His patron deity of death and fate did have a sense of irony. Who else would She see fit to haul this one back from her threshold but a murderer well-versed in blades? Her Champion had felt so little of her presence in this place yet. For the first time in a long time, Vax'ildan was absolutely certain of her intervention. Later, he'd think that it was as if she'd thrust the red skein of the young man's life still to be lived right into his gloved hand, and spoke without words, with only her great knowing of what must be imparted unto him - pull.

Of course, it didn't start that way. Most people began their dying without a whole lot of fanfare, same as any other day. For his part, the half-elf had only thought that the young ladies keeping watch for new arrivals might do with some checking in on. He didn't know any of the three well enough to think one way or the other about their capabilities if the next guest chucked through proved hostile, and he didn't insult them by trying to engage in chitchat just to implicate as much. All he knew was that he was still well and truly wigged out after the lust madness, complete with tell-tale marks not quite faded, and that he had several keen daggers at the ready where perhaps the ladies did not.

So, yes, some of that good old-fashioned brotherly paranoia.

He'd been sitting at one of the tables by a window, idly watching the rain and gray of the outdoors when his senses pricked to tell him that he wasn't alone.

It was the smell of blood that hit him first, and he knew how fresh it was before he whipped around and onto his feet in a single fluid motion. Then there was the sight of the poor unfortunate pouring out all over the hardwood.

"Hey," Vax exhaled, fitting a boot over the blade at the hilt and sliding it well aside before he knelt for a better look at the youth. His long dark hair and lean features were backlit by the lights above, his look of calm concern perhaps less comforting for his all-black armor and the dark feather ruff at the shoulders of his cloak. His voice, at least, was soothing, and his hands moving to examine the red-soaked area the figure clutched were deft and kind. "Easy, easy. It's your side, yeah?"

"You do make that sound pretty, but it's all gibberish to me," Vax told him in the same hushed tone, mostly trying to keep him calm. He pulled the boy's hands away from the wound, needing to see what had been pierced where and how deep, though he knew full well those hands may have been all that was keeping him together. His gloved fists fitted at either side of the slashed shirt and sharply ripped the rest of the cloth open for better access.

No trained physician, he couldn't help but make a face at the mess. It was exactly as bad as it looked. Judging by his exceedingly fair looks and the quality of his clothes, the boy had no business getting into sword fights.

Most people didn't understand how it worked, being Champion of the Raven Queen - Vax had struggled with it enough himself, and didn't pretend to know that he saw all of it for what it was. But he understood more of it than he spoke of to anyone. More than Vox Machina or even his sister knew. They mentioned it at times as if he in his service had some control over who lived and died, or as if he could just summon up the goddess whenever he felt like to learn from her insight as you would call upon a scholar in a library.

She was intelligent, but she was primal. You did not ask favors of or seek to impose your will upon death itself. It was more than useless. It was wrong to be so small, so selfish. And he'd bargained away his own life to her already. He was her agent among mortals, no more, no less.

Vax'ildan couldn't have begged for this one's life from her, if it was time for her to take it. But as the young man spoke words such as he could finally understand, calling for his angel, his devil, his whatever, Vax could feel his readiness to die. And the boy's answer came to him from Her, preordained and absolute, the will of the Raven Queen that would be done because she'd set her Champion there to make it so.

"You're not going to die today," Vax explained, the cold iron certainty told gentle as a whisper. He placed both hands over the gaping wound, closing his eyes, focusing on channeling Her power into the prone body. Where Pike's abilities came from Serenrae, healer of sunlight and flame, the glow of Vax'ildan's healing was iridescent shadow shifting under his gloves. He couldn't restore all vitality and good health, no, that would still take time. But the wound came together, smoothing over, patching the body whole.

Vax let him grab and grasp unfazed, able to see the need for tactile confirmation of the gasped fact. His serious expression warmed with a thin, earnest smile. "Your Elua will have to wait."

"I'm as mortal as you," Vax'ildan insisted, but kindly. He was suddenly all-over grateful he didn't have his wings extended, or he might never hear the end of it. "I bleed as easily, and I've made more mistakes than most."

Vax helped the boy ease upright to sit back against the counter carefully, knowing full well he'd be weak and tired despite the hole in him having mended. Vox Machina did this sort of thing with unsettling regularity.

"Easy. Wherever it is you've come from, you're here for now - a long way from your home, I imagine." It was as gently as he could think to break the news to someone who had so narrowly avoided death but moments before, and he made an expansive gesture to the wider cafe around them to prove his point. "You'll need your rest before anything else."

"I've not heard that name," Vax offered, sympathetic to the disorientation. "You're within a hotel they call the Madonna Inn. They say this realm is known as California, though that means little to me. Most of the residents here seem to have come from another land."

"And I'm no lord," he added, a hint of distaste around the title. That was his father's way, to be concerned with pomp and rank and form, but never his own. "My name is Vax'ildan. I'll explain whatever I can, but this whole bloody place is something of a mystery."

"You could," Vax agreed sincerely, thinking of how fair Stephanie had done similar for him, bloodstains and all.

He stood, moving to where the sword had been discarded, to pick it up and give it an eye. "Is this blade even yours, Alcuin?"

"I don't think your attackers would have the means to follow you here." Vax rested a hand on the young man's shoulder, offering some small gesture of support - he could do no better, when it seemed this Alcuin had lost much in such short order. "If you want the sword, it's yours. But for now, I'd like to see if we can't get you into a room where you can clean up and lie down a while. Do you think you can walk?"

Sword secured in his far hand, Vax set his feet wide and bent to lift with his opposite grip just under the lad's shoulder. That would give him some leverage to steer the slender frame where they needed to go. Vax'ildan wasn't a large man, very lean and a bit on the short side, but he pulled Alcuin onto his feet with a fair measure of strength and a keen sense of balance.

"Don't be a hero," Vax suggested, as he started them out of the cafe area towards the registration desk at the front of the building. There was a wide expanse of groomed greenery and quaint fixtures beyond the windows, and more pink buildings with ornamental white trim. "You've one less hole in you, but you've been through an awful lot. We can rest as you may need."

Vax was perceptive enough to have noticed - but he'd also seen it was an old scar, which didn't seem so relevant as the new.

"I could've done a cleaner job of it." Pike would have, he knew, having given him a whole new toe and all. They all had to make due here, didn't they? "But you'll feel better still with a soak and some fresh clothes." And some time to begin to think on all this. "I'll see what they've got in your size around here after you're settled in."

"We have to help one another when it's needed, don't we?"

It was the sort of question that didn't expect answering. And the trip to the registration desk wasn't so long that the resulting silence would feel a burden - not when there was so much that needed attention, perhaps better left unsaid for now.

"Darryl," Vax greeted the aggressively nondescript, though assuredly male figure that manned the front desk. Later, if one tried to list his specific features, they'd be at something of a loss without quite knowing why. But someone had gone to the trouble of hand-writing him a nametag at the least. "Another for check-in."

The entirely bland innkeep checked something on a boxed-in scrying glass of some sort, then slid a rectangle sheathed in paper bearing the inn's sigil and a room number across the desk to Alcuin. He was not the least bit concerned about the bloodied state of the guests. "Alcuin no Delaunay - Building Three, Room 155. Enjoy your stay."