RP:Dirge

Part of the The God of Undeath Arc

Summary: After Valrae made an impromptu visit to Vailkrin’s capitol to accuse Kasyr of murder, the host she berated invites her to a game of public opinion assasination. The witch agrees to help and afterwards the two have a brief discussion on the finer points of deicide.

Vailkrin Capitol Foyer

The crumbling castle which stood here has been rebuilt and refurbished and now serves as the Vailkrin state capitol building, despite remaining a formidable fortress. The entrance has been outfitted relatively modestly, a simple red runner leading the way north into the main room while the stone walls are left unadorned but for several flaming sconces, although a series of banners running down the hallway boldly pronounces a patriotic spirit, each flag bearing the black hand of Vailkrin. At the opposite end of the foyer a series of arches invites visitors to continue forward into the great hall or to turn into one of the wings of the castle.

Kasyr finds himself glowering at the reflection that meets his gaze, at the disquietly slick presentation he'd allowed himself to be talked into. As much as an argument could be made that finely tailored pants, and a fashionable dress shirt and vest might be in vogue- the whole display only serves to fill his mouth with disdain. One still freshly fed by the ...petitioner who had arrived earlier that day, to lay out well-earned grievances on his doormat, as though it could change anything. "The work comes first." He tilts his head off to the side, ignoring the way his reflection seems to wink at him- an extra bit of overdue mockery. He liked to imagine it was due to his haphazard attempt at sorting out the tie- The knot looking more akin to something like a Cenrili noose then an elegant display, though it's eventually fiddled into a facsimile. One that looks slightly more natural to him once it's partly loosened. "And there is ever so much more to address." For instance, The witch was still his guest-and there was business between them that had yet to be resolved, something he'd alluded to in the note he'd left at her door requesting her continued presence- one which had come complete with a rather dry read on the dead cities aristocracy. At this juncture, his visitation was long overdue, and so- he makes his way through the corridors, to seek out her chambers once more, and see how she' d been faring. Hopefully, the cooks were able to find -something- palatable to accommodate her tastes.

Valrae hadn’t slept. Well, sleep had found her in fits and starts. The room was unfamiliar. Clean, accommodating, impersonal in the way an inn might be. There were paintings of dark, smoky forests on the walls. The bed was large, the pillows downy soft, the rug thick and warm from the fire that burned low in the wide hearth. Even still, it was too quiet and too unfamiliar. And she was in a land of creatures that she’d been taught to fear more than death itself. True death, one more permanent than what she’d found beyond Larket’s fire. So her heart had beat too loudly in her own ears as she tossed around on the perfectly adequate bed, not terribly far from Kasyr’s own rooms by design, until what she thought might be an appropriate hour for morning. She wouldn’t have known, there was only night outside of her windows now.

She’d missed the mark by only two hours, and had filled it reading for the simple pleasure of it, but this was something she knew only because a helpful servant stopped by long enough to offer her the time as he delivered Kasyr’s note and a breakfast of tea, cold fruit and biscuits. She drank the tea and read the note. The rest remained on the small tea table in front of the hearth. It was a small pleasure to find an enchanted tub in her bathroom chamber, even if she’d had to ward the entirety of room before she felt comfortable enough to use it, and a large mirror in which she sat cross legged in front of to use as a vanity to apply her glamors, lotions, rouge and kohl. When she finally emerged from her rooms, Valrae was dressed as a proper politician. Her hair pinned in a neat and delicate knot and her gown, the color of pale morning sunlight, simple and modest. Her heels clicked softly as she steered herself in the direction she could sense Kasyr.

Kasyr is, whether by serendipity or shared senses, not far off at all- the sound of her heels allowing him to properly coordinate cutting her off as she rounds a corner, though he's at least courteous enough to step to the side within the same breath, effectively falling into step within moments, "I'd say good morning, but. Well." There was nothing good about it. That bleak bit of humour manages to get a chuckle out of him, one he's able to wave off as he gestures at one of the windows and the endless evening they capture, "Even i'm hard-pressed to figure out my schedule, without an itenerary." Ah, but here's where the Kensai produces a small note from the pocket of his vest, "Which is why I came prepared. I owe you some entertainment, afterall, so I figured I'd see if you'd be party to a bit of mischief that might be more to your liking."

He pauses there, allowing her a few moments to process what he's said, and whatever questions may arrive in the aftermath. It also grants him a few moments to properly scrutinize her, searching for some signs of weariness. At a glance, she seemed to be the image of a politician ready to enter a battle of minds- and he was hoping that would remain the case, given, "There's someone I was rather hoping to introduce you to, en fait."

Valrae’s heart skips a beat, fluttering back to life in the prison of her ribcage when she recognizes Kasyr’s face beyond the blinding white fear that had crowded her vision. She might have yelped, but her mouth only parted slightly and silently instead. The witch recovers quickly, narrowing her eyes at the revenant as if she assumed he’d materialized out of thin air to orchestrate this jump scare. “Good morning, anyway,” She replies, her tone falsely sweet as she tilts her chin a fraction as if this haughty motion might wound her gently bruised pride. “The man who served me a lovely breakfast,” She very carefully omits that she’d abstained from, “Helpfully offered me the time.” Val alters her pace so that she is only a step behind him, letting him lead the way as he produces a note. She eyes it curiously, holding her hand out in anticipation. “Entertainment?” She echoes, hopeful.

If there was a weariness from her lack of sound sleep, it was well hidden underneath her carefully applied makeup and glamor. She smiles now, genuine warmth springing in the depths of her dark gaze. “I’d love to meet this mystery person,” The witch responds quickly, ever the optimist.

Kasyr offers the witch a wry smirk, "Bonne Matinee, alors." He'll acquiesce to the simple civility, dipping forward into a partial bow, though only for a moment. They had a schedule to keep now, after all, one that saw him leading her at a steady pace through the corridors. "Oh yes. I know how dreadful things can be, when there's nothing-" He pauses here, rounding a corner with the same disconcerting smoothness that had initially startled her, only to turn on his heels and casually lean against a door leading into the very same room they'd held their initial contentious meeting. "Stimulating." He does his best not to look amused at whatever small startle he may have elicited, instead nudging the door open to reveal a- "Uh."

Well, the first thing it reveals is a thick haze of cigar smoke that blossoms out into the hall in a thick miasma. It's only after it's cleared out, that the figure at the center is revealed- a yellow-toothed gargoyle of a - well. Gargoyle. It actually looks disturbingly similar to one of the many creatures that oversee the bridge leading to Vailkrin- and may explain how it can even breathe in that room. "Ms. Baines. I present to you, Mr. Roden Dights- One of the Journalists employed by the Carrion Crow. The regional papers fallen on harder times- and I promised him a story, which I'm sure you could help fill in the blanks." The look of mischief on the Kensais face is unmistakeable this time- though it fades slightly when he realizes his continued waving hasn't done anything to rid the room of it's hostile environment. "I can get that if you don't-?" Rodens, whose already in the process of boredly lighting a fresh stogie, just cracks a grin. "Why don'tcha kids sit on down, if this stories so good." Kasyr may have taken this moment to tilt his head over towards Valrae and quietly murmur.

whisper to Valrae, " Nothing like a bit of political maneuvering in the morning to wake you up, non? I wonder how efficiently Quintessa will be able to serve Caluss, when her ties are publically revealed, as well as her long list of acts in his name."

Valrae’s lips quirked into a smile as he returned the greeting, or she assumed he had, and slants him a long look between her sooty lashes as he dips into a bow. She felt as if they had entered a playful game of etiquette chess and she wondered if the Kensai had begun these niceties as gentle teasing for her thinly veiled insults toward him, Vailkrin, and the whole lot of vampiric kind. More worrisome than her poor behavior from the night before was that she seemed delighted by the dance of it, her own incendiary nature demanding she follow his lead even as he kept her off balance. The witch nearly collides with him as he rounds the corner, all fluid grace where she was halting and clumsy, and curses under her breath as soon as she catches it again. Her heart was beating wildly. “Will my untimely death be the entertainment?” She rolls the word carefully off of her tongue, her tone sweet, as she gives him another long and measured look. She nearly gives herself away by smiling again, sensing his amusement at winning this new game, before she levels her best return fire, “I’d like to know beforehand if I should be anticipating any enjoyment from it. Otherwise, I’ll do my best to be a convincing actress but I won't make any promises.”

As Kasyr opens the door, Valrae nearly believes the room he led them both into to be on fire. The amount of spiced, earthy tobacco smoke that rolled into the hallway was enough to wrinkle her nose. She rearranges her face quickly, painting a demure smile where the grimace had been, as the revenant introduces them. This alone should have been enough to prove that she’d make a fine actress, though it was true enough that all politicians were in some form, as she’d never seen or spoken to a gargoyle before and the entire business was off putting. Her busy mind had already thought of a thousand and one questions for the creature, starting with what he liked to eat or if he ate at all, but she voices none of them now. “Valrae Baines,” She introduces herself in return, dipping in a quick curtsy. “A pleasure.” Her eyes find Kasyr’s again, curiosity flashing like lamplight in her dark eyes as she tries to puzzle together what story he hopes she might tell.

Her heartbeat quickens again as his breath flutters over her ear. Realization follows quickly, the information he’d offered her in hushed tones painting a much fuller picture. There was the thrill of delight again, as if he’d wrapped her some very fine gift to place at her feet. She moves further into the room then, ignoring that the smoke would surely stain her dress, and takes a seat. “I think,” She begins slowly, drawing her answer out as she crosses her legs at the knees, “You might find that ‘good’ is underselling the scandal that was born right here in the very unbeating heart of Vailkrin.” .

Kasyr casually holds the door open, facilitating the mischievous murmur meant for Valrae as she passes by, "I would make for a poor host if I let anything happen to you, Cherie." Beyond, of course, whatever terrible fate was due later due to the gargoyles cigar habit. One which is made eminently worse when the Kensai realizes it's not even smoking them, but simply chewing on them as they burn down, the ashes sliding down it's gullet the whole while. Which is why he winds up staring at their journalistic companions forehead instead. Rodens doesn't seem to notice this detail- extending a craggy hand over to Valraes- a gesture that's adjusted after a moment, to that of a single hand sized finger, "Well. Won't be the first time I heard that line. But given this has got a former king n' a newly minted mayor in the same room- I'm willing to lend you my ears."

Kasyr has actually been preparing for this moment for a little bit, which is why he's so quick to produce a letter opener from his pocket, and then swipe it down through the air beside himself. The result is rather impressive to behold- his thoughts focusing on the office to his office in the Warriors guild, and a rather neat stack of boxes he'd kept there. That said, before he clarifies the matter, he turns his head to glance over to Valrae, "If you haven't, you -might- want to put up some ward against scrying. While I don't quite feel anything in the moment- Quintessa tends to check up frequently enough- you'd think she was obsessed." There's a pause there, as the Gargoyle registers the name that's being uttered, "Hey. You two. You don't mean the Dragana-Blackwel Ki-l"

But he doesn't quite get to say anything else because that same scalpel is swapped forward- a corrupted invocation of a spell meant to create sound inverted. A brief interjection that's held until the gargoyles mouth stops moving. The spell lapses, almost as quickly as it had arrived, and the swordsman quietly rolls his hands in Valraes direction, as though announcing a follow up act.

"You might also want to give him a parting gift, because while these details will make, Mr Rodin,- I can -guarantee- that she won't hesitate to -unmake- you to prevent them from getting out."

It only took her a moment to spell the room against unwelcome eyes and ears, the spell tumbling from her lips easily. It filled the room with power, nearly as thick as the smoke that Roden Dight continued to breathe into it, and the ashy air carried the spicy undercurrent of anise and lavender with it. Valrae, to the credit of her focus, continues to beguile the gargoyle with tales of Quintessa’s exploits as Kasyr is busy rending holes in reality. Or space time. She wasn’t sure which.

She’s careful to apply every ounce of charm she carries, all wrapped in a doe-eyed, falsely demure mask as she retold her version of events. Distantly, the witch was surprised at how little embellishing she needed to paint the other woman in such poor light. From the attack on the trees, which she was careful to point out would damage Vailkrin beyond repair if she’d been successful, to what had been hidden by both the Mage’s and the Warrior’s guild. She was careful to paint her tone as sympathetic where necessary, as if she were intensely concerned for the leader of House Blackwell and how deeply entrenched in her cult-like ways she most surely must be. With every point she made, there was Kasyr with documentation to support the complicated web that was woven. And when there was no more to say, she simply folded her hands in her lap and asked, “So, do you think it’s a story worth printing?” The witch smiles sweetly, waiting for either the gargoyle or the revenant to speak next.

Kasyr may have carefully prepared the warriors guild notes for just this occasiona, but the mage guild is a trickier proposition- one that obliges the Kensai to rend open a rift with the sort of brute force that is no doubt going to serve as a firm indicator that -someone- barged in the place uninvited, and likely serve as the impetus for a -firm- re-evaluation of the mage towers defenses. The worst part of it all, however, is not the recklessness of the action, however. No- the worst part is the manner in which Kasyr has to repeatedly poke his head back over to Valrae to ask her for directions to the appropriate locations as he zips back and forth- helping to spread the horrible cloud of cigar smoke to a brand new as-of-yet-undefiled-locale. ...He may also have casually absconded with notes on the spellblade group, if only out of some faint curiosity on their current progress.

To say that this doesn't surprise Rodin would be a lie- but, despite the absolute calamity of magical abuse happening in front of him, he's doing a decent job of being a professional. Maybe it comes as a result of being animated by an Eldritch touched necromancer, or maybe it's just the nature of living in Vailkrin- but while there's the occasional pause in his questions, his craggy fingers never stop taking notes. That is, until he has to light a new cigar. He's not even really -chewing- them by the end of the story, the inside of his mouth looking like a cheap sparkler display, with the amount of burning stogies bouncing around the inside of it, "Do I? Kids- you got yourselves front page material. A Special edition," His arms spread out, as though framing the imagined paper in advance." An' heck- this plays out well, You'll certainly have my ear, if you find anything half as juicy as this." The roling belly laugh that comes from the thing is...actually sort of unsettling, like stones trickling down a hill.

Kasyr, for his part, is just dusting himself off from his visits to the Black Library, as well as where he remembered Khitti's office had been at the necromancers guild- when he catches this display, "I mean, we're in Vailkrin, monsieur. I'm sure -someone- will provide ample opportunity for some fresh new story soon enough." Rodin, for his part, picks up the unused ashtray in the room, and begins to slowly snack on it- the sound of cracking glass mingling with his words, "Alright. I can work with that. If you have anything else, you lemme know- and we'll see about getting it in-" It's here that the Kensai finally cuts him off, "For the day of the Blood Bowl Finale. I'm sure it'll be a hit." That, at least, is what causes the gargoyle to pause his chewing. There's a few moments where it mulls on that comment- but it finally nods, "Yeah. I've worked with worse timelines. Okay. I'll catch you two kids on the flipside. Or maybe sooner if ya make a fresh new scandal for me to right about." He winks, and starts to rise up from the table, seemingly heedless of the fact that the chair comes up with him, having deformed to his contours.

Valrae nearly snorts when Kasyr makes his quip about Vailkrin, surprised that she agreed. The witch stands as the gargoyle does, very politely averting her gaze as his chair rises with him to brush at invisible dirt on her shirts. “I’m very appreciative of your time,” She says, taking a step forward to lean slightly over his desk and offer out her hand. She didn’t know what shaking a hand with living stone would feel like but her need for politeness outweighed the fear that he might crush some delicate bones.

When the appropriate amount of time has passed for goodbyes, Valrae is happy to step away from the room. She floats as far away from it as she can manage without worry of straying too far from Kasyr, greedily drinking in air not saturated with thick, ashy smoke. “I’m going to be washing that out of my hair for days,” She whispers morosely to herself, idly plucking up a strand of golden hair. She could feel the cigar scent lingering on it, and her skin, and her clothing. If she squinted hard enough the witch could even convince herself that her gown was a new shade of yellow than it had been when she entered.

“That was entertaining,” She says, choosing to focus on the revenant instead of her dress now, “I don’t understand though…” Her brow wings up, curiosity and amusement glittering like lamplight in her dark eyes. “What made you decide to air everything out like this? I thought you just wanted to…” She wanted to say ‘murder her’ but couldn’t bring the words to pass her lips. Instead, she waves a hand in the air. “You know?”

Kasyr might have winced, because whatever delicacy Rodin demonstrated with the handshake provided to Valrae (more akin to palming her hand within both of his)- it's gone by the time he reaches the door. Partly, because he must have gotten through by stepping sideways in the first place, and it doesn't- Crack. The Kensai's lips are pursed as chairs legs and the door frame alike give way, the Gargoyle merrily making his way out with a new story. "I'm picking a bigger room next time." A sentiment Valrae seems to concur with, given the adeptness in which she extricates herself from the smokey lounge.

And for a brief moment, he's uncertain of what to do- drifting alongside the witch as they traverse the capital castle's corridors. There were sheets to reference, documents to burn in the aftermath, and a few extra elements to address- but organizing what needed to be addressed first left him briefly overwhelmed, until Valrae directly addressed him. That, at least, snaps him out of the logistical nightmare he was harbouring, "Mm. I thought so too, en fait." The question, however, is what gives him real pause, his left foot sliding back, if only so he can smoothly orient himself to face her. And there is a real sense of struggle there, his expression quirking into a slight smirk as he considers a number of half-answers. "Maybe you've been a good influence, Mademoiselle." That spark of humour dwindles, however, as he starts to shift his attention back to the world around them, "But that would be a small mensonge. ...I mean, you probably -are- a good influence, but- " He's walking now, moving down the hallway in an effort to find an adequate sitting room that might be free of even the passing touch of Rodin's smokey trail, "I could have killed her. I truly did consider it. But what I offered in it's stead es not a mercy, really. "

Where he's guiding them is perhaps less informal than his last decision- the same meeting hall that had so often served as the hub for state affairs. Certainly less clandestine at a glance, but- then, Valrae was a visiting official, wasn't she? "I -know- how to fight gods. Or at the very least, to stymie them. That was one of the advantages of being in the employ of several. Et one thing that was always present was the desire for faith. They would drink deep of convictions, et prayers- to sustain et empower themselves." There's a flourish to his words, a cadence to their delivery that might lean on his own role as a Paladin to help more vividly paint the idea, "As the bug's Vassal- it would be her job to spread it's agenda, it's.. Gospel. Et so- what better way than to limit her use to it- than to shatter her influence, her reputation, to try et ensure that whatever poisonous words she might have to spare that they cannot find purchase within a receptive audience." His steps take him further towards one of the rooms windows, so that he could peer down on the city itself, "I'll admit, A part of me hopes we can manage this before the tourney- because a part of me es concerned that may play a part in all this. ...It's why i was careful in how I dealt with her. I never wanted to run the risk of making her a Martyr."

“Maybe outside, or on a balcony under the endlessly black sky your home boasts,” She replies, teasing in her eyes as she offers Kasyr the suggestion in the event of a repeated evening. Or morning.

They had been walking again, this time she was leading them even if she did not know where, until he did that unnerving and obnoxiously fascinating thing where he placed himself in front of her in the span of a heartbeat and disoriented her again. She nearly stumbles, tilting her face up a fraction to watch him as he struggles to answer her question. To her credit, she did not curse this time. The witch waits, comfortable in the silence as he finds it, and tries not to think of the ashtray she must reek of. His answer was surprising. So surprising she was sure he was teasing her again and she laughed. The sound echoed like a bell in the hall, her hand lifting to cover her smiling lips demurely as she slants him a long look through dark lashes. The humor in his own eyes confirmed as much, until he makes a small concession and repeats the unfathomable statement. Valrae crosses her arms around herself and shakes her head. “I could influence you no more than the Xalious mountains could be influenced by Cenril’s sea,” She says sweetly. And then he’s moving again and she’s following.

The witch listens closely as he speaks. She felt as if she was looking beyond a veil, that same feeling she’d had when he’d revealed Daedria’s chosen name for him the night before, and had been graced with a look into whatever depth Kasyr usually guarded with feigned boredom and affability. And she was reminded again how closely he’d tread with godhood. Her brow furrows as he crosses the room to regard whatever waited in the darkness that pressed against the glass of the window. She flinches when he says the word ‘martyr’ and is grateful that his eyes were turned away from her for it. “I think I understand,” She says slowly, tapping a polished nail against the back of a chair she hadn’t taken. “If there is no well of faith for Caluss to draw from, it’s only one more feather to tip the scale… Though, gods remain gods even when they’re forgotten, don’t they?” She tilts her head, a golden curl tumbling over her shoulder as she watches his back. “I can’t help but wonder if it’s enough. I’m a mortal, a human one at that, and whatever magic I wield it’s only ever going to be a spark. I can’t help but feel as if even stripping him to nothing but what he is, we would still be faced with the impossible task of standing against a god. What chance do mortals have, truly?”

Kasyrs' face darkens as the logistics of their great and terrible task sink in once more, dredging up the myriad schemes he'd orchestrated over the years, all to corrode even the memory of Vakarash into a parody of itself. And still, he hadn't dared to try what they were doing. Hadn't felt prepared. But had that hesitation been mortality, "I would think something endures, oui. Some vestige for those to latch onto." He presses his hands against the window, his index finger tapping against the cool glass, "But, I've seen what they can do when they're allowed to take root- what even their -followers- are capable of when they acquire a substantial following. Et if there's anything I can do to curtail this . . . thing." That said, he can't quite as easily dispel the conundrum posed by her question. By simple dint of ther nature, each of their existences were perpetually at risk the closer they got to Caluss. And yet, "We can survive. I wasn't always like this- et I managed, so I would not discount yourself yet." There's a white lie contained within that statement, but to let the thing take purchase within her heart, to owe it fear- seemed like a different sort of fealty. " Most importantly- We -have- survived this long, et this showcases one important fact. He's neither omnipotent, nor omniscient. There are limits. We just need to find them."