#intrrrrrriguing

[blackjackkent]

Well, we were just about to get to the House of Healing and progress Halsin's quest when Shadowheart decided it was time to reopen her seminar on The Cult of Shar and How It Can Work For You.

This is the LAST thing Hector wants to do right now so Shadowheart is really lucky that he feels a sense of loyalty to her at this point.

And, of course, guess who's waiting along the path when we start walking up to what I assume is the Shar stronghold:

As if Hector's day couldn't get any more irritating.

[sigh] All right, Raphy, bring on the next round of snark.

"Our hero thought but of treasure ahead./Did not consider the peace of the dead..."

"Through the dark he went creeping/and awoke what was sleeping..."

"A new grave they dug, which he himself fed."

...Look, man, I'm just up here cos I want Shadowheart to feel like I listen to her. >:|

Karlach is also unimpressed:

"OooooOOOOoooo, spooooOOOOOky."

"A warning, no less," Hector deadpans warily, raising an eyebrow at the devil. "Don't tell me you're worried about me."

Raphael smirks. "Merely protecting my...assets," he says coolly. "I've grown quite fond of you, you know - in my way. I thought it only fair to warn you about the dangers ahead."

"What dangers are those?" Hector asks. Not that he believes Raphael will tell him anything helpful for anything but his own purposes, but perhaps they can nose out something useful.

"Oh," Raphael answers slyly. "We both know they are soon to be revealed." He shrugs, waves a hand dismissively. "It would be pointless of me to try to bar you from entering, but I can...set the scene, as it were. Prepare you for your role."

Why is everyone always so bloody cryptic? "Fine," Hector says through his teeth. "Paint me a picture."

Raphael strikes a pose, one hand lifting in a thespian attitude. "There is a stage down in the dark upon which a great drama has suspended itself in time," he intones dramatically. "Its actors dwell there still, mired in the languor of their long-tired scenes. If you, however, through the dark go creeping and awake what is sleeping...Chances are many more graves than yours alone will soon be fed."

More riddles. Hector lets out a long, deliberate breath, resisting the sudden, uncharacteristic urge to punch the man in the nose. [PERSUASION] "Paint me a *clearer* picture than that," he growls.

Raphael scoffs. "Very well." He folds his arms moodily. "There is a creature that lurks in silence and shadow - a creature who, like me, is very much of the infernal persuasion." He points behind him at the heavy stone door towards which the group had been progressing. "Should it make its way out through the very doors you are about to brazenly swing open, you'll have unleashed a pestilence on this realm. In truth, it is carnage incarnate. So if you meet the devil of which I speak, kill it. Consider no other course of action."

His voice has taken on an unusual note of ferocity, quite unlike the usual silky-smooth drawl. Even discussing this creature has shattered the devil's usual savoir-faire.

Hector presses this moment of vulnerability in the usually unreadable man. [INSIGHT] "You're still only telling me half of what you really know. I can tell."

Raphael scowls, his eyes flicking away from Hector's scrutiny. "This creature and I go back a long way," he mutters irritably. "I admit it would be in my best interest as well should it remain trapped in the dark, or misplace its head, perhaps."

"What are we talking here?" Karlach prods, clearly also tired of the vague, circular discussion. "Lemure? Pit fiend? Orthon?"

Raphael glances at her, shrugs laconically. "Getting warmer...warmer...hot."

An orthon, then. Hector sets this aside to address in a moment; something more interesting is happening in Raphael's expression, something he is almost certain of the meaning of.

"Are you *afraid* of this creature, Raphael?" he asks, unable to mask a note of amusement.

Anger flares across Raphael's face at once. "Listen here, *pipsqueak*," he snaps. "Do not underestimate this opponent. At best you will have the blink of an eye to strike. Strike first, strike true. Defy the odds, for they are distinctly in its favor. That much I owe the bastard to concede."

Then he has control of himself again, and steps back, his expression morphing into a slow grin. "After all, if there is one rule I hold dear, it's that one must always give the devil his due."

----

"Huh." Hector looks thoughtfully at the spot where Raphael stood for several moments after he has disappeared.

"Whattaya think, Soldier?" Karlach asks wryly. "We believe him?"

"Either he's telling the truth," Gale puts in, "in which case we're about to walk into a terrible situation, or he's really really lying, in which case we're walking into someone else's terrible situation. Either way, I think we owe it to ourselves not to leave this particular stone unturned."

"I don't know about that," Hector mutters. "I could do without visiting a Sharran temple with a devil in it if it's all the same to everyone else."

"Then stay behind," Shadowheart says curtly. "I will be going in, with or without you. But then I think you knew that already." She meets his eyes, silently daring him to object, to try to stop her.

Hector groans and rubs his fingertips against his temples. "And you, presumably, know none of us are going to let you do that alone," he says quietly.

She stiffens, looks away abruptly.

"Karlach, what can you tell us about...what was it? Orthons?" Hector asks, deliberately ignoring Shadowheart's reaction. "You know about them?"

Karlach perks up at once. "Oh! Yeah," she says excitedly. "Big bastards-- they use 'em as bounty hunters, bodyguards...all sorts of jobs in the Hells. Not bright, but who needs t' be when you've got tusks a foot long?" She clicks her tongue thoughtfully. "Wonder what Raphael did t' get mixed up with one 'a them. Or what it's doing down there." She jerks her head to indicate the entrance ahead.

Hector draws a long breath, lets it out, centering himself for a moment, trying to focus on the excitement in Karlach's voice, which always energizes him, and not the terrifying creature she's describing. "Right. Well. I suppose we'd better go find out then."

[alwaysbesparklefeathering]

I can’t read it as I’m not a subscriber to ‘town and country’ (ARE YOU, PAT?).. intrrrrrriguing!

Oh no! No I’m not a subscriber to that publication I’m sorry to say but nonetheless I seem to be allowed to read it!

[blackjackkent]

!!!! Yo, what?

I had Hector talk to one of the Steel Watchers out in the street. Realistically, this was an ill-advised thing to do, since the one at the gate marked the whole group as enemies of the Absolute and there's no reason to think this one won't either. But as it happens - it takes a completely different conversational tack:

"Citizen. You are being accompanied by a malfunctioning Steel Watcher. Please stand back."

The whole group is pretty perplexed by this for a moment - but then it clicks. The thing means Karlach.

"Erm... I think you have the wrong hunk of metal."

"False. Report your purpose, Steel Watcher. Why are you following these citizens unbidden?"

Hector shoots a look at Karlach, and she shrugs back at him, bewildered.

"Ah," the machine goes on without waiting for a response. "I understand your malfunction. Your unit is a highly outdated mode. The ra-gnax casement protecting your metallurgised-ised valuves is burning well outside the recommended temperature. Please report to the Steel Watch Foundry for dismantling."

(A/N: Karlach got the saddest expression on her face as she realized what the construct was talking about. :( )

Hector is suddenly listening very intently to this conversation. The machine is saying that Karlach's infernal engine is similar - perhaps even identical - to the engine which powers the Steel Watchers. Hope, brief and sharp and painful, flares through his chest. Perhaps they can repair it, truly repair it for good and all?

"Same thing Dammon said," he says sharply. "Do you know how to fix this malfunctioning engine?"

"Yeah," Karlach says eagerly, her thoughts obviously trending the same way. "Hey, metal man - if I report to this foundry, can my engine be fixed?"

"Your make is very obsolete," the construct responds impassively. "Repairing your engine would be not only impractical but impossible. Report to the Steel Watch Foundry for immediate dismantling."

The hope is crushed in Hector's chest as sharply as it came, a brutal seizing pain. But some flicker of it still remains - because they will be going to this foundry anyway. Perhaps it's not impossible that there is something there that they can use.

"Yeah, yeah," Karlach mutters, her shoulders slumping. "Tell me something I don't know."

"It thinks you're one of them, Karlach," Hector says in an undertone. "Why?"

She shrugs. "Not sure. Maybe whatever keeps them going is similar to my tin can." She snorts. "If it turns out I'm the fucking prototype for these things, I'll dismantle every single one of them."

Not impossible, Hector reflects bleakly. Gortash did trade Karlach to Zariel - perhaps this technology was the price in return.

"Any threat to the Steel Watch is a threat to Lord Gortash himself," the construct says placidly. "Please report to the Steel Watch Foundry for immediate dismantling."

[blackjackkent]

43. Bloody kiss. Either Wyll/Rahka or shadowzel. Which ever one speaks to you more friend!

Ooooh. Intrrrrrriguing. This actually ties in nicely with a thought I had for another of the prompts from @astreamofstars from this ask, so I am gonna combine the two. >:) This is a mild retcon of a scene from my liveblog, but I do what I want, muahaha. XD

Wyll/Rakha - Bloody kiss (kiss roulette meme) - Holding hands and that's all they can think of (“What Are We” moment prompts)

----

She is soaked in Kressa Bonedaughter’s blood. It stings in her eyes, it covers her cheeks and her mouth. The Myrkulite lies dead before her, a final vengeance for a torment Rakha doesn’t even remember. 

It felt so good to kill her. And the beast in her mind is awake again and hungry for more, scenting that blood on the air. 

They cut you into pieces, it whispers, a hiss like a serpent in her ear. They sliced out your mind. They made you into meat. Will you not return the favor? 

She feels suddenly aware of every breathing creature around her, every life waiting to be snuffed out. Lae'zel and Minthara looting the belongings of the dead cultists. Absolutist thralls and mind flayers moving down the slimy corridors beneath Moonrise. The very walls of this place, fleshy with a sort of half-life that would give so sweetly under her ripping, tearing claws… 

And Wyll, of course - sitting at her side, watching her. 

Yes, whispers the beast. Start with him, just as I told you; tear that soft thing from your life and begin your reign of death… 

She kisses him. It’s a sharp motion like a blow, wrenching him by the collar until their lips crash together. A vein pulses in her temple with the concentration and effort it takes. Against all the howling evil within her, she kisses him rather than killing him, and the blood on her face mixes with the kiss and makes him taste of iron.

She feels him respond, can almost hear his heartbeat stutter to a faster pace with the muted need strung taut between them. It is not just passion - though that is part of it, certainly, as she channels all the beast’s rage into the softer feeling she has for him. But more than that, it is a feral, demanding, clinging thing, a reaching-out for the safety only he can provide. 

He knows her well, by now. He knows the monstrous thing that lives inside her, and the signs that it is trying to take control. But he also knows that this isn’t her, not really - not who she wants to be. He is the Blade of Frontiers, and he has seen monsters driven by true darkness.

“Stay with me, Rakha,” he whispers against her mouth. He takes her hand and squeezes it fiercely. His palm is warm, sweat-slick from the colony’s oppressive humidity, and his grip grounds her, drawing her back to herself, bit by bit shutting out everything else. “Stay with me. Show me the light.”

He is the only one who has ever thought there is light in her.

She draws a slow, unsteady breath. The roaring darkness in her head starts to fade, and as it recedes, the kiss softens. It loses its hungry, conquering edge, grows gentler; Wyll takes control of it now, his free hand cupping the back of her head, steadying her against him. A strange sound escapes her, a sort of whimpering groan, and he answers it with a sigh against her lips.

His touches have done their work. The beast settles back into restless sleep and she is conscious only of him - and of the grief that remains from Kressa’s revelations now that the rage has cooled. His touch soothes that too, but it cannot drive it away entirely. 

She wishes, sometimes, she could simply have this softness, without all the broken edges in her soul. “Thank you,” she mutters. The kiss breaks and she leans her forehead against his, closing her eyes.

His grip on her hand loosens but doesn't let go. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks. "About what she said?"

"No," she says. She doesn't have the strength for her usual curtness; the word emerges wistful and exhausted. A pause, then-- "Later."

"Later it is," he agrees. "I'll be ready."