RP:Crooked Paintings and Other Contrivances

This is a Warrior's Guild RP.

Synopsis: Emrith tells Lionel what occurred the day Khitti nearly died defending Larewen from him. With Krice keeping a defensive stance beside Lionel, the two men hear the elf's side of events, and tensely accept. As a result, Lionel's nonchalant response to Larwen's demand for Emrith's head has retroactively made him a hypocrite for it; he won't let the fellow Warrior's Guild commander die needlessly now. Lines blur, but a loyalty-battered Guild regains some composure.

Fort Frostmaw

Lionel repositions the painting. It’s still crooked. It’s always going to be crooked. There doesn’t appear to be a damn thing he can do to stop it from being crooked. It’s the least of his worries. The vivid reddish sky and the marching Frost Giants beneath it -- their plight up the mountains, their return to an ancestral home -- has nothing to do with any of the present-day disasters at Lionel’s doorstep. It’s a distraction. Lionel needs his distractions. Unfortunately, he cannot abide by sticking to them for longer than a few moments; then it’s back to work, back to hardship, back to difficult decisions that influence the lives of thousands, or -- harder still -- the lives of a few choice friends. One such decision rests in how he will handle Emrith. The thought flickers through his brain, playing tricks on his memory. He cannot quite recall Larewen’s exact wording, nor the words of the woman whose opinion truly matters: Khitti, who could have been killed for his transgression. The painting is still crooked when Lionel O’Connor leaves his spartan room, unable to vanquish the troubles from haunting him any longer. Through the halls he walks, past guards who nod -- he’s convinced enough of them not to bow -- and priests and merchants and wealthy citizenry. He exits Fort Frostmaw and steps into the dying amber sunlight of the late afternoon, unaware that one or more of his ongoing strifes are about to meet him head-on.

Emrith :: Fates collide on an otherwise unremarkable afternoon. Emrith is giving little thought at the moment to the things which so trouble Lionel's own mind, though it would be a lie to say that he has never thought of them before. Indeed, he is only focused upon other things because he has just finished some basic combat training elsewhere in the city, and has decided to stop by the fort while he is nearby. Approaching, he is just in time to see Lionel exit the main building, and even at some distance, the wood-elf's eyes do not deceive him. Instead of flinching, or freezing, or even fleeing, Emrith keeps striding forward as if the sight of the man has had no effect on him whatsoever. Inside, though, his nervousness begins to bubble like acid. This can end in several ways, he knows, and a few of those outcomes might be...bloody, to say the least. He hopes to avoid bloodshed, but the presence of a rune-scribed, dual-bladed staff held in both hands ensures that he will be ready if fiolence becomes unavoidable. "Lionel," he greets cordially when he has reached hailing distance. "It has been some time, and it is good to see you. There are things that may need discussion between the pair of us. Things said, things done, that require clarifications. Decisions, too." He may not know what Lionel has been thinking, but the man is no fool. One way or another, there will be a reckoning for the attempt on Larewen's life.

Krice departed a room somewhere in the walls of the western hallway. Sporting a clean-shaven look for his recently too-hairy jaw, long hair that seemed as though it had never been cut, his usual black attire with the sleeves rolled up and collar open, and a katana strapped to his back, the enigma exited the fort after Lionel, several metres back. He had caught a glimpse of the Knight-Commander as they each left their respective zones and now, for reasons only he knew at present, he sought an audience. The chilling winds of Frostmaw's wilderness whipped around the warrior (omg epic accidental alliteration) and brought to his sensitive nose the scent of another; the scent of -many-, but one in particular. Where once his heartbeat was calm and steady, slow in reflection of high fitness, it now quickened in anticipation of a meeting that likely wasn't seen in a positive light. As he departed the fort, Krice stepped clear of Lionel's obstruction to the point where Emrith would be able to see him, if he looked at all. For whatever reason, the enigmatic swordsman opted to continue toward the men, listening to the words spoken on his way - an unyielding stare leveled on the staff-wielding elf.

Lionel | Had Emrith met Lionel even as recently as two years ago, he might find Hellfire’s tip pointed directly upon his head today. In his youth, Lionel was infamous for a heated disposition to rival even the burning flames of his blade. This recklessness was doused, in part, following his tragic and at-times humiliating setbacks during a certain war, but aspects of it remained a part of his person for years. Even now, he has a knack for hotheaded snark and dark assumption, but he’s been tempered by this city’s rightful queen. Hildegarde, ruler and warrior, has instilled in Lionel the ability to fully gauge a given situation at a given time. She has, perhaps through no conscious will of her own, enabled him to recognize when it might do to allow at least a cursory verbal examination before drawing Hellfire in anger. Whereas he has been quick to agree a reckoning must come, he has informed Larewen that before she kills Emrith, he will have words with the man. Words are now an option. It is only in passing that Lionel recognizes Krice is nearby; in many scenarios, he’d greet the man posthaste. This is not one such scenario. Right now, in this very moment, the words are all that matters. “Was it you who nearly killed her?” Pretense at pleasantries appears to be discarded, although his voice is calm. Perhaps too calm. “Was it -you?-” Clarification will likely not be needed. The phrasing is vague, but the meaning is plain: was it the elf or the Ever-Spider?

Emrith :: "It was Khitti herself," Emrith retorts. There is no hesitation, no attempt to dissemble. Emrith meets Lionel's gaze without flinching, but more importantly, there is no outright hostility in either his tone or his maintained eye contact. He is confident rather than angry, stating facts rather than actively attempting to bait the man standing before him. "I came for Larewen Dragana," Emrith amends. "Khitti happened to be there. I pleaded with her multiple times to flee, to get out of range. I had a promise to keep, Lionel, and Larewen knew this. She knew that if she ever fell, it would be my blade she landed upon. Well, that time had come. Khitti was injured because she would not stand aside. The only time I have ever intended her harm was when Amarrah took over during that mission underground, when no one had seen fit to tell me that I would be working alongside a woman being ridden by something little better than a demon. I reacted accordingly at the time, but once I had learned the facts, I endeavoured to give her the benefit of the doubt." Emrith falls quiet for a moment, shifting his grip on his staff, which he has not seen fit to lower. His eyes rove about the area, fix on Krice, then skate away again. He trains his stare back on Lionel's face again. "Whatever you may have been told is probably only part of the truth. The whole of it is quite simple. I took it upon myself to try and end the life of someone I feel poses a serious risk to a great number of people. It makes my heart sick to do it, but it is my decision. Khitti being harmed was an unintended consequence, one she could have and should have avoided. I seek no quarrel with her, and never have. Even Larewen I have left alone after that one abortive attempt. I have...other ways of fulfilling that promise I made her." Now, and only now, does something sharp enter his voice, a hint of open challenge and ire. "Were you prepared to pronounce a sentence upon me without knowing what truly happened? Were you prepared to put personal feelings before all else? If so, I will not plague you overmuch, since one could argue that I did this for Larewen...but it is something you need to be aware of. If you mean me harm, Lionel, and mean to go on believing what you wish to, at least have the gall to own your personal stake in the matter. No self-justification will I abide. The Everspider is still present, and is still a plague I deal with every day, but the choices I made were mine. Khitti was unintended, and could have avoided harm by standing aside. Larewen still faces death from me, if I get a chance. And you, Lionel, I would prefer to have no further quarrel with."

Krice was in no such hurry to draw his weapon or cause Emrith pain, at least not blatantly, but it -was- clear that he disliked the elf. A great deal. In the gold-blazed crimson of his intense stare simmered an accountable disdain, intermingling with confusion and ignorance as he came to stand still at Lionel's right - two metres away. The Knight-Commander filled the periphery of his left eye but it was the staff-wielding visitor who kept his full attention. He listened, attentive and silent, but found a place in which to insert himself, perhaps with the hope that bloodshed could be avoided. " Lower your weapon." If Emrith truly held no desire to quarrel with Lionel, then surely he could drop the defensive stance? " I won't strike you unless provoked. You have my word."

Lionel sighs. “You have so many words to meticulously chart your every action. You have always had so many words. Emrith, by your own admission you’ve been plagued by terrible things. Terrible things that, from my perspective, would tempt you to do damage to yourself as necessary if they afflicted anyone else. Perhaps you’ve even tried. I can’t speak to that. I know what it’s like to have a monster inside you. It’s too common a plight around these parts. You’re right that the truth is simple. I am an emotional man. I am also protective. It can be a volatile combination, ‘tis true. I get emotional, you see, when my friends are threatened. I get protective, you see, when my friends are threatened. This, as I understand it, is precisely what happened.” He tilts his head slightly to acknowledge Krice’s edict; his arms are crossed, his hands well wayward of his weaponry. “Now, I have never particularly cared for Larewen. She and I have rarely seen eye to eye. We’ve stood on opposing sides of issues big and small, some of which have had profound ramifications for the entire realm. To call us friendly would be a bold-faced lie. But she and Khitti share a bond.” He shrugs, as if discussing the weather. “It is what it is. Unfortunately, it presents a conundrum. You see, I’d be a hypocrite if I said I couldn’t understand the drive to step into the line of fire for someone I share a bond with. I’d do it for either of you, circumstances permitting. An irony, no doubt, given my haste to imagine myself impaling you for harming her. We all have our breakdowns.” He clears his throat. “So if Khitti is going to stand in harm’s way for a friend, then I’m going to react in a simple enough fashion. I’m going to feel a measure of vitriol toward whoever it is that does her harm. You walk around with your promise to kill, or re-kill, or however one might word such a… unique situation. Your vow means everything. I can respect that, but what I feel here,” he unfolds one arm to tap his chest, “that means everything to me. In my heart, you wounded me when you wounded her.” He snickers self-consciously. “It appears I have many words as well.”

Emrith listens to Lionel speak, and his posture relaxes. The man, it seems, is indeed willing to speak, instead of erupting into a tirade or, worse yet, an unprovoked attack. Emrith lowers his weapon, but still keeps both his hands on it, propping himself up as if the implement were a walking-staff instead of an instrument of death. "This will have to do, Krice," he says, rather gently, "because a man who divests himself entirely of weapons when the odds are not in his favour is a fool. I did not have to walk so boldly into the open if I meant harm only. Trust me this far. If you want to think of it tactically, it is two against one, and I am a cautious fighter most of the time. This would be a terrible time to settle a score with a blade, from my perspective." He turns his attention back to Lionel, and a rueful smile crosses his face. "I understand that you were hurt. You would not be the man I respect if you were not. But pain, in and of itself, is not justification enough to inflict itself on someone else. I respect your feelings, but let us say that I am glad you were, after all, willing to converse. Had Khitti been hurt as an incidental consequence of a personal vendetta, a lover's quarrel gone sour, then I would likely feel the same as you now seem to. But this is larger. I know the sort of chaos and misery the Dragana woman can be part of. She meddles with black forces bigger than she is. I know a little about that, sadly." He raises his right hand, showing off the ring still perched on his forefinger. "But instead of trying to check them, she embraces them. And this world has quite enough villainy. The harm Khitti took is something I would have avoided, had I thought there was another way. I would have attacked when Larewen was alone, if I could have. But once my hand was played, there was no taking back the action. I do not know what else it is you expect me to say."

Krice didn't verbally reciprocate Lionel's pledge to defend him - and Emrith - if the need arose, but something in his demeanour softened to reflect it. They were comrades, warriors in battle and allies off the field, friends - even if their interactions had been few and far between. Emrith's switch from defense to 'less-defense' earned him an accepting nod. The odds -were- against the elf, but even so, Krice and Lionel had weapons that were sheathed, that would take longer to ready than a weapon already in the hands of its user. The odds were now a little more even. Silently, he listened to the conversation between the other two men, seeing no further need to speak at this stage. Krice adds; His gaze drifted from Emrith's face to the indicated ring, scrutinizing it in the brief moment it was a focal point. His sensitive mind tuned into the magical currents swirling around the item, if any.

Lionel cannot maintain a stone-faced visage in light of Emrith’s reply. He winces, lowering his arms but not in a purposeful manner. He’s relaxed himself, if slightly. “Believe me, Emrith. I’m well aware of the depths of Larewen’s…” He pauses. “...ability to meddle. Although she and I have never battled, we’ve fought by proxy when darkness has threatened to overtake this land. Frankly, I have openly questioned your association with her as well as Khitti’s. We are never going to be friends, she and I. I can’t imagine she wouldn’t tell you the same. Thus, this whole ordeal -- simple as I agree it is -- is possessed of too many angles, too many… jagged edges.” Lionel takes a single step down the snow-topped stone staircase, as if to strike an accord of peace between the two men. “When Khitti told me what happened, I said I’d have you answer for the perceived crime. You have answered.” A pause. “When Larewen told me what happened, she said she’d kill you. I said I’d have words first. We have had words now. But she still wants to kill you.”

Emrith favours Lionel with a chuckle which, despite the turns of the conversation, is neither cold nor arrogant. "Wants to kill me, does she? Lionel, this is not news to me. I threaten every delusion she maintains. Her feelings for me, such as they were, were things she could not understand, and which made her feel weak. I may, in that way, be partially responsible for what she has become. Rather than face change, she hid from it, retreated back into the shadow of which she is so fond. She is welcome to try and kill me. I just hope no one I care about is close by during the attempt. I do not plan to err twice." He pauses then, taking one hand fully off his staff long enough to tuck a lock of hair behind one tapered ear. "For whatever it might be worth to you at this point, hurting Khitti was never my intention, and is not something I want to repeat. She has nothing to fear from me until or unless she threatens me. I am sorry that things happened the way they did. I am, at times, a cold man, Lionel, so in the state of mind I was in, I saw her involvement as what one might call collateral damage. Such does not speak loudly to the heart, however." He sighs, drops his hand to his side; the ring of the Everspider, riding the index finger of that now-lowered hand, gives one desultory little pulse, and then falls quiet. "But you need not worry any longer about my associations with Larewen Dragana. My own delusion is over, and I am ashamed that it was so long in the making, and hurt so many I cared for. Talyara, in particular. All men can be laid low by bad choices, and I have made more than a few. That one, in particular, I will go on answering for throughout the rest of my days, I am sure."

Krice noted that pulse from the ring but it was brief, dying away before he could latch onto it. He smirked wryly at Lionel's responses to Emrith, though his humour was short-lived and distant at best. The conversation ebbed and flowed, at times amenable, at others - slightly tense. It was the elf's use of Talyara's name that seemed to pique the warrior's interest, his chin lofting slightly and eyes narrowed in scrutiny. His thoughts on the matter were guarded, his expression distant. " You're very diplomatic," he said at length, offering his two cents. His tone was calm and tempered, if a little inquisitive. " Let's hope your intentions aren't merely pretty words." That they spoke to the truth of his future actions, as well. " Larewen is name even I know well, though I've yet to formerly meet her. Regardless of your involvement, there are others who keep her in their line of sight."

Lionel is quiet for the durations of Krice’s and Emrith’s dialogue. His expression changes in line with what is offered; he’s thoughtful when Emrith explains there is nothing out-of-the-ordinary about Larewen’s intentions, haunted and seemingly self-aware when the man makes mention of errors, thoughtful again when Krice interjects. Above all, he is silent. Even after they’ve spoken, he remains momentarily enigmatic, as if digesting a great deal more than has been said. Perhaps there is more subtext involved than might immediately be apparent. “I know a thing or two about mistakes,” he says at last. “Plenty, if we’re being honest. Not enough to quit making them, but enough to offer empathy if someone else does.” He regards Krice, calmly and deliberately, as if to signal that any lingering chance of open hostilities today has been thankfully dashed. “I guess there’s only one thing left for me to say. If there is anything I can do help you with what our war with the insectoids gave you -- if help is what you need, or seek -- I am here.”

Emrith nods his head, doing it rather curtly, and settles his hands on his staff again. There is no hurry to this gesture, though, and it seems that he is making ready to turn and depart rather than to lift the weapon and commence combat. "Pretty words are one of my largest assets, Krice," Emrith says. "And sometimes they are not so pretty, and become weapons in their own right. Judge me in what I do as well as in what I say. To do aught else is shortsighted. I commend both your candour and your hesitancy to trust." To Lionel, Emrith adds, "The wounds of the heart I have brought you without thought, I do regret. If there is something I can do specifically to the one I wronged, though, I would know it. I have stayed clear of her lest she get the wrong impression, and because I suspect she has far more to deal with than a swordsman who may or may not care about her well-being, a swordsman she dos not think she can trust. But you and I, the guild at large, has come too far to be undone by mistakes, unless those mistakes begin to entirely define a person. We all make them, and we all must learn from them. I will keep my personal matters away from the guild as best I can, and will try and make a swift end of Larewen, if I am able. It is not a grudge, merely a promise that needs a seal put upon it. Once that is done, perhaps I can relax again, and can truly come to terms with my errant choices. Until then..." He turns, looks back over his shoulder. "I fear I have more work to do. It never ends, does it?"

Krice lowered his chin slightly, acknowledging Emrith's response and noting the wind-down of his body language. Their encounter was almost over. A sideways glance shared with Lionel confirmed the fact. Whilst the other two men finished their conversation with indirect promises and pledges, the silver-haired enigma glanced off to the west, looking away from Frostmaw's fort toward the swirling winds that dusted the main road through the distant plaza. " A warrior's business is never done," he said, answering Emrith's final lament, before his attention drifted to Lionel. " Not tonight, but some time soon, I wanna catch up with you."

Lionel nods appreciatively. “You’re right about that. Too much has accomplished for the good of the realm and the improvement of its defenders. We’ve banded together too many times to be undone completely.” It’s just all of these ragged edges that threaten cuts and scrapes along the way. Emrith wishes to eliminate Larewen swiftly. How will Khitti react if and when Lionel mentions this? And he’d be a shortsighted fool not to; if she thought he was keeping something from her, the blowback could be substantial. No, he wouldn’t keep it from her, nor would he feign to make Emrith think otherwise. Openness is a virtue he cannot do without, and if there’s one thing Lionel is grateful for this afternoon, it is Emrith’s constant desire to maintain that level-headed openness even in the most deathly dealings. “As to the rest, when next we speak, we’ll speak fully of such things. I’m just glad this has de-escalated.” The painting is still crooked, but the picture is a little less red. The westerly wind sweeps Lionel’s hair, smacking scents of cinnamon and spice from a nearby trade caravan. “Soon, my friend,” he tells Krice. “I agree. I’ll be glad to hear tidings, and no doubt stirred to action of tidings are grave. I know you’ll feel the same.” He smirks. They have a modest, positive friendship. It’s called them both to war, but all for the better.