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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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Eol Fefalas
Keeper of the Kazari
RDI Staff
Karma: 461/28
8432 Posts

Do I look like a cat with a plan?

“…What’s the plan,” Kithran murmured the question as the party approached Adedre’s chambers.

“Well, we have nothing to go on. So we must be open to adapt as things happen around us,” Aranwen answered as they came within a few feet of the doorway, “She will still be protected, one way or another, by spell or guard. If we should rush her, we may be able to keep her from wielding her magic. If she's there, that is. It wouldn't be impossible for her to have fled.”

A muffled rasp and thunk sounded from the other side of the doors, causing Ch’dau to hold up a paw, calling the troupe to a momentary halt. He sniffed the air, and snorted softly. “She is there,” he rumbled, nodding an affirmation to the bladesinger, “I can smell the rotten slitch... as well as the m’kojo running down her guards’ legs.”

That savage, sharp-toothed smile split the kazari’s lips as he glanced back at the others, sheathing one of his falcata as his fingers flexed firmly around the hilt of the other. “The plan, Little Kitten,” he chuffed, moving to position himself in front of the entryway, “is to tear these doors off and then kill everything on the other side, hm?” Ch’dau took a breath, carefully aligning his blade to the seam where the two door-panels met, then, with a quick glance at the others, asked; “Ready?”

Aranwen nodded, her blade relaxed but ready in her hand.

Mosic looked more than a bit concerned but made the sign of his god, readied his mace, and nodded as well.

Kithran was crouched low, her weight shifting on the balls of her feet. “You already owe me a cloak, cat-beast,” she muttered with a quick bob of her own head, “don’t make me take the price of this book from your hide because of your vengeance, too.”

“Hm,” Ch’dau grunted, his gaze returning to the door as he brought the falcata over his head, “I will do my best, kibibi.”

Then, with a roar that seemed to summon all of his strength, the kazari brought the blade down in a swift, savage arc. The only thing that gave any indication that it had met any resistance at all was the sound of splintering wood and the sparks that flew as the result of latches being hewn through. It didn’t even seem that the blade’s arc was fully completed before a snarling Ch’dau charged forward, literally barreling through the doors as shrieks of pain and fear erupted from inside.

"ADEDRE!!!" The kazari roared, standing atop a sundered door under which at least one guard was pinned, "Come and bleed me, now, witch!!!"

Posted on 2020-02-13 at 14:40:55.

Dreamer of Bladesong
Karma: 141/12
2487 Posts

Two together

Ch’dau took a breath, carefully aligning his blade to the seam where the two door-panels met, then, with a quick glance at the others, asked; “Ready?"

Are we? Bit late to have doubts. You have them too. This is... strange, is all. Seems pretty straightforward, the way he puts it. Not that, you and me. Together. Here. Don't think about it. Okay, just focus... focus on what we need to do.

Aranwen breathed deeply, nodding her assent at Ch'dau as she felt the blade in her right hand. Her left hand met her right, wrapping around it and the hilt a moment, giving a light squeeze, before moving away.

As Ch'dau raised his falcata, Aranwen watched from behind.

Those muscles are very impressive, aren't they? I wasn't staring. Yeah, you were. Shush, I need to focus like we said.

Aranwen shook her head idly with a roll of her eyes, breathing a sigh. At Ch'dau's roar, she breathed in, feeling her muscles tense for the impact.

And the door was crushed.

Aranwen immediately moved in beside Ch'dau through the open door, stepping to his right as she scanned the room.

"You, who would claim the lives of others, others whom we would protect, we will not allow it," Aranwen spoke, her voice far softer, unheard underneath Ch'dau's declaration, until she began to sing...

Posted on 2020-02-14 at 01:31:35.
Edited on 2020-02-14 at 01:35:24 by Reralae

#1 Kibibi
Karma: 46/1
1623 Posts

The Den of the Slitch

"ADEDRE!!!" The kazari roared, standing atop a sundered door under which at least one guard was pinned, "Come and bleed me, now, witch!!!"

Kithran was in the middle of once again rolling her eyes at Samuel’s bravado when Aranwen’s own, softer bravado caught her long ears, "You, who would claim the lives of others, others whom we would protect, we will not allow it."

A head shake accompanied the eye roll she now attempted at the two valiant fighters ahead of her, but that too was interrupted as the four of them watched a sickly woman with diseased, yellow eyes, raise an unnaturally gaunt arm; her long, clawed fingers splayed toward them. A chant joined her movements as what looked like pale, jagged spikes rose up at an angle from the ground before her, aimed at the doorway.

“Move!” Ch’dau barked at them, thrusting his arm out in front of Aranwen and taking up more of the door’s space.

Kithran grabbed Mosic and dove away, hearing only the sickening sound of those spikes sinking into Ch’dau’s torso, somehow seeming only to infuriate him more. Aranwen also grunted, managing to dodge most of the needle-like bone fragments, but taking a few of them herself.

Snarling, the Silver Cat pulled one of the spikes from his chest, tossed it to the floor and snorted; "Good, bitch, the more bones you throw at me, the fewer I will have to tear from your body!”

The half-Syl finally had a moment to fully roll her eyes as she jumped back to her feet, and watched the two warriors charge into the room. In one swift movement her bow was back in her hands, an arrow set, and her back to the wall beside the door, “Alright Mosic, Ch’dau has several bones sticking out of him, so perhaps keep your mind on your goal and heal him, hmm? Keep those two up, and warn me of anyone attacking us that I don’t see. That’s all. Good luck.”

She spun around then and began sending arrows into the guards distracting her companions from their main quarry. Faintly she heard Mosic reply to her, and begin chanting, his hands moving fluidly into several quick shapes and forms in her peripheral until suddenly Kithran felt a warmth wash over her, a feeling of hope. Any weariness she had had from their long day vanished, as the arrows in her quiver quickly dwindled.

“That’s nice, what are you doing?” she asked, the hand at her cheek releasing another arrow into an unsuspecting target.

“Something to make it easier for all of us to resist these beasts, as well as to make my healing more potent.” On that note, he began another chant, this one quicker, and with just a thrust of his hands, directing the spell toward their Kazari. As Ch’dau engaged with one of the few remaining guards, the doomed man’s eyes grew wide, watching the bone spikes in the creature’s chest slowly recede and clatter to the floor. Before the last fell however, the cat-beast grinned, catching it in his clawed hand and driving it through the man’s face. With no one in his path any longer, Ch’dau turned to the witch who had caged him.

“Kithran look out!” Mosic shouted, and Kith turned to a guard at her left who had managed to sneak up on her.

Bending back, she avoided the blade aimed at her neck, “Thank you, Mosic.” She dropped her bow and grabbed her daggers, grinning as the guard faced her, a massive ball of darkness suddenly encompassing the room beyond him, “I’ve got this one, you get that one,” she said to the priest, her eyes focused on the guard.

As Mosic attempted to slip by, the man took his eyes off the thief, attempting to swipe at the small cleric. His aim would have been true, had a dagger not lodged itself into his shoulder. The man yelped in pain just as a familiar roar rang from within the darkness, and the bladesinger’s eerie new song crescendoed.

“Tsk tsk,” Kithran taunted, frowning sadly at his new wound and tossing her new dagger from hand to hand, “I hate it when that happens.”

The guard raised his sword as best he could at her, seemingly preparing to charge, “You Sylvari bitch, I’m gonna--” The blade entering his mouth stalled his words, ultimately replaced by a few weak gurgles as he dropped to the ground.

Half-Sylvari.” Kith glared as she corrected him and pulled her blades free.

 Mosic’s now-confident voice dispelled the magical sphere of darkness the slitch had put upon her comrades in the room beyond, and Kithran finally crossed the threshold.

Though invigorated by the cleric’s spell, the Kazari and Sylvari ahead of her still puffed with the fatigue of battle, and while they seemed only to face a chanting witch and her masked companion, a wall of the recently dead guards began to raise, separating Kithran from the others. These freshly mauled rose with missing limbs, and arrows sticking out of various parts of them; large gashes seeped blood and innards, and all moved with preternatural intent on the four intruders.

Kithran crouched down. The majority of them seemed to want to convene on Aranwen and Ch’dau, as they were the two focused most ardently on slaughtering their mistress while her smaller companion continued trying to usher her away. There were, however, a couple separating themselves from their pack to make their way toward Kithran.

They unholy horde all attacked together. Kithran dodged the attack of the first, as it swung wide at her, and parried the blade of the other away, countering by shoving a foot into its stomach, and giving her space to lunge at her first attacker.

Beyond them, more undead guards bore down on the bladesinger, Kazari, and cleric. Aranwen’s song rang stilted, as it had since they had been separated from her in the spider skeleton room, and Mosic fought anxiously, trying to keep his concentration on the first spell he had bestowed on the group, while trying to find space to call on Falloes to aid them in their battle.

Ch’dau laid waste to most of those in his path until he felt his limbs begin to slow and his snarls catch in his throat. Soon his entire body was no longer his, and his thoughts and rage remained buried inside him as he realized he was fully unable to move.

Finally able to accomplish what they had so miserably failed to do in life, the undead guards began to land blows against the massive cat beast. 

Aranwen’s eyes widened, “Ch’dau!” She called out as she moved up, “Sorry, I need to borrow this!” Aranwen’s left hand moved up to draw the second falcata from the stilled Ch’dau’s back, and in that instant her song changed, not one note but a call and return melody as if sung by two people. The elven blade in her right, and the falcata in her left, were only flashes of deadly steel as she wove around Ch’dau, striking down each undead guard that drew near.

“Mosic, we will see to the guards - break the spell that binds Ch’dau!” The bladesinger called back.

And yet, as the cidal priest walked forward to see what aid he might lend, a felt doll ran across the floor. The doll with Kithran’s likeness. With speed unfitting an animate doll it reached Mosic, and in that instant it did so, a shadow appeared beside it, a replica of Kithran’s shape, sinking a shadowy blade into Mosic’s side.

With its one task complete, the doll faded into smoke that drifted past Kithran into the hallway. Aranwen watched through the thinning wall of shambling guards as Kithran cut down the two that had given her trouble, meeting Aranwen’s eyes and offering a grin, pleased to have been able to show off her handiwork. However, the bladesinger was unable to respond to the gesture, as the smoke coalesced with more from beyond the door into a sinister shape behind Kithran.

Its movements as erratic and unpredictable as the first two times Aranwen had faced its likeness, she had barely a moment to warn Kithran before it struck.

“Kithran duck!”

The thief obeyed without hesitation, spinning as she did so in time to see a large wooden creature with a black mask and red lips, similar to that mannequin they had fought at the apothecary, just barely miss her with its long, bladelike fingers. She tried to find her footing before it struck again, but it moved so quickly that all she could do was throw her daggers up defensively before her as the steel fingers on its other hand struck. The force of the blow threw her off to the side of the room, where she rolled to catch herself in another crouch, and prepared for its next attack.

“Finally decided to join us, hmm?” the decrepit necromancer hissed from across the room.

My resources are greatly limited at this time and place, it's true, Morgana’s voice came back agitatedly from her doll, and the head of the puppet twitched erratically shifting from looking to Adedre to looking at Kithran, Now then, where was I? Ah, yes. I was going to make you bleed...

The creature launched itself at the half-Syl once again.

As Aranwen cut down another of the remaining undead advancing on Ch’dau, the Kazari twitched beside her, and Mosic crushed the knee of another on the other side of the silver cat. Blood streaked the cleric’s robes, and the feeling of hope and invigoration that had accompanied their initial advance faded.

“What is this thing, Aranwen?!” Kith shouted, unable to counter the strikes and only barely able to defend herself after evading the unpredictable assault. Another unblockable swipe tore through her side as she attempted to jump out of its reach, and she ground her teeth at the pain. The thing twitched, maniacally and unwaveringly continuing its charge on her.

What’s wrong, my dear Kithran? Morgana purred, Are you going to make me slice you into ribbons? Or will you be more... reasonable?

“Isn’t there a big scary cat somewhere tasked with keeping me alive or something?” she called, unable to look away from the thing, save for her brief attempts to see if another of Morgana’s shades accompanied it. She could not, however, hear the distinct sound of snarling she had begun to find comfort in while engaged in a fight. That accompanied with the loss of Mosic’s spell left a growing pit in her stomach.

“We’ll cover you, Mosic,” the bladesinger huffed at the priest, “destroy these things now!”

Nearly gasping for breath, the Cidal nodded, taking cover in the the bladesinger’s skill and song, and grasped his holy symbol. In words spoken quicker than he ever had in his life, and glancing around their tiny battlefield, he sent a prayer to the Helping Hand, the god of the hopeless, the lost, the needy, and requested his aid to destroy these unholy creations. A warmth pulsed from the symbol of the outstretched hand, filling his allies once again with whatever minute hope they could have at this time, and dropping the undead one by one.

Kithran dove out of the way of another strike, rolling hard into the legs of a wooden table. The doll leapt at her, striking the ground where she would have been, if she had not pushed herself up and away from her landing area. The doll’s claws briefly sunk into the ground, Kithran took her first opportunity to strike it, smashing one of the table's wooden chairs over its back and searching for threads to cut as with the last.

The doll pulled itself free a moment later, almost entirely unfazed by her attack, and tackled her to the ground, finally catching the swift thief.

Well, dear Kithran? What will it be?

The creature raised a long, blade-fingered arm above its head, as the sound of a bladesinger’s song wrapped in a full Kazari roar filled the room.

Kithran grinned, "Them."

Posted on 2020-02-16 at 10:49:05.
Edited on 2020-02-16 at 21:46:38 by breebles

Eol Fefalas
Keeper of the Kazari
RDI Staff
Karma: 461/28
8432 Posts

The next moments from Adedre and Tecla's POV

Whatever spell Adedre had used to still his body did nothing toward quieting his rage. As Ch’dau stood there, frozen in his fury, his hateful gaze locked on the sneering sorceress, Aranwen pirouetted around him laying waste to the risen corpses of Adedre’s fallen guard, brave little Mosic, too, lent aide and comfort in the melee, and Kithran fought off the assaults of another of Morgana’s bizarre mannequin minions. For the duration of the spell, the kazari’s rage only grew, continuing to fill him as others fought a battle that should have been his, and it had the same effect as bottling lightning. As the spell’s effects began to wear off, the massive kazari twitched and then trembled and then, finally, shook with fury as he exploded from his frozen stance with a gnashing of teeth, a flashing of claws, and a roar so loud in its ferocity that it threatened to bring the walls of the manor down around them all.

Never in all of her life had Tecla been as terrified as when the cat-man was loosed from the confines of that arcane hold and she was sure that, in the next few seconds, both she and her Mistress would catch their last glimpses of this world from behind the monster’s teeth. Her breath hitched behind her mask at the thought and it was an almost instinctual thing that caused her to take hold of Adedre’s sleeve, then, and haul her Mistress toward the bookcase where the secret door to the tower awaited.

What are you doing,” Adedre snapped, her yellow eyes narrowing on the masked girl’s face as she snatched her sleeve from Tecla’s grasp, “you spineless little cow?!”

“I am trying to save us, you mad crone,” Tecla hissed in return, the anger and indignation in her voice nowhere near as concealed behind the mask as was her expression. With the hand that held her dagger, she gestured at the battle that continued to rage in the room; “If we don’t leave, now, this is not going to end well for us!”

Adedre screeched, drew back her hand, and let it fly across Tecla’s face with such force that the mask was stripped away from the girl’s face as she fell to the floor. The fact that the kazari had, for now, abandoned his attack on her in favor of charging to the shadow-bitch’s aide seemed to give the witch a different idea as to how this battle might go. “Run if you like, you sniveling little cow,” the necromancer screamed, “This will end just as I wish it to and, when it is finished, I swear by the Devourer I will have your guts for dinner right after I’ve raised every corspe in Sendria to f**k you senseless!”

The tears that filled the girl’s eyes as she gawked up at Adedre, then, were hot with fear and anger in equal measure. As she wiped at her bloodied lip with one hand, the other took up the blade that had been jarred from her grasp by the witch’s backhanded blow. “No, Mistress,” she seemed to plead as she got to her knees. Her features twisted into a rictus of rage, then, and she lashed out with the dagger; “No you won’t!!!”

The witch howled as the knife’s blade tore through her gown and, also, the row of stitches that grafted the gray Ungoulid leg to her thigh. Even as the black blood poured forth from the reopened wound, Adedre’s mind sought an appropriate incantation to bring to bear on the treacherous little whore of an attendant. Before she could manage the spell, though, Tecla was gone; the bookcase door left open in the wake of her retreat and the sound of her footsteps fleeing up the stairs the only remnants of the girl’s presence.

“Gah,” Adedre groaned, clutching at her thigh and staggering for her chair, “duplicitous little…”

More words failed her, though, as the knitted flesh of her leg failed all the more. She toppled forward over the chair, upsetting the table at its side, and sending the flickering oil lamp that surmounted it crashing to the floor. Glass shattered, oil spread across the floor in a widening pool, and the wick’s flame set it alight as Adedre Undolithe’s sickly yellow eyes turned back toward the no-longer-secret door…

Posted on 2020-02-17 at 11:01:50.
Edited on 2020-02-17 at 11:43:59 by Eol Fefalas

Dreamer of Bladesong
Karma: 141/12
2487 Posts

In the Endgame - Adedre's Death

While trapped within himself, forced to stare at Adedre while the battle raged around him, Ch’dau felt as if he were reliving each moment he’d seen the witch’s face over the past weeks and, even though there were no bars or guards between her and him, now, he felt no less trapped and no less angry about it. The desire to take his vengeance on her burned like a fire within him but, still, locked in his own body, he could do nothing to quench it. Instead, all he could do was watch the twisted glee play on her features and listen as his friends fought on around him. In that strained stillness, though, he heard things he might not have had he still been able to move…

Aranwen’s song, he noted first, was different than he had heard it before; as if it were being sung by two voices rather than one. While, to his ears, it was still a beautiful sound, there was something wrong about it. Something not quite natural.

Next, he heard more from Mosic than just the little cleric’s chanted prayers to his god. While those still filtered through the sounds of the fight, so, too did the Cid’s grunts and growls of effort as he laid about with his mace and the shouts and groans of those whom were felled by it.

Finally, he heard Kithran’s voice, quick-tongued and snarky as usual but, interestingly enough, also hard and commanding, at times. She barked orders and warnings as she leapt about the room, fighting as fiercely as any warrior he’d ever known despite her professed vocation as a thief.

…Then, at last, he was free! The damnable paralysis melted from his bones and he roared out every bit of rage that had been welling in him since he had been struck still. It seemed as if the witch and her masked acolyte recoiled at the sound…

As well they should! They are about to breathe their last! He thought, set to pounce on the both of them.

…but, then, he heard another sound; a voice unlike any of the others, yet, still unsettlingly familiar.

Well, dear Kithran? Morgana’s voice slithered silkily through the cacophony of the fray; What will it be?

At the sound of the puppet-witch’s disembodied speech, Ch’dau forgot Adedre for the moment… I thought she wanted Aranwen. Why does she taunt… and turned to see another mannequin, much like the one they had confronted at the apothecary, with the thief pinned beneath it; it’s steel clawed fingers raised to deliver a devastating blow to the scrappy half-syl. “Kithran!” The kazari roared, turning his back on Adedre, now, to leap across the room.

“Them,” Kithran grinned from beneath the puppet as Ch’dau landed heavily behind it, catching the wooden wrist in the vice-like grip of his paw.

“Off of her, creature!” the cat-man snarled, wrenching the mannequin’s arm behind it while driving his falcata through it’s timberous torso. A grunt of effort followed and, even as the puppet-monster laughed, Ch’dau hoisted the thing off of his friend and, spinning around, hurled the thing further into the room.

The bladesinger seemed to have been prepared for Ch’dau to have done exactly that. Even before the thing could right itself, Aranwen was there, her elven blade in one hand and his spare falcata in the other; a whirlwind of steel and song ahead of her as she set upon the puppet that still, yet, struggled to its feet.

 “Aranwen,” he called as the chittering construct clattered against the floor, “how do we destroy this thing?”

Aranwen shook her head, fear visible in her golden eyes as both her hands trembled between strikes, "We don't know!" she called back, "We couldn't find victory against the last one like this."

Nor should you expect to find victory here, my dears, Morgana spoke as the puppet twitched upright, as if hauled up by a puppeteer's hands, You lost to me once already. You will lose again; it's just a matter of time…  

As Aranwen engaged the mystic marionette, both blades used to attack and defend against the monster's claws, Ch’dau reached out a paw to haul Kithran to her feet. It was then, beyond where the Syl woman’s skilled strikes rained down on the thing, that Ch’dau noticed a bleeding Adedre struggling to her feet and flames licking at the floor around her. The masked girl was nowhere to be seen but a bookcase near where he’d last seen her stood curiously askew and the witch, too, seemed to be trying to drag herself toward it…

“Uj’nga,” Ch’dau spat, in response to both Ara’s answer and the witch’s attempt to flee. He glanced at Kithran, then, turned his eyes back to where Aranwen still held the puppet at bay, and, finally, growled in fury and frustration at the choices he was left with.

The snarl still on his lips, the kazari stormed across the room. “Kibibi, Mosic,” he growled, “To Aranwen!” As his feet pounded across the floor, he found an opening as he came within feet of where the bladesinger slashed away at Morgana’s puppet and, seeing no better option, drew back his arm and, in mid-stride, hurled his remaining falcata at the marionette but continued on toward where the necromancer clawed her way toward the bookcase, not bothering to see if his thrown blade had landed true.

When he reached Adedre, she gawked up at him, her eyes disbelieving and defiant all at once. “You do not get to walk away this time, bitch,” he growled, his foot coming down on her back, “where is your god, now?”

The witch’s mouth opened as if to speak or, perhaps, call another spell into the air, but the only thing to pass her blood-blacked lips was a pathetic squeal as the claws in the kazari’s foot extended and dug into the flesh and bone of her back. Then there was an agonized scream as the cat-beast reached down, took hold of her bleeding leg by the cold flesh of it’s ankle, and with a savage growl, Ch’dau ripped the leg from her body.

“You do not get to walk away from anything,” the kazari roared, kicking the shrieking witch over onto her back as he brought her dismembered leg above his head, “ever again!” 

Before another sound could escape her, the cat-man she had hoped to sacrifice to her god in exchange for power brought her own leg smashing down into her face. If the beast said anything else, it was all in his own snarling tongue and, even had it been otherwise, the words would have been lost to her as, over and over, the fetid meat and bone of the Ungoulid appendage hammered into her skull. Soon enough, Adedre’s head came apart under the impact of the blows just as the stolen leg was left in tatters from the force of it. 

Another feral roar escaped the Silver Cat as he tossed the improvised weapon aside and reached down to snatch up the mangled remains of what had been Adedre Undolithe. Fury still burning in his feline eyes, he turned his gaze, next, on Morgana’s minion and his mouth split wide to fully display his teeth as he carried the broken witch’s carcass toward it. 

The puppet’s head swivelled at an unnatural angle to see Ch’dau’s fury bear down upon the witch, her employer, and it stopped moving for a moment. It made no reaction to the steel striking ineffectually against its body. Chips in the wood revealed glowing, deep burgundy threads that seemed to pulse as if with a heartbeat, and a long, drawn out sigh was heard as Morgana’s tone all at once shifted from taunting to exasperation.

How inconvenient, she spoke, her voice betraying her irritation.

Whatever else she might have said was drowned out by the roar Ch’dau gave to her, his muscles tensing as he hefted the corpse he held at the mannequin with all his strength. The puppet-monster flew through the air from the force of impact, as if batted out of a fragile web that kept it upright, and it fell into the flames that had been started by Adedre’s fall.

A snort of what might have been satisfaction escaped Ch’dau just then, but it was quickly followed by an expectant series of chuffing noises as the raging kazari paced, his eyes darting back and forth, seeking out anything else he might kill, a low, steady growl rumbling beneath it all. His ears remained pinned flat and his tail lashed angrily at the air behind him...

Aranwen panted with fatigue, both her arms weary and bleeding from the assault she weathered in facing the monster from her past. Her golden gaze looked to where the mannequin fell into the fire, but saw no movement. Whether the fire worked, or Morgana had simply given up with the death of her employer, she had no way of knowing. Her hands quivered with anticipation, but, finally, she sheathed her steel blade, and reached down to pick up the falcata that Ch’dau had thrown at the mannequin. 

“Kithran,” The bladesinger looked to the thief, weariness showing in her golden eyes, “Better find your book,” She suggested, before she approached Ch’dau, “The battle is over,” She spoke softly, offering back to him the blades she carried.

Kithran tore her gaze from the burning puppet at Aranwen’s words, and sprinted to the bookshelf to search for her tome.

At Aranwen’s approach, the kazari’s pacing slowed and, after a moment, stopped altogether. His ears pricked up and the lashing of his tail abated. “Hmm,” he nodded, reaching out to accept the blades she offered, “It would seem.” He slid one of the falcata back into its scabbard but, before the other followed suit, Ch’dau seemed to regard it and then her curiously for an instant. “You handled this well,” he chuffed softly, finally returning the thing to its place, “I am happy it was of use.”

A soft smile graced Aranwen’s lips, “It’s very different from the blade I used, but in that moment, it felt as if any blade would do. Yours felt… right though. A fierce blade, for a fierce battle, and the powerful song that accompanies both,” Aranwen’s voice replied.

The curious expression played across Ch’dau’s face again as his turquoise eyes seemed to peer deeply into her golden ones. After a moment, he rested a bloody paw on the woman’s shoulder, offered a somewhat curt nod and, then, leaned forward to press his forehead to hers. “You honor me, rrow’ka,” he murmured, “and my khatun.” He let her go, then, and stepping away turned his gaze to Kithran.

“Kibibi,” he rumbled, prowling toward the oddly angled bookcase, “if you do not find your book in this room…” he gripped the bookshelf and pulled it wider, revealing the foot of a winding stairway beyond “...perhaps there is one more place to look. Either way, I suggest you hurry. I do not intend on quenching these flames.”

Nor we, truth be told,” Aranwen chuckled, but she shivered as she looked once more towards the fire the mannequin had fallen into, “Could you describe it to us, Kithran? More eyes looking should make finding it much faster.”

“Ah,” Kith said, unable to look away from the shelf as she skimmed book spines, “It’s a book, probably old, called Tome of Whispers.” She crouched as she scanned the books on the lower shelves, feeling the heat of the fire growing at her back, “See anything?”

Ch’dau offered a shake of his head and, then, in an almost shamed tone, admitted; “I cannot read any of these tongues. I am afraid I am of little use in this search.”

Mosic, too, offered a shake of his head from his own perusal of the shelves along his line of sight, “I do not see it, Kithran.”

Aranwen also began to scan the volumes she could see, independent of Kithran and Mosic, “We’re not seeing any book with that title.”

In her frustration, and perhaps in part due to the time she had spent with the Kazari, Kithran growled and punched the shelf, then shook her hand from the pain and walked to the passageway Ch’dau had opened for her. “Alright, fine,” and without another word she sprinted inside.

Posted on 2020-02-17 at 17:46:58.

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