RP:A Curious Gleam
Summary: With the recent turmoil caused as a direct result of Kasyr's discussion with King Macon, Quintessa Blackwell seeks an audience with royalty to get to the heart of the trade embargo. There, she learns of Kasyr's recent contract with the Academy of Magics and offers her services as well. King Macon becomes curious with Quintessa's eagerness to proliferate his wizards' ranks, and Quintessa becomes curious with advantages could be gained from being close to Larket.
Larket Throne Room
Stretching out before you is an elaborate, elegantly built throne room for the leaders of Larket. The floors are built of the same marble that spreads through the entire castle, polished, but still showing the wear of several years worth of foot traffic across its face. Tiered benches line the right and left side of the room. Each bench end is ornately carved with the symbol of Larket – the Lark and a spear. From the rafters an enormous flag of Larket is hung like a tapestry. The rich, bold purple pops against the pale stone. The walls of the throne room are covered with paintings, and other artifacts of the city-state. The northern wall bears a row of paintings of the past leaders of Larket with their names scrawled beneath each. Directly across from the entrance at the end of a long passageway stand a pair of thrones. Behind the elaborate chairs are high arched stained glass windows refracting the sun in shades of purple, blue, gold, green, and orange. At the center of the stained glass artwork is the seal of Larket. Beneath the seal are the simple words ‘Fighting Freedom’ in red glass. The thrones themselves are both sculpted from magnificent red oak and seated atop a small dais. The thrones' arms are silkily curved and the ends drop off into the shape of a Lark’s head. Supple, downy purple cushions provide comfort and support for both the backs and seats of the thrones.
A pair of ornately carved thrones is here.
It wasn’t in Quintessa’s typical extravagant fashion but the Countess of the Dark Forest had made it known her intentions of meeting with King Macon a week in advance, arriving today in an armored palanquin carried by stone golems. Quintessa didn’t bring her normal entourage nor did she dress in a frilly dress for this visit; she is all business. Wearing a military style uniform, her hair wetted down, and an eyepatch covering her left eye, her heeled boots click loudly on the hard floor, echoing through the waiting room as she crosses to commence her requested appointment with the king. The katana that the changeling normally carries has been left in the hands of her partner Karasu, though there still remains a magical aura around her. The response globally has been mixed, but Quintessa is still keenly aware of her reputation as a suspected assassin and doom-bringer, so she makes herself look as peaceful and lawful as possible for this occasion. Hands folded behind her back the warlock steps forward to approach King Macon and bows her head, standing at attention until the king has spoken to her first, offering him only a “Good day, your Grace. Thank you for agreeing to speak with me today.” before meeting his gaze. This was his castle; she felt it appropriate to allow him the chance to set the pace for this meeting.
Macon sits in the smaller of the two thrones, his traditional way of acknowledging that the seat of power in this room was always Jacklin’s. Parsithius’s old chair is vacant for this meeting. The Larketian King is in his tarnished silver plate armor, as is typical when he appears in public, or before someone he is not particularly familiar with in private. The thick marble crown sits heavily atop his head and he leans to his left in a comfortable, relaxed position with his elbow resting on the arm of the throne. Wendell and Rava of the kingsguard flank the dais while the Rage Axe is just out of view, standing unnaturally behind Macon’s seat, the replicated Rage Stone glowing faintly within the socket crafted for it in the ax head. “Quintessa ‘Blackwell’...” He puts an emphasis on that relatively new name she’s made for herself. His voice is rough as he gets directly to the point, “I’d like to get straight to the meat of this. What makes a wanted criminal travel all this way to see me in person.” He’s focused, despite the relaxed posture, the evidence of which is that there is no trace of the Veratoakan accent that comes naturally to him. The practiced Lithrydelian dialect is on full display from The King of Larket…
Quintessa finds her breath catching in her throat for a second. She’ll never admit it but she’s nervous- nervous that he’ll remember the defiant young spellblade that called him a ‘fugazi overlord’ to his face in the Xalious pass and fought until she was captured to defend the Mage’s Guild. She prolongs the bow of her head for a moment longer so she can avoid his gaze and catch her breath. ‘Just as you rehearsed, Quintessa.’ The changeling finally meets Macon’s gaze and by the time she does, any hint of anxiety is gone from her. “I am not a wanted criminal everywhere, your Grace,” she protests, “In Vailkrin I am still a countess and thus I have a responsibility to advocate for my demesne…” She pauses to bring up something she hopes will strengthen the point she is about to make. “My county has long been an importer of Larketian stone. I built my fortress from it. Some tried to persuade me against it but I did not listen. I trusted the quality of your product beyond whatever hearsay I was offered elsewhere.” Quintessa’s lips flattened into a hard line, the woman was trying to keep the venom out of her voice as she spoke the next line. “So tell me, King Macon, why now do the merchants leaving with goods from my citadel meant for Larket not reach your fine kingdom? Have I offended you somehow?”
Macon nods to himself while she speaks, a small smile forming on his lips. “You were wise to do so,” he says when Quintessa remarks on trusting the quality of Larketian Stone. “You have not offended -me-. Quite the opposite. You are not a criminal everywhere, no. You are not one here, despite the despicable words that came from your…” He blanks on how to refer to Saorsa, and settles on, “...Fortress Woman.” He growls it out, suggesting it would be inappropriate to laugh at the time, though Wendell does stir lightly, his belly trembling with confined laughter beneath his mage robes. “This is in no way personal. We received an offer that I deemed worthy of the price of -temporarily- suspending trade between Larket and Vailkrin.” He eyes the changeling as he speaks, trying to gauge whether or not she knows that he does not intend on this embargo to go on at length…
Quintessa finds herself sighing Saorsa’s name in disappointment. “My Master of Coin,” she offers the vampire’s title, though that might have to change in the near future. Quintessa’s lone, blue eye flickers to Wendell’s belly and then back to Macon, her eyes narrowing slightly. “An offer.” It is not a question but rather an acknowledgement. Someone was maneuvering against her and she needed to be careful now. “I see.” The changeling clicks her tongue before a smirk grows on her face. “Well, I would never ask you to break an agreement,” Quintessa prefaces, her voice becoming strangely pleasant. “What if I were to make my own offer? Keep the embargo active as long as you find it suitable. Meanwhile I will ship all my goods bearing a third-party seal from other locations… Kelay, Xalious, Craughmoyle… Perhaps even Lady Nikola would be willing to let me use her seal. This way you are specifically not breaking the terms of your other agreement while at the same time profiting off our continued trade relations. What do you say to this?”
Macon chuckles as well now, allowing himself, for but a moment to bask in his enviable position of being wanted. Really, it’s access to the thriving Larketian economy that they want, but as he’s said time and time again, ‘Macon is Larket.’ He nods and grins to Quintessa from his elevated throne, “I say We would have no way of knowing Larketian resources were flowing to you again that way. It is an elegant solution. I’m sure everyone involved will have no reason to not be pleased with it.” If Kasyr really wanted to go through to trouble of launching an investigation into whatever shell companies Countess Blackwell was about to conjure up, more power to him, but it is the opinion of The Rage Knight that the revenant vampire has plenty enough on his plate already and this at worst will not be worth the trouble of digging into. Larket will have its cake and eat it too. This is truly the greatest king Lithrydel has ever seen.
Quintessa has no idea it is Kasyr who made this agreement with Macon, but had she, she’d be more hesitant to agree. She would not expect Kasyr to plot against Vailkrin unless there was something bigger at play and thus she would bide her time until it played out. But now Quintessa needed Larket, it was hard to accept it but her blackmarket was worthless without buyers. More than Larketian Stone the countess needed Larketian Gold. She needed food and amenities for her mortal populace. The vampire houses didn’t have this same vulnerability but she would not let that become a liability. “Thank you, your Grace,” her cheeks brighten when he calls her scheme ‘elegant’ , averting her gaze for only a moment. “I look forward to our continued relations. I am certain my humble county can be of use to you- after all do we not already have similar enemies? The impostor in Cenril for example...” Quintessa thinks for a moment, “I have nothing to offer that would bind us into an alliance… No suitor to offer your son, but this does not mean we can’t find other ways for me to show my usefulness.” A smile graces her pale lips once again, “I can offer my services to the Larketian Academy. I’ve been meaning to look up Kanaame Tsuji- I certainly hope he likes living here in Larket.”
Macon raises a brow and brushes the hair on his chin with the fingers of his left hand in contemplation. He’s more than happy to accept another defector from The Mage Tower into the Academy, however… He shakes his head and leads with the subject of Kanaame, “His devotion to the God of Death is appreciated here in Larket unlike anywhere else. He’s done well here, for himself and for The Academy.” He narrows his slate stare and continues, “Of course We would welcome you into Our Institution of Magic, but I want to be sure you’re aware that your…” he hesitates and changes course, “...that Kasyr has also recently left The Tower and taken a position at The Academy…” Again he focuses on the countess, searching for any physical reaction to the name or the news…
There is a curious gleam in Quintessa’s eye as Macon mentions Kasyr has accepted a position at the Academy. “Perfect!” The woman’s smile spreads into a grin, betraying the sharp teeth hidden behind. “That means he’d never do anything to risk his new position there. Good, I’d very much like to speak to him- Does the former king spend much time in Larket lately?” Quintessa is digging for more information in a casual way, hoping that Macon will give away Kasyr’s activities in Larket. Now she’s started to suspect he had something to do with the embargo after all but it’s still too strange for her to believe. She can talk about Kanaame and his devotion to Vakmatharas later.
Macon wasn’t expecting quite this kind of reaction given what he’s heard about Quintessa and Kasyr’s more recent interactions, but he grins nonetheless. He makes a dismissive wave with his right hand, the marble crown sliding ever so slightly atop his head, giving it a precarious tilt that The King rocks (pun not intended) flawlessly, “He comes and goes as he pleases, getting himself settled into the new role. From what I hear, Larket might be the safest place for him at the moment…” Now his eyes narrow on Quintessa, “Vailkrin’s Demon doesn’t wake up for just anything…” The title isn’t said with much reverence at all, and he quickly shakes the thought out of his head, “Regardless, I’m sure you two will run into each other here sooner rather than later. I trust it will be civil.” A pulse of Rage Aura radiates from either the king or the axe or both simultaneously and Rava tenses her stance in quiet anticipation of something that likely will not come to pass, “I will send word ahead to The Academy Headmaster if you do intend to come aboard.”
Quintessa’s grin fades back into a sanguine smile, her hands moving from behind her back to fidget together at navel level. Something Macon says clicks with her and the pulse of rages causes a low cackle that she has to quickly suppress to rumble in her chest. “Oh yes, of course.” Quintessa’s smile spreads, flat and wide. Too wide for any human. “I for one would never seriously harm someone during a peaceful talk. Only a weasel does that.” There is a slight twitch in her demeanor caused by the spark of rage. She was far too susceptible to it for her own good. “Please, send word that Magister Blackwell and Magister Swiftclaw will be arriving soon to speak with the Headmaster about our future. Thank you, your Grace.” That was all Quintessa needed to speak about. Once she was dismissed, she’d make her exit. She had to tell Karasu the news.