A Winter Night

[Altias_Bromn]

“It’s the Baie!â€

[Rattrap]

If Acteon fancied himself a storm, he was about to meet a hurricane.

Ignas' grasp tightened, but it was like squeezing tightly on a cone wearing a slippery garment - the harder one squeezed, the faster the cone would escape grasp. So Athena did, popping from Ignas' grasp low, legs stretching to move quickly in the crouch. Her dark blue eyes were fixed on Acteon's approach. Her curved blade swept up to meet his while she shifted footing, while the longsword swung to rake across Ignas' shins on her retreat.

Still, she smiled. This was a fight. If she lived, it will have been well worth the ridiculous trek through the forest. If she didn't, well...it may be anyway.

Several things were happening at once; one blade, the scimitar, swept up to lock with Acteon's, while the longsword sweeped for Ignas. The point of a dagger had appeared from within the coat while the rapier was retracted back into the folds, leaving whatever trace of the half-demon's blade it had acquired on the coat. The dagger swept down her torso, slicing away all the coat's buttons while she was still moving in long-legged grace; the coat was parted when blades struck. Athena felt a ping of regret for the garment; she was quite fond. But also quite happy that her spar with Ariane had prompted her to equip herself with daggers. It seemed like such a no-brainer anyway. But...then came Quincy, with her sword.

Athena pushed against Acteon's blade and one foot swiveled, pulling her away from her now three opponents. Her legs stretch to remove her from the space Quincy's blade seeks to occupy, keeping her body low in the process. One step for one fraction of a second's relief; enough for the second set of hands to emerge from the coat to take the two swords with little transition.

One arm held the scimitar, one the longsword, one a dagger, another a rapier, and two were encumbered by sleeves, though they reached for the coat's collar to pull it away.

It may be clear now to those who've met the woman in the Broken Dagger why she wears such an ungainly coat. With thirty fingers, Athena wouldn't have been surprised to have been mistaken for the Baie - had this not been the first time she's heard the name. Suffice to say, there wasn't any time or energy to reply to Agnie, or question exactly whatever it was they were calling her.

[Sventon]

The tunnel that led to the living quarters: this was where Jons ventured, and all was quiet, except for the echoes of battle now going on behind him. There were long hallways, a door every one hundred feet. Some of them were closed, some ajar, and some left open.

A child's wooden doll, as sweetly crafted as one of Treadwell's toys, was sprawled tiny on the floor at the foot of a chair.

In another room, a wedding dress was layed out on the bed, its white veil of lace dangling over the frame.

If he went the whole length of the hall, he would find Thadius' room. Bits of journal, torn, crumpled, and strewn, were everywhere; white paper swans littered the floor amongst the ripped pieces. If examined closely, Jons would find drawings, as well; they were mostly of a young woman, with pale-shaded eyes and straight, dark hair, distinctly Carnath-Emory.

Upon the fragments of torn journal, there were words like: God.. Him.. Eyes... Never forgive... Believe.... Altias...Ariane... Love... Never forget... Took my finger... Hate...Prime.. GOD ...

~*~

Elsewhere, Rhaena's mind ventured out for contact. They weren't very close to her, but she reached out - and perhaps she could feel them: there were two, and their minds were throbbing with intent to kill. They were biding their time; their minds were consumed with their own quiet as they hid and waited for the perfect moment to erupt from hiding in the living quarters.

Could she feel with her mind how they clutched their daggers? How they felt fear? Perhaps in that instant of contact, she would know without a shadow of a doubt that these were murderers - these were zealots: they were driven by terror, by awe of their God, and their place or worship was being desecrated by these heretics.

They knew that Jons was there. They were waiting for the right moment to jump out at him, and Rheana would know it - for it was screaming into her mind.

[Carnath-Emory]

This woman is not quite the brutal dacoit she'd been a year ago. Half-mad with grief, the Ariane of that time had torn her way through cultists enough that they'd begun to whisper of her, in the private confines of these caverns. Had sickened townsfolk with her very excesses, both necessary and not; had exacted a particularly painful price from those who were murderers for Belief. A year ago, she'd have held Cinnabar at bay just long enough to dispatch Sventon; would have set that corpse to rot aside Magnus's, and paid the two no mind at all, save for what degree of Cinnabar's wrath their deaths would cost her afterwards.

Today ... she has paused.

Oh, this creature is still a weapon, although the lean of its hip against the stone wall might lead a person to think otherwise. A quicksilver glitter lurks just atop its flesh; the weight of its body rests upon back upon its heels. It is clearly readied for violence, and Cinnabar has likely learned enough to recognise this fact, but it pauses nonetheless. It listens, as a friend's apprentice encourages this beast to justify its existence. Listens in particular, as Sventon refuses to do any such thing, and for the one reason that the woman had not thought to anticipated. His railings are meaningless to her; like water on an oiled blade, they slip away. But his Choice...

It has drawn her lips into a line of crooked indecision.

Against the meagre curve of one hip, fingers soundlessly drum, very much wanting for the weapon that's so near them; very much imagining that it might yet be unwarranted. There are grey eyes narrowed in their attention upon Sventon, and jerking a glance Cinnabar's way at the end of the cultist's blurted outrage, such a glance. It demands that he answer for this. It demands that he explain.

"Ne eb'et," she'd murmured to herself, near the beginning of this. "Ne eb'et," again at the end of it all, as if the woman meant to convince herself of something. "Menya eto ne eb'et!" she has hissed at the conclusion of Sventon's defiance, and with a hand raking through her dark hair. I don't care, Cinnabar. I don't care, and I don't care, and do you hear me, that I do not care for such things, except that of course and inevitably I have been made to --

And then Acteon roars Baie! into the heart of her world.

It simplifies everything, for a weapon is best-suited to such moments as these. Two long steps take her to the door of Magnus' cell, snatching the key from his hand and thrusting him back towards it. "Safer," is all the explanation she'll offer this man, who she means to lock back into the prison he'd just escaped -- for fear of what lurks outside it, this time. Across a shoulder towards Cinnabar: "That chyort thing is yours," she instructs, with a jerk of chin for bound Sventon.

She is turned about then, and striding down the corridor like quicksilver vengeance.

[Jirai]

"Agnie..."

She was quiet, clearly not paying attention to what was going on nearby.

"I found four of 'em..."

[Vanidor]

There was a small wave of consternation that passed through the scouts that stood ward outside of the cavern's mouth. Several had heard the cries and then raised their bows, fowling blunts once again knocked to string and raised in a ready position. The sergeant himself watched impassively, listening to the sounds as they washed over his position. One man, by the name of Karl, arched an eyebrow and glanced at him. Rautha's response was simple enough.

"We stay here, no need to move out. If they charge us in wrong minded folly, we incapacitate them. The Captain can sort out the troubles afterwards." Karl once again arched his eyebrow at this, added to it with a slight quirk of his lip. The sergeant stared another moment at the second man, then finally sighed. "Fine. I guess we did instigate this, we'll wait another five or so, and if they're still going at it, we'll go over and say hello."

Karl smiled slightly, then turned his attention back to the cavern's mouth and waited with the rest of his companions for the outcome.

-------------------------

Jons moved along as quietly as a man armed and armoured as himself could manage it, moving with his buckler before him and the mace held in a ready position. Eyes darted back and forth as he moved, gazing once into a room and seeing a discarded wedding dress. And here is a child's toy, sitting quietly as if waiting for it's owner to return to it and make cheerful sounds of play once again. Rooms with doors that he seemed to randomly ignore, only to pry open the one next to it and casually survey the room within.

On downwards like this he continued alone, until he reached the room of Thadius Dhrin. A pause here, finally, as he observed the room. The thing that made him stop was the fact that there was just -more- here to see. More items to peruse, and then there was the drawings of Ariane. They were enough to bring forward a small laugh from the Lieutenant, who pushed them around with the flanged head of his mace a moment. Yet still, it was the words written down in the margins that drew more attention from the warrior. Memorize these fragments he does, and then a scrap or two of journal is aquired and stuck into his belt.

The last thing done, if none aim to bother him whilst he remains within Dhrin's room, is the removal of a skin of oil from the satchel at his side. Fingers yank the stopper from the mouth, and then onto the table some is poured, onto the bed, and then into the middle of the room so that the remaining liquid can spill upon the floor and trail where it will. Once this task is done, Jons will step from the room, aiming to find a torch and light the room ablaze...

[Cinnabar]

Sventon's outburst has an expression somewhere between annoyance and dismay flitting across Cinnabar's face; annoyance that he seems to have opted to be bloody-minded about trying to save his own life, and dismay that it's liable to get him killed. But then he notes Ariane's continued hesitation, and perhaps there's a flicker of comprehension and relief there as he realises that Sventon has saved his own life. Ha. Fancy that.

Magnus' brief exposition has the apprentice's gaze flicking in his direction, head tilted slightly to listen. Well, that's useful information to know, though the editorial at the end has him shaking his head. Now that was just unnecessary, and not at all helpful. He opens his mouth and draws breath to question one particular point, but then that shout echoes down the tunnels.

"It’s the Baie!"

And Ariane is in motion, Sventon is straining against his bonds, and the clatter of steel on steel is ringing through the caverns. It proves to be the apprentice's turn to hesitate, caught between keeping an eye on Sventon and chasing after the swordswoman towards the fight. Finally, an exasperated sigh.

"Blood and hellfire."

And he's stooping to lift Sventon to his feet - not roughly, as such, but definitely brooking little disagreement. He rests his left hand firmly on Sventon's shoulder, and moves to steer him back towards the main cavern. He glances back over his shoulder at Magnus.

"Stay there, we'll be back for you in a short while."

And then to Sventon:

"Right. Explain this Baie thing to me while we walk. This way."

[Magnus]

Baie.

He had to turn his head to hide the slight smile that tempted his lips, for only a moment.

Ariane came toward him so that he straightened from the bars; he was two heads taller than her, and she came with such a swiftness that the key-ring was easily snatched from his sore hand. There was no give when she first pushed him toward the door; she may as well have thrown her strength against a wall.

His were narrowed, calculating eyes; Magnus looked down at her. This was the single instant before he stepped back with her urging, so that it was more voluntary than forced, that he returned to the cell. The metal door slammed shut with a click, and he wrapped his hands around the bars, staring out at her.

Safer.

He would have laughed if he were a man less in control of himself.

[channe]

A swear word from the girl, who will leave Quincy and the quite-competent others to beat on the barmaid -- Agnie doesn't want to die, and thus she'll rely on Rhaena.

"Where?" she says, backing up to re-join her friend.

[Sventon]

Sventon stared silent daggers at Magnus in his cell. That was where he belonged; he certainly wouldn't be reminding anyone that they left behind a prisoner if they happened to forget. He was so intent on his loathing for him that he did not feel the full effect of relief that he might have otherwise - relief that Carnath-Emory was stalking toward the tunnel instead of toward them.

This was perfect. Now Cinnabar could take him, and they could get out of this place. He was feeling confident in this course of action when Cinnabar hauled him to his feet, and Sventon awkwardly got his footing, uncovered head hanging forward.

He was feeling confident, right before Cinnabar propelled him after Ariane. No! He even tried to dig his heels in, to back-pedal against this forward-momentum, this suicide, this madness. One does not go toward The Baie, in Sventon's mind; not unless one had a terribly good reason, and perhaps some Very Nice Gifts to apologise for the interuption.

"No, this is the wrong way!" He blurted out.

Cinnabar did not know what The Baie was, which could very well account for why they were going the wrong way. Hans would tell him, and then perhaps they would have an understanding.

"The Baie - The Baie is not a man! He - There is none like Him! There is none," he growled, trying to back up against the pale-haired Cinn, not so much violent as stubborn. "He is our God, and if you defy Him, you will die with your friends. He has power beyond all reckoning, and He will not hesitate to destroy those who oppose Him."

- or those who abandon His disciples?

Sventon did not care to find out.

[Cinnabar]

"Hm."

This in response to Sventon's explanation; nothing more for the moment, though the pressure at the man's shoulder eases slightly. Cinnabar considers for a time, brows drawn low in a frown.

"For one with power beyond reckoning who does not hesitate to destroy those opposing him, the fight has been going on for quite a while, wouldn't you say?"

A grin at that, wild and reckless.

"Perhaps there will be reckoning after all. Come along, I'd rather not have to carry you."

The insistent pressure to the cultist's shoulder resumes, firm and implacable, like trying to resist the current at the brink of a waterfall. He seems almost eager. Well, who wouldn't be, given the chance to see a god killed at the heart of his temple?

[Sventon]

Jons' oil trickled over the bedsheets and wooden frame before he backed toward the door, spilling a trail of it on the way.

Perhaps he would hear the rapid shuffle of steps before it happened; perhaps he would hear the quiet noise of swiftly approaching torch-fire, lapping and flickering at the dank air. These were the only warnings that came before a torch hurtled wildly high through the open doorway.

The white robe in the midst of it used his weight to force the door shut immediately, without looking to see where it landed. The cultist used its body to pin the heavy door shut, or push back against the incoming momentum of Jons.


~*~

"You are mad," whisper-hissed Sventon as he finally gave in to Cinnabar's firm push in the direction of the tunnel, past the cells. He stumbled slightly forward, a grimace on his bruised face. They had no idea what was going on out there; that sort of logic could never sway him from his faith in what the Baie was capable of doing. He'd seen such things in his time here; he would never forget when the Baie had revealed Himself to them, and what had occured with the Chosen One.

"You shall see with your own eyes, then," Sventon concluded bitterly at last. "You shall see, and then you shall never see again." This did not sound like a threat; it simply sounded like Sventon was quietly frightened and convinced that The Baie would be their doom.

[Jirai]

"There's two... near Ariane."

Finding them was all well and good - describing where they were to someone else? More difficult.

"Th'other two... they're further in...Waiting." She shuddered. "They're gonna kill him, Agnie!"

[Vanidor]

A flare of light that signaled the flying torch, a look of surprise upon the usually impassive eyes of the Lieutenant. His hand flicked out, a fingertip barely snagging upon the burning head and knocking it wild. He wasn't sure where the flaming ember went, for then... then the door slammed shut. It thudded loudly in the otherwise quiet of the tomb-like cavern complex. Jons paused here, beathing heaving behind the stillness of his mask. He heard a body slam up against it to keep the door closed and him within.

Here then. He turned and looked behind him, a slight frown forming upon his face as he notices the torch flames lapping at the ruined papers. Soon enough they'd light, and in time the oil itself would catch aflame. Jons smilled then and turned towards the door. He considered a moment, looking up and down the door, contemplating the approximate size of the man on the otherside. Man or woman, he supposed. The Cult numbered both, this much was true. Too bad you left your crossbow back in the main hall, Jons. Elsewise this would be a rather simple task...

But, at least, you still had your mace.

And then, after another moment's sizing of the door. Jons swung his flanged mace at the door. Aimed, more or less, for where he -guessed- the cultists' head and/or shoulders would be. One hard blow with the weapon, aimed more to jarr or surprise the person on the other side... And then Jons would charge the door with all his might and bulk. Let's see how steady your feet were, man in white...

[Acteon]

Acteon did not fancy himself a storm. The storm was the many enemies she was facing. He was just a single cloud in this brewing tempest. His blade a bolt of lightning. The clanging of his kukri on her scimitar was the thunder. Agnie's words were lost in that thunder and even if they had been heard, they wouldn't have been heeded, after all, the "barmaid" was attacking them, just as they were attacking her.

Acteon's was a face awashed with focus. He was trained in hunting, tracking, stalking, and stealth. With a bow, his shot was straight and his aim was true. In fact, he was skilled with many weapons and had many tricks up his sleeves. However, his blade work lacked in comparison to his other skills. He was talented with his knife; that much was clear, but he would probably never win single-handedly against a true swordsman. At least, not if blades were the only weapons available.

He was also at a disadvantage because the blade of his kukri was short--a mere aratni in length (18 inches they would call it here). This required him to get closer to the woman, if he wished to get inside of Athena's defense. The problem was that her scimitar was longer and, as a result, her perimeter was wider.

What worked to their advantage was their numbers. She may have six arms (he did count six, did he not?), but she only had two eyes. And so Acteon took a step back, growing the distance between them a bit. He circled Athena and evened the distance between Quincy, Ignas, and himself, creating an equilateral triangle of their positions with Athena as the midpoint. She was surrounded and would need to grow another pair of eyes if she wished to see them all at the once. Acteon didn’t think about the fact that, from what he had heard, the Baie could probably do just that. There was no time for such musings.

Acteon waited for Quincy and Ignas to regroup from the exchanged flurries before shouting, “now!â€