Same as It Ever Was (Part 8)
Fire turned to cold. Winter came.
The party has left Ceinara's care and returned to within Zenith's dream, only to find Nala, despondent and seemingly heartbroken, which has caused her to be lost in the woods beyond her house, clutching a dagger with hollowness in her voice and eyes...
Nala's eyes are wide things as people approach her, and everyone's words make her pause. Finally, she turns more fully, but she moves to hide the dagger clumsily behind her back. It's still there. People can see it. She's not very good at hiding it.
"Zenith?" she asks, her eyes darting towards the bird on Simony's shoulder. "You didn't go with Mother?"
"Of course I didn't," Zenith says, sobbing now on raven metrics. "I didn't abandon you. I love you, Nala. I love you so much. You're my _sister_." He sounds just like Pothy now. The walls are coming down that Navos had made him build. "I love you. Please don't do this. Everyone's right."
Nala looks around. She eyes Rune, who's also lost her mother. She eyes Harkashan, who remains silent, but that his presence is a comfort in some ways. She eyes Telamon and Zeke, and finally...
The dagger drops behind her into the snow, and her hands go to her face. She burrows into her palms, crying into them. "I'm sorry," she whimpers between her sobs. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." It's all she can say, like she's committed some great crime, but... she hasn't, right?
Winter may come, but Telamon no longer feels its chill. In him, the fires of distant stars burn, and he sweeps forward, elegant and lordly, until he stands before Nala.
And then he gently puts his arms around the girl, and lets her cry into his chest, just as he's done for his wife many times before. "Shh. It's all right. It'll -be- all right. We'll help you to make it so, if you'll let us. Don't be afraid."
Tel looks to the others, his expression pensive, trying to plan out his next move or six. He is, after all, playing it by ear here.
The Goblin looks relieved that the dagger has been dropped, and she begins to approach Nala and Telamon. "Telamon is right, you do not need to fear. We'll help you make things better."
Zeke makes a low crooning noise in his throat for Nala. As he would for any hurt hatchling. She is so young and so hurt. Thinking of harming herself. He feels deeply for her. He lets Telamon go to her though, lets softskins go to her to comfort her, because though he is a healer he knows that their own kind will be more a comfort than his strangeness would be.
"Ssshare wordsss with usss Nala. Tell ussss all." His words are a low comforting thing. A rumble of sound meant to carry. He nods to Telamon, letting the other man know that he is here to offer support and aid as best he can. He collects the dagger. Best that it be removed as far away as it can be from the young woman. Since he is on the outskirts of things it will be safe with him.
Will it be alright though? They are trying to convince a person who only exists in a dream, whose friends only exist in a deeper dream, that it's okay. Her mother died in what she considers her reality. To make a play around her, along with her other 'dream friends', in order to convince a God.
Harkashan wonders just how far he can smile at this. How much he can lie and say 'this is fine'.
Instead, he steps inside the house for a bit, seeking around for something thick and fluffy that belongs to Nala or Nadira. Something that could serve as a throw or a pullover or the like, and then comes back outside. and offers such to Telamon; "Use this."
Rune doesn't relax until the dagger drops from the woman's hand into the snow. It's at that point that the cold seems to slip beneath Rune's clothing. It settles in her limbs in a way that has her turning up her collar and rubbing her hands together for warmth. The rogue has always been a bit sensitive to the weather.
Her blue eyes look between Zenith and the sobbing girl in the snow. She lets out a soft breath, open that lingers in the air. She glances to Zeke, giving the Makari a nod of approval as he collects the dagger. Where others move to console, Rune lingers back a step as to not overwhelm the girl who is clearly in an emotional state.
"Tell us what we can do to help..." Is what she offers, words quiet.
GAME: Aryia rolls perception: (11)+37: 48 GAME: Aryia rolls stealth: (4)+46: 50
It seemed as if insurance wasn't needed. The absent mul'neissa silently watches as the others console Nala. As does, her ear flicks. The glowing gaze in the forest shifts slightly to the side then vanishing from sight as the shadows cling to her form as she slides around the forest edge.
For Telamon, holding Nala is not that far off from when he held Lana in his arms for the very first time. She's so slight. So small. How often has she been eating? How has she been taking care of herself? Not well. The snowflakes melt into his hair and her hair, the same hue as the little dancers of ice that flit about on the wind with their many points. "Then bring her back," she says, her golden eyes sparkling up at Telamon as she cries into his chest. "Bring back my Mother. You _have_ to."
"Nala..." Zenith sighs softly. "That can't happen. For... a variety of reasons." He looks at Telamon. "You know why."
Aryia comes up further on the path. Her senses catch something. A figure. A person. About Telamon's size, to be exact. Her keen hearing catches the person's breath. They're holding in laughter. Something about this situation is _terribly_ funny to them.
Telamon's expression is somber. "Zenith is right, Nala. Nadina is gone, though she will always be with you." He flicks a glance at Zenith. "When you've learned more, developed your powers, Zenith can explain it better."
He takes the blanket from Harkashan, wrapping it around Nala. "I know this pain," he says quietly. "Not because I've endured it, but because my wife suffered through it too. And she and I have no secrets." His expression becomes faintly wry.
"You will find your other half, your starborn prince, just as she did. Have faith."
Zeke's tail flickers back and forth. "You mussst decide if you wisssh to go on. If you wisssh to find your... Sssoulssss mate. If you wisssh to find adventure and all of the things that you dream of for your-ssself. Or if thisss isss the end of your ssstory."
He looks at the cold winter that surrounds them. "It issss a cold winter night to be alone. You could join usss inssstead."
GAME: Aryia rolls intimidate: (12)+21: 33 GAME: Aryia rolls intimidate: (16)+21: 37
How many times had Rune asked that same question of her father. How many times had she asked the clerics of her village only to get the same answer. Her expression tenses slightly. "Sometimes, things aren't that easy. Fate can be a real fucking bitch..."
It's Zeke's words that Rune latches on to. The daughter of a storyteller adds, "You write your story. With every breath, with every choice you make. I, for one, would not like to see this be the ending, when there are far happier ones just waiting in the wings for you to find them."
Simony lifts a hand to stroke Zenith's feathers, but she looks to Nala. "You will learn in time, that no one is ever really gone. You will see your mother again. But she would want you to live a full life, first. To find the man of your dreams, to grow up strong and powerful. Grandchildren. She will want grandchildren, some day." The Goblin looks to Telamon and grins, before looking back. "You can be the force of change that you want to see in the world. Your story should not end here. Just a chapter, yes?"
Aryia tunes out what the others are saying, as there was a discordant chuckle in the air of only somber acceptance. Her gut and the headband she wears nudges her in one direction, her gaze wafting over where the snow swirls around seemingly nothing.
Caught in the rare situation where speaking up would help everyone as she could call it out, she physically can't. So instead, she makes her own decision to confront. Slipping around a fallen log, the pugilist steps right up to the disturbance, gets up on her tip toes, and- her lips move near silently near the top of it.
"If you move or do anything other than reveal yourself to everyone, my fist right behind your chest will stop your heart in the same beat you decide otherwise."
Said fist cracks a mix of onyx and marble, half cocked center mass.
GAME: Harkashan rolls Perception: (11)+32: 43
Harkashan is quiet as he offloads the blanket onto Telamon, so he can help Nala warm up and show her comfort. He furrows his brow a bit as he steps out, and looks around. This feeling like he forgot something. So he opens his bag and starts searching through it out of habit. Did he misplace one of his burial-stones?
He then taps Rune on the shoulder. "I feel like I'm missing something. Physically."
Zeke's words are true. Rune's words are true. Simony's words are true. Telamon's words are true. Nala sniffles. She looks up at everyone and opens her mouth to say something--
And then laughter rings out. "Awww. How _adorable_." That voice. That horrible voice. Telamon knows it very well. Aryia knows it very well. Rune and Harkashan know it.
In front of Aryia, a man in a robe suddenly forms in front of her. He has a scythe in hand. A silver mask peeks out from underneath the black hood: a mask that Rune and Harkashan know. They were there when he wore it last. When he died. "I haven't had anyone threaten me in a while since my 'graduation'. It's really cute. Just like that little lady with the golden eyes you've got crying into your shirt there, friend."
A man named Karan'taara (who knows what he's named in this world, if this is him, but it almost certainly is) who is dead in their world offers a brilliant grin. The blue eyes flash a little under the mask. "So, I've got one hell of a deal for you. Give me the girl. I'm here for her. Or... You all can die. Understood?"
GAME: Aryia rolls punch: aliased to weapon0+2: (9)+29+2: 40 GAME: Aryia rolls knowledge/religion: (5)+10: 15 GAME: Aryia rolls crunch: aliased to 2d10+strength+2+1: (13)+6+2+1: 22
The figure reveals themselves. Aryia's stern expression turns to shock, then flares into a seething hatred. Yet they don't strike. The whole point of this ordeal was to show compassion. She knows the stakes of something like this, a literal god-like effort of self control and-
> "Or... you can all die."
(Actually, never mind, fuck this guy), she thinks to herself.
Her onyx fist with marbled cracks flares a bright light as she jets the fist forward, the light-energy making skin ripple and...
She blinks. One can easily read the "Aw fuck," in the distance.
GAME: Aryia spends THREE points of KI POOL. GAME: Telamon casts Haste/Quicken. Caster Level: 20 DC: 28 GAME: Telamon casts Telekinetic Sphere. Caster Level: 20 DC: 29 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+40: (19)+40: 59 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+40: (15)+40: 55 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+35: (19)+35: 54 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+30: (7)+30: 37 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+25: (16)+25: 41 GAME: Aryia rolls fortitude: (9)+23: 32 GAME: Aryia rolls fortitude: (4)+23: 27
And Telamon turns, his expression transforming from the genial and kind to a cool, distant look. The gaze of remote stars, that are now disapproving as he gazes on the Karan'taara doppelganger.
"I think not. How about we beat you to death with hammers?" Deliberately, Tel begins casting fast, and a flash of silvery light illuminates him before jumping to Zeke, Harkashan, Simony, Rune, and even Nala. "Or whatever other implement comes at hand."
His eyes move to Nala and his expression is somewhat apologetic. "Sorry, but I'm not letting him get his filthy hands on you." Another incantation, moving his fingers in delicate patterns, as a shimmering sphere like a quivering soap bubble wraps around Nala, buoying her. "You'll be safe this way, until we've dispatched this fiend." His lip curls. "He's something of an old nemesis of mine, or he was, in my world."
GAME: Riptide rolls 2d4+18+2d4+18+2d4+18+2d4+18: (4)+18+(8)+18+(6)+18+(8)+18: 98 GAME: Riptide rolls 2d4+18: (4)+18: 22 GAME: Riptide rolls 2d4+18+2d4+18+2d4+18+2d4+18: (4)+18+(4)+18+(8)+18+(4)+18: 92 GAME: Riptide rolls 2d4+18: (5)+18: 23
The man who wears the face of someone who Aryia has beaten into submission before laughs coldly at her. "You weren't expecting that, were you? Ah well. You will simply have to taste the scythe I was gifted by the Lord of Undeath himself!"
He laughs maniacally as he strikes out with the scythe, biting into Aryia's flesh multiple times. It hurts. It _hurts_. Blood blooms and it's clear this man is every inch a reaper, every inch the power that he had lusted for in the original timeline but never had. Even a brief moment of intervention from Zeke's behalf is only a moment of respite. "If you hand over the girl, I'll be happy to leave you with only more scars for your lovely form! Although it'd be a pity to only leave it so."
GAME: Aryia rolls 20d6: (72): 72 GAME: Aryia rolls disarm: aliased to : (4)+28+2+1: 35 GAME: Aryia rolls disarm: aliased to : (17)+28+2+1: 48 GAME: Aryia rolls disarm: aliased to : (18)+28+2+1: 49 GAME: Aryia rolls disarm: aliased to : (3)+28+2+1: 34 GAME: Aryia rolls disarm: aliased to : (20)+28+2+1: 51 GAME: Aryia rolls disarm: aliased to : (16)+28+2+1: 47 GAME: Aryia rolls punch: aliased to weapon0+2: (17)+29+2: 48 GAME: Aryia rolls punch: aliased to weapon0+2: (14)+29+2: 45 GAME: Aryia rolls crunch: aliased to 2d10+strength+2+1: (4)+6+2+1: 13 GAME: Simony casts Greater Angelic Aspect. Caster Level: 18 DC: 23
It hurts. It hurts so fucking much. Even with one lance of pain being redirected towards Zeke at the blink of an eye, every inch of her being grows aflame. But yet, in all this madness, there is calm. An even breath In fills her lungs. It stills the rush, the rivers within halting suddenly, like every other time before diverting the flow to some other part of her person that needs it: mind, body, or soul.
Her fists flicker with that familiar glow, lines of energy manifesting across her skin.
It is in that moment, however. Where that sycthe lands and impales, she feels the banks of the river thunk hollow. She stops fast, caught off guard from the sensation. This feeling. It's... exactly the same as when she is about to break through wall or bone.
She claps her palms together on the weapon's flats, closing her eyes. All her attention focuses inward, on that river of will, life, and presence. So much was she focused on the river moving and stilling, never was it on what confined it. And if there was one thing Aryia hated more than anything, it was being constrained.
Her face strains, veins bulging as it appears she's exetering against something, yet makes no movement to bely what is it she's pushing really against. Lips twitch into a snarl. The lines of energy that wreath her crack, growing tributaries of moonlight. Her hair drifts aloft, grey skin darkening to a contrasting onyx against the light. Sweat pours off her in droves.
Then Aryia breathes Out.
There is a sound. A hollow snap. And the river bank breaks. The pugilist's body erupts in a grand display of brilliant light, eyes snap open, aglow in solid white. Every inch of exposed skin cracks into onyx marbled with white tributaries, hands wreathed in an ethereal, penumbramatic glow. The wound stitches itself shut as she pulls the blade free, bright marble to onyx.
Both hands grip the haft. And she drives her skull into his stupid mask once. Twice. Thrice! And flips him over her should, yanking the horrid weapon out of his hands- not the first time she's done this-, before pole vaulting with it and soaring back to the party, landing with a slide. "Nice toothpick you had you smarmy bitch. <Handspeech/Tongues>
Simony is slightly surprised at the appearance of the man, and winces as Aryia is wounded heavily. The Goblin claps her hands excitedly as Aryia not only snatches the terrible weapon out of KT's hands, and delivers a solid punch, the Mul'neissa also makes good her escape, landing nearby.
Her pulls her holy symbol from under her armor and robes, letting it float in place, glowing. "Holiest of Ravens, I implore you to grant me the defenses of your highest servants, so that I might keep my friends from harm." A flash, and suddenly large wings thrust out from the Goblin's shoulders, flexing and letting her take to the air. More flashes are seen as several overlapping auras spring into being, enveloping those nearby in spheres of protection.
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+32: (14)+32: 46 GAME: Zeke rolls 1d4: (3): 3 GAME: Harkashan rolls 11d6: (38): 38 GAME: Harkashan casts Holy Aura. Caster Level: 18 DC: 28
It seems it's destined for that frown on Harkashan's face to become a more permanent fixture, as there's suddenly the grating voice of a certain Karan'taara breaking the winter's calm.
"Really...?" Harkashan, who is clearly so incredibly fed up with this, just repeats; "Really!? Now this guy shows up?" If he had sleeves to roll up, he'd be rolling them up right now. But instead, there's a wince as Aryia receives one heck of beating - and Zeke takes some of that suffering upon himself.
"Careful, Kin." He rumbles to them, as he sends a pulse of silvery light outwards and heals his and Aryia's wounds while he begins to approach. That silvery light getting brighter by the moment. Wrapping itself around his allies like a warm blanket. Silvery mantles, akin to those of wings, laid over their bodies.
"Alright... now for you..." Harkashan grumps as he moves straight towards Karan'taara. "Last time, I cursed your counter-part to never be able to cause anguish again. I think I've got some fun ideas for you..."
Aryia is right.
It hurts.
Zeke can feel his own power draining his life from his body. He roars with the pain of it but he can still stand as it drains him of his vitality. His wings spread forth shining in the cold winter light and shimmering with the light of the day. His crystal limbs should seem apart from him, but he has long since accepted them as a part of him and now they are glorious union. He turns that glory upon the man who stands against them, the glory of the Dragonfather and it shines with the light of the glittering snow, the faded light of winter but still beautiful. Still holding the power of the Light.
"Thisss one will do what thisss one musssst." He grates out to Harkashan. He has no fear of pain. No fear of death. His left arm becomes a sword. The sword of the Dragonfather. He is after all, the One that Brings Life.
GAME: Rune rolls weapon1+2+1: (5)+26+2+1: 34 GAME: Rune rolls weapon1+2+1: (3)+26+2+1: 32 GAME: Telamon rolls 1d100: (75): 75
The voice that comes from behind them has Rune turning, and then giving a groan that is distinctly put-out. "Really? This fucker? Which god's sad saggy junk did you suck off to be alive in this world just to annoy us again?" The rogue is not as afraid as she once might have been of this particular individual. Perhaps because she's seen him very, very dead.
Of course, seeing him lay into Aryia with that scythe is enough to have Rune questioning if she should have been quite so flippant about the situation. Thankfully, Aryia's disarm of the offending asshole spurs on the rogue's bravery. That, and the fact that there goes her mate, walking right into danger as if he were going on a casual stroll to the temple.
So, Rune whispers something under her breath, running her blade along the back of her hand, sacrificing a drop of blood onto the snow before she races with supernatural speed to join Harkashan as a threat to the masked madman. Unfortunately, she seems to be a bit uncertain on her feet after using this particular ability, meaning that the swipe of her blade that follows is a bit off the mark as her foot slips in the snow.
Telamon's eyes narrow. Something is -off- about this. Aryia should have struck him more seriously. No... this doppleganger, this revenant, is manipulating things. Twisting fate itself to evade blows that should land. No wonder he's got an ego.
Well, Telamon knows how to play games. His hand dives into a small pouch on his belt, one embroidered with a circle-and-crescent, and his eyes widen slightly. Bemused, he pulls forth a large copper coin that Zeke and Simony are close enough to see -- it depicts a fox-headed fellow holding up two fingers with a vulpine smile.
"Yes. This will do -nicely-." And with that, he slings the coin like a dart at the evil necromancer. As it whips through the air, flickering phantoms can be seen momentarily in its wake... dancing? And there's music. Something about 'not being a fool for you' and 'want to see you out that door'. As reality and probability get a swift kick courtesy of the Coyote.
"I have _no_ idea what you mean, lovely madame, this is our very first time meetIIIING--" The entity that wears Karan'taara's face is struck with a coin of a certain Tarienite servitor.
Who then pops into reality. Right next to Rune. There's a drumstick sticking out of his mouth, but there's a Xian-seeming man with black hair and dark eyes, wearing a billowing robe of red, with white ears and several tails poking out from underneath the robe. "It's time!" Kiku-no-Musoku, who Telamon knows thanks to knowing his descendant, Karasu, strikes a pose. "No more cheating for you!"
Karan'taara opens his mouth to protest. And then the drumstick bone that was in Kiku's mouth gets shoved into it. "Byeeeee-byeeee-byeeee!" Kiku sings out, before disappearing in a flash.
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+20+4: (9)+20+4: 33 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+20+4: (16)+20+4: 40 GAME: Zeke rolls Fortitude: (15)+20: 35 GAME: Riptide rolls 3d6+20: (12)+20: 32 GAME: Telamon rolls spellcraft: (7)+26: 33 GAME: Harkashan rolls Spellcraft: (16)+26: 42 GAME: Zeke rolls Spellcraft: (15)+26: 41 GAME: Simony rolls spellcraft: (13)+10: 23
Karan'taara snarls in rage, spitting the bone out of his mouth. "I. Do not know. What you _charlatans_ are doing!" he bellows. "But I won't tolerate it anymore! Even without the scythe, I still possess incredible power!"
He points his finger at Zeke and laughs maniacally, a horrible energy leaving his finger. Something black and smoky comes off of Zeke. It's life. It's negative energy. Trying to take Zeke away from this world. But still he remains.
GAME: Aryia rolls 20d6: (85): 85 GAME: Simony casts Crushing Hand. Caster Level: 18 DC: 24 GAME: Simony rolls cleric+12+1: (4)+18+12+1: 35 GAME: Simony rolls cleric+12+1: (1)+18+12+1: 32 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Simony rolls cleric+12+1: (8)+18+12+1: 39
The absurdity of the situation gets the otherworldly Aryia pause briefly before shaking her head, her gaze drifting to the horrid weapon in her hands.
Her arms tremble. Another breath In. Out. The marble pulses. She steadies. But then a lance of horrid power shoots at Zeke! The pugilist rushes up to the bluescale, planting the butt of the large scythe into the snow to arrest her. "Thanks for earlier," she quickly gestures at him, "The fucker is undead-" There's a squint. Like she sees something. "-and also sorry about this." An onyx and marble hand reaches towards his torso, the penumbra on it washing over his side. She grips, and rips out an inky black shadow, only to smack the blob a few times against the ground as it shifts into a bright white light, and she jams it back in. The aches and pain replaced with soothing life. <Handspeech/Tonges>
GAME: Zeke rolls 1d20+29: (14)+29: 43
The kitsune and kitfox combo is absurd, and Simony stares up at Telamon. "You really ought to clean out your pockets more often, Lord Lupecyl-Atlon." She can't not grin, and shakes her head. Aryia's tearing free of KT's... shadow? and then giving it the HULK treatment has her blinking again.
"Finger of death, eh?" The Goblin's holy symbol glows brightly once more as she draws upon her deity's power. "I'll show you a finger..." Uttering a prayer to Navos, Simony wills into existence a large hand, in the form of a fist... but with the middle finger extended in a rude gesture. The fist hurtles across the battlefield, and after firmly presenting that middle finger to the 'gentleman', it attempts to grasp him and squeeze him, like George. It doesn't quite get a solid grip, the man slipping free.
GAME: Zeke rolls 1d8+10+2d6+10d6: (7)+10+(3)+(31): 51 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+32: (19)+32: 51 GAME: Rune rolls weapon1+1+2: (8)+26+1+2: 37 GAME: Rune rolls weapon1+1+2: (6)+26+1+2: 35 GAME: Harkashan casts Miracle. Caster Level: 18 DC: 29 GAME: Harkashan casts Destruction. Caster Level: 18 DC: 27 GAME: Harkashan rolls Cleric+4: (17)+18+4: 39 GAME: Rune rolls weapon1+1+1+2: (13)+26+1+1+2: 43 GAME: Rune rolls weapon1+1+1+2-2: (10)+26+1+1+2+-2: 38 GAME: Rune rolls weapon2+1+1+2-2: (1)+26+1+1+2+-2: 29 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Rune rolls weapon1+1+1+2-7: (6)+26+1+1+2+-7: 29 GAME: Rune rolls weapon2+1+1+2-7: (4)+26+1+1+2+-7: 27 GAME: Rune rolls weapon1+1+1+2-12: (6)+26+1+1+2+-12: 24 GAME: Rune rolls weapon2+1+1+2-12: (2)+26+1+1+2+-12: 20 GAME: Rune rolls damage1+1+1d6+9d6: aliased to 1d6+4+1+1d6+9d6: (4)+4+1+(4)+(28): 41
"We are alliesss." Zeke says to Aryia, nodding to her. Her thanks are appreciated, and his tail swishes. Not so long ago he might have brushed them off, but he too is part of the team. "You have no need to apologize." Her healing is unusual, but he has learned to accept touch. To accept many things that once he found strange and unusual. He nods to her and spreads his wings wide. "Pleassse protect the girl."
Zeke flies to the enemy and cuts into his body, growling as he does so. He dislikes this unpleasantness, but he is unwilling to let anyone take Nala against her will. "You are undead." He hissses, knowing that the Deathsinger will want to know this bit of knowledge. "But the Halls wait for you. Dragonfather'sss Light will sssee you there!"
"Look bud. Thul weapon or not. You are way out of your league here. You're an Undead in the presence of a Deathsinger. A sadist in the presence of one of the greatest healers of all times. A warrior without a weapon. A man who has not see the swiftness of her blades yet. A woman dedicated to time, ensuring your end comes Today. And that back there..." He points back. "Is an Archmage. You chose the /WORST/ opponents you could have." Harkashan remarks.
"Look, to demonstrate..." He makes for a quick prayer, guiding the very presence of Vardama here. Praying to the Goddess herself and bringing her protection against Death to his allies here. And the moment he completes that spell, he grips the air, and /tears/ the luck out of Karan'taara in an almost physical way, and redistributes it to his allies.
"And now your spells of death can no longer touch us. What are you going to try next? I recommend just kneeling and waiting for death. That's my recommendation for you."
GAME: Harkashan rolls Diplomacy+5: (16)+23+5: 44
"Oh no. We are not getting into this flirting thing, it was creepy enough the first time, and then several times after that." Rune seems quite happy that his attempts at doing so are cut off by the impact of that coin to the face. What happens next has her looking more confused and curious than anything else, likely not having seen anything quite like it before.
However, there seems to be something off about Rune's attacks, as if they were off-balance by something. She tries to weave blows that would be unexpected, but each one is dodged or blocked one after another. Except for one. Just a single blade that manages to get through.
Followed by Rune looking over at Harkashan. Maybe, just maybe, she feels as if she isn't quite living up to his description.
-TBC