As Coyote Laughs

Log Info

• Title: As Coyote Laughs

• GM: Riptide

• Characters: Lheo

• Place: Outside of Alexandria's Northern Gates

The reality of life in Alexandria is that, sometimes, actions have consequences. A rash of thieves liberating coinpurses from shoppers in the Market District results in an increase in patrolled guard, for instance. A substance imported from far off results in strange mutations in the Sewers when it's inevitably and carelessly dumped into the system results in a ban on creating or importing the particular substance.

A summoning of a demon, well. That's how the ward came to be. An important thing, but it means any young wizard seeking to practice summoning magic, no matter how small the being, must go outside Alexandria's walls to do so. Which is the reason why, on this rain-thrown evening, the earth damp and the grass slick with autumn showers, there's a wizard who leaves Alexandria's gates to go do just that.

The clearing he finds is quiet, save for the downpour of cold rain and an equally cold wind from the east that drives it into the face. Yet these are simple matters for a wizard to deal with--nor does a little rain and wind ever bother a wizard. Besides, there's always something a little lovely about the scent of rain water on grass and earth.

This isn't the first time Lheo has found himself out in the rain and wind, and he is warmly dressed, wool calf-length robes beneath a cloak of natural wool, its lanolins preserved so that it naturally sheds water, and clasped shut at his throat with his hood pulled fully up. The gray hawk on his shoulder huddles there, talons grasping the leather pad sewn into the cloak, its feathers fluffed against the cold wind and rain into a miserable-looking ball of dove-gray feathers.

As he arrives in the clearing he'd sought, he looks around him with satisfaction, smirking to himself and feeling just a little rebellious in the absence of his brother, a mission for the Temple of Serriel taking him off somewhere for weeks at a time. A dense copse of trees at the edge of the clearing catches his eye, and he reaches a gloved hand up towards his familiar, stroking the feathers. "Try the trees, Tarna. It ought to be a little drier."

An opened eye, another opened eye, a squawk of displeasure is his response, but the bird also spots the trees and launches itself heavily into the wind, flapping in the direction of a dry spot. It was not unoccupied, and a rustle of wings as several smaller birds vacate the tree Tarna selected in great haste. Lheo snorts his amusement, his boots squelching in the wet grass as he walks towards the center of the clearing. The rain still pelts hood and cloak alike, and he will no doubt be soaked by the time he is done tonight.

He sets aside the pack he'd brought that carries his spellbook. He'll need to find a dry spot for that, for sure, and ends up hanging it off of a branch in that dense copse of trees. Better than nothing, and with that done, he can begin. A deep breath, released in a rush, and he raises his hands to begin his first casting. The movement of the planes is accounted for in the casting, he reminds himself. You need only seek the connection, the thin point, where the connection lies at this moment. So reminding himself, he begins the words of power, drawing from his mind the last trails of power that he'd memorized earlier, pulling them out and unraveling them with his chanting, seeking that connection....

GAME: Lheo casts Summon Monster I. Caster Level: 2 DC: 15

Working with magic can be like finding the right way to thread the needle. And there's a moment for Lheo's spellwork that it feels like he's threaded the needle, he's made the connection.

Only for it to feel... wrong. There's something like the feeling of magic going haywire on the other end, like he'd made the wrong connection somewhere, like the tapestry is far more frayed and ragged at the edges than he'd anticipated.

There's laughter around Lheo. Something laughing at him. Inside of his ears. The cold rain is no longer the coldest thing.

"What are you looking for?" a voice coos into his head, genderless, horrible, like grinding iron against iron. It starts from one side and oscillates to the next. But it's not... In his head. It's outside. "Who are you looking for? Is it... me?"

Ice runs through Lheo's veins at that evil, grinding voice. Brother's going to kill me! is the first thought that runs through his frozen brain, stunned in shock first and then unbridled terror. What did I do - that should never have happened - it's only a first circle spell! His mind races frantically as he looks around him, green eyes wide, pupils dilated in the darkness as he hunts around him, to no avail. "Show yourself!" he shouts, voice quavering more than he'd like in that challenge.

Almost at the same moment, there's a avian cry of rage from the copse of trees, and a flapping of wings from outside the circle of darkness, as Tarna adds her suddenly frightened voice to Lheo's.

"That's right," the voice purrs (screams). "It's just a first circle spell. You should have been able to manage that fine. Shouldn't you?"

There's another laugh in the darkness, further off. "Shouldn't you?"

Another laugh in the darkness. "Shouldn't you?"

From behind Lheo, then, comes the voice again. A cold, cold sensation, like the inverse of a hot breath, radiates next to Lheo's ear. "I've been watching you," it purrs. "You've got a little dark side to you. You want to do so much more but your brother won't let you. Will he? And now look at you. Can't even manage a little summoning spell."

There's a little hiss. "He's hindering you."

The words sink into Lheo's mind like hot metal into flesh, searing without mercy. No! he shouts from deep within, heedless of the rain beginning to soak through his clothing at last, the wind howling around him in the darkness. He's not the hindrance! I am! I'm nothing but a burden to him! his mind screams. The image of Theo conjured by his mind - the noble, well-dressed paladin - the one everyone likes - the popular one. Himself - in the shadows. The quiet one. The overlooked one. Always the one that needs rescuing. And now he can't even do a first-circle spell right.

"You leave Theo alone!" he shouts, bravado that he isn't feeling mingling with the angry screeches of the hawk trying desperately to find him again in the dark. "I won't let you touch him!"

"Oh, no. I'm not going to do a thing to your brother," that horrible voice coos into Lheo's ear. "No, no, I'm interested in you. You poor thing. So overshadowed. So overlooked. You need... a helping hand."

There's a horrible feeling now. Claws that slink up and down his arms. Like seductive hands but they feel all too wrong in every possible way that they could be. "What would you do for a little bit of power? To make everyone love you?" It's another purr, another scream. "Would you like to make a deal?"

There's a terrific war going on inside Lheo's mind right now. He knows better. He was warned about this. And - whatever it is is switching tactics, the rational part of his mind warns. It's trying to mess with your mind. And yet, the truth of his inadequacy - that deep down certainty of his own uselessness - the knowledge that Theo doesn't really need him - is hard to push aside. Hard to forget. He doesn't answer right away, the screeching from outside the darkness that surrounds him barely reaching his ears, and the only audible response is hard breathing.

But then there's a hand that lands on Lheo's shoulder. This feels leagues away from the horrible claws that are running down his arms. In fact, with the touch of the hand, they all fall away and hiss like they've just come into contact with something poisonous to them.

"Sorry, but I just can't stand when worms try to get into places where they're not wanted," a warm and light voice says, androgynous in origin. "Lheo, you know it wants something from you, right? Disgusting little things like this--they see a potential light and want to make it work."

There's a snap of the fingers and the darkness falls away. What's in front of Lheo now, just a few feet away, is a very handsome man with batlike wings, except his expression is contorted in anger. "No!" he snarls.

"Now then," the voice behind Lheo says, "let's even these odds, shall we? I mislike a table so unfairly stacked against a player." The hand on Lheo's shoulder, a fair-skinned hand, squeezes gently, and there's a thrum of power that suddenly jolts through Lheo. Power that's his to use.

The feeling of those claws running down his arms is not one Lheo will soon forget, and the hand almost makes him jump - but it's a totally different feeling. One - unfamiliar, and yet not unwelcome. The war within is still very much ongoing, the searing memory of inadequacy - of not stacking up - of not being enough - still lingering like a fresh wound. It made a mark, that's for sure, and suddenly-

Tarna screams in relief and immediately settles on his shoulder, nipping his ear with her beak to get his attention.

In a flash of terrified epiphany, he realizes his situation - caught in this moment between what can only be something celestial and something fiendish. It's a dangerous place to be, and how it happened is a question his animal brain will attempt to answer later - when it's prepared to think instead of react. Right now, that's not happening.

The surge of power, combined with a sudden visual on the thing that tried to take him, to tear him away, to take him for its own, to seduce him into something his brother would never forgive him for - an animal instinct born of terror and sudden fury- it all twists through him in a moment of firelit rage, and he unleashes that power that was just gifted him, without thinking, focusing all his mind on a simple directive - kill it! It's a power he's never felt before, nothing anywhere close - and with no real idea how to direct it, it could go anywhere. "Leave us ALONE!" he fairly screams.

The scream is power.

To Lheo, it seems like the world shakes at the sound of his voice. That he has been given, just for one moment, one little spark in an eternity of light, the ability to move the heavens and the earth alike. But then the reality of what happened settles in: the fiend itself is being torn apart by his voice. Its mouth opens to scream in turn but it simply vanishes, not a single sign that it was ever there.

The warm surge of power is gone, spent in a defiant shout against the fiend that had tried to seduce Lheo. An affectionate chuckle comes from the being behind Lheo, and the hand falls away.

"I do apologize for the touch without permission," the androgynous voice says. "But given the circumstances, it needed to be done. And I'm also really rather miffed, because it's gauche to follow up an act with elements of the first. Hello, Lheo. I've been observing you for some time."

Finally the bearer of the voice walks out from behind Lheo into view. It's a rather tall elvish-looking individual. Six feet tall, precisely the height that Lheo is, a rather tall sildanyari person by anyone's measure. The fact the figure's dressed in flowing robes of cream underneath a cloak of white, furnished with golden embroidery, gives no real hint if the sil is a man or a woman.

What does give a hint of the sil's identity are oddly-glowing gray eyes. "Now, here's the part where I was planning to say all number of things to you. But good heavens, man. You have something interested in you in a bad, bad way. You need protection."

And then a warm, radiant smile spreads on the seeming-sil's face. "You need... and this is the radical idea... an arrangement."

The deflation that follows an uncontrolled discharge of power like that mingles with an adrenaline rush like few he's ever felt. The beginnings of a nasty headache begin to crystalize at his temples, but it's easily pushed aside in the wake of the flood of adrenaline coursing through him. Tarna nips at his ear again, drawing blood from a razor-shark beak, and he reaches up to her unthinkingly, trying to steer her beak away from his ear. "Ow, Tarna! Stop it!"

He's still breathing quite deeply as he turns to the figure, looking them up and down, and up and down. "I -" He's still trying to pull his wits together. "Thank you," he offers automatically, to start. "So what was that about? How, uh, in all the Iron Hells did a simple summon go that far wrong? And - why would someone like you be watching someone like me? I'm nobody important."

"The flow of magic here is incredibly out of sorts," the figure answers benevolently, although a hand is raised so the seeming-sil can inspect the fingernails. A puff of air, and something sparkles off the fingertips. "Yes. Very out of sorts. Wrong place, wrong time. It does happen."

A wide smile and the gray eyes meet Lheo's eyes again. "Where are my manners? You may call me Lhamneris, but most people refer to me by a bevvy of nicknames. Lammy. Neris. Ner. I even had a lover once call me Ris." A wink. "Do whatever suits your fancy. Now, as for why I've been watching you?"

Lhamneris pouts terribly, their hands at the hips now. "You, my friend, have a stick-in-the-mud for a brother, and you're being chased down by very, very bad influences. And my kind are called to traverse the mortal realms in search of stories."

A beat, before Lhamneris adds, "And I fucking hate tragedies."

It's a lot for Lheo to take in, with all that he's already trying to process, and his head is fairly swimming. It takes him a minute to realize that the man before him has introduced himself. He automatically reaches up to stroke the hawk that has taken up residence again on his shoulder, rain or not, and is now proceeding to clean razor-sharp talons with razor-sharp beak. "Uh. Pleased to meet you, Lhamneris," he replies, a polite response born out of pure habit, ingrained enough to be automatic. "I guess it'd be pretty rude to give a nickname to somebody I just met." The smirk is more of a half-smile.

"Theo's not going to do anything to me. I know that." Finally, he looks up at Lhamneris, still stroking the bird on his shoulder, who seems to be taking the presence of this man far better than the presence of the other before. "I don't want to do anything that's going to get him in trouble," he admits. "If they're trying to use me to get to him-" Suddenly, something seems to be explained, somewhere in Lheo's mind. "Shit," he drawls. "They would."

Lhamneris sighs. "It's not just your brother, Lheo." The gray eyes are filled with sympathy. "No, it's you as well. They see what I see: a promising young wizard. They also see your brother's magnetic personality. I have to give it to the Serrielites, they are good at being... very effective torches. Very bright. Very shiny. Distracting."

Then the seeming-celestial claps their hands together. "I, however--I've always been a fan of the underdog. You see, I know you have such great potential. I know there is something there. You just need someone to take you under their wing. Someone who preferably doesn't smell like spoiled eggs and brimstone, and someone who won't see you becoming the reason why they put up that ward in the city to begin with."

Lhamneris then holds out a hand. "Now, what I'm about to say? Dreadful. Absolutely dreadful. Chilling to my knees. By nature? I ought not. But my moral compass--not to mention the positively delightful opportunity to pull a stick out of your brother's ass by proxy, goodness me do Serrielites come standard issue with them--compels me. I want to offer you: a pact. An accord. An agreement. Arrangement."

A shiver all over. "That last one tingled. Should you accept, you are under my protection, and I teach you a thing or two about putting those talents of yours to good use--and good mischief, as we laugh in the face of fiends."

Lheo considers his options, still stroking the hawk with a bare hand, not something he often does. "The ward? Is it true, then, what I heard, that people from the Guild were making deals with demons and summoning them all over the place?" That's something of a revelation, but not the main thrust of the matter at hand.

Theo would have puppies if he ever heard about this. Better he never find out, and I'm not going to keep them away from him by myself. If I can get some help- A little voice whispers in the back of his mind, this was what the demon wanted. The ensuing mental war leaves him silent for several moments, but in the end, it is Tarna who decides him. The hawk has not made any move of panic, or any noise, and has shown no signs of distress since the demon was blasted to shit and splinters. Besides, something inside him whispers, Lhamneris is right, Theo is kind of stuffy. A wellspring of affection follows and surrounds the admission.

"All right," he says finally, removing his rain-drenched leather glove and reaching to take the hand. "I'm not standing against something like that alone, not as I am. I could use the teaching. What do you want in return?"

Something like that, yes, but I was off on other matters at the time. A shame, really--it has all the hallmarks of a rather hair-raising story, don't you think?" Lhamneris replies with a grin.

And then when Lheo accepts, the probably-celestial is alight with joy. "Well. It's simple, really. As I said--I hate tragedies. And I don't want your story nor your brother's to become such an unhappy tale. Occasionally I shall give you a task to fulfill if I feel it will better yourself. There's no such thing as a protagonist who achieves his goals in a good story without a bit of work, you know."

And then Lhamneris points to Lheo's... Stomach? "Also, for our connection to work, and for you to draw on your gifts through the connection--I need to put a mark on your body. The stomach will do. Somewhere around the belly button. I could put it on the mouth, but it'd draw an awful lot of attention to you, and you definitely won't like the other option for the mark."

The revelation about the ward leaves Lheo simply staring at Lhamneris. "That's just - incredibly stupid." That was almost you, Lheo, his inner voice whispers. Don't be a self-righteous prick.

He swallows, then, suddenly looking down at his stomach where Lhamneris is pointing. "My stomach?" he blurts out, but then considers the options. Of all the things his brother won't see - that's definitely it, and yet another reason to tell Zerthos to look somewhere else - as if he needed another. "Uh - no, the stomach works best, at the center of the astral form, really-" He's talking more than is his usual won't, and he knows it. Suddenly nervous about the whole thing, he can feel his mouth go dry, but he drops the hand and puts his glove back on, even damp as it is. "I guess you need to touch skin?"

"There you are! Smart one. That's certainly part of why I suggested the stomach," Lhamneris says with very clear happiness. "See, you do know quite a bit."

The celestial draws closer and shakes their head. "No, no, no need for you to bare your mid-riff for me," Lhamneris replies. "Just for you to hold on a moment, I do have to reveal my true form for this--"

Lhamneris reaches out with a hand, and their form changes rapidly. What is left behind is a tall, very tall individual--nine feet tall with graceful pointed ears, lightly tanned skin, a lithe yet muscular form of androgynous shape, garbed in colorful clothes that throw color onto Lhamneris's long white hair. The gray eyes remain.

"Do hold on for but a moment, yes?" Lhamneris politely requests, before leaning in and... Poke.

It feels like nothing.

And then it feels cold and hot simultaneously. Something flickering around the stomach and then... No longer. "There," Lhamneris replies with a smile. "You and I are now bound by pact."

Lheo is left to stare in unbridled awe at the true form of this creature, and the knowledge of what he'd just witnessed floods him, along with the knowledge that this had been a very, very close call indeed. He'd been very, very lucky, and the knowledge runs at once hot and cold through him, even as Tarna turns and nuzzles her head against his cheek. She simply lifts her wings a little in response to the creature's true form, an acknowledgement and respect of sorts.

The ice-then-fire lasts only a moment, but it's a sensation that he's not soon likely to forget. It is brief, though, and the sting of the bitten ear and his increasing headache begin to edge back in, past the adrenaline. "I - uh - thank you. I - appreciate the help."

There's a sort of raw newness, now, there in his aura - but it's a thing he'll have to examine later. "I - would have been in big trouble," he admits.

"You would have been," Lhamneris says gently, a soft and affectionate look on the azata's face. "But Coyote laughs in the face of danger."

There's a twinkle in the gray eyes, and then Lhamneris pulls the hand away, taking the form of a somewhat more masculine-looking sil man compared to before. It appears he likes his pointed ears. "Now then. Shall I escort you back to Alexandria? I'd offer to keep you company, but that... dreadful bard friend of yours will probably be making his appearance at your door sooner rather than later."

It appears Lhamneris has no hatred for mul'niessa. Only the fact that Zerthos is a bard.

Coyote. The statement brings only confusion, but Lheo continues to stroke Tarna's feathers. Who is reassuring who is hard to say. "You know about Zero? Look, I like Zero, but not as much as he wants me to. He's a good man, though." At least a sliver of his equilibrium is starting to come back - at least for now. The smirk he often wears is notable for its absence.

"Yeah, I'm not even going to try to practice any more tonight. Who knows what's on the roads. I guess I'd better get back. An escort's probably for the best, if you're willing." With a long look at the changed form, he goes to retrieve his pack from the tree branch where he'd left it. In the dense copse of trees, it's even just barely damp, which is better than can be said for the rest of him. The rain is coming down harder still now, and there's no point in even trying to dry off.

"How could I not know?" Lhamneris says with a long-suffering sigh. "Your friend is incredibly typical for a bard. Loud. Full of himself. Talented. All the reasons that mortals hate bards and all of the reasons I don't care for them. My kin can have them if they so desire; I will stick to the people who actually need my help."

And then he gives Lheo a light smile. "Such as yourself," he says. "Let's go, shall we?"

True to the azata's word, Lheo's delivered home safe and sound, and when he goes to look at what the celestial's done to him--there appears to be nothing there on his stomach.

Not until after he eventually goes to sleep. That's a discovery made in the morning--as Coyote laughs.