#wars to fight ;; rakatak IC

[warwaited]

@an-unsung-saga

Rakatak whistles lowly as she brushes down the front of her clothes, a low chuckle escaping her almost unbidden as she approaches Gizzy in the wake of their most recent scrap.

"It truly doesn't get old. Every time I think the novelty is worn off and I can finally start viewing your creations through an objective, tactical lens..." The chuckle is briefly upgraded to a true laugh and she mimes the trajectory of the most recent unfortunate to find themselves on the business end of one of the goblin's doohickeys.

"My only complaint is that if we plan to determine if he had anything useful on him, we're in for a bit of a hike."

[warwaited]

Rakatak glances over in mild shock as he breaks out a couple licks of Orcish, a brief but fullhearted smile crossing the despot's face before she plucks the other from its protective case and examines it a moment. "Mm. I understand now why they were kept in a lockbox. Though, with what they are, it makes me think that the box likely predates the goblins... else I'm sure the Absolutists would have had these destroyed."

Warm approval filters through the hobgoblin's tone, and she gives Astarion a firm nod. "You have done well to acquire this for me. I likely would have overlooked such an unassuming box, and your sharp eye located it." The earring pinched between her fingers is held back out to him, and she cants her head towards it. "I doubt you will have any desire to wear them yourself, but if we can find out what enchantment they bear we may be able to find them a home... or, at the very least, a buyer."

　　　corners  of  his  mouth  lofting  gently  at  rakatak’s  plan ( still no idea what love actually is, but she’s come closest to winning his in centuries ! ),  he  balances the kit on his thigh and leans  over  a  little  to  inspect  alongside  her.   appears  this  wasn’t  just  any  ordinary  cofrette, but  a  music  box  crafted  to  run  off  the  arcane.   tightly  packed  within:   silver  crescent  dangle  earrings indicative of she who supposedly guides,  miniature  scrolls held together by thin ribbon strips, tiny  ash  blue  velvet  pouches —  hopefully  containing  loose diamonds !?   “better  not  let  princezná  temnoty  see.   she’ll  throw  a  fit.”   despite  the  sneering lips  and  languid  up-roll  of  his  eyes,  he’s  begrudgingly  thinking  the  jewelry  would  suit  shadowheart  rather  nicely.   he’d  encourage  rakatak  to  keep  them,  were  they  gold  instead.   “.  .  .  these are  magical.”   having reached over and carefully plucked one like a piece of luxurious chocolate from a box, he  can  tell.   and  now  he’s  grimacing  because  he  knows  what  that  means  for  their  fate.

[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]

@chaoticbard

Rakatak laughs and rolls her eyes jokingly, throwing a look over in Alaara's direction as she pops another piece of cured sausage into her mouth. She's been in almost uncharacteristically high spirits after their most recent fight, and apparently found reason to celebrate.

"What would be worse, I wonder, the fear of the unknown, or having bearing of exactly what will happen but lacking the will to stop it. Oh, the ways I could pull a man into my orbit, if only I felt like it."

A hearty swig of wine. "Really, Alaara, you have the best of it. You could make a list of obituaries sound riveting, and here I am thumping the pulpit evermore. Stirring, but hardly sensual."

[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]

"Far worse than a scheme by the Dead Three in entirety to hold the city hostage with a shackled Elder Brain and an army of illithids and illithid infectees? One shudders to imagine." It doesn't sound like it's shuddering especially hard, though it does take note of the audience the group has accidentally stolen from the comedy act and turn to look out at the general public.

Frightened faces. Tears. Worry. She takes a deep breath through her nose and wipes her blade, beckoning for the High Harper to come closer and speak a bit more quietly. "We will prosecute this lead. You are correct - it would be foolish not to take the threat as honest, and with shapechangers in their ranks it would be prudent to know who our friends are soon upon arrival."

She straightens. Regards the crowd again and clears her throat, raising a hand high and speaking in a much louder, similarly confident tone. "Citizens of Rivington, the threat is quelled. We apologize for the... excitement... and ask you at this time to return to your homes. Rest assured, you are safe here. Safer now that we have finished our work."

War turns back with a smile. See? It can address the public when it needs to. "I think you know how I would best like to proceed... but your Harpers are an unknown that I should like to cross off the list. We must find a way to access the Lower City before we do anything of the sort, though, and I would imagine that doing so in a way befitting my station would attract the undue attention you are worried about. That shall be our first goal."

Jaheira exhaled, leaning on her knees for a moment as she surveyed the aftermath. Blood pooled around the twisted form of the doppelganger, soaking into the dirt beneath the colorful remnants of the circus. The once-lively chatter of children and their families had been replaced by horrified murmurs, muffled sobs, and the tense whispers of those too shaken to leave.

She pressed her lips together tightly, willing the unease in her chest to stay buried. She was never fond of slaying monsters in front of children. It’s a memory that doesn’t leave easily — if it ever does at all. She glanced over at Rakatak, whose boot prodded the creature's corpse with clinical detachment, and sighed.

Her gaze traveled down, lingering on the doppelganger. The last time she had seen one of those, was during the Bhaalspawn Crisis in Baldur’s Gate. A coup d'état orchestrated by blood and deceit. Now, staring at the misshapen corpse of the impostor clown, a new worry crept into her thoughts.

"The last time these creatures appeared in the city, it heralded something far worse. A Bhaalist coup. If history repeats itself..." She trailed off, motioning towards the corpse. "And this one, specifically, was so intent on its threat. We’d be fools not to investigate."

Her tone shifted, sharp but not unkind. "The real question is, how do we do that without adding to the mess we’ve already made? This place is full of children." She didn’t voice her full concern — how much bloodshed could they prevent, or were they already too late to stop what was unfolding?

Instead, she forced herself to stand straighter and turned to Rakatak, a wry smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "So, Your Omnipresence," she teased, "how would you like to proceed? We could take the subtle route — stay out of sight and see what the Harpers know. We’ve been watching the cult; they certainly have leads we can use."

Her smirk faded into a more serious expression. "Or, if subtlety isn’t your preferred flavour, we could take the direct approach — scare some answers out of the right people. Of course, determining who the 'right people' are while exposing ourselves so openly would be a far trickier endeavor. And we’d best not look like murderers doing it, for the children’s sake."

She paused, studying Rakatak carefully. "Either way, we could use the Harper's knowledge on the matter, and I can take us there."

[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]

@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]

She shakes her head, raking her fingers through her increasingly tightly bound hair in frustration. "What I know is that I have little time for these distractions. Our assault on Thorm will scarcely wait for me to dispel these... ghosts. I can only hope that whatever is waiting for us in the mausoleum and... whatever lies beneath it, will bring clarity instead of further muddling."

Rakatak pushes out a short, hard sigh, as if trying to expel the feelings inside her along with the air. "Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe... I am up to my Lord-damned neck in maybe. I have scarce need for more of them. Show me an is." The words could well be directed inward for how spiteful they sound, and the fellow paladin shifts in her cushion, growing restless with the amount of introspection she's had to do tonight.

Fortunately, they're almost done with her hair. Rakatak has a substantially different silhouette with it properly done up - her boxy shoulders and thick arms are more pronounced, but it hardly makes her look bigger. If anything, it makes it a little easier to envision the regal hobgoblin from across the ocean who didn't yet have to worry about any of this.

"And your ministrations are noted. Who knows how long it will hold with the kind of detritus we stain ourselves with daily, but this will do for the moment. As for... it."

She scowls and shakes her head. "No. The two of them are separate. It was never the church who commanded War. Only the seat of power."

neyvin takes the response rakatak gives them to their light teasing well. they acquiesce with a murmur of apologetics, before refocusing. she was a terrifying force and neyvin was not exactly in the mood to press their luck too far. not when she was sharing a space with such a powerful and unknown force.

the omens that war's appearance is said to bring make neyvin pause, thoughtful. "war changes the balance of things -- it makes sense that--"

the words in goblin cut her off from the rest of the sentence, and it's...unsettling. it was almost like it wasn't her saying it. the apology that followed was even more unsettling, though.

neyvin looked concerned. "well, you said a wind blows through as a signal of their arrival. maybe...and old parable of some kind about it? about the storm that is coming with war?" literal or metaphorical, neyvin isn't quite sure, but he does suspect that whatever will signal will not be able to be missed.

"maybe its a fragment of war?" neyvin asks, they voice unsure. It was unlikely to be the tadpole, but one couldn't rule it out entirely, neyvin had come to decide. at any given point in time, they felt like there were far too many people trying to poke into heads and dreams uninvited around here.

they tie the braid off, and reach into their bag, pulling out a thin length of leather cording. with practice born of years of doing it, neyvin carefully wraps the cord around the braid, ensuring the flyaway curls are tucked back, and adding extra security to the braid and hair to remain where they belonged.

he lets his hands drop. "done. my sisters taught me to use the cord around it to make sure it all stays bundled." he explained, with a shrug, "when my hair is longer, i use that same method to keep it from running too wild." he explained.

"...do you think that it, this being, could be partly from your god?" she asks, a slight hesitance to the question.

[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]

@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]

"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]

@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]

@ravengrd

"Payment?" It's a scoffing laugh, and she turns to look askance at the dashing hero - gauging whether he's serious. "Still a neophyte, are we. I don't mean their coin or their food, we've enough of both from the-"

Snort. Already planning on it? "Do not deign to rope me into your heroics. Before I learned of the goblins' apostacy I had no intentions of involving myself." It's true - Rakatak had technically been outvoted in whether this was any of their business in the first place, but she at least had changed her tune when Astarion hadn't. Seemingly for the wrong reasons.

"They are headed in the same direction as us, and onto dangerous ground. The tactically sound maneuver would be to use their movement as a screen, drawing attention that we would rather not have. Their usefulness isn't merely material."