RP:Coup de Grace

Part of the Lies Within Us Arc

This is a Mage's Guild RP.

Summary: The Guild assembles in the Pass of Xalious, facing off against the gathered might of The Hard City, and as the cold rain spills from the heavens, what breaks out is not conflict, but a coup. Betrayed by the Guild he thought to lead, Brenwyn is led to the chopping block, and the Rage King is all to eager to oblige. As the fell blade descends, all is not what it seems, and the Guild moves one step closer towards its final hour.

Mountain Path

Valrae || The wind continued to howl through the mountain pass, chilled and angry as the day that the guild had gathered to face Larket for negotiations. Heavy clouds of grey cast the path into premature darkness, the air thick with the scent of a storm and charged with lightning the distant roll of thunder promised. The head high barrier remained, the backdrop to the guild standing battle ready before it. Unlike the last meeting, there was no pretense of negotiation. Though the council remained front and center there was no table, no seats for talk. The guild will have gathered all of the force they could muster, even calling for the apprentices to stand ready and able behind the line of more seasoned and skilled Mages. Valrae, as Grace, stood carefully behind Brenwyn. After the secret meeting she’d called in Frostmaw with her fellow guildmates, the plan was to wait until the final hour and strong arm the council into offering Brenwyn as a bargaining chip for peace. Grace would need to stay close and, goddess willing, convince King Macon that this would be enough for the life of Peter… Who, unfortunately for all of them, would never return home. So the illusioned witch stood close, wrapped again in her cerulean traveler’s cloak with her wand looped into a seam of her dress at hip height. Though the hope was for peace, Valrae had prepared for war. The emerald skull waited hungrily at her side, feeding off of the pulsing energies and magic that crouched as heavy as the storm in the air, and whispered the promise of dark power through the bindings she’d loosened as she watched the horizon.

Brenwyn :: The ancient elven spirit inside Brenwyn knows (or rather hopes he knows) what is coming today. When Haladavar broke free from his amber prison he was shocked to discover a world transformed by the passage of millenia. New races, new modes of living, new institutions of great power, new technology, and new magic. But at the foundation of all that was new was something as old as Haladavar, if not older, and something extremely familiar: the eternal struggle of all mortals to acquire power, in any form, as the ultimate middle finger to the gods who hoarded immortality and power for themselves. A few months ago Haldavar believed that by possessing the ostensible leader of the Mages Guild he’d be well positioned to attain power. He’s had a crash course in the internal divisiveness and rot within the Mages Guild membership. About a month ago he realized that his best bet was to exploit that weakness within the institution. And a series of deliberately divisive decisions has led him here at the forefront of the Mages Guild council to face off against a petulant human “king”, with a cadre of quarreling Mages Guild members behind him, members whose loyalties to the institution and to each other are paper thin. What a time to be alive. That amber prison was, in retrospect, a gift. He stares ahead and waits for Larket to make the first move.

Magik studies a runed arrowhead carefully as he leans against a tree near the Mage's Tower. His thoughts are simple, "I should have Tessa take a look at these.." To the far east, a murder of crows take to the skies. Their squawks fill the air loud enough for Magik to shift his focus to the birds. He watches as they fly about, hesitant of returning to their previous perches. The elf deeply sighs and gathers up his bow after pocketing the arrowhead. The large black longbow is quickly attached on it's hook on Magik's back. His dark fiery eyes look towards the woods where his pyromancy students remain well hidden despite the order for any able bodies to attend this next shindig. "It's time..Head further in and don't return to the tower until I come get you," he calls out to them. With the bow on his back and a dagger on each side of his waist, he ventures off to face Larket yet again in almost the same attire as last time. He finally arrives at the previous meeting place with his teacher's vest on with a black long sleeved dress shirt underneath with the sleeves rolled up, heavy leather boots, and simple black leather pants. He makes his way over the barrier and through any gathered to place himself to the side and behind Brenwyn, just out of his sight.

Karasu stands at the end of an arc of spell-blades that extends behind the council area. On the opposite end of the arc stands the de-facto leader of the Spellblade Corps, Countess Quintessa Dragana. The robes of her Steward robe are drawn up to obscure Karasu’s own face, obscured with a featureless black mask. “Everyone stay behind the barrier.” The woman commands with the other Stewards, keeping apprentices and fledglings back at a safe distance to prevent interference with the council’s discussion with the Larketian officials. One of the councilmen lowers the hood of his robes, scanning those members of the Spellblade Corps and the remainder of the Mage’s Guild who have come to stand their ground for the sake of Xalious. It does not take Kaaname Tsuji long to pinpoint Karasu from the crowd of murmuring students. Karasu flexes her left arm, the impalement from a certain drow’s sword having almost completely healed by now. “How interesting.” Kaaname comments aloud. When Karasu turns her head at the elderly disguised vampire, a smile graces his features and he steps away from the table to pat his daughter on the shoulder. “Thank you again for lending us the Spellblade Corps, Miss Dragana.” Lowering his head for only Karasu to hear, he adds, “I have no intention of revealing what is about to happen, foolish girl.” He gives his daughter a stiff pat before returning to the other council members. Another smile is flashed at Magikrios, then to Brenwyn. “Don’t be tense. Everything will work out.” He says reassuringly to no one in particular. Karasu’s shoulders rise and fall with deep breaths as she tries to hold back her anger. Instead, she takes out her frustrations on a poor apprentice with eye-catchingly gaudy robes loitering too close. “Did you not hear us? Get back behind the other Stewards.”

Enelys held a stern if befuddled expression. What exactly was this all about? The mage guild takes hostages now? She knew the official reason was something about asylum from Larket and that sounded fine on paper but this half gnome half high elf was certainly not dense enough to believe it at face value. Surely there were other hidden machinations, motivations, and other multi syllable m words going on beneath all that. Being head of the guild was a political position as well as an instructional one after all, so powerful that of course even kings of other countries were forced to deal with you. Enelys didn’t know much about Larket, they had rich nobles, rumors had those rich nobles hunting witches for sport, witchcraft was some holistic vein of magic she didn’t quite understand. That almost firmly placed Larket as an enemy in her mind, holders of knowledge should never be destroyed, but it also seemed a superstitious affair- Larket did worship the god of death after all, and believed witches caused an earthquake at a royal wedding. Perhaps it was just backwoods rednecks murdering backwoods savages. Oh well. Enelys would show up to support her guild if to be nothing more than a face in the crowd, a social power move that said I’m with you now, give me all your precious secrets, and really had no motivation to be here otherwise. She might knock someone out in a battle if she had to but it would by no means be to the death. Just then her rather dawdling inner thoughts were broken as someone yelled at her to get back further behind the barrier. Enelys snapped off some sort of sloppy salute that was entirely unnecessary and shouted an affirmative before rejoining the head of the magical nobodies. How dreadfully dull to be stuck with the empty headed apprentices. Perhaps if she did something particularly flashy and noble and self sacrificing (or milked an injury) she might earn a promotion.

Macon has come with a force today. Where at the last meeting his most potent weapon was Maxwell Eugene’s flavorlessness, there is now the full might of the Larketian Military on display. That isn’t to say that he’s unloaded every barracks and reserve in the kingdom to march here, just that the collection of units is eclectic enough to include whatever a mage guild member might imagine when they hear the footsteps, and horse hooves, and wheels on the ground as the Rage King leads them through the mountain pass. Of course the Larketian Monarch leads from the front on horseback in the full silver Rage Armor, his signature great axe at a severe angle on his back so as not to interfere with his ride. There is no marble crown on his head, today he is not a king, he’s a soldier. At the front with him are Headmaster Percival and Kingsguard Wendell, both hovering a foot or two off the ground with their own brands of flight magic. As usual, Percy out-graces the large mage by a landslide. Quintessa Dragana’s release on good faith has brought nothing across the table in the direction of Larket, so now here hundreds of Larketians still hoping for peace, but absolutely hardened and prepared for war. The glow and irksome aura of The Rage Stone in Macon’s axhead is faint at the moment, but never negligible. About one row of transport carriages back, in the Royal wagon sits Kasyr and Roald, two contestants in The Hero of Freedom Tournament on opposite ends of this budding conflict, surely the member of The Royal Guard has been reminding him during the long trip, but he makes sure, now that they are getting close, to say it one more time, “Just listen to what I say… Don’t try to run and set this whole thing off.” He has to say it, but Kas has been so compliant through all this that it isn’t much of a worry in the young fighter’s mind. Thunder rolls in and Larket pulls up, Macon dismounting his horse and staring across at his opponents. He tries to peek over the barricade and see what they’ve brought, but he -knows- what he has is better. He’s brought soldiers tested in battle, they’ve brought school children and their teachers. Then his slate stare falls on Brenwyn and he growls, “Well!? Wha’ do you got for me?” Wendell and Percy land and the wind, for this moment, goes silent.

Quintessa moves with the council as part of the guarding attachment, the hood of her magical cloak pulled up to block out the rain in preparation for the impending downpour. The hexblade stayed close to Brenwyn, as he had suggested earlier to her when she warned him about what was coming, but the odd girl still didn’t quite understand why the elf was so cavalier about all of it. A gloved hand rests casually upon the hilt of her katana, and her mismatched eyes stare stoically across the pass as they approached the appointed location. Quintessa appears drained and emotionless, her guilt weighing heavily on her conscience, though she would do everything in her power to hide it. After all these months of pretending to be a vampire, the changeling was good at hiding most things from people, mostly her motivations. Her sapphire and topaz gaze flickers over to the one person she always had trouble hiding her feelings from, Karasu, and she gives her girlfriend a nod of approval as she commands the Spellblade Corp behind her. “Well?” She says to anyone who hasn’t already heeded the feline’s words, “Don’t make her repeat herself.” To Kaaname, Quintessa can only offer a polite smile, fake and practiced, “Of course, this is what we’ve trained for.” The hexblade gives her students a knowing look. “Right Spellblades?” The Corp all give their signs of affirmation, some nodding, others giving a small echo of the changeling’s sentiment. “Alright, attention! They’ll be here any moment.”

Kasyr gives Roald a look that is equal measures amused and exasperated. "If I'd wanted to leave, i would have left a long time ago, when I first felt my health flagging. Peut-etre leaving a moi shaped hole in your forces, and a number of bladed souvenirs in my wake." There's a levity in his voice, but the expression that he ultimately levels at Roald is decidely flat. "Please. If you're looking to talk down to an idiot, wait until we're chatting with the council, enfin." That aside, the Kensai simply waits for the carriages to come to a halt- more than willing to graciously accept the help offered in leaving the carriage, even if it meant that he was now in the midst of an even larger armed escort. Provided someone can see him past the troops, the Kensai is looking better than the last few times he's had visitors, given the overall tone of his skin has improved. Part of it, no doubt is due to the obligatory bit of medical care he'd received, courtesy of the aftermath of his fight in Larket's arena- but a larger part was to be found in the removal of the temporal thread from his body. In any case, he's more energetic to be sure, given that he offers a lopsided wave to the spellblades from where he's positioned, before rocking back onto his heels. That little gesture aside, all he had to do now is wait, while he casually drummed his fingers against his newly changed over sling- free of the bloody marks that had marred it's predecessor, though they'd been replaced by a few 'get well' signatures courtesy of the guards that had bet on him during the tourney fight. Well, that, and maybe poke at the new earring he'd acquired, as a token from an appreciative fan. Always helped to have those sort of things on hand.

Brenwyn crosses his arms defiantly and balks at Macon’s demands. His tact is quite different from the last time they met. Haladavar’s goals have shifted. “For centuries mages have restrained ourselves to make people like you feel a little less threatened. A thousands swords can’t accomplish on the battlefield what a single rudimentary fireball can do. Your axe can’t cut through a well maintained ward. Your fists can only bloody. You create nothing, you explore nothing, your contributions to this world are fleeting and trivial. But when you need someone to lift a curse, save a life, fortify a fort, then you need us, then you love us. You cannot choose to pretend you’re our superior as it suits you. We are greater than you. We break the laws of gods, and you think we’ll follow yours? Our benevolence is our greatest gift to you, and so that is what I offer you: your lives.” He glares as he hisses the final word.

Magik pays no mind to any nods or fake smiles. He has one thing on his mind. Everything else is an unneeded distraction and timing has to be perfect. He clears his throat and takes a few steps forward to place himself within arms reach of Brenwyn. The elf raises his voice as he directs his words to all present, "Ya know. This..excuse of an elf does not speak for all present here. There are others who wish to be speak.." Magik quickly brings a hand up to grip the back of Brenwyn's neck, squeezing tightly at the pressure points. As Magik speaks the tip of an arrow slowly rips through Magik's palm to put pressure on the back of the administrator's neck. Although blind to everyone else, it's a solid warning to Brenwyn to remain silent. If not, this hidden arrow will let loose right through his neck and out of his throat. The grip tightens as he pulls Brenwyn closer to him. Magik's eyes blaze furiously as he spits at the elf, "And they will be heard." The Lyastri looks up to lock eyes with Macon, "We do not wish for war with Larket. We only wish for peace. I think you should hear these words out.." Magik's stare remained as the arrow pushed against Brenwyn's skin. A sly smirk plays across the Veneficus' features before he nods his head towards Grace.

Valrae || The wind that had tore at Grace’s unbound hair and sent the curled ends snapping behind her wildly died with the arrival of Larket. Her whole body was tense and coursing with anticipation, the influence of the skull and Macon’s rage stone edging her toward a cold fury that she fought back from her mind with stubborn resolve. Though the waiting didn’t last long, it felt as if the witch stood for hours holding her breath as Macon and Brenwyn spoke. As predicted, Brenwyn pushed the guild further toward war. With her heart pounding in her ears, she waited for the signal that the allies she’d sought out were ready. Finally, Veneficus D'Chath makes his move and Grace can feel her heartbeat in her throat. As he moves, the illusioned witch does as well, quickly standing between Brenwyn and King Macon. “Brenwyn, nor the council for that matter, speak for all of us.” She agrees loudly, keeping her tone calm and her hands visible. “We would like an opportunity to work toward peace between the guild and Larket.” She pauses, hoping that her next words aren’t the spark that burns everything to ash. “Peter is dead.” Grace’s illusioned face shows very real apology and pain. “We would like to offer the man who ordered his kidnapping, *and* murdered him, as a token of apology and peace.” She says this quickly, ignoring the bubbling protests of the council that have started behind her and trusting others to handle any possible trouble brewing at her back. “Administer Brenwyn has been allowed to abuse his power and position long enough. The guild does not, nor will it ever, condone the kidnapping and murder of a child from any land. Especially not from Larket,” The witch adds diplomatically, “Who is home to our sister school and deserves our solidarity and respect.” Her teeth hurt from saying it but desperate times called for desperate measures. “Our proposal is this: Administer Brenwyn is stripped of his title and rank effective immediately, as such his extradition to Larket can be handled here, now, in exchange for peace between the Guild and Larket, along with the promise of further negotiation… Particularly in regards to the release of the Auxilia Veneficus in your custody.” Grace stepped back, making a sweeping gesture toward Brenwyn as the first cold, fat raindrops fell from the boiling clouds. The illusioned witch kept her eyes on King Macon, letting her offer hang in the air. The knowledge that she would be sending the Administer to an inevitably painful end, perhaps not unlike her own, weighed heavy on her soul. But her resolve would not falter.

Karasu || Provost Kaaname maintains a straight face as Brenwyn, the very high elf that welcomed him into Xalious as an apprentice decades before, provokes the Rage King. The provocation is nearly enough to break his stance on refraining from using his abilities since the Administrator’s marked change, but thankfully, the Lyastri’s interference halts the notion of doing so. Karasu wordlessly raises a gloved hand and snaps her fingers, her other hand ready at the hilt of her long sword. The Spellblade Corps steps forward, ushering Foreza, Kaaname and Kyl'oriel to safety behind the living barrier as the revelation echoes across the mountain path. Her hand lowers, and the members of the corps step back as a show of good faith.

Quintessa reaches to take hold of the grip of her sword as Magik puts his hand on the Administrator’s neck, but the conflict in her mind causes her to hesitate and do nothing except blankly stare at the two elves. The changeling grinds her sharp teeth together. Was she meant to protect Brenwyn? Quintessa could not stand against the decision of her clan leader, but could she also allow him to put his hands on the leader of her guild? Icy blue and warm hazel eyes flicker to and fro as she half pivots to face them, her body tensing slightly as she senses the building danger in the air. When Provost Grace is given the chance to speak, Quintessa knows she cannot possibly save him now, and her gaze falls upon the woman as the rain bounces off the draw hood over her head. The changeling knows Valrae is right, and furthermore, this announcement further cleared her of any suspicion of child murder or kidnapping, she knew she’d have to be a fool to foil this opportunity. When the feline’s fingers snap and the spellblades step forward, Quintessa’s sword inches from her sheath, but Karasu’s second order catches her off-guard and the hexblade follows suit, heeding her partner’s command to stand down by allowing the Jubaku no Kijo to slide harmlessly back down in her protective scabbard in solidarity. “Looks like the end of the line, Administrator.” Quintessa says to him quietly, the expression on her face remaining as cold and emotionless as stone.

Kasyr isn't quite sure what should be showing on his face at this juncture, when Valrae announces the guilds closely kept secret. Should it have been distaste, some form of indignant anger, perhaps? His eyes flick over towards the armed escort, and the tension that's built up in their forms, not only due to situation- but that virulent rage that Macon gives off. Would the truth really set him free here? With a faint mutter, he does his best to focus himself should all hell break loose- his attention less on the unfolding drama, and more on the actions of his entourage. Something which seemed to be an intensification of the storm, the pungent scent of ozone beginning to mingle with the scent of moist earth.

Enelys watches the opposing forces roll forth with their meaty muscles and shiny steel. She has to take a moment to sort of pucker and look around at her fellow mates. Enelys, for what it’s worth, has plenty of ambition, and brazen balls of bronze when her pride is directly threatened, but besides a few bumpkin bully’s in her hometown, she’s honestly never had to so much as swat a mans arm for groping her harshly. This is uh... more than she bargained for. It didn’t mean she would turn take and run though. She set her eyes coldly on the enemy (some of these are mere boys! Surely they aren’t old enough to hold a sword! I can’t kill them...) and began to calculate exactly how many metal wearing opponents she could chain lightning before getting trampled by a horse. Those noble sons and daughters of Larket may have youth enlisted among salt and pepper officers but one lass had an arm as thick as her head! At well below four feet tall, Enelys started to feel a bit self conscious about her recent training regimen. One of the older soldiers was surely practiced enough to do a clean beheading in one swipe if they drew close enough. She would just have to focus on fighting them at range. A magnetic field barrier would stop spears and arrows, so if she kept her distance, she just might survive... Growing a bit nervous, the tiny mage primped and primmed, adjusting her skirts, her hair, her gloves, her boots, summoning an astral hand to chew its fingernails because she didn’t want to mess up the paint on hers, little things like that. Quite a fidgety mess. She just had to hope the lacquer for her waterfall of platinum ringlet hair was enough to stop it from getting frizzed when she became a living magical lightning rod. This kind of weather always had a fondness for her, she wasn’t called the Lightning Rose for nothing (she was, actually, but no one here really needed to know that, and she wasn’t about to explain her fathers eccentricities in the middle of a battle, though perhaps it might confuse the enemy). Calm down, Enelys, surely there was a diplomatic solution, the guild master wouldn’t be all gung-ho about sacrificing mage lives now would he? The presence of the sword mages did little to assuage her doubts. Why, why must magic always be reduced to a tool for war? There was little time to recite the philosophical debate. Larket looked like a bunch of philandering philistines anyway. Oh look at him, a mage that can fly, how original. Probably couldn’t conjure his way out of a paper hat. Dang this Brenwyn guy has the right idea. Mages were the best! Axe king has got nothing on them- us. Except uh... big eyebrows, maybe. Angry eyebrows. Brenwyn was kind of seething. Those hadn’t been fighting words, were they? A chance for peace on the mages terms, for sure, unless she’s misheard him, and rightly so on mages terms- again, or needed no saying, but mages were in fact the best. No mortal army with mortal blades could slay them! At least, not all of them... right? Magik, she believed his name was, reinforced her views. Surely there would be no need for fighting and blood shed. Mages were better than that. Magic itself was better than that, despite the gleeful hunger for murder Enelys was sure she’d seen during her entrance exam in Quintessa eyes. If this Macon guy couldn’t see reason, well, they would have to make him. That was just the way of things. Such hubris to stand against the whole of the guild. So futile. Mages ruled, normies drooled, such was the way. Wait a sec, what? They stole that kid and now he was straight up dead? Oh this isn’t good, oh no. With wide indigo eyes Enelys chews the nails of the spectral hand faster. Damn, Brenwyn is a legit child murderer? This is some sick stuff. Sucks they found out, guys got to get it together, he had magic and they still found out, he obviously isn’t right for the position. Enelys would have covered up a murder way better than he did. Especially a political one. Ah crap the spellblades are moving! Oh man, the feces is on a fated course for the fan on this one, she could feel it in the air, that and the lightning.

Macon :: Roald puts on a smile and gives a nod to Kasyr. Clashing blades with a number of his childhood heroes has given the dual wielder some earned confidence in his own skill, “I know... “ The last bit about the council is answered with, “I won’t be doing the talking. Trust me.” Only the Kensai gets to be audience to the Royal Guardsman’s transformation inside the carriage as he take in a deep breath and the worry slowly disappears from his face, opening the door as he becomes Hard Larketian Stone. Brenwyn speaks and The Rage Knight grins wildly back at him. These words are lofty and entertaining from an administrator perhaps best known for pushing a quill across a desk. Put yourself in King Jauzon’s shoes here, Brenwyn. You are a self-made Avatar of Anger, a servant favored by the God of Death, -you- break the laws of gods; your son is born of a half-elf mother, an impossibility brought into being by the sheer will of you and your Queen (and unsavory science from a snake). Macon looks to his left at Percival, whom he believes to be the most potent mage present at this meeting, as if to remind the administrator that magic and mages live and practice outside of Xalious as well. He looks like he is about to speak back to Brenwyn, but then the guild steps forward to betray him. First the revelation of Peter’s death transforms into the revelation of his -murder- and wild fury boils over in the king, sending a pulse of the infuriating aura out over the large gathering. Magikrios undermines the administrator and Grace’s offer returns the cocky smile to The Rage Knight’s face and behind him a wave of relief washes over the entirety of the Larketian battalion, Rage Aura subsiding once again. Percival is stunned at what he is witnessing and, as the rain starts to fall, his control over the air falls away and the wind picks up once more. Macon stands tall. This is a coup to appease him, basically exactly what he wanted. The guild is eating itself alive and he could wish no other fate on an organization that would take the life of a loyal Larketian. “We share the desire of peace.” he shouts across, “My ‘eart is broken for this senseless loss of a blooming life, but We will not let this spark more death… I accept your offer of the administrator.” Brenwyn is sent a taunting smile, “He will be brought t’swift justice…” With a motion of his hand Roald and Kasyr are summoned forward for the coming exchange…

Brenwyn stiffens when Magik grabs the back of his neck, but, perhaps unexpectedly, does not resist when Magik shoves him forward and Valrae offers him up as bait. Let that lack of resistance be their first clue. Something isn’t quite right with Brenwyn and hasn’t been for a long time. The dark elf slides his gaze to his periphery and gives Valrae a cool, wicked grin. Haladavar and Macon agree that the Guild is eating itself and Haladavar is shoving more and more of the Guild down its own throat. Weak-spined, weak-willed, pathetic mages that have grown soft have no place in his glorious future. His taunt grin at Valrae slides to Magikrious and he says, “I’ll enjoy watching you regret this.”

Magik watches as Macon accepts the offer. He does his best to not smirk. Brenwyn's words gain the elf's focus for a moment, "I'll be sure to disappoint you, Brenwyn. You are a cancer and you will be dealt with accordingly." As Kasyr and Roald are summoned forward, Magik directs Brenwyn to walk forward with an even tighter grip, "Walk." Magik leads the administrator from behind halfway towards the Larket army for a proper exchange. As they near the halfway point, Magik shifts his focus to Roald and Kasyr. Should Roald or anyone else in the Larket regime have any other thoughts, Brenwyn will go down first. Roald next. Then a quick surprise already positioned to let loose towards the King. Magik's black eyes scan any potential enemy for any sudden movements as he waits for the official exchange.

Valrae || Grace could hear warning bells trilling somewhere distantly in her mind despite the plan’s relatively smooth unfolding. The adrenaline and fury that had burned through her blood chilled, turned to ice water. As the rain and wind picked up again, she watched unmoving as the exchange took place. The goal had been reached, the desired outcome won, and yet disbelief fogged her mind. Her face remained determined and calm, betraying none of her true feelings even as Macon’s rage boiled out around them and then calmed. There would be more to come from this, she knew, but if they could just get beyond this… They could focus inward and no longer have the looming threat of Larket hovering over them. And the council, without the influence of Brenwyn, could be purged and built anew. But Brenwyn’s grin told her something was wrong. What could he mean? The rain fell steadily and soaked through her cloak, bounced off of the rocks and muddied the mountain path… But the cold that Grace felt was only from the doomed Administer’s words. “Wait..” Spoke softly, a whisper unheard over the wind and rain. And it was too late for that. Magick’s words were filled with fire but she felt none of it’s reassuring warmth. Macon’s promise of swift justice came and for a moment, Valrae wondered if he would make well on the promise here or drag Brenwyn back to Larket for a show. Neither ending would help her sleep at night. “Thank you, King Macon,” She begins to eat the proverbial crow once more as Magick makes the tense exchange, “For your willingness to come to a fair solution. You can expect that the guild will be conducting a thorough investigation into this matter and how it managed to spiral so far out of hand. It will not happen again.”

Karasu clicks the safety latch of her sword as Brenwyn is brought forward. Kaaname, meanwhile, keeps his icy eyes trained on his former mentor. His eyes flicker to the Rage King, and it takes only that moment to understand his intentions. He moves to step forward, and finds his path blocked by the spellblades. “You said you wouldn’t interfere, right? Haven’t you done enough damage?” The mask is removed from Karasu’s face and put into a pocket inside of her robe. Fat raindrops batter her face freely, doing well to mask the tears welling up as she mourns the Administrator that had been like family to her up until her self-imposed exile. ‘It doesn’t take telemancy to know what happens next, whether it happens here or behind the closed doors of Larket.’ She thinks, knowing her father will hear the thought. The halfling's tired heart prevents her from noticing the erratic compliance. Kaaname’s stoic facade finally falters as he looks from his daughter, to Quintessa, then back out to where Brenwyn is thrust forward for Macon’s mercy. Part of him was giddy at the idea of a bloodbath to thin the population of reckless mages, but not if it put himself or his personal weapon directly in harm’s way. Not without the right melody. “Abilities be damned.” He snarls. There is a faint glow in his eyes as he focuses on Brenwyn. There is a faint buzzing in the Administrator’s ears as Kaaname’s voice echoes in his mind. “What possessed you to antagonize the crown, old friend? Was any of this worth whatever point you think you’ve made here?”

Quintessa does not hesitate when Magik and the Administrator step forward, acting as Brenwyn’s escort to his bitter end. This is the way. With both hands still glued on her weapon, the changeling’s long legs carry her to the middle ground, her eyes flashing up to meet her teacher’s as he is brought forward. Quintessa wants to do more to greet him, but the gravity of the situation is far too great for her to spare any informalities. She is all business right now. As her mismatched eyes of the changeling fall upon Macon, she spares him the piercing glare they typically harbored for the King of Oppression. “Let's make the trade and be done with this conflict here and now.” Quitessa’s gaze falters from Macon to fall upon Brenwyn. “Permanently.” Her meaning is clear; The hexblade does not wish to see Brenwyn make it to Larket.

Enelys is shocked. Stunned. The irony is in fact lost on her. What in all hell’s just happened? Is this a straight up coup? She wasn’t happy he was a child murderer sure but... was the guild just straight up bowing down to someone? I mean, he had to have had a reason to murder that kid right? Did he murder him... was this subterfuge? Was he framed? What kind of mad hat stay tuned we’ll be back next week to resolve this cliffhanger crap was this? Around her were quiet murmurs of much the same. Not quite murmurs of dissent, but willful disobedience, perhaps. “Why are we turning over Brenwyn/did he really murder that kid/what’s really going on here” Enelys had to grip her staff tightly. Hidden agendas, betrayal, submission and subjugation- courtly romance turns and twists were all well and good until you had to spell them out on the battlefield for all your supposedly loyal soldiers. These were students after all, not battle hardened warriors, though perhaps some of them did side with the spell blades over this. Instead of war, it seemed more like sacrifice, feeding one of their own to the wolves so that others may live. Put simple, it didn’t sit well with all of them, those that blindly supported their betters currently had harsh criticism and opposition turned toward them. For Enelys it was sickening. The world of mages being turned on its head, chopping off a limb to feed this mortal beast. Too many questions left unanswered and none of them would have the truth revealed if more blood was spilled. She could see it now, lots of heads nodding along in lots of lectures as the instructors told them about the ousting of Brenwyn and how it all ‘really’ went down. History was written by the victors and Larket had won. Magic wasn’t this. It was knowledge, knowledge was power, knowledge was absolute truth. Divination rituals and precognitive visions would be censored, questioning entities silenced. No. Surely that was... too much to expect. Perhaps it all really is this straightforward. Brenwyn, a murderer. Larket, justly executing him. But was it?

Kasyr strides alongside Roald, his eyes locked with his hostage counterpart. Whilst the looming threat of an all-out conflcit seemed less imminent, some degree of anxiety remains. The kensai remembers the look that Brenwyn had held when he thought noone could see- the sheer contempt that had oozed off him while standing in Lanlan's office. Would he really meekly go along with this, knowing what was awaiting him? "Maybe we can have a hand of cards after all this es over." Provided the guilds still standing, the world hasn't ended, and whatever else the gods had in store. Standing at the center of things, Kasyr offers a faint nod of acknowledgement to Magik and Tessa, before he begins to make his way to swap places with Brenwyn. Is this really how it was going to resolve itself?

Macon is very quick to accept the word of Sarah Grace and the rest of the mages betraying Brenwyn because he is the one among them that The Rage Knight hates the most. If he could only kill one, the administrator would be his choice. Even if he knew Valrae was among them, he believes himself to have already killed The Red Witch twice (technically Hudson did it the second time), so it is time for some variety. Macon walks forward and extends his hand to his side, prompting the Rage Axe to unhinge itself from his back and fly magically into his grip. Two Larketian soldiers, Gregory and Gregaro, step forward and take hold of the elven mage. “Right here,” Macon says and they push Brenwyn down onto his knees and then down further to prostrate him. Kasyr is on his way back ‘home’ and he can probably hear Macon as he speaks to Brenwyn, “This is the fate of all who dare test Larket.” Macon does not need Quintessa’s direction. ‘Swift Justice’ only ever meant one thing. The great axe rises up, lifted in both hands and The Rage Knight only pauses briefly… He’s executed plenty of enemies of The Hard City, none acted like this. He seems almost happy… Even Valrae who believed herself to be a martyr wasn’t this resigned or complacent. She was angry, fiery, a spark. This man is nothing like that, there isn’t anything there at all, like he could give or take having his head attached to his body. No matter. The axe falls like the rain. It is swift as promised and Brenwyn’s neck is cut clean, the blade embedded, bloody in the earth of Xalious and The Rage Stone glowing within it. This and The Red Witch’s burning are very clearly two different genres of Larketian executions. With Valrae it was personal, this with Brenwyn is cold. Percival looks away and is not crying, it’s just raining. Grace has taken the lead on the other end, so as Macon lifts his weapon out of the ground he looks her way, “We can come t’terms on the future relationship between Larket and Xalious, but now…” He waves his axblade over towards the masses of mages and spellblades and then over to his own army, “I hope that we ‘ave no further need of these forces of war…” His voice is gravelly and calm, the rage from the last meeting is gone with this beautiful concession they have made to him.

Brenwyn :: Moments before Brenwyn’s execution, Haladavar releases the administrator’s body so that the beloved, good-hearted teacher returns to his own mind. Brenwyn has been absent all these months, his mind frozen in a senseless state of non-existence. His last memory is of helping Karasu find a rare book in the restricted section of the library. He comes back to what quickly dawns on him is his own execution. Horror slowly knits onto his face on Macon’s upswing. The last thing he hears is the voice of his dear friend Kaaname in his mind. In his final gasp at life, that moment when the soul kicks one last time against the hand of fate, he croaks out in a frenzied panic, “Kaaname, it’s me! Do you not recognize me-” Schwing. The axe slices through Brenwyn’s neck, paralyzing his expression into one of helpless terror. His dead eyes seem fixed on Kaaname as his severed head jostles slowly to a stop. Most striking in his final expression is the confusion and surprise twisted into his brow. Why, old friend? Why? || With Brenwyn’s murder Haladavar accomplished his goal for the day. He has permanently stained the collective conscience of the guild. Macon’s axe may be wet with Brenwyn’s blood, but the murder was committed by the Guild. They betrayed their own beloved leader, and in due time they’ll realize with horror that Brenwyn, too, was a victim, and they forsook him. Just as every other bold action (or inaction) has divided this guild in recent years, Haladavar places a big bet that this betrayal will further fracture a Guild already set on an irreversible course for self-implosion. But the ancient elf isn’t done with the Guild just yet. His true goals loom larger than this death, and he extends his influence from beyond the amber soul cage that houses him at Brenwyn’s hip to Quintessa’s mind. He imbues her with a panicked sense of urgency. She must, she absolutely must, retrieve and protect this soul cage. She must, she must, she must. It feels to her as if her very life depends on it.

Magik looked down his nose at Brenwyn's execution, not flinching or blinking during the whole scene before him. After the axe seperated head from body he finally blinked then spit to the side of Brenwyn's lifeless body. There was nothing like the smell of fresh bloodshed mixed with the smell of rain. The elf took everything in as he gave the Larketians one final look over. Macon would receive a small smirk before finally turning his focus on Kasyr. Magik hid the arrowhead partially poking out of his palm as he held his hands behind his back, "All good, Kas?" Magik looked to Quintessa as well, "Let's get out of here, yeah?" With that, Magik would let Kasyr take the first steps back towards the Guild before following suit.

Valrae || “Wait..” Again, spoken too softly and much too late. Quintessa’s words reach her and Grace feels dread sinking like a stone in her stomach. As the axe appears, Valrae’s bespelled eyes lock onto Brenwyn’s own, suddenly filled with terror. She does not look away as the blade falls. There were sounds, even above the rain and roll of thunder there were sounds that would never leave her. The sing of the axe as it fell, the sound as it struck wetly against bone… The thud of the Administer’s head as it fell to the muddy earth. Grace’s features slid into a careful mask of emotionlessness, even as she felt the rain wash away the warmth of fresh blood that had found her cheek. She can hear the rage King speaking but it sounded as if she were listening underwater. Blinking, she pulls her eyes from the lifeless ones of the Administer and nods. “Right, yes.” The witch straightens her shoulder and firmly buries whatever guilt she might feel somewhere deep, deep inside of her mind. She can deal with it later. Or never. Turning her back to Macon, which would have been the most terrifying moment of her life if she wasn’t currently dealing with shock, Grace addressed the guild at large. Using magic to amplify her voice she announces, “Brenwyn has been executed for the kidnapping and murder of an innocent Larketian boy. The Guild has suffered the loss of potential twice over and we will all mourn this loss. There will be no more bloodshed. Please, return to the tower and resume your schedules unless notified otherwise by your current mentors and professors.” She turns on her heel and faces Macon again, lifting her brows as if daring him to call his forces off as well. “As you said, no further need for forces of war,” The witch expects resistance from the remaining members of the council, and looks toward Karasu and Quintessa to make the call on who should be allowed to remain.

Karasu forces herself to watch the movements of the King’s axe through her heartbroken lens. Her eyes widen slightly in alarm as Brenwyn’s face contorts into one of panic and frenzy. Her hood falls as she whips her head to her father, as do some of the onlookers who heard Brenwyn’s singular cry for help. Her mind races as she considers the possibilities. Was this some sort of trick from Kaaanme? Had he done something to the Administrator how he had done to her? Screams erupt from the onlookers, and the more inexperienced spellblades break formation to dry heave as the eyes of the late Administrator rolls to a stop. The disguised vampire is vaguely aware that Foreza and Kyl’oriel were shouting as well. Were they shouting at him because Brenwyn had called to him? Were they trying to disperse the crowd? Sweat beads at his brow as for the first time in nearly two decades, fear is struck into his heart. Brenwyn’s cry was genuine. For the first time in months, the mind of the Administrator opened up to the telemancy abilities the Provost had worked so hard, even declined repeated offers for promotions for, all to keep hidden until the time was right. What he saw instead of contempt for his council members, or glee for having antagonized the Larketian crown, was instead pure, unadulterated terror. “Oh my dearest Larewen, what has transpired here?” He whispers, his voice lost to the rain that now fell as if a storm had approached. Kaaname Tsuji had allowed something terrible to happen here. Valrae’s instruction to the students calls his attention back up from the decapitated head. Karasu mentally recites a prayer for the departed as she looks out to Quintessa, then back at the Spellblade Corps awaiting orders. Unmasked now, whispers erupt as they recognize the face of the mysterious woman who Quintessa had allowed to direct orders at them. “Spellblades. Release Provost Tsuji and Master Kyl’oriel. Foreza.” She regards the instructor that once used a spell on her to keep her from seeking out the other council members to demand an explanation as to why she had been denied apprenticeship. “Tend to the students.” She orders. Foreza, stunned by what has transpired, gives an idle nod before being allowed to pass through the spellblades and back to the tower. Kaaname raises his head as his panic is put on hold. There were matters to attend to. “Yes. No more bloodshed.” Kaaname speaks slowly as he steps forward.

Quintessa feels an odd sensation envelop her, gripping a hold of her throat as her stoicism is shattered to pieces in wake of the new terror that grows like a spine of ice in the pit of her stomach. Brenwyn’s previous order makes sense now, why he had asked her to be by his side until the very end. The Soul Cage! Of course! Everything hinges on this, the life of her, of her friends and allies, and more importantly, the future of the guild! Quintessa never knew the original Brenwyn, so his life was meaningless to her, but her conviction in this new purpose is utterly clear and unwavering. A gloved hand deftly waves in secret as the Necromancer employs the use of the Black Tides, the Soul Cage on the corpse of the former Administrator silently consumed by shadows and pulled within them to quickly vanish from view. With her sleight of hand complete, she re-manifests the object under her cloak, the downpour of rain serving as the perfect cover for her subterfuge. When Magik speaks to her she barely notices, looking over at her mentor with a grim expression. “Yes, let’s go.” She quickly agrees, unable to hide the frantic air that involuntarily stains her voice as she spins to leave both the Lyastri and the Kensai behind her. Quintessa has a purpose, a job to do, and she would not- could not rest until Haladavar’s Soul Cage was safely back at the tower (likely in her own office). There she would hide it until approached by a member of the Ossian Order and nobody else, not Magik, not Kasyr, not even Karasu could know about this. As she passes Valrae there is panic in her eyes, but Quintessa only gives her a glance before brushing past her as if the changeling would be next on the chopping block. When she comes face-to-face with her partner, Karasu, Quintessa can’t even bring her mixed optics up to gaze at her, instead falling to the muddy earth as she offers her a quiet, “I’m sorry,” before she moves past the feline with a pace that rivaled the hexblade’s charging rush. Something was clearly bothering the hexblade, but she wasn’t about to stop to talk about it now, as her tall form pushes her way through the younger mages like a woman possessed.

Enelys vomits. This pure little bean ain’t never seen nobody get beheaded before. She had been trying to shield other students from the sight but the adrenaline and the fear were too much on top of all the blood and squelchy bits. The rain made quick work of an undigested dinner. The heaving and sobbing came under control with a few deep breaths after. At least a few other students shared the same fate. Some were up in arms, clamoring, trembling with magic. Enelys’ own hands sparked defiantly. How dare this presumptive puss boil drive the mages like cattle before him. How disgustingly frail the council seemed in the face of a human king. Did they have no power over the fates of their own kind? How could they allow such things to pass- how did it ever come to this? Many students were stricken with silence. Some seemed to hold barely contained emotions in physical form, mouths shut but hands and tears aglow with the promise of violence. Grief in all its forms flowed from them in a terrible light waxing and waning. Denial. Fear. Sorrow. Anger. The announcement about returning to regular schedules is almost summarily ignored. A trickle of students at best work their way back to the building. Scathing sessions that took place in dorms, halls, and even classrooms have even more students recoiling or adversely glued with attention to the event.

Kasyr 's attention remains locked on Brenwyn for the whole sordid affair- and yet, that final defiant act he was expecting never came to pass. Rather, what he sees instead is a rather abrupt dichotomy manifest itself in the administrator- a singular, soul piercing terror that runs through the man, before it's summarily brought to a close. The swordsman sits there for a few moments, staring at the aftermath- and yet, it's not tears he's blinking from his eyes. It's a sense of confusion at the sense of foreignness that came from the man in his final frantic moments. Finally, with a slow shake of his head, he turns away from the scene- and begins to make his way towards the spellblades. There was little sympathy to be shed for the man, and in the face of the panic and anxiety that was reverberating through the air, his efforts were better spent on helping to gather up the students- a few small prayers to Daedria hummed in order to help bring about some degree of calm to those he feels are most in need of grounding. That, and a bit of paladin-y meddling never hurt when dealing with those apprentices who were feeling a bit more sickly than their peers. "You'll need to get out of the rain, enfin. We'll do our best to address this, when you're all safe at the academy." Will the other teachers? How is the council going to spin all this? How are they going to smooth it over in the aftermath. "Make sure to look after the others, s'il te plait."

Macon ’s concerns are put to rest when he sees the last expression ever to grace Brenwyn’s face. It was a little late, but there it is; the fear that lets the Rage Knight know he’s won. Roald hands off Kasyr and nods, “Yeah. Maybe I’ll catch you in the tournament too.” He’s facing some anonymous nobody* in round one after all. (*kidnapper half-hag) The king meets Magik’s quick smirk with a blank expression while he is wiping mage’s blood off of his axhead. He’s happy to do their dirty work when it aligns so well with his own. To Grace Macon nods and then turns his head to Wendell, giving a few orders for the mage to distribute among the leaders of the squadrons in attendance. The process of sending the boys home to Larket begins slowly as essential protectors of The Crown are asked to stay, but just as it is happening on the side of the guild, so too is deescalation happening on the Larketian side. Cavalry is headed back to The Hard City, along with the limited siege weaponry and the vast majority of the foot soldiers, leaving Larketian King with a skeleton crew that resembles the one he brought down to Xalious a few weeks ago when this thing kicked off (Percy, Wendell, Roald, and a handful of soldiers). Of course Maxwell Eugene is not here this time, not that anyone would have noticed if he was.

Valrae || Grace catches a glimpse of the look in Quintessa’s eyes and feels worry rush through her. Did the Steward have the same sudden misgivings? Well, it was too late now. The witch turns her attention back toward the matter at hand. Behind her and with the help of Kasyr and Magik, the students have begun to settle. The realization that the threat of a war that they were sorely outnumbered in has passed. The loss of the well liked Administer would echo through the tower long after his death but the whispers of his misdeeds would follow it. Kaaname and Kyl’oriel join her as she faces Macon. By now the rain has thoroughly soaked through to her bones, and the cold she’s feeling is from the weather. Her illusioned dark hair hangs in wet, sad waves around her face. Luckily, it had slowed to a sad drizzle. Kyl’oriel is the first to break the new silence, brushing at the front of his robe and clearing his throat. “Right. In light of recent events…” He thinks quickly, “The guild would be willing to offer free enrollment to… Perhaps ten Larketian students per year." Of course young Larketians would be ecstatic to join the prestigious ranks of the guild over the smaller, less distinguished halls of Larket’s Academy? Valrae feels her annoyance peak. She levels Kyl’oriel a scathing look. Did he want to immediately undo all of the progress she’d just made? Were all of the council members hellbent on war? “Actually,” Grace cuts in quickly, hoping to get ahead of King Macon’s inevitable distaste for the idea. “It would be more beneficial to offer an exchange program,” She looks toward Percival, “An exchange program could help bridge the gap that has seemed to grow between our institutions.”

Karasu stares out at the retreating forms of the Mage's Guild as Foreza eventually ushers the remaining students back inside. Initial murmurings of Xalious bending to Larket’s whim slowly become replaced with quiet disbelief of Brenwyn’s apparent admittance to his crimes, even as he begged his oldest friend in the village for help. Kaaname regards his daughter with skepticism. Too far away to read her thoughts now, he walks up to the impromptu negotiations. Half-moon glasses are removed as the rain renders them useless. “I think the last thing Larket needs right now is even more students to send our way on the promise that they will not be subjected to further accidents, Kyl’oriel.” He regards his fellow councilman with a sharp look. “I agree with Grace. Students, perhaps and faculty as well, between Xalious and Larket would be an apt way to signify that both schools are open to communication and transfer so that no person can repeat the tragedy that occurred here.”

Macon and Percival are thankful for Grace’s proactivity. The Rage Knight isn’t typically shy about disagreeing with his father in-law (or anyone for that matter), but if it can be avoided it is one less thread to be tugged at in The Royal Marriage. Percy looks bone dry even as the rain still falls. Is he unconsciously manipulating the air around him to push away the raindrops? Damn this guy is fabulous. The half-elf aeromancer takes the lead after a nod from his king, “A proper exchange program is precisely the kind of thing I was hoping we could establish to prevent anything like this from ever happening again.” The Furious King reinforces the headmaster’s sentiments, “We should not allow this tragedy t’harm the relationship between Larket and the guild any further. Instead it should be used t’establish a new, strengthened relationship.” Consolidation of power is Macon’s modus operandi, see his wedding with the Thane of Frostmaw. Percival nods and continues, “Indeed, I have discussed this with the king and we did not come into this situation with the intention of weakening The Mages Guild… But you have just lost one of your most tenured council members and there is clearly unrest within the ranks if you were able to give him up with such little protest…” Percy trails off for a moment, picturing the administrators last moments where he did not seem to mind that he had been betrayed by his guildmates. With a shake of his head the headmaster continues, “We hoped that this exchange program would be established alongside a complete realignment of the Larketian Academy of Magic as a new branch of the guild. The two great pillars of magical knowledge in Lithrydel joining together rather than continuing to compete for students…” Macon watches closely, mostly focused on Kyl’oriel, for the guild’s initial reaction to this proposal.

Magik made a quick B-line towards Grace. No words are exchanged. However, he forces a very faint smile as he lightly lays a hand on her shoulder then looks back to the headless administrator for a quick final glance. The elf turns back to try and lock his fiery eyes with Grace's as he simply pats her shoulder twice before heading to help funnel the students back towards the tower. He spoke up over their voices, the Veneficus coming out for the first time this evening,"The meditation room will be open to all first thing in the morning. Newcomers, please remove your footwear upon entering if you decide to drop by. Everyone back to your rooms. Quickly now!" Magik walks the stragglers back to the tower to quickly usher them in and up to their rooms, "No hanging out downstairs. Up. Bed. Good night." As the final students disappeared to their rooms, Magik exited the tower and walked towards the woods. He parts his lips with his fingers and lets out a deafening whistle to call out to his students. Surprisingly, they make themselves known almost immediately. Magik shakes his head as they start exiting the forest, "I told you guys to go deeper in the woods.." A small human girl stops in front of the elf, "We decided to not leave the tower unguarded completely. We were ready.." Magik cuts his student off, "Bed. All of you. Or negative marks. I mean it!" The girl in front of him received a hand on her head, "Go on." She simply nods and makes her way into the tower. Once everyone was inside, the Lyastri didn't hesitate to take to the skies in his smokey form and head back towards Kelay for a drink or twelve.

Valrae || Grace returns Magik’s gaze with a thankful one of her own, grateful for the silent moment of solidarity. Bolstered by the Veneficus she turns her attention back to the matters at hand. Standing in juxtaposition to the fabulous Percival, she looks nothing short of a drowned mess. Her hair is a mess, her makeup has run far too much for even illusion to fully save it, and her robes are soaked through and heavy. Still, she stands with her head high and her shoulders back. Even if the Cenrili native was secretly freezing and ready to curl up by a fire and have a good cry. Kyl’oriel seems to fall somewhere in the middle, wet but not without his persistent style and polish. His reaction to Percival’s extension of the exchange program was one that could be expected as he struggled to not openly recoil. Valrae has instead become distracted by the suggestion that the guild could be suffering, despite the very obvious and public events that might seem to support the idea, and she frowns. “The guild remains strong,” She argues. “Brenwyn’s loss will be mourned, however we will close ranks and elect a new acting Administrator. Until then, an exchange program with the intention of rolling out a program to extend relations to Larket’s Academy. Is this suitable? Can we agree?” She looks over the men surrounding her.

Quintessa is sitting in her office, alone, dripping water on the floor as she stares at the soul-bound object on her desk. She'll be like this all night long.

Karasu || Kaaname nods in agreement, his own peppered chestnut hair clinging to his weathered face to keep up with the illusion of appearing human. “Aye. Kyl’oriel, if you’re this hesitant to go then…” He sighs and gives a sidelong look to Karasu, who stands at the decapitated head. Her stained pink eyes seem hollow, yet glow in the dark night as she stares down at what was once Brenwyn, and for a moment, he sees her as a child staring down at-- No, focus. “Then I can take a few weeks to help with the preparations on the Larket side. If all goes well, we can have the exchange program running by the Celestial Celebration Ball.” Karasu’s eyes flicker up to Kaaname, her cat ears twitching in response to the suggestion. Her expression remains stoic as she seems to supervise the negotiations as the last member of the Spellblade Corps.

Macon narrows his slate stare, not willing to leave here with just a promise of a discussion of an exchange program. However Kaaname relocating to the Larketian Academy is more than a promise, it is schedule of action, and Percival is quick to make this clear to the wet, and easily irritable king, “Yes! I think Kaaname, with my input, acting as the Larketian extension of the mage’s council until the details of the exchange and affiliation program are ironed out should ensure that this gets done.” Macon is still holding his large weapon and it is only now that he moves to return it to its place clipped to his back, “Very well,” he says, sounding upset, but that’s just how he always sounds. “I am grateful…” he looks between the three mages present, but only lingers on Grace because she seemed to be the only one that was proactive about ousting Brenwyn, “...tha’ you came t’your senses and we were able t’avoid ruin here in Xalious.” Of course that is how he words it…

Karasu || The elderly Provost nods with a relieved sigh. “Yes, thank you Grace.” Nodding his head respectfully to both the father of the Larketian Queen and the King himself, he recuses himself from the conversation to approach the spellblade. Karasu stares balefully at the disguised vampire as he approaches. His eyes search hers through the haze of rain that separates the two. “I do not know why Brenwyn called out to me either.” He answers the unspoken question truthfully. Karasu steps away from the body, lifting the sopping wet hood onto her head. “Maybe it would have been better if I had stayed and let you use me to kill Brenwyn the second you became unable to perverse yourself with his thoughts.” Kaaname breathes in deeply, and exhales, shaking his head. “Because that would have let that scribe you were enamoured with stay in Xalious, or would have prevented the sins eating away at your lover’s mind. No, I think this was out of our control regardless of what course we might have taken.” Kaaname lifts the sleeves of his robes and removes one of the two runic bracers on his arms, holding it out to the spellblade. Karasu looks from them to him and back. “The anti-magic wards.” She states. Kaaname nods. “All I wanted was for you to come to worship Vakmatharas of your own volition. The blood on your sword was that of the slave trader that escaped and nearly took Berrentam, had you and Quintessa not interfered. If letting you run around thinking you can be the protagonist of someone else’s tale will do that, then I can be patient enough to let this course allow you to come to the same conclusion I did.” Karasu studies his features, trying to gauge whether he was telling the truth or not. Was grief for the Brenwyn she remembered clouding her mind? Warily, she snatches the bracelets from his hands, then turns on her heel, departing back towards the tower to deliver the tool to Quintessa’s office. As he watches his daughter’s figure shrink into the stormy night, Kaaname can’t help but smile. She was just too easy.