RP:Hardly The Right Solution

Part of the Welcome To The End Of Eras Arc

Summary: With Caluss in the ground, Kasyr once more talks with Lefty About Vailkrins' future. A future they might not see eye to eye on.

Hanging Corpse Tavern

This once-timber tavern has been rebuilt in sturdily vitrified blackstone and imbued with powerful protective magics that prevent occult fire and several other potentially harmful spells being cast within its walls. No effort has been spared to make what might otherwise be a bleak interior comfortable. The bar is made of polished stone with an oaken inlay, the space behind filled with a bustle of attractive barmaids, sundry barrels and a dazzling array of coloured bottles that glint in the light cast by a large wrought-iron chandelier suspended from the ceiling overhead. Here, the one-eyed Steadman stands, ready to take orders for food or drink. Beyond the bar, stout tables are firmly bolted to the floor, though the high-backed chairs are freestanding. The hearth is a true feature, seeming to be cast from black lava into the shape of a colossal, laughing goblin's head, its maw gaping wide and deep, usually containing a merrily crackling fire. A delicious scent of roasting meats drifts in from the kitchens and a winding staircase leads to rooms upstairs. To the south are set cellar doors, usually kept locked unless a special event is taking place, and up the stairs are various rooms for rent. The walls are hung with thick, richly woven tapestries depicting persons and events in the history of Vailkrin and the vampiric race. There's also a notice-board near the entrance, where one may leave messages. Unobtrusive but ever-present are the security staff, staunch fighters ever ready to toss troublemakers out.

Lefty practices controlling his new limbs, bending each finger carefully and singeing any others that move even in the slightest. It hadn't taken long to figure out how to deal with them. He'd been in their shoes once upon a time, but the problems inherent in these particular digits makes their potential escape a tad more worrisome. Hence, iron focus and zero tolerance of disobedience. Left index finger tap, right index finger tap.

Kasyr had hoped to see Lefty in the castle, rather then track him down to whatever he was doing in a tavern. There was work to do, after all, and optics were important- which is why when he arrives, it's not in his traditional weather beaten trenchcoat, but a black 3 piece suit, lovingly crafted out of spider-silk. Internally, the Kensai wonders how long it will take til this latest piece of fashion will meet an untimely end. Thoughts he tries to quell by fiddling with the navy tie he'd chosen to sport, his thumb running across it's thin gold stripes. A tie he couldn't tinker with too much if he wanted to retain the knot. In any case, it's like this that he steps into the tavern, stepping over towards where Leftys barely familiar presence lay. "Evening."

Lefty signals to Were Pigeon, who wastes not a single fraction of a second and scoops the hands into the warded box. The crimson eyeball rolls up the avian man's arms and under the ever-present eyepatch. "Evening, sir. The Lord has been attempting to minimize damage while bringing a couple hopeful additions into the ranks. Mixed results, but we're hopeful." The austere avian eyes Kasyr's suit, checking for even a tiny flaw. Finding none, he merely sniffs. "I offer my congratulations on your ascendance. How may we assist in your petty tyranny today?"

Kasyr is nodding along as Lefty addresses the changes in his own parties preparedness, before smirking at the mention of 'petty tyranny'. "Well, that was, in fact, part of it. I've been needing to appoint council members, and I was going to ask if you knew of suitable individual, " *Cough*, "who might be willing to run a campaign for the post. It would help, especially now, for the undead quarters to have a voice- so that their needs are met, and the housing et population crisis can be managed. Offers are already being extended to seek representatives for the human population, and those others who don't fall under those umbrellas." There's a pause there, as the Kensai tries to better scrutinize the avian. Looking for signs of hesitation, or discomfort due to the entity he's playing host to. "By mixed results, I assume you mean those brought about by Caluss? We might be getting help from Xalious, on that front."

Lefty | The warded box rattles suddenly, and Were Pigeon places his hand on the lid, ending the movement. He tilts his head slightly, holding a short internal dialogue with his master. Smoke drifts from beneath the eyepatch, but the avian does not react. "It seems that Lord Lefty doesn't trust anyone enough to support them as a voice for the undead, and seeing as how the converations went after our last meeting. Well, the genocidal tendancies of the vampire and mage populations seem to support this stand. Those brought about by Caluss are barely a small nuisance. Most, if not all, can be brought into, or chained down inside, the fold. Whether your council has that level of decency is a matter of significant doubt. We know for a fact that Xalious does not." He calmly slips the now-still box inside his suit, before patting the fabric flat. "Personally, I would nominate my Lord. He has a nominal amount of respect among the Necromancers and the undead. He also isn't interested in destroying entire cultures out of blind, misplaced malice." He leaves unspoken that having the Lord in the ranks would also keep a check in place against Lord Azakhaer's foul plotting. Too well does Lefty know of the catastrophic damage caused purely by Kasyr.

Kasyr expression is..perhaps less than amused, at best. While there may be some truth to the matter, there's certainly a point where glossing over the damages incurred by the incident may come across as a distinct bias. "My concern is those that carry lingering traces of the godling, or who were solely built as weapons. Sifting them out from the fold. While Xalious -does- certainly have their biases, I can't say they're without justification. Trist'oth and it's populace were devastated. As was Vailkrins- our infrastructure as a whole damaged, and a vast portion of the vampire populace, including something akin to 40 odd percent of the aristocracy, and those tied to them. That isn't a 'small nuisance'. That is, as you put it, attempted genocide." A cigarette is plucked from his pocket, and placed to his lips, "But yes, my not so subtle hint was to see your lordship nominate himself, -if- he can be fair, and trusted not to harbour potentially calamitous harbingers out of a sense of sympathy." A spark dances off the kensai's tongue, travelling along the cigarette and coming to rest at the end, blazing it to life, "I am not Quintessa- not the one who happily quoting to a newspaper that civil war ought to spring to life amidst vampires, the drow refugees, and the undead. That said, I won't stand by idly if you decide to levy threats to finish the job." There's a long drag, and a slower exhale, "I fought on the front lines of the civil war to liberate the undead from their status as second class citizens- but don't think for a moment, that if I thought you'd use superior numbers to justify anything but equality, et to threaten what remains, that I would happily correct those illusions." This was, perhaps, more severe than intended, but given the quote to the paper, and the scope of the damage- it was perhaps warranted.

Lefty said, "Since neither of us has encountered any 'godling possessed', and believe me, we've looked, you must forgive our skepticism." For once, no odd reactions are emanating from the left eye. "But of course, you would side with the vampires. You are one of them, hence biased yourself. Vailkrin's infrastructure was damaged long before a self-proclaimed godling surfaced, or did you forget? I was there during the time of Joliette Thorne, who you supported. My lady was chained in her cellar and forced to fight lycans to the death. The undead were exiled from Vailkrin, forbidden to own homes. You may have forgotten and washed your hands of this, but I will not. A storm is coming, much larger than a squabble between undead and vampire, living and dead. Xalious certainly has their biases, that we can agree on. I will allow that some of their actions were merited, and I will be the first to help them enforce the reasonable, well-thought out plans. However, a blanket shoot-to-kill order outside Vailkrin? That's too far. The Arch-mage himself sent me a copy of the order. You quote a death toll of fort percent of the aristocracy? How many of those were caused by actual undead and not vampire infighting? I've seen how vampire politics worked in the past, and forty percent is a pittance in comparison." Were Pigeon lifts his eyepatch to pour a shot of whiskey into it. "As for the Drow. Last I heard they were ruled by a Lich. Seems they were already halfway to where they are now. If they ask for help, that's one thing, but they have a record of self-regulating. My vote is to let them. If they want to burn every undead in Trist'Oth, they should. Laws are laws, and the drow -are- the law in the Underdark. I won't interfere where I'm not wanted." There's a short pause. "You're right. You aren't Quintessa. You're worse. As far as I'm concerned, your actions made it possible for Caluss to surface, albeit indirectly, and now you want me to clean up your mess. I don't have all the details, but that is were what I have is pointing. There's always a deviant that needs ending. I'm not above that. I'd just prefer we were ending the actual threat, and not targets of convenience. I've seen how you work. I was there when the Lady died."

Kasyr might not have been that pleased at first, but as Lefty's mouth piece continues to rattle off his long diatribe, there's a distinct look of understanding crossing his features. Ignorance. Likely willful, if he had to put his finger on it. It was perhaps possible the emissary had even decided to chalk everything simply out of habit of scaping goating vampires. So, he waits. He waits until every last idiotic thing sputters out of his mouth, as his cigarette slowly burns down, before finally posing a simple question, "Does your lady have a different mouth piece they can use to speak, or can they speak for themselves? Could they call one over, perchance? I have more to say, but it seems your head is as empty as your ethics. And I'm beginning to doubt entirely that you're serving as an accurate mouthpiece, or a set of ears. I'd say eyes- but, it's clear you've been willfully looking away for some time."

Lefty finds himself being removed from his perch with barely contained anger. WP was not happy. "I shall return with the 'other'." He steps out, head held high exuding scorn and righteous indignation. A few minutes pass, then a few more, and a malnourished dryad stumbles in. "Boss? I heard there was a thing? Why would I need to be here for a thing?" She can barely stand, but vines whip out to keep her ambulant and upright. Once her hands are on the bar, she places Lefty into her empty left socket. "Uh huh, I see. So," she begins, looking at Kasyr for the first time since entering the bar. "You don't like Mr. Mouthpiece? He can be a bit. . .er, himself. If you strip away the shouting and diatribe, the basics seem solid. The Boss doesn't trust you, but he's willing to work with you. He hasn't dealt with any of Captain Cal's Rejects, but again, he knows how to use a broom." She continues to provide a much edited version of the avian's rant, but there remains a very clear theme: Lefty wants to help stabilize Vailkrin. What is also present, but somewhat glossed over is that Lefty feels that leadership was negligent while he was away during the crisis. "But you were saying, Fangs?" Kasyr may not have been endeared to the avian, and his lengthy displays of prejudiced contempt, but at least the Dryad seemed to have little stake in the race. Frankly, the change in pace conversationally is enough that he motions to Steadman, and puts up 2 fingers, "Water S'il te plait- for the Damoiselle." Once that bit of hospitality is sorted, he redirects his attention back towards her, "Well- I -couldn't be in the city as it was happening. I was, along with a few others, killing Caluss. Which is why there's a large ugly tree in the undead Quarters now. If he didn't die, the crisis would have continued until this place looked like Trist'oth. And quite frankly, I am wondering if my presence as regent es the only reason the rest of the continent es not coming here to purge what es, essentially, the most dangerous and unchecked area- presently." The cigarettes burning down a bit more, though more from time- then any continous effort to smoke. "Also, if you're going to lay blame- Blackwell's estate was the one doing it's bidding. Organizing propaganda to say it didn't exist, to leave the city vulnerable. And one of the loudest proponents of the danger you et yours pose. Which es why they're exiled." What else was there to add- oh, "If you want a list of the fatalities and their sources- I can provide them. That's part of what we've been going over. Because, well- no, there's never been a mass slaughter on this scale. Not even when Vuryal visited, nor when the sky split open." In part, because he'd been there, to kill the otherworldly things harbinger in the latter case. But that was besides the point. "But, yes- Unfortunately, the image cultivated by the recent actions -es- going to be something you'll need to work on, especially when you decide to engage in the paper with things that seem...militant. A lot of people have lost their jobs, their homes, their lives, or loved ones- and it can essentially all be traced to one source." He taps the ashes off to the side, his attention flickering off to the woods, "The drow are here, actually. The reason guards are posted near the woods is because the many who are less keen on assimilating into 'surface dweller' culture, have taken refuge within- likely feeling more at home with the giant spiders. Refugees, but it's still a source of tension." Did that attend to everything? He wasn't certain, necessarily. "I never -authorized- a blanket order, but given their were virulent outbreaks of mindless undead- another of Caluss' many gifts over the years, I can, unfortunately, see the necessity- which es why improving infrastructure in the city for those who are sentient, and dealing with those unable to be rehabilited is now paramount. So, yes- I'd -like- to work with you. But, it requires you to actually work -with- me."

Lefty listens calmly to everything that Kasyr has to say, letting Lettuce sip her water. "Yes, massive death. Bossman Lefty is inflammatory. We know this." She nods and traces the air as Lord Azakhaer continues his monologue, writing everything down despite not having pen or paper. She leans on her elbow waiting for him to finish. "Not arguing. Boss is upset. MIlitant, you said. Thing is, the ones bearing the brunt of his anger are those naughty fake undeads. I think the Boss wants to work with you. Not just because you're corrupt and power hungry, and no one seems to care that you're unchecked. Boss doesn't like problems, and the state of things is totes a problem. Anything he needs to do, he will."

Kasyr might have pinched his nose at the description made of him. It felt like Quintessa's comments all over again- though, there was a dim awareness that her qualms were primarily rooted in not being in a position to be power hungry, corrupt, and unable to be checked. ...That and some genuine interest in the welfare, chucked into the middle of that. The thought is enough that he faintly murmur a 'Calice Oustil de Tabernac', before gathering himself to respond properly. "Okay- so there's at least common ground to work here. We've been doing our best to take a Census of all the new inhabitants, but it would help if there ws more undead representation in that. There -should- be some things coming from Xalious soon that will help root out the fake undead. If those stop being a problem, I am -positive- that I can get them to repeal their more authorian orders for the ones they find outside the city, et likely allay the concerns of other city states." Really, he wasn't entirely sure of what Lefty was talking about- but, Lanlan did tend to Err on the side of caution. And he'd been there when Cenril had gotten infested, so the prudence wasn't exactly unwarranted. "Beyond that- I'd like you to survey the necropolis. I need a good idea of how much space needs to be cleared et renovated to account for the new upsurge in population- since, masse of body packed or sleeping in the streets benefits no one." Was there anything el- Oh. "Get the population in order. I don't think anyone is happy with the state of things. If anyone in your factions are making use of heightened tensions to cause trouble, I want you to look after it- but also let moi know if there's people trying to stir things. I'd prefer it's handled -before- it becomes an issue between our communities. Like wise, I'll do my best to ensure there isn't unwanted intrusions while you're helping to put a community at ease."

Wilted Lettuce is merely voicing her interpretation of Lefty's thoughts, she has no idea where he gets his beliefs or how upsetting they may be to here. "Boss would like to see these 'things coming from Xalious'. He trusts you, about," she pinches her fingers together and squints. "But, that's universes more than he trusts anything coming from them. If he can, er, verificicate, the authentication of the solution, it would worry him less." The dryad wets her finger on the inside of her glass and lazily traces sigils on the bar. They don't do anything, but it's less boring than rote interpretation of political humbuggery. "Boss can get the population in order. Most seem reasonable, but we can eat those that won't. High tensions are bad, trouble is worse, the best way to end a problem is to not create one." She heavy sighs. Politics suck. Next time, she's sending the cat to deal with this. Despite her dislike of these meetings, clever onlookers might notice that her eye socket hadn't smoked barely at all. Lefty seems to be okay with her interpretation, and possibly amused at her threat of sending the cat to deal with politics.

Kasyr raises an eyebrow at the appraisal of trust, before simply shrugging, "Sure. I was considering having the necromancers guild look at them as well- given, if they function well, it might be able to root out future problems, or any lingering cultists, if they bear a similar taint- ou quoi-ce-soit." The logistics of what they were searching for was hazy, but if an asset could be repurposed, he'd certainly try and find a way. "In any case- I think things are mostly in order. Provided your boss can make good on the requests I made, and puts in his nomination for the postion to represent the necropolis- I'm sure I could push it forward in an exceptionally timely fashion."Was there anyone else even running for it? He'd likely need to figure out the logistics of that with Inks, and/or the Nasar head. They both seemed to have their finger on the pulse of the city. "I look forward to hopefully working with you, towards a less fractured city."

Miss Lettuce raised a fist, holding an imaginary beer stein. "Cheers. Towards a less fractured city. Boss can keep everyone in line, but like I said, mostly he won't have to. Asking nicely usually works. Anywhich, send us the nomination forms and we'll sign and lobby and eat babies or whatevs. We've got it under control." Lefty had sent out feelers and the general consensus has been that people are mostly satisfied that someone is doing something. Their approval of how he does it is up in the air, but we'll burn that bridge when we cross it. "Thank you for your time, and goodbye." Without waiting for a reply, the dryad leaps up from her seat and begins lecturing her 'boss' on the division of labor and whether she should be allowed to eat her counterpart.