...for what it's worth. Ol' fuzz-face is getting geared up, bit by bit, it seems. Yay, stuff!!!

Also, aggreed re: the planned visit to the apothecary. Probably best if Ch'dau waits outside (or, at least, makes himself as unobtrusive as possible). I'll leave any interactions with the "Apushycarian" in the hands of Mosic and Kith.

“Might be one guy at the base of the stairs,” Aranwen’s voice called, “Another fell on him though, so he might be knocked out or playing dead.”

Ch’dau chuffed and stalked to the foot of the staircase. He eyed the two bodies there for a moment before crouching down and stabbing each through the base of their skulls. “He no longer plays,” the kazari snorted, rising to his feet and flicking the blood from his blade before returning it to its scabbard. He turned, his gaze falling on Kithran where she was occupied with pilfering from the dead. He offered a fiant shake of his shaggy head in response to the blatant thievery of it but, at the same time, couldn’t deny the practicality. With that thought in mind, the kazari moved to the larger human’s corpse and, for a moment, studied the bracers lashed about the man’s forearms. Following that brief reflection, the cat-man shrugged and, then, stooped, to undo those bracers from the monkey’s arms and, with an adjustment or two, lash them about his own. When he rose, again, Aranwen was descending the stairs and, once she reached the bottom, tossed a pair of shortswords, complete with baldrics, in his direction.

 "I recall you mentioned wielding two blades?" The Syl woman smiled as he caught the offerings and nodded his appreciation.

Ch’dau set about situating the newly acquired weapons beneath his borrowed cloak, one baldric over either shoulder so that the thick leather of the belts criss-crossed his chest. Once he had adjusted the placement of the scabbards and snugged them securely in place, he drew the dagger Kithran had loaned him and offered it back to her. “If you are in need of a second blade, kibibi,” he rumbled, “you may have this one back.”

“That old thing,” the thief grinned, shaking her head, “No, thank you. That’s yours.” 

Concealed beneath cloak and cowl, the twitching of ears and flicking of tail went unseen but the kazari “smile” was expressed nonetheless. “Thank you,” the cat-man nodded, securing the dagger to a convenient spot on the baldrics, “I am honored.”

A few words were exchanged between Kith and Aranwen, then, and the darker woman bounded up the stairs in search of a dagger (and likely whatever else of use she might find on any bodies that were left there). While she was gone, Ch’dau took the opportunity to add to his own kit, taking a pair of bracers from the larger monkey and adjusting them so that they fit decently about his own forearms and, also, pilfering the man’s belt as there were a few pouches that hung from the thing in which were found things like a whetstone, a few coins, and various other items that would likely come in handy.

As Kithran returned from upstairs, both Ch’dau and Aranwen’s gaze turned to her. "So much for not being followed, huh?" the bladesinger chuckled softly, "Well, we'd better move. No need to get bogged down explaining ourselves to the town guard and be sitting targets for another wave of mercenaries.

Now then... if they were told you were wearing a black cloak, Kithran, I'll go first out the front door. Decoy. See if I can't draw the attention of onlookers and lead any pursuers away if they expect I'm you and therefore that Ch'dau will be following, relying on you to scout ahead," She looked passed Kithran, to the kitchen beyond, "There's probably a side entrance for receiving food from the market there in the kitchen. The rest of you go that way. Get some medical supplies from that apothecary.

Any questions or things to consider?"

“Yes,” Kith replied as Ch’dau was still fiddling with the fit and function of his newly acquired gear, “if there are more of these louts out there and they think you are me, they may try to attack you. What happens if you are ambushed? Not that I don’t have faith in your abilities of course, but say they ambush you with a lot of louts, or one of Adedre’s horrid monstrosities? Why don’t we all go out the back here?”

The thief sighed at the look of confidence on the bladesinger’s face and knew she often bore the same look in the face of worse plans that were questionable at best, “Or fine, it was just a concern but if you are set in this plan, where do you propose we meet up? I know the city alright so I can lead these fine gentlemen anywhere you’re familiar with. I'd prefer we don't meet at the wine cellar to avoid compromising them. And anyway, they already think I am a good, kind, valiant person. I'd hate to know what they'd think of me if I brought home a cleric."

 "Those are fair questions to raise, Kithran. My thought was that, should I be ambushed, then I'd wager that I was successful in drawing their attention. Better for one to be caught than for all to be caught, in this case,” Aranwen explained calmly, “Especially one that they are not actually after - I doubt they'd linger overlong when they realized they went after someone they weren't being paid for.

 "As to where to meet up..." Aranwen fell quiet a moment as she considered it, "Yes, I agree the cellar is far from ideal. Even if it is still safe, I'd rather we not reveal it so as to possibly have some place to return to after being done. Given her objective, and her haste to have it done, we can't afford to linger longer than we must - we need to return to Adedre's estate and put an end to this. We'll need a way in..." she frowned, "I doubt I could make the same bluff twice, and the entrance you entered through may have likewise been discovered. So we need another method, something new..."

Aranwen shook her head, "But that is something to consider when we are not here. Let's meet up near Adedre's estate. I think I remember a small garden a few streets away from it. It may take longer for me to arrive there than you, depending on what happens."

Aranwen pulled her hood up, before passing her coinpouch to Mosic, "For the apothecary, and should I be ambushed I'd rather not have my coins added to their paycheck."

"Everyone ready?" Aranwen asked.

“As you say, khatun,” the Silver Cat chuffed, bowing his head slightly. The Sylvari woman certainly did have a knack for command, it seemed, so he thought the term appropriate.

Got Ch'dau's post all but done. Internet is about to go down for a bit as I've got the cable company mucking about in my walls at the moment. If that all goes well I should have that post up soon.

Brom - good picture! That's pretty darn close to what I've been picturing.

Bree and Rer - Yeah... Heartbroken, enraged, and unable to do a damn thing about either.

Raven - safe travels, brother.

Olan - can Ch'dau at least eat the priest before he dies? I've got $50.

Even in the blinding dark, the Silver Cat’s rage was all consuming, all important, and, though he couldn’t see his attackers, that fury allowed him to ignore the paralyzing effects of the ghouls and continue laying waste to any of them he was able to reach. That aside, it became clear, soon enough, that his rage and his companions’ skills would not be enough to let them see the end of this battle. The dead were relentless, never-ending, and, despite the best efforts of all, the tide of battle quickly turned in favor of the death-god’s minions. As he angrily let himself accept the fate that was to come and his injuries multiplied, Ch’dau felt himself, at last succumb to the icy touch of the grave which robbed him of his ability to fight any longer. He struggles against the paralysis, of course, furious that his friends are forced to try and defend him. Angrier still that, despite their attempts, the futility of the fight compounds all the more.

He can do nothing but watch as his honored companions also, one by one, begin to be staggered and stilled by the neverending press of ghoulish gigglers. When one of the abominations leaps on to his back and starts rending flesh the kazari can do little more than hope that the vile thing chokes on whatever meat it chews from him…

“Ch’dau!” Midge’s weary voice shouts, “put in a good word for me with your cat god, yes?”

The creature on his back falls away, then, being devoured by whatever spell the little Cid had sacrificed the last of his life energy to cast.

…The kazari still can’t move, can’t even coax a roar from his throat as he watches the wizard crumple to the fetid floor. I shall meet you at The Hunt, my brave little friend, he thinks, still raging on the inside and fighting to free himself from the grip of the grave, May you find a place of honor beside Rrowl and may Keziri keep you warm.

Gib and Cedric, by now, have been frozen, too, and only Aranwen is left to continue the fight on her own. He has long known the bladesinger’s prowess, known her honor, and loved her heart but, in this moment, powerless to continue fighting at her side, he would have given anything to see her simply disappear from his sight and be set free from this particular hell. I will see you on the other side, as well, my beloved Khatun. I have…

“Stop!”

The ghouls. Fervent in their assault until the word was spoken, suddenly cease their attacks. From their midst a tall, well built human, with close cropped hair and a clean shaven face, strides forth from the horde. "You have fought well," he said, his tone calm and even, “You have all acquited yourselves admirably.  Even so, you cannot win this fight."

The trace of a smile whispers across his face as he continues; "You need not all die here, however.  Surrender now, and I vow before the gods that no harm will come to you." 

…He cannot speak them, but a string of curses and expletives and promises of a slow and painful death stream through the kazari’s mind even as the D’hurganite priest lets his gaze pan slowly over the mostly paralayzed party before settling deliberately upon Arnawen, again. "It would seem that this choice is yours alone, Bladesinger.  Live or die - make your choice now."

Kill him, Ara, Ch’dau willed silently, Take away his control and fight until the rest of us are free and…

He saw Aranwen look at them all, her eyes lingering and, perhaps, languishing on him, in particular. In that moment, whe his frozen turquoise gaze locked to her grieving, golden one, he saw her decision flash and flicker…

No… No, Aranwen, my Khatun, my heart…

Anranwen forced herself to her feet, turning her eyes away from him and, instead, toward the death priest who demanded her capitulation.

…Do NOT…

The bladesinger held out her blade horizontally and, bowing her head in acquiescence, her eyes cast to the floor, now, let the steel fall from her grip.

No… Helpless, the silver Cat watched as the blade fell. NO!... Ara, what have you done?!?... The sound of steel ringing from stone, in that moment, hurt him more than any wound giggler, goon, or gesticulation ever had and, though the sound was prevented from escaping him, the kazari roared

The roar may not have escaped him in a physical form but, in his mind, it was perhaps the loudest (and, should he care to admit it, most anguished) roar that had ever escaped him. The volume of it threatened to deafen even his own ears. Spurred by Ara’s sacrifice, so soon in the wake of Midge’s, Ch’dau prayed more fervently to ALL of his gods than he ever had… Release me from this hold, he begged¸and I will bring blood and honor to last the Kazari for eternity!!!

...I don't even know where to start or what to say!!!

I'm stunned, amazed, sad, and furious all at once! Was NOT prepared.

I'm gonna go cry into my coffee and suck my thumb for a bit.

...turns out my brother needs my help this morning, so I'll be jaunting out of town for a few hours. Hopefully this won't take all day and I'll be able to have that post up this afternoon.

Neat little look at those pages, Rer!

Re: Laughing Maidens (and Lovers of Fortune) - Totally agreed! Both groups are pretty cool... Love the way you've brought them to life, here, Bree!

Post in the works for Ch'dau... hope to have it ready shortly.

...and we think we're ready. Might have to poke an older persoanlity in order to get him to wake up but, otherwise, we're set.

Tara and Kithran are quite the pair! 

Haven't quite finished reading, yet... you weren't kidding when you said it was loooooooong... but I'm definitely enjoying the tale!

Can't wait!!!

...Adedre doesn't want Kith to be the death god's baby momma. She just wants to, maybe, pull out her fingernails, cut off her hands and feet, and feed her to the guards.

Not likely to happen, though... you know we all make it out of this alive! Ch'dau and Ara don't die for another year and a half or so in some nasty green room in D'hurgen's temple. 

...you're so delicious!

Good morning, ladies!

That was soooooo fun! I hated it!

...as bad as things are about to get, Ch'dau is HAPPY to have some decent blades and some strong fighters on hand.

Jon of the clan Bon Jovi!

My wife is a HUGE fan (and I can definitely appreciate a number of songs... good to drive to... though I think Sambora was the true genius between the two)... Anyway... What was I talking about?

Is this the Cat-Daddy forum or am I in the wrong place?

What was that about ravens? Are we being swarmed? I thought those were stirges! Who took my bran muffin????

YAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYY impending doom!!!

<.<...

>.>....

^.^....

v.v...

Errr... I mean... "Don't kill me dude! This character has at least one more adventure in him!"

...stand by.

And edited!

We're all gonna DIIIIIIEEEEEEE!!!! Might as well make it glorious!

Liked that, huh?

...there it is! Summoning completed.

I had thought to do a collab bit with Reralae (and still do, in fact) but I figured I'd post that much, anyway, and let the Butterfly pick it up at her discretion.  You know where to find me, O' Dreamer.

Oh... also, I've added Tecla to the NPC list. as, the more I use her, the more I think she's likely to play a more important role in this thing than I had originally anticipated.

Secreted away behind a nondescript bank of shelves in Adedre’s library, a corroding flight of iron steps curved their way up along the walls of this particular turret to find their ending at a rough-hewn slab of a doorway. Blood-scrawled runes painted upon the splintered surface seemed to crawl over one another when a hand was stretched out to grasp the latch and, when the portal was pushed open to grant access to the cornerless black chamber beyond, candles and braziers flickered to red-flamed life of their own volition. Despite the warm color of the flames, they cast a cold light over the decrepit, stump-shaped stand which squatted in the chamber’s center, and carved even colder shadows into the room’s fringes where things unseen skittered and scratched in protest of the grim glow.

It was here that Tecla, having retrieved the implements her mistress had asked of her, found Adedre waiting, looming over the flesh-bound tome that lay open on the table. The witch’s eyes flashed in anticipation, reflecting the red light from her yellow orbs as they darted from the straw doll to the blood-soaked ribbon and, finally, to the maked face of her attendant. “Close the door, child,” Adedre hissed even as she excitedly beckoned the girl closer, “and bring me those things.”

Tecla did as she was asked, shutting off the only exit from the creaking, cone-shaped room and stepped into the orb of cold crimson light, offering the doll and the ribbon over.

Adedre anxiously snatched the things from her attendant’s hands, her gaze flicking back to the strange script that spilled over the pages of the book. As she read, she muttered to herself, so low that Tecla couldn’t make out the words, and tied the bloody ribbon about the doll’s neck before laying it atop the rotting stump. “Yes,” the witch hissed softly, a rictus stretching her lips across her face as she wrung her hands together and nodded, “that should do nicely…”

Beneath the mask, Tecla’s features twisted in confusion. “What language is that, mistress,” she asked softly, hoping her query wouldn’t interrupt her mistress’ thoughts too much.

“Abyssal,” Adedre muttered in reply, “Continue serving me well, girl, and in time, I’ll teach it to you.”

“Of course, mistress. Thank you.”

The witch’s eyes snapped suddenly from the page, then, and wandered slowly over the girl at her side. “Remove your mask,” she said after a moment, “Should this summoning work as I hope, I shouldn’t want our guest to think it a mockery.”

Tecla nodded, blinking once more in mystification before lifting her hands to her face and stripping the bone-strewn leather away and concealing it beneath her robe.

“Good,” Adedre whispered, “Now, child, be still and don’t speak unless you are addressed directly. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mistress.”

With that, the witch’s eyes returned to the page and her finger traced over a line of script at its middle. Then, with a faint nod, she spoke into the air; “Puppeteer, extend your hand; I offer this doll, now, to speak with you. O’ witch of thread, send one of your threads to me that we may make a deal.”

The crimson light seemed to flicker for an instant, drawing closer in around them, as a pall of dust motes fell across the table, dancing in a mad spiral around the doll. As the motes of dust spiralled about the doll, the bloody ribbon came undone, floating into the air just above the straw doll. Then it tore, shredding itself into long red threads that twisted about erratically. The threads stopped for a brief moment, before the tips sank themselves into the doll, the straw sizzling with the scent of burning. The threads pulled taught, lifting the doll upright. With but a brief glance about to gather where it found itself, the doll's head tilted towards the two women beside it.

“My, that’s a call I’ve not heard in a very long time,” the doll said, the strangely inflected voice seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once, “You have my attention, Adedre.”

Adedre smiled and bowed her head respectfully to the straw figure that had climbed onto the pages of the book before it. “Welcome, Morgana,” she cooed, “I find myself in need of your services.”

“Else you’d not have summoned me,” the doll nodded in answer, “Yes.” It seemed to glance, first, at the spidery script upon which it trod before lifting its featureless face back up to the necromancer who had awoken it. “Are you prepared to meet my price?”

“I am,” Adedre smiled, “Many times over should you be able to accomplish what my men seemingly cannot.”

...the next bit of the silverscreen will provide a pretty decent insight into what might be found on those pages and is apt to spell out double trouble for our heroic crew.

@Bree - I'm gonna blame Olan and his Stockholm Syndrome stuff for that! Like I said, once he's killed all of us in HC, I'm totally doing that intervention.

@Reralae - I'd be interested to see a write up of that page.

Re: Adedre's library. I'm sure if she had electricity with which to charge her Kindle, she'd have more easily found the book. Maybe she can call Davena and get one of those horde scattering quick-charge lightning bolts?

...I dunno what you've done to Olan, bree, but now I'm getting those PM threats, too!

I think it might be time for an intervention!

Well, not right now... there's a goose and chains of screaming and other horrifying vagaries that I'm curious to see about first... but, yeah... Once I'm dead I'm haunting the crap outta somebody!