RP:Coda for the Bitter
Part of the The God of Undeath Arc
Part of the Once Upon a Midnight Dreary Arc
Summary: In the aftermath of Alithyk Caluss' final act of defiance, Quintessa finds that her home has been destroyed, and that the political landscape has changed in a way that brings her time in the place she called home her entire life to an end. Karasu, having recovered from the shock during the downfall of the castle, makes her intentions known to Quintessa, who in turn lays all her secrets bare.
Castle Blackwell Ruins
Less than a fortnight ago the demesne of Countess Quintessa Blackwell, the Shield of Vailkrin, and the Emerald of the East had fallen to chaos. Cursed by the dying breath of Alithyk Caluss, the magic that once protected her castle had been corrupted and turned against her. The undead that once defended her had mostly all gone mad, scattered to the forest or destroyed by those still loyal to their countess. In the midst of this chaos, Saorsa Cladach, along with the Captain of Quintessa’s household guard, a vampire called Sawtooth, staged an escape, taking with them a portion of the Dark Forest treasury and inciting a half-hearted coup against her. After returning to oversee the situation, however, the changeling had restored order to the area. An iron fist crushed the weak rebellion and left the perpetrators who survived but were captured flayed and displayed at the edge of the large camp that had been set up just outside the fortress walls as a warning. Deconstruction of the fortification was slow going, but it was happening as they continued to collect artifacts and supplies from within, creating a massive caravan that awaited their countess’s orders, but she was not much of a countess anymore. Her lands had fallen from her protection, her castle razed and people clinging to survival. Leader of a broken county, Queen of nothing but her empire of dirt. Now Quintessa stood near her royal tent, her remaining loyalists dawning the Black Cloaks and standing guard as she observed her servants working in the distance, an air of exhaustion hovering around her as she smoked a clove-scented cigarette.
Karasu emerges from the dim lantern light of the tent into the equally dreary night. Ahr’Nuk hangs in a sliver of a crescent above while Valaane looks towards the light of Kafzhash that will never touch the lands of Vailkrin. Combined, their neglect of the dire situation below leaves the edges of the Dark Forest in a state true to its name. Only minutes after Karasu had chased away her midnight visitor, the walls of the place that had kept her safe in her paralyzed state became the walls of a penitentiary. Even as she uses the scabbard of her sword to keep her balance as she walks, the demifeline carries an air of irritable and dictatorial authority that was certainly not present back in the autumn months. Her deep violet curls, now painted black in the night, hang limply and loosely around her frame as she surveys the progress. There is nothing witty to say in the moment, nor is there any complaints to be lodged. The two ferals had barely had a minute to talk since the incident, and in lieu of an opening to a conversation, Karasu extends her left palm out as a silent way to ask for a cigarette.
Quintessa looks back over her shoulder as the Black Cloaks step aside to let Karasu through, her hand moving to pass Karasu the cigarette before she parts her pale, chapped lips to pose a question to her. “Would you like milk of the poppy?” Quintessa couldn’t stand seeing the feline in pain, and this was the least she could offer. “It must be stashed away somewhere around here…” Mismatched eyes scan the forlorn camp, her gaze no less filled with hopelessness than those that milled around idly around their campfires. There is a long pause as Quintessa stares at what's become of her, a heavy sigh escaping her chest before she speaks again. “We’re finished, Karasu… I don’t see a way out of this.”
Karasu takes the cigarette with a nod of the head in turn to her lover’s question. Her lips part enough for a small red-violet flame to burst out and set the vice alight. A deep breath is taken, one that turns nearly half of the clove into ash as her eyes rise to look back out at the ruins. The scabbard is moved slightly forward and turned inwards so that Karasu can more easily swivel to face Quintessa. As she makes the movement, ash falls from the cigarette, mixing in with the smoke she exhales through her own dried lips that still bear scabbed vertical lines and bruising from where she had taken blows in the scuffle. “Quintessa.” It is spoken in the intonation of a leading question as she turns her head to the castle. “Do you believe me to be finished simply because part of my body was amputated? In a way, this castle became part of your body, and it was cut away from you like the tail I needed to walk straight was. Yet, here I am, walking anyways.” Meeting Quintessa’s mismatched eyes with her own garnet ones, she asks again, “Do you really and truly believe that we are finished?”
Quintessa swallows hard, the practiced stoneyness that had served as her mask for the past few months notably absent. The Black Cloaks pretend not to watch, but even they stand in silence, awaiting Quintessa’s honest answer. Her gaze is cast downwards, her hair falling into her face as she shakes her head. “No, not yet. We’re not dead yet so we can still pull ourselves out of this,” The changeling gently touches the black lotus pin in her hair as she raises her gaze to meet Karasu’s. “Like the lotus, it too pulls itself from the muck, beautiful and pure. We will rebuild…” Quintessa pauses, a ‘but’ lingering on her tongue. “But Kasyr… I hoped we could rebuild Vailkrin as equals but he instead has decided to betray that dream and make a play for the crown instead. Foolish power-grabbing nonsense… His claims are illegitimate but we lack the power to resist him. If he can rally the vampire houses against us I fear…” She shakes her head. She doesn’t even have to finish her sentence. “There will be no civil war… Either House Blackwell becomes his hostage or we rebuild somewhere else. We have to live on to fight another day.”
At first, the demifeline does not respond. She takes another drag of the cigarette as Quintessa speaks the truth that they both know. The rat bastard’s sudden declaration of the throne simply because it suited him to further kick them while they were down was a tactic that they had no chance of countering. The fight was over before it even began. As smoke billows around Karasu with her exhale, she looks to one of the Cloaks. “Bring me Avalyn.” They dare not question her reasoning for this, and the vampiress is dragged before Karasu and Quintessa. Dragon blood burns litter her body from Karasu’s stockpile to originally be used against Kasyr, and hair that was once a luminous copper hangs in dull patches around sickly scabs. “Who are you loyal to?” Karasu asks. The vampiress servant, thoroughly broken, stammers out that Quintessa and Karasu are the only ones she could ever be loyal to, as though she does not stand before them in magic siphoning cuffs for daring to assist with the coup. Karasu takes one final drag of the cigarette, calmly, ever so calmly, and then she is on the move. It only takes two steps forward without her makeshift cane to grab the woman by the throat with one hand and hold the butt of the cigarette up with the other hand. “Liars will not be tolerated in any form moving forward.” Karasu says in a voice that is far too calm for the violent action she is now taking with the end of the lit cigarette against the undead flesh. The servants take a momentary pause, but dare not stop completely as Avalyn shrieks for forgiveness. “Put her back.” Karasu orders, letting go of the vampiress, who falls to the ground. The violent woman turns to Quintessa and opens her arms, a smile creeping onto her features that breaks the scabbed wounds on her lips and threatens to spill beads of fresh blood over.. “We may not have the entirety of an army, but we have ourselves, and that was their greatest mistake.. Like Xalious was ripped from me, Vailkrin was ripped from you because this is not the place where we will find the power to kill that man.”
Quintessa quirks her brow, a curious smirk appearing as she repeats the name, “Avalyn?” The Black Cloaks obey, bringing the prisoner to the demi-feline as the changeling joins them, her arms crossed over her chest as she observes. Such cruelty being displayed secretly made the warlock feel a bit of excitement. Was this what awaited her enemies when they returned with blood and fire? When Karasu is finished with the prisoner and has her taken away, Quintessa gives her lover a smile of approval. “You’re so much more suited to this than I ever expected… Come with me, there is something I need to show you.” Quintessa leads Karasu back into their shared tent, moving to a small, round table in the center where she waits for her betrothed to join her away from her guards. “I should have shown you this a long time ago but with that failed undead god in the picture I never really could.” Quintessa takes out a small black book from inside of her cloak and places it in the center of the table, watching carefully at Karasu’s reaction. “This is my Book of Secrets. Everything I know about the people around me is in this book and I’ve never allowed anyone else to read it. Until today.” Quintessa moves to retrieve her makeshift alchemy supplies and moves them over to the table to work as they talk. “I know the lies I had to tell to keep everyone safe from the God of Undeath drove a wedge between us. I never want to have to lie to you again- My secrets are your secrets and everything in my life I will lay bare to you, even if I think you might not like the things I have to tell you. I will suffer it, if I must, but I certainly cannot keep these things from you anymore. How are we supposed to work together if I do?”
Karasu snaps her fingers, a silent command to which the Black Cloaks answer by handing her the sword she cannot swing in this condition. Jabbing the end of her father’s prized scabbard in the mud with each step as they make their way back into the tent, Karasu remarks, “It took quite a lot of work to open my eyes to the true nature of this world, didn’t it…” Little does the demifeline know that her twisted perception of the world and how all of these events so far have transpired, especially those for which she still carries anger from, but it is a lesson she will likely never learn at this stage of her moral degradation. Taking a seat at the table, Karasu allows the scabbard to fall haphazardly to the ground as she leans forward. “You were forced to bear these secrets because I was not strong enough to face your troubles with you. I understand everything now.” Truly, she does not. With a curious glance, Karasu takes Quintessa’s better hand with one of her own while the other uses a claw to drag the little black book towards her for inspection. “Interesting.” Her claws rest upon the back of Quintessa’s hand. “Was this one of the dates that I was taking care of our sweet boy?” Karasu asks lightly, pointing to an entry as the tips of her claws dig ever so slightly into Quintessa’s skin. “This date that you said you were in Cenril, but you were actually doing what Fermins do best with that draconian woman?” Now she is on the verge of drawing blood, but by a stroke of luck, the Black Cloak tasked with assembling fresh milk of the poppy for Karasu has returned. The former spellblade releases Quintessa’s hand and takes a long drag of it. As the sickly sweet smoke fills the tent, Karasu cooly says, “Whether your heart is in it or not, you will tell me in advance whose scents you’ll be bringing back into our bed. I will do the same.” This coming from the woman who believed in strict monogamy when she lived in the Mage’s Tower is quite the remark, but Karasu does not stutter when she says it. Despite being sickly pale from prolonged moonlight and her hair being an unraveled mess while they are living in a tent, her eyes are crystal clear with lucidity.
Quintessa can feel her blood start to chill, the extent of the secrets she had collected forgotten until Karasu said the words ‘Draconian woman’ and the changeling’s mind raced to recall the exact details, wanting to set the record straight. “No, I don’t think I even took *that* precaution,” she admits, wincing a bit as the pressure on her hand increased. There was that excitement again. “Nobody bothers me in the Grey Cell.” That was what she called the groundium barred cell attached to her underground laboratory, the one meant for experimenting of prisoners as opposed to the Red Cell, the one reserved for torture sessions. “It started as an interrogation and…” The Black Cloak entering saved her from saying anything else, and the changeling waited until he left before she continued, gently rubbing the divots made by Karasu’s claws on her hand. “I will,” she says, “But you must know that anyone you bring back to our bed I’m going to entertain myself with as well, just as I’ll share my toys with you.” It was clear Quintessa didn’t consider these potential dalliances to be a real threat to her. After all, Karasu and her were better than normal people, they deserved to take whatever pleasures in life that they desired. People besides Karasu in that regard were just as she said; Toys. “My heart is just for you,” she holds up her engagement ring, showing it off, “As is my hand. That’s more than anyone else can say.”
Karasu smiles not the manic smile of someone who has learned to enjoy the villainous things in life, but one full of affection. “I know they are only toys. But I would like to be your favorite toy, and I yours.” The milk of the poppy appears to be doing its job well. The demifeline takes another hit and intertwines her claws in Quintessa’s own. “I think I may be in the market for a carnomancer, or perhaps a souls expert. I doubt I will be able to do much harm without the assistance of you or our dear Black Cloaks with this body anymore. After all, how else are we going to burn down the world that betrayed us and all the others?” Taking her hand off of the book and placing her hand on the opposite side of Quintessa’s intertwined hand, she angles her fingers so that her garnet shines in the lantern light alongside the changeling’s emerald, creating a series of reflections along the roof of the tent that resemble that of the moons that are not shining upon them tonight. “We are not finished, because I am only now just waking up.”