Title-- The Demon-God of Jubagh (part twenty-nine)
Rating and Warnings-- PG; mild language.
Cast-- Rai Gerring, defected black magician (human man); Brandon Styhan, exiled paladin-warrior (human man); Lhafa Softstep, blind voodoo warrior (baghan woman); three paladins [Knight Exemplar Arista Reenla, Gary Hallin, Theo Doreck], a priest [Father Joshua Krein], and a berserker [Keeper Michael Arugin] (human men and women); various baghans from different tribes (baghan 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, Part Twenty-Eight.



"Milady, let me introduce you to Lhafa, formerly of the Softstep tribe." Brandon's wolfish grin hadn't faded. "She's a new breed, a uh... a voodoo warrior." He paused while Rai translated for him in the baghan tongue, and Lhafa drew the sword up to plant it squarely in the ground before her, one hand resting on the hilt. She stood calmly at the ready, talisman still radiating silver-white light that matched her fur all too well.

"'New breed?'" Arista asked, eyes narrowing as she straightened from her fighting stance, flicking her wrists to work out the kinks. "You have even interfered to create a new caste, haven't you?"

Brandon waved off the question flippantly. "With that display, do you see that we could use her help where we're going?" he countered.

"You presume that the mage's name will go cleared and you two will continue being .. partners, or whatever you are!" The paladin glared through the slits in her helm.

"Hells, milady, if Rai thinks there's nothin' on his name, then I'm gonna believe him." Brandon shrugged. "And Softstep's coming with us. Three for the price of one, or no deal."

"There is no haggling! You are being recalled, your oath to the Order invoked, and your cooperation demanded! This is not some marketplace where your services are voluntary!"

Lhafa spoke quietly, glancing back at the two men. "Her voice is getting shrill," she observed. "Is she angry?"

"Oh, she's pissed," Brandon replied cheerfully in the baghan tongue. "You did great. Don't give her back that sword just yet, I might need it."

"Brandon...?" Rai interrupted, keeping with the native language. "Have you noticed that you're not tired or hurting anymore?" He shot his companion a searching look.

The exile paused, a brow arching. He glanced down at himself, his simple leather clothing tattered, scorched, and stained. He looked like he had just walked through a tornado, but he felt... fine. More than fine; refreshed. "Uh. Good point. The hells?"

Rai nodded his head discreetly towards Lhafa. "I may be wrong, but I think we're drawing strength from her talisman. Other than the Lightworkers, that talisman is the only source of magic left here. The hexers drained the rest to fuel their own attacks."

"...you draw from my spirit?" Lhafa asked, surprised. "It is sufficient to feed both of you? But I am not tired, either, right now..."

Arista strode forward and reached for her sword, muttering, "Enough of letting you three converse. You have mangled this land and these people. We will remove you three from this world, then decide what to do with the native--" Lhafa's hand didn't move from the hilt of the blade, even at the prodding touch of the paladin's gauntlet. "...tell her to let go."

"Lhafa? She wants her sword back." Rai hid a grin as the baghan shook her head mutely, closing the other hand around the weapon. "Ah, Sister Reenla, it appears she isn't willing to hand it over quite yet." He cleared his throat. "She did win it from you fairly."

The paladin sputtered. "Fairly?! An attack from behind--"

"--is something you should always be prepared for, milady," Brandon finished. "She'll keep the sword, and we'll all go peaceably, but not an inch until you promise that Softstep comes with us."

Arista smiled. "If you are so certain that the mage's name is clean, then you will not argue when I suggest that her fate be the same as his, whatever it be. To you, this would just mean that she'll accompany the both of you on this assignment. That is my only offer." She ignored the priest's quiet protests, that an innocent native should not be made to suffer such a death as a wicked magician.

Brandon glanced at Rai, who spoke in baghan. "Lhafa. We aren't going to leave you here, but the only way she will let you come is to tie your fate with mine. These ... are not my friends, and they will try to see me dead, if they can."

There was no hesitation. "I will trust in you," she murmured quietly, releasing the sword and taking a step back. "She may have her weapon back. It is unfit for me."

Rai kept his face impassive when he spoke next in his own language. "She agrees to this, and offers you your sword again." He watched as the paladin jerked it from the soil and sheathed it in the same precise motion; he was careful not to allow his emotions to show. He was sure of himself, but not sure enough to willingly risk Lhafa's life in the same cast of the dice.

"Good. Let's move quickly, then. We had to defeat some natives on the way here, and I would rather not deal any more damage. If we hurry, they may not awaken until we're gone." Arista turned smartly and began moving up the slope.

"Hang on, milady. I wanna make sure all of these hexers are well and dead," Brandon called after her, also turning towards the bodies strewn about. The fires were finally dying down, lacking sufficient fuel to continue blazing, and there was more smoke than light now. The air was thick.

One of the paladins grabbed his arm roughly, and the other laid hand to Rai's shoulder. "Sister said we go now," one of them growled, giving the exile a shove after the woman.

"Aren't you eloquent," Brandon muttered under his breath after stumbling a few paces, sharing an annoyed look with the black magician as the two of them were marched up the hillside by the armored duo. Soundlessly, the berserker bowed to Lhafa and touched her elbow lightly to guide her after them; she moved only after Rai called back a few reassuring words, then switched languages to remind the berserker that she was blind and would not react to visual cues. The robed priest brought up the rear, muttering a prayer for those killed in battle.

After the group of humans and one lone baghan had disappeared into the treeline, the battlefield stilled. A new wind swept the smoke into the trees, patches of evening sky becoming visible as long minutes passed. A few of the bodies stirred, but only one hexer climbed to his feet stiffly. It was the Tarblade hexer, a baghan of steel-grey fur and yellow eyes; his spirit warriors managed to stand and gathered near him, interspersed with a few other surviving women. None were unscathed, but the hexer smiled to see them all alive.

From behind yellow eyes, Kerrek Rockhide began speaking to the survivors with his new voice.