#wars to fight ;; rakatak ic

[warwaited]

@infernaliscor

It's, bluntly, textbook. Walk their way in, fight their way out - and, ever so conveniently, the two thralls they for some reason hadn't seen fit to kill when first they met were here as well. Rakatak, sporting several arrows sticking out of her at odd angles and a bloody-mouthed, malignant smile, is locked in melee with the brother of the pair.

He goes high with a desperate overhead, she steps back. The Tooth follows his weapon down. She traps it close to the ground with the haft, then, with a simple half-step forward...

He heaves a wet gasp, the hand-thick, viciously back-spiked blade stuck in his chest halfway down to the crossguard. She takes two steps forward and he's forced to stumble backwards with her, his heels to the cooking fire that still has chunks of dwarf roasting over it.

In her eyes there is no mercy, no acknowledgement that he is worthy to exist.

Then, she turns, coming in close to use the Tooth as a fulcrum and send him away. He stumbles to a hand and knee, probably already not going to make it to his feet with the vertical slice in his torso. Before he can make another sound, the blade falls. So does he.

Rakatak looks at the neatly separated head for a moment, then lifts her chin, turning to regard the bloodbath they've created.

Her eyes land on Karlach.

"Is there something on my face?"

[warwaited]

@neverhangd

It's always a bit of a gamble on how her insubordination - even perceived - will be handled. Rakatak is a woman more than capable of keeping her anger close to her chest until the prime moment to unleash it (sometimes literally), but time and again she's shown that she appreciates someone with the backbone to stand up to her bloviating at least on occasion.

This time, after a somewhat incredulous glance at Anne, she laughs. Not from the chest, little more than a light scoff and a shake of the head, but there's a touch of mirth in her eyes when she turns to lean against the gunwale.

"I'm not sure wondrous is the word I would use, but it is certainly sobering. Perhaps, if I must justify my grandstanding, I might ask you look to where this next cruelty might come from. If such a thing isn't also beneath you."

[warwaited]

@chaoticbard

Yellow eyes rest on her face as Alaara speaks, and the paladin slowly nods. Funny enough, she can sympathize with the idea of things coming easier to you than people would expect... it's because of that, specifically, that she brought it up in the first place.

She's a hobgoblin. She can't imagine putting herself up in front of other people in a situation that bears the possibility of failure. A sour note, a flubbed verse... it sets her teeth on edge just thinking about it.

"As naturally as breathing. I suppose, in a somewhat grim way, we are similar in that." She inclines her head respectfully, though the pensive gaze remains on the bard. Clearly that wasn't the end of her thought - but she isn't sure if she should continue.

"What is... your favourite kind of music."

[warwaited]

"You are all of you despicable."

[warwaited]

🎶 + ❝ rakatak, what do you think of this awesome song i found ？❞

She listens to the entire thing. Once. Upon finishing, she looks between Puck's "human" ears and "animal" ears before deciding to stick one earbud in each and whistle sharply into the animal ear left unmolested.

"Do not misuse my time again, Puck."

(I mean it's CaramellDansen. Anthem of a generation, but she doesn't understand the words and it's also WAY too poppy for her.)

[warwaited]

@infernaliscor

The din of survival and relief isn't far. The party's been going for a few hours now, everyone eating their fill and drinking more than would probably be prudent. Even Lae'zel seems bolstered, even if just by the temporary satiation of her bloodlust. But, then, they have good reason to make merry - the goblins are gone, the road is open and Halsin has been able to return to his grove to do something about the sickness that had taken root at the center of it. There's more than enough goodwill and happiness to provide.

Goodwill and happiness, though, isn't the mood here. In the ruin across the creek, Rakatak stands with her knuckles resting on the table she'd dragged over, staring at the maps she'd similarly purloined. Yellow eyes flick upwards as Karlach passes the threshold, and she affords her a brief, wry smirk rather than an open smile.

"...good evening. Your presence here is appreciated, but... I have to respectfully request that if you intend to stay, you leave any partying mood you've brought at the door. I have things in consideration here, and scarcely the mental availability to hold both them and drink at the same time." Her gaze returns to the map in front of her, trailing up the Risen Road into a blackened, ominous section between them and Baldur's Gate.

"You should be out there, with them. Take advantage of their cheer and have some snacks, dance with someone strange. Tell some bawdy stories. I will be here in the morning... and this joy certainly won't."

[warwaited]

@bas0rexias

"I always find it so irksome when people have the presumption to tell me to consider the consequences. As if the actions I take are borne of a misunderstanding of the situation - do they not think that I may have fully considered everything that might result, and am acting based on the most likely course to result in success?"

Rakatak takes a deep breath through her nose, lets it out through her mouth, and turns to partially face Wyll. "Let's enter, then, this world you've daydreamed where I am reckless and also, arguably, an idiot. What consequences am I not considering? That people may be upset that we are in open conflict and I am working to resolve that conflict?"

Her lip twitches. "Efficiently?"

[warwaited]

@infernaliscor

There was a time, not long previous, when Rakatak wouldn't have wanted to be caught dead at a place like this; she's not so unaware of herself that she thinks her particular attitude towards those she deems lower than herself is palatable. When you're raised to believe that you're better than everyone else and virtue lies in letting them know it, the impulse to impose can be very difficult to shake.

These days, though, social structure feels... less important. Both because of the stakes of what they've been doing, and for other reasons. Over the past weeks, the paladin has learned things about herself, and about the empire. It had started at the Rosymorn Monastery; some mostly disinterested reading of a dusty old visitor list spiralling into a chase across the Underdark and no small portion of the shadow-cursed lands for something she hadn't initially been willing to tell anyone about. Not even Karlach.

Eventually, the search ended deep below Reithwin. The Thorm mausoleum and the Sharran temple it concealed were both resting places for things history would rather have forgotten, and in one partially-secluded chamber, the group had found something terrible.

A skeleton, surrounded by more skeletons. Sat on something that was close enough to a throne, dressed in the remains of what looked like hobgoblin armour. It had sprawled across the chair, time-scoured skull yawning open in an endless laugh.

Perhaps it would have been a better idea for Rakatak not to have taken its crown and sword, but the force of her personality and the near-desperation in her voice when she had told Karlach that this was "something she had to do" had won out.

Now, the person that sits across from her, the flames of war flickering in her eyes, crown resting proudly over her brow, may not be Rakatak at all. She is, however, a good bit more level-headed with the waitstaff. She gently waves off a waiter, informing them she's still deciding what she wants to eat before returning her attention to the tiefling sat across from her.

A momentary pause, followed by a small but open smile. "...there is a part of me still tempted to bluster a bit, you know. Make grand claims about what bounty I would bestow you, were we on my own shores - and another part still that would rather have made a supper of what we have secured from afield. It would have been... truthful, I think. But a request was made, and is now rendered."

She folds her hands in her lap.

[warwaited]

@lordliing

"These automatons intrigue me. They lack a personal touch that I find is much appreciated when... mingling respectfully with the citizenry, but perhaps that, in itself, is a draw. Rather than a man with whom you can, in some manner of speaking, relate, know, or at least be aware of, it is a simple, faceless mass." She reaches forward, lightly flicking her finger against the breastplate of the Steel Watcher and lifting her chin to study where a face might be.

"...I will be blunt, Lord Gortash. I have heard of a plot, while in travel. Someone being spoken of as chosen by a particular god, in a way that belies a... familiarity. Though I have no interest in the plot and subsequent spoils thereof, it would be most foolish of me not to seek out..."

Rakatak half-turns, showing him the scar lashing the side of her face as those almost luminous yellow eyes scrape down his own countenance. A tooth is exposed as she smiles. "...one of my number."

[warwaited]

@willofvlaakith

"So confident for a woman who needs an aide at her elbow to explain everything from druids to doorhinges. Continue to draw breath in a real place, and not your frigid moon-pebble, and you will come to understand what I mean."

Rakatak, inversely, stands half-apart, not even fully facing Lae'zel. Her chin is raised, further underscoring the difference in stature between the two of them. When she does turn those yellow eyes towards the fighter, narrowed slightly in what can only be disgust, it's only just so. She barely warrants the attention.

"Let me guess... you weren't allowed to speak out of turn in your "creche", and you feel the burning need to make up for lost time."

[warwaited]

@vigilant-cleric

The mention of the Dark Gods gets a brief, but surprisingly genuine laugh out of Rakatak. The paladin's pace slows, she looks over her shoulder and adopts what could be described as a leisurely saunter, her polearm braced across both shoulders in a manner both casual and somewhat overbearing. Very much drawing attention to it, but... not threatening. Not quite.

"Conflicted indeed! Hah- that I should hear such nuance from a man of the cloth, though from what little I know of Helm, I should not be so shocked. It's as you say, there is as much necessity for evil in the world as there is good. Perhaps I might be derided for my biases on the matter," a few teeth being exposed in the joking sneer that accompanies her words, "but it is practically fact that greatness sprouts from ambition, and ambition cannot be claimed to be entirely good - nor does it do it proper service to say that all aspirations to alter the world around us are evil."

The hobgoblin rotates to face him, walking backwards as she tilts her head in thought. "But. All things in shades. There are depths even I would hesitate to plumb. Alliances the Empire itself would be loathe to forge. If the options are be hells, or go to hells, your choice is merely between the devil you can live with.

[warwaited]

@vigilant-cleric

"You're right. You should have." Customarily brusque. Her palms alight, and as he gets himself properly upright she presses her burning hands to his chest. The flame hurts, like it tends to, but fills him with the energy to live as well. She'd explained the first time. Suffer the burn of failure, receive the vitality to avoid a second appearance of it.

His wounds tended, for now, she steps away, examining the blade of the Tooth. She looks... pleased. Deeply satisfied. The blood of devils catches the light, and Rakatak shows it her teeth. "The last time this weapon tasted an infernal was long before I wielded it. I hope it has retained its enjoyment of biting through other places' soldiers." Briefly, it seems she might not have caught Ashen's reaction to the appearance of the cambion, but... no such luck. After carefully wiping the blade's face clean and flicking a finger against it, she looks back at him.

"...if being flat-footed when against devils is going to present a lasting challenge, it would do well for you to tell me now. I adapted this time, but I prefer to be ready more than quick."

[warwaited]

@estarion liked for a lyrical starter!

This was bound to happen eventually. They've seen eye to eye on a fair few of the more unscrupulous choices to be made on their journey. Apparently, hard insistence that they have to figure out how to make a deal with Raphael is a hard limit. He's seen her do this before, to other people, and it was practically hilarious then.

Having her surge into his personal space, wrap her fist around his collar and drag him to within an inch of her strong nose is, not shockingly, much less comedic.

"Before you start a war with me, you check that jerky knee."

She inhales sharply. For a bare moment it's like there isn't enough air in the space for both of them. "Don't. Be. Rash."

[warwaited]

all right, good. but who is rakatak crushing on.

The grin that unfurls across her face is slow, self-satisfied and no small amount of self-aggrandizing, too. The hobgoblin actually takes a few steps away, one thumb hooked through her belt and each boot landing in front of the other as if she's walking on parade.

She turns. Cocks her head. "Is that a note of hope I detect in your tone, Astarion. How uncharacteristic." Her path is retread, until she's right in front of him. Rakatak leans down, tone softening. "You know full well that I have great respect for the way you approach problems... and the confidence with which you present yourself as an option for solving them."

Her smile turns wry as she draws air through her teeth. "If only you didn't so loudly broadcast that you see human-" A snort. "Ugh, there I go again. Interpersonal connection as a commodity to be traded. I could never lay with someone whose only interest was currying favour."

[warwaited]

@revelour

"When the war has been won, and our march home begins, what awaits has not yet been revealed: what was won? What was lost? Will our deeds be remembered? Are they written on stone or in sand?"

[warwaited]

@bloodtwin

At the day's end, the red-hot spurring of the paladin's desire for progress cools to a dull grey. Rakatak had traipsed through the patch of land the group chose for their camp, determined the most "tactically viable" spot through considerations known only to her, and now - for the past couple hours at least - she's been sitting motionless in her tent, lost in what appears to be thought.

A single stick of incense wisps smoke towards the ceiling of her tent, pulled and pushed this way and that by the thin breeze coming up from the riverside and through the open flap of her tent. It ruffles her hair, but even that doesn't catch her attention. Perhaps she's managed to fall asleep sitting up, rested back on her haunches in the dim light of the late evening?