Foehammer
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The Southern Aria <Light's Reach>
- Though identical in design to the Temple of the White Dragon, the monument building that houses the Aria Portal lacks the ambiance of divinity that its northern counterpart holds. It consists of an inner and an outer chamber, with two thirds of the overall dimensions of the monument building belonging to the interior area. It is directly connected to Dawnstar Keep at the northern end, with a projecting "H" of columns forming the entrance in the middle of the eastern side.
- The inner chamber of the temple is thirty meters long by twenty meters wide, with internal marble colonnades in two tiers, structurally necessary to support the roof. On the exterior, the columns measure two meters in diameter and are ten meters high. The corner columns are slightly larger in diameter. In total, the temple features forty-six outer pillars and nineteen inner pillars in total. The top step of the stepped platform upon which colonnades of the temple columns are placed has an upward curvature towards its center of three inches on the east and west ends, and of four inches on the sides. The roof is covered with large overlapping marble tiles.
- Inside the temple, the arsenic-shade of stone is blanketed with white-bleached riveroak panels and beams, while the floor consists of black, reflective marble tiles. The contrast between the white timber and the black marble is nothing if not elegant.
- The Aria itself stands in the middle of the inner chamber, facing north/south. It is an impressive artifact indeed, as large as it is ring-shaped into a near perfect "O".
Music expresses feeling and thought, without language; it was below and before speech, and it is above and beyond all words.
Therein is the quandary that Serath Kahar ponders as he stands before that which is known as the Aria, clad in the same ensemble of matte-black surcoat and leather as he stands before the silent "O" shaped portal that rests in the middle of this monumental building, his expression as resigned as the Aria is quiet, though both seem to maintain a certain peace about them all the same.
The silence of the city beyond Dawnstar Keep only adds to the serenity, for in the depths of this chamber, within the reach of the mystery that exists within it, there is nothing living save for a Prince of the Blood, and...
"I hope you're managing to cope with the tranquility well enough," that calm, measured purr asks of the chamber, Serath neither moving or turning to address anyone in particular as he speaks. His words are double-edged, for those who are gifted - or perhaps cursed - enough to see such equivocality.
Kael does not mistake being addressed - ghosting quietly into this place which, while perhaps less holy, still, in the quiet of the city, feels no less... solemn. Unafraid, he approaches the black-clad figure of the blood Prince, though his expression belies a certain thoughtfulness, a certain worry. It takes the space of several heartbeats before he answers, words chosen carefully for all that they are rough -
".. S' odd. Like bein' blind. Empty. Hae nae been a man fer so long, I sort o' forgot what 't means t' be one. Standin' here, 'n this place, wi' all this around t' admire.. I find m'self nae really sure how." Curiously enough, he asks - "yer th' one what is promised t' th' Lady o' th' hidden keep, aye?" Guileless, that - if a bit wary.
The young mage is a bit rough around the edges, a bit tired - that glorious bruising around his right eye the quintessential definition of a 'shiner' - astounding, the sheer number of colours a bruise can be. It seems forgotten, in his curiosity.
"It's far more than a mere promise." the Prince answers, a touch of sad amusement playing into his voice, no doubt from the various memories such a statement invokes, finally turning away from the Aria to cast that dusty-blue gaze upon the only other living thing in the area. "As things earned with blood, and loss, and pain, often are. To the point where mere words no longer have suitable meaning, and are no longer required even if they had." A pause follows, Serath in turn shifting his arms from being previously crossed across his chest to resting one hand on the hilt of a sleeping longsword at his hip, and the other upon the heavy belt that encircles the surcoat.
"Interesting mark you have there." he notes. It's unlikely that he's talking about the tatoo.
"Eh?" Kael blinks... which starts a chain reaction that involves a bit of a wince, and a realization, and then a wry smile. "S' nice, aye? Met a rock face t' face. 't were a bit angry, in th' end, but 't all passed. S' nothin', really.. this mornin' I hae worse, 'till Celeste got hold o' me." The young man shrugs, absently, looking curiously past the prince - then back to him, his tone a bit rueful. "I sort o' promised 'er I woul' help build 's place. Guess m' gonna hae t' find a different promise."
He offers, as though remembering manners - "oh.. an', m' Kael, Kael Firelight, nae what 't matters much." The question bubbles out, "what 's this place? If y' donnae mind me askin'?"
The Prince smiles as the topic shifts from stubborn rocks to the nature of the location in which the two stand. "This would be the Aria." he states in a tone akin to that of a curator leading a troupe of visitors around a museum, listing off details about exhibits he's spoken about dozens of times before. Turning to gesture to the artifact, the Prince continues. "The Southern Aria, to be precise, which would lead one to suspect that there are at least three others, which in turn is somewhat of an amusing conundrum as Sara doesn't /know/ that there are three others, she just /knows/ that this is the southern one."
He pauses at that, looking back from the Aria and upon Kael once more, an expression of light amusement upon his features. "Which has most likely confused you more than it should. Just understand that Sara is a source of lore, and leave it at that. The rest will then make more sense. Probably."
".. I saw y' at th' Aegis-wall. I heard th' voice - m' nae th' brightest man, but 'm smart enough t' add things t'gether, e'en when m' nose-blind an' a bit lost." Is that.. teasing? It's merry and wry, regardless, the young man moving forward enough to get a slightly better view - whether the view's /actually/ better or not is entirely debatable. "Aria. Taran talked 'bout that word... s' a sort o' song, aye?"
Serath offers a wordless nod of affirmation at Kael's guess, remaining silent for a moment while the Freelander looks upon the portal before elaborating further. "Simply put, an aria is known solo vocal piece with instrumental accompaniment. Essentially what Taran does for a living, one might say. Well, at least as a front." There's knowing and then there's /knowing/, as they say.
"The problem arises in that we don't know where it came from, who built it, or how it is activated. The name would obviously seem to be a hint - unless someone was making an attempt at being especially devious - but beyond that..." he trails off, leaving the unspoken to speak for its self. "Savantis had a try at it, singing a few tavern songs she's picked up over the last few years, but it didn't seem to appreciate her... ah... 'vocal talents', shall we say, all that much."
Kael shrugs - "Donnae ask /me/ t' sing. Shades - woul' probably break 't." He drags fingers over his hair, speculative. "Meian an' Taran woul' love t' poke at 't anyroad."
The young man looks up to the Prince - "Wi' have fun tryin' t' find out, anyroad. Wi' be a sort o' happy yellin' at each other what wi' set th' hall t' ringin'." He pauses - and then, still, with that odd curiosity, asks - "How long, do y' figure, 'till folks start livin' here? 't needs people, e'en if 's nae quite real. Y' kin sort o' tell, walkin' th' streets."
"As soon as they're able." Serath returns; an honest enough reply. "The Tribunal have already established a foothold here to try and draw up some plan for it, and the Office Census and Excise are even deliberating moving their headquarters here to better manage such an effort. Meanwhile, we have a fair garrison of the Imperial Watch setting up shop to provide law enforcement. Obviously what we don't want is an insane rush of people all attempting to grab whatever doesn't already have someone living in it, and to make sure that those who actually *need* such places - and are of a good enough conviction to warrant such a boon - are first in line to get them."
He follows... most of that. "I donnae envy 't o' ye. Any of 't." Kael looks up to the prince, thoughtful. "Wi' as afraid 's folks are, these days, wi' either run 'way screamin' o' pound on yer gates demandin' a haven. S' sort o' a shame, aye? I hope a few o' 'em see 't fer what 't feels like 't is."
"Thank the Light for two bulwarks, one point of entry, and an ocean of crimson armor." the Prince intones, apparently thankful that he can wield political power enough to call in the reserves when divinity and steel just won't cut it. "The Nobility will be the most difficult part, but if the auction concept works out then I plan to channel those funds to somewhere that they can be of use."
".. oh, I trust y' ken what yer doin'." The young man glances down at his hands.. then flicks his gaze back up to study the Aria. "Find m'self wishin' I were welcome 'ere, more 'n I am." He smiles - "wi' be an amazin' thing, th' first days. Wi' hae yer hands full. Celeste 's thrilled, lookin' fer how she kin help, too - s' sort o' catchin'."
Kael catches an amused expression from Serath in the wake of that comment; the latter looking upon the former in a side-long kind of way, half on the Aria, and half on the Druid. "You're in a Keep owned by a Prince, talking to that Prince, in the heart of the city restored through the Light. I'm not sure how much more welcome you could get."
It's the space of several heartbeats, a half-dozen breaths before the freelander simply speaks, softly - hooking a thumb in his belt. His words are serious and .. hesitant, not for fear of anything more than finding the /right/ ones, but very careful.
".. I learned sommat, comin' here. S' a little thing. When I first walked through th' gate, an' after I got past bein' afraid, an' then bein' afraid fer th' Dutchess Mikin, it were odd. Jus'.. seein' e'erythin' with eyes like e'eryone else. I figure, though... th' gates, th' donnae suffer Shadow t' pass 'em - an' 'm here anyroad, aye? Walkin' th' streets right along wi' ye 'n Celeste 'n all th' rest."
"I been wonderin', since I were little, whether I hae any light left 'n me 't all. Th' stories th' tell say we wi' be a monster, aye? Th' scared me more 'n I say, mosttimes - s'pecially 'cause .. 's sort o' true, fer me. But 'ere, th' gates /let me pass/. Nae all o' me - but th' part what thinks 'n loves 'n hopes."
"That other thing, though.." Kael shrugs. "th' thing waitin' fer me outside, what did nae pass th' threshold? S' part o' me too. This place, 't only wants /part/ o' who I am. An'.. 't wants th' least part. M' nae much o' a man- but 'm a pretty right good monster." Wryly.. "'n a day o' two, wi' nae hae time fer folk like me. Y' got important things happenin', bigger things 'n me, an' folks like me. Thank th' light fer that - y' /need/ t' be there, doin' those things, whate'er th' are. S' yer place. Wi' ne'er likely get t' talk t' ye again, if y' figure, nae like this. Wi probably say sommat stupid, mess e'erythin' up - ask yer lady. I mess up enough."
He studies the artifact, "S' maybe that /whole/ part o' me hae sommat t' do, too. Fought a Scourge, yesterday - th' wanted blood, 'n th' /got/ blood, 'n I coul' nae stop 'em.. but I got a better chance o' makin' sommat good /out there/, whole, 'n I do 'ere.. as half. S' what I mean, I guess."
"There's an old saying," Serath offers in the wake of that venting of emotion and prose, his voice as calm and measured as ever, "That states that the souls of emperors and cobblers are cast in the same mold. That the same reason that makes us wrangle with a neighbor causes a war between princes." He lets those words hang in the quiet serenity of the inner sanctum of the Southern Aria's monument building before finally adding. "We may be born to different fates, but the Light builds a path for us all the same, and where we choose to walk is entirely our decision."
There's something about that that has Kael giving the man a truly /odd/ look. ".. Y' sound like Tshepsi, comin' from another way." He frowns... seeming to digest the Prince's words - not quite wrapping his head around them, for a moment. ".. I.. I hope yer right. Feel like, most o' th' time, I cannae much see th' path. S' like 't comes in an I kin see a few steps, 'n then I flounder around in th' dark, waitin' fer another crack o' lightnin', o' another flicker from a candle what keeps goin' out in th' wind. S' like mos' folks, I guess."
Abruptly - a wry laugh, a friendly thing - "Well, maybe wi' trip a lot, but wi' end up /somewhere/, aye? Th' sky is m' roof-tree, th' earth m' floor - somewhere in between 's got t' be a good place t' stand." He winks.. and winces a bit, "Keep fergettin'.. mmph. Oh, y' prolly hae - but y' been up to th' towers yet?"
Serath shakes his head in answer to the question. It's a subtle motion, but a refutation all the same. "There hasn't been much need, all things considering."
"Y' should. Me 'n Meian went up th' one north o' here - ne'er climbed s' many steps. Y' shoul' see 't - th' view. S' .. " Kael shrugs. "s' nae important, I guess.. but 's sommat amazin' t' see. Right close t' flyin'." He retreats a step. "m' talkin' too much again, aye? th' keep tellin' me I do."
"To speak and to speak well are two different things. A fool may talk, but a wise man speaks. And if people tell the wise man that he speaks too much, are they not fools themselves, Kael Firelight?" That voice, for a moment, is clearly not Serath's own, though spoken by Serath all the same, even if he isn't looking at Kael as he does so. The question asked, those dusty-blue eyes fall upon the mage once more. "She has a point." he adds.
...embarrassment? From him? He certainly flushes, looking down - ".. m' nae wise. I mean, thankye, m'lady, fer thinkin' so - " There's a profound and grave resepct there, despite the rough words - a respect that even Serath really hasn't had in Kael's tone up until now - and it's coupled with .. fear, is it? No.. awe. Abrupt and instant, a beta-wolf's response to an alpha - even the young man's posture changes slightly, his eyes staying down. "M' jus' me, is all. An' is nae much, yet."
"You should give yourself more credit." Serath offers with a smile, "Humility does not mean thinking less of yourself than of other people, nor does it mean having a low opinion of your own gifts. It means freedom from thinking about yourself at all, and letting other people do that for you. Now if there was any road to follow, I'd suggest that one as a start."
Well, those words may not be all understood - but they /do/ strike home, the young man nodding, slowly.. "wi' try." He retreats a second step, looking up after a moment. "... wi' nae.. wi' nae keep ye. Wi' ye.. kin I ask ye t' tell th' Lady Mikin 't.. since I canne live up t' m' promise, I still owe 'er? Sh' may nae find 't important.. but I do."
Serath shakes his head once more; again, it is but the slightest of motion, hardly disturbing the fall of that argent hair, yet it is one of denial once more. "You can tell her yourself," he offers, "Which is often a good way of repairing broken promi-"
A muffled *tap-tap-tap-tap* can be heard in rapid succession as Serath abruptly falls silent, his expression solemn in the split seconds that follow. Like padded cloth impacting on slate, the sound is barely audible, yet present all the same, and before one even has time to ponder it, a sequence of events transpire in such quick succession that one might only comprehend that they have taken place when it is too late to do anything about them.
There's a swirl of motion from Kael's left; motion matched by a reaction to his left and a rush of air that heralds a clash of steel and a hiss of blades grinding against each other. When one is able enough to find their place in such a maelstrom, they would understand it as this:
In front of Kael stands the Prince of Blood, longsword drawn and held in a reverse-grip in his right hand, the hilt in line with his left shoulder and the blade angled diagonally down across his body. In front of the Prince stands a figure clad in an outfit so dark a brown as to almost be black. Clearly female under the covering wrappings of that assassin's garb, she is stood with his right hand thrust forward, in like with Kael's head.
In that hand rests a wickedly curved dagger, dripping with a clear fluid. That dagger is half-locked in the crossguard of Serath's longsword as he wields the weapon in one hand, providing the counter-force that's keeping the tip of the assassin's blade from moving the final inch over the Prince's shoulder and into Kael's face.
To the young man's credit - though no warrior, no, he has /sense/. He snarls - an animal sound coming from a human throat; slow to react, but in the space granted by the Prince's guard, bouncing back and away from the knife... and, from the look of concentration crossing his face, already reaching for something within him that simply isn't there to be found.
Some instinct, despite that wasted moment, already has him reaching to draw the knife at his belt, that odd wildander's blade swept out and reversed; warrior he may not be, but that motion is hardly an unpracticed one.
The hiss and scrape of steel on steel rings out through the sanctum as the Prince pushes back against the assassin pushing forward, eventually managing to get the upper hand to push the assassin back and make her backpedal away to fight him on his terms. In light of this, Serath swings his blade out to the side, flourishes it around into a standard backhand grip, before finally dropping the tip of the sword forward and down towards the ground in a fool's guard.
The female assassin doesn't bite, and the two remain at a standoff for a moment before the Prince - his back to Kael - barks a single warning: "Behind you."
Kael doesn't think - he reacts, aiming a backhand slash at 'behind' - nothing in particular, just buying space. He uses the momentum of that warning swing to turn, setting his back to Serath's, his stance wide and low. He has no form and it shows, wielding that knife with the air of one simply used to fighting, well, dirty. He spares no time for words, his expression fixed in that grim snarl, searching for the threat.
The unexpected slash of that obsidian kukri gives the second assassin pause for thought, quickly halting his forward momentum and sucking in his stomach to avoid being gutted. Like his female counterpart, he is clad in the same dark-brown swath of cloth and leather that makes up typical assassin's garb. Well, exotic assassins, at least, for these are clearly more than the usual 'cloak and dagger' style of Thieves Guild assassins who bide their time for just the right moment for a quick strike and fade.
No, these are far bolder than that - and it shows. Still, the male assassin has been caught off guard now, bringing what appears to be a hand axe back up into a defensive stance as he waits to see what Kael will do next.
A rapid succession of strikes of steel upon steel ring out behind the Druid, suggesting that the female assassin is now having to endure the consequences of her actions.
There's a rule, in street fighting. Never give your enemy an even break.
Kael may not have dirt to throw, but getting in the other man's face is certainly one way to keep it from being 'even'. Feinting inside with the knife, he actually does his best to step /inside/ the man's guard, aiming a fist at the man's jaw, and - providing it connects - following up with a knee.
The assassin is light on his feet and quick to react. As Kael moves forward, the assassin moves backwards in harmony. The fist is deflected with an elbow protected by a plate of leather, the knee deftly avoided. Hopping on the spot to quickly switch his stance, the assassin then shifts his grip on the hand axe, bringing his palm closer to the axe-head as he attempts a snubbed hack.
Meanwhile, the air behind Kael sings as a Prince cuts a longsword's blade through the air quickly enough to displace it in a whistle of speed and sound, the assassin perhaps trying her best to keep up, but apparently unable to as a clatter of disarmed metal resounds upon marble, cascading through the sanctum.
Rather than dodge, the young Druid flashes teeth - a feral grin... some part of him, it seems, /enjoys/ this particular dance.
That short hack? Please - it's with an almost contemptuous motion that Kael reaches up cross-body with that empty hand... grabbing the haft of that hand axe where it protrudes from the man's fist, the assassin having choked up to hold it just behind the head. With a grunt and a /yank/, hair swirling wildly with the motion and his knife hand coming forward - the Mage presents a simple choice: let go, or get gutted.
He's been wandering the city for some time, ever since he's slipped away from the group two days hence. And he's certainly walked this section of Light's Reach several times since then. But this is new. Vhramis pauses in the doorway of the building, staring at the going-ons inside with his usual blank expression.
The female assassin has - perhaps - decided that she isn't being paid enough for this kind of encounter, or perhaps she's had a change of heart and repented her murderous ways. Whatever the reason, she fakes left, right, and then runs to the left and around Serath - who doesn't move at all, content to just watch her with a neutral expression - heading as fast as he feet will take her towards the exit from the inner chamber - which puts her on a direct path with anyone who may be coming in. Such as Vhramis.
The male assassin is not so lucky. Had the light smiled upon him, he may have found his opponent to be a little more merciful, and a lot less feral. However, he chose to dance with a wolf, and now he finds out how dangerous an angry wolf can be as obsidian teeth bite deep through the thin layers of cloth and velvet and into his stomach. He now has a second choice presented: Step back and bleed out, or stay where he is and keep the blade lodged. The options aren't great, but he chooses the latter, green eyes speaking bloody murder as he stares balefully at the druid in front of him.
That wolf falters, as the blade strikes home - the ripping of fabric and that all too jarring, meaty noise of blade skewering flesh seeming to snap him back to something a bit more... real. Stricken, Kael goes pale - knuckles white around the haft of the axe, and around the hilt of that kukri between both men.
Face to face with eyes that show hate, the young man seems only bewildered.
The rapid approach of the fleeing woman draws Wolfsbane's attention from a general, room wide observance, to one entirely focused upon her. With nary a blink, the Lady's Flight is slid down from his shoulder, gripped and raised. An arrow, already drawn from the quiver at his waist is nocked smoothly, the shaft sent spinning downwards at one of her thighs.
The motion is so fluid that one might not have even noticed that flight of the arrow at all as the ranger pulls, nocks, draws, and then looses that single arrow - a sequence of events so swift that they are immediately rewarded with a startled and very feminine yelp, and the subsequent sound of some tripped and colliding with the ground. In this case that someone is the female assassin, and the yelp - which has since become a soft sobbing - was quite obviously the result of the arrow which is now quite neatly sticking out of her left thigh.
Meanwhile, the male assassin just stands there in that frozen pose with the druid, breathing heavily, his left hand shaking as he moves it to his belly to place it atop of Kael's own; a silent plea for him not to move, even if his eyes dictate the opposite should be the anticipated result. It may be that the assassin's hate is not directed at Kael per se, but rather at himself.
With a soft hiss of steel against leather, Serath's longsword is promptly put to sleep within that tan scabbard once more, the Prince walking over to Kael as if time were but a trivial concern. "Kael." he asks, voice unwaveringly calm, "Don't move."
The Druid doesn't... no shakes, not yet. He simply stays pale, his eyes locked with that assassin's. It's obvious that both entreaties reach him; regardless, he offers a pair of stricken, quiet words, meant for the man with a knife in his belly. ".. m' sorry."
But no - no, he doesn't move.
Wolfsbane's eyes glance up as he takes note of more movement, but being that it's from someone he's familiar with, he rapidly looks back down to the wounded, sobbing woman. He holds his attention on her for the meantime.
"Never a dull moment." Serath laments as he reaches Kael's position, taking a moment to remove the thin leather gloves that envelop his hands to cast them discarded on the floor. Hands that were once littered with thin scars but now seem devoid of any such marks move in union; the left moving to find the hilt of the kukri beneath the hands of two other men, prompting for at least one of them to let go, while the other moves behind the assassin - quickly displaces and drops a hidden shiv - and then rests against his back to support the heavily wounded man. "I need you to let go." he requests of Kael, "And I need *you* to fall to the ground, slowly." he demands of the assassin.
That same assassin doesn't seem to be in a position in which he can argue much, considering his life is in the balance. He mouths a mirror of Kael's words back to the druid, and then waits to see what will happen next.
Simultaneously, the female assassin just sobs in a very delicate manner. Her voice is clearly refined enough to be that of a Noble. Still, she doesn't seem to be bleeding much. The wonders of arrows.
Kael does - stepping back, rubbing at his hands - touched with another man's blood, unnoticed, the action seeming a nervous gesture, rather than one intended to wipe anything away. Falteringly - "I... I cannae heal 'm. Nae here."
"Interesting place to explore, though," Vhramis replies, some sympathy edging it's way into his expression as he continues to watch the downed woman. "Just stay there. We'll pull it out soon enough," he tells her, still maintaining his place by the door.
"You know," the Prince notes in a matter-of-fact kind of tone as he lowers the male assassin to the marble floor - the assassin helping the process as much as he can - "I don't know why to wait six years before trying this again. You could have just asked me. A formal letter. Dear Serath, it would have read, Will our assassination attempt work this time? No, I would have replied, don't bother. Thanks! You could have said. So much time and effort would have been saved, and..." He sighs, placing one hand around the hilt of the blade and the other around the point of entry in preparation.
Kael watches, unwilling - or unable - to look away, the young man's eyes fixed on that knife.
"Going to be a mess, Master Firelight," warns Vhramis at that. "May want to look away. Or not. I'm sure you've seen it's like before. But it's worth warning about one way or the other. Right."
With his left hand, Serath removes the Kukri; a swift, fast motion, as cleanly detached as it was nimble, to the point of actually wiping most of the blood off upon the cloth of the assassin's garb as it is retracted. With his right hand..
A blossom of pure light smothers the thin, but deep, wound. There is no blood. There is no mark. There's not even a scar. There is only that light, and that pragmatic patience, and that expression of resignation and as five seconds tick by that hand is removed, leaving only a tear in the assassin's outfit, and a yelp of gratitude.
"S' my knife, m' hand what drove 't - m' nae.." Kael breaks off, as the knife is removed, and stands in silence to watch that white light. He moves forward, haltingly, in that space, coming up on Serath's left, taking a deep rather steadying breath, relaxing slightly.
"You know...” Wolfsbane mutters, shifting his weight at that brilliant light. "When I saw a city, and forest, spring back from ashes and nothing, I just somewhat assumed you were about. This is going to be added to your already sizable reputation."
Serath can't help but smile at that comment as he stands, absenting flipping the Kukri around in his left hand, and then again, before offering it back to Kael, blade first. "I tried bringing your hair back." he quips, though his tone suggestions nothing but deathly seriousness. "It seems the Light does have /some/ limit."
Kael takes the blade, wary of its edge - "Nothin' kin save Master Wolfbane's looks, when 't comes down t' it." That's an absent, friendly barb - but, more seriously, the Druid asks, "what wi' we do wi' these two? An' who are they?" Why he directs that at Serath instead of the man on the ground? Who can say. Regardless, he turns the blade over, sheathing it carefully at his side.
"I'm afraid to let it grow back in. I probably went bald sometime in the past year and just never knew it," answers Vhramis, scratching at his scalp with his fingers. "So you've seen them before, then. Six years ago?"
"Not these two." the Prince answers, nodding to Kael before heading in Vhramis's direction. "I've ran into them a few times before, though. We go way back. You know when I died the first time?" there's a certain mirthless humor as he says that, leaving the rest to to remain unspoken. "Soravyn Zahir would know more about them then I do as he's the one that hired them back then." A pause.
"A misunderstanding." He continues, moving past Vhramis now. "Regardless, I'm going to go and see if I can invoke some crimson armor to come and collect these two. I suspect a change of heart and career will be in their future. If I might be so bold as to ask you to keep an eye on them both until said crimson arrives..."
'Keep an eye on...' With a shrug, Kael takes the two steps to settle down and sit /on/ the male assassin. It's a simple expedient, really, given that his belly isn't wide open at this point. "donnae make m' hurt ye. I hate hurtin' folk. An' when 't comes down t' it, y' nae gettin' anywhere, 't this point." He peers over at Vhramis - "An' 'ere I thought this were supposed t' be jus' a quiet an' nice sort o' place, an' folks are runnin' around wavin' knives 't people."
Wolfsbane takes a step to the side from the door to let Serath out, sparing him the trouble of needing to walk through, over, or under the ranger. "Well. They're probably close by, at least. Looks almost exactly the same as the actual Tribunal. Or the original. If you've been around there. No need to go now, if you haven't."
"Flew o'er it, once o' twice. Ne'er went /in/. Nae much call fer folks sheddin' mud 'n nice places, but th' view from th' roof 's right nice." Kael takes a breath. "Might hae to, once th' wealthy folk 'r out. Might b' nice t' see it, if 's jus' goin' t' be empty."
"Not so empty anymore, but it doesn't hurt to look. They won't mind the dirt, anyway, I don't think. Or you can take your boots off," replies the ranger at that with a small shrug. "Head over when you can."
"... I will." Kael looks down at his assassin-chair, then up - abruptly paling. ".. Master Wolfsbane.. y' figure y' kin keep 'n eye on these two?"
"Sure enough," nods Vhramis in confirmation, glancing up to Kael. "Problem?"
"Jus... need t' walk a minute." He stands - a bit wobbly, admittedly, the young man definitely a bit shaky... jitters. Kael offers a lopsided grin, distracted. "Wi' nae be far.. y' shout, wi' hear ye."
"Not too far, hm? In case there's more, and all that," Vhramis states with a small nod at that. An arrow is drawn and nocked, and he fixes a stare upon the two assassins.
“Aye. Nae too far - jus' out t' that garden. M' serious, Vhramis - th' twitch, y' shout. Wi' come runnin'." ... for all the good it might be worth /right now/. Kael makes his shaky way to the door regardless; "Wi' be fine."
Return to Season 6 (2007)
