s breastplate by the acidic breath of a dragon. Varis holds out his hand, noting with amusement the barest hesitation from the other man, like a child unwilling to give up his newest toy. He hefts the maul, testing the balance and grip, then nods in apparent satisfaction and hands it back to Baine.
Varis: “Good. A weapon like this will crush a man’s skull in one blow, or shatter bones as easily as you might crack an egg. Even full harness won’t do much to protect you – hit it right and it’ll crumple in on itself, paralysing joints or even driving the plate itself into your enemy’s body. The trade-off is its slower than a spring thaw, and you can’t use it without room to swing. A smart enemy will try to close on you, making all the leverage that long haft gives you a weakness rather than a boon.”
He notices the other man’s eyes have started to take on a slightly glassy quality, and suppresses a small smile.
Varis: “But I’m sure Gretcha has made all this abundantly clear to you. So” he places the black steel helm on his head, unslings his narrow kite shield and draws the sword at his hip “let’s see if any of it stuck.”
The grin returns to Baine’s face at the promise of a good fight. He steps back a little, blinking the rain out of his eyes and heft’s the hammer, acquainting himself with the weight and balance.
Baine: “You’ll bring me back if you kill me, right?”
He cranes his neck until the joints crack, balances his considerable weight more carefully.
Baine: “I’m your favourite recruit after all.”
With that he lunges forward, swinging in a diagonal overhead arc toward Varis’ right shoulder. The Grandmaster steps right, raising his shield for safety, though Baine’s blow misses it by half an inch, the axe blade sinking deep into the ground. Jerking it free and twisting it in his grip, the huge half orc unwinds a savage horizontal blow with the hammer head. Crouching low, Varis braces and angles his shield, diverting most of the force up and over his head, sparks flying as steel meets steel. At the same time, the Crimson Fist insignia on his cuirass flashes red, and the maul seems to slow, as though being swung through water, some of the energy leaving the blow, though the lip of the shield is knocked into his helmet with uncomfortable force. Rising out of his crouch he lunges past Baine to end up behind the other man, making two deft cuts to his arm and thigh on the way through.
Baine looks down at the neat slices, raising an eyebrow as he notices the thin rime of frost that edges them.
Baine: “That’s cheating.” - he says, grin still wide on his face.
Rolling his shoulders, he whirls to face the older man, pushing off his back foot with a savage upswing. Varis takes a single step back, letting the blow tear through the air in front of him, then darts forward, too close to Baine for the returning down-blow to do anything but jolt his pauldron with the haft of the heavy weapon. Again, the sigil on his chest flashes and the maul seems to slow as though the air were momentarily transformed into treacle. Baine just has time to notice the Crimson Fist on the other man’s breastplate has begun to glow before the flat of a shield connects with his chin, and a moment later, Varis’ blade makes a shallow gash in the muscle of his neck.
They separate again, the rain beginning to intensify, soaking their boots and making the ground underfoot treacherously slick. Baine’s grin has been unceremoniously wiped from his face by Varis’ shield and he looks distinctly sullen as he tries to find secure footing in the mud. From behind the faceplate of the black steel helm, Varis’ voice sounds muffled and distant.
Varis: “Again. The god of war doesn’t wait on the sunshine. War is an all-weather business.”
Varis sets his stance a little wider and waits. Gritting his teeth, Baine frowns down at the dark slick beneath his feet, where blood from the cuts on his leg, arm and neck mingle with the mud of the yard. Shaking his head to clear it, he steps forward, immediately losing his footing and falling to one knee. Cursing, he pushes himself up and swings the maul in a wide arc, but Varis steps back, taking advantage of Baine’s cautious footwork, and the blow sails harmlessly through the air in front of him. The half orc’s temper frays and with a low growl he makes two more strikes in quick succession, Varis dodging the first and glancing the second aside to sink deep into the muddy ground. The older man steps forward to respond, losing his own footing in the mud and falling to one knee, slashing out at Baine to keep him at bay. The half orc parries the cut with the haft of his weapon, and responds with a huge overhead slam, which Varis rolls to avoid.
The two men separate, the Grandmaster pulling his helm from his head and gesturing to the open side of the stables. Baine lets out a sigh of relief and a quiet “Thank fuck,” under his breath. When they are both under cover, hair slicked to their foreheads with sweat and rain, Varis waves at two small wooden stools in front of an empty stall.
Varis: “Sit. Catch your breath. Your technique is solid, and you’re damn strong, but if you’re fighting without a shield, you’ll need your armour to pick up the slack. That breastplate isn’t going to cut it. We’ll have to find you a full harness. Or have Ben make you one.”
Baine looks at the various cuts on his exposed arms and legs and nods a little reluctantly.
Varis picks up a rain bucket from under the eaves and lifts it to his lips, taking a short drink before offering it to Baine. As the younger man takes it, sipping tentatively through bruised lips, the rain abruptly stops and sunlight streams into the yard, dazzling them both even in the shade of the stables.
Squinting into the sudden brightness Varis notices a hooded figure on the other side of the yard, pressed close to the wall in a fruitless attempt to not get their boots muddy. Eventually giving it up as a lost cause, they hastily make their way across the sludge of the yard, frowning in mild disgust.
Melissa: “Uhm. Excuse me! You know where I can find.. Uh… Master Varis?”
Baine cocks his head a little as he tries to place the voice from underneath the hood.
After a moment he lets out a perplexed, “... Mel?”
The figure looks up at the gleaming sun and removes the hood, showing a young face, short brown hair, a slightly crooked nose and wide green eyes.
Melissa: “Oh, Baine? Are you here now? I thought you were from that other town, the one with the port?”
She pauses as she now recognises the blonde half-elf that visited the Temple of Selûne not that many nights back, underneath the layers of sweat, rain and mud coating his figure.
Melissa: “Oh, sorry, you’re Varis aren’t you? Didn’t recognise you from far away. Rholor said I should come and see you but he was all mysterious about it… you know how he is. So… uhm… I don’t really know what I’m doing here!”
Baine looks highly amused and opens his mouth to reply before changing his mind, turning to Varis and looking at him expectantly. Meeting his stare, the Grandmaster wipes a strand of wet hair from his eye, turning to fully face the new arrival.
Varis: “Melissa. Welcome to the Order of the Crimson Fist. The High Diviner believes your faith might benefit from a more...martial expression. He reasoned that this would be the place to find it. Have you ever held a blade?”
Baine’s eyes widen as they dart excitedly back and forth between the other two, a multitude of question held precariously at bay for the moment.
Mel's eyes also widen by the second as the reason for why she's there slowly dawns on her.
Melissa: "YES! Uhm, I mean… yes, yes. Wait, sure, look."
She whispers a word into the stark white metallic quarterstaff she carries with her, making it shine with bright silvery light for a second, as its shape morphs into the shape of a greatsword of the same colour.
Melissa: "I've been practicing alone. Haven't used it much though," she says as she awkwardly aims the sword towards at the paladin closing one eye and sticking her tongue out.
Varis gently pushes the blade down to a less objectionable angle with two gauntleted fingers, arching an eyebrow at Mel in gentle rebuke before turning to Baine.
Varis: “I was going to suggest we see how you handle a foe with a heavy weapon. It seems the High Diviner has sent us just the woman for the job.”
Baine looks absolutely delighted.
Baine: "Certainly, sir. Right now?"
Varis frowns slightly, noticing Baine’s wounds, and leans in closer, one hand going to the sigil on his chest, the other reaching toward the burly half orc. At the last moment he pauses.
Varis: “May I?”
Baine nods permission, and Varis’ hand closes over his shoulder, the Crimson Fist insignia glowing as the younger man’s wounds knit closed. The sensation for Baine is not unlike being plunged into an ice bath. Baine sighs in relief as his cuts knit back together and the bruise on his face fades. "That's better," he says and stands up, now towering over Mel and looking at her with a challenge in his eyes.
The Grandmaster sits back, eyeing the two young people before him, his gaze settling on Mel.
Varis: “Baine is going to put you through your paces - basic stuff to see how well you handle yourself. We will decide where to go from there. Don’t hold back, but try not to kill each other.”
He looks at the two expectantly, gesturing to the yard.
Varis: “Well?”
Baine leads the way into the middle of the yard, rolling his shoulders to loosen them as he goes.
Melissa joins him, her sword held at the ready in front of her.
Baine: “A more ‘martial expression’, huh?” Baine says, air quotes audible. “I thought you were like a priest or something.”
Melissa opens her mouth to reply but before she can get a word out Baine swings the maul at her in a massive sideways arc, striking her in the gut and knocking the wind out of her. He swings the maul around and swipes her legs out from under her before stepping back.
Baine: “Come on Mel, don’t make this easy for me.”
As Melissa lands on the muddy floor of the yard, letting out an audible “Ouch”, her perpetual smile is replaced by a dead stare. Using the sword as a lever to get back up on her feet, Melissa’s pupils dilate to almost inhumane proportions as silvery mist starts to wisp from her eyes. Baine’s eyebrows climb halfway up his brow as he takes in his opponents’ transformation.
Baine: “Well, damn.”
Catching the half-orc by surprise, Melissa springs upwards in a lunging stance forcing the half-orc to take another step back just in time to avoid the brunt of an arcing sweep from Melissa’s greatsword, cutting through the air with unnatural speed.
She doesn’t reply to the young warrior’s provocation and the only sounds heard in the yard are those of steel striking steel and heavy breathing.
They are almost evenly matched in skill, trading blows and sliding around in the mud in an intricate dance, teeth gritted and breath labored. Baine throws his massive form around, landing blow after blow but is clearly tiring quickly, noticing that his swipes are somehow not hitting Melissa as hard as they usually do. What she lacks in skill and experience she seems to make up for with her glowing fury.
She swings her greatsword in a wide arc, aiming for Baine’s head. He crouches low to dodge it but she comes back around and strikes him in the midriff, right below his breastplate. By all accounts he should be down and out by now but somehow he rallies and gathers his last strength for two more blows. Wielding his maul with less finesse and more desperation, Baine swings wildly in a last ditch attempt.
Melissa take the two hits seemingly unconcerned by the crunch of bone and the blood running down the side of her face, before laying Baine low with one last mighty blow.
He lands in the mud with a heavy thud, and Melissa raises her sword again before Varis’ voice rings out across the yard, low but clear.
Varis: “Enough.”
He moves swiftly to Baine’s side, crouching to lay a gauntleted hand over the gaping wound in the younger man’s midriff. The sigil on his chest glows and the wound knits closed beneath his fingers. As the half orc’s breathing steadies, Varis rises, green eyes taking in the young woman in front of him with an air of calculation.
Varis: “I have met warriors like you before. Your strength comes from anger. Yet your rage seems almost spiritual. It is impressive.”
He seems lost in thought for a moment, then shakes his head slightly as though to clear it.
Varis: “Forgive me. You are injured. May I offer you healing?”
Behind them on the ground Baine begins to stir.
Baine: “What the fuck was that?” he says weakly as he paws at the ground, clumsily sitting up.
He groans a little and fiddles with the buckles on his breastplate until it comes off, revealing a torso streaked with dirt, sweat and blood. Wiping a hand across is he inspects the impressive new scar across his abdomen before giving up and falling back down in the mud again, staring blankly at the sky. He sluggishly raises a hand to point a finger in Varis’ direction.
Baine: “More armor. Right. Got it.”
Meanwhile, the girls stands in front of the two warriors, alternating her gaze between the two men, with a blank stare until she seems to come to her senses and her pupils recede to a normal size and the silvery light is replaced by the natural green colour of her eyes.
Melissa: “I… uhm… no, I’m fine thank you. I mean not fine but… uhm… sorry. Spiritual? What? Sorry.” - she mumbles at Baine, who waves her off with a tired hand.
She whispers a word into her sword, changing it back to a slick white quarterstaff followed by a divine word that seems to close a small fraction some of her wounds.
Melissa: “Oh, maybe yes. Healing would be nice.”
The half elf reaches out a steel-clad hand and rests it lightly on her arm, the Crimson Fist on his cuirass glowing briefly. Mel gasps, as though plunged into icy water, and the contusions and gashes Baine’s weapon had left on her vanish. There’s a wet grinding sound followed by several dull pops, as a few of her ribs realign and fuse back into place. Varis withdraws his hand, a grim smile on his face.
Varis: “I’m afraid my healing is a little more...pragmatic than you may be used to. So” he takes a step back, his eyes appraising Mel once again. “You can fight. We can teach you a little more technique here, and give you a place to spar, if you wish it, but the truth is, you’re already a formidable warrior. I’m not sure how well you’d do in a pitched battle, but you more than held your own against Baine. We could certainly find a use for your talents should you want to lend them to a righteous cause.”
At their feet Baine is looking quizzically up at the sky.
Baine: “So, all this glowy power and healing stuff and the rage… this is all from your gods? They just-” he waves his hands around vaguely before letting them fall back down on the soggy ground, “- juice you up and… off you go? Cos you fight for them or whatever?”
Varis smiles, reaching down to pull the larger man to his feet.
Varis: “I cannot speak for Mel, but certainly my faith guides me. The spark of divine power may even have been a gift from Tyr - a tool he trusted to my use. But I draw my strength from my purpose, from the convictions I hold and the duty I owe to the innocent, to those unable to protect themselves.”
Both men turn their heads to the girl who seemed to be happy to just listen to them debate.
Melissa: “Uhhhhh… Well, this just happens when I let myself go, Rholor says it’s connected to the Moonmaiden and trained me to understand my connection to Her but to be honest I really don’t get most of it yet. The only connection I feel to Her is a sense of being needed, having a purpose but I can’t really explain why or when…” - she seems to lose herself in thoughts.
“Huh.” Baine is listing a little to the side, favouring his left leg, but it doesn’t seem to bother him as he thinks over the other man’s reply. He cocks his head and looks between at Mel and Varis again.
Baine: “But… if Mel has hitched her wagon to Selûne and is all about that moonlight and stuff, like The High Diviner.” He’s not quite capable of keeping a straight face at the fancy title but forges on. “Could she join the Crimson Fist and like… worship someone other than Tyr?”
Varis frowns slightly, halfway between confusion and mild irritation.
Varis: “Baine, I meant what I said the day we met. Your faith is your own. Your path is your own. If Mel feels she could do some good here, the Order would welcome her, regardless of faith or creed.”
Baine claps a heavy hand on the Grandmaster’s shoulder, both to placate him but also to have something to lean a little bit on.
Baine: “I mean no offence, chief, I just don’t know how this whole god business works.” He shrugs. “Never sat a foot inside a temple before I came to Kantas. But that’s good to know.” He turns back to Melissa with a tired grin.
Baine: “So. You joining?”
Varis looks sharply to Baine, his frown deepening.
Varis: “Baine. Enough. Mel is an acolyte of the Temple of Selune. If she wishes to train with us, she is welcome, but I will not have her rushed into any kind of decision.”
The half-orc raises both hands and tries to look appropriately chastised.
Baine: “Right. Sorry. Shutting up now.”
He throws a wink and a small grin at Mel before hobbling over to the stools they were sat on earlier, gingerly sinking down and reaching for the abandoned water bucket.
Melissa just smiles a happy smile followed by a wince as a few scratches on her face stretch and bleed a little more.
Melissa: “Ah, I don’t know. As I said, I don’t know why I’m here! Rholor just said that perhaps you could help Master Varis. You think he meant joining you? Here? I mean… he’s not going to be able to deal with the temple affairs alone!”
Her jovial smile seems to fade a little bit.
Melissa: “Speaking of which - I… I should go. It’s getting late, the other acolytes must be freaking out without me there. Thank you for the fun though! Uhm… I mean, for the training and guidance!”
Varis nods, extending a hand.
Varis: “Of course. You are welcome here anytime - to train or to talk.”
The young woman turns on her heal and makes for the exit at the other end of the yard. Baine waves a confused hand at her suddenly retreating back.
Baine: “Gotta work on my recruitment pitch, clearly.”
The older man shakes his head in mild exasperation, then turns and begins walking towards the forge, calling over his shoulder as he goes.
Varis: “Come on then. This harness isn’t going to make itself.”
With Ser Baine Cinderwood 🔥🌼 and Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar
