Title-- The Demon-God of Jubagh (part twenty-eight)
Rating and Warnings-- PG; mild language and violence.
Cast-- Rai Gerring, defected black magician (human man); Brandon Styhan, exiled paladin-warrior (human man); Lhafa Softstep, blind spirit warrior (baghan woman); three paladins, a priest, and a berserker (human men and women).
Previously-- Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen, Part Nineteen, Part Twenty, Part Twenty-One, Part Twenty-Two, Part Twenty-Three, Part Twenty-Four, Part Twenty-Five, Part Twenty-Six, Part Twenty-Seven.



"You wouldn't dare," the paladin snapped, drawing herself up to her full height. In her heavy armor, she cut an impressive figure in the gusting smoke that sent ash and sparks whirling in dervishes. The fires still ate at the skeletons of the huts and the dead.

Unfortunately, she was still several inches shorter than Brandon. He laughed callously. "Oh, milady, you don't know me at all. I would, and will."

She sputtered, about to argue, when the berserker cleared his throat roughly to interrupt. "I know this man, Sister Reenla. He does not bluff."

Brandon blinked and eyed the berserker. Where the paladins were dressed in chain or plate mail, and the priest was in robes suitable to traveling, the berserker wore the typical furs and hides of his caste, much of his craggy face hidden by a wide-brimmed hat that hung low over his eyes. A faint smirk was set on rough lips, and the short beard was a familiar reddish color... "Hells, Arugin, is that you?!"

The berserker nodded with a suppressed grin, but it was Sister Reenla who spoke next. "Brother Styhan," she snapped, "surely you realize that raising a hand to those of the Order is--"

"What, enough to get me exiled?" Brandon laughed loudly, then glanced over at the berserker. "Arugin, old friend, does she even know who the hells she's here to collect?" His eyes, still stained yellow with Light, flicked to the other two paladins. Neither one was Erick, and he found himself wondering what happened to his one-time comrade. "For that matter, do any of you know me or where the hells I'm from?"

The woman lifted a hand, a gesture for the others to keep silent. The berserker smirked to himself as she sighed. "My name is Arista Reenla, Knight Exemplar. My fellows are Gary Hallin and Theo Doreck, paladins, and Father Joshua Krein. Apparently, you are well-acquainted with the druid, Michael Arugin." Arista looked at Brandon skeptically. "We do not know you personally, except for Keeper Arugin, but we are aware of your ... background."

"Well!" Brandon was grinning widely, almost jovial. "Allow me to make proper introductions. I'm Brandon Styhan. Not Brother Styhan. Just Brandon. Call me Brother again and I'll consider it an impromptu induction back into the Order. This here," he gestured behind him to the man he was shielding with his own body, "is Rai... Rai, what the hells is your last name, anyways? We're being friendly, here."

The black magician shook his head, a tired grin creasing his face. "Rai Gerring," he answered quietly. "Not a member of any cult or guild a Lightworker would see fit to destroy."

Arista nearly hissed when he spoke. "So you work alone, is that it?" she spat past Brandon.

The ex-paladin cut Rai off mid-affirmative. "No," he corrected, "he works with me." He was enjoying delivering these repeated shocks to the Lightworkers' minds, although the berserker didn't seem fazed in the least. Then again, given his history with Arugin, it wasn't surprising. "So, what'll it be, milady? Two for the price of one, or a helluva fight on your hands? Think carefully, now. You don't know how many tricks we have up Rai's sleeves." He grinned infuriatingly.

"Sister Reenla," Rai began, sidestepping Brandon's broad frame to offer a disarming look. "I don't wish to fight you. Truth be told, I'd much rather enjoy a quiet life. But I am willing to work for whatever good is needed alongside Brandon in the interest of a peaceful resolution between us."

"...you were slaughtering natives with a demon," she grated. "Forgive me, but I find myself skeptical of your wishes for peace and quiet." She paused, then slowly looked back to Brandon. "And if you were not fighting him, then you were killing the natives as well, as I first thought!"

Shit, the exile swore in the safety of his own head, but he kept up the cheerful tone. "You'd be correct, milady! The natives gathered here were hexers. Shaman-types. They were going to summon a god of plague and war. For the good of the planet, we came to stop them."

Arista narrowed her eyes, taking one step back from Brandon and raising her sword slowly. "I now understand that we cannot leave either of you two on this world, lest you kill more innocents with your imagined crusades," she stated flatly, leveling the tip of her blade at Brandon's unprotected throat. "Rai Gerring will be delivered to the nearest Justice of Light to be tried for any crimes we have noted in his name, and you will come with us for your assignment."

"No way in hells--" Brandon started to growl, hands balling into fists.

Rai cut him off with a light touch on his elbow and a slight smile. "We will agree to this, if you agree to allow me to accompany Brandon if my name is found to be lacking any charges," he countered.

The paladin actually laughed, a surprisingly harsh sound. "As you wish, mage. I have heard your name before, although I cannot recall your crimes. If, miraculously, there is no mark on your name, you may go with this man."

Brandon shot Rai an incredulous look, but the magician merely nodded and folded his hands. "We are agreed, then. I am glad to end this without a fight." He smiled politely, though his face was lined with weariness.

The exile reverted to the baghan tongue. "The hells are we gonna do about Softstep?" he asked quietly, glancing towards the blind woman still held by one of the paladin men. "Are we just gonna... leave her here, tribeless and...?"

Rai frowned and spoke conversationally, more loudly than Brandon had. "Lhafa? What are the chances of you being able to lead a peaceful, normal life, after all the chaos we've caused and... without your sight?" He glanced casually over to her, expression incurious as though he was merely replying to Brandon's mutter.

She was as mild-mannered and honest as ever. "My tribe will not accept me. I have betrayed my holy man, been possessed by my enemy, lost my eyes, and gained knowledge only meant for holy men. No one will have me, and without sight, I will not last long alone." Her voice was calm. "I will die soon after you leave, but I will die knowing that we have saved Jubagh from Zeh Gurhai."

Brandon and Rai exchanged glances, and Rai shook his head slowly. "I'm not going to accept that. Could a Lightworker fix her eyes? Could this priest here do it?" he whispered, eyeing the white-robed man speculatively. The priest shrank away under his gaze.

"Are you two quite done speaking in tongues?" Arista snapped irritably. Her sword hadn't wavered from its aim at Brandon's throat.

"Actually," he countered, "no. Can the father heal blindness, if the eyes have been ruined?"

The priest was too young to be called father, really, younger than Brandon or Rai by at least half a dozen years, if not an entire decade. "If you refer to the native woman here," he murmured, gesturing to Lhafa, "I cannot restore her sight. The wound has been healed, and there is not enough .. tissue .. left to reconstruct the eyes, even with the grace of the Light." He bowed his head. "I am sorry."

Brandon swore under his breath, then locked gazes with Arista. "You're sending us into a dangerous place, right? Magical strength needed to survive and all that?" She didn't nod, but the uncertain flicker in her eyes betrayed the accuracy of his guess. "Then, guess what. She," he pointed to Lhafa, "is coming with us. We'll need her."

"There is no way," the paladin said patiently, "that I will allow you to remove a native from her world."

"She'll die otherwise," he snapped, "and believe me, there's really no other option. I'm not leaving her here after all this has gone down, blast it."

"She is blind!" Arista retorted. "She is useless to you, and you cannot pretend otherwise! Stop this foolishness. We are wasting time."

"Lhafa?" Rai said, using the baghan tongue. "The .. spirit warrior here, the outlander woman with the sword, has called you useless. Would you please prove her wrong?"

Lhafa tilted her head just slightly. "This is truth? She said this?"

"Unfortunately, yes," he replied. "She speaks our tongue. She accused us of pretending that you were not useless."

The baghan shook her head slowly, then rested a hand lightly on the paladin's gauntlet that gripped her upper arm. Her hooved fingertips clicked against the fine metal. "Will you tell him to release me?"

"Sir," Rai directed at the man holding Lhafa's arm. "Would you release her? She says you hold too tightly, and it pains her." The man looked surprised and quickly let go, inclining his torso in an apologetic bow. She nodded in his direction.

"Oh, and, milady?" Brandon grinned widely, having stayed quiet while the magician and spirit warrior conversed. "You're about to be proven wrong."

"What? What do y--"

Lhafa moved with inhuman speed, following Arista's voice as soon as the paladin began speaking. Lightning-fast, she touched the human's pauldrons, then traced along her arms to find gauntlets and, finally, the hilt of the sword. A quick twist to Arista's wrists and a swift kick to the human's flank both freed the blade and sent the paladin staggering a few steps to the side.

When Light suffused the woman and radiated heat, as though a first warning, Lhafa's talisman lit with blinding silver-white luminance in response. The baghan held the sword casually in one strong hand, tip pointing downwards, tail lashing in loops behind her as she stood ready to move again. Wordlessly, face angled in Arista's general direction, the spirit warrior smiled.

"Useless, huh?" Brandon grinned toothily.