Lord Shield's Bar.... I've no idea what number.

[Tancred]

With his growing wrath momentarily caught off-guard by Skye's sleepy embrace, Tancred can do nothing but try and control his temper and silently plead with Joram to hurry up and help us get the hell out of here!
Karnas chuckles some more. "You're blushing, boy!"
The feel of Skye's arms around his neck and the scent of her shampoo give rise to a very unusual set of thoughts, but to the cavalier's credit he's fighting them best he can with mental images of throwing Karnas into a lake. Notions of dragonslaying aren't far away either.

[ 01-19-2003, 04:30 PM: Message edited by: Tancred ]

[Skydracgrrl]

ooc- [img]graemlins/hehe.gif[/img] roflmao [img]graemlins/hehe.gif[/img] i think I'll just wait for Legolas to post, I'm laughing to hard to do anything serious.. [img]graemlins/biglaugh.gif[/img]

[Legolas]

Feeling left out and knowing the others were a lot closer to Tancred than he had ever been in the past, let alone now, Joram did his best to ignore the taunting jests and led the group back towards his pavillion.

"It may be a little tight," he announced as he held back the tent flap.
Joram laughed nervously.
"But it beats being alone on a night like this. It's a genuine Billy night if you ask me. Billy..."


It was cold outside, and he could feel a cramp coming up in his leg. Crouching, one arm over the goat, a young boy peered out between the leaves. A group of men carrying torches raced past only yards away, but the bushes lining the estate's walls sheltered him from their view. The fact that it was almost completely dark wouldn't stop them from trying. He was deathly afraid.
What had they ever done to deserve being hunted like so much game?

There was shouting going on, and more men came by. He could see them too, lots of big angry men. And the boy and the goat were small, and all alone. His eyes began to water, obscuring his sight. He had to struggle from breaking out in sobs and betraying their hiding place. The smelly but lovable goat nibbled on some leaves, bleating soflty.

And then the wind rose. It came in gusts, each gently stroking his neck. It carried the smell of ale. But the bushes were silent.
Slowly, almost too afraid to move at all, the boy turned his head. He was staring right into the ugliest grin he'd ever seen.

"They're right here guys!" the man shouted. Joram made a run for it, but was caught almost before he started. Billy managed to find a clear path to the woods. Silently, Joram cheered his friend on.
Then Billy stumbled and fell. A final, keening bleat filled the air, and seeing the two wooden shafts potruding from the fuzzy coat, young Joram cryed with him.

Joram stabilised himself with the aid of a tentpole, waiting for the painfully vivid memory to sink once more beneath the surface of his mind.

"Why'd he have to die?", he murmured.

[Tancred]

Tancred gratefully enters the pavilion; after a haunted walk jumping at shadows, the blue and grey tent is a place of thankful safety. He hears Joram mutter something along the lines of 'Billy night'...
He lays Skye down as carefully as he can upon Joram's bed, gently unravelling her arms from around his neck.
The young knight stands there by the bedside for a moment, frozen in thought, as if thinking for some words. In the end, he turns away with a shake of his head, possibly realisng that he has until Skye wakes up to think up a way to say thank-you for saving his life - that WON'T be misinterpreted as a pick-up line by other listening parties.
He goes back to Joram, noting that Lyulfe has padded to Skye's side. The dragon gives him a wink and a toothy grin. Tancred replies with a scowl. The cavalier thanks any passing deities for the silence coming from his sword.
"Listen," he asks, "I need another favour, Joram... are - are you alright, man?"
He lays a hand upon Joram's shoulder, looking anxious as the knight-squire leans up against the tent-pole, a miserable, distant look in his face.

[ 01-20-2003, 10:14 PM: Message edited by: Tancred ]

[Skydracgrrl]

Lyulfe turned back to Skye after winking mischieviously at Tancred, who returned the look with a scowl. He frowned slightly to himself, and brushed her bangs back from her forehead. 'She sometimes has a little bit of trouble with her drink, but Skye recovers quick enough...' he leaned over, and noticed she was a little more drawn than usual. Lyulfe's fears were laid to rest, however, when her eyelids fluttered open.

"Skye? Exactly how much alcohol did you have?" he asked with slight sarcasm, knowing that it took her awhile to wake up fully. She looked in the direction of his voice and smiled weakly. "I'm not quite sure, but I don't think it's agreeing with me very well..." she shivered. "A little chilly, isn't it?" Lyulfe frowned slightly. "Maybe it's just from your drink. It's actually quite warm in here." Skye smiled wanely, then patted the bed. "Where are we? I don't recognize this... it'd be easier if someone would light a torch or something. I didn't think I'd sleep until nighttime."

Lyulfe frowned again at this odd comment. There were some torches already lit, and even though the lighting wasn't the best, it shouldn't have drawn any comment from a halfelf who has infravision. There was also her strange chill... and the way she kept looking around whenever he talked. "Skye, look at me," he ordered, and she obediently turned her face towards his voice. Peering into her eyes, the pupils were dilated and unseeing, a sort of grayish film over the normal blue-violet tint.

Skye remained unphased by Lyulfe's strange comments, and stared straight ahead. Hearing two voices and some clanking, her expression brightened. "Oh, is Tancred here? And..." she frowned briefly in thought. "Joram! Did I get your name right? I'm not very good with names," she appologized. Lyulfe's nostrils flared as they caught a whiff of something besides alcohol on Skye's breath as she jabbered on. Something sweet, almost sickeningly so. "Skye, you shouldn't excite yourself after having so much to drink," he chidded her, and hummed a dragon tune that quickly lulled her to sleep despite her protests that she had something important to tell Tancred.

Beckoning to the two men, Lyulfe strode out of the pavilion. The two exchanged glances at the dragon's odd behavior, and followed. They found the dragon striding back and forth agitatedly, muttering something about knights and bloody noses. Looking up, he scowled. "Do any of you know that knight that Skye bloodied up? Is he inclined to drink and be free with women?" Greeted with blank stares, he sighed exasperatedly. "Skye's poisoned, most likely with whatever was in that pouch that you," he pointed at Tancred, "Tried to taste. The knight must have been poisoned by some sort of drink, most likely by the person who hired him to begin with. They must have known his reputation with women, and that he'd attempt to force himself on whomever they hired to carry out the job of beguiling our Paladin here." Lyulfe gestured at Tancred again with a frown. "Who ever planned this is good... doesn't keep any lose ends. But we have to find an antidote to this poison... I am unfamiliar with it." he drew a shakey breath. "Skye's already lost her vision... and with her chills, I'm unsure as to how much time she still has." Lyulfe looked up at Joram and Tancred, and they could see the pain and worry in his draconic purple eyes. "Maybe there was someone else that was supposed to do the job, that Skye replaced. We could find her..." the dragon grasped desperately at ideas, not wanting to lose his only friend to a sweet death.

[Tancred]

Tancred’s face falls as Lyulfe tells his fears; first white with fear, then red with anger… and lastly darkening.
A voice, crooning and sickly-sweet, echoes in his mind.
“I bumped into you earlier, girl, but I had no idea you were one of this great knight’s closest companions…”
The hell you didn’t, Ursula! Murderous thoughts come, unbidden. The HELL you didn’t!
He stumbles past the dragon, back into the pavilion, hands outstretched - already mumbling a prayer. Lyulfe and Joram are already behind him, yelling words at him, but he’s deaf to them.
A faint but pure white light begins to glow from his hands as he lowers them to touch Skye’s forehead…
“Woah, woah! WOAH!” yells the sword at his side.
Tancred doesn’t listen to Karnas much, if ever. Something makes the knight pause, though; an urgency, a seriousness in the mage’s voice that he cannot remember hearing before. Something even more striking than the impassioned pleas of the squire and the dragon.
“What?” asks the paladin irritably, still in the traditional lay-on-hands stance. “Karnas, I can cure this!”
“You don’t just… MEDDLE with poisons and curses without knowing what they are, you moron!” snaps Karnas. “You know the drill; this doesn’t seem like any normal poison now, does it?”
Tancred looks back at Skye, noticing with alarm the cold sweat forming on the Bard’s brow as she sleeps. Miraculously – or perhaps mercifully – she remains asleep.
“For god’s sake, you idiot, listen to the damn sword!” Lyulfe growls.
“Then… what?”
“Draw me. Lay me on the bed for a moment. Let me work.”
Tancred stands there for a moment longer. He looks from face to face; Joram, Lyulfe. Both are nodding, slowly.
He waves his hands, and the light fades from them. He draws his sword with a frustrated grunt, and lays Karnas down by Skye’s side.
The golden light surrounding the sword glows for a moment, and Karnas is silent…

Karnas Looks at Skye. Not just looking, but Looking; focusing his own impressive willpower and channelling it into her body, searching for whatever it is that…
He withdraws his thoughts and backs off as if stung. Careful, careful, he thinks to himself. That didn’t feel good at all.
He moves back in, slower this time. The power he felt at work in Skye had the feel of a snarling beast about it; alert, wary, ready to spring at any moment. He moves up and down Skye’s spirit, watching and noting what he sees, occasionally dodging around the more dangerously affected areas.
At the last, he finds what he is looking for; a pulsing, magical thing, alien to Skye’s body (he assumes), at the base of her heart. He moves in, closer and closer, a step at a time; he can feel the power of this thing, and is determined not to trip any safeguards that may be in place.
He stops at the last, as close as he can get, and Looks.
He gasps. Awe washes over him, and despite himself and the situation Karnas smiles.
Now THIS is Art…

“Well?” asks the cavalier.
Another five minutes pass. Lyulfe begins to tap his paw nervously. Joram begins pacing the room. Tancred realises he’s gritting his teeth, and tries not to.
“WELL?” he asks at length.
“Aaah…” Karnas’ voice comes at last. “Whoever made THIS little beauty certainly has my professional respect.”
“Oh dear.”
“What you’ve got here is a masterful piece of work; a magical poison, almost a curse… some kind of long-term nastiness. This reminds me of something old Abi-Dhalzim would try, and he was GOOD. Just like a spell would, it’s got resistances and a certain sense for when someone’s trying to remove it. It’s got an amazing grip on her system already; a normal curative spell or prayer isn’t going to shift it.”
“But a cleric with real power could?”
“Wait, wait, let me finish… See, that’s the MAIN effect. But from the look of it, there’s three other subpoisons built into this, three independent curse-like spells, and they’re all watching the main curse AND each other. Try to cure THIS – even tinker with it – and it’d all come crashing down. She’d most likely die instantly. Most likely you would too. Maybe it’d take out the whole pavilion field, I dunno.”
Silence reigns in the small pavilion. Someone whimpers; Tancred can’t be sure it wasn’t him.
It falls to Joram to make things perfectly clear. “So… only some kind of antidote could stop this?”
Karnas makes an inward-whistling kind of sound. “Well… that’s if there IS an antidote. I certainly never bothered making curses and spells that could be reversed. Someone paid hard cash for this, boy. I daresay whatever massive fee was involved bought a guarantee as well. That said… I suppose searching for one isn’t going to hurt, and it’ll give you something to do tonight besides wailing and gnashing your teeth at Dead-Girl’s bedside here.”

OOC: We're a bit ahead of ourselves here; Legolas, feel free to reply to my inquiry in the last post, and I guess we'll retcon it in...

[ 01-23-2003, 01:53 PM: Message edited by: Tancred ]

[Legolas]

"We don't have a clue as to where to search, do we?"

Joram stuck his head out the door and peered up at the sky, almost expecting to find some dark omen amidst the stars. As it was, all he saw was the dark underside of a large, cloudy blanket. He shrugged and turned his gaze to Skye.

"I suppose we'll go search, and then heroically find some antidote at the very last moment. Well, we'd better."

But Joram was well aware of the difference between facts and fiction, and didn't hold much hope. It was a dark night indeed.

Tournament, Flask of polish, Help out Tancred, Antidote, ...
what else? what was he missing?

'"...Joram... are - are you alright, man?"

He looked up at the sound of his name, his vision oddly blurry at first, but soon he regained his focus.

"Pardon? Yes, yes. Just... off in my thoughts. Have I ever told you about Billy? Of course I haven't, forget I asked."

The knight scratched his head, not failing to notice the ravenblack strands were getting greasy. He added 'taking a bath' to his mental list of things to do.

"You were saying something about a favour, weren't you?"

With a glint in his eyes and the hints of a smile forming, something resembling the cheerful daytime squire seemed to return to him.

"I'm afraid I don't have my handkerchief on me right now.
Oh, for the gods' sake, don't look at me like that. What's on your mind, Tancred?"'

Take a bath. And don't forget.

Help out Tancred. What was it he'd said again?
Closing his eyes, Joram tried to recall the rest of the scene.

[Tancred]

Tancred gives Joram a very puzzled look. After a few moments - he can hear Lyulfe speaking to Skye in the background - he relents.
"Well, if you say so... it's nothing major. I need a spare sword and a helping hand if I'm going to the banquet pavilion and confront - what?"
Lyulfe has walked past them, and is beckoning them outside. The two men get the sudden, unpleasant feeling something's afoot...

Dead silence once more.
“The… the knight from the inn... the one with the bloodied surcoat! He looked like one of the Orkney clan. They do have something of a reputation for being ladykillers, possibly even a little brutish. It’s perhaps undeserved, but one or two do play up to it.” Tancred takes a deep breath. “I suppose it’s possible that knight’s not dead yet; the Hospitallers would have taken him to the tourney hospital, possibly. If… if Skye is still…”
Tancred trails off. He stares into space for a moment, shakes his head, and continues.
"That... that man is the only one - besides Skye herself - who might know what that girl looked like, and who she was. If not him, then... we'll just have to go to the tavern and make enquiries, and hope."
Or go to the banquet pavilion and hurt de Gossard until she coughs one up, a furious voice yells from somewhere deep inside him.
He picks Karnas up from the bed, and sticks him into the ground.
“Hey!”
“Karnas, you’re on sentry duty,” orders Tancred. “Watch Skye for any change. You can see things we can’t – that includes any scum sneaking up on this place. You watch for them as well.”
"And what about you?"
"I daresay I'll be able to find another sword somewhere..."
Karnas sighs. "No, I mean - if someone DOES come in here, what the hell do I do exactly? Growl at them until they go away? Call for help in a feminine voice?"
Inwardly, Tancred groans. The mage has a point, damn him. With no limbs (let alone the arsenal of magical spells he could command when embodied) Karnas isn't the best of bodyguards/bedside nurses.
All of a sudden, he is in two minds. One half of him would accept the task of keeping watch over Skye. Vital task, least he could do, and all that. This part of him seems to cough nervously. The other would rather prefer being out there, on the Quest for the Antidote(TM). For a moment, neither side is as persuasive as the other.
A thought comes. You're a better Fighter than you are a Healer... on the other hand, so are the other two. When it comes to drawing short straws, you're in a class by yourself, Tancred.
"Um... perhaps someone should stay with her?" he looks at the other two, hoping for a volunteer.

[ 01-26-2003, 07:03 AM: Message edited by: Tancred ]

[Tancred]

Tancred starts to squirm a bit under the pressure of the silent stares from the other two.

[Skydracgrrl]

Lyulfe stared from Skye and out the pavilion and back again. His vision slowly drifted up towards the Paladin. The poor guy seemed to be taking the situation pretty hard. "I'll stay with her," he said gruffly. "If she ever comes to, she'll probably want to see..." he paused awkwardly. "Hear someone's voice that she's familiar with. But if you need help getting the antidote out of someone," he spread his wings slightly and seemed to grow threateningly large, "Just call me." He sat himself next to Skye, his expression unreadable. Lyulfe had obviously dismissed Tancred and Joram from his attention.

ooc- hmm, i dunno if its such a good idea to have to 2 sidekicks alone in a room, with the object of "interest" [img]graemlins/hehe.gif[/img]

[ 01-25-2003, 08:31 PM: Message edited by: Skydracgrrl ]