Spearhead Diplomacy

“The Unhallowed is dead.” The voice had echoed from somewhere in the darkness of a windowless room in Moscow.

“Killed by the Vessel?” No one glanced at the four-eyed woman enjoying a Sundeers coffee in Scotland.

“No... his path was broken. The Vessel is unchallenged.”

“Who has done this?”

“Gaia’s own... the servants of the Lady. The Spear... in the home of the Shield.”

Fiery hair shifted to a darker hue at the news. Not in any of the fifty years of her service to the Opekuny—whether as a healer, Keeper, or now councilwoman—had the Order ever purposefully hurt, let alone murdered, one of the Gorbachevs. Put their kind in danger per their contractual duties? Certainly. Underappreciated them? Almost as a matter of tradition. But to kill a fellow servant of Gaia... “Our pact remains?”

A curious pause in the dark. “Yes... save this violation. Save the word of the Council when they learn of this aggression.”

“Against the Unhallowed,” the redhead whispered.

“Against our kin,” the voice hissed.

“We would never dare show the Unhallowed to the Order for any other reason; we always knew this was a risk, corrupted as all Unhallowed become.” The redhead sipped her warm mocha-flavored drink before continuing the interdimensional chat. None looked her way save a toddler strapped into a carriage. “Hold them accountable, but do not push. Forgive... but only if we may send proper Keepers.”

“They murdered our kin.”

“They murdered our Unhallowed brother, may he find peace in Gaia’s embrace... and if the Vessel attacks, they may well capture her. Consider the Order... what it does. What its practices would do to the Vessel. We cannot afford that, now or ever, but such may come to pass by cutting communications now. I will speak to the Council; they will agree. I shall negotiate to have Keepers capture or destroy her themselves.”

A frustrated sigh in blackness was all that answered before the voice went on, “Her Keeper, Jacob, is in the area, but he was put into a coma by the Unhallowed.”

“Ever the Unhallowed,” the redhead sighed. She removed her glasses and closed her normal eyes, letting the two ruby-like irises above continue to peer at probabilities. Six tiny Eyes opened on the back of her neck, each with a chaotic black and white static instead of any sclera or iris. “We have other qualified Keepers... yes, Penelope in Quebec and Victor in New York. Contact them and send them there before it’s too late.”

“We don’t even know where the Vessel is.” A terrified tremble shook the voice in the darkness. “Moreover, what if she is transformed while missing? What can they do before an occupied Vessel?”

“Little,” the redhead admitted, “but we've already searched for her; wherever she is, something is hiding her well." The list of beings capable of so doing was notorious and short... but shorter still was the list of things to do about it. "But... the Vessel shall arrive empty. This has not been changed. She intends an attack on the Order and, Gaia willing, doesn’t know she will face two Wardens now. Victor and Penelope both specialize in neutralizing emotions, making the Wardens’ work much easier. The Vessel is doomed to perish.”

“But... will she die quickly enough?”

The redhead sighed at the persistence of her alleged equal. The eyes on her neck vanished before returning as tiny, metallic eyes that glittered with polka dotted sapphires and rubies that shifted in their colors and compositions. Her two Eyes on her forehead joined their shifting in color while their owner shifted through the foreseeable. Her body shivered as fire wracked her nervous system, but she had long since mastered keeping her corporeal body together as she peeled apart the veils of entropy. She weighed the probabilities, the winds of Fate, the outcomes that could be, the forces of the universe at play... “Yes,” she happily sighed as the pain finally subsided, “she will be eviscerated by the Spear Warden or, in some rare cases, shot dead by a hail of gunfire... and she will die quickly when her time finally arrives.”

“Gaia be praised,” the voice in the dark sighed in relief.

The redhead nodded with a smile... and dabbed her nose as blood oozed from her left nostril. “Gaia be praised.” The communication broke and shrunk away... leaving the redhead to close her Eyes and cease the magical ward she had put on herself. Her smile shrunk into a tight frown as she looked out into the busy street. Tricia... you had such promise, and Jacob such faith in you. Your work in nanotechnology was already advancing ours, more than you could be allowed to know. If only Gaia had saved you...

“You killed a Gorbachev... in my home,” Lord Brighton clarified from behind the medical screen.

The Hospitalers worked with Moira to close the hideous wounds that had almost bled the Spear Warden dry in the guest bedroom that doubled as an above-ground medical station. The trail of her own vitae had begun to turn brown as it soaked into the carpet and wood, but the Warden herself remained mostly bathed in red. If her nudity in front of the male Hospitaler present bothered her, she didn’t show it. The high of Laksha’s honest, good deed in Moira’s eyes had passed; the worry of politics had settled well on her furrowed brow as she prayed to the Lady to seal Laksha’s wounds. Certainly, she had no reasonable answer to her father.

“The Gorbachevs serve Gaia as Her healers, right?” Laksha scoffed weakly. “So we did them a favor. There wasn’t a healing bone in his body.”

Lord Brighton bristled at the flippant reply. “Certainly not anymore, with what remains of him.” What upset him most was how right she was. The Gorbachevs were famous healers and craftsmen, scientists who advanced “mortal” medicine in subtle but believable ways. It had been strange enough when Tricia had come assigned to them as the local agent thereof; she was a competent healer but never showed any of the Eyes of Gaia that Lord Brighton had witnessed in others. Now, with a man who seemed to fire corruption and **** from his many Eyes the moment an attack came... what other misgivings did the Order have about the Opekuny? “Did the Lady advise you to betray our treaty with that clan, as well-?”

“I did what the Lady demanded. Did you whenever you welcomed evil in like an old friend, guvenor?”

Moira’s frustrations grew while Laksha’s wounds shrank. “We never have before,” she snapped, surprising her better, “and it may have cost us less to make an... exception, given the circumstances.” The Lady rebelled against Moira’s assertion. What do you want from me, Moira silently pleaded with the evanescent “voice” in her soul, to ignore all contracts with anyone who hires bad people? They probably didn’t even know! But that man had not simply been some “bad person.” Moira’s days were spent swathed in “bad” people who were not hers to judge or confront: that one sleazeball janitor, half the football team, and Mr. Decker of the political science department... and that was just at the Academy! But “Brent” had been something far worse. Moira cursed that she couldn’t quantify it further... but his was a repugnant evil on par with... no, perhaps even greater than what had radiated from Juniluny’s maze.

The tortured soldier suddenly flashed in Moira’s mind.

“I must depart,” Lord Brighton finally grumbled, “and advise the Gorbachevs as to what has come to pass here. They had alerted us as to his arrival as a messenger to warn of a danger. He mostly delivered that message, and I have no reason to doubt that he had been earnest on that point.”

Moira did not counter that: she had detected no lies from the man as she struggled to listen in prior to Laksha’s interjection. Tricia going rogue and attacking along with some of John’s summons... I mean, how would she even know? Can John communicate to them from below, even without mana... even from inside that barrier? There remained much that Moira had to learn about her would-be mage-husband.

Laksha did not respond as Lord Brighton took his leave. She had felt right, after all: the Order was not made to police mortal sins and crush underfoot every shade of gray. Theirs was the charge to destroy true darkness... and that Gorbachev mage had been the first “human” example she had felt in years. The Lady had truly orchestrated the best first day of lessons and wisdom Laksha could hope to impart on the now-American Warden.

Laksha idly posed while the Hospitalers did their best to wipe the blood from her before speaking. “I need a shower.”

“You can use the one in here-”

“Could you boys and girls leave Moira and me to a chat? We’ll be fine from here.” The Hospitalers looked at the still-bloody, naked body of Laksha with wide eyes before glancing at their more directly-connected boss.

Moira nodded them away and waited for their exit before asking, “What is it?”

“Let’s take a shower, love, together!” Laksha exclaimed with a grin.

Moira’s face grew warm even as she tried to scold her elder. “This is hardly the time.”

Laksha stood and gave her own bare, bloodstained ass a healthy slap. “We’ll see how you feel once I’m done with you,” she mischievously growled.

Moira was clearly unimpressed and eager to refuse.

“Besides... we’ve got too much to talk about for me to stink like an old penny.”

“And what do we have to talk about? How you’ll make it up to us for what you've done? How we can justify just... killing people for their morals instead of their crimes?”

“We have to discuss your future husband,” Laksha casually sighed, startling the teenage Warden, “and how you can use your authority to set him free now instead of after your father is done torturing him.”

“T-****- no. My father knows better than to try that, now.”

Laksha gently pushed past the half-opened door of the bathroom before glancing back. “You’re sure about that?”

Moira wasn’t. She had made her father promise not to kill John... and he had tried anyways. He promised to only try and “convince” John, without ****... but had that been some less than clever play of words? What Hell would there be to pay if it was? Reluctantly, Moira followed Laksha into the bathroom, walking past the Indian girl as the latter scanned Moira’s dress.

Moira nearly jumped when she heard Laksha lock the door.

5 minutes later...

“Oh... oh... HUUUNGGH!!” cried the Spear Warden as Moira dug her fingers in past moist hair to find tender flesh. “Harder... HARDER-!”

“It’s just shampoo- stop making those noises! People will say things!”

Moira continued to scrub the Spear Warden’s scalp, blushing all the while as the two kneeled in the monstrous tub. The omni-directional shower had cleansed both of the blood that Laksha had carelessly rubbed onto Moira, and now the two sat amongst the suds (Laksha insisted on using the bubble-bath powder) as Moira obliged her better’s request.

Moira regretted it now. “We’re in the middle of a diplomatic crisis, so stop fidgeting-!”

“I’m washing you after this,” Laksha whispered with a coy glance.

Moira began to fill a nearby golden bathing bucket with water from the faucet... cold water. “I bathed only hours ago; I’m not the one who bloodied herself attacking a mage without thinking.”

“Give me a few minutes, love, and you won’t be thinking too much yourself.”

Moira answered by dumping the cold water over Laksha’s head.

Outside the bedroom door, through which some of Laksha’s other exclamations had drawn in idle servants, the three maids and butler who had gathered suddenly snapped back to their duties as they heard the deathly wail of the Spear Warden. None so much as blinked as more bloody mops left the front of the mansion; it had been a very long day for everyone.

“Oh, you evil little shit!” Laksha cursed, earning a smug grin from Moira. The day’s horrors were, for a moment, forgotten: the two playfully wrestled in the tub, divorced from the world’s worries. Moira did her best not to be overpowered as Laksha and she fought to grab the other’s wrists, and their glistening breasts—Moira’s just slightly larger than Laksha’s, the Brighton proudly noted—rubbed together. Laksha made the most of their mock combat, and it wasn’t until Moira felt her better’s thigh slide across her clit that she realized the game at play.

“I-I told you-”

“You healed me quite a bit, there,” Laksha whispered as seductively as her thick English could manage, “so don’t go pretending you’re not in need of relief, darling.”

“I-I’m straight,” Moira mostly lied to herself.

Laksha’s face neared, her words breathed in Moira’s lips, “Like spaghetti, love.”

Moira tried not to contemplate what happened at Felicity's or John's house, now. “After everything that’s happened… how can you want anything like-”

“We have to indulge what we can,” Laksha whispered, “or else lose the whole business of being a Warden. Besides… I know the difference between the water and you down there.” She shifted her leg again. “Nothing wrong with being a bit bi, now is there?”

“B-Bi-curious at best,” Moira stammered.

“Ever curiouser.”

Moira leaned back as Laksha went for the kiss. “You smell like blood.”

“You'll get used to it. Now come pay tribute to the Lady.” Laksha pressed everything against her new, lovely little sister, and the two grew warmer as the bath continued.

Galley's fist buried itself into the mattress... and aside from the creaking of metal, the hospital bed was none the worse for wear. "Damn it..."

Redd looked on with a curious expression. She had cast her spells at Galley as the latter had requested, and unsurprisingly, they had no effect. Galley, on the other hand, had some clear expectations… but gone with her tattoo had been the supernatural power behind her blows. John had no reaction; the newly nerfed information card above the Hound’s head explained it well enough.

Daisy Dandelion Nippel
<Galley Gallows>
Level 21 Brawler
HP: 1,525/1,525
Stats: Str 28 Agi 18 End 32 Int 11 Wis 24 Cha 11 Lib 14
Status Effects: None
Qualities: Soulless, Spell Scent
R/S: +49
Formerly the Hound of Titusville, she still goes by the name Galley Gallows even though her Order contract has been terminated. Abandoning her birth name the moment she learned of her power, she became one of the most powerful contract mage-killers the Order uses in the United States and Canada and remained so right until she attempted to **** Lord William Brighton. She has recently lost her Breaker Arms, the enchantments that ran throughout her body, such that she is no longer capable of any supernatural feats except as provided by her natural qualities. She is 27 years old, single, and has no friends left save perhaps you. Her soulless nature makes most feel uneasy around her; she terrifies animals. Unfortunately, she loves dogs.

John knew he did the right thing in healing her... but in doing so, he had apparently undone whatever it was that gave her that awesome power. Though he didn't dare say it, he had been partly relying on her backup to overcome any last-minute odds that stood in the way. She can probably still beat the Hell out of a Knight or three... but if Lord Brighton or Moira comes down before we get out... John glanced about the room one more time. Short of a few thin air vents, there was no other way out of this cell, either. "Galley, I may need you to stay put until we can handle the cameras. I don't think we can all hide under her robes..."

Redd coughed at the very idea.

"Makes sense," Galley muttered grimly. "But what's the plan until we can get out of this level?"

"Check the cells until we're sure that no one is being held here that we need to rescue," John replied, "which as far as I know is just my mom and Lily. My mom is probably actually in the mansion, since they'll just make her forget... but Lily is probably down here somewhere, and I can't risk leaving her here when the jig is up."

"Ah... that's unfortunate." Galley crossed her arms over her impromptu robe made of bedsheets. "You should know this place stinks of ugly, evil things. I can smell a demon, a human without humanity, a monster that's very thirsty for blood... and other things, farther things."

Well, Lily is a demon, so that might even confirm that she's here...!

"The closest one, though..." Galley audibly sniffed before staring at the cell door. "Very close... something... innocent. Pure."

Lily? I'm not sure that she's innocent or pure, but as far as demons go-

"... Whatever it is, it's also very... excited."

John raised an eyebrow. Redd more bluntly asked, “Excited?”

Galley cleared her throat as she nearly coughed, "Horny."

"Is it possibly a demon, one who’s particularly weak, maybe a bit too innocent and pure?"

"I don't think it's a demon. Never met one, myself, but I’d bet demons smell evil… and there are some evil things crawling around down here. Point is, she’s not one of them… and whoever she is, she's waiting for someone... someone important to her."

That's a dead ringer for Lily... and if not, then it sure sounds like someone who doesn't belong down here. "Alright, Redd: there was just the cell across the hall nearby, so that's probably it. Let's do the same trick again." With a thought, John willed himself to weigh less than two pounds and, with the uncomfortable grunts and throat clearings of Redd, he hung from her side once again.

Galley shook her head. "Geez..." But she was barely looking at the oddly-shaped Hospitaler now; instead, her eyes drifted to her fist... and when the two were finally en route, she fell to shadowboxing as she readied for a **** fight.

Redd had crossed the threshold, unseen by any save the camera and the same Knight who ignored her movements before... except now she approached that door.

Sir Auren's orders did not include anything about Deanna's room... at least, not the orders that came with John's arrival. What Sir Auren did have, however, was the awareness of Deanna's... special conditions and connection to Lord Brighton, such that he never had anyone visit her, save Lorelei the Seer for tutoring, without his own presence. Sir Auren peered at the video feed as he found himself torn. Redd's behavior, if it was her own, had crossed past suspicion and into real alarm. Moreover, she was still not returning to attend to the Warlock... and yet, as far as Auren could tell, her partner had not yet returned. It had all been too much. Sir Auren tapped away at his console as an urgent message was dictated to Sir Krieg, who was the most familiar with the "situation."

Upstairs, Sir Krieg stood by as his earpiece dictated the message a moment later. He remained a statute, however, as he was very plainly in view of the camera.

"Yes," William Brighton warily replied, "but be that as it may, the Spear Warden only did so as my guest. This incident took place in my home, and so the responsibility falls entirely upon the shoulders of the Brighton family." Before him, a projection of the words "SOUND ONLY" played on the screen as he took the call. No matter the double standard, he stared into the camera lens facing him with all the dignity and humility he could muster.

"Your noble intentions are noted, Lord Brighton," replied the tired-sounding female voice, "but the Opekuny does not adhere to such old ideas of courtesy or hospitality. The Warden of the Spear killed our brother today... and it is with her family that we would seek justice."

"I would not control this incident solely for my respect for the old ways," he answered, "but also for my confidence that we can answer the most appropriately." Compared to how Laksha was likely to answer them, Lord Brighton suspected he was the only who would give an appropriate answer when the Opekuny came calling for blood.

"We will... acquiesce to your version of what is owed... and consider this matter resolved... if you can grant a special demand that only you may permit."

Lord Brighton gave the smallest of nods.

"We are sending two Gorbachev agents... two we hope you will protect from the Spear Warden's urges... to Springfield to attempt to intercept the traitor before she arrives at your doorstep. Their task, however, would be far simpler if they could await her attack from inside your abode. Further, we'd require that they be allowed to capture or kill the traitor with the Order's help, but not with the Order's interference as to the end result."

Given the gravity of the situation, it was a generous offer... almost gratuitous, Lord Brighton thought, which is why it gave him pause. His face was unreadable thanks to years of practice; the Opekuny's was unreadable by virtue of their need of secrecy. Neither could read what the other was thinking, but Brighton had a suspicion from his first meeting with Tricia that found validation, now. "There is something... wrong with Tricia Gorbachev, isn't there?"

"Yes: she has betrayed the Opekuny and has become a dangerous, rogue mage."

"Perhaps... but was there not always something wrong with that one? She never used Gaia's gift when providing her services... except to maim or destroy, as our Warden has witnessed. In fact, her powers as witnessed by the Warden were none too far from the man sent to my home before."

"Are you calling our earlier contract into question, now of all times?" A touch of frustration and anger; it poisoned her words, envenoming them until Lord Brighton could taste it.

He had struck the truth, then. But what version of it? A simple offering of a flawed Gorbachev? An assassin, one of two sent thus far? But he was in no position to deny the request for his paranoia... not yet, at least. The Order would bear the brunt of the cost by losing the support of the Opekuny, and Lord Brighton would not injure what was all but his birthright to uphold and strengthen. "Of course not. But we know of her destructive power; we would ask that whoever you send be capable of neutralizing it, not matching it, lest this suburb be torn asunder."

A strong inhale. Lord Brighton had been successfully led into this agreement, or so the other person believed. "We've chosen Brent's replacements for exactly those talents, Lord Brighton... we can only apologize for not having the wisdom to send these two first."

Lord Brighton had no doubt there had been a good reason... and more than ever, he wished he could keep and interrogate Tricia rather than delivering her into the Opekuny's clutches. But the costs had been measured; there was but one path to wisdom for William. "Send them, and we shall receive and house them very nearby."

"Then we are in agreement."

Nearby, Sir Krieg watched with a calm, if troubled, demeanor. Why had the Hospitaler visited Deanna's room? The risk of gossip aside, Sir Krieg could imagine neither reason nor harm in the visit. It still warranted mentioning to Lord Brighton... but surely not to interrupt such a sensitive bit of diplomacy.