Kimmuriel Oblodra (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
psionicmolotov) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
datadiving2023-09-10 12:46 pm
psionicmolotov) wrote in datadiving2023-09-10 12:46 pmTHESE ILLITHIDS ARE NOT MY FRIENDS AND I DO NOT LIKE THEM
[ Container for Baldur's Gate 3 nonsense here ]
psionicmolotov) wrote in datadiving2023-09-10 12:46 pm
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He checks the chest, having very little to do besides walk and feel sorry for himself. There are various bits and pieces there - no doubt confiscated from other unfortunates - but he does manage to dig out a few familiar trinkets which he wordlessly passes to Jarlaxle.
Jarlaxle confirms what, on some level, he must have already known, and his mouth tightens perceptibly. ]
I suspected as much. There was something interfering with my ability to focus before.
[ A long time ago he had been prepared for the possibility of ceremorphosis, to be offered to the Oblodran hive mind for turning as one might offer a prize rothe to a noble benefactor. It had seemed more of a reward then. But he was young indeed when that happened, and it has been long since House Oblodra's fall, even to a drow.
You after myself. Jarlaxle had been...bait, perhaps. Or an opportunistic grab... It would not have been bait that Kimmuriel could refrain from taking, if bait it was. That sting of anger, betrayal, visceral pain, it explains itself; these illithids had not been interested in what he had to say, only what he could be used for.
He glances over at the trail of blood. Muddied flashes of past moments trickle down like water in a stagnant pool; the noises of intellect devourers, the protests of illithids, the repeated hot flashes of psionic energy released. Enraged screaming that might be his voice. He's not certain. It only sounds a little like him. ]
Both of us will have difficult passengers to deal with. Though perhaps your difficulty in learning psionics might serve you here - it cannot use you in the same way.
[ He rises from the chest and walks over to the door, leaning on the ridged doorframe for a moment to steady himself. He's used enough to this style of architecture that when it fleshily gives under his hand until it hits whatever solid structure it uses as a trellis, he doesn't register it as more than a slightly annoying feeling. ]
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He took the offered items from Kimmuriel, his eye patch, a few amulets and his bag of holding, with a soft noise of approval, quickly donning that which was his and of course, immediately stowing all that was not within the bag. Mercifully, that had still been tightly shut, he wouldn't have to worry about digging around the rest of this ship looking for an endless number of bits and baubles. Hopefully, the cold logic of an illithid would serve him well here. After all, what was the sense in scattering a bunch of related objects across the entirety of the ship when it made more sense and took less energy than to simply store them all within a single room? Not that he'd any intention of leaving any other caches and prizes untouched here.]
That a weakness should later become a strength. At any other time it would have been humorous.
[And he did so wish he could find something to laugh about here, but nothing managed to spark even a grim amount of comedy in the moment.]
They'll not be using either of us in any way, if I'm to have any say in it.
[And he will, even if all it meant was ensuring the only two living bodies leaving this ship would be himself and Kimmuriel. Once satisfied that he'd found everything this side of the room had to offer, he started on the next, methodical and careful. Kimmuriel would be allowed to remain at the doorframe for the time being, a telltale rustle of cloth betraying the retrieval of the hat and the cloak.]
I believe there isn't much else this room has to offer us.
[He stood, fixing the hat in place and flinging the cloak about his shoulders.]
Let us see if any of our hosts still linger in the next room... They already had their slippery hands full with but one of us. Lets see how well they fare against the force of two. How do you feel, Kimmuriel?
[Steady? Healthy? Angry? Eager to see some more gray matter on the floor?]
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He wonders how long the tadpole has been there, idly. ]
If it were to happen to anyone, it would happen to you. Let a roll of chance's dice alter the board, [ he quotes sardonically. The words are an old favourite of the more reckless kind of Menzoberranzan drow, and Jarlaxle is no exception to that recklessness.
He listens for movement, but it is hard to discern among the ship's constant organic noises and the sounds of whatever had rattled the ship enough to interfere with its running. He hears the distant calls of dragons.
A psionic sweep would let him identify hostiles, but then, they would also identify him in turn. He is loathe to give up that small advantage of their captors not knowing they are awake, so he refrains, despite the nagging urge to do so. (The tadpole or simply his own reasoning? He doesn't know.)
He glances back at Jarlaxle, and the sight of him is reassuring. Even if he knows Jarlaxle is not much more confident than he is here, it is still a relief. ]
I will feel far better after I have killed a few. [ There is no real emotion in his tone; it is a prediction of how the future will go, not a threat. A threat would imply he wasn't planning to go through with it.
Anger simmers just below the surface, that old and familiar feeling. A useful tool. If he feels it, he needs not think or feel anything else.
(He wonders, vaguely, somewhere in the back of his brain, if the unwanted guest in Jarlaxle's head has made him any more apt at sensing, if he can feel that anger radiating from him like heat. A question for later, perhaps.)
Without another word, he steps through the door. One illithid, and a few devourers; far better than the mob of illthids and their pets that had overtaken him. The few small flashes of that previous encounter only fuel his considerable rage, and he channels that into launching a psionic assault at the new target of his ire, the illithid, who immediately becomes occupied with countering his vicious attack and thus cannot divert its attention from him - or divert thought to attacking Jarlaxle, which he considers just as important.
(Clearly the eyepatch alone had not been enough to prevent Jarlaxle's predicament. He has no desire to gamble even more in a situation where things have gone most unfavorably for both of them.)
He trusts Jarlaxle to do what he thinks is best. ]
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I'll admit, I look forward to seeing how this apparent snake-eyes might work in my favor.
[It definitely didn't look fortuitous at the moment, but who was to say what the future might bring? Focusing on that alone would have to do to keep his spirits up presently, more could be thought up once they were off this blasted ship.
He'd not ask Kimmuriel to even try a sweep, he didn't have to be a talented psionicist to have an idea of how terrible a plan that would be. On a ship full of mindflayers attuned to every other mind aboard? No, being blind was actually better, for if both of them were unaware of what was in the next room, so too were the occupants. Any measure of surprise was good enough right now, and besides, the damaged ship worked well enough to sway even that in their favor.
Kimmuriel's answer did well enough to cause that thinner, grimmer smile to grow, turning from questionably bitter to sharp and vicious. Just the answer he wanted to hear, actually. Whether or not he could feel his companion's anger, he knew him well enough to be more than aware of its obvious presence here.]
Then that would make the two of us.
[The door slid open, and Kimmuriel's vicious greeting was precisely what Jarlaxle was hoping to see from the psionicist. Fighting fair against an Illithid? No thanks, not if he could help it. The poor, squidfaced bastard didn't have to worry about fending off the enraged drow's attack for long, illithid logic ensured that before Kimmuriel had even opened the door. All his items neatly packed inside the same room? They may as well have not even bothered.
Quick as a flash the brigand was beside the beset mindflayer, and quicker still were the drow's blades. It, and any Intellect Devourer within immediate slashing distance, would soon be spilling its blood across the ship's uncomfortably fleshy floor, Jarlaxle for once not bothering much with flair nor showmanship. No time for that, and the present targets would be able to appreciate the show anyway. Illithids.]
We've not the time to play unfortunately, we'll have to rely on gravity to do most of the dirty work. We keep moving until we find the helm or a suitable point of escape.
...But should any other of our guests attempt to detain us, it'd be rude not to entertain a few death wishes.
[Gotta go FAST but... not too fast.]
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He doesn't have to engage the illithid in combat for long; Jarlaxle makes quick work of it. He doesn't feel much of a twinge as he lets the corpse slide to the floor, stepping over it. It wasn't as if illithids wouldn't do the same to their own kind if they betrayed one another, after all, as rare as that was...
(He still feels uncomfortable. He wonders why they, of all people, were brought here. He likely knows that he'll get no answers.)
The hallway to the next room has been gashed open from the side, exposing it to the environs beyond the ship, and he grimaces visibly at the sight and smells it presents - blasted ashen wastes, jutting cliffs, and a smoky sky that was no more welcoming than the ground it overlooked, accompanied by a pervasive acrid smell. Certainly not the Astral Sea, which would in theory be easier to escape from without being swallowed up by something larger. ]
Avernus, [ he says, irritable. ] We will have to take the helm. I mislike our chances here without a known escape route. [ Even with Jarlaxle's items and his own powers, it would be a miserable time surviving long enough to even find some form of exit in a battlefield most suited for devils. Not to mention that they could come out anywhere on Toril if an exit was found, and make things even more complicated.
Ah, planar travel. ]
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The name of the realm came to mind mere seconds before Kimmuriel said it, as the fireblasted hellscape revealed itself through a hole in the ships side. His mouth pressed into a thin line, this handily scuppered any of his more clever ideas didn't it? Now, no matter what waited for them at the helm, they'd be forced to find some way to deal with it. No special little tricks out of this mess.]
Shortly, just ahead.
[This ship was heading back to the Material Plane whether it's occupants liked it or not. Past the hole and towards the fleshy, tightly constricted doors, the wet, organic material loudly shlopped open for the pair...
Only to reveal it's occupants tightly locked in conflict. A demon, an illithid, multiple hellish beasts at the ready to tear the tentacled helmsman apart...]
... Oh good, they're all occupied.
[What, fight all of them? No, this is Avernus, his head has a tadpole in it and the ship is crashing. Corpses were easier to loot than living, angry combatants anyway.]
The controls are just ahead... Though they'll do us little good if neither of us know what to do with them.
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Kimmuriel similarly follows his co-captain's lead, skirting around the conflict. ]
That demon has a good sword, [ Kimmuriel says contemplatively as the door opens to reveal the battle before them. He might not have Jarlaxle's magnetic, some would say draconic craving for treasure, he can certainly appreciate a well-crafted magic item.
The illithid's commands ring in his skull, a loud and invasive voice; a command to 'connect the nerves' and depart. Looking at the tentacled console some way away, it's not hard for Kimmuriel to put things together. ]
Leave the controls to me - when we get to them. At the very least, I can guide the ship to the proper plane, though it seems too damaged to fly for long.