RP:House Call

From HollowWiki

Part of the Rise of Larket Arc


Summary: Macon has heard everything you've been saying about him, Sabrina. The King pays a visit to the dissenting councilwoman's home and attempts to make it clear why he is the best option to lead Larket. She tries to ruin his face with a scalpel.

House of Ara

Macon has gotten word of some dissent brewing along The Vibrance and even with a war to manage and a kingdom to lord over he’s found time to come out to this home to see if a mutual understanding of his majesty can be reached. The King of Larket is in his usual armor, with his usual great axe hanging on his back behind him. The crown and the gem at its center that had been used at the coronation the previous week is nowhere to be seen, and in its place is a simpler circle made of marble, a bit heavy for its purpose, but The Furious King does not let that show. He is accompanied by his Kingsguard, which is a fancy name for a band of Larketian Guards that he rotates in and out of serving as his entourage from time to time. The group of seven men approach the home at a leisurely pace in relative silence.


Sabrina had made her way home from the long cold trek. No more than a visit as usual since her profession often left her miles from this place. All the silence in the world could not deny the presence of a disruption not far behind. There was no reason for alarm, as was soften the case a simple client or small group of students made their ins and outs. She pushes open the door. Unlocked. Above the door is a sign that reads: The House of Ara is always open. The elfess is already unburdening herself of her gear as the door swings shut behind her, leaving her weapon and her bag in a heap just as the outside world would lose sight of her in the process of a single-footed hop to remove her boots.


Macon hangs back a bit as the gang arrives shortly after Sabrina. He motions for a pair of the guards, both human, middle-aged, and carrying swords at their hips, to move forward and make their presence known. The Larketian duo step forward to the door, one of them raising a gauntleted hand to knock upon it. The remaining four guards flank Macon, a few paces behind him while The Death Knight stares idly off towards the riverbank. At the door the non-knocking guard waits only a moment before calling out, “Open up for The King of Larket.” It is unlocked, but they really have no reason to bust in.



Sabrina freezes; with a boot in one hand and the other holding her balance against the couch. She may have mouthed a curse word, but who’s to know. She takes a deep breath, plasters a pleasing smile on her face and gimps to the door with one bare foot and one heeled boot. The door opens and the article in her hand is discarded unceremoniously in the heap she already started. She looks the guards up and down, then on tippy toe and with a bit of twisted effort peers around them to the male staring down the river and his loyal hounds keeping his guard. Her shoulders slump, the smile fades and the elfess walks away from the open door. She grumbles in positively horrid Common. “Not my King.” The removal of the remaining boot ensues before being tossed in the general direction of the pile with no regard to who it may hit on the way.



Macon frowns slightly and looks towards the open door after hearing the only words Sabrina bothers to let out. Her response earns a glare from one of the guards at the entrance and the other starts to shout after her, “This is the only tru-!” and is abruptly cut off when The King steps up behind him, pats him lightly on the shoulder and mutters, “Enough…” The guard winces, and his arm goes limp, seemingly an overreaction to the light touch from The Death Knight, but perhaps there’s some unseen force at work there. The former councilman steps past the pair of guards, leaving his whole escort outside as he moves inside the home, trailing the elfess. “Why would you say somethin’ like tha’ now? I am all tha’ Larket has.”



Sabrina exhales slowly and give the guard a look of warning at the beginnings of a sentence that never got finished. The following actions were made note of with sincere study. She settles cool minty gems on Macon and she is sure to keep a cautionary distance between the two of them, utilizing the couch as the buffer zone. She is good at wearing a certain level of coolness and calm reserve. But she isn’t stupid. “Larket had less before you and it was still better off.” The tongue was elvish, the tone articulate and soothing. She sat on the council for a period of time, never did she doubt the command of the former leader. His words brought discomfort to her ears. Goddam hillbilly. She pretends to translate word for word. “Does Larket have you, or do you have Larket?” All efforts stuffed into making the question appear innocent, after all, how much could an Elfess understand about Human male politics.



Macon, a traveled businessman and politician, has enough grasp of the elves’ language to get at least the gist of what she is saying. He lets out a light sigh and looks away from her, feigning ignorance and allowing her to ‘translate.’ It is only after her loaded question is spoken in common that he looks back at her and shakes his head. “Larket has always had me.” ‘Always’ is used liberally here as before Jacklin brought him and his money onto the council, Larket, of course, did not have him. “Now, with me on the throne, Larket has Larket. As it should be.” He steps forward and then to the right, starting to very slowly move around the couch with his hands folded non threateningly behind his back, “Your loyalty to tha’ Paladin is… Disheartenin’... He’s left us before… With less than we have now, as you said… Why trus’ him over me?” The guards have grouped up at the entrance to the home to eavesdrop, but have not set a single foot inside as of yet.


Sabrina houses a half grin. He steps, and so, she steps; a mathematically equal amount of distance is maintained with a level of grace that betrays the calculation. In the wilds she was a mindful huntress, she had to be, given her frailty and general lack of brawn. His stepping at all was an active predatory advance. “Trust is a funny word. How many Kings have lied their way to a throne, I wonder?” Her smile is almost precious in a false sense to a gentle nature. “After all, it is only after one has the power do they throw these words around. Trust. Loyalty. Honor. You have none.” She is closer to a weapon now, a mere scalpel on a stainless table meant for something else. She picks it up for no other reason than to tend to a bit of dirt under her nails, obviously. “What you have is fear, and a flock of sheep.” She did not possess a normal sense of fear. She mastered that emotion a long time ago, as well as the ability to inflict it if need be.



Macon smiles, slightly menacingly, when she matches his steps with equal and opposite ones of her own. He only toys with this push and pull interaction for a moment, taking one more sidestep around the sofa that he imagines she will match as well. He then stops, not wanting to be playing ring around the rosey while he retorts, “-All- Kings have lied their way to thrones. I am not any differen’. Nor is the one you wan’ t’take my place.” He ignores the gathering of the scalpel while he continues, “Trust. Loyalty. Honor. These are not new words to me. The rest of the council and I upheld them through the absence of The Queen… While Kelovath was nowhere to be found, -I- held Larket together. Now -I- have saved her from The Mad Fermin and -I- will protect her from the giants on the mountain. If all I have is fear and a flock of sheep then this Kingdom is too far gone for anyone to save…” He unfolds his hands behind his back and drops them to his sides, left hand clenching into a gauntleted fist, “I believe I have Larketians. Strong ones. It is a shame if you don’t see this Kingdom as I do.”



Sabrina matched his steps as much as he figured she would. His cold stop ends her resistance and she rests a hip against the back of the couch. “You assume I wish for one King over another. Why?” She gestures to what may lay beyond the door. “Maybe you fail to understand my position, yes?” She takes a seat, sort of, on the edge of the couch opposite him. “My people prefer to maintain a certain balance. You upset the balance, while Kelovath assumes to carry on in peace and harmony and all that.” She waves her hands about as if speaking of drivel. “Now I find myself torn between the people of which I owe allegiance and the place I call my home. When, it is simple. You are a false King and while I do not condone the taking of lives it would seem there are exceptions to every rule. With you at the helm, Larket will be lost.” It was all a lie, these were her people and a lot of them delivered unto this realm by her own hand as were their parents before them. But what is an Elf that takes up with Humans. “You have obedience. For the time being. But mark my words, balance will find its way.” There was something uneasy about her last words, something deliberate. And with those words there is a small flash coming from a projectile once docile and harmless between thin fingers.



Macon tilts his head to the side and slumps slightly before beginning to answer her first question, “He placed you on the council. I assumed your loyalty t’him.” He’s pondering the rest of what she says when the scalpel comes flying his way. His stance straightens immediately and he raises his armor level further with a very small hop, hindered by that obnoxiously heavy crown. The tool that seemed destined for his neck now clanks and scrapes rather harmlessly against the grey metal of his breastplate. A glance towards the door and a quick nod of The King’s head has the six guards pouring into the home, quickly moving to surround Sabrina while Macon sighs, that obedience he has on display, “I had hoped to come here and find an agreement for the better of The City. You don’ wan’ tha’...” He squats down, careful not to lose his crown (again) and plucks up the instrument of failed regicide. He stands, staring down at the scalpel with a frown on his face as he turns it over, idly examining it. “Now I give you one las’ choice. Continue to serve the people of Larket as a healer and someone who calls this place where I am King home… Or try and kill me again and be taken in for crimes against the crown. I do not wan’ your fealty any more than you want to give it. I want order and the strength of Larket to grow.”


Sabrina doesn’t move when the guards rush in. “My loyalty is to Larket and its people.” It might even be said she raised her voice. However, she can do no good for Frostmaw from behind bars; her last incarceration lasted mere hours and it was nearly all she could bear to be boxed up and left for dead. Full length sleeves are pushed up to reveal as much skin as possible to the ones meant to take her. There is some unease over the men, full well knowing what she is capable of and under some level of life-weighing decision over the matter. She looks way up at the nearest one with that smartass look of one calling another’s bluff. The first to touch her would be the first to succumb to a rarely used method for someone who’s hands were a gift to so many. “Do I need to remind you of how this works?” Surely one would be willing to explain to his King that touching her could be as much reward or punishment as she so desired. She looks back to Macon, eyes shifted into full black sclera, denoting what little protection she had offered them upon entry was dissolved. “You’d have a difficult time just plucking me from my home.” And it wasn’t like that scalpel was a sliver of sure death unless he was really stupid, which she knew he was not. If she wanted to do real damage she’d have not given the false King such a wide berth. She was beginning to understand one clear fact. This may be the last time she would see Ara for some time if something in this scene did not change in her favor very quickly. “And leaving Larket with no healer. Now. If you ask me, that is a stupid, stupid mistake while on the brink of war.”


Macon flings the scalpel over his shoulder and it clatters on the ground a second later. His right hand reaches behind his back and unhooks The Rage Axe from whatever holds it there. The weapon lacks the furious aura without the red gem often found in the bladehead and so for the moment it is nothing more than normal, large axe. The King twists the long handled weapon around to bring the butt of it down against the floor and he leans some of his weight against it like an oversized walking stick. The guards are cautious indeed, but Macon has yet to give an order to apprehend her, and they have at least come prepared with ropes and chains that should minimize devastating direct contact with the elf. “Your loyalty to Larket is all I desire. I did not come here to haul away our healer.” He and the guard closest to Sabrina exchange glances that seem to calm the King’s escort slightly. “The choice is still yours. Deny Larket its healer… or be lef’ here in peace. A struggle here only harms Larketians.”


Sabrina is not so stupid as to press her luck. But Gods, the mouth on this girl. “A struggle here only harms your credibility.” She slides over the couch to a seated position on its very inviting cushions. Crossing her legs neatly she adds. “Do you think for a second that the surrounding regions are going to simply –let- you imprison the one person who guarantees the health and wellbeing of their people? Who do you think decides which clinics get what supplies and are given their allotment of trained individuals to staff said clinics?” She is almost beside herself. “You think you are ready to take on those Giants of the North, how ready are you to defend these meager borders against a full assault of even ONE more Kingdom?” She adjusts, looking up to him from her seated position like a pretty little bitch. “Frostmaw has warriors, what do you have, really. A handful of farmers who train on overdressed dummies at the Fort?” Arms cross over ample chest. Stubborn. “Larket has my loyalty. I will always do what is best for her.” But did that include pledging allegiance to him?


Macon glosses over her threat of denying medical supplies and staff to the surrounding areas should he have her imprisoned as one she wouldn’t follow through on. She strikes a nerve though when she compares the forces of Frostmaw and Larket how she does. No sooner does the word ‘farmers’ pass her lips than The Furious King raises his great axe up and forcefully slams the butt of the long, metal handle back onto the floor with a tremendous thud. He steps forward towards the seated elf, dragging the weapon along with him, and glares down at her, “I am disappointed tha’ you share The Paladin’s and others’ view of a weak Larket, Sabrina…” He casts a grey, sideways glance towards half of his current kingsguard, some of the very men the healer’s words have just slighted. “It wasn’ so long ago that this kingdom possessed the most feared military in Lithrydel… Those men and women didn’ disappear with Jacklin. With no battles to figh’ they found other ways to serve Larket, but they are still ‘ere.” He gets close enough for the elf to reach out and touch him, well aware of the danger as he continues, “The Frost Giants were fearsome once. Back when they believed they were fighting for a Frozen Goddess. Now they figh’ with loyalty manufactured over the course of a few months, and I’d take my -farmers- over them any day.” Regardless of how one believes this man has snuck his way onto the throne, the genuine pride and love he shows for the city cannot be denied. He leans forward slightly, the marble crown shifting just a bit atop his head, “You are loyal to this kingdom? Then don’t have faith in me. Have faith that Larket is Hard Stone that isn’t going to crumble because some Dragon Queen comes and stomps her feet.”


She jumps when he slams that weapon back down, uncrossing her arms and using them to support herself as she leans away from him. She was scared. Now that wasn’t the plan. It was with great surprise she began to relate to his words, even believe there may be hope in him. Essentially, she was picking up what he was putting down. But she was a stubborn elfess. Her eyes scan his vulnerable areas, his face being most obvious, but moreso the sections of neck and wrist where she could grab hold of him with some level of leverage. “And what would you have me do?” She let him have what he implied but the truth was, she was loyal to life- no matter where it came from. Her job was to ensure the least number of casualties on either side. Her voice was noticeably softer then, maybe even a little shaken. She did not do well with proximity and by now her eyes had glossed over to a near-white reflection. She was protecting him, and quite intentionally. If he were to accidentally feel the fear she was harboring it could end very badly right here on her own sofa. With the shift of the oversized crown she could have laughed, if only the moment weren’t so serious. She wished on several layers that this could all end peaceably.


Macon tilts his head, still making sure to move carefully to keep Larket’s newest crown on his head, and narrows his eyes, trying to see if her question is sincere. The King of Larket stands back to his full height. “Help me keep this kingdom t’gether...” He starts off, not so subtly referring to her protests of ‘false king’, and then continues, “Heal those that fight for Larket…” Surely she would do that even without this request, “...while I find a way to cease this squabble Frostmaw has started.” With that, he turns, lifting the empty Rage Axe from the floor, and starts towards the exit, the whole of the kingsguard shuffling after him. The Death Knight stops just outside the doorway, causing the rest of his entourage to halt while still inside the home. He adds one last thing, “And believe in the strength of these men, as I do.” He does not wait for her to respond before starting to head out again, so anything other than an immediate answer to his requests will go unheard by him and the -farmers-.


She had a sour look on her face as he left. He implied she wasn’t helping, which she wasn’t, but no one likes to be called on that. Otherwise she was quite silent as he supplied his short list of demands, none of which were unreasonable. The elfess was all but confused at this point, he wasn’t making her choice any easier either. On one hand, she had already fought and stood with Frostmaw. But Larket was her home. Kelovath and Josleen were her friends, sort of, and she knew this guy never cared to earn the trust he received. All sorts of mixed feelings rose, honestly, he could have had her taken- or worse. But he didn’t. Why? It was making her stomach sick, and as their noise grew weaker in the distance she would finally rise to shut the door, only to lean against it and contemplate her purpose in all of this.