...that is all the faith I need.

P.S. Translation of the "new" kazari words in that last post - m'penzi = "(my) love"; uj'nga = "s#!t of an elephant"

Time passed, though it was nearly impossible to discern just how much, since the death priest’s last visit and, in those indiscernible hours (or days, or weeks), Ch’dau’s health slowly improved. The accord Aranwen had made with their jailor had, at least, resulted in better food and, as a result more energy, enabling him to move about the confines of his cell and exercise to some degree in an attempt to rebuild his strength… and his anger. When, after Khr’a only knew how long, the dark priest returned, the Kazari was feeling well enough to greet the man with a scornful snarl.

“So, my guests,” the man sneered, standing outside the cells, “The time has arrived.”

There is a long pause as the vile human paces the hallway, peering into each cell in turn. "I know that I have the word of the Bladesinger and the battle priest, and no objection from the sun priest.  I hear that you," he stops in front of Ch'dau’s cell and points a finger, "are an honorable creature, cat man, that I can trust you will keep the bargain of your life for my task.  Is that so?"

You can trust, k’tomba t’mbili, that I will not kill you until after I have killed the others, the Kazari growled inwardly. Rather than give voice to that reply, though, Ch’dau answered with a curt nod and an irritated chuff. “I will do as my khatun bids me.”

 “Very well,” the preist nodded, “I will release you.”

It was a difficult thing for Ch’dau not to instantly tear the man to shreds when the door to his cell was unlocked but, somehow, the Silver Cat managed to restrain himself. Instead, he simply stepped into the corridor, stretching the ache from his limbs as the priest summoned forth a ghoul bearing a replacement sword for Aranwen.

“Alas, it is not of the quality of the one you surrendered,” the D’hurgenite said, presenting the blade to the Syl, “but I trust it will be functional.”

“Let us find out,” Aranwen replied, accepting and then inspecting the blade.

Ch’dau watched quietly as the Bladesinger tested the salvaged steel, attuning it to her spirit and listening to its song.

Following her assessment, Aranwen sheathed the blade and turned back to the priest. “It will serve our purposes,” she offered from behind a wry smile, “and it is far better than entering battle unarmed.”

The death priest nodded, gesturing to his accompanying ghoul. “This creature will take you to another cell, where most of your equipment was stored. Once you retrieve it, you will follow me to your task.”

He went on to explain, in more detail, what he expected of them in this ‘task’ of his and, as he did so, a savage, smiling snarl spread across Ch’dau’s features. It has been my plan, for some time, to kill that monkey-bitch, the cat-man, again, managed to keep his thoughts to himself, you have only delayed it.

**********************

Having been led to the cell where their equipment was stored, Ch’dau grumbled at the condition of his blades and spent some time honing their edges and returning them to their proper places as Aranwen went about aiding Gib and Cedric with their gear. As he tucked the dagger Kithran had given him all those years ago into the belt of his dak’tar, he felt the bladesinger at his side and, as she leaned into him, her relieved tears, trickling into his fur, he wrapped an arm around her and purred softly. “This is all but finished, m’penzi,” he murmured reassuringly, “I will see you and Kithran free of this place.” He nuzzled her gently, then, pulling her closer, tighter, for an instant before, finally letting her go.

His blue-green gaze swept over Cedric and Gib, then, and he nodded respectfully to the two men. “I will see you all free, my friends,” he swore, “here or in the Hunt.”

Soon, by the blessings of Therassor and Solanis, wounds were healed and more strength and determination restored as a result.

“When my Mistress is dead, I will honor you safe passage out of our domain,” the dark priest offered, then, “I give you this solemn vow in the name of D'hurgen, the Devourer. Of course, if you act against me, this seal is broken. Do you all understand?”

“Not that a vow given in the name of your god means uj’nga,” Ch’dau said with a snort, his fingers flexing and palms itching for the hilts of his falcata.

"I understand," Aranwen nodded, "At the moment, I am far more concerned with the present than what comes after. We can know she will not be undefended, even with avoiding guards on our approach - she doesn't allow herself to appear vulnerable at any time.

I might not know how the room looks before we arrive, but I do know that she will have attendants. Ch'dau, if Garn is present and not blocking the path, I leave him to you. Keep him occupied,” Aranwen plotted.

The Silver Cat nodded (and perhaps smiled a little too eagerly); “He will be far too busy trying to keep his guts on the inside to worry on you, my khatun.”

“I will rush those that wield magic - if I should be able to get to her and hinder any spellcasting by my persistence, then all the better for our chances of success in this endeavour, I should think. Gib, attend and aid Ch'dau if I go for her. Cedric, see to our injuries as they come as best you can, and be ready with your light; we know that they will use darkness to stay our advance, as they have done so before. Avoid being in a direct line with her sight - we know of the lightning she can wield."

“A blade to her mouth ought to keep her from calling her magics,” Ch’dau suggested, almost off-hand. His gaze flitted between his remaining companions for a moment, then, as it fixed back on the priest of D’hrugen, hardened and narrowed.

“Show us to your mistress, t’mbili,” he chuffed, “I grow tired of waiting.”

We are coming for you, Little Kitten.

...well, a few weeks in a cage with nothing but table-scraps or less will make for a terrific appetite, y'know?

Besides, I've heard that the "cat-dad bod" is the in thing these, days.

We'll start with faces and save the rest for the trip home.

...I do plan on eating this guy's face, in fact!

Just... you know... after I've eaten Davena and Garn.  

...with his pushing stuff off of tables and eating faces and such.

...sheesh! What's the matter with them, anyway? Buncha Debbie Downers!

...not complaining at all (except about my own falling behind). I absolutely love that you two have kept us moving despite my lack of recent posts.

You guys are dusting me!

Hoping to get a post from Ch'dau up soon.

Good read, ladies!

“…How long have we been here?”

"I couldn't say, my love," Aranwen replied, her voice soft as it travelled along the floor from where she sat next to the door of her cell, "Without the stars, moon, or sun, I've no sense of time here," She added, "I have slept nine, perhaps ten times, but that has no bearing on whether a day or a night has passed."

“Too long, then,” Ch’dau chuffed wearily through the shadows, his hands gripping the bars to try and pull himself up. His eyes met hers from across the dank corridor and, sadly, in a glimmer, her’s were gone.

"I am sorry for my part, once again, in bringing you back to this…"

The kazari was about to dismiss the bladesinger’s need to apologize – he had followed her into this willingly – but that dismissal was forestalled by what she said next.

"…But, it seems the situation is far more different than I had originally seen. We may not have learned the whole of that priests' intentions, but they appear to overlap with ours, if marginally. His price in return for our freedom, and in saving you, is to aid him in one endeavour which he said he will disclose later."

Ch’dau grunted softly. “Saving me is not worth servitude to some k’tomba death priest,” he murmured, “but for the price of freedom for the rest of you, I suppose…” He fell silent, then, listening as Aranwen continued her consideration of the task they might be required to perform for the priest and, moreover, what his motives might be.

“…At best, I can only guess that he has quarrel with her, or perhaps desires leadership for himself. He cannot use his ghouls in his favour, given they also answer to other cultists as well. So he has need of forces he knows cannot be controlled, and has made certain to the best of his ability that we will comply with his request.

I do not like it. It has the feel of dealing with one problem only to leave another in its place. But we have little choice but to concede, if we are to survive.”

Survive. The Silver Cat chuffed faintly. He wouldn’t admit it aloud, of course, but he wasn’t certain that he would survive this… as long as he lived to see Kithran alive, his friends liberated from this place, and got a chance to kill Garn and Davena, that was all that mattered, now.

“I do not like it, either, my khatun,” he returned, “but I do understand your reasoning. If this is your will, I will comply.”

It's been a pleasure, of course! Especially in these later stages... I mean, c'mon, we got a Bree, we brought Reralae back, Raven is posting his awesome posts, again... it's been a win-win, IMO.

Plus, I put on a Kazari because you know how I LOVE my cookie-cutter characters... who would have ever thought that doing such a thing would have led me back down the world-building path and into the kind of stuff I've subjected the community to as a result!

Added bonus: It looks like we're finally going to be able to actually finish this game!!! 

...so fun!

Had to kill (or rekill) people in our group and everything!

I get goosebumps just thinking about it!

With a grizzled, one-eyed, battle scarred Murph!

I could get into that!

....when it comes to Olan wanting to learn about what his players are feeling on the inside, lately, it makes me veeeeerrrryyy nervous!

Haven't we seen enough of our insides, already?

This game has taken you to a dark, dark place, dude!

...Tochi is a lot better at following doctor's orders than his player has been, I'll say that much.

Besides, these side effects aren't horrible... just horribly distracting.

Contemplating some posty goodness, today... need to get back in the varied heads of the Flight Control Dept... we'll see where it goes.

...my favorite (or, at least, most often used) weapon has been the banhammer!

The back door is unlocked. Come on in! Fridge is on your left and your room is at the end of the hall. Wake me up when you get here!

P.S. Rer and I posted simultaneously - AGAIN - so, yeah... Vanadia and Reralae are definitely two different people. Both, however, have made me feel and see really cool mental images of bladesingers in action through their writing/portrayals of the class, soooo... there's that. I will say, though, that the Butterfly's interpretation has a more "musical" feel to it. Vanadia's portrayal made references to a tuneless song and such.... It was cool AF, as the kids say, but it seemed more dischordant than our Ara's "song" - I guess that's the best way to put it.

And my P.S. has exceeded the length of the original post.... I blame Kraken and good music!

I don't care what your name is or what you prefer to go by. Stop by my place and ask for a bed, a bite, or a brother and I'VE GOT YOU!!!

Also, dinner is whenever you want! After you visit the first time, you're not a guest, anymore... you know where the fridge is!

Especially when Rer (or, previously, Vanadia) describes it! I wanna see that on a big screen whilst jamming over-buttered popcorn into my face-hole!!! For like FOUR hours, minimum!!!

It's a more than worthy cause, my dear Innmates and, as we get closer to a particular time of the year, it puts me in mind of one of my very favorite "Christmas songs."

Old City Bar - Trans-Siberian Orchestra

Again, I don't have a particularly BROAD appreciation of anime, but NieR: Automata is one of the titles that I enjoy (along with Escaflone, Inuyasha, and Cowboy Bebop, to name a few). That's good bladesinger music, IMO.

...I've got a "backpost" bit going with Crowe (Ens Garner/Storm Rider), myself. He said he'd be coming back, so, here's hoping that comes to pass.

Edit: Speak of the devil! There he is!

You should have seen/heard my parents on my first trip home after Boot. With my Marine Corps table manners and my chosen MOS, there were all kinds of questions as to my sanity and such.

I miss those days, sometimes! *sigh*

I could write a book on the weird stuff my family has called me out on over the years... and then, when they realize that a good majority of those things have to do with "stories I'm telling" and have nothing to do with real life, the looks get even stranger.

Mr Stark, I still don't feel so good...