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It wasn't long before the rest of the group had departed. To soon for the pirate, as he was still healing from aches and pains seemingly all over his body. He was in no hurry like Joachim or Christopher, and decided to travel with the king and whoever was left over. He wanted to speak with Cyril at some point anyway, though now wasn't such a good time, he figured.
While the others around him prepared in various ways and differences for the journey ahead, Dalious simply leaned against the castle walls of the courtyard. He pulled out an apple and a small knife from his cloak, taking his time to eat as he patiently waited for orders. A young man was near to him, and was entirely focused on a kart filled with potions and other alchemy supplies.
"That is quite a lot to carry into battle," Dalious said, after finishing his apple and tossing the core away. He actually had no clue what measure of enemy they were trailing in Kyora, but if it was anything like what his image was painted as, a battle was ahead without doubt. He approached the cart and began taking a closer look at all of the supplies. "I mean, we are chasing something horrible. Eventually we will find it. This little alchemy lab will only slow you down, lag you behind. The big bad will probably kill you first. Not slowly either, I've seen what it can do to people. Ripping their flesh and limbs off, possibly for enjoyment rather than survival. Maybe saving the insides for its little monster children. Devine's hell." Dalious shook his head at the thought of it all. "Anyway, do you have any dragongrass?"
The gentleman that approached had a certain swagger to his walk that only a man of the sea could have. Not that Godfrey recognized it-- he'd never been off dry land in his life. He looked up from the small burner he'd temporarily set up, on top of which a small kettle steamed merrily. Beside it sat a cup, empty but for a small metallic cage with brown leaves inside.
"You make quite a strong first impression, sirrah," he said, nodding to the man. "I don't think I plan on finding myself in a fight, though... I'm no warrior. I'm here by the king's behest to act as an advisor and state alchemist, but I don't think those duties include taking up arms." He said this, but strapped tightly to the side of his cart was the plain, function-over-form rapier he used for settling personal disputes. "If you intend to charge into battle, I'm certain I can give you something that might help keep you safe or uninjured, though..." he added.
"Dragongrass, a mild anaesthetique with hallucinogenic and carcinogenic effects when ingested or inhaled. Native to temperate zones with acces to fresh water. Medically, it's useful for alleviating chronic pain. Alchemically, its compounds react well with certain reagents to bring out a stronger concentration of mind-affecting substances. When last I checked, the amount produced naturally outside of human cultivation had lessened alarmingly. Of course I've got a small stock of it," he said, with a sly grin.
The pirate nodded along with a slight confused look as the man explained pipe weed in grave detail, using big words he wasn't sure if he understood. He just squinted a bit and kept nodding. "Yeah, that's it. I'll take all you've got."
"Godfrey Hildebrand, erstwhile State Alchemist and forensic advisor to His Highness the King, at your service," said the boy, drawing back the cover on the cart and rummaging for a small parcel marked "Reagent 46-B." He set it on top of the cart, not handing it over directly just yet.
"Captain Dalious Durendail, furthest pirate from the sea," he replied with a half bow. "Loyal companion and friend to the king. He saved my life once, now I fight for him. Free of charge, as has been recently decided." Of which Alice had great influence with. "I've come to terms with myself. I realize, I enjoy killing. Our enemies, of course." He coughed. "So yes, I do intend to charge into battle. What have you got, mate?"
His eyes flashed. "You look like the type that enjoys a good rough-and-tumble. If you're fighting for the king, it's my duty to make sure you come out the other side as undamaged as possible. Hang on a second, I think I've got something you'll like." He turned, pouring the hot water from his kettle into the cup and tossing the now-empty vessel back into the cart before swiftly and deftly assembling a few apparati together.
Dalious watched on curiously, overlooking a few of the vials he kept. One in particular caught his eyes, with a label of a skull and crossbones on it. It reminded him of sailing the seas under a flag with a similar design. He decided to not speak of it for now.
It took Godfrey only a few minutes adding powders and liquids to tubes and vials, letting them rest over the burner fire until they vaporized or melted. He turned back, dusted his hands on his apron, and nodded. "I'm synthesizing a modified adrenal release solution with a muscle stimulant and a bit of... well, it's complicated, but the short of it is like this. You down this a few minutes before you get to fighting, and you should be able to process more information more quickly than normal, resulting in faster reaction times. It'll make the synapses in your brain work faster and more efficiently, and it'll also give you a boost in endurance and dull pain receptors. Most impressively," he said, and turned back to the bubbling glassware.
"...with the right applications, some people even say they can see a few seconds into the future when they make use of it." His back was to the pirate, but anyone could see the beaming pride coming from his face. "Let's see any magician do that in so little time."
"Impressive, if it works," Dalious replied. "Forgive me if I don't trust you right away, it takes a few more potions at least to earn my side. For all I know, you could even be a spy. Luckily, I have a solution to this." He grabbed another of Godfrey's cups and laid it down as if it were an empty shot glass. "You take it first, so that I know it is not poisoned. Then I will take it, mainly because it sounds absolutely amazing. If we die, then least I saved the king from your treachery, no offense. If it works, then I think we should be best friends. I will also protect you with my life, but only if she works." Dalious grabbed the cup and held it in front of Godfrey, expecting him to down his own blend with him. "Well, how 'bout it?"
His eye glinted. "You offend my honour, good sir! I've had it a few times, so my system is more accustomed to it. Do you want to give it a better wager, maybe?"
This gentleman was honest with his words, straightforward and entertaining, a far cry from the old women and injured folk he'd been dealing with of late. He grinned, and reached back for his rapier, taking the cup in his left hand and the sword in his right, buckling the scabbard tightly onto the blade to prevent cuts.
"To settle this grievous matter of honor, and to burn off the adrenaline because it will be unbearable without some kind of physical movement to circulate it through your bloodstream faster, I challenge you to a duel. First to 3 touches retains their honor, good sir!" He chuckled again. "I may not be a fighter, but I've been told I'm a decent duelist."
"I meant no offense, Sir Godfrey," Dalious replied, though he already started taking off his cloak and top. He stretched his muscles and rotated his arms, then cracked his neck. His bare chest and arms were covered in tattoos of map layouts, ship blueprints, a compass at his heart, and various other sea related tribals. "...but I never turn down a challenge! Decent duelist or elite warrior, it matters not. I will duel with you, but it has to be fair." Normally he was one for cheating, but in this case he viewed it as a friendly handicap. He kept his katana sheathed, making it similar to a bo staff.
Dalious then ripped a portion off of his cloak, wrapping it tightly around his eyes to blind his sight. It had been awhile since he honed these skills in particular, dating back to the arena when he fought for the king. What better time to get a practice session in then when you have a new enhancement potion.
"There, fair is fair," he said. He blindly reached over and snatched up one of the cups with the potion inside. "Cheers!" He downed the shot before remembering to wait for the alchemist to take it first. The effects almost hitting him instantly. Though his sight was blocked, he could feel things around him. The fluttering of a butterfly in the bushes, the yells of the soldiers training behind the thick castle walls, the whispers from those all around him. He kept turning his head at each sound, a smile wide on his face. It worked, it really worked!
He suddenly wanted to do push ups.
"It's good Godfrey, oh it's good," he muttered. "I'm sorry I doubted you, mate."
He watched the man blindfold himself, and sighed. Show-offs. The pirate downed his portion of the drink, and Godfrey could tell that the effects started to manifest quickly by the way his movements became smoother, quicker. With a sigh, he turned the bottom of his cup up, and let the solution flow into his mouth.
It would take a minute for it to work with his metabolism, because he'd used it a few times before. Nevertheless, he made a fist of his left hand and rested it on his back hip, bending both his knees a bit.
"I can sense everything! I've never felt quite-"
The pirate sure talked a lot. He took the opportunity to tap him in the center of the chest with a small extension and advance, making a solid but light contact. He stepped back, and then re-entered his en garde again. "That's one," he said, and grinned.
Dalious couldn't help but to smirk after he felt the tap on his chest. His mind did seem to wander a little too often when amongst safe company, allowing his new companion to score a point. He then lifted his blindfold for a moment to see the stance Godfrey was in. Putting the blindfold back on firmly, he prepared his own stance. He kept his left leg forward and slightly bent, while both hands held onto the katana's hilt parallel to his face. The sheathed sword was held high, his entire body aimed sideways.
"That's a fancy stance," Dalious said, slowly moving to the left in a circular motion. "Did you learn that in a castle?" Instead of waiting to parry like he normally would, he quickly strafed right and blindly gave out three light, yet solid, attacks. The first aimed toward Godfrey's left knee cap, the second twirled backward in a half circle to deflect anything and change the direction, while the third came back a half circle again and toward his head.
The weapon he used was heavier and blunter than a rapier-- Godfrey's first instinct to parry with the blade was rejected by the knowledge that his parry wouldn't do much against something with more mass and inertia than his thin foible, even with the leather scabbard around it. He opted to retreat backward a step, letting the weapon pass just barely in front of his leg, and watched as the second movement swung through where he was only moments before. When the third came for his head, be beat it upward with the basket of the rapier, a far more effective parry than any he could do with the blade, letting it whiz through the air above his head before stepping forward and dropping the end of his rapier onto the top of the pirate's foot.
The half-dose of the compound he'd taken was nice, made his eyes faster and his feet lighter, but without the full dose he was unlikely to be able to sense the movements his opponent would make before he made them. Full doses tend to cause hallucinations and dizziness if not burned out of metabolism, but a half-dose should be okay for just a little bit of a game like this one.
"That's two," he said, and smirked. "Not a castle, but my... family's manor house. Back in the day. After all, what gentleman doesn't settle his disagreements with elegant and rule-based tests of martial prowess? But you, sir, are unorthodox in your style..."
"...I've crossed blades with many on my travels. You either adapt, or die," Dalious replied. He took off the blindfold, tossing it aside. "Apparently ive misjudged you, attacking the foot is smart on an elusive opponent, like myself. I don't know if that would fare against our enemies, but regardless, I take it back. Perhaps you won't die so easily." As he spoke he knelt down to rub his foot that was just hit, secretly picking up a handful of dirt between the cracks of the courtyard stone flooring.
"Your enemies won't play a point game with you," he continued, now slowly walking around again in a circle. "So what if I step here?..." He turned in direction, noting Geoffrey change in stance. "Good. And here?"
A change again.
"Youre waiting for the counter attack, smart. Don't rely on it. Sometimes you need to be unorthodox."
Dalious changed his stance with nearly every step he took, from an ancient assassin approach, to a barbaric long sword stance, then to a water dance stature, somewhat resembling godfreys in elegance, though very different in tactic and attack. He lunged forward when he saw an opening, going for the same leg from a different angle. Except this time, he threw it as a fake, using his free hand to throw the dirt he had collected direct into Godfrey's face.
"Expect rules to be broken," he added, as he moved in to tap his opponent three times at his body, one after the other, very quickly. "Game!" He flipped his covered blade back down to become a walking stick again.
His eyes watered intensely, and he dropped the rapier, putting his hands up to his face. "Why you--!" he said, half-good-naturedly and half how-dare-you. Then, the three taps came in rapid succession, an action he should have expected the man to take. He felt mildly insulted, even as the compound's effects slowly faded.
"Fair is only fair until it is unfair. Kill first, feel bad about it later," he said. "...you okay, mate?" Dalious took it upon himself to grab a clear based vile from Godfrey's mobile kart, thinking it to be water. He opened it up and approached. "Sorry, that was a bit uncalled for wasn't it? Here, you need to cleanse." He attempted to pour the substance in Godfrey's already irritated eyes.
"I'm fine--" he began to say, when he heard the stopper of the bottle uncork. The faint but distinct scent of Lunar Caustic solution wafted into his nostrils, and he tensed his body up. "No, wai--"
The liquid splashed into his face, and he bit his lip so hard it bled. The slightly oily compound sunk into his skin slightly, invaded his eyes. Almost instantly, even as he cried out, the skin where the compound came in contact turned a silvery-grey, running in streaks and splatters down his face.
Godfrey sharply pushed the pirate away, and stumbled blindly for a second before sinking to his knees. "You fool! You absolute fool of a man, you... you...!" he growled, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve. "Lunar Caustic? You thought that was water? Imbecile!"
"That escalated very quickly! ...and your labels are quite confusing!" Dalious gave the man more room as he began to put his pale tunic and brown cloak back on.
It took Godfrey several seconds before he could force his eyes open-- they, too, were turned silvery-grey, matching the blotches of skin on his face. He swore, uttering epithets that his usual tongue could not, would not form. His vision was blurred, his eyes stung and watered, and all he could smell was the silver nitrate solution. The irregular coloring on his face and eyes was unsettling and stark, and the words that left his lips were uncharacteristic of him.
"...sorry," he managed through gritted teeth. "You didn't know, you were trying to help," he said, his vision clear enough now to stagger toward his cart to get some saline to actually wash his eyes.
"Apology accepted," Dalious replied. While Godfrey properly washed his eyes, the pirate took the time to load some dragongrass into his pipe. He took a few drags, the hits seemingly heightened from the potion still coursing within him. "Lets get down to brass tax here, what kind of poisons do you have?"
It was just an assumption. Perhaps it was the complete wrong time to ask, but truthfully all he wanted was something to add to his arsenal. The enemies of this world were far to dangerous to not be stocked up in everything and anything.
The alchemist looked back up at Dalious, his eyes and face silvery-grey and blotched.
"It's hardly noticeable," Dalious lied.
"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, and with a slightly indignant "humph," he pulled the canvas cover back over the cart, fastening it to the hooks along the wooden frame.
"I think our conversation has grown too long," he continued, without waiting for a response. "Surely you've things to do somewhere, and I certainly must continue preparing for the journey. Leastways, if you are going to use the reagent I gave you for recreational purposes, I'd ask you do it somewhere that will not contaminate my things with the odor." He rubbed his eyes again. "Good day to you, sir."
He gathered up the glassware he'd been using, and drained them into a metallic pail half-filled with dry sand. He made sure to make himself look very busy in cleaning them. Purposefully.
"Touch-y!" Dalious replied and gave a farewell nod. It was clear that he had outstayed his welcome with the newcomer of the group. Though he had more to ask, he respected the boy's request, waving away some of the smoke from his pipe as he turned to walk away. It was indeed going to be a long trip to Kyora.
The pirate walked a few steps further, again leaning against a castle wall and continuing to smoke his dragongrass. All of the others had departed already, and soon it would be time for the king to make journey. Hopefully sooner rather than later, as Dalious was now itching for some new scenery.
On the day Joachim met Yaguar once again and those with Christopher experienced an unrelenting tempest, the King and his Sentinels departed from the Capitol. With the size of the party, those involved, and what was being brought along the path ahead of them was the road, and just the road. There was no planned moment for departing the beaten path, no shortcuts in mind.
And so the evening of their first day of travel, and the second after the original departure of Joachim, the King and his party entered those border regions that created a fuzz in the map lines along the borders of the three largest nations. Though Kyora was certainly the most successful, independent, and long last city-state, it wasn't the only one, and there were fiefdoms and small lordships as well. Most appeared for, at best, years at a time before being eaten by another upsurging nation, or simply collapsing under its own weight.
To those who had lived in the larger nations for most of their lives, these border regions were strange, the people anything from shifty and inconsistent to overeager cutthroats. Though there were a fair few "clear paths" where one would not have to pass through a border region going from Barcea to H'kela, for example, Kyora was surrounded by these smaller, ambitious gatherings. There would be no avoiding them.
Around two weeks ago, Cyril had known this particular region to be called Fiel, but that didn't matter in the present. For all any of them knew Fiel had collapsed days before (or the day of, for that matter), but it seemed that those of the one and only village the group came across held no major dedication towards that banner. That was how it went for most of the villages within these border reasons; whoever they paid tribute to changed so often that regular citizens simply rolled with the punches.
And yet those in this village were... unique, in a word. Calypso-like smiles were everywhere, and the woman seemed to be perfectly at home. For everyone else though, there was a heavy, uncomfortable air that bordered on the unnatural. And these were only those that they could see as well, more than once a Sentinel noticed a sudden shade drawn, or a door suddenly close.
No, something was very, very wrong here.
"We should have camped elsewhere."
"We would have to come through here at some point anyway, Alasa."
"Better tomorrow, with us completely rested rather than with the sun falling on us."
"Relax. They haven't done anything yet. We haven't done anything yet."
"Even you're saying yet right now."
Cyril sighed, nodding as well. Though he had been given no reason to feel such a way other than the strangeness of the village, he too felt a pressure building in his chest. It would be time to act soon, he could feel it, despite the waving of the nearby men and women with their polite, consistent smiles. At least Calypso seemed happy, he saw with a glance over his shoulder; Sampson, on the other hand, seemed utterly nervous, Gortul was uncomfortable and made it clear, and Diane looked around with utter disdain.
"Alright, alright." The King's fist went up then, bringing the train to a halt. They were near what seemed to be a storefront, but the windows were strangely empty, and they could see the shelves within matched. Deciding that here was as good as any place, he looked over his shoulder once again, calling out, "Sir Argentum, Master Dubois, do you mind grabbing us some supplies? Some extra tinder will be especially helpful tonight."
"By your command, King Serio." The Paladin was the one who spoke, dismounting even as the Direwolf was silently stepping through the door already. On his massive steed Kisarin went forwards a little, so that he could come to a step next to Cyril.
"Any particular reason why?"
"They're the best two at carrying out this task."
As a murmur passed down the Barcean line to prepare everyone for what was to come, within the store things remained quiet. The party was able to watch Alsius as he stepped towards the counter with just a tinderbox. Dubois, on the other hand, took his time, picking up some food, a bag, and rope as well, settling it down on the counter. Once again, he spoke:
"Quite a big village you have here, sir. Full of life."
"Indeed!" The man behind the counter smiled just like everyone else did, and watched as the Paladin set down coins that seemed tiny compared to his hands. "Plenty of newcomers, all the time. We're steadily growing."
"Ah, that's good to hear. It's always good to see small places flourish. Though, I can't help but ask..." The Paladin's glasses glinted as he tilted his head. "Where might be all the little tykes?"
The man hesitated, his smile faltered, and he moved. He attempted to reach for something under the counter, but the Paladin reached more quickly for his head. Grabbing him by the face, with a frighteningly easy sort of movement he brought his hand down, twisting the man's body around in the process; as his limbs flailed about with the spin, his head met counter, and his skull shattered and flesh ruptured.
From the back room, over the counter the woman who was in the building leaped, and in her hand was a blade. Across the Paladin's throat she swung it with her jump, slicing it open and forcing his head back and blood gushed upwards, but she continued rushing forwards towards the Direwolf. As she did so she screamed, a war cry that shook the windows-
The Direwolf's blade silently stabbed through her throat, the man yanking away as her body twitched and then fell.
The massive form of the Paladin staggered, before he began to turn, hand coming up to gently touch at the rapidly healing split in his own throat. "Well, that's two of them."
And, outside, the situation erupted into chaos. The King was the first to draw his blade, doing so as soon as the Paladin had begun to slam the man's head into the counter, but even as the rest of the Sentinels followed suit those people who stood in the streets did the same, drawing daggers and the like from sleeves, boots, and waists. Suddenly, doors slammed open as those who had been waiting and preparing within emerged with swords, shields, axes, spears, and bows prepared to use them-
But the King beat them to the punch, swinging the Gift forwards, shouting, "Take them all down!"
The ground rumbled as Kisarin hit the ground with both feet, the massive horse that carried him rearing behind him. He brought his blade from around his back, swinging the massive weapon down and forwards; the shield of the unfortunate soul who was closest to him split, and that was quickly followed by the body.
Arrows flew from Alasa, nearly two at a time, even as Gortul threw himself from his horse and used his axe as more of a blunt instrument to crush two attackers to the ground at once. Remaining on his horse, Sampson swung back and forth, definitely using his shield to ward off arrows and blows from both himself and his horse; from behind him, every so often a wooden staff flashed down, Diane clobbering someone senseless suddenly as she remained close.
And then there was Calypso. Though the smiles of those in the village were replaced by looks of surprisingly murderous intent, hers had not faded in the slightest. She had slipped into the thick of the rapidly swelling battle, disappearing from sight briefly- and then suddenly those archers that appeared on the rooftops up above reeled and swung about to try and face her entire as she stepped from one roof to the next, wires flashing all about her and sending smoothly carved chunks flying every which way.
All through the initial leave of the castle Stark had chattered incessantly to Godfrey about the various members of whom he would meet later. This would be, of course, after asking him what in the Divine’s happened when she had come into contact with him again only to find that his face was botched in a silver color akin to her own hair color.
When she had questioned him he had answered with something along the lines of, “Chemical... accident. Someone played with a chemical without knowing what it was, and I now bear the brunt of it. I'm fine, it's just ugly and annoying." Stark had, less than obviously, stared at the blotches on his face periodically as worry lingered in the back of her mind.
While she had the habit of talking quickly and with perhaps a few too many words at a time, Godfrey wasn’t unfamiliar with the way she communicated. The women in the town near his shop were always looking for someone to share gossip with, even if it was the person from whom they were in the process of buying personal medicines. Still, having someone like Stark, who knew everyone and had information on everything, around would probably be a good asset.
“I just hope that in the future, people don’t just randomly pick up the first compound available and expect it to be water. I’m a chemist, Divines’ sake, I have some pretty rough stuff in this cart,” he said, tapping the side of the cart with his hand.
Stark listened as she eyes the various items in the cart from her position on the horse. “Do you practice safety measures and label everything?” The question was simple enough as they continued on their way from the castle and towards Kyora.
“It’s labeled ‘LC 3,’ which is pretty clear if you ask me,” he said, a bit embarrassed. “LC 3, for Lunar Caustic three-tenths concentrate. Used for electroplating, mostly, but can be diluted to a smaller concentration to help-- oh, well, whatever. The point is that nobody else ever needed to know what the things meant, and they made sense to me. This whole state-alchemist thing is still really strange for me. I’m used to working by myself,” he explained.
“It wasn’t his fault, certainly, but that damnable seaman should know better than to play with bottles belonging to the man who just brewed him a chemical concoction.” He crossed his arms, humph-ed.
Stark nodded and listened as Godfrey spoke about the incident in a bit more detail. “Well perhaps he should have asked ahead of time what he was grabbing but not all of us here are trained in alchemy like you are, Ser. Ser Dalious was likely just trying to help….even if he isn’t the greatest to help in that kind of situation.” Stark couldn’t help but giggle at the notion. “At least he didn’t give you anything that could have caused you to burn into flames or each away your flesh, right?” She tried to offer a silver lining to the situation. “If you need help labeling things I can assist-I’ve been told my handwriting is very neat!” Stark was clearly proud of that fact about herself.
“I’m not very good with identifying chemicals though so I’d likely ask you a million questions on how to properly spell things or to double check...but I’m willing to help~!”
Godfrey’s sigh resounded. “Thank probability for that, I suppose.” He shrugged. “When we set down somewhere, I can show you some of the things I have, if you’d like. I suppose I’d appreciate the help, if I’m going to need to re-label all my things to combat the possibility of noxious tea-water or something.” He was clearly just ever-so-slightly bitter.
“So, can you tell me any more about the new King? I’m a product of the previous administration, and I’m not really familiar with what His Highness stands for. I’ve heard people call him by his first name several times-- isn’t that strange to anyone else?”
Stark couldn’t help but laugh as she glanced ahead at Cyril in the front of the traveling party, “His Highness is called Cyril-he’s the newest King of Barcea and the leader of the group you’re currently traveling in. They’re called The Sentinels. There are several in the party that are contracted into the party, myself included, to help him as he sees fit. He’s very kind, if just a bit quiet, and is a ferocious fighter. He isn’t very much so into the whole ‘King’ title thing-I think it makes him uncomfortable.”
Stark began to give short bursts of information about the rest in their current party. “The grumpy archer is Alasa. He’s quiet but boy does he have some snappy lines from time to time. The big one there is Sampson- he eats. ALOT. Gortul is another sentinel and he is very loud and very strong but his speech pattern takes a little bit of getting used to. The woman right there is Lady Diane-she’s a healer. She’s very nice when I go to see her, even if she scolds me, and may come off as intimidating but she’s amazing at what she does. You’ll see her in combat soon.” Stark h’m a moment before going on.
“You already know Sir Dalious, he was once the captain of a pirate ship. He talks about it from time to time but I think it makes him sad so I try not to ask. He drinks alot and flirts with Miss Leo- Alice...and just about anyone else he can find. The white haired woman who smiles more often than not is Miss Calypso. She’s a bit quiet as well but she’s lovely. She has these wires she fights with and just-oh~.” Stark gushed just a bit before remembering herself, “ Chief Kisarin is an ally of Barcea and His Highness and his here with us about his sister…. I haven’t had a much time to spend with him but before recent events.” Stark grew quiet once more before coughing into her hand, “Ahem, anyways. The gentlemen with the red hair is Ser Alsuis Argentum.”
She leaned closer towards Godfrey, “Ten out of ten don’t engage. He’s an amazing fighter but he’s scary and a little mean.” She prayed she had whispered quiet enough for him not to have heard her before speaking again. “The gentlemen with the glasses is Mister Dubois. He’s also teaching me right now about everything-mostly the Divines. If you ever have any questions he’s the one to go to~! Oh, and he’s also the mentor to Christopher-he’s a little older than me and he punches stuff. He’s mean sometimes too but I think he’s just-” She paused as the air around them all shifted.
Stark’s pupils thinned as her head observed the odd village and the very off people. The gooseflesh on her arms rising as she spoke quietly to Godfrey, “Stay close.” It was a clear warning as their train stopped and Cyril called for the last two men Stark spoke of to go and get supplies-the whispers of potential combat making their way to her and Godfrey’s position towards the end of the train.
The water mage seemed to bristle just moments before several of the villagers burst forth and began to attack them.
He’d been listening intently, trying to make notes of who was whom, with whom he’d already interacted, and who to watch later on, when suddenly he, too, felt the atmosphere change a little, very subtly. As if they had been preparing for the party to arrive, the villagers seemed to appear from every corner and shadow, brandishing their weapons-- however crude-- and with very visible and easy-to-understand intent to harm them.
He’d felt that shift before-- the air of an unfair fight. He pressed himself back against the cart, his hand closing deftly around the hilt of the rapier secured to its side. Multiple assailants were not his strong suit, at all. With a quick burst of thought, he drew the weapon out and, in the same step, sidled his back up against Stark’s. Better to have someone you trust behind, than to have nothing to help.
“What on earth is happening?” he called back to Stark. “Did we come into enemy territory so quickly?”
Stark was off her horse in a flash, pushing her back to Godfrey’s with a frown, “I’m not sure but they aren’t that happy to see us!” She explained as she opened up one of her water skin’s up and sent a torrent of water towards a villager who was coming at her with an axe. “Do you know how to fight with that thing?” She asked as she looked over her shoulder in a quick glance.
“One person at a time, maybe, but this kind of thing isn’t exactly my cup of tea--” he said, and used the basket of his rapier to beat away a swing from a gnarly man with a sickle. The curved blade whizzed, inches away from his elbow, and he tensed for a moment. When was the last time he’d been in an actual fight? He shook his head, focused on keeping all applicable assailants in his field of vision.
“I forgot you were a magician,” he said back over his shoulder, flicking the rapier to the inside of the sickle-man’s arm, where the tip grazed the inside of his wrist, biting through the skin to sever tendons. The sickle clattered to the ground, and Godfrey put his heel on top of the flat of the blade, using his other knee to drive up into the man’s solar plexus and push him away. Keep the ground by your feet clear-- nothing is worse in a fight than not having ample foot room.
What caused these people to outright attack them? The village looked decently peaceful only moments before. Was it some sorcery? An elaborate-- perhaps too elaborate-- ruse? He wondered frantically as the next opponent closed in. His heart beat hard, pushed rich, wet, red blood through his veins.
“A magician. Yeah, sure! Let’s-” Stark gave a grunt as she sent a larger stronger torrent of water at more on coming enemies to knock them off of their feet and drop their weapons. “-Go with that.” She finished as the blue spell circle at her feet brightened just a bit before a slight chill came over the immediate area around Stark as the floating water around her turned to ice before shooting forth and spearing several of the individuals into the ground and buildings behind them.
Momentarily, his breath came out as a puff of mist. He looked back just in time to see the water in the air freeze, and eviscerate a small group of villagers.
“Divines, Stark, do we have to turn them into jam?” he said, and covered his mouth with his left hand. He turned back just in time to parry, riposte, and disable the shoulder joint of, the next attacker, the first one he’d seen with an actual weapon. The assailant’s sword clattered to the ground, and Godfrey brought his basket hard into the side of his face.
In doing so, though, he stepped away from Stark momentarily-- and just enough to catch a club’s blow to the shin. He swore, and dropped to one knee, just barely missing another blow. His eyes locked with a man with a long farmer’s scythe, whose reach he could not beat. The man began to wind his swing up.
Something that heavy and sharp would cut his rapier, basket and all, right in half.
“Stark--!”
Stark had been busy keeping enemies at a distance and away from the cart that when Godfrey moved back from her she shutter stepped back before turning at the call of her name. She acted instinctively as she followed the rotation of her body and thrust her right hand forward towards the scythe using man’s face.
He took steps back as a sphere of water engulfed his head-sufficiently cutting off his access to oxygen and his grip on his scythe. Stark, all within a few second, growled before she closed ehr fist and the water seemed to disappear into the man’s body before he fell to his knees shaking and clawing at his throat before falling back-drowned while completely dry.
“Are you alright?” Stark asked as she dropped to a knee ready to help him stand.
He grabbed her hand with his left hand, and pulled himself up to his feet strongly, using that momentum to put his point between the ribs of another assailant. “I owe you one,” he said, pulling back out of the man’s lung. He stumbled, limped a bit, but his bone wasn’t broken.
“I’m glad I’m on your side,” he said lowly. The crowd of assailants seemed to be thinning, thankfully, but there were still threats to deal with. Even so, his mind wandered to the scientific…
What would happen if Stark encountered a desiccant? Could she steal the water from a compound, thus multiplying its concentration? Does her ability extend only to water, or could she use any fluid?
From the outside, it looked like he’d fallen sullenly silent, and his movements became just slightly more mechanical, more efficient. Parry with the basket, rap the foible against the offender’s arm, disable the muscles by severing, move to the next opponent.
Stark snorted at his comment of being on her side, “Just wait til you meet everyone else. You’ll be happy you’re in this group!” The latter of the sentence was exclaimed as she leaned to the side to avoid an arrow that lodged itself into the side of the cart before she sent a volley of ice spears towards the arrows origin.
Even with the enemies thinning Stark was getting more and more irritated as it turned into something of target practice of ice spears flying towards the enemies. She would be far more creative with her use of the ice but her time training with ice had been limited so she may as well work with what she was given.
It wasn’t a long fight-- they rarely were-- before the surrounding area was littered with the injured, dead, and decimated. Godfrey panted, leaned back on his cart, hung his naked blade on the arrow that still stuck out the side of it.
“Well, colleagues,” he said, and dusted himself off, rolling up his trouser leg to see the injury, “what in the names of the Divines was this?” Tenderly, he prodded at the already-deep-purple wound, and winced.
Godfrey was not a fighter, and it showed in his lack of stamina.
“That would be called a regular day for this lot.” Stark cooly said as she narrowed her eyes to the surrounding area-looking for other potential enemies. “How is your leg? Can you walk? Is it broken?” Clearly the girl was concerned-if not overly so about their newest member.
He grinned, motioned toward the large bruise. “So long as it does not turn into a lesion, I should be fine. I’ll wrap it up. That guy with the scythe, though-- thanks for your help, there. If I’d have been cut, it would be a pretty different story, though. This is why I don’t really do fighting or adventuring-- I’m so much more likely to get cut and bleed to death out here than in my shop.”
A poultice of fermented willow bark would help with the bruising. He grumbled to himself, looked at Stark. “Are you okay?” he asked back. She was cute, he decided.
Cute, if terrifying.
Stark tilted her head at Godfrey when he asked about her, “What?” It took her a moment to realize he was asking about her well being. “Oh, no, I’m fine! Um, why don’t you go see Lady Diane? She fixes me up really nice after fights.” She danced around her words carefully but subtly enough to not draw any attention. “You’re sure you’re alright?”
“I’ll be fine without any magic, thanks,” he said, and fiddled with some of the things in his cart. “Magical healing isn’t something the human body should be afflicted by too often, and I try to keep it out of my system as much as possible.” His distaste was evident, but not offensive-- not yet, at least.
“Are we going to treat the wounded here?” he said, not bothering to wait for the answer before, a small box of supplies in his arms, he hobbled slightly toward a nearby wounded man.
By the time they had reached the village, Dalious had finished carving the Barcea sigil onto the breast plate of his new armor. He put the final piece on as he rode along on horseback, showing off the final product to Gortul. The armor he wore was from the thieves guild, hardened brown leather with numerous pockets and pouches along the waist and chest. He was able to carry a lot more and be quicker, though the damage resistance wasn't very high.
Reaching at the hip to grab his canteen of rum, he opened the cap and hesitated. 'How could she know?' he thought. He assured himself that she couldn't, then took a few long swigs of the alcohol. Still even, he hid the canteen from the others simply out of paranoia.
With the odd air and the creepy smiles on the villagers faces, he quickly found himself feeling uncomfortable. He put his hood on and kept his sight focused ahead, not wanting to accidentally insult one of these people. These days, a single wrong glare to the wrong person could lead to a death match.
As Sir Argentum and Master Dubois entered the shop for supplies, the pirate separated himself from the group. He walked uphill and out of sight, though still within shouting distance. This place felt eerie and dangerous, but then again so did a great many other places they had visited before. Dalious shrugged off the feeling, walking far enough away as to not bother any of his companions with his smoke. Lighting up some of his dragongrass, he noticed peripherally that he was being watched by the villagers, though they avoided eye contact when he looked to them. He took a few more puffs from his pipe as they slowly started to surround him in the yard he was in.
Upon Cyril's order, the silent place erupted in noise and chaos. He heard the others fighting before those villagers around him charged in, their faces crazed and seemingly filled with absolute rage. Or was it all just some dark magic? It didn't matter, Dalious quickly found himself encircled by four of them.
The closest ran in with a machete raised. Dalious took another hit from his pipe weed, pulling out his blunderbuss quickly with his free hand and firing the man's face off. His head exploded in a fountain of blood that sprayed over the others, though it did not stop them in their attack. Holstering the blunderbuss again, he back pedaled and dodged away from a few swings from their weapons. He moved so quickly, that his wounded leg shot a bolt of pain up through his spine. He winced from it and was startled momentarily, though it was enough time for one of the villagers to grab a hold of him. A kitchen knife came for his heart, but he grabbed the attacker's wrist just in time. Dalious pulled hard and fell backward, using his feet to kick the man up and over him, sending him rolling down the hill.
"I'm in no mood for this!" Dalious yelled, agitated now. He unsheathed his blade as the next two were quickly near him. One swung, the other stabbed. Dalious ducked and then parried, using the second of momentum to slice through both men with a single precise strike. Their blood and guts showered over his brand new armor and he grew even angrier. "Dammit!!" He pulled his bow around to his front and fired an arrow into the forehead of the other villager.
Dalious walked over to the others, seeing that the fight was seemingly short had. It was no surprise that the group held out strong, but what was surprising was that Ser Godfrey was still amongst the living. Dalious joined them, taking another quick swig of his booze first.
"Good to see you're still kicking," Dalious said to the alchemist, though his look and focus was more so on Cyril and his next command. He walked past, giving Stark a friendly tap on her shoulder as he made his way back to the king. He looked at Alsius and jokingly stated, "...something you said? You're not very good with people, you know..."
It was the first battle that the King had been in since ascending to the throne, and in it there was a major difference he had not been expecting: his weapon was the only one that did not see use. He had it drawn, more than prepared, and yet before anyone could reach him the Sentinels had surged around him, striking down those attacking with ease. In a matter of moments it was all over, something the King was used to; he was not used to not taking part.
He almost didn't believe it, and those moments immediately following the battle passed in a sort of confused haze. It was only Sampson, who was the first to speak to him, that brought him back.
"Cyril? Cyril...? Cyril!"
He blinked, quickly shaking his head and looking over to the side. There Sampson was upon his horse, concern on his face.
"Yes, yes? I'm sorry, I was thinking. What is it?"
"Are we going to treat the wounded?"
"Yes, yes of course-"
"I'd advise you to think again, your Highness." The Direwolf spoke only after giving a slight roll of his eyes towards Dalious, before turning back to his liege. He held his arm to the side for a brief moment, before suddenly twisting and swinging the blade he held around; the red of the collected blood and bits of gore separated from the blade, splattering up the nearby wall and leaving the blade a pure, spotless silver. "Interrogate them first, before you put any of them in the condition to move once again. We may have a problem here."
Before the King could ask why, a hand came down gently on Godfrey's shoulder. It belonged to the Divine Paladin, who had stopped him softly but firmly, giving a slight shake of his head before he began to step past, towards the man that the chemist had been originally heading towards. "The Direwolf is right, King Serio. I believe I've seen this a few times before, a few years ago; if I'm right, there's nothing we can do for them. But if I'm wrong, then perhaps we can led them our aid."
By that point he had reached the man, who was weakly stirring. Down the Paladin's hand went, and in that moment Damon's hand was none too gentle when he grabbed the wounded man by the ankle, and began to drag him along towards the door of shop the encounter had originally started in; the man began to struggle more, trying to get away. "Just give me a few minutes with this man, and I'll have ye an answer."
The King didn't respond, only watching as the Paladin dragged the man into the shop, and then through the door into the back room, returning to make sure to shut it gently behind him. Still for a moment, Cyril soon dropped from his horse, beginning to walk towards the shop and only stopping when Alsius stood in his path, looking down to the King.
"Are you absolutely certain?"
"It doesn't matter if I am or not. If this is being done in my name, then I better be there."
"That's one way to look at it." The Direwolf stepped to the side, remaining next to the door to the outside as the King passed on through.
Briefly, a scream leaked through the door on the inside as the King stepped through, but it was cut out soon after the door shut.
Inside, the Paladin had already gotten well into his work, so far that Cyril couldn't help but balk slightly as bile rose from the pit of his stomach. At first glance, it seemed like the man that had been dragged in was standing next to the wall, but in reality it wasn't anything so merciful. In the lower middle of his shins two nails had been driven through into the wall behind them, and up above one arm was bent down and around slightly, towards the man's back and then pinned by a nail through the wrist; the scream had been due to fourth nail being driven through the other arm, bludgeoned home by the Paladin's black hammer. The man began to weep afterwards.
The sound of the door closing brought a pause over the Paladin, and with his brow furrowed Damon turned to see that it was the King. Briefly his eyebrows rose up from behind his glasses, and the emotion that came over him didn't belong; the Paladin was embarrassed.
"Ah, King Serio. Ye do not need to be here. This is nasty business, and I am not as skilled as some of those I know. But we need not the skill of the Brilliant Horror here, so please, depart if ye will-"
"Why are you doing this?"
For a moment, the Paladin was silent, and then he looked back to the sobbing man. He sighed, and then to the man said, "Go on, sing yer praises while ye can."
Immediately, a change came over the man. The sobbing cut off suddenly as his eyes flew open. In horror Cyril watched as the man twisted back and forth, struggling against restraints driven through bone, the grinding audible even from the distance. And then the man began to speak in a fervor, practically chanting, "Oh, great Lord Yaguar, come save your humble servant! The enemy is at the gates, and they torture your poor subjects." As he went on he began louder and louder, and the King's eyes widened when, suddenly, the man's body began to steam. It started at the nails, them beginning to glow red hot before the heat spread over his body, flesh cooking as the man began to practically scream, "HEAR MY CRIES, LORD YAGUAR, PLEASE SAVE THOSE WHO LOVE YOUR FIRE-"
And suddenly it all stopped after the Paladin swung with the white hammer. The blow was clearly held back as the man's skull didn't simply shatter, but blood still flew when the side of the man's head was clobbered. He instantly went quiet, going limp and hanging by the nails. Slowly, the Paladin looked towards the King.
"I can barely believe it myself, but what ye are looking at is a Remade person. A man whose soul has been shattered and the pieces cobbled together into a warped picture of loyalty. It is as if a God King or Queen did it themselves."
The King slowly lowered the hand he held over his mouth, gaze still upon the now mercifully unconscious man. Only after the silence had stretched on for several seconds did he find his voice once again with, "Remade? But how...?"
"Ye heard it yerself just now. Somehow, Yaguar is able to Remake others."
"What can we do? Is there anything we can do?"
"At the moment, nothing." Slowly, the Paladin began to bring up the black hammer once more. "The Direwolf is going to advise ye to kill them all, and for the sake of safety I would advise the same. But-"
Cyril's hand shot out, him shaking his head in one harsh movement. "No! Unacceptable!"
The Paladin's hand lowered the hammer. "I had a feeling ye might save that. In that case, the best thing we can do is ride now, without looking back, without assisting any of them. If we are to help them, then they will simply stab us as soon as they can. They cannot help themselves, and are beyond reason. Some will die, almost certainly, but..."
"Say it."
"If we are quick enough, those that survive will be freed with the death of Yaguar. Again some will die then, or be driven to madness, but some may yet survive."
For a moment, the King was silent. When he again spoke, it was quietly. "Take him down, remove the nails if it's safe to do so. We ride now." The Paladin bowed his head even as Cyril turned, leaving him and the man behind as he went out the door.
He didn't say anything as he passed Alsius, but when Diane intercepted him, demanding that the healing begin, he only said, "We ride now."
"What? Have you gone mad? We need to get started now or-" As her voice rose in indignation, her hand had gone forwards to grip him by the wrist and stop him; she yelped slightly when he snapped his hand away and whirled towards her.
"We ride. Now!" He didn't say anything else, instead just turning to pull himself up on his horse. Her eyes wide, mouth open in a little 'o' of both shock and anger, Diane looked over as the Paladin emerged from shop without the man in tow... and before anyone could react she stepped past the much larger man, into the shop and then the room.
Cyril just closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable to come. He flinched only slightly at the shriek.
Like some sort of harpy Diane emerged from the room, her eyes even wider and her nostrils flaring with rage. Her gaze found the Paladin who stood there, waiting, and she brandished her staff as she almost seemed to fly forwards along the ground, another shriek leaving her:
"You MONSTER!"
She began to swing with reckless abandon, but the Paladin did not retaliate. The most he did was turn away from her slightly, bringing up his hands to catch the blows, but it continued on until Alasa came in from the side. He didn't do something so simple as try to try and catch her arms, or hold her back- no, he ran towards her and leaped, tackling her to the ground. Down there they struggled in the dirt and mud, before finally Alasa got her arms behind her and held her there-
"Let me GO-"
"Calm down, Diane, for the love of the Divines! We don't have time for this!"
"You didn't see what he DID-"
The struggle continued, to the point that both Sampson and Gortul both had to get involved. All the while, the Direwolf had moved slightly from his position next to the door, to standing in front of it as he watched the scuffle, eyebrow raised ever slightly when, finally, Diane had ceased her attempts at yanking herself away from three other Sentinels at once. The King, meanwhile, slowly looked away, before repeating his order:
"Mount up! We can't stay here any longer!"
The water mage gave a snort when Dalious addressed Godfrey on the matter of still being alive. Somewhere in the back of her mind she mumbled about not letting their token alchemist die that easily but the thought was stopped quickly as the scenario changed rather quickly.
Stark simply observed as her teacher grabbed the man by the ankle and took him into the store. She had a feeling she knew what about to happen, Cyril entering and the screaming leaking out making it clear she was right. The young woman moved to Godfrey's side with a small smile, "He is right. Come on Ser Godfrey." Stark quietly said as she moved to the back of the line where the cart and her horse still waited.
Her hand gently touched the muzzle of the beast as they waited a moment or five longer. Her stomach twisted as Diane was more than eager to heal the people they had not all out decimated. She couldn't help but down cast her eyes- closing them as Diane screamed at them.
She didn't need to be told twice to mount up-gripping the reins tight before casting a look to Godfrey with a nod as she waited for him to mount up and get moving.
Everything happened quickly. He'd watched the Paladin drag the man, heard the torturous sounds, had seen Diane storm out, had heard the orders to leave. He wasn't really one to follow orders, but the urgency with which Cyril had spat those last words impressed upon him the sense that there was something wrong-- more wrong than he'd thought. He swung himself up onto his horse, kicked with his heels lightly.
After a short, awkward, and tense silence, Godfrey straightened his collar, dusted off his breeches. "Are we going to talk about what just happened there? Why we left the wounded behind and fled like something else was coming? Why the villagers, without provocation, besieged us? Why we didn't even take time to make sure that our party was uninjured before leaving?" He looked down at his shin, imagined the bruise that was darkening.
He could not shake the feeling that he'd made a mistake, getting in with this group.
It was hard for Dalious to watch the sentinels take to Diane, even though he followed the king's commands, he still saw her point. As Alasa and the others calmed her down through physicality, he couldn't help but cringe to himself. He ignored all around him, mounting his horse next to obey the order to move out.
He trailed behind Godfrey and Stark, hearing the questions and confusion pour from his mouth. He sympathized with his feelings, but he tried to stay as professional as possible about the subject matter.
"Best to just, move along," the pirate told him. "Save your energy for what comes next. It will probably get much worse, by the end of all things."
The squabble down in the muck finally came to a close, Sampson and Gortul being the first the stand before up Alasa went, standing with Diane. The latter two were practically covered in filth, and for a second they stood there, all together, before the archer slowly released the healer and the woman went to her horse without a word. As the other Sentinels prepared, the archer yanked himself up onto his own horse, one that he quickly brought to the King's side.
"What the hell is going on here?"
For a moment Cyril didn't say anything, and then even as he tugged the reins he quietly said, "They've been Remade. All of them."
Alasa swore loudly.
While the others around him prepared in various ways and differences for the journey ahead, Dalious simply leaned against the castle walls of the courtyard. He pulled out an apple and a small knife from his cloak, taking his time to eat as he patiently waited for orders. A young man was near to him, and was entirely focused on a kart filled with potions and other alchemy supplies.
"That is quite a lot to carry into battle," Dalious said, after finishing his apple and tossing the core away. He actually had no clue what measure of enemy they were trailing in Kyora, but if it was anything like what his image was painted as, a battle was ahead without doubt. He approached the cart and began taking a closer look at all of the supplies. "I mean, we are chasing something horrible. Eventually we will find it. This little alchemy lab will only slow you down, lag you behind. The big bad will probably kill you first. Not slowly either, I've seen what it can do to people. Ripping their flesh and limbs off, possibly for enjoyment rather than survival. Maybe saving the insides for its little monster children. Devine's hell." Dalious shook his head at the thought of it all. "Anyway, do you have any dragongrass?"
The gentleman that approached had a certain swagger to his walk that only a man of the sea could have. Not that Godfrey recognized it-- he'd never been off dry land in his life. He looked up from the small burner he'd temporarily set up, on top of which a small kettle steamed merrily. Beside it sat a cup, empty but for a small metallic cage with brown leaves inside.
"You make quite a strong first impression, sirrah," he said, nodding to the man. "I don't think I plan on finding myself in a fight, though... I'm no warrior. I'm here by the king's behest to act as an advisor and state alchemist, but I don't think those duties include taking up arms." He said this, but strapped tightly to the side of his cart was the plain, function-over-form rapier he used for settling personal disputes. "If you intend to charge into battle, I'm certain I can give you something that might help keep you safe or uninjured, though..." he added.
"Dragongrass, a mild anaesthetique with hallucinogenic and carcinogenic effects when ingested or inhaled. Native to temperate zones with acces to fresh water. Medically, it's useful for alleviating chronic pain. Alchemically, its compounds react well with certain reagents to bring out a stronger concentration of mind-affecting substances. When last I checked, the amount produced naturally outside of human cultivation had lessened alarmingly. Of course I've got a small stock of it," he said, with a sly grin.
The pirate nodded along with a slight confused look as the man explained pipe weed in grave detail, using big words he wasn't sure if he understood. He just squinted a bit and kept nodding. "Yeah, that's it. I'll take all you've got."
"Godfrey Hildebrand, erstwhile State Alchemist and forensic advisor to His Highness the King, at your service," said the boy, drawing back the cover on the cart and rummaging for a small parcel marked "Reagent 46-B." He set it on top of the cart, not handing it over directly just yet.
"Captain Dalious Durendail, furthest pirate from the sea," he replied with a half bow. "Loyal companion and friend to the king. He saved my life once, now I fight for him. Free of charge, as has been recently decided." Of which Alice had great influence with. "I've come to terms with myself. I realize, I enjoy killing. Our enemies, of course." He coughed. "So yes, I do intend to charge into battle. What have you got, mate?"
His eyes flashed. "You look like the type that enjoys a good rough-and-tumble. If you're fighting for the king, it's my duty to make sure you come out the other side as undamaged as possible. Hang on a second, I think I've got something you'll like." He turned, pouring the hot water from his kettle into the cup and tossing the now-empty vessel back into the cart before swiftly and deftly assembling a few apparati together.
Dalious watched on curiously, overlooking a few of the vials he kept. One in particular caught his eyes, with a label of a skull and crossbones on it. It reminded him of sailing the seas under a flag with a similar design. He decided to not speak of it for now.
It took Godfrey only a few minutes adding powders and liquids to tubes and vials, letting them rest over the burner fire until they vaporized or melted. He turned back, dusted his hands on his apron, and nodded. "I'm synthesizing a modified adrenal release solution with a muscle stimulant and a bit of... well, it's complicated, but the short of it is like this. You down this a few minutes before you get to fighting, and you should be able to process more information more quickly than normal, resulting in faster reaction times. It'll make the synapses in your brain work faster and more efficiently, and it'll also give you a boost in endurance and dull pain receptors. Most impressively," he said, and turned back to the bubbling glassware.
"...with the right applications, some people even say they can see a few seconds into the future when they make use of it." His back was to the pirate, but anyone could see the beaming pride coming from his face. "Let's see any magician do that in so little time."
"Impressive, if it works," Dalious replied. "Forgive me if I don't trust you right away, it takes a few more potions at least to earn my side. For all I know, you could even be a spy. Luckily, I have a solution to this." He grabbed another of Godfrey's cups and laid it down as if it were an empty shot glass. "You take it first, so that I know it is not poisoned. Then I will take it, mainly because it sounds absolutely amazing. If we die, then least I saved the king from your treachery, no offense. If it works, then I think we should be best friends. I will also protect you with my life, but only if she works." Dalious grabbed the cup and held it in front of Godfrey, expecting him to down his own blend with him. "Well, how 'bout it?"
His eye glinted. "You offend my honour, good sir! I've had it a few times, so my system is more accustomed to it. Do you want to give it a better wager, maybe?"
This gentleman was honest with his words, straightforward and entertaining, a far cry from the old women and injured folk he'd been dealing with of late. He grinned, and reached back for his rapier, taking the cup in his left hand and the sword in his right, buckling the scabbard tightly onto the blade to prevent cuts.
"To settle this grievous matter of honor, and to burn off the adrenaline because it will be unbearable without some kind of physical movement to circulate it through your bloodstream faster, I challenge you to a duel. First to 3 touches retains their honor, good sir!" He chuckled again. "I may not be a fighter, but I've been told I'm a decent duelist."
"I meant no offense, Sir Godfrey," Dalious replied, though he already started taking off his cloak and top. He stretched his muscles and rotated his arms, then cracked his neck. His bare chest and arms were covered in tattoos of map layouts, ship blueprints, a compass at his heart, and various other sea related tribals. "...but I never turn down a challenge! Decent duelist or elite warrior, it matters not. I will duel with you, but it has to be fair." Normally he was one for cheating, but in this case he viewed it as a friendly handicap. He kept his katana sheathed, making it similar to a bo staff.
Dalious then ripped a portion off of his cloak, wrapping it tightly around his eyes to blind his sight. It had been awhile since he honed these skills in particular, dating back to the arena when he fought for the king. What better time to get a practice session in then when you have a new enhancement potion.
"There, fair is fair," he said. He blindly reached over and snatched up one of the cups with the potion inside. "Cheers!" He downed the shot before remembering to wait for the alchemist to take it first. The effects almost hitting him instantly. Though his sight was blocked, he could feel things around him. The fluttering of a butterfly in the bushes, the yells of the soldiers training behind the thick castle walls, the whispers from those all around him. He kept turning his head at each sound, a smile wide on his face. It worked, it really worked!
He suddenly wanted to do push ups.
"It's good Godfrey, oh it's good," he muttered. "I'm sorry I doubted you, mate."
He watched the man blindfold himself, and sighed. Show-offs. The pirate downed his portion of the drink, and Godfrey could tell that the effects started to manifest quickly by the way his movements became smoother, quicker. With a sigh, he turned the bottom of his cup up, and let the solution flow into his mouth.
It would take a minute for it to work with his metabolism, because he'd used it a few times before. Nevertheless, he made a fist of his left hand and rested it on his back hip, bending both his knees a bit.
"I can sense everything! I've never felt quite-"
The pirate sure talked a lot. He took the opportunity to tap him in the center of the chest with a small extension and advance, making a solid but light contact. He stepped back, and then re-entered his en garde again. "That's one," he said, and grinned.
Dalious couldn't help but to smirk after he felt the tap on his chest. His mind did seem to wander a little too often when amongst safe company, allowing his new companion to score a point. He then lifted his blindfold for a moment to see the stance Godfrey was in. Putting the blindfold back on firmly, he prepared his own stance. He kept his left leg forward and slightly bent, while both hands held onto the katana's hilt parallel to his face. The sheathed sword was held high, his entire body aimed sideways.
"That's a fancy stance," Dalious said, slowly moving to the left in a circular motion. "Did you learn that in a castle?" Instead of waiting to parry like he normally would, he quickly strafed right and blindly gave out three light, yet solid, attacks. The first aimed toward Godfrey's left knee cap, the second twirled backward in a half circle to deflect anything and change the direction, while the third came back a half circle again and toward his head.
The weapon he used was heavier and blunter than a rapier-- Godfrey's first instinct to parry with the blade was rejected by the knowledge that his parry wouldn't do much against something with more mass and inertia than his thin foible, even with the leather scabbard around it. He opted to retreat backward a step, letting the weapon pass just barely in front of his leg, and watched as the second movement swung through where he was only moments before. When the third came for his head, be beat it upward with the basket of the rapier, a far more effective parry than any he could do with the blade, letting it whiz through the air above his head before stepping forward and dropping the end of his rapier onto the top of the pirate's foot.
The half-dose of the compound he'd taken was nice, made his eyes faster and his feet lighter, but without the full dose he was unlikely to be able to sense the movements his opponent would make before he made them. Full doses tend to cause hallucinations and dizziness if not burned out of metabolism, but a half-dose should be okay for just a little bit of a game like this one.
"That's two," he said, and smirked. "Not a castle, but my... family's manor house. Back in the day. After all, what gentleman doesn't settle his disagreements with elegant and rule-based tests of martial prowess? But you, sir, are unorthodox in your style..."
"...I've crossed blades with many on my travels. You either adapt, or die," Dalious replied. He took off the blindfold, tossing it aside. "Apparently ive misjudged you, attacking the foot is smart on an elusive opponent, like myself. I don't know if that would fare against our enemies, but regardless, I take it back. Perhaps you won't die so easily." As he spoke he knelt down to rub his foot that was just hit, secretly picking up a handful of dirt between the cracks of the courtyard stone flooring.
"Your enemies won't play a point game with you," he continued, now slowly walking around again in a circle. "So what if I step here?..." He turned in direction, noting Geoffrey change in stance. "Good. And here?"
A change again.
"Youre waiting for the counter attack, smart. Don't rely on it. Sometimes you need to be unorthodox."
Dalious changed his stance with nearly every step he took, from an ancient assassin approach, to a barbaric long sword stance, then to a water dance stature, somewhat resembling godfreys in elegance, though very different in tactic and attack. He lunged forward when he saw an opening, going for the same leg from a different angle. Except this time, he threw it as a fake, using his free hand to throw the dirt he had collected direct into Godfrey's face.
"Expect rules to be broken," he added, as he moved in to tap his opponent three times at his body, one after the other, very quickly. "Game!" He flipped his covered blade back down to become a walking stick again.
His eyes watered intensely, and he dropped the rapier, putting his hands up to his face. "Why you--!" he said, half-good-naturedly and half how-dare-you. Then, the three taps came in rapid succession, an action he should have expected the man to take. He felt mildly insulted, even as the compound's effects slowly faded.
"Fair is only fair until it is unfair. Kill first, feel bad about it later," he said. "...you okay, mate?" Dalious took it upon himself to grab a clear based vile from Godfrey's mobile kart, thinking it to be water. He opened it up and approached. "Sorry, that was a bit uncalled for wasn't it? Here, you need to cleanse." He attempted to pour the substance in Godfrey's already irritated eyes.
"I'm fine--" he began to say, when he heard the stopper of the bottle uncork. The faint but distinct scent of Lunar Caustic solution wafted into his nostrils, and he tensed his body up. "No, wai--"
The liquid splashed into his face, and he bit his lip so hard it bled. The slightly oily compound sunk into his skin slightly, invaded his eyes. Almost instantly, even as he cried out, the skin where the compound came in contact turned a silvery-grey, running in streaks and splatters down his face.
Godfrey sharply pushed the pirate away, and stumbled blindly for a second before sinking to his knees. "You fool! You absolute fool of a man, you... you...!" he growled, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve. "Lunar Caustic? You thought that was water? Imbecile!"
"That escalated very quickly! ...and your labels are quite confusing!" Dalious gave the man more room as he began to put his pale tunic and brown cloak back on.
It took Godfrey several seconds before he could force his eyes open-- they, too, were turned silvery-grey, matching the blotches of skin on his face. He swore, uttering epithets that his usual tongue could not, would not form. His vision was blurred, his eyes stung and watered, and all he could smell was the silver nitrate solution. The irregular coloring on his face and eyes was unsettling and stark, and the words that left his lips were uncharacteristic of him.
"...sorry," he managed through gritted teeth. "You didn't know, you were trying to help," he said, his vision clear enough now to stagger toward his cart to get some saline to actually wash his eyes.
"Apology accepted," Dalious replied. While Godfrey properly washed his eyes, the pirate took the time to load some dragongrass into his pipe. He took a few drags, the hits seemingly heightened from the potion still coursing within him. "Lets get down to brass tax here, what kind of poisons do you have?"
It was just an assumption. Perhaps it was the complete wrong time to ask, but truthfully all he wanted was something to add to his arsenal. The enemies of this world were far to dangerous to not be stocked up in everything and anything.
The alchemist looked back up at Dalious, his eyes and face silvery-grey and blotched.
"It's hardly noticeable," Dalious lied.
"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, and with a slightly indignant "humph," he pulled the canvas cover back over the cart, fastening it to the hooks along the wooden frame.
"I think our conversation has grown too long," he continued, without waiting for a response. "Surely you've things to do somewhere, and I certainly must continue preparing for the journey. Leastways, if you are going to use the reagent I gave you for recreational purposes, I'd ask you do it somewhere that will not contaminate my things with the odor." He rubbed his eyes again. "Good day to you, sir."
He gathered up the glassware he'd been using, and drained them into a metallic pail half-filled with dry sand. He made sure to make himself look very busy in cleaning them. Purposefully.
"Touch-y!" Dalious replied and gave a farewell nod. It was clear that he had outstayed his welcome with the newcomer of the group. Though he had more to ask, he respected the boy's request, waving away some of the smoke from his pipe as he turned to walk away. It was indeed going to be a long trip to Kyora.
The pirate walked a few steps further, again leaning against a castle wall and continuing to smoke his dragongrass. All of the others had departed already, and soon it would be time for the king to make journey. Hopefully sooner rather than later, as Dalious was now itching for some new scenery.
Day of Departure - Border Regions
On the day Joachim met Yaguar once again and those with Christopher experienced an unrelenting tempest, the King and his Sentinels departed from the Capitol. With the size of the party, those involved, and what was being brought along the path ahead of them was the road, and just the road. There was no planned moment for departing the beaten path, no shortcuts in mind.
And so the evening of their first day of travel, and the second after the original departure of Joachim, the King and his party entered those border regions that created a fuzz in the map lines along the borders of the three largest nations. Though Kyora was certainly the most successful, independent, and long last city-state, it wasn't the only one, and there were fiefdoms and small lordships as well. Most appeared for, at best, years at a time before being eaten by another upsurging nation, or simply collapsing under its own weight.
To those who had lived in the larger nations for most of their lives, these border regions were strange, the people anything from shifty and inconsistent to overeager cutthroats. Though there were a fair few "clear paths" where one would not have to pass through a border region going from Barcea to H'kela, for example, Kyora was surrounded by these smaller, ambitious gatherings. There would be no avoiding them.
Around two weeks ago, Cyril had known this particular region to be called Fiel, but that didn't matter in the present. For all any of them knew Fiel had collapsed days before (or the day of, for that matter), but it seemed that those of the one and only village the group came across held no major dedication towards that banner. That was how it went for most of the villages within these border reasons; whoever they paid tribute to changed so often that regular citizens simply rolled with the punches.
And yet those in this village were... unique, in a word. Calypso-like smiles were everywhere, and the woman seemed to be perfectly at home. For everyone else though, there was a heavy, uncomfortable air that bordered on the unnatural. And these were only those that they could see as well, more than once a Sentinel noticed a sudden shade drawn, or a door suddenly close.
No, something was very, very wrong here.
"We should have camped elsewhere."
"We would have to come through here at some point anyway, Alasa."
"Better tomorrow, with us completely rested rather than with the sun falling on us."
"Relax. They haven't done anything yet. We haven't done anything yet."
"Even you're saying yet right now."
Cyril sighed, nodding as well. Though he had been given no reason to feel such a way other than the strangeness of the village, he too felt a pressure building in his chest. It would be time to act soon, he could feel it, despite the waving of the nearby men and women with their polite, consistent smiles. At least Calypso seemed happy, he saw with a glance over his shoulder; Sampson, on the other hand, seemed utterly nervous, Gortul was uncomfortable and made it clear, and Diane looked around with utter disdain.
"Alright, alright." The King's fist went up then, bringing the train to a halt. They were near what seemed to be a storefront, but the windows were strangely empty, and they could see the shelves within matched. Deciding that here was as good as any place, he looked over his shoulder once again, calling out, "Sir Argentum, Master Dubois, do you mind grabbing us some supplies? Some extra tinder will be especially helpful tonight."
"By your command, King Serio." The Paladin was the one who spoke, dismounting even as the Direwolf was silently stepping through the door already. On his massive steed Kisarin went forwards a little, so that he could come to a step next to Cyril.
"Any particular reason why?"
"They're the best two at carrying out this task."
As a murmur passed down the Barcean line to prepare everyone for what was to come, within the store things remained quiet. The party was able to watch Alsius as he stepped towards the counter with just a tinderbox. Dubois, on the other hand, took his time, picking up some food, a bag, and rope as well, settling it down on the counter. Once again, he spoke:
"Quite a big village you have here, sir. Full of life."
"Indeed!" The man behind the counter smiled just like everyone else did, and watched as the Paladin set down coins that seemed tiny compared to his hands. "Plenty of newcomers, all the time. We're steadily growing."
"Ah, that's good to hear. It's always good to see small places flourish. Though, I can't help but ask..." The Paladin's glasses glinted as he tilted his head. "Where might be all the little tykes?"
The man hesitated, his smile faltered, and he moved. He attempted to reach for something under the counter, but the Paladin reached more quickly for his head. Grabbing him by the face, with a frighteningly easy sort of movement he brought his hand down, twisting the man's body around in the process; as his limbs flailed about with the spin, his head met counter, and his skull shattered and flesh ruptured.
From the back room, over the counter the woman who was in the building leaped, and in her hand was a blade. Across the Paladin's throat she swung it with her jump, slicing it open and forcing his head back and blood gushed upwards, but she continued rushing forwards towards the Direwolf. As she did so she screamed, a war cry that shook the windows-
The Direwolf's blade silently stabbed through her throat, the man yanking away as her body twitched and then fell.
The massive form of the Paladin staggered, before he began to turn, hand coming up to gently touch at the rapidly healing split in his own throat. "Well, that's two of them."
And, outside, the situation erupted into chaos. The King was the first to draw his blade, doing so as soon as the Paladin had begun to slam the man's head into the counter, but even as the rest of the Sentinels followed suit those people who stood in the streets did the same, drawing daggers and the like from sleeves, boots, and waists. Suddenly, doors slammed open as those who had been waiting and preparing within emerged with swords, shields, axes, spears, and bows prepared to use them-
But the King beat them to the punch, swinging the Gift forwards, shouting, "Take them all down!"
The ground rumbled as Kisarin hit the ground with both feet, the massive horse that carried him rearing behind him. He brought his blade from around his back, swinging the massive weapon down and forwards; the shield of the unfortunate soul who was closest to him split, and that was quickly followed by the body.
Arrows flew from Alasa, nearly two at a time, even as Gortul threw himself from his horse and used his axe as more of a blunt instrument to crush two attackers to the ground at once. Remaining on his horse, Sampson swung back and forth, definitely using his shield to ward off arrows and blows from both himself and his horse; from behind him, every so often a wooden staff flashed down, Diane clobbering someone senseless suddenly as she remained close.
And then there was Calypso. Though the smiles of those in the village were replaced by looks of surprisingly murderous intent, hers had not faded in the slightest. She had slipped into the thick of the rapidly swelling battle, disappearing from sight briefly- and then suddenly those archers that appeared on the rooftops up above reeled and swung about to try and face her entire as she stepped from one roof to the next, wires flashing all about her and sending smoothly carved chunks flying every which way.
All through the initial leave of the castle Stark had chattered incessantly to Godfrey about the various members of whom he would meet later. This would be, of course, after asking him what in the Divine’s happened when she had come into contact with him again only to find that his face was botched in a silver color akin to her own hair color.
When she had questioned him he had answered with something along the lines of, “Chemical... accident. Someone played with a chemical without knowing what it was, and I now bear the brunt of it. I'm fine, it's just ugly and annoying." Stark had, less than obviously, stared at the blotches on his face periodically as worry lingered in the back of her mind.
While she had the habit of talking quickly and with perhaps a few too many words at a time, Godfrey wasn’t unfamiliar with the way she communicated. The women in the town near his shop were always looking for someone to share gossip with, even if it was the person from whom they were in the process of buying personal medicines. Still, having someone like Stark, who knew everyone and had information on everything, around would probably be a good asset.
“I just hope that in the future, people don’t just randomly pick up the first compound available and expect it to be water. I’m a chemist, Divines’ sake, I have some pretty rough stuff in this cart,” he said, tapping the side of the cart with his hand.
Stark listened as she eyes the various items in the cart from her position on the horse. “Do you practice safety measures and label everything?” The question was simple enough as they continued on their way from the castle and towards Kyora.
“It’s labeled ‘LC 3,’ which is pretty clear if you ask me,” he said, a bit embarrassed. “LC 3, for Lunar Caustic three-tenths concentrate. Used for electroplating, mostly, but can be diluted to a smaller concentration to help-- oh, well, whatever. The point is that nobody else ever needed to know what the things meant, and they made sense to me. This whole state-alchemist thing is still really strange for me. I’m used to working by myself,” he explained.
“It wasn’t his fault, certainly, but that damnable seaman should know better than to play with bottles belonging to the man who just brewed him a chemical concoction.” He crossed his arms, humph-ed.
Stark nodded and listened as Godfrey spoke about the incident in a bit more detail. “Well perhaps he should have asked ahead of time what he was grabbing but not all of us here are trained in alchemy like you are, Ser. Ser Dalious was likely just trying to help….even if he isn’t the greatest to help in that kind of situation.” Stark couldn’t help but giggle at the notion. “At least he didn’t give you anything that could have caused you to burn into flames or each away your flesh, right?” She tried to offer a silver lining to the situation. “If you need help labeling things I can assist-I’ve been told my handwriting is very neat!” Stark was clearly proud of that fact about herself.
“I’m not very good with identifying chemicals though so I’d likely ask you a million questions on how to properly spell things or to double check...but I’m willing to help~!”
Godfrey’s sigh resounded. “Thank probability for that, I suppose.” He shrugged. “When we set down somewhere, I can show you some of the things I have, if you’d like. I suppose I’d appreciate the help, if I’m going to need to re-label all my things to combat the possibility of noxious tea-water or something.” He was clearly just ever-so-slightly bitter.
“So, can you tell me any more about the new King? I’m a product of the previous administration, and I’m not really familiar with what His Highness stands for. I’ve heard people call him by his first name several times-- isn’t that strange to anyone else?”
Stark couldn’t help but laugh as she glanced ahead at Cyril in the front of the traveling party, “His Highness is called Cyril-he’s the newest King of Barcea and the leader of the group you’re currently traveling in. They’re called The Sentinels. There are several in the party that are contracted into the party, myself included, to help him as he sees fit. He’s very kind, if just a bit quiet, and is a ferocious fighter. He isn’t very much so into the whole ‘King’ title thing-I think it makes him uncomfortable.”
Stark began to give short bursts of information about the rest in their current party. “The grumpy archer is Alasa. He’s quiet but boy does he have some snappy lines from time to time. The big one there is Sampson- he eats. ALOT. Gortul is another sentinel and he is very loud and very strong but his speech pattern takes a little bit of getting used to. The woman right there is Lady Diane-she’s a healer. She’s very nice when I go to see her, even if she scolds me, and may come off as intimidating but she’s amazing at what she does. You’ll see her in combat soon.” Stark h’m a moment before going on.
“You already know Sir Dalious, he was once the captain of a pirate ship. He talks about it from time to time but I think it makes him sad so I try not to ask. He drinks alot and flirts with Miss Leo- Alice...and just about anyone else he can find. The white haired woman who smiles more often than not is Miss Calypso. She’s a bit quiet as well but she’s lovely. She has these wires she fights with and just-oh~.” Stark gushed just a bit before remembering herself, “ Chief Kisarin is an ally of Barcea and His Highness and his here with us about his sister…. I haven’t had a much time to spend with him but before recent events.” Stark grew quiet once more before coughing into her hand, “Ahem, anyways. The gentlemen with the red hair is Ser Alsuis Argentum.”
She leaned closer towards Godfrey, “Ten out of ten don’t engage. He’s an amazing fighter but he’s scary and a little mean.” She prayed she had whispered quiet enough for him not to have heard her before speaking again. “The gentlemen with the glasses is Mister Dubois. He’s also teaching me right now about everything-mostly the Divines. If you ever have any questions he’s the one to go to~! Oh, and he’s also the mentor to Christopher-he’s a little older than me and he punches stuff. He’s mean sometimes too but I think he’s just-” She paused as the air around them all shifted.
Stark’s pupils thinned as her head observed the odd village and the very off people. The gooseflesh on her arms rising as she spoke quietly to Godfrey, “Stay close.” It was a clear warning as their train stopped and Cyril called for the last two men Stark spoke of to go and get supplies-the whispers of potential combat making their way to her and Godfrey’s position towards the end of the train.
The water mage seemed to bristle just moments before several of the villagers burst forth and began to attack them.
He’d been listening intently, trying to make notes of who was whom, with whom he’d already interacted, and who to watch later on, when suddenly he, too, felt the atmosphere change a little, very subtly. As if they had been preparing for the party to arrive, the villagers seemed to appear from every corner and shadow, brandishing their weapons-- however crude-- and with very visible and easy-to-understand intent to harm them.
He’d felt that shift before-- the air of an unfair fight. He pressed himself back against the cart, his hand closing deftly around the hilt of the rapier secured to its side. Multiple assailants were not his strong suit, at all. With a quick burst of thought, he drew the weapon out and, in the same step, sidled his back up against Stark’s. Better to have someone you trust behind, than to have nothing to help.
“What on earth is happening?” he called back to Stark. “Did we come into enemy territory so quickly?”
Stark was off her horse in a flash, pushing her back to Godfrey’s with a frown, “I’m not sure but they aren’t that happy to see us!” She explained as she opened up one of her water skin’s up and sent a torrent of water towards a villager who was coming at her with an axe. “Do you know how to fight with that thing?” She asked as she looked over her shoulder in a quick glance.
“One person at a time, maybe, but this kind of thing isn’t exactly my cup of tea--” he said, and used the basket of his rapier to beat away a swing from a gnarly man with a sickle. The curved blade whizzed, inches away from his elbow, and he tensed for a moment. When was the last time he’d been in an actual fight? He shook his head, focused on keeping all applicable assailants in his field of vision.
“I forgot you were a magician,” he said back over his shoulder, flicking the rapier to the inside of the sickle-man’s arm, where the tip grazed the inside of his wrist, biting through the skin to sever tendons. The sickle clattered to the ground, and Godfrey put his heel on top of the flat of the blade, using his other knee to drive up into the man’s solar plexus and push him away. Keep the ground by your feet clear-- nothing is worse in a fight than not having ample foot room.
What caused these people to outright attack them? The village looked decently peaceful only moments before. Was it some sorcery? An elaborate-- perhaps too elaborate-- ruse? He wondered frantically as the next opponent closed in. His heart beat hard, pushed rich, wet, red blood through his veins.
“A magician. Yeah, sure! Let’s-” Stark gave a grunt as she sent a larger stronger torrent of water at more on coming enemies to knock them off of their feet and drop their weapons. “-Go with that.” She finished as the blue spell circle at her feet brightened just a bit before a slight chill came over the immediate area around Stark as the floating water around her turned to ice before shooting forth and spearing several of the individuals into the ground and buildings behind them.
Momentarily, his breath came out as a puff of mist. He looked back just in time to see the water in the air freeze, and eviscerate a small group of villagers.
“Divines, Stark, do we have to turn them into jam?” he said, and covered his mouth with his left hand. He turned back just in time to parry, riposte, and disable the shoulder joint of, the next attacker, the first one he’d seen with an actual weapon. The assailant’s sword clattered to the ground, and Godfrey brought his basket hard into the side of his face.
In doing so, though, he stepped away from Stark momentarily-- and just enough to catch a club’s blow to the shin. He swore, and dropped to one knee, just barely missing another blow. His eyes locked with a man with a long farmer’s scythe, whose reach he could not beat. The man began to wind his swing up.
Something that heavy and sharp would cut his rapier, basket and all, right in half.
“Stark--!”
Stark had been busy keeping enemies at a distance and away from the cart that when Godfrey moved back from her she shutter stepped back before turning at the call of her name. She acted instinctively as she followed the rotation of her body and thrust her right hand forward towards the scythe using man’s face.
He took steps back as a sphere of water engulfed his head-sufficiently cutting off his access to oxygen and his grip on his scythe. Stark, all within a few second, growled before she closed ehr fist and the water seemed to disappear into the man’s body before he fell to his knees shaking and clawing at his throat before falling back-drowned while completely dry.
“Are you alright?” Stark asked as she dropped to a knee ready to help him stand.
He grabbed her hand with his left hand, and pulled himself up to his feet strongly, using that momentum to put his point between the ribs of another assailant. “I owe you one,” he said, pulling back out of the man’s lung. He stumbled, limped a bit, but his bone wasn’t broken.
“I’m glad I’m on your side,” he said lowly. The crowd of assailants seemed to be thinning, thankfully, but there were still threats to deal with. Even so, his mind wandered to the scientific…
What would happen if Stark encountered a desiccant? Could she steal the water from a compound, thus multiplying its concentration? Does her ability extend only to water, or could she use any fluid?
From the outside, it looked like he’d fallen sullenly silent, and his movements became just slightly more mechanical, more efficient. Parry with the basket, rap the foible against the offender’s arm, disable the muscles by severing, move to the next opponent.
Stark snorted at his comment of being on her side, “Just wait til you meet everyone else. You’ll be happy you’re in this group!” The latter of the sentence was exclaimed as she leaned to the side to avoid an arrow that lodged itself into the side of the cart before she sent a volley of ice spears towards the arrows origin.
Even with the enemies thinning Stark was getting more and more irritated as it turned into something of target practice of ice spears flying towards the enemies. She would be far more creative with her use of the ice but her time training with ice had been limited so she may as well work with what she was given.
It wasn’t a long fight-- they rarely were-- before the surrounding area was littered with the injured, dead, and decimated. Godfrey panted, leaned back on his cart, hung his naked blade on the arrow that still stuck out the side of it.
“Well, colleagues,” he said, and dusted himself off, rolling up his trouser leg to see the injury, “what in the names of the Divines was this?” Tenderly, he prodded at the already-deep-purple wound, and winced.
Godfrey was not a fighter, and it showed in his lack of stamina.
“That would be called a regular day for this lot.” Stark cooly said as she narrowed her eyes to the surrounding area-looking for other potential enemies. “How is your leg? Can you walk? Is it broken?” Clearly the girl was concerned-if not overly so about their newest member.
He grinned, motioned toward the large bruise. “So long as it does not turn into a lesion, I should be fine. I’ll wrap it up. That guy with the scythe, though-- thanks for your help, there. If I’d have been cut, it would be a pretty different story, though. This is why I don’t really do fighting or adventuring-- I’m so much more likely to get cut and bleed to death out here than in my shop.”
A poultice of fermented willow bark would help with the bruising. He grumbled to himself, looked at Stark. “Are you okay?” he asked back. She was cute, he decided.
Cute, if terrifying.
Stark tilted her head at Godfrey when he asked about her, “What?” It took her a moment to realize he was asking about her well being. “Oh, no, I’m fine! Um, why don’t you go see Lady Diane? She fixes me up really nice after fights.” She danced around her words carefully but subtly enough to not draw any attention. “You’re sure you’re alright?”
“I’ll be fine without any magic, thanks,” he said, and fiddled with some of the things in his cart. “Magical healing isn’t something the human body should be afflicted by too often, and I try to keep it out of my system as much as possible.” His distaste was evident, but not offensive-- not yet, at least.
“Are we going to treat the wounded here?” he said, not bothering to wait for the answer before, a small box of supplies in his arms, he hobbled slightly toward a nearby wounded man.
By the time they had reached the village, Dalious had finished carving the Barcea sigil onto the breast plate of his new armor. He put the final piece on as he rode along on horseback, showing off the final product to Gortul. The armor he wore was from the thieves guild, hardened brown leather with numerous pockets and pouches along the waist and chest. He was able to carry a lot more and be quicker, though the damage resistance wasn't very high.
Reaching at the hip to grab his canteen of rum, he opened the cap and hesitated. 'How could she know?' he thought. He assured himself that she couldn't, then took a few long swigs of the alcohol. Still even, he hid the canteen from the others simply out of paranoia.
With the odd air and the creepy smiles on the villagers faces, he quickly found himself feeling uncomfortable. He put his hood on and kept his sight focused ahead, not wanting to accidentally insult one of these people. These days, a single wrong glare to the wrong person could lead to a death match.
As Sir Argentum and Master Dubois entered the shop for supplies, the pirate separated himself from the group. He walked uphill and out of sight, though still within shouting distance. This place felt eerie and dangerous, but then again so did a great many other places they had visited before. Dalious shrugged off the feeling, walking far enough away as to not bother any of his companions with his smoke. Lighting up some of his dragongrass, he noticed peripherally that he was being watched by the villagers, though they avoided eye contact when he looked to them. He took a few more puffs from his pipe as they slowly started to surround him in the yard he was in.
Upon Cyril's order, the silent place erupted in noise and chaos. He heard the others fighting before those villagers around him charged in, their faces crazed and seemingly filled with absolute rage. Or was it all just some dark magic? It didn't matter, Dalious quickly found himself encircled by four of them.
The closest ran in with a machete raised. Dalious took another hit from his pipe weed, pulling out his blunderbuss quickly with his free hand and firing the man's face off. His head exploded in a fountain of blood that sprayed over the others, though it did not stop them in their attack. Holstering the blunderbuss again, he back pedaled and dodged away from a few swings from their weapons. He moved so quickly, that his wounded leg shot a bolt of pain up through his spine. He winced from it and was startled momentarily, though it was enough time for one of the villagers to grab a hold of him. A kitchen knife came for his heart, but he grabbed the attacker's wrist just in time. Dalious pulled hard and fell backward, using his feet to kick the man up and over him, sending him rolling down the hill.
"I'm in no mood for this!" Dalious yelled, agitated now. He unsheathed his blade as the next two were quickly near him. One swung, the other stabbed. Dalious ducked and then parried, using the second of momentum to slice through both men with a single precise strike. Their blood and guts showered over his brand new armor and he grew even angrier. "Dammit!!" He pulled his bow around to his front and fired an arrow into the forehead of the other villager.
Dalious walked over to the others, seeing that the fight was seemingly short had. It was no surprise that the group held out strong, but what was surprising was that Ser Godfrey was still amongst the living. Dalious joined them, taking another quick swig of his booze first.
"Good to see you're still kicking," Dalious said to the alchemist, though his look and focus was more so on Cyril and his next command. He walked past, giving Stark a friendly tap on her shoulder as he made his way back to the king. He looked at Alsius and jokingly stated, "...something you said? You're not very good with people, you know..."
It was the first battle that the King had been in since ascending to the throne, and in it there was a major difference he had not been expecting: his weapon was the only one that did not see use. He had it drawn, more than prepared, and yet before anyone could reach him the Sentinels had surged around him, striking down those attacking with ease. In a matter of moments it was all over, something the King was used to; he was not used to not taking part.
He almost didn't believe it, and those moments immediately following the battle passed in a sort of confused haze. It was only Sampson, who was the first to speak to him, that brought him back.
"Cyril? Cyril...? Cyril!"
He blinked, quickly shaking his head and looking over to the side. There Sampson was upon his horse, concern on his face.
"Yes, yes? I'm sorry, I was thinking. What is it?"
"Are we going to treat the wounded?"
"Yes, yes of course-"
"I'd advise you to think again, your Highness." The Direwolf spoke only after giving a slight roll of his eyes towards Dalious, before turning back to his liege. He held his arm to the side for a brief moment, before suddenly twisting and swinging the blade he held around; the red of the collected blood and bits of gore separated from the blade, splattering up the nearby wall and leaving the blade a pure, spotless silver. "Interrogate them first, before you put any of them in the condition to move once again. We may have a problem here."
Before the King could ask why, a hand came down gently on Godfrey's shoulder. It belonged to the Divine Paladin, who had stopped him softly but firmly, giving a slight shake of his head before he began to step past, towards the man that the chemist had been originally heading towards. "The Direwolf is right, King Serio. I believe I've seen this a few times before, a few years ago; if I'm right, there's nothing we can do for them. But if I'm wrong, then perhaps we can led them our aid."
By that point he had reached the man, who was weakly stirring. Down the Paladin's hand went, and in that moment Damon's hand was none too gentle when he grabbed the wounded man by the ankle, and began to drag him along towards the door of shop the encounter had originally started in; the man began to struggle more, trying to get away. "Just give me a few minutes with this man, and I'll have ye an answer."
The King didn't respond, only watching as the Paladin dragged the man into the shop, and then through the door into the back room, returning to make sure to shut it gently behind him. Still for a moment, Cyril soon dropped from his horse, beginning to walk towards the shop and only stopping when Alsius stood in his path, looking down to the King.
"Are you absolutely certain?"
"It doesn't matter if I am or not. If this is being done in my name, then I better be there."
"That's one way to look at it." The Direwolf stepped to the side, remaining next to the door to the outside as the King passed on through.
Briefly, a scream leaked through the door on the inside as the King stepped through, but it was cut out soon after the door shut.
Inside, the Paladin had already gotten well into his work, so far that Cyril couldn't help but balk slightly as bile rose from the pit of his stomach. At first glance, it seemed like the man that had been dragged in was standing next to the wall, but in reality it wasn't anything so merciful. In the lower middle of his shins two nails had been driven through into the wall behind them, and up above one arm was bent down and around slightly, towards the man's back and then pinned by a nail through the wrist; the scream had been due to fourth nail being driven through the other arm, bludgeoned home by the Paladin's black hammer. The man began to weep afterwards.
The sound of the door closing brought a pause over the Paladin, and with his brow furrowed Damon turned to see that it was the King. Briefly his eyebrows rose up from behind his glasses, and the emotion that came over him didn't belong; the Paladin was embarrassed.
"Ah, King Serio. Ye do not need to be here. This is nasty business, and I am not as skilled as some of those I know. But we need not the skill of the Brilliant Horror here, so please, depart if ye will-"
"Why are you doing this?"
For a moment, the Paladin was silent, and then he looked back to the sobbing man. He sighed, and then to the man said, "Go on, sing yer praises while ye can."
Immediately, a change came over the man. The sobbing cut off suddenly as his eyes flew open. In horror Cyril watched as the man twisted back and forth, struggling against restraints driven through bone, the grinding audible even from the distance. And then the man began to speak in a fervor, practically chanting, "Oh, great Lord Yaguar, come save your humble servant! The enemy is at the gates, and they torture your poor subjects." As he went on he began louder and louder, and the King's eyes widened when, suddenly, the man's body began to steam. It started at the nails, them beginning to glow red hot before the heat spread over his body, flesh cooking as the man began to practically scream, "HEAR MY CRIES, LORD YAGUAR, PLEASE SAVE THOSE WHO LOVE YOUR FIRE-"
And suddenly it all stopped after the Paladin swung with the white hammer. The blow was clearly held back as the man's skull didn't simply shatter, but blood still flew when the side of the man's head was clobbered. He instantly went quiet, going limp and hanging by the nails. Slowly, the Paladin looked towards the King.
"I can barely believe it myself, but what ye are looking at is a Remade person. A man whose soul has been shattered and the pieces cobbled together into a warped picture of loyalty. It is as if a God King or Queen did it themselves."
The King slowly lowered the hand he held over his mouth, gaze still upon the now mercifully unconscious man. Only after the silence had stretched on for several seconds did he find his voice once again with, "Remade? But how...?"
"Ye heard it yerself just now. Somehow, Yaguar is able to Remake others."
"What can we do? Is there anything we can do?"
"At the moment, nothing." Slowly, the Paladin began to bring up the black hammer once more. "The Direwolf is going to advise ye to kill them all, and for the sake of safety I would advise the same. But-"
Cyril's hand shot out, him shaking his head in one harsh movement. "No! Unacceptable!"
The Paladin's hand lowered the hammer. "I had a feeling ye might save that. In that case, the best thing we can do is ride now, without looking back, without assisting any of them. If we are to help them, then they will simply stab us as soon as they can. They cannot help themselves, and are beyond reason. Some will die, almost certainly, but..."
"Say it."
"If we are quick enough, those that survive will be freed with the death of Yaguar. Again some will die then, or be driven to madness, but some may yet survive."
For a moment, the King was silent. When he again spoke, it was quietly. "Take him down, remove the nails if it's safe to do so. We ride now." The Paladin bowed his head even as Cyril turned, leaving him and the man behind as he went out the door.
He didn't say anything as he passed Alsius, but when Diane intercepted him, demanding that the healing begin, he only said, "We ride now."
"What? Have you gone mad? We need to get started now or-" As her voice rose in indignation, her hand had gone forwards to grip him by the wrist and stop him; she yelped slightly when he snapped his hand away and whirled towards her.
"We ride. Now!" He didn't say anything else, instead just turning to pull himself up on his horse. Her eyes wide, mouth open in a little 'o' of both shock and anger, Diane looked over as the Paladin emerged from shop without the man in tow... and before anyone could react she stepped past the much larger man, into the shop and then the room.
Cyril just closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable to come. He flinched only slightly at the shriek.
Like some sort of harpy Diane emerged from the room, her eyes even wider and her nostrils flaring with rage. Her gaze found the Paladin who stood there, waiting, and she brandished her staff as she almost seemed to fly forwards along the ground, another shriek leaving her:
"You MONSTER!"
She began to swing with reckless abandon, but the Paladin did not retaliate. The most he did was turn away from her slightly, bringing up his hands to catch the blows, but it continued on until Alasa came in from the side. He didn't do something so simple as try to try and catch her arms, or hold her back- no, he ran towards her and leaped, tackling her to the ground. Down there they struggled in the dirt and mud, before finally Alasa got her arms behind her and held her there-
"Let me GO-"
"Calm down, Diane, for the love of the Divines! We don't have time for this!"
"You didn't see what he DID-"
The struggle continued, to the point that both Sampson and Gortul both had to get involved. All the while, the Direwolf had moved slightly from his position next to the door, to standing in front of it as he watched the scuffle, eyebrow raised ever slightly when, finally, Diane had ceased her attempts at yanking herself away from three other Sentinels at once. The King, meanwhile, slowly looked away, before repeating his order:
"Mount up! We can't stay here any longer!"
The water mage gave a snort when Dalious addressed Godfrey on the matter of still being alive. Somewhere in the back of her mind she mumbled about not letting their token alchemist die that easily but the thought was stopped quickly as the scenario changed rather quickly.
Stark simply observed as her teacher grabbed the man by the ankle and took him into the store. She had a feeling she knew what about to happen, Cyril entering and the screaming leaking out making it clear she was right. The young woman moved to Godfrey's side with a small smile, "He is right. Come on Ser Godfrey." Stark quietly said as she moved to the back of the line where the cart and her horse still waited.
Her hand gently touched the muzzle of the beast as they waited a moment or five longer. Her stomach twisted as Diane was more than eager to heal the people they had not all out decimated. She couldn't help but down cast her eyes- closing them as Diane screamed at them.
She didn't need to be told twice to mount up-gripping the reins tight before casting a look to Godfrey with a nod as she waited for him to mount up and get moving.
Everything happened quickly. He'd watched the Paladin drag the man, heard the torturous sounds, had seen Diane storm out, had heard the orders to leave. He wasn't really one to follow orders, but the urgency with which Cyril had spat those last words impressed upon him the sense that there was something wrong-- more wrong than he'd thought. He swung himself up onto his horse, kicked with his heels lightly.
After a short, awkward, and tense silence, Godfrey straightened his collar, dusted off his breeches. "Are we going to talk about what just happened there? Why we left the wounded behind and fled like something else was coming? Why the villagers, without provocation, besieged us? Why we didn't even take time to make sure that our party was uninjured before leaving?" He looked down at his shin, imagined the bruise that was darkening.
He could not shake the feeling that he'd made a mistake, getting in with this group.
It was hard for Dalious to watch the sentinels take to Diane, even though he followed the king's commands, he still saw her point. As Alasa and the others calmed her down through physicality, he couldn't help but cringe to himself. He ignored all around him, mounting his horse next to obey the order to move out.
He trailed behind Godfrey and Stark, hearing the questions and confusion pour from his mouth. He sympathized with his feelings, but he tried to stay as professional as possible about the subject matter.
"Best to just, move along," the pirate told him. "Save your energy for what comes next. It will probably get much worse, by the end of all things."
The squabble down in the muck finally came to a close, Sampson and Gortul being the first the stand before up Alasa went, standing with Diane. The latter two were practically covered in filth, and for a second they stood there, all together, before the archer slowly released the healer and the woman went to her horse without a word. As the other Sentinels prepared, the archer yanked himself up onto his own horse, one that he quickly brought to the King's side.
"What the hell is going on here?"
For a moment Cyril didn't say anything, and then even as he tugged the reins he quietly said, "They've been Remade. All of them."
Alasa swore loudly.