On the other side of that odd seat is an old, cloaked Khatta going by the name of Ibrahim Warloq, the recent ultimate Warlord of Kilmanjar. The left side of his face is scarred, leaving that eye blind and pale, but the working eye is quite clear and focused.
To his opposite is young Tasha, armor-clad and heavily armed. She survived the assault on the fortress and found her way here, with the help of a ghost -- be it real or otherwise. She, too, is scarred: Half her face is also missing, torn away by an explosion as she fought to escape the control of the Demon of Abaddon. In many ways, they are opposites: Opposites sides of the war, opposite gender, and perhaps also on different sides of the Sifran-Progenitor war as well. The woman suspects, but like with so much about Ibrahim Warloq the answer remains a mystery.
And so the two watch each other, knowing only one can leave victorious.
Tasha continues to observe her opponent, weapon readied and pointed at his chest. She's reminded of the man's sinister power of hearts and minds, the earlier illusory wall helping to bring the memory in to focus. She sniffs at the air to see if she can tell if he's really here before her, or if she's staring at another trick. She also wonders -- too late -- if the image of Blackwings was a manipulation, but there's scarce she can do about it now. If she's fallen in to a trap, she knows she'll have to fight her way out of it. And so she tests the air and watches, getting her situational awareness before she makes her move.
The Khatta pulls back his hood fully, and still smiling says, "Show me yours and I'll show you mine."
"Nice try. We know you use poisons to manipulate people. I'll keep my air filter," Tasha replies, then she slowly advances. "So tell me 'Warloq,' what happened when 'Light-of-Star' failed? Did you decide to take over on your own? Make a piece this world yours? Were you assigned to gain control of that artifact there-" she tilts her head towards the throne-like crystal object, "-and now you're using it for yourself? Tell me. Is the entry in to this System your peoples'?"
"So many questions," the lynx says, rolling his eye. "And not the ones you should be asking. But.. yes, I worked for Trade Lord Khoman. Sent ahead to see what could be learned, establish a network of spies, and so forth. His plan spanned decades, after all. He learned a lot about the Expedition. Even some of the secret things." At that, he turns slightly to the side and pulls his hair back to show Tasha.. some shiny metallic studs on the back of his skull. "I was to be the Seraph's pilot, once the Silent-Ones were in hand. But then things didn't work out.. but I still knew it was there. And you stole it from me."
At that, Tasha barks a laugh. He can barely see the contempt in her eyes: A mocking, disbelieving contempt. She stops, head shaking just enough so that she never loses sight of the man.
"You should be thanking me," Tasha murmurs, almost a growl. "Do you know what I paid for Balthasar? You should, because it looks like you paid that price too at some point. Do you regret it wasn't your mind the demon hoped to enslave? That you, maybe, were to be his tool to destroy the world? Worlds? Maybe you hate your employers, and wanted to obliterate their efforts at your own cost? Then the others? And when we're gone, well ... It's like you said. They're 'all waiting to die.'" She tilts her head the other way. "Are you in that much of a hurry? A few villages just too slow?"
"Tell me girl.. what if the Seraph had not been taken to Abaddon, hmm?" Ibrahim asks. "You brought it to where the 'demon' could get it. That was the only place it was vulnerable, I imagine. So I likely would not have lost it. But I had other things to help me.. like the secret override codes installed by the builders. I could have operated it without the Mind of Light being fully awake. But it's all moot now, isn't it? As for poisons.. I do make sure those who serve my interests are loyal. So what if a side effect is to bring out their darkest, ugliest natures? We all have them."
"I doubt it. Do you think the Sifras are fools? They may be distracted, but even so, their defenders are waking up. One by one. But even so, I took Balthasar from that place to save future generations the burden of having to decide what to do with it -- to take the burden off the Queen's shoulders. Now that I know you were waiting, I see I made the right choice in the end." Tasha continues to advance, walking ever closer. She tries to get another scent on the man in attempt to ensure she's not just walking towards an illusion, but her filter makes it difficult. "Especially considering what you did to those poor people. Even Blackwings! No, no ... Even if you got Balthasar, I'd have stopped you."
"Villains and savages," Warloq says. "Blackwings and the others were hardly innocent. They came to me, out of greed. The Savanites? I don't keep them. They are a commodity, because others desire them to be. It is your world that makes them victims, not me. I just protect myself from them as best I can. What would you give to know that you could absolutely trust those whom you deal with?" The man moves to keep the crystal between them.
It's no good; Tasha can't get a scent from the man through her filter. It's one of those questions she wish she'd have asked, but now it's too late. And without her filter, she risks the man's venom. "Maybe. But I loved her, whatever she was. You stole her freedom from her, and she never even realized it. No." The hybrid edges around, keep pace, keeping her eyes alert as she tries to look everywhere at once. Without a scent she can't be sure he's really there and not behind her, and even if she could be certain, she has no idea what either traps or tricks he might be concealing here, in his seat of power. "I trust those who believe in me. Even knowing they might betray me. Because the other choice is your world, and I've seen enough of that world to know I don't want anything to do with it. I'll take my risks rather than sell it all away for certainty. A wise being told me that we give the universe meaning. So what meaning do you give, you who steal away people's minds, their will?"
The man laughs. "You make me sound so evil," Ibrahim says. "What I do is no more than what they do to themselves when they drink too much. Certain inhibitions go away, that's all. If anything, they get more freedom. Freedom from their own conscious. That is the one, true slavemaster. It shackles us, and we thank it for doing so. That is twisted, compared to what I give. And they all take it willingly, the price of doing business. I don't steal anything from them." He spreads his arms and looks from side to side, before saying, "If I had stolen them, where are they?"
"Dead." Tasha lifts her halitool slightly, indicating it. "I killed Blackwings myself. Myself. To save her from being tortured, being hanged. But you know what?" Here, the young woman stops, then tilts her head; At this mask Warloq can see her pensive look, her regarding stare as she obviously considers. "Maybe you're right. They're dead. You didn't kill them. We did. To protect our world. And you know what? When Blackwings was dead, and the slaves freed ... For a moment, a moment ... I hated those slaves. Who were they compared to Blackwings? I loved her! But who were they? I killed her for them. But who were they? And Abaddon. I fought hard to protect them, gave them what I found, but they just do what they've always done. They don't want to change. Only a few want to give any thanks. Fewer still cared how or why their predecesors died. Is this what you're saying? Do I understand?"
"Ah, so you too want to conquer.. you just want those conquered to hand over their minds, and freedom, and wills to you because you're nicer, hmm?" Ibrahim asks. "I'm sure they thanked you, when you did something they actually asked you to do. When someone does something for you because they think you need it, because they don't really know you, do you thank them? Do you welcome all criticism or suggestion, or.. do you go with how you think you should act? I imagine a lot of folks were against you using Balthasar.. but it didn't stop you, did it? Why should anyone else be any different. I follow my heart and my will, because what else can I do? I am abandoned here. I created a network of information and influence to benefit my employer.. just because he's gone, does that mean I shouldn't use what I worked to create for my own benefit?"
"I don't disagree with using what you've created for your own benefit. I disagree with your methods. You don't get it, do you? I said what I said so you'd see the difference between us. That I understand, at least somewhat. I know. It's all a mess! It's all ... All a mess." But then Tasha shakes her head. She knows it's risky; She knows Warloq may well move when she removes her helmet, but she does it anyway. Fringe thought her antidote would work, and so she decides to have faith in that high-strung, awkward young woman. Reaching up, she pulls off her helmet and tosses it aside on to the ground, finally able to get a clear scent and look at the man openly. "But here I am, anyway. You could have used your strength to build something better. We both know, one way or the other, good and evil is vague. So I care about people. You're so scared of them! The savages, the villains. But did you ever try and look beyond them? Did you ever see how beautiful the world is?"
The Khatta certainly smells real. "See the beauty?" he asks. "To do that, you have to drop your guard and open yourself. I'd be dead, if I did that. Even before coming to this world. And to build something better? Hard to do from the shadows. There is no going home for me. If I did, my own Lord would turn me over to the Silent-Ones, make me a scapegoat. And even here, if the Queen found out who I was? Do you think building a few schools or hospitals would ever be enough to make them forget I played a large hand in an attempt to take over their world and their entire race?"
"You're missing one other option," Tasha points out, brow raised. "Tell me 'Warloq,' what do you want? Who are you?"
"I am a spy master for Trade Lord Khoman," Warloq says. "I'm old. I want to survive. And the best way to do that is to be the one with the power." He then smiles his crooked smile, and asks, "Can you answer those questions yourself, young woman? You're too young. Whatever you are or want is going to change. It always changes, until you're too old to change."
"It always changes," Tasha agrees, sounding a little old and tired herself. "I am the Bird of Hermes. I am Nora Argentine. I have ghosts in my head; I was born from a dead woman's memories, from the ashes of the Expedition. And now, they want me to run. Me. Nineteen year old me. Aldara Tasha Argentine. A nobody who found something too big for herself. I'm no agent, I'm barely even trained for this. I used to drove pteras! Now I'm carry the fate of the universe! So tell me, old man: Can you change? What would you give to survive?"
"You must be young, do think you have such a lofty duty," the man laughs. "I can adapt. But tell me something, girl.. have you ever sympathized with a vermite?"
"Are you asking if I have any sympathy for beings that can barely comprehend me? Or that I feel are so far beneath my place in society they can only dream of where I am? And if you think what I say is a lie, maybe you should think about what it means to be Homogenie a little further. Did your employer ever tell you why the Expedition died? What would have happened if it succeeded?" Tasha then asks.
Tasha cocks her hea dthe other way, brow raising. "Do you think the Khattan Trade Emirate was the only shadow behind it?" She then asks a second later.
"I'll tell you: the Expedition did succeed," Warloq says. "And as for that Magi nonsense.. I was not going to be Homogenie, I was going to pilot a Titan that had the power of the Sifras. Why should I care what old religious zealots plotted six millennia ago? All you have to do is think on that Vermite. What would it say to you, if it could communicate? What could it possibly offer, from it's simple short existence? Those old men must not have thought about it much. But we're all vermites. Or the fleas on their backs. We've no business seeking out gods, even dead ones. If I were a vermite, I would try to take you out. Steal your power. Become a god. That is sensible."
"Have you ever spoken to a god? I have. You go on and on about how they are, what they must think. You have half the answer but then you abandon it and replace it with what you want to believe, because you have no hope. You're a sad, lonely man who craves power because he's scared. And so you think they must be like you!" Tasha barks a laugh at it all, but it's not harsh. It's not even hostile. "What was it you said? 'What could we offer?' Well, I don't know! They probably just made us for nothing! And Horus? Did he abandon his children out of boredom? Or love? Do the birds attack us to steal our power? Do we destroy them endlessly, because they have nothing to offer us? Yes, we use them. And gods use us. But don't mistake that for an absolute. Don't you dare tell them they're just like you."
Tasha then tilts her head, studying the man across from her a moment longer before she asks, voice clear and serious. "So, care for a song, 'Warloq'?"
"What makes you think you've spoken to a god, girl?" Warloq asks. "And will there be dancing with the song?"
"'God' is just a word." Tasha steps back, though she doesn't lower her weapon. Instead, she tone-checks herself a moment, humming and then trying several more notes before she says, "I can't say that I'll get it right, but you should hear it. You especially." And then she begins.
She starts softly at first, a sing-song humm until she finds the right tune. It's a difficult song, one not meant for her voice, nor her listener. But it's the right song, she can feel it in her heart -- and she can only hope that its owner will hear her call and answer. The song picks up, until at last ...
... the Dream Sea -- Everlasting
Calls in whispers -- Soft remembered
With the closeness -- Of the waters
In an endless -- Layer of Dreaming
As the humpback -- Older sibling
Sing songs to the -- Serious fishes
Here you find me -- Wandering sister
Even in this -- Human rhythm
Where the humans -- And other walkers
Give mirth to -- The stars themselves...
"What is this?" Warloq demands. "Are you stalling until your friends arrive? Serious fishes? Humans? Silly stars?"
But Tasha doesn't stop, determined to continue. They keep telling me not to do this alone. I can't reach him. He wants a god, Nukapai. He doesn't believe, but his disbelief is so desperate. You bring peace. You told me that once. That you offered peace to travelers far from home, that I didn't want it, but you gave it anyway. So help me. Hear my prayer. Do I have to beg? The song continues, repeats.
"Ah, it's a dolphin song," Warloq realizes. "You can't just sing those, you know. They're auditory holograms. I'm more interested in hearing why you think you need to save the universe. Time is running short for our little meeting.."
Tasha stops, expression wry. /So much for /that/. None of you had better lecture me on /not walking alone again./ "/Yes./ A dolphin hologram. I had hoped she'd listen, but maybe she /can't/ or /won't/. Fine! I'll do this /myself./ Like /usual./" The young woman steps closer again, weapon at the ready. "You'll have to settle for me instead of gods, but at least I can tell you about /a few of them,/ since we're a few steps away from one of their /works./ The Sifrans are /waking up./ And the only ones who could match them are /scattered./ So they want /me/ to go /find them./ I'm their puppet, or something -- they never tell me /anything./ Or. Show. Up. When. I. /Ask!/"
Warloq laughs again. "The Sifras? Maybe they are waking up, but it is the wakefulness of a paralyzed man. Your 'gods' already stopped them, long ago." He taps the surface of the crystal, and says, "I call this the Oracle. Sometimes it gives me visions. I don't know if they are true or not - no way to find out. But they are not of apocalypse. You'd be amazed at how little they actually control, compared to how much they've lost control of. There are still things worth taking, mind you. Power enough to satisfy us mortals. And the magic! What a gift, even though it too was stolen from the Sifras. If they had control, the mages would all drop dead!"
"There are beings who believe they're more a danger than that. They wouldn't need me otherwise. Why ask me to find them, if it's all a waste of time? And if someone is manipulating me, then for what purpose? I already had the power to destroy. But they directed me away from it all, they saved me. So, why ..? I don't believe it. At the very least, I want to findout the answer, and it's too much to risk if I don't go and they turn out to be right," the hybrid woman insists, risking only a glance towards the device near them. "I wouldn't trust their machines. We only use them because the Sifra are disabled, but some of them continue to despise us. The demon. The countless self-destructed Sifran hybrid devices. But I'll admit a few work. Some of their creations, they work. Are alive. But it doesn't matter; If you have an answer then say it. I have the scraps of mine. We don't have long."
"I've seen a document.. well, you don't need to know about that," Warloq says, and grins. "But I can give you something, eh? Something I only learned fairly recently. What is it worth to you though? A little key, or perhaps just another puzzle piece. You know what I want. I'll tell you, if you promise to let me go without pursuing me."
Tasha just shakes her head. "I can't. Not for that price. I had hoped that maybe you still cared, that you lost your way, or, just wanted something to believe in. That maybe the threat of the Sifras worried you, too. But you'll just keep doing what you do, won't you? Twisting people against their will with your drugs, selling people. maybe I don't really know what's right, or what the truth is, and maybe I've lost whatever I had that let me get this far -- but I know one thing. I can't allow someone like you to continue. I killed Balthasar to protect the people I love and the world. Myself, too. Blackwings. And now you want to make a simple deal to avoid that fate. No. I had hoped to avoid it, to bring you with me to stop something far worse than you. But no. I won't just let you go. I'll kill you too, and live with it." The young woman readies her weapon, checking her stance. She suspects she won't have much time to act, but she at least wants to hear the man's final thoughts on her words.
"Then my secrets die with me," Warloq says. "Except for the poison one, of course. That's not mine. The K'hu'an make it. For whoever will give them what they want. You'll have to kill them all too, but that is unlikely. Even I don't know the extent of these passages or how many of the creepy buggers there are. I know more about the Sifras than I do about them, really. So killing me accomplishes.. what, exactly? There has always been a warlord here. There'll be another after me, whether I flee or whether I die. You're the only one who will ultimately be affected by my death, if you kill me. So, is that what it's going to be?"
"There's always someone like me, killing the warlord. I guess that's how it's going to be. Besides, I'll just have the Knights pull the answers out of your spirit before I hed below and deal with the Harrowers." Tasha doesn't comment about the price she'll pay, knowing how right he is about that. It won't be like Blackwings, but she knows she'll remember. She'll see this moment in her dreams, in her nightmares. In flashes of memory, unbidden, again and again. At least ... "I can avenge Blackwings."
The young woman advances, weapons readied. In a sudden burst of speed she plants a hoof on the Sifran device, stepping off and across it before leaping in a downward swing of her axe blade!
The Khatta is surprisingly lithe for an old man. He sidesteps, but the blade still cuts through his cloak. "You'll have to do much better than that," he taunts as he moves around the crystal again. This time he removes the cloak, revealing shiny golden.. armor? It looks a bit like chain mail, in that it's interlinking pieces, but it clearly isn't any heavier than Zolk for the man to move so easily.
As she rises from her swing, Tasha twists and lunges, trying to keep the pressure on -- trying to keep the old man from being able to draw a weapon and keeping him on the defensive. She only needs one solid hit, she thinks, but the armor he's wearing worries her, and so she hopes to at least manage a stunning blow so she can aim for a killing strike. The taunts go through her; Her mind is as set as the hard expression on her face. A few taunts won't shift her, she isn't fighting out of anger or hate, but from a calculated decision and so her head remains clear.
He seems to wait for the next blow, and brings up his forearm to intercept it. On impact, his armor goes rigid, as if it were a solid piece, causing the blade to deflect. It also shows that Warloq is a lot stronger than he looks too. "Impact armor," the man notes. "Very old, very passive technology. And Lord Khoman converted his own son into a Silent-One. Why would he trust his enterprise to a mere Khatta, when he could engineer me to be the best Khatta, hmm?"
Tasha backs off upon seeing just who and what she's fighting. She had supposed that the Khattans would send an undetectable agent, someone who appeared -- and was -- indistinguishable from any other Khatta. Now, she sees how wrong she was.
Rather than press he attack the young woman shifts to a more tactical approach rather than an overwheling assault. She circles, walking to the side and angling towards her helmet, deciding she may well need it. Time's not on your side, she thinks. I just need to delay you, but what tricks are you hiding? If she can end this herself, she thinks, so much the better -- but she prepares herself in case she can't. And if things get bad ...
Cautiously, Tasha reaches over and loosens her left gauntlet. One last ace to play.
It doesn't appear that Warloq is armed.. at least with anything Tasha can see. He's still got his pants, and whatever might be hidden in them. Maybe he doesn't have anything that could get through Tasha's armor. So what could his plan be?
Tasha scoops up her helmet and slides it as quickly as possible. She doesn't like the man's patience, especially not in knowing that his time is running out. She suspects she may be poisoned, that he hopes to break her will or her control, but she can't be sure -- and she must hope that Fringe was succesful if it is. If not, she can only hope her trials have made her strong enough.
With her helmet on, the young woman advances. She doesn't have a lot of tricks herself, as she came light in preperation to survive the initial charge and wasn't expecting to fight single battles for prolonged period. Even if she was, she isn't carry much that can easily threaten a heavily engineered, well-armored Khattan. She's left with her blade, and whatever tricks she can cobble together from what tools and equipment she has.
It gives her an idea. She pulls out a glass pot from her belt, but holds on to it. Moving forward, she then aims a stab towards the man's face, expecting the block. Expecting it, and having something waiting if it happens.
Warloq ducks under the stab, using his left arm to guard, but this time makes a sweeping leg-attack at Tasha's legs at the same time.
The young woman attempt to leap back, hurling the pot towards the man's face as she does. It's not what she expect to happen, leaving her reaction to reflex.
With his free hand, the lynx tries to catch the pot instead (but only manages to deflect it). He never takes his good eye off of Tasha. "That armor of yours must be heavy," he notes. "Did you know that Silent-Ones have the most efficient cellular metabolism of the galactic species? No mitochondria, the energy operations are handled directly by the cells themselves. Makes for incredible endurance. Mind you, the genetic surgery is a bit painful to get it, but well worth it."
The pot contains paint, leaving a splatter. The hybrid can only hope it's managed to get in the man's eyes, as she thinks he must still need them to percieve her. Blind, he might be beatable. As it is, she's feeling hard pressed.
"Tch," she goes at the comment. her arnor is heavy, but then she grew up carring heavy things. She's strong, young, and her stamina is good -- but she's just a Vartan when it coems down to it. No real modifications, save perhaps that she can bite him -- and by then she suspects the battle will have already been decided.
But she won't give up. She knows he has enhanced strength, endurance, and is heavily armored -- she has little hope of landing a solid blow and doubts she can outlast him. Strength wise, she's uncertain but not in a hurry to test it. Still, she realizes she just needs to delay him, and so presses the attack. If that's not enough, she has other ideas. Turning her weapon, she favors the axe blade -- a Khattan axe blade. With this she makes several sweeping attacks, trying to keep her distance and hoping to see if a Khattan blade will cut Khattan armor.
"Ah, not so stupid after all," Warloq taunts, keeping away as best he can. "Of course, that blade would be bad news for your armor as well, wouldn't it? But that's fine. Once I take it away from you, I'll be able to use it to threaten you... and walk right out of here with you as a convenient shield. I might want your helmet too."
"Just try it," Tasha taunts in return. So he thinks I'm stupid, does he? Well, he's not the first, but that's his weakness. The young woman feigns a growl, hoping to seem preturbed. The more he thinks he's getting to me, the more he'll try and take advantage of it. I hope.// She advances again, continuing her attack, trying to get a clear hit even as she baits him with her appearance of foolishness.
"After all, you loved Blackwings," the man says, looking for buttons to push. "A self-absorbed madwoman with the morals of a drunken Kavi and enough ego and greed to fill an airship envelope. How pathetic! But Vartans have always been simple, unstable creatures."
That's her cue. Tasha may not be the smartest person in the universe, the best trained, nor the greatest fighter. All in all, she doesn't think even the people who love her have a lot of faith in her abilitiesof stability -- but maybe that failing can become a strength. Respect a tool, use a tool, she recites. Today, her tool is all the doubt and assumption that are heaped upon her. And she's no slouch at looking -- or being -- angry, nor violent. She adds that to the mix.
"You twisted her!" The young woman growls, not needing to feign the anger for the remark even as she otherwise keeps herself in check. "I know she was a horrible person, I hated her, but I respected her. Her freedom, her will. You took that! And what would you know about Vartans? Khattans only love riches and owning things. I guess you wouldn't care about slavery, considering you're basically one yourself! And a failed one! Old trash, even you master doesn't want you! But my world loves me. Can you even claim that, you stupid old relic!" She lets it all out, not even needing to fabricate the hostility. It's a ruse, but it's a ruse with a not-so-thinly veiled roar of truth.
"You loved Blackwings, so your world loving you isn't much of a shock," Warloq notes as he paces. "People will love anything if they're desperate enough. Or take enough pity on something." He then dashes forward, trying to get inside the arc of Tasha's weapon.
Tasha lets loose a triad, contuining her setup. "And yet no one loves you. How sad. They even love me, and-" The move comes so quickly the hybrid can only half-react. It's what she wants, but with less control than she hoped. She twists her weapon and brings it down in a genuine attack, expecting it to fail but both needing it to seem real and hoping it'll land anyway!
Apparently the armor doesn't cover Warloq's stubby tail. The axe slices right through it, but it doesn't slow the man down so much as a beat. He hits Tasha with an uppercut. It's not quite like being hit by a Rhian, but pretty close to being hit by a Vartan. It rattles Tasha's head inside her helmet.
The young woman lets out a cry from the blow, seeing stars fly across her vision. Her helmet keeps the blow from stunning her, but it hurt and she doesn't wantto endure many more! With only one hand to fight in close quarters, she focuses on using her left hand to deflect future blows while backstepping and trying to clobber Warloq over the head with her halitool. She strongly suspects he won't let her get away, but she doesn't need to -- her plan depends on closeness. Now, if he's only do what she needs him to do.
Warloq doesn't follow up the blow with another. He tries to grapple! And his focus is on Tasha's right arm, which holds the weapon. He needs that, after all.
Tasha locks her grip, trying to make it as hard as possible for him to wrest her weapon away -- but the weapon is just bait. And, seeing he's occupied, she uses the situation to press her plan further, delivering the next step in what she hopes will result in what she is aiming for: She lifts her left fist up and swings right at his face!
"Oof," Warloq chuffs, but doesn't seem all that dazed by the blow. He feels hard. Tasha's smashed her fist into lots of faces, but there's probably something under Warloq's skin to absorb some of it. Which makes one wonder just how he got that scar.
Tasha wonders, but pushes it from her mind as she tries to focus. Warloq isn't blocking her blows to the face, which means he doesn't feel threatened by them, she thinks. So she ups the ante even as she struggles to maintain her grip on her weapon -- it's her Vartan hand that has the lock-grip and so her Karnor one is struggling.
Drawing her fist back, Tasha opens her hand and angles her taloned fingers -- then she lunges the hand right for the man's eyes. If she can blind him she'll have a major advantage, and if he blocks or catches the hand, she'll have another one.
Warloq responds to that threat, and while nearly wrenching Tasha's shoulder he manages to get his legs intertwined with hers enough to try and throw her onto her back. But he still turns his head away, which means he's actually not able to see Tasha's left side for the first time.
Tasha doesn't need her balance. She doesn't quite have what she does need, but it's close! Rather than struggle to keep on her feet, she grabs the man with her left hand and uses the full weight of her armor, her strength, and a beat of her wings to pull him down to the ground with her!
The impact is enough to momentarily freeze the Khatta - literally. The impact armor hardens everywhere, and it doesn't have joints. It's like being in a giant metal cast. Tasha also has to deal with having some of the breath knocked out of her, meaning both opponents need a moment to recover.
As Tasha struggles to catch her breath, she focuses on the least strenuous -- but no less vital -- part of her plan. As she fell, she tucked her left hand between them like she was trying to stop him from hitting a sensitive part too hard while they fell, but the real purpose was to trap her hand. She uses this cover to wrench her hand free, leaving her taloned hand exposed. This time also gives her a moment to rest her right hand, which was on the verge of losing to the old man's formidable strength. "Give up yet?" She wheezes, hoping to keep his attention on her and her weapon, rather than her freed talon, but also enjoying the insult.
"I haven't been on top of a woman for many years now," Warloq notes. "But I've had better. And I know I can outlast you. Give up now, and we can walk out of here without anyone more having to die. You've got old but workable armor.. the locals aren't likely to be so protected."
"Did I mention I left a trail for my friend to follow, and had sent for the Lancers before I came down here? Are you expecting me to just walk out with you, so you can drug me when you get a chance?" Asks the young woman, who had expected a sexual remark because it always happens when she ends up in situations like this. It still annoys her, however.
"I was expecting Lancers," Warloq notes. "They have rules that I can exploit. There are plenty of tunnels out of this room, and I can vanish easily enough. I'd prefer to have something a little extra though."
"How about my halitool in your side?" Tasha shortens her grip on her weapon, letting her hand slide up the haft before she shoves it forward in an effort to eviserate him. It's still a ruse, but like everything she's trying in this deadly game, it's lethal.
Delayed, her left hand reaches for her belt knife and pulls it enough so she can try to run her taloned finger down its sharpened edge, then she hopes to swing at his face in another punch, hoping he'l ignore it again -- especially now that it's not armored. If it hits, she hopes the spell will trigger -- there are no vines to kill, but from what the mage said the petrification takes over if the first fails, and that sounded lethal to her. Thus, lethal to him, she hopes!
The lynx tries to roll aside to avoid the axe, while also trying to get around and pin that arm (and the weapon) against Tasha's chest.
Tasha doesn't need her weapon though, she has her hand. She struggles, but it's all smoke and mirror to her real purpose: Skin contact with her left hand. With her taloned arm wounded, the spell trigger has activated.
Her fist slams in to the man's face, and as before, doesn't seem to effect him. In fact it's even less of a problem for him, as without her gauntlet the damage it can do is significantly less. But it's enough. The hybrid keeps the hand pinned there, pressing it in, waiting ... waiting ...
The Khatta's armor might be some exotic material.. but his pants and other clothing are local, and made of plant fibers like most clothing that isn't leather or Zolk. When the spell releases and seeks out what it can effect, that is where it finds root. Warloq's britches turn to stone.. albeit very thin stone. "What was that?" he demands, slightly distracted.
"Just a gift and all that power you like so much. I wouldn't look though, otherwise I'll chop you in half," Tasha replies. He can see the grin slowly spreading across her face, and with her left hand's task complete, she shifts to using her full strength of both hands to wrestle her weapon back -- but mostly she focuses on squirming enough to be able to get away. If the spell works as intended, she doesn't have much time between its current effect and its spread.
Tasha manages to get away, while Warloq starts smashing his fossilized pants with his fists. There were things in his pockets.. vials of poison? Something liquid, certainly, as its spilled out. It doesn't look like the petrification is going to spread to anything not plant based, however.
It was worth a shot, Tasha admits to herself, even as she surges forward. With the warlord pinned by his petrified garments, she has another chance to end things. Rolling to her feet, she spins her blade in a large arc, favoring the Khattan axe blade, and in a might downward strike aims to cleave the man's head right from his shoulders!
Both arms go up, forming a cross to catch the blade. There's sparks, and some damage to the armor, but the hardening is still effective.
"Tch!" Goes the young woman in a grunt of pure annoyance. Her weapon goes up again, a spiral arc, and again and again! "Just! Die! Already!" As long as he's blocking and pinned he can't escape her attacks, she thinks, and so she continues an unrelenting assault to batter through his defenses while she hopes he can't do a thing about it!
"This isn't taking a lot of effort on my part you realize," the man says. "But feel free to wear yourself out," he adds, and then frowns. There's something happening, like a low, deep vibration.
"Your armor won't last forever, and even if it does I ... have ... uh ..?" Tasha slows her swing, but keeps her weapon raised -- executioner style -- over the man's head as she stops to listen.
After a moment, her eyes widen. "It can't be ..?" She asks in a voice of dawning horror.
But after a second longer, Tasha's brow furrows and she blinks, halitool still poised to strike. "No it's not ... What is that?" She asks.
Warloq takes advantage of the distraction to move away, and get back to his feet.. although he seems to having difficulty moving. And then.. he's trying to take off his armor?
Meanwhile the hum gets more pronounced.
"Grr," goes Tasha, who is genuinely mad now. She doesn't pursue him directly though, instead she walks over, picks up a few of his vials, then promptly throws them all at him!
This causes the man to stop and cover his face. The source of the hum is getting closer.. until it steps out of the tunnel and stands up straight again. This causes the hum to fade. "Does it always do that when you duck down?" the familiar voice of Shojo comes from behind Axe, whose helmet is turning to take in the chamber, Tasha and Warloq.
Tasha looks over and blinks at the two men a moment, but then realizes she's still fighting.
"It took you long enough!" She declares as she advances on the warlord. "He's enhanced, armored and probably has other tricks! Well, don't just stand there!" Then she's off chasing the fallen agent all over again.
Axe just stands there. Mainly because he is tuning his axe. Finally he strums the strings with his gauntlet, and a low but loud pulse fills the room.. causing Warloq's armor to freeze up again.
Inside her helmet, Tasha cringes. The noise makes parts of it vibrate, rattle and hum, and she thinks it's making her Titanian teeth wobble. Still it's the opportunity she needed, and so she spins her own axe blade all over again, trying to manage the blow that will finish things.
There's no dodging this time. Warloq is already falling, frozen in position when the axe bites into the back of his neck. Whatever hardening he may have internally, it's not that hard, it seems. He may be dead before he hits the ground.
Tasha waits until he hits, then nudges the body with the tip of her spear. "Did we do it?" She asks, sounding uncertain and more than a bit winded. "Is it over?"
"Well, you still need to bring him to the captain," Shojo points out. "You know she'll want to interrogate him, dead or not. Did he say anything about who he was selling the Silent.. the Savanites to?"
"Uh, no. I, um, I probably should have asked that," the young woman admits. She pulls off her helmet and places it on her belt, then walks over to a nearby wall and promptly slides down it, panting between words. "I do know he's an agent sent from outside our System though. The slaves were just ways to make money, and he was using poisons to ensure loyalty. There's probably a few left on him, or over," she waves a hand at a scattered pile of them where the man was pulled down with her, "there. I'm sure he'll have notes around here, he didn't think much of his slave trading. Oh. I have some questions to ask his spirit, too. Important ones. But right now ... Right now I need to catch my breath."
Shojo comes over to check on Tasha. "You really need to learn proper interrogation skills you know," he comments as he looks into her eyes. "Most places don't have the means to interrogate the dead after all. And what is this big crystal thing? Is it important?"
"You know he was trying to kill me right? I asked what I could, I even tried to recruit him, but, um, well most of my questions were aimed in another direction. They're important, though," Tasha insists, eyeing her medic in a very disgruntled sort of way for his betrating. She then shakes her head and looks over at the device. "He called it 'the Oracle.' It's some sort of vision device, or viewing machine. He said he could see Sifran holdings. I think I should try to use it, but I also think I need to go yell at Shadows, and, erm, I'm a bit tired right now. In a bit?"
"You need some rest," Shojo agrees, satisfied that Tasha isn't about to drop dead. "I've got some cold soup? It might be a bit curdled from Axe's feedback noise but it is still protein."
"I'll take anything. And, um, thanks Axe. I was really getting tired of hammering on him. You'll have to show me that trick later. For now ... Now ... " Tasha blinks, her mind temporarily blanking under exhaustion. It takes her a moment, but then she says, "Soup. Oh and Axe? Maybe you should take his body upstairs, any remaining forces might surrender if they see he's dead. Oh. And make sure he's dead. I'm just ... I'm just ... " The young woman gestures at where she is, " ... I'll just be right here with my soup."