Café de Nuit

Kuzan walked up toward Lia, stopping several paces away. He remained quiet for a moment, watching the woman. Then, he spoke.

"You need to know," he said quietly, "I did not heal you to rub your face in. Nor did I do it because I felt sorry for you. I did it because it's my job. I said it in Hazlan and I will say it again here. We are in this together. For better or worse, we are in this together. And whether I agree with you or not, whether I think you are a fool or not, I will do what I am supposed to do to the best of my ability. I will watch your back, yours and everyone else's here. I don't want to feel like my back is exposed. There is enough treachery and backstabbing in the Expedition that we are already in danger of sinking before we reach our port. I am going to do my part to keep us afloat and pray desperately that everyone else will do theirs, too."

He paused.

"Because if we don't work together, then we will all sink in this hostile place."

And with that, the priest turned and walked back to where he stood before.

As Kuzan walks away, a few simple words drift after him: "Your words have been heard ... Akiri." No more.

Statue of Beyrath, The Mazes, The Kermanevar, Sebua
June 24th, 761, 4:47 AM; Day 99 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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Very soon, you saw what the Lorelei had meant. As the sky lightened and turned from black to a pale, washed-out blue, the clicking of claws on stone could be heard. Out of the shadows, the goblins crawled. Literally out of the shadows, coming out of every place where two rocks stood beside each other.

Ugly, hunched, bat-eared monsters a few feet tall, you'd considered the goblins little more than simple servants before, for all that they demonstrated their strength. But now, they carried weapons, long knives and hatchets that seemed to be forged of bronze. Others carried cudgels, and one or two held stone axes in their over-sized hands. It was a laughable sight, really.

Except for the fact that there were hundreds of them.

They clung to the cliff-faces and crouched in the shadows, watching you with large, luminous eyes. For the moment, you were under the guardianship of the Featherflute... once dawn came, however.

Kuzan moved toward the center of the group. He didn't move for protection, nor did he move out of fear. Rather, he moved because if someone needed healing, it was easier to reach everyone from the center rather than the edge.

"We are still here," Lia says in a monotonous voice. "Dawn has come, and we have weathered the final of the three challenges agreed upon. I claim victory, and the spoils thereof, as agreed." Without looking back at the other members of the Expedition, Lia thrusts out a fist at the goblins. "Let the souls be returned," she intones. "This farce has ended and we are, for better or worse, victorious. Your revelry is over. For now."

Tomas resists the primal, class clown urge to call out, 'Wait, isn't Herr Kuzan Rajan?', a brief thing mostly born of exhaustion and nerves. More goblins than you can shake a stick at...

...but if there's one thing Tomas knows how to do, it's act braver than he's feeling. Eisenwald just hefts his shield up, rests his sword across his shoulders, and waits for the first sign of hot, flying death.

Darzegal was nigh on serene at the appearance of the horde of hobs and boggles, counting down the moments till over the horizon dawn broke. Counting the moments till he'd be investigating some rather old tombs after the customary running for ones life, most likely. And conjuring an invisible friend to make off with a rather...odd..prize once the moment was right.

OOC:Unseen servant set to yoink the glass with the fey blood on it the moment we can do so without it costing us the challenge.

Charles has not deigned (dared? desired?) to acknowledge the Lorelei's various inducements; he has shown quite a bit more interest in Lia and Kuzan's interaction, but, thankfully, they seem to have regained whatever equilibrium their relationship usually has.

Andre...or will he want to be called Darzegal now?...plunges to a new low in his judgement of women's character. Who would have thought him such a romantic? Perhaps the death of his wife and child left him peculiarly vulnerable to the attractions of beautiful women--beautiful, immortal women, who will never betray him by their deaths. In ever other thing, perhaps, but not by their deaths.

Of course, given Charles' serial entanglements with older women, he is not in a position to cast stones, but at least he hasn't committed himself.


The approach of the boggle-horde is rather...interesting, too. "What are our options when it comes to making a run for it?" he asks politely. "Do we have any magical resources left for such a thing?"

"Greet the Dawn with courage, and all shall be vindicated." Andre said, looking to Charles. "I don't think running will be an issue."

"I can try to pull us through the Mists," Kuzan replied quietly, "But I can't take everyone. I could probably take three others with me."

Otto had watched the ceremony silently, opaque. Despite the rising waters and the sheer importance of the pact, despite Lia's episode and Kuzan's response, and even after the Lorelei had vanished and the goblins had begun to crowd the edges of the canyon, the gunsmith had not visibly moved in the twenty or so minutes since his lone comment. His thoughts were known only to himself, and his face certainly gave nothing away; even his eyes were slightly unfocused. If one payed close enough attention, however...his gaze never quite left the child sleeping on the opposite bank.

And then, something about Lia's comment snapped him back out of his own mind, and he was standing beside Darzegal (or Andre); clapped a hand on the newly minted priest's shoulder. Gave him a look which said, quite plainly, Welcome to the club.

And then he was pacing around the perimeter of the plateau, staking out the company's circumstances as best he could.

yalenusveler wrote:"Greet the Dawn with courage, and all shall be vindicated." Andre said, looking to Charles. "I don't think running will be an issue."

"That's good, I'm not a particularly fast runner," Charles replies, not quite smiling. "I suppose we'll have to see what the stroke of dawn brings, then. I'm sure your patroness won't let us down."

Ishaq looks at Andre and Charles "I'll just be glad to be out of this godforsaken place for good. The Fey , well, I won't say it, just think it. It's safer that way." Ishaq looks really fed up of being here at this moment.

Statue of Beyrath, The Mazes, The Kermanevar, Sebua
June 24th, 761, 5:05 AM; Day 99 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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The goblins crowded around the edges of the canyon, watching you with lantern-like eyes even as the fingers of sunlight crept over the horizon. At a more relaxed count (if such a thing this could be), there were perhaps a hundred of them, no more than two hundred, though with their prodigious strength that would be more than enough to dispose of eight mortals who had defied the Featherflute. Their knives might be rusty, but they were still sharp.

One of the goblins crept over to the sleeping child, holding a massive cleaver in it's out-sized paws. But it wasn't threatening the little boy. On the contrary, it seemed curious, wondering, as if confronted with something well beyond its understanding.

So the impasse stretched, as the sky brightened and the goblins watched, yellow eyes and mangy hides and wicked, gleaming blades. Until the tension could stretch no more, when something had to break. Something did. The sun rose. A sliver of the solar disc appeared above the edge of the canyon, and by some trick of magic or angles, the valley was flooded with light. Brilliant, pure, a cleansing light, it came upon the eight mortals in their little island, and sealed the bargain of the Featherflute and the Bloodthorn. Where the light touched the goblins, they dissolved.

Not all of them, but every third goblin that was struck by the brilliant sunlight began to smoke and burn with an oily flame, writhing wordlessly. But the goblins never ran from the light, and the look on the faces of their comrades could only be described as one of... envy?

The imp with the cleaver was one of those that burned with unholy flames. Its body twisted and turned, inches away from the sleeping child, contorting itself into shapes no human form could maintain. And then it cracked. Splitting along the back, the goblin cracked open, like a coccoon. And as out of a coccoon emerges a butterfly, so from the now-still goblin fluttered something white, and ethereal, and cloudlike, a puff of mist that glowed brightly, the light to the goblin's shackled darkness. Upon this mist was a human face, a face belonging to a young boy.

More goblins split open, releasing their trapped soul-mists, which rose into a great cloud into the sky. Only sixty of them, perhaps a few more, but with their luminous glow they dominated the sky. In a great carousel of light, they danced as more of their brethren joined them, all but the one with the boy's face. It floated towards the child's still form, gentle and wondering... and with a flash of light, was gone. But somehow, you thought the child slept more soundly, more safely.

The cloud of souls raced through the canyon, and you could hear the soft murmurring of thoughts and joyous cries. Some souls split off, spiraling higher and higher into the sky, until they were utterly lost from sight. A few others fell, dragged down into the river, glowing but briefly before being extinguished. But the bulk careened through the valley, a carnival of light, travelling to the north. North, to Kermanshah.

The spectacle took only a minute, certainly no more. Even now, the bodies of the dead goblins burned and dissolved into oily smoke, becoming as though they never were. But there were other goblins still, still looking at you with luminous, orb-like eyes.

They were the souls not of Kermanshah. They were the fools and madmen, the poets and dreamers, the wizards and widows who now served the Lord of the Faerie, the Featherflute. Their bodies were long since gone, nothing but ashes, and dust, and memories. And unlike the people of Kermanshah, no one will bargain for their freedom. Their souls were locked with the Fey, with the Court, until the earth cracked asunder and let loose its own soul.

Perhaps it was fate. The goblins didn't seem unhappy with their lot. For some souls, perhaps servitude was a better fate than any they had a right to expect. It was a moot point. The goblins and imps and boggles returned to the shadows, leaving you utterly alone on this decrepit island with its dark god. The trials were over, and you had won the village's freedom.

Though you couldn't shake the subtle feeling that as they left, one of the goblins winked at you. A trick of the light...

....

....

....

"...beautiful." Tomas can't help but say, because...well, because it is. It's like a thousand rainbows stood up, stretched out, and flew off into the sunset.

Tomas pauses for a long moment, turning back around warily. "Well, we're alive." Tomas points out philosophically. "If not a little scraped up for it all."