RP:Coming To An Understanding

Summary: King Macon and his lackeys happen upon Lhyrin as the forsaken elf hunts their dinner. The two eventually come to an understanding of one another.

The Eternal Forest, Larket

Lhyrin || Leaves and twigs rustled about on the forest floor as a woman ran for her life. She wasn’t sure if the person hunting her was still there, but if she stopped, she’d surely be dead. Well, that running doesn’t last long, seeing as how she looked back behind her and tripped over a massive gnarled root from a nearby tree. She let out a cry and tried to scramble to her feet, but alas, an arrow flew through the air and pinned her hand to the ground. The woman screamed, tears streaming down her face as she tried to pull her hand free despite the pain, but it was stuck fast in the mass of roots that had tripped her in the first place. “Please, keep screaming. Keep crying. Your fear marinates the sinew so well, my dear,” came a somewhat monotone voice from somewhere in front of her. How did they even get there? How had they passed her?! Eventually, she managed to pull the arrow free with some wiggling, the scent of her blood filling the air as she left a trail of red behind her. “Now now, you don’t want to attract lycans do you?” Now the voice was behind her. “I’ve had my fill of lycans for now. I want something less cursed and grazes on greens.” The woman stopped her running and stood there long enough to think things over. Too long, unfortunately, as the poison that had coated the arrow started to make its way through her bloodstream and slow her down. “How are you feeling now, m’dear? With your heart beating as fast as it is, surely that poison has worked its way through you now.” The hunter was right; she was starting to see double now. She swayed a little with each step and just as she was about to try to run off again, a hand caught her by the waist and a serrated blade found its way between two ribs. “Did you think I was just going to shoot you down? Oh no, I much prefer to see the light leaving my prey’s eyes. It’s the best kind of appetizer,” Lhyrin paused for a moment, pulling their dagger free from the woman’s abdomen so she would bleed out. “I’ve never had witch before, you know. But you’re nothing more than cattle here… and no one will ever miss you.” The paralysis poison had finally took hold of the witch and she was left to stare in utter terror at the forsaken elf and whimper as her life left her.

Macon has been keeping himself busy, which is an act that requires more effort from The King than it has in recent history. Following the execution and subsequent secret re-execution of Valrae The Red WItch, and the adoption of the worship of Vakmatharas as Larket’s official religion, the kingdom has been enjoying a time of relative peace and prosperity in comparison to the previous years. So with less rebels and terrorists to quell, The Royal Family has less on its plate, and Macon has begun a routine of monthly surveys of his Kingdom which he himself (and occasionally even Prince Guillem) will tag along on every so often. It is on one of these outings that The Rage Knight finds himself on today. Macon || A snapping twig and rustling leaves, which were previously the soundtrack to their witch hunt, are now likely the first signals to Lhyrin that they and their prey are not alone in this forest. Out from around a tree to the east steps a young elven woman with light brown hair and hazel eyes, abandoning all pretense of stealth as she reveals herself to the hunter she’s creeping towards with a slight smirk on her lips. She wears dark, leather armor with the emblem of Larket’s Royal Guard near the collarbone on the left side and a belt with knives of varying sizes looped in at her hip. “Hey there, hunter.” She calls out while she approaches, but acts as simply a distraction. Macon || Wendell makes his presence known only after he’s sure Rava has the killer’s attention. The overweight human mage levitates down out of the canopy with several small, pointed stones orbiting silently around his body, poised to fire at Lhyrin should they make one false step. “Drop the weapon,” he orders, “and identify yourself.” While one would have to be fairly in touch with the inner workings of Fort Freedom to recognize the elven woman as The Crown’s entourage’s latest hire, Wendell, dressed in his Academy robes that bear the same Royal Guard insignia as his counterpart’s armor, is one of, if not the most, widely known members of the elite Larketian group of bodyguards. Having played his part in The Battle for the Bridge and the more recent confrontation with The Mage Guild in Xalious. Macon || Whether Lhyrin complies or not King Macon himself is the last to appear on the scene. Clad in the iconic silver Rage Armor with Larket’s marble crown fixed on his head, the Death Knight trudges towards the predator and felled prey, slate eyes moving back and forth between the two. His signature great axe is clipped to his back with the reconstituted Rage Stone embedded in the socket on its head, although the aura coming off of it is kept in check by the wielder for the moment. “Did We hear you say you were going to eat her?” His voice is the same low growl it always is, making the question feel almost rhetorical. Finally he fixes his eyes on Lhyrin, “Have you done this here in my forest before, or are you a first timer?” Patronizing. Classic Macon.

Lhyrin was extremely busy watching the woman in their arms die as they were rudely interrupted by the king and his royal guard. They take a moment to eye the three of them, their stormy line of sight fixing on them all for a moment. It was unfortunate that they’d been far too entranced by their first witch meal. The elf sighed exasperatedly and dropped the witch, letting her and the dagger drop to the ground. They still had their bow on their back, of course, but no movement was made to grab it. “Lhyrin Amarth,” they said in their rather monotone voice. “Citizen and ranger of Vhys, and servant to Our Lady Ryeanna, the Lich Queen and the God of Death, Vakmatharas.” There was no emotion written on their features as they stood there, though the urge to scowl at the blood leaving their victim’s body was becoming overwhelming as it soaked and stained the ground red. What a waste. “First time,” Lhyrin said, their line of sight finally fully fixing on Macon. “I heard you still have somewhat of an infestation, whether it’s witches or those devoted to Cyris. I thought to… thin their ranks. And yes, I do eat them. It would be rather… unbecoming of a hunter if they solely killed for sport. I saw nothing of needing a permit to hunt here, as is needed in Frostmaw and Alithrya.”

Macon raises his brow at the reference to the Lich Queen Ryeanna, creator of the Fermin. It was beneath Larket, where the rat people make their home that he first discovered the original Rage Stone, or at least what he considers the original. The Fermin themselves played no small part in his rise to his throne, so perhaps The Furious King owes Lady Ryeanna some thanks. Lhyrin drops their weapon and Wendell lowers his, the stones hovering around him dropping to the forest floor harmlessly, followed soon after by the pudgy mage. Rava remains the most threatening presence of the trio, if only because she is matching the hunter’s bloodthirsty energy from her spot behind The Rage Knight. Macon’s gravelly voice finally cuts through the forest again, “Indeed, you have the freedom to hunt here without a permit. However, a servan’ of Vakmatharas should be aware tha’ the deaths of these terrorists and heathens are more valuable than a simple meal…” The Veratoakan accent seems to come and go between sentences, perhaps a sign of an active effort by the king to suppress it and sound more Lithrydelian during his years as the face of Larket. “Do you make any tribute t’the Death God when you hun’?” Obviously there is a right and wrong answer here, but one might not know that just by reading Macon’s face, which is solely inquisitive. He didn’t get to the top on his own. If he can make use of someone, he will. This elf hunting in Larket’s forest is no exception…

Lhyrin || “-Everything- I do is for the God of Death,” said Lhyrin, that matter-of-factness returning. “And I’ve heard that everything you do here is too.” For a moment, one might wonder just what it was the forsaken elf was referring to. They couldn’t possibly have known about the rage stone and its connection to Vakmatharas. And, as Macon would quickly find out, they didn’t. “It’s a shame I had not heard about the play that had been put on here in Larket for our dark lord until well after it had been performed. Takes time for word to travel to Vhys, I suppose.” Lhyrin peered down at their most recent victim. “Would you like to make that tribute visible for all to see? They may be missing the occasional eyeball or brain, but I can give you their heads, if you’d like to put them on pikes to show what happens to those that don’t respect our dark lord. I’d prefer not to take part in public execution, however. My rituals of death are my own and I’d like to keep it that way. But I could likely supply you with some live ones as well, so you can do with them as you wish.“

Macon, if he did wonder about Lhyrin’s choice of phrase, doesn’t let on about it in the slightest. Instead he smirks at the reference to his wife’s play and then at the gruesomeness of the hunter’s offers of eyeless heads to be displayed on pikes. “You certainly didn’t catch The Queen’s play. The Larketian brand of Vakmatharas worship doesn’ involve such visceral displays of death. At least on the surface, Ours must be a softer expression of faith t’gather the most followers possible for The God of Death. I’m sure you can understand the need t’make Our kingdom’s religion as palatable as We can.” The Rage Knight spares a short glance towards Wendell and Rava, a silent, coded message is relayed subtly between the three of them, assuring the king that there don’t appear to be any prying eyes or ears in the area before he makes the forthcoming proposal. “Your rituals can of course remain private but you may still be able t’serve Him and assist me in a way. There is only -live- one I wish t’see sacrificed tha’ I cannot capture under Larket’s banner without incurring tedious consequences… The Red Witch Valrae, or rather whomever is impersonating her in Cenril. At the very least parading around in that ‘guise is an affront to me, and at the worst, if it is actually her, the return from Death is an affront to Vakmatharas.” The Furious King has never been accused of having little to say and now is no exception as he keeps moving forward while trying to get a read on Lhyrin at the mention of Valrae, “If you are looking t’serve the God of Death in Larket, hers is the hunt I can offer to you.”

Lhyrin resisted the urge to make a face at the fact that Larket was entirely too subtle about offering tribute to Vakmatharas. Why keep it quiet? Why not let the masses see that their souls were destined for the god of death no matter what they did? Why not send them there sooner than they anticipated with much zeal and pageantry? The elf did sigh somewhat, the vague sense of disappointment lingering there as Macon offered up an alternative. “I see. Well, I can certainly try. Your prey has been putting herself out on display for all to see, but that doesn’t mean it will be easy. And I do frequent Cenril, if only because it’s the easiest way to reach Vhys via boat.” They thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “Yes, fine. I’ll do it. And while I attempt this hunt, please consider adding a harbor to your lovely stone city,” they said, with a slight tilt of their head and as monotone as ever. “I’d much prefer to come straight here to do my hunting--aside from the Red Witch, of course--as opposed to having to go through Cenril -and- Kelay. I suppose there could even be trade routes established between Vhys and Larket, if it pleased you, your majesty. My homeland is going through a bit of a remodel and a harbor of our own will be added soon. Too long has Vhys been cut-off from the rest of Lithrydel and in a state of disrepair since Lady Ryeanna left us.” The forsaken elf looked down at the witch at his feet, a head tilt offered to her now. “If you will excuse me for now though, your majesty. I’d like to tend to my dinner before rigor mortis sets in.”

Macon maintains that little smile when Lhyrin accepts the task The King provided. He raises a rough looking hand to his bearded chin and considers the harbor suggestion for a moment or two before nodding, “We will ‘ave to speak t’Our merchants and The Magic Academy t’see if such a thing is viable. Traditionally, seafaring vessels ‘ave ‘ad difficulty navigating back up agains’ The Vibrance’s current.” The Rage Knight’s face remains devoid of any reverence or disdain one way or the other at the mention of Lady Ryeanna. He made great use of her creations; the Fermin, in his ascent to the throne of Larket, so he perhaps owes the wicked queen a great deal, but most are not in the know about this particular detail as the official story is Macon is the hero that drove back the Fermin and the plague they unleashed upon his kingdom. “Of course…” he motions towards his Royal Guard indicating that they’re leaving, “I look forward t’hearing from you again soon…” Rava approaches the king and they proceed further into the forest side by side while Wendell’s feet leave the ground and he disappears into the canopy, leaving the hunter to feast…