#iiiiiii love jaheira

[blackjackkent]

So... it's wildly unfortunate that the Urge chose that night to be terrible, because there's no way anyone in camp got a proper night's sleep, most certainly including Rakha, and there is a very, very long day ahead of them.

On the other hand, if all goes according to plan, that day involves Rakha finally wreaking vengeance on Ketheric Thorm, and she has quite a lot of it to unload at this point.

She leaves Shadowheart in camp and take Minthara back into the squad. Shadowheart is altogether too rattled by what happened in the Shadowfell to be able to fight - but more to the point, Rakha and Minthara swore an oath to take down Ketheric together. That time has now arrived.

Jaheira, it seems, has been busy. The path to Moonrise Towers is lined with corpses.

Wyll watches Rakha carefully out of the corner of his eye. He knows the smell of blood from the dead bodies has every chance of waking the beast again. But she shakes her head wordlessly. She is calm - for now, at least. The promise of battle ahead, mixed with the bone-deep exhaustion of her fractured night, has things contained for the time being.

Above them, high in the tower, she can hear the distant sound of shouts. The cursed magic around her ripples with the echoes of spells.

Jaheira is standing at the end of the bridge, peering up along the tower's high wall above her.

"Unshackled from shadows, she will rise in moonlit glory and carve a path of brightness to the accursed one's second death," she murmurs as Rakha approaches. Her tone has a slight note of reverence; she is quoting from something Rakha does not recognize. "So sayeth the wise Alaundo."

Her eyes drop to meet Rakha's. Does she see the brutal exhaustion in the half-orc's eyes? Surely she must - she is too quick and sharp not to. And for a moment, just a moment, there is a flash of concern through her face. But then it is gone, all business, all practicality, for which Rakha is deeply grateful.

"That beacon of angelic wrath has taken the fight to Ketheric on the rooftop," she says curtly. "And the first line of defense are dead. But storming the tower won't be easy, and if we wait too long, Ketheric will gather his strength and retaliate. For now, though, he's on the back foot for the first time since he returned from the grave."

Rakha nods slowly.

Her interactions with Jaheira up to this point have been at best a considerably mixed bag. Their first meeting, after all, centered on Jaheira nearly setting the Harpers on her - and Rakha nearly killing her in return. But they have settled to a sort of uneasy fellowship now; they have no choice but to trust each other.

And in this moment, with Rakha so rattled by the terrible night that lies behind her, Jaheira's forthright, direct competence feels like a balm, like a beacon. A sense of direction in the dark.

Jaheira is still watching her intently. "This is it. The spearhead moment. You've brought us this far, so how shall we proceed?"

Rakha blinks. An odd question. She is no soldier. She has no knowledge of tactics or strategy; all she knows is to push forward and kill until no enemies are left standing. And she is so terribly frightened of that part of herself now; last night it almost finally tore her apart.

But these are targets worth killing. This is a fight with purpose. The sort Wyll and Lae'zel have guided her towards. These are not the innocent blood the beast truly craves, but the Absolutists who hurt her, hurt her friends, hurt hundreds of others Rakha has not even met. And Ketheric stands at their head, with only a handful of hours remaining in his miserable life.

"I reap every soul in this tower," she mutters hoarsely, "until we are the last creatures left standing."

She isn't sure what response she expected, but it wasn't this one - Jaheira laughs. Her eyes narrow in a flash of black humor and her lips twitch in a wry smile. "Hah. Sounds like something my scimitars would say," she says dryly. "They'll strike true. See to it you'll do the same."

She turns, spreading her arms, lifting her voice to the Harpers standing around them. "At the ready, Harpers! In this light there will be victory! In this light we will avenge the fallen!"

There's a rolling cheer from the Harpers. Rakha feels the tension in her own heart loosen just a little, some lingering fragment of courage strengthening in answer to the old warrior's battle cry.

Jaheira draws the blades from her back and spins them dexterously in both hands.

"The time has come," she says, firm and implacable, a battering ram about to be loosed from its moorings. "Ketheric will taste of death at last."