#wars to fight ;; rakatak IC

[warwaited]

@infernaliscor

It's, bluntly, textbook. Walk their way in, fight their way out - and, ever so conveniently, the two thralls they for some reason hadn't seen fit to kill when first they met were here as well. Rakatak, sporting several arrows sticking out of her at odd angles and a bloody-mouthed, malignant smile, is locked in melee with the brother of the pair.

He goes high with a desperate overhead, she steps back. The Tooth follows his weapon down. She traps it close to the ground with the haft, then, with a simple half-step forward...

He heaves a wet gasp, the hand-thick, viciously back-spiked blade stuck in his chest halfway down to the crossguard. She takes two steps forward and he's forced to stumble backwards with her, his heels to the cooking fire that still has chunks of dwarf roasting over it.

In her eyes there is no mercy, no acknowledgement that he is worthy to exist.

Then, she turns, coming in close to use the Tooth as a fulcrum and send him away. He stumbles to a hand and knee, probably already not going to make it to his feet with the vertical slice in his torso. Before he can make another sound, the blade falls. So does he.

Rakatak looks at the neatly separated head for a moment, then lifts her chin, turning to regard the bloodbath they've created.

Her eyes land on Karlach.

"Is there something on my face?"

[warwaited]

"That, Neyvin, is where your people and mine differ so drastically. You believe that it is good to be fallible - that the world is an easier place to inhabit when you are known to be less than perfect. Perhaps, with your people, with these people, that is true. For hobgoblins? Such is far from the case." She turns her head back towards them again, but thankfully doesn't buck against their gentle correction of her face back to forwards. They are busy, after all.

"Being a fallible hobgoblin is something that must happen as sparingly as is possible. Misunderstandings must be moved from briskly, failures must be either shuffled off, downplayed, or, in the most dire of circumstances, atoned for. We expect greatness from each other. We expect perfection. And, yes, we do indeed watch our own with scrutinous gaze, but when harsh eyes are turned to us we do not shy from them. We excel."

She might have said more, did Neyvin not... press their luck. She doesn't immediately respond to the light jibe, and when she does, it's in a tone taut as a bowstring. Calm, tightly grasped. The air of restraint. Not rage - currently - but certainly not approval or acquiescence. "Mind your tone, Harper. You confuse my uncertainty for a vulnerable state at your own, active peril."

Luckier then that they're able to turn her mind from the transgression so quickly. Her back straightens as they ask after her people, as it usually does when she's reminded of her station outside of the group. "...not yet. War is not. I do not... know, particularly, of the people having known of the will be before the is. I know that when it does... happen. A hot wind will blow over the whole of the empire. The leaves on the trees will hiss and shudder."

Her lips keep moving a moment, but no sound comes out. She's remembering something she shouldn't. "Chi ayanga tsakhilgaanyg sonsoj, namaig sanakh bolno."

Silence.

"Sorry, that-" Rakatak realizes she just apologized, growls at the back of her throat, and forces herself through the rest of the sentence. "I know that was in Goblin. It slipped through my mind. "You will hear thunder, and remember me"... I'm. Uncertain of where that is from."

neyvin rolls their eyes slightly, only because they know the other cannot see it. they think that being a legend is overrated, but they also know that to rakatak, being a hero to her people is over importance to her. being someone of importance matters to her in a way neyvin doesn't fully understand.

"i can be quite perceptive when I wish to be." neyvin points out, "and showing a bit of weakness now and then isn't a bad thing. people like to see that those who lead them have failings. it's easier to empathize and follow the command of someone you know isn't perfect." a pause, "otherwise they wait to watch you fail and then will not be willing to listen at all."

admittedly, neyvin was not quite sure this was true. but she was certain that she doubted anyone who had not already spoken to rakatak on the matter had noticed. and she doubted even further if they did notice that they would be willing to speak of such things. neyvin had the benefit that she could stand up to the hobgoblin if needed, should she have met her concerned query with anger. Some others were not quite that lucky.

he turns her head back around, gently, one hand holding onto the braid to not lose his spot. wild curls of hair already were snaking out of the work he was doing. it made him smile for a moment. how many times had he and his siblings done this for each other, only to watch the same occurrence? it gives him a temporary moment of longing. perhaps he was overdue a trip up to vassa when this was done.

"i trust your judgment on this matter, oh venerable leader." there's a note of teasing, an attempt to friendliness that he might otherwise not have tried before. it's a test, seeing just how much he can get away with. she would like to say rakatak is a friend, but she also know that the other paladin can be complicated. she trusts that if nothing else, there is a rapport between them both, or she doubts the other would trust her with her back.

they pause, a thought coming to them. they knew a small portion of rakatak's story and knew her people could be quite militarisitic, especially given this story being passed down as it seemed to. "do you think your people know? like, even if they are far away, do you think they can sense that this figure has reappeared?" then a small hesitation. "do you think it will be something that will aid you when you return to them?"

[warwaited]

@chaoticbard

Her nose wrinkles slightly at the extent of the laughter, if not its presence at all, but the paladin waits for Alaara to laugh herself out before she waves a hand dismissively.

"By no means do we need the largest possible drum. I just meant something a touch larger than a dinner plate - perhaps not in camp, but... afterwards. Once our campaign is completed, and you can turn your mind to the idea of recounting all this, rather than experiencing it." War rolls her shoulders, then shrugs casually.

"You will have to tell me about it once you begin drafting."

[warwaited]

@neverhangd

It's always a bit of a gamble on how her insubordination - even perceived - will be handled. Rakatak is a woman more than capable of keeping her anger close to her chest until the prime moment to unleash it (sometimes literally), but time and again she's shown that she appreciates someone with the backbone to stand up to her bloviating at least on occasion.

This time, after a somewhat incredulous glance at Anne, she laughs. Not from the chest, little more than a light scoff and a shake of the head, but there's a touch of mirth in her eyes when she turns to lean against the gunwale.

"I'm not sure wondrous is the word I would use, but it is certainly sobering. Perhaps, if I must justify my grandstanding, I might ask you look to where this next cruelty might come from. If such a thing isn't also beneath you."

[warwaited]

@estarion liked for a lyrical starter!

This was bound to happen eventually. They've seen eye to eye on a fair few of the more unscrupulous choices to be made on their journey. Apparently, hard insistence that they have to figure out how to make a deal with Raphael is a hard limit. He's seen her do this before, to other people, and it was practically hilarious then.

Having her surge into his personal space, wrap her fist around his collar and drag him to within an inch of her strong nose is, not shockingly, much less comedic.

"Before you start a war with me, you check that jerky knee."

She inhales sharply. For a bare moment it's like there isn't enough air in the space for both of them. "Don't. Be. Rash."

[warwaited]

"Good. I'm glad you have enough meat in your head left to realize you're in a bind." Rakatak heaves a sigh and sets the dagger down on her leg, sitting back to regard the barbarian with something oddly close to pity. "The others have their own ideas about what's happened to you. Some kind of difference in your tadpole was levied, and there's certainly precedent. Who knows how those things interact with dragonborn."

There's no real glee in her voice as she takes up the dagger again, briefly testing the point against her thumb before her eyes return to Vorel's. When she speaks again, her tone is dead flat. No eagerness, no worry, no nothing.

"Suffice to say the next couple minutes of your life will be very, very important for you."

Her breathing quickened at the sight of the knife, old unpleasant memories rearing their heads and almost outweighing the axe's draw. Memories of grinning snakes and their taunting voices, daggers slicing through scales, and so much blood...

She bites back a growl and takes a deep, slightly shuddering breath.

"Fine... I'll cooperate for now.." she huffs, still glaring. But her eyes seemed to be clearer for the time being. Seemed more time away from that axe was doing her some good, at the very least.

[warwaited]

@chaoticbard

Yellow eyes rest on her face as Alaara speaks, and the paladin slowly nods. Funny enough, she can sympathize with the idea of things coming easier to you than people would expect... it's because of that, specifically, that she brought it up in the first place.

She's a hobgoblin. She can't imagine putting herself up in front of other people in a situation that bears the possibility of failure. A sour note, a flubbed verse... it sets her teeth on edge just thinking about it.

"As naturally as breathing. I suppose, in a somewhat grim way, we are similar in that." She inclines her head respectfully, though the pensive gaze remains on the bard. Clearly that wasn't the end of her thought - but she isn't sure if she should continue.

"What is... your favourite kind of music."

[warwaited]

"You are all of you despicable."

[warwaited]

🎶 + ❝ rakatak, what do you think of this awesome song i found ？❞

She listens to the entire thing. Once. Upon finishing, she looks between Puck's "human" ears and "animal" ears before deciding to stick one earbud in each and whistle sharply into the animal ear left unmolested.

"Do not misuse my time again, Puck."

(I mean it's CaramellDansen. Anthem of a generation, but she doesn't understand the words and it's also WAY too poppy for her.)

[warwaited]

"Yes. Moral betterness." It speaks simply, letting Jaheira have her say before it continues. There's a faint amusement to the hobgoblin-shaped thing's tone, as if the concept it's explaining is actually rather simple - and it's tickled that the druid doesn't quite get what she's talking about. "For some people, the only true victory is a moral one. They deny themselves the fullness of devotion, the entirety of war, in order to say that they are both victorious and... good."

There's a distinct note of disdain in her voice on that last word. "They pick and choose what is right and not right. What can be done, what should not be done. They treat war as if it is there only to pad their records for the history books - they shy from true dedication to the craft. When you must win, Jaheira, when there is no other option but victory... you set aside these vanities. A true and desperate need for your goal to be realized will see you down in the dirt."

Rakatak raises her hand and clenches a fist, steel already present in the undercurrent of her words showing itself boldly on the forefront. "There is a true and desperate need for the Elder Brain to be unmade. This is fact, and there is no avenue I will not look down to realize that goal. Every advantage will be leveraged. Every resource will be used. Were it that more people understood that a choice between suffering and oblivion is no choice at all."

It closes its eyes. Breathes, shakes out its hand, and opens them to the elf. War regards her almost wry, stepping back to lean against the fence. "The part of me that is Rakatak, and still quite close to the surface, only half-understands this. I want to take the brain for myself. I think of my father. I... yearn for his approval. For things to be the way they once were, but better. This is not a helpful thought."

It continues, more seriously. "The part of me that is Me knows what must be done. The brain will be destroyed. It is a weapon too volatile, too malicious for any hand to guide it for long. After all - we have already ascertained the method of its control, and I imagine damaged the ability of the other two conspirators to keep it under their thrall. We could do it. So could others, setting themselves against us."

A hand's extended, low, palm open. Offering for Jaheira to take it. "When our business is concluded, War will depart from your shores. My place is not here, and my eyes turn towards my own empire. I see what has become of it, now that I am not shepherded as I once was. I remember the world as Rakatak knew it. I remember how my memory was warped to serve men who, perhaps, have ceased to understand what I am."

The hand rises. Forms a fist again, though with a different connotation. Closing around something. Grasping it. "None of them know me. I will teach them."

Jaheira raised an eyebrow as Rakatak mentioned “moral betterness,” a phrase that landed somewhere between amusing and unsettling. She took a breath, steady and calm, before speaking.

“Moral betterness,” she began, her tone a bit snarky, but without malice. “That’s not what I strive for. I’m no saint, and I’ve never pretended otherwise. What I am is an agent of balance, Rakatak. And right now, that balance demands the destruction of the Elder Brain. There’s no higher cause, no purer pursuit, that supersedes this need. It threatens more than just us; it tilts the entire world towards chaos.”

She paused, eyes locking with hers, searching for understanding. “The end is what matters, even if the method is questionable. Balance in politics, balance in nature, balance within oneself — all of these require strong measures to be maintained."

Jaheira’s mind snagged on the name: Rhet. It pulled at memories of whispers and old reports, a place she hadn't thought about in years. Just like Tethyr, Rhet was a land beyond the Harpers' usual influence, elusive and distant. What little she recalled painted it as a goblinoid empire, a realm shrouded in secrecy. Beyond that, there was nothing more — no confirmed details, no tales that crossed into public knowledge. It was a place that left a heavy blank in her understanding, an enigma that made her wary.

Dealing with the unknown always made.

Jaheira listened intently to Rakatak's words. There was something haunting in Rakatak’s tone — a resigned detachment, as if recounting a life that had belonged to someone else. Jaheira noticed the subtle, fleeting bitterness beneath the paladin’s chuckle, the mask of someone who had made peace with a cruel fate.

An outcast, then.

Jaheira had to admit, Rakatak's straightfowardness was unexpected from a baneite, yet not unwelcome. The paladin's words held a stark logic that Jaheira could not deny. Baldur’s Gate would not be the only mark; the world itself trembled on the cusp of the Dead Three’s ambitions. Her motives, for now, aligned with what was needed — protection, resistance, war. It was reassuring, in a very unsettling way, to know there was someone else who saw the world as it was. But as much as she admired Rakatak's clarity and the resolve of a strategist who understood the stakes, Jaheira’s wariness didn't falter.

This was a Baneite she stood beside, after all. A warrior forged by a tyrant god whose justice was as rigid as it was merciless. Even if Rakatak believed herself driven by noble causes, once the threat was quelled, would her sense of order demand more? Would the paladin’s path of righteousness twist to serve the will of her unforgiving deity?

Alas, these were questions that she couldn't affort to dwell in right now. In the moment, all their efforts must be in reaching the city.

One crisis at a time, Jaheira. One crisis at a time.

“It is good to have a mind sharpened for strategy leading us,” Jaheira said, her voice measured. The faintest hint of approval colored her tone, though it was laced with caution. “We will move at your command, Rakatak. But know this — victory is not only in the war itself but in what remains afterward. Let us ensure that balance is not a casualty of our success.”

[warwaited]

@infernaliscor

The din of survival and relief isn't far. The party's been going for a few hours now, everyone eating their fill and drinking more than would probably be prudent. Even Lae'zel seems bolstered, even if just by the temporary satiation of her bloodlust. But, then, they have good reason to make merry - the goblins are gone, the road is open and Halsin has been able to return to his grove to do something about the sickness that had taken root at the center of it. There's more than enough goodwill and happiness to provide.

Goodwill and happiness, though, isn't the mood here. In the ruin across the creek, Rakatak stands with her knuckles resting on the table she'd dragged over, staring at the maps she'd similarly purloined. Yellow eyes flick upwards as Karlach passes the threshold, and she affords her a brief, wry smirk rather than an open smile.

"...good evening. Your presence here is appreciated, but... I have to respectfully request that if you intend to stay, you leave any partying mood you've brought at the door. I have things in consideration here, and scarcely the mental availability to hold both them and drink at the same time." Her gaze returns to the map in front of her, trailing up the Risen Road into a blackened, ominous section between them and Baldur's Gate.

"You should be out there, with them. Take advantage of their cheer and have some snacks, dance with someone strange. Tell some bawdy stories. I will be here in the morning... and this joy certainly won't."

[warwaited]

@bas0rexias

"I always find it so irksome when people have the presumption to tell me to consider the consequences. As if the actions I take are borne of a misunderstanding of the situation - do they not think that I may have fully considered everything that might result, and am acting based on the most likely course to result in success?"

Rakatak takes a deep breath through her nose, lets it out through her mouth, and turns to partially face Wyll. "Let's enter, then, this world you've daydreamed where I am reckless and also, arguably, an idiot. What consequences am I not considering? That people may be upset that we are in open conflict and I am working to resolve that conflict?"

Her lip twitches. "Efficiently?"

[warwaited]

@infernaliscor

There was a time, not long previous, when Rakatak wouldn't have wanted to be caught dead at a place like this; she's not so unaware of herself that she thinks her particular attitude towards those she deems lower than herself is palatable. When you're raised to believe that you're better than everyone else and virtue lies in letting them know it, the impulse to impose can be very difficult to shake.

These days, though, social structure feels... less important. Both because of the stakes of what they've been doing, and for other reasons. Over the past weeks, the paladin has learned things about herself, and about the empire. It had started at the Rosymorn Monastery; some mostly disinterested reading of a dusty old visitor list spiralling into a chase across the Underdark and no small portion of the shadow-cursed lands for something she hadn't initially been willing to tell anyone about. Not even Karlach.

Eventually, the search ended deep below Reithwin. The Thorm mausoleum and the Sharran temple it concealed were both resting places for things history would rather have forgotten, and in one partially-secluded chamber, the group had found something terrible.

A skeleton, surrounded by more skeletons. Sat on something that was close enough to a throne, dressed in the remains of what looked like hobgoblin armour. It had sprawled across the chair, time-scoured skull yawning open in an endless laugh.

Perhaps it would have been a better idea for Rakatak not to have taken its crown and sword, but the force of her personality and the near-desperation in her voice when she had told Karlach that this was "something she had to do" had won out.

Now, the person that sits across from her, the flames of war flickering in her eyes, crown resting proudly over her brow, may not be Rakatak at all. She is, however, a good bit more level-headed with the waitstaff. She gently waves off a waiter, informing them she's still deciding what she wants to eat before returning her attention to the tiefling sat across from her.

A momentary pause, followed by a small but open smile. "...there is a part of me still tempted to bluster a bit, you know. Make grand claims about what bounty I would bestow you, were we on my own shores - and another part still that would rather have made a supper of what we have secured from afield. It would have been... truthful, I think. But a request was made, and is now rendered."

She folds her hands in her lap.

[warwaited]

Rakatak breathes deep and nods again, much less curtly than she did to the booyagh up on the roof. Speaking of; the paladin returns her attention to the skies and, with a simple sentence, orders the goblin down from her perch. It's a less-than-nimble affair watching her scrabble down, worry making her movements clumsy, but eventually the two of them stand face to waist.

The paladin reaches forward and, with a bit of working, removes the skull-mask from the goblin's face. She stiffens up as Rakatak's somewhat thick, callused fingers brush against her face. No sooner is the mask off than it's dashed to the cobbles. A boot is lifted, then falls, with a hearty crack.

She winces. Rakatak smirks. The implication is clear, and apparently (despite herself) the hobgoblin isn't entirely unfamiliar with the concept of less being more.

One more command and a firm point to the gates and the scout begins sulking her way towards the bridge. "I do not have the authority to cull the numbers of another group, but I believe my status affords me more than enough to serve a demotion. No more cockerel-crowing on rooftops for this one. And the others..."

She gazes outwards, and the little miscreants studiously avoid eye contact. "...will tighten their focus if they know what is good for them."

Nihil would be lying if he said he didn't jump a little at the sudden shouts of goblin, trying to stop his shock from clearly turning into amusement on his face as he watches the poor little goblins stammer and stumble over themselves in his colleague's presence.

Gods, this woman was delightful to watch in any kind of action, and something more sinister lurking just under the surface of his skin seemed to agree, the tingle up his back and along his shoulders as he tried to hold in an unhinged giggle of glee.

He had re-collected himself by the time Rakatak turned again, hands folding before him as he considered her request for his opinion on punishing them-- as if it was really a question.

"Of course. Failure is such an ugly thing. It's only right they see punishment."

[warwaited]

@lordliing

"These automatons intrigue me. They lack a personal touch that I find is much appreciated when... mingling respectfully with the citizenry, but perhaps that, in itself, is a draw. Rather than a man with whom you can, in some manner of speaking, relate, know, or at least be aware of, it is a simple, faceless mass." She reaches forward, lightly flicking her finger against the breastplate of the Steel Watcher and lifting her chin to study where a face might be.

"...I will be blunt, Lord Gortash. I have heard of a plot, while in travel. Someone being spoken of as chosen by a particular god, in a way that belies a... familiarity. Though I have no interest in the plot and subsequent spoils thereof, it would be most foolish of me not to seek out..."

Rakatak half-turns, showing him the scar lashing the side of her face as those almost luminous yellow eyes scrape down his own countenance. A tooth is exposed as she smiles. "...one of my number."

[warwaited]

@willofvlaakith

"So confident for a woman who needs an aide at her elbow to explain everything from druids to doorhinges. Continue to draw breath in a real place, and not your frigid moon-pebble, and you will come to understand what I mean."

Rakatak, inversely, stands half-apart, not even fully facing Lae'zel. Her chin is raised, further underscoring the difference in stature between the two of them. When she does turn those yellow eyes towards the fighter, narrowed slightly in what can only be disgust, it's only just so. She barely warrants the attention.

"Let me guess... you weren't allowed to speak out of turn in your "creche", and you feel the burning need to make up for lost time."