Step right up [Renown][Private]
Mar 31, 2024 19:14:13 GMT -5
Post by Eameia (Zarius unavailable) on Mar 31, 2024 19:14:13 GMT -5
“There is nothing comedic about your behavior," Zarius sneers at the alchemist. "You are foolish and insufferable at best. It is blatantly obvious that you are desperate for attention and validation despite already having people who have given it to you. You waste Kvasir’s and Issala’s praise by acting belligerent and incapable. They are intelligent and you have them convinced, so there must be some merit to your skills. Yet you continue to prove my skepticism correct. As far as I can see, you do not care about making them look like fools for falling for your theatrical charade. You are doing them a disservice, and I will never respect you for that.”
It doesn't bring any relief to have finally called Morrigan out for their behavior. He has no doubts the charlatan will just come up with more excuses to show their ass even in this dire situation. He also has no doubts Issala will swoop in to defend the sparkly pipsqueak again, which he will not hold against her.
There was no intent to flatter the investigator with his comment on her intelligence. It was stated as a matter of fact. While Issala may be unconventional, her actions have proven she is more than capable. Something he has yet to see from Morrigan at all.
If things were different, he could have just accepted her opinion of the Wizard of the Wastes and left it at that, but Morrigan's actions are hard for him to dismiss especially when the fellblood is insistent on antagonizing him. Morrigan has made himself a threat, and Zarius isn't about to just let them endanger the lives and well-being of those he is invested in.
As the key goes flying from Morrigan's hand into the vent, Zarius bristles. That was the last straw.
Closing the gap between himself and Morrigan, he snatches the purple fellblood by the collar of their shirt, pulls back his fist, and aims a sharp right hook right across their jaw.
He’s had enough.
Enough of Morrigan’s digs. Enough of their jokes. Enough of their recklessness.
If the glittery fool couldn’t be trusted to put their lives before their own selfish need to show off, he’d just have to knock them out to prevent them from being any more of a hindrance to the group's escape attempt.
He pulls his fist back again, fully ready to bash the jester’s dumb face until their lights go out when Izzy sends another attacker stumbling their way. Zarius hisses - a frustrated wisp of smoke escaping between his gritted teeth - and steps around Morrigan without letting him go. Using the alchemist as a pivot point, he smashes the back of his fist into the painted figure's head in a wide sweep of his arm.
As the paint splatters against the wall, the figure at the end of the hall makes its move. The creeping shadows sharpen and lunge toward the group in the blink of an eye. Zarius has no choice but to roughly shove Morrigan behind him and back to Issala as he deflects one of the painted blades thrown at his face.[1] His expression twists into a grimace as a few sharp pains radiate from his leg and torso. He feels a warmth seep through the layers of his clothing as the burning taste of brimstone coats the back of his throat.
Dammit.
If he hadn't been so preoccupied with Morrigan's tomfoolery he would have been able to react faster. While he could have just used Morrigan as a shield, he doesn't want to give them any reason to go back to Kvasir and spin a tale about how Zarius intentionally let them get stabbed. He could explain his logic behind knocking Morrigan out, letting them become a pincushion would be a lot harder to justify.
Then his heart skips a beat as Issala shouts the last word he wants to hear right now.
Poison.
Why'd it have to be poison?
Panic starts to build as he stares down the mass of shadows slowly creeping closer and swallowing the hallway. His eyes dart around the hallway and his immediate thought is to break down one of the many doors. However, the heat from Morrigan's earlier attack had caused the paint to melt enough for the walls to drip into the doors.
Of course.
The sound of his heartbeat starts to pound in his ears and the whispers in the back of his mind threaten to rise up and rob him of the last bits of rational thinking he has to spare. If they don't get out soon, there's a good chance the painting will feature at least one new corpse amongst its brushstrokes.
Meanwhile, the situation outside continues to escalate.
Shael rolls her eyes at the man shouting at her. She flips him off. “Cry me a river, lap dog. Go back to your master and beg before we send you back to him extra crispy.”
She taps her heel against Indra who raises up and flares her wings in a warning to the others closing in on them. Light gathers in the throat of the drake and the scent of ozone overpowers the smell of ash.
“Last warning, pit stain. Get outta here before you're drake chow.”
Snow keeps a close eye on the other guards. If any of the Count's men make moves towards where Eirynor was, the catfolk wouldn't hesitate to fire a warning shot their way.
Eirynor follows after Ceres Celestia, glancing around the wagon and watching to see what the young mage is after. He picks up on a familiar name as Ceres Celestia starts to search through the various pieces of junk in the wagon.
Moonweaver.
That's the current moniker of a snake-oil salesman who has latched themselves onto Kvasir like a parasitic leech. Eirynor knows this name from Zarius' dossier on the people he's met over the years, as well as the occasional snide comment the fellblood has offhandedly said regarding the so-called Wizard of the Wastes.
Something about this whole situation is strange. They're missing some context about what is going on, and the brewing discourse in the street is probably not helping anyone.
Eirynor decides to take a risk and reveal his presence. He pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and drops his invisibility. He taps on the girl's shoulder and shows her the message magically appearing on the page's surface.[2]
What are you looking for?
[1] Deflecting Palm
[2] Wanted Poster
It doesn't bring any relief to have finally called Morrigan out for their behavior. He has no doubts the charlatan will just come up with more excuses to show their ass even in this dire situation. He also has no doubts Issala will swoop in to defend the sparkly pipsqueak again, which he will not hold against her.
There was no intent to flatter the investigator with his comment on her intelligence. It was stated as a matter of fact. While Issala may be unconventional, her actions have proven she is more than capable. Something he has yet to see from Morrigan at all.
If things were different, he could have just accepted her opinion of the Wizard of the Wastes and left it at that, but Morrigan's actions are hard for him to dismiss especially when the fellblood is insistent on antagonizing him. Morrigan has made himself a threat, and Zarius isn't about to just let them endanger the lives and well-being of those he is invested in.
As the key goes flying from Morrigan's hand into the vent, Zarius bristles. That was the last straw.
Closing the gap between himself and Morrigan, he snatches the purple fellblood by the collar of their shirt, pulls back his fist, and aims a sharp right hook right across their jaw.
He’s had enough.
Enough of Morrigan’s digs. Enough of their jokes. Enough of their recklessness.
If the glittery fool couldn’t be trusted to put their lives before their own selfish need to show off, he’d just have to knock them out to prevent them from being any more of a hindrance to the group's escape attempt.
He pulls his fist back again, fully ready to bash the jester’s dumb face until their lights go out when Izzy sends another attacker stumbling their way. Zarius hisses - a frustrated wisp of smoke escaping between his gritted teeth - and steps around Morrigan without letting him go. Using the alchemist as a pivot point, he smashes the back of his fist into the painted figure's head in a wide sweep of his arm.
As the paint splatters against the wall, the figure at the end of the hall makes its move. The creeping shadows sharpen and lunge toward the group in the blink of an eye. Zarius has no choice but to roughly shove Morrigan behind him and back to Issala as he deflects one of the painted blades thrown at his face.[1] His expression twists into a grimace as a few sharp pains radiate from his leg and torso. He feels a warmth seep through the layers of his clothing as the burning taste of brimstone coats the back of his throat.
Dammit.
If he hadn't been so preoccupied with Morrigan's tomfoolery he would have been able to react faster. While he could have just used Morrigan as a shield, he doesn't want to give them any reason to go back to Kvasir and spin a tale about how Zarius intentionally let them get stabbed. He could explain his logic behind knocking Morrigan out, letting them become a pincushion would be a lot harder to justify.
Then his heart skips a beat as Issala shouts the last word he wants to hear right now.
Poison.
Why'd it have to be poison?
Panic starts to build as he stares down the mass of shadows slowly creeping closer and swallowing the hallway. His eyes dart around the hallway and his immediate thought is to break down one of the many doors. However, the heat from Morrigan's earlier attack had caused the paint to melt enough for the walls to drip into the doors.
Of course.
The sound of his heartbeat starts to pound in his ears and the whispers in the back of his mind threaten to rise up and rob him of the last bits of rational thinking he has to spare. If they don't get out soon, there's a good chance the painting will feature at least one new corpse amongst its brushstrokes.
Meanwhile, the situation outside continues to escalate.
Shael rolls her eyes at the man shouting at her. She flips him off. “Cry me a river, lap dog. Go back to your master and beg before we send you back to him extra crispy.”
She taps her heel against Indra who raises up and flares her wings in a warning to the others closing in on them. Light gathers in the throat of the drake and the scent of ozone overpowers the smell of ash.
“Last warning, pit stain. Get outta here before you're drake chow.”
Snow keeps a close eye on the other guards. If any of the Count's men make moves towards where Eirynor was, the catfolk wouldn't hesitate to fire a warning shot their way.
Eirynor follows after Ceres Celestia, glancing around the wagon and watching to see what the young mage is after. He picks up on a familiar name as Ceres Celestia starts to search through the various pieces of junk in the wagon.
Moonweaver.
That's the current moniker of a snake-oil salesman who has latched themselves onto Kvasir like a parasitic leech. Eirynor knows this name from Zarius' dossier on the people he's met over the years, as well as the occasional snide comment the fellblood has offhandedly said regarding the so-called Wizard of the Wastes.
Something about this whole situation is strange. They're missing some context about what is going on, and the brewing discourse in the street is probably not helping anyone.
Eirynor decides to take a risk and reveal his presence. He pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and drops his invisibility. He taps on the girl's shoulder and shows her the message magically appearing on the page's surface.[2]
What are you looking for?
[1] Deflecting Palm
[2] Wanted Poster