The brawny orc and his dismissive attitude towards her immediately remind her of the first man she'd ever killed, a face she'd never forgotten despite the many scores of foes she'd brought down since. Instinct almost drives her to close the distance between them immediately to disable a limb or sever an artery before the man had a chance to react. But she takes a deep breath, closing her eyes as she continues to keep a steady balance between her impulses and her newfound sense of peace and confidence in the face of these circumstances.
"Wow, thank you. You may be the biggest orc I've ever seen. Don't go easy on me, I've had some practice."
Leveling the shortsword towards Gorash, she steps into an even, stable stance.
"Don't kill. Don't kill him."
Gorash’s grin stretches wide, tusks glinting in the sunlight. He hefts his battleaxe, rolling his broad shoulders in anticipation. His confidence is lazy, like a wolf toying with prey before the kill.
"Oh, don’t worry, little demon," he chuckles darkly. "I ain’t the sort to go easy."
The crowd rumbles with amusement at the orc’s bravado, their voices a rolling wave of anticipation as the two fighters size each other up. The pit master raises a gnarled staff and lets it drop, signalling for the duel to begin.
Shiva continues smiling as she moves towards the gate, but her eyes briefly lose their mirth. As she turns away, her gaze becomes heavy with experience and understanding, focusing on the fight ahead. Looking back to Alaris, she gives a quick thumbs up before disappearing behind the gate.
Once inside, she turns to Brann and speaks in a curt, low voice.
"A shortsword, please."
"Wow. If there's one thing we have in common, it's theatrics."
"Come on, this is at least kinda funny."
Alaris raises a closed fist to Shiva in response, wishing her both luck and strength. The aasimar watches as Shiva passes through the gate before making their way towards the dwarf. Leaning against Hope's Edge, the bogatyr asks, "Where do spectators go, friend?"
The dwarf glances up at Alaris, stroking his thick, bristly beard as he sizes them up. His sharp eyes flicker between their glaive and armour, assessing their presence with the practiced air of someone who’s seen a thousand warriors pass through these gates.
"Up the stairs," he grunts, jerking his thumb towards a stone archway to the side of the pit’s entrance. "Plenty o’ seats if ya ain’t picky. Best views are up front, but you’ll be shoulder to shoulder with the rowdiest lot." He snorts, amused. "Then again, somethin’ tells me you ain’t the type to be bothered by a bit of noise."
“Your friend’s got guts," the dwarf grins, nodding toward the arena. "Wouldn’t bet against her." He gives Alaris a knowing look. "You got coin ridin’ on this, or just here for the show?"
Quote from stormchaser6>> The dwarf glances up at Alaris, stroking his thick, bristly beard as he sizes them up. His sharp eyes flicker between their glaive and armour, assessing their presence with the practiced air of someone who’s seen a thousand warriors pass through these gates.
"Up the stairs," he grunts, jerking his thumb towards a stone archway to the side of the pit’s entrance. "Plenty o’ seats if ya ain’t picky. Best views are up front, but you’ll be shoulder to shoulder with the rowdiest lot." He snorts, amused. "Then again, somethin’ tells me you ain’t the type to be bothered by a bit of noise."
“Your friend’s got guts," the dwarf grins, nodding toward the arena. "Wouldn’t bet against her." He gives Alaris a knowing look. "You got coin ridin’ on this, or just here for the show?"
"Watching her back," Alaris replies, returning a grin in kind. "Kind of an all day job, you know what I mean?"
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Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid,Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions! I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
Shiva's innocent smile falls away into a cold pit of grave severity once more, raising her blade and advancing with silken grace. She would test the brute, as she knew appearances to be deceiving and arrogance would not be her undoing today.
Her footfalls were feather light, stepping into the orc's space and feinting to the left with such lazy overextension that she may as well have handed the man a letter describing her intent. Yet he took the bait, lurching forward and away from the perceived attack to send his battleax careering for her chest to cut a deep vertical line into her. She didn't even bother parrying, pivoting to the side and watching the metal sail past her with the lethargy of a passenger ship.
She stepped into his guard, zig-zagging the blade across his sternum to leave two shallow cuts in his abdomen that immediately begin seeping red. He backsteps in response to the pain and Shiva moves in time with him, keeping him close and the battleax out of its range of highest efficiency. He brings the ax up in an overhead strike that leaves his vital organs so exposed that she would've had time to carve her name into each one. Instead, she meets the ax near its highest point in the strike, forbidding it the momentum it would need to crash through her block.
The entirety of Gorash's torso twists to the left as it follows his redirected blow, and Shiva dances away to a safe distance. He attempts a half-hearted strike as she backsteps, only for the ax to whistle through the air and leave him briefly unbalanced before he rights himself with an indignant snarl.
"This guy's a spectacle fighter, expecting his size and attitude to do most of the heavy lifting. He's use to working a crowd, demoralizing his opponents so they make mistakes he can take advantage of. I'll break him fast, nothing that won't heal."
Quote from stormchaser6>> The dwarf glances up at Alaris, stroking his thick, bristly beard as he sizes them up. His sharp eyes flicker between their glaive and armour, assessing their presence with the practiced air of someone who’s seen a thousand warriors pass through these gates.
"Up the stairs," he grunts, jerking his thumb towards a stone archway to the side of the pit’s entrance. "Plenty o’ seats if ya ain’t picky. Best views are up front, but you’ll be shoulder to shoulder with the rowdiest lot." He snorts, amused. "Then again, somethin’ tells me you ain’t the type to be bothered by a bit of noise."
“Your friend’s got guts," the dwarf grins, nodding toward the arena. "Wouldn’t bet against her." He gives Alaris a knowing look. "You got coin ridin’ on this, or just here for the show?"
"Watching her back," Alaris replies, returning a grin in kind. "Kind of an all day job, you know what I mean?"
The dwarf barks out a gruff chuckle and shakes his head.
"Aye, I know the type. Stubborn, scrappy, got no sense of self-preservation—but you wouldn't trade 'em for the world." He jerks his chin toward the pit. "That one's got the look of someone who's been in more fights than she can count. No fear in her stance, just experience."
His eyes flick back to Alaris, giving them another quick once-over.
"And you? You just the bodyguard, or you got some fight in ya too?" He grins, an edge of curiosity in his expression. "We've always got room for another brawler, if watchin' ain't enough for ya."
Caio dives into the documents with fervor, pouring over the parchment and scrawling notes in his own journal. He finds the information on the Morgensterns first, learning of their long history in Tanem and their deep ties to the Sarameian Empire.
“I’d been hoping they were a more recent comer to the political scene. It may prove difficult to convince others in the court of their treachery.” he muses to his Other, since Ghoul is absent from his normal role as sounding board.
“True, but in my experience politicians are often eager to get rid of competition. They’ve gotta have enemies within the court.”
“And if we can find proof of their dealings with a dangerous occult cabal, even their allies might be willing to wash their hands of them. And speaking of the cabal…”
Caio flips open a dossier stamped with a sigil of what he assumes must be the Sunhold Bastion’s own inquisitorial branch. Blood pumps in his ears as he reads. The most pertinent information is a list of the names of several operatives. Maltheon he recognizes; the rift-obsessed archmage had studied the boreal tear in Necorath.
“Let us hope we don’t run across him in Beschadik. He’s as unpredictable as he is powerful.” he warns. He quickly jots down the other aliases: Ashen Vex, Elaris Greave, Sister Nyssa… and then there she is, staring at him through the ink. Idita Heart. Caio’s breath catches in his throat.
“Easy there my friend, keep it together. Guessing you don’t want some Sunhold page seeing you smudge their records with your tears.”
Caio lets out a sharp and indignant exhalation, mouth open, ready to ream the little brat in his head… but he does manage to rein it in. The disembodied traveler is right. If he gets worked up over the mere sight of her name, how will he ever be able to track her down, go up against those close to her, and inevitably confront her himself. He lets out a sigh, sitting back from the table and rubbing hands down his gaunt face.
“I knew I was in too deep the moment we met, the moment I heard her voice. She’s a born witch; all she must do is speak her desires and they are hers for the taking.”
“You’re down bad.” If the Shadowhunter could place a hand on the elf’s shoulder he would. “She betrayed you though, didn’t she? And then left without saying a word? That’s pretty ****ed.”
“She wasn’t there in the attack, I don’t know…” he capes.
“You’re holding out hope for her. I get it. You can’t let that compromise your dignity through. She owes you an apology, and then an explanation, and then probably another apology. At the very least.”
Caio laughs coldly. “That’s not really her style. You’re right though. Honestly as much as I’ve tried to imagine what it will be like to see her again, I can’t. As close as we were I could never truly read her, there was always a mystery there. That is what haunts me. In those last days she must have known what was coming yet I could detect to change in her demeanor, no inkling of the doom her friends were about to inflict. If she could conceal that from me… what else was she hiding? Was anything between us true? Or was it all facade?”
Other Caio is quiet for a beat. “What if it was?” he asks. “What will you do?”
Caio’s eyes search the ceiling. All they find is the pressure of tears behind them, emotion welling up. “I don’t know.” he admits, barely a whisper in his mind.
“I think that means you can’t; it’s impossible to know until it happens, one way or the other. Some things you just can’t plan for. That’s okay though. Whatever happens, we’re all here with you.”
For the first time since the traveler got lodged in Caio’s head, he is comforted by the disembodied voice.
Shiva spends one more moment sizing up the unsteady form of Gorash before exploding forward towards the towering orc. The man is clearly caught off-guard by such aggression and immediately gives ground as he parries a horizontal slash. Yet the assault continues, the shortsword raining down strikes like gold from a tyrant's coffers, the strength of each thrust and slash matched only by their lethal precision. Gorash finds that he is unable to do anything but block, scarcely bringing the ax up in time to keep himself whole as the repeated reverberations of metal upon metal slowly numb his hands and forearms.
Shiva waits until his eyes meet hers, waits until they alight with desperation and fear. Then she advances, bringing the guard of her sword down onto the middle of the ax and, with a heave, wrenching it from the man's hands to fall into the dirt of the pit with a weighty thud. With great speed, she rears back and twists her torso to put proper strength behind a left hook that snaps Gorash's head to the side. He staggers backwards as he groans with pain and his hand flies to his seemingly-stuck jaw, and Shiva takes several small steps back.
"That punch was colossal. I'm surprised he's still standing."
Quote from stormchaser6>> The dwarf glances up at Alaris, stroking his thick, bristly beard as he sizes them up. His sharp eyes flicker between their glaive and armour, assessing their presence with the practiced air of someone who’s seen a thousand warriors pass through these gates.
"Up the stairs," he grunts, jerking his thumb towards a stone archway to the side of the pit’s entrance. "Plenty o’ seats if ya ain’t picky. Best views are up front, but you’ll be shoulder to shoulder with the rowdiest lot." He snorts, amused. "Then again, somethin’ tells me you ain’t the type to be bothered by a bit of noise."
“Your friend’s got guts," the dwarf grins, nodding toward the arena. "Wouldn’t bet against her." He gives Alaris a knowing look. "You got coin ridin’ on this, or just here for the show?"
"Watching her back," Alaris replies, returning a grin in kind. "Kind of an all day job, you know what I mean?"
The dwarf barks out a gruff chuckle and shakes his head.
"Aye, I know the type. Stubborn, scrappy, got no sense of self-preservation—but you wouldn't trade 'em for the world." He jerks his chin toward the pit. "That one's got the look of someone who's been in more fights than she can count. No fear in her stance, just experience."
His eyes flick back to Alaris, giving them another quick once-over.
"And you? You just the bodyguard, or you got some fight in ya too?" He grins, an edge of curiosity in his expression. "We've always got room for another brawler, if watchin' ain't enough for ya."
With a silver flash of their eyes, Alaris shrugs in reply and responds, "I've been asking myself the same question, master dwarf. You see, I haven't fought just one person for so long. Been specializing in groups... battling gangs for local charities, that sort of thing."
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Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid,Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions! I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
Gorash grunts in surprise, twisting away, but not fast enough. The orc's expression flickers as Shiva's fist connects with his jaw, the first hint of true awareness gleaming in his eyes, and the crowd erupts as blood is drawn. The gladiator steps back, rolling his neck, before thumping the ball of his thumb up into his jaw to set it straight.
"Hah… not bad," Gorash rumbles, his grin no longer quite as cocky. "Guess I’ll have to take ya seriously."
Moving with surprising deftness, the orc kicks his axe up from where it lies at his feet to catch the weapon in mid air. The blade spins twice before settling between Shiva and her foe. This time his stance is more cautious.
Outside, the dwarf lets out a short, wheezing laugh, his thick fingers tugging at his beard as he eyes Alaris anew.
"Charities, is it?" He asks, tone teetering between disbelief and amusement. "Well, that’s a new one. Can’t say we get many philanthropists through the Pits, but I suppose even good deeds need a strong sword arm now and again." He jerks a thumb toward the arena entrance, where the echoes of Gorash’s stomping still reverberate faintly.
"Still, if you’ve been cracking skulls for the public good, you’ll fit right in. We get plenty of group brawls in the later heats. Crowd loves a scrap with more than two bodies flying around. Still, if you're curious what it's like to test your steel against just one other, no distractions, no backup... well, I’m sure we could arrange somethin’." He gives Alaris a sidelong look. "After your friend’s done, of course."
He pauses, glancing out over the pit. "...assuming she’s not planning on taking the place apart, that is."
Caio dives into the documents with fervor, pouring over the parchment and scrawling notes in his own journal. He finds the information on the Morgensterns first, learning of their long history in Tanem and their deep ties to the Sarameian Empire.
“I’d been hoping they were a more recent comer to the political scene. It may prove difficult to convince others in the court of their treachery.” he muses to his Other, since Ghoul is absent from his normal role as sounding board.
“True, but in my experience politicians are often eager to get rid of competition. They’ve gotta have enemies within the court.”
“And if we can find proof of their dealings with a dangerous occult cabal, even their allies might be willing to wash their hands of them. And speaking of the cabal…”
Caio flips open a dossier stamped with a sigil of what he assumes must be the Sunhold Bastion’s own inquisitorial branch. Blood pumps in his ears as he reads. The most pertinent information is a list of the names of several operatives. Maltheon he recognizes; the rift-obsessed archmage had studied the boreal tear in Necorath.
“Let us hope we don’t run across him in Beschadik. He’s as unpredictable as he is powerful.” he warns. He quickly jots down the other aliases: Ashen Vex, Elaris Greave, Sister Nyssa… and then there she is, staring at him through the ink. Idita Heart. Caio’s breath catches in his throat.
“Easy there my friend, keep it together. Guessing you don’t want some Sunhold page seeing you smudge their records with your tears.”
Caio lets out a sharp and indignant exhalation, mouth open, ready to ream the little brat in his head… but he does manage to rein it in. The disembodied traveler is right. If he gets worked up over the mere sight of her name, how will he ever be able to track her down, go up against those close to her, and inevitably confront her himself. He lets out a sigh, sitting back from the table and rubbing hands down his gaunt face.
“I knew I was in too deep the moment we met, the moment I heard her voice. She’s a born witch; all she must do is speak her desires and they are hers for the taking.”
“You’re down bad.” If the Shadowhunter could place a hand on the elf’s shoulder he would. “She betrayed you though, didn’t she? And then left without saying a word? That’s pretty ****ed.”
“She wasn’t there in the attack, I don’t know…” he capes.
“You’re holding out hope for her. I get it. You can’t let that compromise your dignity through. She owes you an apology, and then an explanation, and then probably another apology. At the very least.”
Caio laughs coldly. “That’s not really her style. You’re right though. Honestly as much as I’ve tried to imagine what it will be like to see her again, I can’t. As close as we were I could never truly read her, there was always a mystery there. That is what haunts me. In those last days she must have known what was coming yet I could detect to change in her demeanor, no inkling of the doom her friends were about to inflict. If she could conceal that from me… what else was she hiding? Was anything between us true? Or was it all facade?”
Other Caio is quiet for a beat. “What if it was?” he asks. “What will you do?”
Caio’s eyes search the ceiling. All they find is the pressure of tears behind them, emotion welling up. “I don’t know.” he admits, barely a whisper in his mind.
“I think that means you can’t; it’s impossible to know until it happens, one way or the other. Some things you just can’t plan for. That’s okay though. Whatever happens, we’re all here with you.”
For the first time since the traveler got lodged in Caio’s head, he is comforted by the disembodied voice.
“Thank you, Caio.”
As Caio pores over the final folios of the intelligence dossier, a soft knock echoes from the heavy oaken doors of the chamber. Without waiting for an answer, they creak open just wide enough to admit a young page, barely more than fifteen winters and clad in the sun-white and gold livery of the bastion. His boots are dusted with stone grit and his chest rises and falls with the quiet urgency of someone who has jogged most of the way.
The page bows quickly but deeply.
"Inquisitor Cypherien," he announces, his voice steady despite his youth, "the ritual of consecration has been completed. The weapon now rests upon the sun-forged altar. The attending priestess bid me to tell you that the blessing has taken hold... and that it shines brightly. Shall I escort you to the sanctum, sir?"
“Yes, thank you.” the inquisitor responds without turning to the young page. He neatly stacks the documents he has been studying, grabs his journal, and rises to follow.
The page bows once more, before turning briskly on his heel and leading Caio through the winding, gold-washed halls of the Sunhold Bastion. A distant chorus of sacred chants, the soft footfalls of robed priests and the tolling of a ceremonial bell accompany the pair as they walk the temple's halls. The path winds deeper, into corridors rarely used by outsiders, until they reach a pair of tall, rune-etched bronze doors, their surfaces polished until they gleam like mirrors in the flickering light of the sconces. Two paladins in burnished armour part the doors and the page steps aside, gesturing with quiet reverence.
Inside, the chamber is dim and still, lit only by shafts of golden light that spill through slanted windows high above. The altar at the heart of the room is a slab of sunstone, veined with gold. Upon it rests Caio's meteor hammer. Where once the weapon was mere steel and chain, it now bears a subtle glow. The metal hums faintly with divine resonance and the head of the weapon glistens with etched sigils. The chain itself feels lighter, as though the sun’s favour has made it an extension of Caio’s will.
One of the attending priestesses steps forward, her hood drawn back, revealing silver-streaked hair and the weary, but warm smile of one who has just witnessed a small miracle.
"It has taken the blessing well," she says softly. "Sun-wrought and set against the profane."
Gorash’s grin stretches wide, tusks glinting in the sunlight. He hefts his battleaxe, rolling his broad shoulders in anticipation. His confidence is lazy, like a wolf toying with prey before the kill.
"Oh, don’t worry, little demon," he chuckles darkly. "I ain’t the sort to go easy."
The crowd rumbles with amusement at the orc’s bravado, their voices a rolling wave of anticipation as the two fighters size each other up. The pit master raises a gnarled staff and lets it drop, signalling for the duel to begin.
The Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - DM for Aiden, Bründir, Jex, Thurston, Valaith and Vark
The Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - DM for Alaris, Astrid, Caio and Shiva
The dwarf glances up at Alaris, stroking his thick, bristly beard as he sizes them up. His sharp eyes flicker between their glaive and armour, assessing their presence with the practiced air of someone who’s seen a thousand warriors pass through these gates.
"Up the stairs," he grunts, jerking his thumb towards a stone archway to the side of the pit’s entrance. "Plenty o’ seats if ya ain’t picky. Best views are up front, but you’ll be shoulder to shoulder with the rowdiest lot." He snorts, amused. "Then again, somethin’ tells me you ain’t the type to be bothered by a bit of noise."
“Your friend’s got guts," the dwarf grins, nodding toward the arena. "Wouldn’t bet against her." He gives Alaris a knowing look. "You got coin ridin’ on this, or just here for the show?"
The Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - DM for Aiden, Bründir, Jex, Thurston, Valaith and Vark
The Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - DM for Alaris, Astrid, Caio and Shiva
"Watching her back," Alaris replies, returning a grin in kind. "Kind of an all day job, you know what I mean?"
Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid, Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck
Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions!
I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
Shiva's innocent smile falls away into a cold pit of grave severity once more, raising her blade and advancing with silken grace. She would test the brute, as she knew appearances to be deceiving and arrogance would not be her undoing today.
Her footfalls were feather light, stepping into the orc's space and feinting to the left with such lazy overextension that she may as well have handed the man a letter describing her intent. Yet he took the bait, lurching forward and away from the perceived attack to send his battleax careering for her chest to cut a deep vertical line into her. She didn't even bother parrying, pivoting to the side and watching the metal sail past her with the lethargy of a passenger ship.
She stepped into his guard, zig-zagging the blade across his sternum to leave two shallow cuts in his abdomen that immediately begin seeping red. He backsteps in response to the pain and Shiva moves in time with him, keeping him close and the battleax out of its range of highest efficiency. He brings the ax up in an overhead strike that leaves his vital organs so exposed that she would've had time to carve her name into each one. Instead, she meets the ax near its highest point in the strike, forbidding it the momentum it would need to crash through her block.
The entirety of Gorash's torso twists to the left as it follows his redirected blow, and Shiva dances away to a safe distance. He attempts a half-hearted strike as she backsteps, only for the ax to whistle through the air and leave him briefly unbalanced before he rights himself with an indignant snarl.
"This guy's a spectacle fighter, expecting his size and attitude to do most of the heavy lifting. He's use to working a crowd, demoralizing his opponents so they make mistakes he can take advantage of. I'll break him fast, nothing that won't heal."
"Very kind of you."
The dwarf barks out a gruff chuckle and shakes his head.
"Aye, I know the type. Stubborn, scrappy, got no sense of self-preservation—but you wouldn't trade 'em for the world." He jerks his chin toward the pit. "That one's got the look of someone who's been in more fights than she can count. No fear in her stance, just experience."
His eyes flick back to Alaris, giving them another quick once-over.
"And you? You just the bodyguard, or you got some fight in ya too?" He grins, an edge of curiosity in his expression. "We've always got room for another brawler, if watchin' ain't enough for ya."
The Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - DM for Aiden, Bründir, Jex, Thurston, Valaith and Vark
The Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - DM for Alaris, Astrid, Caio and Shiva
Caio dives into the documents with fervor, pouring over the parchment and scrawling notes in his own journal. He finds the information on the Morgensterns first, learning of their long history in Tanem and their deep ties to the Sarameian Empire.
“I’d been hoping they were a more recent comer to the political scene. It may prove difficult to convince others in the court of their treachery.” he muses to his Other, since Ghoul is absent from his normal role as sounding board.
“True, but in my experience politicians are often eager to get rid of competition. They’ve gotta have enemies within the court.”
“And if we can find proof of their dealings with a dangerous occult cabal, even their allies might be willing to wash their hands of them. And speaking of the cabal…”
Caio flips open a dossier stamped with a sigil of what he assumes must be the Sunhold Bastion’s own inquisitorial branch. Blood pumps in his ears as he reads. The most pertinent information is a list of the names of several operatives. Maltheon he recognizes; the rift-obsessed archmage had studied the boreal tear in Necorath.
“Let us hope we don’t run across him in Beschadik. He’s as unpredictable as he is powerful.” he warns. He quickly jots down the other aliases: Ashen Vex, Elaris Greave, Sister Nyssa… and then there she is, staring at him through the ink. Idita Heart. Caio’s breath catches in his throat.
“Easy there my friend, keep it together. Guessing you don’t want some Sunhold page seeing you smudge their records with your tears.”
Caio lets out a sharp and indignant exhalation, mouth open, ready to ream the little brat in his head… but he does manage to rein it in. The disembodied traveler is right. If he gets worked up over the mere sight of her name, how will he ever be able to track her down, go up against those close to her, and inevitably confront her himself. He lets out a sigh, sitting back from the table and rubbing hands down his gaunt face.
“I knew I was in too deep the moment we met, the moment I heard her voice. She’s a born witch; all she must do is speak her desires and they are hers for the taking.”
“You’re down bad.” If the Shadowhunter could place a hand on the elf’s shoulder he would. “She betrayed you though, didn’t she? And then left without saying a word? That’s pretty ****ed.”
“She wasn’t there in the attack, I don’t know…” he capes.
“You’re holding out hope for her. I get it. You can’t let that compromise your dignity through. She owes you an apology, and then an explanation, and then probably another apology. At the very least.”
Caio laughs coldly. “That’s not really her style. You’re right though. Honestly as much as I’ve tried to imagine what it will be like to see her again, I can’t. As close as we were I could never truly read her, there was always a mystery there. That is what haunts me. In those last days she must have known what was coming yet I could detect to change in her demeanor, no inkling of the doom her friends were about to inflict. If she could conceal that from me… what else was she hiding? Was anything between us true? Or was it all facade?”
Other Caio is quiet for a beat. “What if it was?” he asks. “What will you do?”
Caio’s eyes search the ceiling. All they find is the pressure of tears behind them, emotion welling up. “I don’t know.” he admits, barely a whisper in his mind.
“I think that means you can’t; it’s impossible to know until it happens, one way or the other. Some things you just can’t plan for. That’s okay though. Whatever happens, we’re all here with you.”
For the first time since the traveler got lodged in Caio’s head, he is comforted by the disembodied voice.
“Thank you, Caio.”
Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - Vark Galestone | Half-Orc | Storm Sorcerer
Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - Caio Cypherien | Shadar-Kai | Inquisitor Ranger
Dotting into this so I can get it back on my Notifications screen!
Valaith "Rimehand" Kalukavi - Chronicles of Arden
Shiva spends one more moment sizing up the unsteady form of Gorash before exploding forward towards the towering orc. The man is clearly caught off-guard by such aggression and immediately gives ground as he parries a horizontal slash. Yet the assault continues, the shortsword raining down strikes like gold from a tyrant's coffers, the strength of each thrust and slash matched only by their lethal precision. Gorash finds that he is unable to do anything but block, scarcely bringing the ax up in time to keep himself whole as the repeated reverberations of metal upon metal slowly numb his hands and forearms.
Shiva waits until his eyes meet hers, waits until they alight with desperation and fear. Then she advances, bringing the guard of her sword down onto the middle of the ax and, with a heave, wrenching it from the man's hands to fall into the dirt of the pit with a weighty thud. With great speed, she rears back and twists her torso to put proper strength behind a left hook that snaps Gorash's head to the side. He staggers backwards as he groans with pain and his hand flies to his seemingly-stuck jaw, and Shiva takes several small steps back.
"That punch was colossal. I'm surprised he's still standing."
"Seems like he's a bit tougher than I thought."
With a silver flash of their eyes, Alaris shrugs in reply and responds, "I've been asking myself the same question, master dwarf. You see, I haven't fought just one person for so long. Been specializing in groups... battling gangs for local charities, that sort of thing."
Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid, Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck
Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions!
I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
Gorash grunts in surprise, twisting away, but not fast enough. The orc's expression flickers as Shiva's fist connects with his jaw, the first hint of true awareness gleaming in his eyes, and the crowd erupts as blood is drawn. The gladiator steps back, rolling his neck, before thumping the ball of his thumb up into his jaw to set it straight.
"Hah… not bad," Gorash rumbles, his grin no longer quite as cocky. "Guess I’ll have to take ya seriously."
Moving with surprising deftness, the orc kicks his axe up from where it lies at his feet to catch the weapon in mid air. The blade spins twice before settling between Shiva and her foe. This time his stance is more cautious.
Outside, the dwarf lets out a short, wheezing laugh, his thick fingers tugging at his beard as he eyes Alaris anew.
"Charities, is it?" He asks, tone teetering between disbelief and amusement. "Well, that’s a new one. Can’t say we get many philanthropists through the Pits, but I suppose even good deeds need a strong sword arm now and again." He jerks a thumb toward the arena entrance, where the echoes of Gorash’s stomping still reverberate faintly.
"Still, if you’ve been cracking skulls for the public good, you’ll fit right in. We get plenty of group brawls in the later heats. Crowd loves a scrap with more than two bodies flying around. Still, if you're curious what it's like to test your steel against just one other, no distractions, no backup... well, I’m sure we could arrange somethin’." He gives Alaris a sidelong look. "After your friend’s done, of course."
He pauses, glancing out over the pit. "...assuming she’s not planning on taking the place apart, that is."
The Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - DM for Aiden, Bründir, Jex, Thurston, Valaith and Vark
The Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - DM for Alaris, Astrid, Caio and Shiva
As Caio pores over the final folios of the intelligence dossier, a soft knock echoes from the heavy oaken doors of the chamber. Without waiting for an answer, they creak open just wide enough to admit a young page, barely more than fifteen winters and clad in the sun-white and gold livery of the bastion. His boots are dusted with stone grit and his chest rises and falls with the quiet urgency of someone who has jogged most of the way.
The page bows quickly but deeply.
"Inquisitor Cypherien," he announces, his voice steady despite his youth, "the ritual of consecration has been completed. The weapon now rests upon the sun-forged altar. The attending priestess bid me to tell you that the blessing has taken hold... and that it shines brightly. Shall I escort you to the sanctum, sir?"
The Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - DM for Aiden, Bründir, Jex, Thurston, Valaith and Vark
The Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - DM for Alaris, Astrid, Caio and Shiva
“Yes, thank you.” the inquisitor responds without turning to the young page. He neatly stacks the documents he has been studying, grabs his journal, and rises to follow.
Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - Vark Galestone | Half-Orc | Storm Sorcerer
Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - Caio Cypherien | Shadar-Kai | Inquisitor Ranger
The page bows once more, before turning briskly on his heel and leading Caio through the winding, gold-washed halls of the Sunhold Bastion. A distant chorus of sacred chants, the soft footfalls of robed priests and the tolling of a ceremonial bell accompany the pair as they walk the temple's halls. The path winds deeper, into corridors rarely used by outsiders, until they reach a pair of tall, rune-etched bronze doors, their surfaces polished until they gleam like mirrors in the flickering light of the sconces. Two paladins in burnished armour part the doors and the page steps aside, gesturing with quiet reverence.
Inside, the chamber is dim and still, lit only by shafts of golden light that spill through slanted windows high above. The altar at the heart of the room is a slab of sunstone, veined with gold. Upon it rests Caio's meteor hammer. Where once the weapon was mere steel and chain, it now bears a subtle glow. The metal hums faintly with divine resonance and the head of the weapon glistens with etched sigils. The chain itself feels lighter, as though the sun’s favour has made it an extension of Caio’s will.
One of the attending priestesses steps forward, her hood drawn back, revealing silver-streaked hair and the weary, but warm smile of one who has just witnessed a small miracle.
"It has taken the blessing well," she says softly. "Sun-wrought and set against the profane."
The Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - DM for Aiden, Bründir, Jex, Thurston, Valaith and Vark
The Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - DM for Alaris, Astrid, Caio and Shiva