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You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Free form RPGs --> Fantasy RPGs --> The Adventures of Kith, the Cat, and the Khatun
Related thread: Kith, the Cat, and the Khatun Q&A
GM for this game: Eol Fefalas
Players for this game: Reralae, breebles
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    Messages in The Adventures of Kith, the Cat, and the Khatun
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Reralae
Dreamer of Bladesong
Karma: 133/12
2196 Posts


Ding dong, here I come to find you

Earlier, on the Dravnor streets...

Aranwen ran and wove through the streets, not going towards somewhere specific. She was only putting as much distance as she dared between where she was and where she knew Ch'dau, Kithran, and Mosic were. Then she'd put the cloak back in her bag and doubled around. At least that was the plan.

In a narrow ally, her foot caught on a tripline, and she nearly stumbled forward. Aranwen heard the line slip, and followed the sound up. A net was coming down directly at her.

In a fluid motion, she drew her blade, cleaving through the threads so two halves fell to either side of her. Aranwen was about to sheath her blade and keep moving, but a voice chilled her to her core.

Ah, so you switched clothing. Clever.

Looking behind her, Aranwen saw one of the same manniquins she had fought from thirty years ago approaching her, and she took an unconscious step back.

"You!" Aranwen gasped, "No, oh no."

Though she had spent the past thirty years inconsistently attempting to track down Morgana, now that she was face to mask with one of those puppets, Aranwen faltered, at a loss of what to do, and her blade likewise shook in her unsteady hands. The mannequin seemed to shrug its shoulders, head tilting to one side as the mask seemed to be even a bit more smug in its smile.

So, it is you. I couldn't help but wonder. That you've kept strength of will these past years is very... promising.

Hearing Morgana's voice snapped Aranwen out of her fear, "What are you doing here?!" She demanded, her blade steady as she held it ready between her and the puppet, "Don't tell me-"

Much sharper than you used to be, too. Yes, I happen to have a contract in the area. You, however, are not part of it.

Aranwen bit her lip. She knew Morgana had more than one puppet at her disposal, but perhaps, if she could just keep Morgana's attention...

"What did you do, thirty years ago?" Aranwen asked, taking a glimpse behind her with the reflection of her blade to make sure she wasn't being flanked by another puppet, "I want to know."

The mannequinn shook as if laughing, though Morgana herself didn't. Afterwards, it straightened up, lifting a hand to its chin as if in thought.

No. You really don't. But while we're on the subject... I wonder... might you be interested to hear a... proposition?

Aranwen's eyes narrowed, and she forced herself to keep breathing steady, "What?"

I wonder if you would be interested in... a deal.

* * *

Aranwen's blade shook in her trembling hands, though whether in fear or rage she couldn't say. The edges of her lips twisted between snarl and passive shock as she mouthed words she didn't put voice to. Finally, she spat at the puppet, "No. You cannot promise the impossible," she raised her blade, "How... How dare you" she whispered, her golden eyes burning with molten fury.

Your reaction is an understandable one. But you must realize that you do not know me. Nor what I am capable of.

The puppet suddenly stopped moving entirely for a moment, and Aranwen frowned, once again using her blade to glance behind her and be certain that she was not being ambushed. Then the puppet moved again, shrugging its shoulders. 

It seems I must cut this talk short, my dear. Think on it, won't you?

The puppet turned its back. This time Aranwen moved to strike it. Keep it distracted. But her feet would not move. 

"Ah! What?" Aranwen looked down, and saw that the loose threads of the net had coiled about her ankles. 

Still don't look at what is already there, do you? Farewell, my dear. 

Aranwen could do little more than glare at the puppet as it left the alley and disappeared from her sight. 



Posted on 2019-11-11 at 13:49:57.
Edited on 2019-11-12 at 11:56:24 by Reralae

breebles
Little Kitten
Karma: 33/1
912 Posts


We all fall down

“Those are fair questions to raise, Kithran.” The bladesinger responded as Kith crossed her arms, “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. 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,"

Theh thief's face scrunched disapprovingly at the reply, “Maybe, Aranwen,” she sighed in resignation, there were too many ‘ifs’ she wouldn’t be a part of for her liking--and a captured bladesinger would sorely put a dent in their plans.

Kithran nodded at Aranwen’s suggestion to reconvene at the small garden near Adedre’s estate, her fingers itching instinctively as the Syl handed the Cleric her coin purse, "For the apothecary, and should I be ambushed I'd rather not have my coins added to their paycheck." Kith rolled her eyes and made her way for the kitchen door.

"Everyone ready?" She asked the group.

“As you say, khatun,” the Silver Cat chuffed, behind her.

Kith turned to wave at the bladesinger, “Be quick in your mind and your feet, Aranwen, and do not get caught.” And with that she disappeared into the kitchen, ignoring the surprised or angry staff who yelled at her only until the Kazari stalked in behind her. His true nature may have been more or less obscured, but even without those fangs dripping in one’s face, he struck a rather intimidating figure, one which she was glad to have around.

Their travel through the city looked much like their trip from the cellar to the inn: Kithran weaving ahead as their scout, avoiding as many unobscured routes as she could, and keeping an eye out for any would-be ambushers. This time she would make sure to take better note of the smaller folk in order to avoid another Saina situation.

Hardly any time at all seemed to pass before she found herself in an alleyway nearby the Lovely Lavender and Kith positive they had been followed by neither a vicious thug nor a harmless child. She waited in the alley for Ch’dau and Mosic to arrive, relieved that neither of them had noticed any eyes on them either.

“Hopefully we will remain out of their eye for the time being. Ch’dau,” she looked up at the cat-beast, “it is probably best if you stay out here. Keep to the shadows but do not hesitate to cry out for me if you need help.” She grinned and turned to the cleric, “And Mosic, you should probably do most of the talking. If I so much as breathe in their direction they’ll likely try to sell me some kind of perfume.” She shook her head, “Honestly, it is every time. I am either very beautiful or very smelly, or perhaps a combination of both, okay, let’s go, priest!” she said without taking a breath, and hopped around the corner to the store’s front.

She really did not want to go in first. She had been teasing, but she truly was not safe from the tonic and perfume peddling and was often bombarded with both in these places. She'd walk in for bandages and herbs to keep her wounds clean, and walk out smelling as though her rent were due.Still, the Cidal priest took a beat longer than she was comfortable with, especially without the added cover of her cloak, but he finally appeared around the corner and she ushered him toward the door.

The earthy and strange scents of herbs and medicines, incense and who knew what else filled Kith’s nose and lungs and she felt as though she could taste each of them.

The sound of clapping drew her attention to the store’s enthusiastic owner, "Please, come in," The woman greeted Mosic and Kithran, her voice warm and welcoming, and perhaps even a touch relieved. Mayhap it was a slow day for her thus far, "What might I be able to help you with today?" She asked.

"Good morn," Mosic replied with a smile, "I am looking for spare bandages and perhaps some balms or ointment to help soothe sutured skin. Anything also that you might recommend for treating open wounds or cuts."

Other than a brief interaction in which Kithran expressed her unfortunate inability to speak or to care what the woman had to offer her, she was left alone to wander and swipe as she desired. Upon initial inspection however, and with what painfully little she knew of medicinal herbs and the such, it appeared that the most helpful items were back on the display at which the shopkeeper now made her place.

She was a force, this one, and Kith almost felt bad for the poor Cid as he dodged her unabashedly aggressive selling style. If she could only find a way to signal to the priest to draw her attention now away from the good items.

The door to the apothecary swung open once more, if not a bit more aggressively than necessary, and Kithran slowly moved to put the wall at her back as she regarded the strange new character. Their cloak hid their features, but the long, lankiness of their build could mean nothing but that it was a Sylvari. Still . . . there was something about the way it sauntered in, purposefully, yet as though drawn forward. And that smell, even among the other pungent aromas that filled the store, its smell stung at her senses.

The creature seemed to scan the room through the hood's opening, and even the shopkeeper seemed unsure whether to greet the or hide under her counter. Both shopkeeper and priest followed the gaze of the conspicuoius Syl until finally it fell upon Kithran. It took a purposeful step toward her and her hands went to the handles of her blades, "Mosic . . . ."

The Sylvari lunged at her blindingly fast and Kith was just barely able to leap wildly out of its way. They crashed hard into the shelves of potted plants and jars, breaking everything in their path.

Kithran rolled from the floor to her feet and jumped backwards into the shopkeeper's counter as the woman ducked beneath it, and the Syl began to gain its footing once more. The thief reached back without looking for the Cidal's head to push him toward the door, "Go get Ch'dau, go go go go!" The priest raced toward the door as the cloaked figure lumbered swiftly at Kith again.

She dodged away once more as the creature slammed down on the countertop, breaking a hole it the wood before swiping out to the side at her. Kith ducked and from her crouched position, hurled herself onto the counter, dodging another swipe as she stood, pulling both daggers and leaping at its head. She landed with a leg on either shoulder, stabbing down into the dark face within the cloak.

But her blades slid away, deflected as the hood of the cloak fell away. What should have been a Sylvari face was instead a mask, smooth and all black save for the emerald in its forehead, and bright red lips, which remained unmoving as it spoke to her.

Well, aren't you rather fiesty, dear Kithran?

"What the--" but before she could finish the creature leapt, grasping her tightly to it as it slammed her into the ground.



Posted on 2019-11-11 at 20:13:37.
Edited on 2019-11-12 at 01:26:01 by breebles

Eol Fefalas
Keeper of the Kazari
RDI Staff
Karma: 454/28
7860 Posts


Of Medicine, Masquerades, and Mannequins

As Aranwen pulled her cloak about her and exited The Countess and Cockatrice via the front door, Kith, Ch’dau, and Mosic made their departure through the kitchen. The Silver Cat was surprised, if not suspicious, that no more of Adedre’s henchmen awaited them. Following Kithran’s lead, they melted into the crowd and worked their way toward the apothecary. Ch’dau’s eyes were in constant motion, his senses sharp and keen for the faintest hint of trouble as they moved from one place to the next. Kith, too, seemed easily focused on seeing to it that she led them along the path of least resistance. Mosic, however, didn’t seem quite sure of what he should be doing other than following along behind the half-syl thief, and, after a furtive glance or two at the kazari that stalked surprisingly silently along beside him, at last coaxed a sidelong look from the cat-beast.

“What?” Ch’dau demanded softly, catching the little priest’s eyes peering inquisitively up at him.

“I… It’s nothing, I suppose,” Mosic replied, “I’m just curious, I suppose.”

“About?”

“A lot of things, I admit,” the Cid replied with a faint chuckle, “Presently, though, the way you fought…”

The great cowled head turned and the priest caught a glint of light playing off the gree-blue eyes that peered at him from its shodowed depths. He had expected words to follow that look but none came.

“…I can’t say I’ve ever seen anyone fight quite like that. It seemed as if there was no thought…er… no hesitation,” Mosic hastily corrected, “before you threw yourself into it.”

“And?”

The diminutive cleric shrugged; “And… well… you killed them all…”

“Not all,” Ch’dau snorted, “Kith had killed one, already. Aranwen, also, took the life from another, I believe.”

“Well, yes,” Mosic nodded absently, pondering his next words, “but, with you, it seemed… indiscriminate?”

“I do not know this word.”

“Indiscriminate?”

“Yes.”

“It means… um…” The cleric of Falloes’ face twisted in an expression of puzzlement. “….Hmmm… You didn’t care who you killed, I guess might be the best way to explain it?”

“I cared,” the kazari snorted, “I did not kill Kithran, or Aranwen, or you.”

“Right,” the Cid nodded, “but the other, even the ones who no longer offered a fight, you didn’t hesitate to kill them. It was as is… as if you didn’t have a plan… that you…”

“I had plan,” Ch’dau retorted, “Kill the big one first. He was closest to Kithran. Posed the greatest threat.”

“What about the ones who no longer posed a threat? The woman with the bow? The one unconscious at the bottom of the stairs?”

“They entered the battle, little one,” the kazari chuffed, “They knew death was possible and should have accepted it before they did so. I do not know how your kind fight, but Kazari do not leave an enemy breathing on the field. If your enemy still breathes, your enemy can still fight and, so, is still a threat.”

“Your kind doesn’t believe in mercy?”

“Mercy is for the weak. If you seek mercy, do not seek a fight.”

Especially with a kazari, it would seem, Mosic smirked to himself. “Have you ever left an opponent alive?”

“Perhaps,” the massive shape beside him shrugged, “Though, if I have, I have not seen their faces since”

Mosic couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “No,” he snickered, “I don’t suppose you would have.”

“You are a strange little monkey, Mosic Townes.”

“And you, Samuel, are an open book.”

“I do not know what that means.”

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

When priest and mercenary arrived in the alley shortly after Kith, the little Cid was still chuckling softly. Her curious and, perhaps, slightly irritated glance flicked between the two and she asked if either of them had paid enough attention to know if they had been followed. Both responded in the negative.

“Good, hopefully we will be safe for now then. Ch’dau,” she looked up at the cat-beast, “it is probably best if you stay out here. Keep to the shadows but do not hesitate to cry out for me if you need help…”

“You will be the first person I call, kibibi,” the Silver Cat assured her with a nod.

…She grinned and turned to the cleric, “And Mosic, you should probably do most of the talking. If I so much as breathe in their direction they’ll likely try to sell me some kind of perfume.” She shook her head, “Honestly, it is every time. I am either very beautiful or very smelly.” She grinned, “Or perhaps a combination of both, okay, let’s go, priest!” she said without taking a breath, and hopped around the corner to the store’s front with Mosic close behind.

As the two disappeared from the alleyway and into the shop, Ch’dau pressed himself into a shadowed nook, his attentions on the street beyond and the traffic that passed, there. For a while, there were none who passed that roused his suspicion, only the traffic one might consider normal on the streets of any town or city on Antaron that he’d ever seen, anway. After a time, though, one figure passed quietly by his shadowed nook and set his nerves on end.

 Built like a Syl, the creature was, but the smell was wrong. Rainwater, flowers, the sun shining through the forest canopy; these were the scents he usually associated with Aranwen’s folk. The one that passed by, though, seemed to be surrounded by a cloud of cloying perfume and, beneath that, ever so subtley, hung the odor of wood… dry and worked, not fresh and green like might emenate from a Syl. He wasn’t sure exactly why but the curious figure made him anxious and, after it passed the alleys mouth, Ch’dau slipped from his alcove and padded into the street behind it, watching as it made it’s way purposefully into the same shop that Kith and Mosic were visiting. The Silver Cat hesitated, unsure as to wether or not his suspicion warranted following the strange being into the shop just yet. As he deliberated, though, and only an instant after the thing had entered the shop, a shout and crash told him he had already waited too long.

Ch’dau reached under his cloak and tugged a short sword free even as he pounded for the apothecary’s door. As he reached for the latch, the door suddenly flung open before him and, standing in its jamb was Mosic. “Sweet Father Falloes,” the Cid blinked up at him, “I had hoped you were watching…” Mosic was already stepping aside, motioning to where Kith was being slammed to the floor by the odd creature who had drawn Ch’dau from the alley. “….Kithran…”

The kazari needed no further explanation, nor did he hear any if it was given. Rather, he strode past the little cleric and, snarling, reached out to haul the overly fragrant attacker off of the thief. He didn’t hesitate, either, in running a blade through the back of the thing. Instead of finding flesh, however, the blade sang out as if it had struck bone or wood. Ch’dau’s face was a mask of confusion, then, even as the thing’s head swiveled around to gawk at him through the sightless eyes of a smooth mask…



Posted on 2019-11-11 at 21:33:19.

Reralae
Dreamer of Bladesong
Karma: 133/12
2196 Posts


Let's play a little game and have fun

With the impact forcing Kithran to the ground, the puppet wasted no time stepping over her and then kneeling down, pinning her lower body with its weight.

Looks like I have won, Kithran.

One hand went towards its face, but the puppet was suddenly yanked off of Kithran. In that instant where its feet weren't touching the ground, it seemed to flop backward like a limp doll, before it found its footing once again. Not even a moment later, and Ch'dau's strike hit true. A mortal wound on any living humanoid. Yet, instead of flesh, the blade struck wood, and the head on the puppet twisted completely around to look directly at Ch'dau.

The shopkeeper still hid behind the counter, but her veil was just visible over the lip as she watched the commotion unfold, backed up against the shelving and making herself as inconspicous as possible, her hands held in front of her in a pitiful defensive posture.

So, this is the cat... Ch'dau, if I heard right... Yes. I do see why she desires you so.

The puppet's arms bent at an impossible angle for a Sylvari, revealing that its limbs were not so limited in mobility. The actual structure of the puppet seemed akin to a poseable mannequin akin to those used by artists, but much larger, and shaped far closer to that of a Sylvari. It reached forward in an attempt to grab Ch'dau, but a retaliating slash against the outstretched hand served to repel that attempt.

Hm, she neglected to mention the extent of your physical strength. Little wonder Aranwen trusted you two to be safe enough without her.

One hand reached back towards Kithran quite suddenly, as though it could still track and see Kithran even with the mask turned towards Ch'dau.

No matter. What will you do now, Kazari? I trust you'll find me far more... durable... than those low grade mercenaries you slew earlier. And I only need hold you long enough to subdue you.



Posted on 2019-11-12 at 00:28:22.

Eol Fefalas
Keeper of the Kazari
RDI Staff
Karma: 454/28
7860 Posts


Kazari do NOT play!

So, this is the cat... Ch'dau, if I heard right... Yes. I do see why she desires you so.

The kazari responded with little more than a growl as he wrenched his blade free of the wooden body hidden beneath the cloak. Even as he did so, the creature’s arms bent in a disturbingly unnatural manner, reaching back (or was it forward, now?) to grab at Ch’dau. The cat-man’s response was instinctual and swift, lashing out to easily bat the reaching appendage away…

Hm, she neglected to mention the extent of your physical strength, the creature’s disembodied voice said, Little wonder Aranwen trusted you two to be safe enough without her.

One of the thing’s hands reached back then, stretching out with the intent to grab Kithran even though the mask’s unblinking eyes were still fixed on the kazari.

No matter. What will you do now, Kazari, the thing taunted, I trust you’ll find me far more… durable… than those low-grade mercenaries you slew earlier. And I only need to hold you long enough to subdue you.

As unsettling as the masked thing was, Ch’dau couldn’t help but let loose an almost sadistic chuckle in answer to that last bit. It does not matter how durable you think you are, the cat-beast snarled, even the most heavily armored fighter has weak spots at it’s joints!

 He took hold of the mannequin’s arm, just below where it’s shoulder should have been, and hauled it savagely back, denying it the opportunity to reach Kith. The thing reacted quickly, abandoning it’s attempted capture of the thief and, with one arm still free, swung it at the Kazari’s head. The blow staggered Ch’dau, though not enough that he fell or even failed to maintain his grip on the creature’s other arm. As the thing hauled back to deliver another blow, a flash of white and gold flickered in Ch’dau’s peripheral vision. There was a shout, then, followed by a solid thunk that seemed to vibrate through the mannequin’s body and the thing seemed to jerk in surprise as Mosic jerked the flange of his mace clear of the wooden body…

The little cleric gave a quick nod to the cat-beast, then, and scampered away to help Kithran to her feet. “Come, young miss,” he insisted, doing his best to lift the thief from the ground, “our welcome here seems to have as short a life as that thing is about to.”

…The shock of the quick little cleric’s blow forgotten, the mannequin sought to strike at the Kazari, again. Thanks to Mosic’s intervention, though, the renewed attack was half-a-blink late and Ch’dau caught the creature’s other arm in a grip identical to that which held the other. He pulled the thing close, snarling as his eyes glared deep into the empty eye holes of the mask. “You cannot hold me,” he growled, the muscles in his shoulders flexing as his grip tightened and he began to pull, “if you do not have arms!” With a roar and a jerk, he tore the things arms from it’s body.



Posted on 2019-11-12 at 13:37:10.

Reralae
Dreamer of Bladesong
Karma: 133/12
2196 Posts


Our eyes are locked together

The wood audibly strained and splintered under Ch'dau's pull. It seemed more resistant than if it were flesh and bone, but not resistant enough, and with the sound of several threads snapping, the ball joints of the shoulders came undone, leaving scattered torn threads in the open socket. 

Ch'dau could feel weight at his hips even as the puppet brought the mask closer to his face. 

You are very much like Aranwen, aren't you? 

The puppet twisted it's feet together behind the small of Ch'dau's back, locking its hold, and the gemstone seemed to brighten. 

Though invisible to the others, Ch'dau could feel threads beginning to weave themselves upon his body. Individually he might have snapped them without a thought, but the combined strength of all of the threads began to stifle muscle movement where they spread, bit by bit...



Posted on 2019-11-12 at 14:44:31.

   
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