Raythanya's: Azrael and Remy, "Those Crazy Duciel Boys"

Oh yeah, I remember the first time the Duciel Boys found themselves at the same place in the same time. And yes, I phrased that intentionally, thanks for noticing. Anyways… thing about them Duciels is they were clearly brothers, it just so happened that they were born in different realities. One was tall, beaming, literally radiant, clearly the golden child. The other, much more modest in size, scruffy, a bit rodent-like with his sly grin. But they both had that weird spark in those shining silver eyes. Ain’t seen it in awhile… think it’s hope. 

-Ray Duquesne , proprietor, Raythanya’s

Azrael

Az sat down at the bar, and ordered his preference, amaretto sour. The tall Aasimar glanced around, unsure of his surroundings still. He was used to strange places, coming from a world that passed him by, yet Azrael Duciel had an odd sense of discomfort this evening. Raythanya’s was a place out outside of time and space, a perfect place for someone used to running around a world that didn’t trust him, that had a certain unspoken hostility toward everything he stood for. Despite this, Az couldn’t shake a suspicion things were amiss.

“Excuse me… Kolin, was it?”

The tiefling tending bar nodded and grinned a bit of a mischievous grin. 

“Aye, Kolin McKenzie. I don’t imagine you’d like my address also? Fancy a bit of brimstone in ya?”

Azrael stared blankly, and blinked at the unexpected and very direct reply.

“No… I think I’ll pass. Just looking for some quiet, friend.”

The purple tiefling let out an uproarious laugh.

“You’re in the wrong place for that, pal…”

Azrael chuckled a bit, ordered another drink, and took a long sip. His roaming gaze wandered through the bar, taking in the scenery, as he contemplated the road ahead, and longed for the warm embrace of Ashionne’s light, one he hoped to restore to the world of Rheas… in time.

Remy

Remy sat off in a far corner, away from the entrance to Raythanya’s, somewhere he could see everyone in the building. He wasn’t in familiar territory, and despite his own extensive history of that being the case, was always cautious in such situations. He sipped his bourbon on the rocks, and absent-mindedly chewed on an unlit cigar. Raythanya’s was an odd place. The tundra of Ver Sayles was not an easy place to reach, and the clientele weren’t human, for the most part. Remy Duciel wasn’t a small-minded man, and was even less a man that questioned a good bar, so he took the place at face value. 

And so the mercenary found himself surrounded by fantastical creatures, but that was never a point of concern for him. He’d seen the best and worst humanity had to offer, from one side of the galaxy to the other, and no amount of light-years were adequate for his own people to outrun their stupidity.

“Far be it for me to judge someone based on their differences,” he mumbled to the satyr who had bounded over to refresh his drink.

“Oh, honey. Why’re you always so melancholy? Bourbon tastes better with a smile, you know.”

Lyssa de Luna had been eyeballing Remy, noting his strange appearance, even in a place where multiple worlds converged like this. Dressed in a palate of browns, greys, and muted greens, military fatigues, quite worn and disheveled, save for the perfectly clean, perfectly placed insignia. The deep bluish design was the crest of the Terran Coalition, the small interstellar nation he once served proudly.

“Military man, are ya? Y’know we got discounts for that sorta thing here, Remy.”

“Not anymore, darlin. I wouldn’t want to take a kindness afforded heroes, but if you’ve got a mercenary’s fee, I’m happy to pay an asshole tax.”

Lyssa just shook her head with a grin.

“Normally, that would just be added to your gratuity, dear. Just keep me in mind if you’re feeling that guilty about anything.”

Remy laughed, and he pulled out a small sack of gold, and tossed it across his table to the server.

“This metal ain’t worth a damn as coin where I come from, all the money’s electronic. Had to melt down a bunch of Sergeant Sumuverho’s old gear to make my own coins, but I assume gold is gold. It’s worth it for a decent whiskey, anyway. Just take it all, and cut me off if the cost starts eating into a fair tip for ya, alright?”

Lyssa grabbed the bag, looked at the coins, and nodded with a big smile on her face. He could drink for a week and still send her off with a nice smile with that much coin, and she made a point to set up a little bank with Sam in the kitchen, just to be fair to the strange man from space.

As the two Duciels sipped their drinks and inspected their empty glasses, searching for their own respective respites, a scene began to develop near the door. 

A trio of very large, very irritated individuals had entered the bar, their arrival announced by the gnome they sent flying across the dining room for commuting the unforgivable sin of being in their way. The gnome slumped to the ground after bouncing off the far wall, a pained groan of “I’m okay” punctuating his slide down that wall.

Azrael turned around and watched on with concern.

Remy looked up from his whiskey and chuckled.

Azrael recognized two half-orcs and a Goliath.

Remy saw three big ugly faces, one bigger, two uglier.

The trio walked over to the bar and grunted drink orders at Kolin, who grimaced at their demeanor. Noticeably, he didn’t proposition any of the three, a marked change in his normal customer service greetings, easily noticeable by both Duciels. They barked at the tiefling to have his “cute deer girl” bring them the drinks, and found a table across the room, just a few feet from where Remy sat with his bourbon.

Azrael figured Kolin had standards or something.

Remy knew better, and expected trouble.

Az kept watching the trio, curiously.

Remy made a point of looking away, but he was locked in on the new arrivals nonetheless.

Kolin looked over to Lyssa, drinks on a platter. His eyes were searching for discomfort. Both bartender and server knew the trio was looking to ogle her, and despite Kolin’s amorous behavior, he believed wholeheartedly in the spirit of consent. Lyssa smiled and shook her head at the tiefling, indicating that she wasn’t concerned about some undesirable patrons, and took the drinks to the waiting group. Before Lyssa was even in arm’s reach of their table, the Goliath spoke up.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve tasted Fae. I wonder, are you gamey, like a deer, or sweet, like a fairy?”

His comrades chuckled in lecherous mirth as all three stared as if they saw through the Satyr’s dress, sending a visible shiver up Lyssa’s spine. She cautiously moved closer and began setting down the drinks. As she set a large ale glass next to one of the half-orcs, he reached out and grabbed her wrist.

“Hey, the boss asked you a question, lady. If you won’t answer, we’ll have to find out for ourselves.”

After this development, several things happened almost at once. Azrael, still watching the scene from the bar, stood up rather abruptly, as did the half-orc holding Lyssa’s arm. The movement caused him to yank her forward, her free arm knocking over the tequila his “boss” had ordered onto the Goliath’s lap. As he kicked his chair out from behind him and stood up, the boss raised his arm as if to strike Lyssa. Before he had the chance, however, a whiskey glass bounced off the back of his skull, distracting him long enough for Lyssa to squirm from his lackey’s grip. She kicked the underling in his shin, and sprinted off to the back room likely looking for Sam the Firbolg. The cook doubled as a bouncer due to his impressive size, and he was the only one in the area that was comparable in stature to the now infuriated Goliath. Lyssa was secondary in the man’s mind, as he turned around, locating the source of the projectile he’d just felt impacting his thick skull. Standing on top of the table he’d been sitting at so that he could look the Goliath in his eyes, Remy Duciel glared at the hulking half-giant.

“It’s a shame you’ve got the personality to match that face, pal. You remind me of a particularly hefty alien I got in a scrap with back on Alshain. Ended up having to hose him out of his power armor when it was all said and done.”

The Goliath looked at the diminutive human with a look of disbelief on his face for a solid ten seconds of silence. Then he began laughing uproariously.

“I wonder if you’d still wag your tongue so much if I ripped off your jaw.”

The mercenary captain never lost the smirk on his face, but his silver irises seemed to churn like mercury, a metallic boiling in his gaze. He was sizing up a potential opponent.

Big as a house. Looks about as dense as one too. Not a boxing match I can win. One thing about being a big one though, gravity’s a bad bitch. Three-on-one is gonna be a problem, but I don’t have a lance of Irregulars to even the score…

As Remy was contemplating his next move… well, the move after his next move, seeing as that he still had another insult queued for the Goliath… he spied a tall, lanky presence in his peripheral vision.

Azrael had seen enough. These men came here looking for trouble. They had already broken a gnome and harassed a waitress, and now it looked like they were about to kill a human. He wasn’t the type to start a fight. But it looked like that wasn’t going to be necessary, and he had no qualms about ending one. It was more a matter of “when” than “if” at this stage of the altercation, and Az gave a bit of space to the already involved parties. He’d wait for the right moment, otherwise this was going to be even messier than it was playing out to be already. The Goliath was in no hurry, he saw a very easy fight in his near future, and wanted to toy with his victim.

“Where should I send the pieces of you when we’re done, human?”

“Have them sent to the Sugandese embassy on Terra. Ask for Squibbles, he’ll be glad to take the request…”

Before the Goliath even had a chance to ask, Remy yelled “Sugan-deez nuts!” and lunged at him. As the massive foe reached out a fist to meet him, he realized his mistake. Remy was feinting, and the Goliath was just dumb enough to think someone nearly half his size would walk right into a forever nap. An eager grin turned into a scowl of frustration as Remy slid under his opponent’s reach, using his outstretched legs as scissors to chop at the Goliath’s ankles. The surprise maneuver sent the boss toppling forward like a felled tree, his chin slamming into Remy’s table, cracking the solid wood in half from the force of impact. The two half-orcs stood up, and Remy braced for a retaliatory attack from the floor of the bar.

As the half-orc that had grabbed Lyssa stepped toward the prone Duciel, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and was spun about. He found himself face-to-chin with Azrael, who smiled a deceptively friendly grin at his quarry.

“It’s not so much fun when you’re the one getting felt up, is it now?”

Az’s fist glowed with a radiant light, his right arm pulled back like an arrow nocked in a bow, and he extended it through the space his foe’s skull occupied, rocking the half-orc and sending him sprawling to the floor ass-first. Then, the aasimar turned to the quiet one of the three, and the radiance burned in his eyes as he addressed the remaining lackey with a tone similar to a disappointed father.

“Your friends have made a mess of a nice bar. I think you’d be best served setting your own example of how to not be a follower, mon ami.”

As the two half-orcs slinked away from the scene, Azrael looked over to the Goliath and human, both still struggling to regain their footing. Remy and Az made eye contact for the first time, each looking into a strange reflection of their own silvery gaze. The mercenary broke the silence first, a surprise to absolutely no one.

“Well, that’s two drinks on me, stranger. Three if you let me finish the one I started.”

Azrael looked at the rather average-looking human with surprise and admiration.

“Far be it from me to step in on a fair fight. Though, two of you would probably be closer to fair.  You do you… if he kills you, then I’m stepping in.”

Remy smiled, then nodded in agreement. He cracked his knuckles and set his feet as his massive opponent slowly got back on his own. Remy wasn’t afraid of one guy, even if that one guy was bigger than anyone he’d seen outside of Clan elemental garrisons. If he could handle the best products of 31st century technology, of the Clan scientist castes’ genetic engineering and artificial wombs, some big, toothy, fairy-tale schmuck should be no problem, right?

Wrong.

The Goliath chuckled, and it grew into a bloodthirsty cackle. Eldritch energy crackled from his body, and Remy’s hair stood up on end. A bolt of pure energy streaked toward the mercenary, and caught him flush in the sternum, sending him flying backward. The world went black… but only for a quick moment.

Azrael was surprised. This human was durable, commoners don’t take eldritch blasts particularly well.

Remy was surprised. That hurt like a bitch. Looked like a plasma pistol. Should have done him in.

Azrael stepped between Remy and the Goliath.

Remy snarled at Azrael to get out of his way.

Remy Duciel brushed himself off, still smoldering. He patted off what was left of his undershirt and straightened out his jacket. Azrael watched on in amazement as this diminutive man defiantly wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, his grin spreading wide once more.

“My name is Remy Duciel. I’m the commander of the Allegheny Irregulars.”

Remy stepped forward slowly, still a bit unsteady from the blast. Having the wind knocked out of him inexplicably did nothing to shut him up.

“I’ve fought space invaders. I’ve fought cultists.”

The Goliath, most stunned at all to see this human walking towards him, leveled another blast at Remy’s chest. It hit home, but this time the enraged merc barely flinched, and continued stepping forward.

“I’ve fought politicians. I’ve fought my own people.”

A third blast streaked toward the commander, but it flew wide, as his once abundantly confident opponent now trembled, unsure of what was actually in front of him.

“I survived courts-martial, time and time again. I survived getting spaced in the middle of an invasion defense. I still survive Serah Ancilar and Kreiya Marsden on a daily basis. So take your hocus pocus horseshit, and get out of this bar, before I cast ‘animate lead’ until I’ve ventilated your torso and liberated your soul from your body.”

The shocked Goliath faltered. He took a moment, considered his options, and his hand moved toward the crossbow slung across his back. Remy moved on instinct, and had far less distance to cover to reach his hip than the Goliath had to reach his back. Seven loud bangs rang out, and the massive foe slumped to the ground, the last face he ever made one of equal parts absolute surprise and deep regret.

“Let the record show I gave him a chance. At least he died like he lived, looking stupid.”

We always told Remy we were lucky he was an only child. Two Duciels? The double Duce? More like a double douche, y’know? This Azrael, though… made sense, once you got past the surface. I mean, c’mon! Tall, ethereal, hot… can’t be a relative of our Duciel. But those eyes give it away. They both have that same fire. Remy burns a bit hotter. He’s probably smarter, but just enough to think he’s got control of himself when he doesn’t. We’re still lucky they’re a universe or a few apart, though. I don’t figure either of their realities needs any more Duciel in it. 

-Serah Ancilar , Allegheny Irregulars
Are you sure you don’t want ours?
-General Zala Deathbringer, “The Order,” Rheas

Two Duciels sat at the bar in Raythanya’s, yet it was silent. This would be a surprise to many people in two separate worlds, and it was not particularly familiar to either of the men, but they sipped their drinks in silence as they caught their breath after the night’s altercation.

Azrael was the first to venture into the unknown, shifting to the side and looking over to address the mercenary.

“Bourbon and cola. Just make it a triple and save the repetition.”

“Huh?”

“You said two drinks for the orcs, and one more if I let you have the goliath.”

“Oh, right. Deal’s a deal. Hey, Kolin, you heard the guy. I’ll take my usual. Broadside Bourbon, one big rock, hold the proposition.”

The silence resumed, the two men looking into their drained glasses for icebreakers but coming up empty. As Kolin set another round down in front of the men, Azrael tried again.

“So… Duciel? Interesting name.”

“Guess so. My father gave it to me.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I was worried my father gave it to you.”

Remy looked up, face still in his whiskey, and he instinctively gulped the entire glass in his surprise.

“I’ve been a lot of places around the galaxy, and I don’t know any Duciels I’m not related to. Mighty strange that the first time I come across one, I’m literally nowhere.”

“Remy, you’re not the only one scratching your head. I’ve found a lot of strange things out lately, but this wasn’t on my list.”

Azrael paused a moment, and took a swig of his drink. Suddenly, his eyes lit up.

“Anyone call you Douchiel?”

“Yeah, actually. Serah loves that one. Almost as much as ‘asshole’.”

“Ha! General Zala loves it too!”

“General, eh? You’re a military man, then?”

Remy’s voice indicated excitement, but there was a wary gleam in his eyes. Azrael was oblivious to it, but he continued on, albeit with a bit of a defeated tone as he did.

“Was. Damn good at it, too. Long story short, we lost, and now they burn my likeness in effigy as a traitor…”

Remy’s wariness faded, replaced with a look that melded sympathy and shame.

“Happens to the best of us, kid. That story gets you another drink on me. I know the feeling all too well. I was one of the best Rasalhague had to offer, pal. But war is messy, and sometimes even when you do your damndest, you end up stuck between two shitty things. Someone else’s blood on your hands, and someone more important’s failure on your reputation.”

Remy shot Kolin a quick glance and motioned two fingers to the bartender to imply another round, before turning back to Az.

“What’s your name, you lanky fuck?”

“Azrael. Azrael Duciel. Champion of Ashionne, but I didn’t ask for that name…”

“No shit! Named my Phoenix Hawk Azrael, after the angel of death.  You an angel, too?”

“Aasimar, actually. Syderean, some call us and tieflings like Kolin here… we’re not angels or devils, not entirely. Just partially…”

Remy cuts off the other Duciel, a bit in his cups but still full of words.

“I know what an Aasimar is… that’s my callsign. The world has plenty of Mavericks and Reapers, don’t need another edgelord trying to look scary. People need a symbol of hope, too, figured I’d be their Avenging Angel.  I’m getting off topic though, mister Duciel, champion of Ashley’s mom…”

“Ashionne… she’s the goddess that guides my path. A light shining in the darkness around me…”

“Yeah, I was close enough. We don’t have goddesses out here in deep space, Champion… which brings me back around to what I was trying to say before…”

Remy Duciel stood up on his barstool, and arranged his squat to meet the seven-foot tall Aasimar in his eyes. As he did, Azrael could swear he watched a man sober up in real-time, as if he could simply choose to reset his drunk at-will.

“Kid, when someone takes your name from you and smears their shit all over it, that’s a real kick in the dick. Take it from someone who knows, and don’t do ‘em any favors kicking yourself in the dick because of what they’ve done to you. Everything inside you screams that you shoulda done better, that if you’d have just looked to your right that one time instead of your left, then you’d be living a different life. I don’t know much about magic, but I don’t figure you can see the future. Blaming yourself for someone else shitting on your legacy is just another kick in the dick, and that’s the last place you oughta be kicking yourself.”

As Remy took his seat, he finished his drink, and looked at Kolin. The tiefling grinned and brought him another whiskey.

“Y’know, you seem to know your way around a dick, Colonel. It’s a shame you’re not interested.”

“Go fuck yourself, Kolin.”

“Didn’t need yer permission, Remy, but I appreciate the thoughtfulness of it. I’ll make sure to think of ya whilst I'm in the throes of self-passion.”

“I’ve got three full magazines left for this pistol. I’d be happy to aerate your chest cavity, McKenzie.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Duciel… that’ll only arouse me further.”

Azrael watched this other Duciel with a certain admiration. This man came from a world where the impossible was just that. Wizardry and divinity were fairy tales, even the most powerful heroes and wicked villains were simply commoners caught up in circumstance. But the man shrugged off real blasts of pure magical energy, seemingly wearing his own audacity like a barrier manifested from the aether itself. He also drank like a monk, immune to poisoning. He could feel something in the man, however. A presence, an energy that defied his mundane origins. It felt so familiar, like his celestial guide, the servant of Ashionne herself that was bound to the celestial parts of Azrael’s soul. This man was family, whether it made sense or not. He was sharing drinks with not a stranger, but a lost brother.

“Colonel, I know I don’t look it… but I spent 250 years impaled to a pillar in the Shadowfell. That whole time? Just a little bit alive. Definitely a one out of ten experience. I’m still real fuzzy on why I was there, but across from me, and on the floor between that, were two of three people I considered my brothers. The third, I don’t know what happened to him. I also had a stepbrother, Randall. But he was an asshole. Probably still is, elves live forever, and rarely get any smarter than they started out. Anyway, I’m trying to sorta work my way into something here… call it a hunch, I guess. I can’t explain how or why, but when I was in the Shadowfell, being a withering revenant, I remember a feeling. I felt like it was okay, that there was some other asshole, somewhere out there, that carried that light of hope. It made it bearable. A lot of shit has happened since then, and I’ve been a bit busy. Never got back to that feeling. But I got it again… about three drinks in, sitting here with you, Remy Duciel.”

The mercenary known as the Aasimar looked up at the aasimar known as a soldier, a sly, understanding smile on his face.

“Duciels and their hunches, it’s always been a crock of shit, Az. But the craziest ones we cook up are the ones that usually end up dead accurate. Mon frere, I’ve never been impaled to a pillar, but I nailed myself to a cross the day a room full of social generals took my honor and my country from me. I’ve seen you from up there, mister angel. You were in my dreams, wouldn’t shut up about who I was. On and on, always about the hope. But you read me for filth, and it makes sense. Duciels are good at that, seeing through the bullshit. You knew that I can’t leave the world the way it is. I’m gonna do my damndest to make it a little better than it was when I came in… even if they all hate me for it. Az, it sounds like you’re gonna see what that feels like, probably really fuckin’ soon. Make sure to throw up the double Duciel salute for ol’ Remy, every damn time they try to smear more of their shit on our name.”

The evening wore on, and the two shared stories of companions and conundrums. By the time of their parting, Azrael was walking sideways, but Remy still seemed completely sober, despite buying out the bar’s entire stock of Broadside Bourbon. The two shared a warm embrace, and resolved to make the meeting a repeat occurrence as their various shit shows allowed.

“It’s a shame this door only works one way. We could use your Irregulars in Rheas, Remy.”

“You’d need a bigger door for us to do you any good, Az. It takes us hundreds of tons of metal, ordinance, and fusion reactors to fight the battles ahead of you and yours. But if yinz ever want something more shiny to blow up with magic, I know a few cultists back on Ver Sayles that I’d love to see on fire.”

The two Duciels parted ways for the first time, but not the last. Azrael left first, and before Remy walked out, he nodded to Kolin.

“Kid’s gonna be okay, right?”

“Remy, he’s gonna be more than okay. He’s gonna be a massive fuckin’ problem for somebody that deserves it.”

“That goes without saying, Kolin. He’s a Duciel. We’re always a massive fuckin’ problem.”